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On nearly every wrist are little curled words of fate. Words meant to inspire, to bring hope and promote happiness. At birth the words are nothing more than little splotches of black, like a stain of ink over the delicate skin of your wrist. Over time the mark expands, like a drop of dye in water, and slowly begins to spell out The Mark. The first words your soulmate will ever say to you. The introduction to the rest of your life.
Which for most was an amazing gift--to be so much closer to knowing who you were meant to be with. To be able to know for sure. But for someone like Derek Hale, whose mark was so incredibly mundane, so extraordinarily conversational that he sometimes wished Marks weren't even a thing. They were, unfortunately, and so he spent the first ten years of his life tracing fervently along the black smudge, awaiting the day it would uncurl and define his destiny.
When that day finally came and he awoke on his eleventh birthday to a simple 'Derek' stamped across his skin, he was underwhelmed and so confused. Was it a mistake? Maybe the rest would come later. But his mom said otherwise, and the doctor after that. His only clue to finding his soulmate was his first name. His Mark was useless, pointless. So he pulled a thick bracelet from the box of old jewelry from under his sister's bed and forgot about it. For the first few years he would have little anxiety attacks every time he met someone and their first words where Derek. But it happened less than he thought it would.
At least until he started acting. His first role was just a few lines, a little background character in a sequel to a popular movie. But it threw him into the spot light, and suddenly he was the next up and coming. He was interviewed, auditioned, and cast in several movies and shows, even landing a reoccurring spot on a popular day time drama. And suddenly Derek seemed to be the only thing anyone greeted him with.
"Derek! Look over here! Pose!"
"Derek! I love you!"
"Derek!"
"Derek!"
"Derek, are you paying attention?" the voice of his manager pulled him back to reality. They were sat at the counter in his loft, trying to discuss his current week's schedule. He turned in his stool, leveling her with a blank expression.
"Not really," he blanched. He looked away from her and to his sandwich in front of him.
"I said, that with the hype of your next part in Inlander, Boyd has reported an increase in papz hanging around your typical spots, so I would advise you not to go to those places," her condescending tone didn't go unnoticed, especially since she was speaking to twenty six year old and not a nine year old.
"I don't care about paparazzi, Lydia," Derek huffed.
"You should. They're looking for a reason to trash you in the reviews, and seeing you grumping around New York in your sweatpants isn't going to help anything," she snapped, snatching the sandwich from his hands just as he was about to take a bite.
Now irritated, he turned to give her his best glare. She raised an eyebrow in derision.
"I don't grump," he practically growled. She wasn't impressed, and simply flicked her finger against the bunched skin between his furrowed brows.
"You're grumping right now, Glarek," she pointed out, which only pissed him off more.
"Whatever," he mumbled, successfully grabbing the sandwich back and turning his back to her before she could make another grab at it. He took a big bite, tuning her out once again.
Eventually she gave up, slapping a printed version of his schedule on the countertop before twisting on the heel of her boot and letting herself out of the door.
~~~
In the serene peace of his loft he finished his snack before reading over the paper for the hundredth time. With nothing scheduled for the day he decided on a walk around town to burn off some energy. Of course he could do that in the gym downstairs in the basement floor, but he didn't feel like really working out. He'd done that the day before, and could still feel the pleasant burn in his calves and biceps when he moved. A brisk walk around the block would help mellow him. Maybe he would stop in at the bookstore and pick up a copy of Geared, since Lydia had been talking with the director of the in-the-works production and he was in line to audition for one of the main roles. He wanted to know as much as possible about his potential part.
He decided to head out after changing into a comfortable dark Henley and faded jeans, because as much as he hated to admit it, Lydia was right about the paparazzi. They would have a field day if they saw him in his usual stained, too big secondhand t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. He really didn't feel like being in a magazine spread on the 'dos and donts of celeb fashion' and wake up to a dozen voicemails from Lydia saying 'I told you so.'
The dark sunglasses and baseball cap were cliché but actually do help keep his recognition down. Not that it was much of a problem living in New York. No one really gives two shits about who he was when he's speed walking down a sidewalk, especially in such a big and anonymous town. He actually kind of liked the rudeness of the citizens, nothing like the small town people he had grown up around. They got to the point, didn't sugar coat conversations. He fit right in.
There were a couple people with cameras strapped around their necks waiting outside his loft. He ducked away from them, carefully skirting past with them none the wiser. They looked like college kids anyways, probably just trying to make some easy money.
