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i.
Isaac is lost.
Not literally of course—he knows exactly where he is. He’s walking past the grocery store he frequents every Sunday as part of his pack duties. The store is locked up, and it’s employees are most likely warm and safe (and dry) in their homes—
It’s the thought of home that has Isaac’s throat constricting and his teeth clenching together like it’s all he can do to keep from screaming—roaring—into the night sky and punching a hole in the nearest wall. His home is two blocks back. Or, at least, it was his home. Isaac is homeless now.
But he is pack. And pack is supposed to mean something, right? Pack mates are there to fight for you and protect you and, in turn, you give them your strength because you’re stronger together than apart—and Isaac doesn’t know where he’s going with those thoughts, but all he knows is that Derek had promised him strength (and solidarity, although that sentiment may have been Isaac’s imagination), but he feels just as weak and scared as he did when he was still human. He is becoming reacquainted with the familiar chill of fear in his bones that he thought he’d gotten rid off once and for all when he took the bite.
Isaac comes to an intersection and stops, even though there are no cars out in this weather to stop his progress (even though he sort of wishes there was one to run him over, to put him out of his misery for at least a little while). He is lost because he has no clue what to do or where to go now. He is soaked to the bone and his fingertips and toes are starting to get a little numb from the cold. He can’t go to Boyd’s—the closeness they had been developing dissolved in the aftermath of his captivity and Erica’s death is still a raw wound for both of them. Isaac dismisses the thought of going to Peter’s—even if Isaac does know where he lives, he couldn’t be sure that Peter wouldn’t just kill him in his sleep. Isaac doesn’t even have family members he could randomly encroach on—they all live somewhere in the Midwest for some god forsaken reason.
Isaac stares at the red stop sign across the street, his vision slightly blurred by the heavy rain. He considers ripping the piece of metal to shreds, maybe breaking a window or two to keep his anger (betrayal, shame) from consuming him.
A thought strikes Isaac like lightning.
Scott.
Isaac finally crosses the street, his feet carrying him faster now that he feels a little less lost in this whole mess that is his life. Scott wouldn’t turn him away—not Scott-I-don’t-want-you-to-get-hurt-McCall, the boy who is always concerned for Isaac’s wellbeing even though Isaac is practically indestructible now (unless faced with a pack of alphas or hunters, but that was sort of irrelevant at the moment, really).
Scott will take me in. Scott will help me. Isaac’s mind chants this like a mantra until he’s staring at Scott’s cozy little two story house from the sidewalk across the street. The lights are on inside the house, but the roar of rainfall on pavement drowns out the two heartbeats he’s straining to hear and his nose is flooded with the smell of acid rain instead of the earthy scents that usually emanated from the McCall household.
Doubt creeps into Isaac’s mind as the cold settles under his skin. Scott is a lone wolf by choice—why get bogged down with some stray? Derek doesn’t even want him, and he is Isaac’s alpha—they had a bond and a natural instinct to protect each other and fight together and feed off each other’s strengths. But of course, Isaac had to go and ruin it just like he fucks up everything else, and he doesn’t even have the decency to know what he did wrong.
Isaac is rooted in his spot on the sidewalk for what feels like hours, suddenly unsure of the strength of his relationship with Scott, but he is unwilling to leave because he is starting to shiver involuntarily (and he is eerily reminded of his recent escapade in an ice bath, and he can’t help but think bitterly I did that for my pack). He needs some sort of shelter, at least until the storm stops.
It is desperation and a particularly loud crack of thunder that have Isaac walking up the steps to the front door.
Scott’s mother answers the door with a surprised “Isaac?” and Isaac mentally kicks himself. He should have gone through Scott’s window, in retrospect.
“Uh, hi, Mrs. McCall.” Isaac says. He tries to force a sheepish sorry-to-bother-you smile to his face, but it ends up more like a pained grimace. “Is Scott home?”
“Isaac, you’re soaking wet!” She exclaims, ignoring Isaac’s platitudes. “Get inside before you catch a cold!”
“Werewolves don’t get sick,” Isaac reminds her, but he’s thankful all the same to leave the rain and thunder behind. “I need to talk to Scott, though, if that’s okay?”
She examines him, takes in the sight of his clothes sticking to his skin and the measly bag of clothes Derek had so generously packed for him. She is silent for so long that Isaac begins to fidget and stare at his feet. He fears that he’ll be turned away the moment Scott’s mother opens her mouth.
When she does speak, however, it’s not to send him away. “He’s in his room, studying.” She says slowly.
“Thanks, Mrs. McCall; I’ll be quick about it.” Isaac assures her, and moves for the stairs.
