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“though your sorrows not
any tongue may name,
three i’ll give you sweet
joys for each of them
But it must be your”
whispers that flower
—from [“Though Your Sorrows Not] by e.e. cummings
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Stiles felt Peter first, an inconstant flickering at the edge of his consciousness. The word “soulmate” never crossed his mind—far too young to even understand the concept at the time—but he liked the soft, golden cord that sometimes seemed to tie him to the warm presence on the other end. It was nice.
He wasn't sure why, but he never told his parents.
The first time Stiles saw the word soulmate and recognized it was in a book of folktales that his mother read to him at night.
“Do you know,” his mother asked him, “how soulmarks came to be?”
Stiles shook his head. He’d always wondered, but people generally didn’t like talking about their soulmarks, and Stiles hadn’t wanted to get into any trouble over it.
“Long ago, when many gods still roamed the heavens, three gods fell very much in love. The other gods were afraid that this new triad would be too powerful, and they tried to separate them. No matter what happened, the trio always found each other again until one day, one of the three was tricked and cast out of heaven, unable to return.”
“What happened next?”
“Another god was visiting earth and came upon the newly human man. Hestia helped Nephenthes as best she could, stayed with him for awhile, and when she was sure that Nephenthes could survive, she sent him on his way. Now, Nyctaginea and Zephyranthes were tearing through the heavens looking for their lost lover, and when they learned what had been done to him, they came to the earth to search for him.”
“Did they find him?”
His mother gave him the smile she sometimes used when something was supposed to be happy but was still a little bit sad. “Time passes differently on earth than in the heavens,” she explained, “and Nephenthes was an old man when they found him. Nyctaginea and Zephyranthes despaired that their lover would die and they would never find each other again. But Hestia gave them a gift: each of them would carry matching marks on their bodies, that they would know each other the next time they met. And from that day, all people developed soulmarks to guide them toward the ones meant for them.”
After that, Stiles researched everything he could about soulmates and soulmarks. There was no information about golden cords or weird feelings, but Stiles suspected that the person at the back of his brain was his soulmate.
He hoped he wouldn't have to wait too horribly long to meet them.
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Stiles knew the first time he met Lydia that she was important to him. She didn't feel quite like the presence in his head, but he could sense—even as a third grader—that she was different from everyone around her. He thought of the story of Nyctaginea, Nephenthes, and Zephyranthes, and wondered if he was anything like them.
The redhead was brilliant and fierce, and she listened when he talked about the hob that had opened up a bakery on the square, debated with him about any number of topics that most nine-year-old children couldn't even fathom, and helped run off the bullies that followed Scott around.
Halfway through the school year, Stiles told Lydia over pudding cups his suspicion that they were soulmates. Lydia didn't believe him, of course—no one got their soulmark at nine—but Stiles could feel the truth of it in his bones, carved under the skin of his stomach where it would eventually appear.
Still, Stiles could wait. It was enough that they were friends now.
When Jackson came along the next year, it didn't surprise Stiles that Lydia turned to the blond—she had already figured out that beauty could open doors that brains could not—but it still hurt to be shut out.
Scott swore to him on a stack of library books that he would never, ever leave Stiles. Stiles accepted that it was the two of them against the world, and always would be.
Besides, Lydia would come back eventually.
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When Stiles was sixteen, Scott became a werewolf and Stiles met the presence in his head that same night in the form of a witty, blue-eyed werewolf. Sixteen was still too young for a soulmark (the invisible mark under his skin stretched like a cat in the sun, slightly painful but still reassuring in its presence), but he knew anyway.
Peter was a decade older than him, charming and vicious by turns. He obviously loved his pack, and he found Stiles interesting in the way one might be fascinated with a new pet, but the twentysomething Peter was too busy with his own life to spend any real time with Stiles.
The Hales were wonderful to Scott, and they accepted that Stiles came as part of that package, but Stiles still noticed the way that the rest of them would side-eye him sometimes, as if trying to figure out how he fit into the picture. He tried not to take it personally, but he was willing to admit (at least to himself) that growing up in a town with so many supernatural people had given him a bit of a complex.
Lydia and Peter had so much in common, Stiles learned, that he started to wonder exactly what he brought to this potential triad. After all, they were both amazing, and beautiful, and dangerous, and although Stiles was sarcastic and clever, he wasn't a werewolf or a banshee, and he didn't want to be, either. A few more of his classmates—Lydia included—came under the Hale pack’s influence, and Stiles watched as Lydia effortlessly carved herself a place among them.
His invisible soulmark throbbed.
Stiles saved Peter from drowning in the school pool, but when Gerard almost killed Peter via the kanima, it was Lydia who used her banshee powers to save the day. Stiles may have driven her to the rescue, but he was quickly forgotten in the revelations of the next few hours.
Stiles drove home to research, and neither Lydia nor Peter sought him out.
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The Fates were appalled when they heard what he wanted.
“You can't...even if I could...you can't just do something like that,” Clotho claimed, aghast. Her sisters, though far less vocal than their youngest, didn’t bother to hide their displeasure at his suggestion, either. It almost made him smile. Their opinions—however appreciated—weren’t necessary. Stiles had already made up his mind.
“Sure, I can,” he argued. “I won't even get my soulmark for another five years, and I’m already so tired. Why should I constantly have to feel the bond when they don't even notice me?”
“A lot can happen in five years,” the spinner said hopefully.
“Or, I could finally have some peace,” he countered. “I don't want to wait until I'm old and gray for them to see me this time. You don't know what it was like, always wondering if they were going to come for me, find me. I waited for them, a mortal, waiting for the gods to notice me,” he laughed, bitterly. “And now, it's the same as before. I'm just a human, and they're not. It’s exhausting, when I feel everything and they feel nothing. Please.”
“Peter probably feels it, even if he doesn't remember the source,” Clotho argued, but Stiles could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
“Even if Peter feels something—which I doubt—he’s not going to do anything about it, which is all the more reason I need to do this.”
A long moment passed. “You're sure this is what you want?” they asked, watching him closely.
“Yes. Help me forget.”
So they did.
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Three years later
“I don't care how hot he is, I'm not dating a vampire.” Stiles walked into the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, and reached around two werewolves to get to the cereal. “No, I'm not letting my godfather set me up, either.” A pause. “It's not a competition,” followed by a sigh. “I've got class in an hour, I'm hanging up now.”
Stiles made a face at all of the amused looks he was receiving and all but threw himself into his seat. “When exactly did my life turn into a supernatural dating show?” he asked the room-at-large.
“When everyone realized you were available,” someone supplied unhelpfully.
He glanced at his godfather for a better answer, but the werewolf gave him an inscrutable look and said, “You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Stiles.”
Whatever that meant.
Lucien had been overprotective of him since he was a child, but this time had been different. Stiles knew that he had willingly forgotten something—his dad had reluctantly confirmed it—but it was like everyone else was afraid that Stiles would suddenly remember and fall to pieces.
Even if he did remember—which he wouldn't, because the Fates did excellent work—Stiles knew deep down that he that had made the right choice. Remembering what he’d given up might make him unhappy for a few days, but he’d still survive. He was happy here, and he couldn't see how knowing about his soulmate would change that.
Even if everyone else seemed to think so.
After all, he’d realized a few months back that whatever he’d forgotten had to do with his soulmark, and honestly, that knowledge fascinated him more than it bothered him. He actually kind of hoped his soulmates would show up at some point, just so he could figure out what the big deal was.
But if not, that was fine, too. There was no point in pining for someone he’d already forgotten.