There were surprisingly few people along the sidewalks, leaving the pathway mostly clear. It made the walk a lot more pleasant than he thought it would be. The only annoying part was the occasional person with a camera, photographers maybe but with his line of work he had to assume the worst. So at every glimpse of a lense or the sound of a camera shudder he would tilt his hat down to hide his face and tuck his chin to his chest.
The closer to the bookstore he got the more 'photographers' there seemed to be. It was starting to irritate him. He couldn't even turn a corner without nearly running into one. Boyd was right; he should probably have just stayed home. At least they weren't following him around like usual, instead just trying to casually snap a candid or two. It was still annoying, though, and Derek had never had the best track record with his anger management. So by the time he was a block from the bookstore he was about ready to throw the next camera he saw.
Which was the exact moment that some asshole turned their camera on him and the click of a shudder made him snap. The next thing he knew he was in the guy’s face, glaring and growling out, "Can you not be a nosey prick and maybe ask before taking a picture."
The guy looked equal parts scandalized and confused, he stared at Derek for a long second, camera held loosely beside his face, before he clicked the button again. Right in his Derek's face. He wanted so badly in the moment to grab the damn thing and smash it, but that would definitely end up in US Weekly.
"Did you not hear me?" he hissed, narrowing his eyes. The guy was still staring at him, bright brown eyes blown wide open and his mouth agape. It was not attractive, nope, Derek was not attracted to him.
"Stiles! There you are!" another male shouted as he jogged to their side, eyeing Derek suspiciously as he stood close to his friend. The other boy had a camera draped around his neck as well, fluffy hair looking unruly from the rush.
"Uh, hey, you look familiar," the new guy said, tilting his head. The other boy frowned and huffed, smacking his friend on the arm and pointing at Derek before doing some weird gesture with his hands. It seemed to make sense to the other boy, though, because then his eyes jumped open, wide as saucers and he snapped his head over so fast to look at Derek that his neck audibly popped.
"What?" Derek demanded, confusion growing by the second.
"You're Derek Hale, the Derek Hale," the boy said, shocked look on his face. His friend was looking nervously between the two, still not having spoken.
"Yeah, and your friend here, Style or whatever, was taking pictures of me without my permission. Is he a papz?" Derek growled, eyeing them critically. The paler boy, the one with a speckle of moles and the wide mouth, snorted at that.
"Wha-no, no. His name is Stiles. I'm Scott. He's not a 'papz.' We're on a club photography trip from out of state. We aren't papz or...anything else," he explained dumbly, eyebrows scrunched together. The boy--Stiles--was looking progressively uncomfortable. Derek relaxed a bit, somehow believing the boy. So they were just tourists? Stupid college kids who happened to be in the wrong place. Wait.
"Then why did," he hesitated a bit on his name, "Stiles take another picture of me after I asked him to stop?" he questioned. To which Scott turned to face his friend. The boy was darting his eyes around, fingers flailing in his haste to explain himself. Still, he didn't open his mouth. Instead just gesturing wildly to his friend. Who again knew exactly what he was attempting to say.
"He uh, was surprised...Uhm, wow, this is awkward. Why do I have to be translator?" he mumbled, which earned him an elbow in the ribs from Stiles. "Fine, fine, first though, I should probably mention that Stiles is mute. Which is kind of obvious, but you still looked confused."
Oh, he was mute. That...actually explained a lot.
Except-
"That doesn't explain why he was taking pictures of me," he reminds.
"About that..." Scott stumbles, looking very awkward.
"Just spit it out," he snapped, patience wearing thin.
"You're his soulmate. He freaked out and his finger slipped," he rushed out, looking at his feet. Stiles was beet red, staring at the passing cars.
Derek's brain did a full stop then took about thirty full seconds to reboot. Had he heard that right? His heart jumped in his chest, excitement and anxiety welling up in his gut. He flicked his gaze over to Stiles, his soulmate, taking a second to really look at him. Tall, only an inch or two shorter than Derek. Pale, but healthy, with lean muscles and a thin waist. Moles dotted his cheeks and his hair was a mess of brown scruff on his head, like he was trying to grow it out but wasn't sure how to style it yet. He was perfect, everything Derek wanted and never thought he did.
Then a thought occurred to him, and he felt fear claw up the back of his throat. He still had a Mark. And Stiles was mute. That didn't make sense. He wasn't sure about the logistics of Marks when mated to people who couldn't speak, but he was suddenly fearful that this young man wasn't actually his soulmate.
It could even be possible they were lying. It wouldn't be the first time. He had money, was relatively good looking, and was a pretty well-known actor. People made claims like that all the time. Somehow he felt like this time was different.