“Isaac, are you okay?” She has a hand on his shoulder despite the fact that he is soaked and dripping water onto the hardwood floor, her eyebrows furrowed and lips contorted in a worried frown.
“I’m fine, Mrs. McCall.” Isaac says, doing his best to give her a reassuring smile.
She retracts her hand, but looks unconvinced. There is still concern in those warm, brown eyes that remind him of Scott. “Melissa,” she corrects him. “And tell Scott to get you a towel to dry off. And maybe some clothes, too.”
Isaac nods and hurries up the stairs, feeling Melissa’s gaze at his back until he disappears from her sight.
Scott’s room is the second on the right—he remembers this from the handful of times he was invited over to play video games over the summer. Isaac knocks, and at Scott’s muffled “Come in, mom,” he can’t believe Scott has been oblivious to his presence this whole time, but he opens the door anyway.
Isaac doesn’t greet him, doesn’t smile or smirk at the way Scott’s eyes furrow in confusion in the exact same way Melissa’s did just moments ago. He is exhausted and on edge and all he wants to do is find a dry place to sleep for the night.
“I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?” he asks, and is unsurprised to find that his voice sounds as tired as he feels (because it’s Scott, and there’s no point putting up walls with him because he’ll just wear them down to their foundations).
Isaac summarizes his ordeal at Derek’s—he leaves out the part where Derek threw a glass at him so he doesn’t have to relive the sound of breaking glass, leaves out the part where he’s asking what he did wrong because he’s just so pathetic—and finishes his story with his plea to stay with Scott, if only for a night.
“Dude, of course you can stay!” Scott sounds incensed, and for a moment his eyes flash yellow in anger. “I can’t believe he did that.”
I fucked up is on the tip of his tongue, but Isaac just shrugs and repeats Derek’s words. “It’s too much, with both me and Cora there.”
“That’s ridiculous—what does that even mean?” Scott snarls. “You’re welcome here, okay? I’ll tell my mom and—do you need clothes?”
Isaac holds up his bag and Scott examines it for a moment.
“I doubt your stuff survived the rain,” Scott says, and he takes the small black bag from Isaac’s grip. “Go shower and warm yourself up. I’ve got a pair of pajamas that would fit you while your stuff is in the dryer.”
Isaac watches Scott rummage through his drawers, and it hits him that he isn’t going out in the rain again tonight. The air in his lungs escape in a relieved breath, and Isaac is unable to keep the grateful smile from his face. “Thanks, Scott.”
“No problem, man.” Scott replies, handing him a pile of clothes. “Go shower and I’ll go get these dry. And I’ll tell my mom, but she won’t mind.”
“Okay.” Isaac nods, and glances at the clothes he’s been given. At the top of this pile is a pair of boxers. “Uh, Scott,” he begins, and he can feel his ears burning red despite the chill that is still embedded in his skin. “As much as I appreciate your help…I’m not sure I want to use your underwear?”
Scott blushes, and his lips curl into a sheepish grin. “No worries. It’s new. My mom bought it, like, a week ago but I haven’t had a chance to wear them yet. I guess they’re yours now.”
Isaac nods, tries to bite back a grin (he fails spectacularly), and heads for the bathroom. Isaac turns the water on as hot as possible and it is quite possibly the best shower he’s ever had. He returns to Scott’s room with lax muscles; he realizes now just how tense he was before Scott took him in.
Scott is there, waiting for him. There is a bowl of spaghetti on his desk—Isaac can see the steam rising from the dish and smell the marinara sauce and it is then that Isaac feels his stomach protesting for food. He accepts it with a grin and eats with gusto. He listens to Scott speak, let’s his voice wash over him and soothe the rest of his worries—Melissa’s okay with Isaac’s presence, he can stay as long as he needs to, Derek’s the worst alpha in the history of alphas, does he understand some of the pre-calc concepts they learned in class because if so could he explain them to Scott…
It is well past midnight when Scott begins to yawn, and Isaac is glad because he just wants to close his eyes and sleep (and maybe never wake up). Isaac goes downstairs to put the bowl and fork away—he washes and dries them and stores them in their proper places so that it’s like Isaac was never there. Scott is under the covers of his queen sized bed when he returns.
“Can I have a blanket and maybe an extra pillow?”
“What for?” Scott asks, one eyebrow raised in confusion, looking up from his spot on the bed.
“To…sleep on the couch?” Isaac replies, uncertain. He realizes he never asked where exactly he would be allowed to sleep.
“Dude, you can’t sleep on the couch—you’re too big and that thing’s uncomfortable.” Scott pats the space beside him. “You’re gonna have to sleep with me, at least until we get the guest room sorted out. My mom’s been meaning to get one of those couch beds for it, but obviously she’s been procrastinating.”