"Show me," he said instead, pulling off his own bracelet and watching as Stiles fumbled to get his unclasped. The words 'can you not be a nosey prick and maybe ask before taking a picture' were streaked across his slim wrist. Derek cringed at the words, holding out his own wrist to let Stiles inspect. The boy made a quizzical noise before making eye contact with Derek and beginning to gesture again. No, not gesture, Derek reminded himself. He was doing Sign Language. Just, Derek didn't know sign language.
"What is he saying?" Derek questioned, tearing his eyes from a now annoyed looking Stiles to Scott, who had been quietly waiting through the whole awkward encounter.
"He is confused as to why you have a Mark when he can't talk and asked if- wait I'm not saying that to him," Scott hissed, turning to glare at a snickering Stiles.
"What?" Derek asked, curious as to what he had missed.
"He made a perverted joke, don't ask please, I really don't want to say it to you," he begged, not meeting Derek's gaze.
"Fine, uh, ask him if he wants to exchange numbers," Derek said. He received an irritated shove from Stiles, who was signing furiously at him.
"Whoa, Stiles, okay chill out. Uh, he's mad. He said 'I'm not deaf asshole if you are going to talk to me I am right here.' Or something to that affect," he translated.
"Oh, sorry," he cringed for the second time in as many minutes. He was really screwing up his first meeting with his soulmate. If this was his soulmate. What if he was Stiles but Stiles wasn't his? God that would suck. But, he liked him already. And he wanted to get to know him. Maybe his Mark was wrong. Somehow, it had to be wrong.
Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek before nodding slowly, straightening his spine and leaning back into his own personal body space. He slowly raised his hands, waiting for Derek to look from his eyes to his hands before continuing. He first pointed at his chest, pressing his forefinger into the cotton of his shirt. He mouthed the word 'my' as he did so. Derek nodded. Stiles then pressed his pointer and middle fingers together on each hand, pressing the rest of his fingers down and then tapping his outstretched fingers together in the shape of a cross twice, with his right hand on top. He mouthed the word 'name' and Derek nodded again. Then Stiles tapped his forefinger to his eyebrow before straightening his wrist and shifting his hand into a fist, leaving his thumb on the outside of his fingers. He mouthed 'Stiles.'
"That last one was the sign for smart but he changed it to an 's' at the end," Scott piped up, smiling now. Derek raised an eyebrow when Stiles huffed.
"Is that a nickname?" he questioned. Stiles shook his head, looking to Scott to prompt him into an explanation.
"In ASL names are often shortened or given a little sign of their own. I can show you how to finger spell his name but everyone else just uses this," he said and repeat the last sign Stiles did to make his point. Derek hesitantly raised his hand to his head, recreating the sign. Stiles lit up at the action, nodding enthusiastically. Derek smiled and repeated it.
"Wait, I want to try to..." Derek muttered, slowly redoing the sign for 'my' and for 'name' before looking to Scott. Stiles grabbed his hands in his own to get his attention. He had a broad smile stretching his face. Derek watching as he took his own hand and slowly moved his fingers into the right letters. They did it together.
D-E-R-E-K
He repeated the signs again, 'My name is Derek' which earned another dazzling grin from Stiles.
"Do I get a sign for my name or-," he started, feeling his own lips tug into a smile at the sight of such simple joy. Stiles pursed his lips, running his eyes over Derek's face before humming. Scott watched in amusement.
Stiles touched his fingers to his thumb, leaving his forefinger straight.
"Sign for 'd' in the alphabet," Scott supplied. Derek watched as he gently touched the skin beside his eye with his fingertip, and then turned to Scott to sign something too fast and complicated for Derek to even attempt to follow.
"He said that's your sign because he likes your eyes," he explained, tilting his head as Stiles signed something else. He just bit his lip to hide a smile instead of translating.
Stiles faced Derek again, repeating the sign for Derek and then making a fist, leaving his thumb sticking out, and tapping it to his ear twice. Scott immediately began laughing.
"What did he just say?" Derek asked, somehow thinking it was probably at his expense. Stiles started laughing at that. The sound was quiet but still brought a confused smile to his face. Wasn't he mute? How was he laughing...
"He called you an asshole again. Stiles you are not making that his name. What're you going to do when you have to introduce him to your dad?" Scott wheezed, sucking in a deep breath before reaching into his pocket and tugging out an inhaler. He took two doses before putting it back into his pocket and sighing.