Isaac’s shrugs—a bed’s better than he expected and he’s fucking tired. He settles himself next to Scott; the lights are off in an instant, and as soon as Isaac’s head is on his pillow and the comforter’s lifted to his shoulders, he’s out.
ii.
Isaac wakes up on his back in a cold sweat, his breathing labored, and his heart beating rapidly. When he tries to blink away the sleep he is chased by shards of broken glass behind closed eyelids and the phantom feeling of having no space to breathe or air to fill his lungs. He tries to sit up, but there is an arm across his chest, and it takes a moment for him to remember the events of the past night and that this tanned limb pressed against his body belongs to Scott. Scott, who is asleep on his stomach, his head facing the other way.
Isaac remains on his back and stares at the ceiling. He counts to thirty, mouthing the words quietly, then counts backward until his heartbeat slows and his breathlessness leaves him. He feels like he should mind the way Scott has invaded his personal space, but he can’t bring himself to care—in fact, it’s actually sort of nice, not that Isaac would admit that out loud.
A quick glance at the alarm clock on the night stand beside Isaac’s head informs him that it’s almost six AM. He sighs, because the last thing he wants to do is go to school, but in the end he carefully maneuvers Scott’s arm to the side so he can get out of bed and get dressed. There is no point in going back to sleep, not after the dream he’s just had.
Stiles drives the three of them to school, a fact that Isaac is ambivalent about. On one hand, Isaac has been spared the embarrassment of riding in to school on the back of Scott’s bike looking like a loser, but on the other hand, he doesn’t think he’d mind an excuse to wind his arms around Scott’s waist and feel the corded muscle of Scott’s back against his chest.
The second scenario makes Isaac’s head spin and he pushes it away before he can think too deeply on it.
Scott’s hand on his shoulder brings him back to the real world; Isaac is about to question the sudden contact (not that he minds), but instead he follows Scott’s gaze.
Cora is at the front of the school, amidst the rest of the Beacon Hills students. Her dark brown hair is in its usual loose ponytail, but instead of the workout clothes she usually wears, she’s in a pair of worn jeans and a simple black hoodie. She’s aware of their presence seconds after he registers hers, and soon enough she reaches Stiles’ jeep.
“You forgot your backpack last night.” She is the first to break the tense silence, holding out Isaac’s bag for him to take.
“That’s really considerate of you, really.” Stiles replies, his voice dripping with sugar. “Considering you, well, kicked him out in the rain and all that.”
Cora’s lips tighten in a grimace; she shifts from one foot to another, her arm still outstretched. “Look,” she begins, “Derek was kind of harsh—”
“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Scott retorts. He takes Isaac’s backpack and hands it to him himself, as if he wants to minimize any contact between him and Cora. “He was pack. And if there’s one thing Derek’s been trying to beat into my head since I was turned is that a pack sticks together. This is a new low, even for him.”
Cora steps forward, but Scott is quick as lightning and he impedes her progress to Isaac. Isaac realizes that Scott’s stance is protective—he is shielding Isaac’s body with his own, despite being almost a full head shorter, and he is leaning forward as if he’s preparing for a fight, staring Cora down in an attempt to intimidate her.
Isaac can’t help the way his throat tightens at the thought that Scott and Stiles are sticking up for him, as if he actually means something.
Cora, however, is unimpressed. “Can I just talk to Isaac—alone?”
Stiles and Scott are silent, considering, and it’s then that Isaac realizes that he hasn’t said a word since Cora’s appearance.
He sighs, reluctance heavy in his words. “Go, I’ll catch up later.”
Scott turns, leveling him with a concerned look. “You sure?”
Cora huffs, exasperated. “I’m not going to do anything to him—I’m still recovering from my three months with the alphas, if you don’t remember. I just want to talk.”
It is that piece of info that finally has Scott convinced. He and Stiles make their way to the front of the school; Cora waits until they’re inside the front building before speaking.
“Derek…there were better ways to have handled that,” Cora begins, uncertainty coloring her tone. “He has his reasons—”
“Everyone has their reasons,” Isaac sneers, anger surging through him so quickly that he’s sure his eyes have flashed gold for a moment. His jaw aches from clenching it so hard, but he has no clue how long he’s had his teeth gnashing together. “Look, I get it. You’re back. Boyd’s back. Peter’s here. That’s enough for Derek; I get it. I’ll get out of his hair—”
“You’re still pack,” Cora interrupts him, frustrated. Isaac can’t fathom why she should be frustrated, since she wasn’t the one out in the rain last night. “Derek’s got no clue what he’s doing, but trust me, he’s trying to protect the pack. And that includes you. Trust him.”
“I did trust him,” Isaac retorts, and the words taste just as bitter as he feels. “And look where that got me.”
“You’re still pack,” She says quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Isaac shoves past her—because of course he did something wrong—and Cora lets him go, doesn’t try to stop him, and he doesn’t look back. The first bell rings, and Isaac’s shoulders sag because school truly is the last thing he wants to deal with right now. He considers skipping, but the thought of Scott’s concerned expression has him heading to his locker instead.
iii.
Isaac wakes up in the middle of the night breathing heavily, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He is on his side, staring at Scott’s alarm clock—it’s close to three AM, and in a corner Isaac can see the tiny abbreviation for Saturday—and he begins to count to thirty.
When he reaches ten, he realizes that Scott’s arm is draped over his side, and he can feel Scott’s chest pressed against his back, Scott’s hot breath against the nape of his neck, and he shivers.
“Sorry,” Scott murmurs, and Isaac tenses, waiting for Scott to pull away, embarrassed by the contact. But he doesn’t move—Scott’s warmth remains around him, his regular breaths calming him. Isaac can feel the steady rhythm of Scott’s heart against his back.
“When I was little, I had a lot of bad nightmares,” Scott says, voice low in the still darkness. “My mom would hold me like this, till I fell back asleep.”
“This doesn’t feel weird to you?”
Scott tenses, and Isaac wonders if he’s offended him. “No,” He replies. “I used to do this with Stiles after his mom died. Is it weird for you?”
“No.” And Isaac isn’t surprised to find that he’s not lying. He wants to stay like this; Scott calms him much better than counting to thirty does.
“Good. This would be awkward if it was.”
They share a chuckle, and Isaac can feel every movement of Scott’s body. They lapse into a comfortable silence, and Isaac feels like he’s about to fall asleep again when he feels Scott’s voice against his neck.
“What did you dream about?” He asks, and Isaac tenses up again, his mind conjuring up familiar sensations of darkness and cold and you’re worthless, not good enough, you’re doing something wrong right now by not leaving—
Isaac is silent for far longer than necessary, but Scott doesn’t seem to mind.
“My dad left about a year before Stiles’ mom died,” Scott begins, and Isaac shifts so that he can see Scott’s face as he talks. Scott lets him, raises his arm so that Isaac can move, and mimics the way Isaac props his head in his hand. “He was downright horrible to my mom, so I’m glad he’s gone, but at first I thought he left because of me, because I’d done something wrong, and I was always scared that my mom was just going to disappear one day, too.”
Isaac has no clue what to say to that, but Scott doesn’t look like he’s expecting an answer. Isaac wonders how Scott can relate his fears so easily, but then again, this is Scott—warm, open hearted Scott, who, throughout the course of the week since he has been kicked out of Derek’s place, has let him into his home, let him eat his food and sleep in his bed and when Isaac’s least expecting it he’ll feel Scott’s hand on his shoulder, a playful shove here and there, and Isaac’s sure he imagines the way those touches linger for longer than is strictly necessary, but he’s okay with that because he loves (craves) Scott’s open affection. It is so different from the harshness that came with living with his father (and Derek, now that he thinks about it).
“I dream about my dad, usually,” Isaac doesn’t even realize what he’s said until the words are out of his mouth, but now that they’re out he can’t stop. “And the freezer. Lately Derek makes an appearance, too.”
Scott’s lips curl downwards at the mention of Derek. “We’ll figure out what’s up with Derek, I promise. There’s something not right with any of what’s going on.”
Isaac exhales and lies back on his side, facing the alarm clock. Scott’s arm winds around Isaac’s waist once more before he could wonder (or even consider asking, because he wouldn’t) if Scott would do so.
“Stiles would say something about ‘no homo’ or whatever, if he was here,” Scott chuckles, but there is something in his voice that Isaac can’t quite place. Instead he shrugs one shoulder and mutters a soft good night.
They wake up to the smell of pancakes and sunlight streaming through Scott’s window. Isaac thinks that that was the best night of sleep he’s had in a while, and he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and hold onto the weight of Scott’s arm around his body. His stomach protests the thought, however, and soon enough they’re lumbering their way downstairs, still somewhat asleep.
“Good morning!” Melissa ‘s voice is full of cheer when she catches sight of them; she sets a large platter of pancakes on the table.
They eat at the table, and Isaac listens to the easy conversation between Scott and his mother, but doesn’t join in. He’s content to just watch and listen and not intrude on the mother-son time that seems to come so rarely to them.