"I get that a lot," he admit reluctantly. Stiles gave him a curious look. "Called an asshole, I mean," he amended. Stiles just smiled in reply, reaching into his pocket to slip out his phone.
~~~
Twenty minutes later Derek was back at his loft, sitting in the calm comfort of his living room and texting his supposed Soulmate. He had started a conversation as soon as he got home, wanting to know as much as possible as quickly as possible.
He knew that Stiles was a nickname, that they lived all the way in California, close to where Derek grew up. He knew Stiles' favorite food and his least favorite movie. He knew Scott was like a brother and that they were renting an apartment together while they attended college. He knew that Stiles had seen the last movie he was in, but thought it was stupid. He even got a few sarcastic comments about his acting skills, which he took in stride.
They were both still stuck on Derek's Mark, however. And after a pretty stressful conversation about Stiles disability--a word that Stiles hated--they were still no closer to figuring out how Derek could have a Mark and a mute soulmate.
When Derek asked Lydia the next morning, she had no idea either. She did tell him not to let the news leak, at least not until she could chat with Stiles and make sure he wasn't lying as well. She made sure that Derek wasn't going to talk before she had everything in order. He resigned, texting Stiles throughout the day while he could catch a spare second or two in between work.
~~~
The next few months flew by in a flurry of action. Derek kept up well with balancing his filming schedule and his workout schedule, on top of the publicity and additional personal time he had asked for. Lydia was amazing, and once he explained why he needed so much time to himself, she reluctantly gave it to him. Then it was just a matter of finding the right websites and books. From there Derek spent at least two hours a week teaching himself sign language. Which he was apparently very bad at. According to Stiles during their Skype calls, at least.
He was still slow, and got signs confused a lot, and Stiles chastised him for his sloppy signs. He would often have to correct Derek or just resort to the in-text Skype feature.
The hard work was slowly paying off, because it wasn't long before he could hold a fairly stilted, but understandable conversation with his Soulmate. Which was around the time Lydia finally decided it was time for them to leak the details of him having found his Soulmate.
The fans from there were fairly evenly split between congratulating him and insulting Stiles. Thankfully he didn't have any public media profiles for people to harass him on. Instead they just flooded to Derek's twitter to throw allegations about him around and try to 'change Derek's mind.' Which was not going to happen. He would admit to having kind of fallen in love with Stiles over the course of their relationship. They hadn't even been on any dates, yet, but he still felt like he knew Stiles, like he was the perfect man for Derek.
So with the help of Lydia, Stiles and Derek set up a meet up for that summer, during a lull in the Derek's film production and a break from school for Stiles. Scott even agreed to stay with his mom for the weekend so Derek could sleep in his room.
The decision to stay at Stiles instead of Derek's loft was ultimately made by Stiles himself, who insisted that he was not getting back on a plane for at least another two years. He apparently hated flying and couldn't care less about how nice Derek's place was. Not to mention how easily recognizable Derek was in New York. It made more sense for Derek to come to him, at least to Stiles. So the older man relented, rolling his eyes and booking a flight for that July.
~~~
Summer arrived much faster than either man was really ready for. The weekend was there before they knew it, and Derek found himself, early on Friday morning, boarding a plane for California with a building flutter of anticipation and excitement. He felt vaguely queasy the entire flight, and nearly had a heart attack in the Taxi he rented to take him to Stiles' apartment.
It was an hour drive from the airport to Stiles apartment, with Stiles at first saying that he could just come pick Derek up. That was, until two days ago when his jeep had apparently suddenly refused to start. So Derek just shrugged and booked a cap to be waiting for when he landed in Cali.
By the time he stepped out of the car he had working himself up into quiet a state. It wasn't even their first meeting, but it was their first since they had gotten to know each other. Stiles knew so much about Derek now. Stuff that he hadn't shared in years, things that no one else knew. It was nerve-racking for someone like Derek--someone who was only close to family and hadn't had a close friend in years. Stiles was different, though, he was so...easy to love. He was so giving; letting Derek explain and open up at his own pace. He never pushed or prodded at wounds that Derek wasn't ready to re-open. He was surprisingly respectful of boundaries for such a spastic kid.
"Don't forget your bags, guy!" the taxi driver barked from the cab. Derek jumped a bit at the voice, having spaced out while staring at the tiny apartment building before him. He quickly whipped around to snatch his bags from the backseat before tossing a few bills at the man and walking up the outdoor stairs of the building. He checked the room number one last time on his phone before stopping outside unit 12 and knocking quickly. The door flew open not a second later, a wide eyed and grinning Stiles standing in shorts and a Batman t-shirt.
'You were supposed to let me know when you got here. I have been pacing my living room for the last half hour!' Stiles signed, smile not fading despite his irritated gestures. Derek bite back his own smirk, waiting for Stiles to take a step back so he could walk into the apartment. The living room was clean, wooden floors looking freshly mopped. There was a ratty couch pushed against the far wall, a TV sitting on a bookshelf beside the front door. The only other furniture in the room beside multiple posters on the wall was a small table and lamp beside the couch. Stiles fidgeted as Derek looked around the room, moving to stand in his line of vision when he leaned to peer into the small kitchen.
'Stop judging me,' he signed, stepping into Derek's space to force the older man to look at him.
"I'm not judging you. I wasn't always well-off you know. I was a broke college kid once, too," Derek reminded. Stiles rolled his eyes, grabbing the bags from Derek's hands to place by the hallway before closing the front door and then dragging Derek to sit beside him on the couch.
'I want to show you something, okay? But first we need to talk,' he paused to let Derek process everything. He knew the man needed breaks to make sure he was getting everything, being anything but fluent in ASL.
"What do we need to talk about?" Derek asked, trying to keep his tone light, but he had been broken up with enough times to know what those words usually preluded. Not that Stiles and him where even dating, but he really didn't want Stiles to say they would be better off friends, even though they were probably soulmates. He still doubted it sometimes, since Derek had a Mark that Stiles would never be able to reproduce himself.
'It's about me...and why I am mute,' he explained. That made Derek freeze. They had never talked about Stiles' condition before, other than in passing. Stiles was so private about it, refusing to tell why, refusing to talk about it seriously. So Derek never pressed.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Derek reminded, to which Stiles shook his head, face warming. He grabbed Derek's hands, giving them a soft squeeze before pulling away to sign.
'I can talk. I just...don't. I haven't since..." he let his hands drop into his lap, his face turning even redder and his eyes getting misty. If he was speaking his voice would have choked, tears climbing into his throat and lodging there like a fist. Derek touched his bunched fist, waiting for Stiles to lift his gaze before he spoke.
"It's okay, Stiles," he whispered, moving his hand up to card through the boy's short hair. Stiles seemed to relax a bit, blinking back the tears in his eyes to take a quick breath.
'I was with my mom when she died. I saw it happen. It haven't...since,' he continued. Tears were rolling down his cheeks when he finished, little sniffles filling the silence of the room. Derek made a wounded sound, scooting to Stiles side and wrapping an arm around his waist. He pulled Stiles to his chest, running his fingers through his hair.
"Hey, it's okay, Stiles. It's okay. Thank you for telling me, I'm so proud of you. I know that must have been so hard for you," he said softly, pressing gentle kisses to his hair as he spoke.
They sat like that for a several moments as Stiles calmed down; Derek didn't pull away until Stiels was breathing normally again. By then his shirt was damp with tears and Stiles felt warm from crying.
'Sorry,' he signed as soon as he was sitting up straight. Derek shook his head and smiled tenderly.
"Don't apologize. I get it," he promised. Stiles smiled delicately back, dropping his eyes down to the floor for several seconds before a fire lit in his gaze and he looked back up sharply.
'I still have to show you something, okay?' Stiles asked, waiting for Derek to nod before he took a deep breath and let it all rush out in a huff. Derek could smell the minty toothpaste he must have used that morning.
When several long seconds passed and Stiles made no move to get up or do something, Derek was getting kind of confused. Was Stiles messing with him?
Just as he was about to ask, though, the croak of "Derek" made his words die on his tongue. He stared at Stiles for a second, then two. Stiles slowly met his eye, repeating the word. His voice was scratchy, it was rough and he winced every time he spoke, but the sound make Derek's heart jump in his chest.
Before he could stop himself Derek had thrown himself at the other man, pressing his lips firmly over Stiles in a warm kiss. He tasted like toothpaste, but his lips were so soft, exactly the way Derek had imagined they would feel. Stiles groaned in surprise, hands fluttering at Derek's shoulders before he relaxed and pressed into the kiss as well. They broke apart with a gasp, lingering near each other's mouth as they took in what just happened. It was Stiles who broke the moment.
"Derek," he choked again, voice just as broken as the first time. Derek smiled wildly, cupping his Soulmate's face in glee. Stiles repeated it again, tears pricking his eyes for a second time. "Derek, Derek, Derek," he practically sobbed. And Derek had never heard anything better in his entire life.