“The couch bed is coming in today,” Melissa says suddenly, as if she’s just remembered. “They’re supposed to deliver it around noon, I think.”
“Great,” Scott says.
Isaac would much rather sleep in Scott’s bed, enveloped in his earthy scent. He wants to feel Scott’s heartbeat on his back and his breath at his neck and his arm settled against his waist because last night felt so right and he’s not sure he’ll ever sleep as soundly as he did last night.
But he just says, “Thanks, Mrs. McCall,” and despite the weight in his chest, he means it.
Melissa leaves soon after the couch bed arrives because she agreed to take over a sick friend’s shift at the hospital. She leaves money in the kitchen for pizza, and as the movers heave the piece of furniture into the guest room she gives both Scott and Isaac a goodbye peck on the cheek.
The gesture catches Isaac by surprise, but Melissa just smiles and pleads for them not to burn down the house, and then she’s gone, leaving him with a warm feeling in his chest and his lips quirking upward into a smile.
Soon enough, the crew is gone and it’s just Isaac and Scott with the house to themselves. Isaac follows Scott into the guest bedroom with a pile of sheets in his arm. They rearrange the furniture so that Isaac’s new bed is against the wall, opposite to the desk Melissa uses to do taxes and other paperwork.
Scott helps Isaac unfold and make the bed in companionable silence. When they’re done, they stand side by side, examining their work.
“Well, I guess you don’t have to sleep with me anymore,” Scott chuckles, and Isaac feels that familiar pang in his chest. Of course Scott’s glad that he finally has his bed to himself.
“Yeah,” Isaac says, and he feels his lips quirk into a half smile, but it’s hardly one of happiness. “Sorry to be a bother and all that.”
“What, no, man.” Scott says, turning to face him. “You were never a bother. I never minded having to share my bed with you. I…I guess I sort of enjoyed it?”
Isaac stares at those warm brown eyes for a long moment, but there’s nothing but sincerity in their depths. They’re so close together, examining each other, and Isaac’s eyes flicker to Scott’s lips. He has one moment to wonder if they’re as soft as they look before instinct moves Isaac to press their lips together.
Scott’s lips are dry and slightly chapped, but yes, they’re soft, and Isaac finds himself immersed in the sensation of his lips on his Scott’s, enveloped by Scott’s fresh, earthy smell—
Except Scott doesn’t respond to the kiss. In fact, he is still as death and the realization causes Isaac to jerk back. The other teen’s eyes are wide in surprise; Scott is about to open his mouth, but Isaac doesn’t wait to hear it. He pushes past him, the reality of his actions dawning on him.
“Isaac, wait!” Scott exclaims, and there is that hand on his shoulder again, but Isaac shrugs it off as if it burns him and runs for the stairs. He’s out the front door and on the street in seconds, and lets his instinct lead him away from the house.
He hopes Scott doesn’t follow.
iv.
Isaac takes the most random route he can think of, doubling back and forth several times before his feet finally take him to a park near the house he used to share with his dad.
His phone buzzes excessively for much of this time; they are all messages from Scott—isaac come back, where r u, dude im a werewolf i can just track u down, ISAAC—but a quick, curt leave me alone silences him and Isaac is relieved because he doesn’t know how he would act if Scott sought him out right now.
He settles into a bench, his legs propped up with him and the arm rest digging into his back. It’s not particularly comfortable, but it discourages any passerby from sitting down next to him.
The shame and embarrassment he’s been trying to quash since he left the McCall household rise up, and Isaac’s throat constricts with that familiar urge to scream because he fucked up again and this time he knows exactly what he did wrong.
He wants to blame Scott, Scott-I-enjoyed-sharing-my-bed-with-you-McCall, because it’s easier than contemplating the fact that, for a moment, Isaac thought that Scott felt something for him that wasn’t protective friendship. Which he probably doesn’t feel anymore because wow Isaac knows how to screw up.
Isaac doesn’t know how long he sits there brooding, but it’s dark and Isaac knows from the way his back aches that he’s stiff. He would rather not spend the night on an uncomfortable park bench, but he knows that his only other option is to return to Scott’s house, and he’s not entirely sure he would be welcomed back after his latest blunder.
“Were you planning to sleep at the park tonight?” Isaac jumps at the sudden break in the silence. Scott is behind him, arms crossed, and when he steps forward Isaac stands, intending to bolt despite the sudden protests his stiff muscles give.
Scott’s faster. “Isaac, come on, wait.” He exclaims, frustrated, and his arm catches Isaac’s in a fierce grip. “Come back home with me,” Scott says. “My mom’s going to wonder where you are, and I would rather not make her worry. I’d rather not worry either, not with the alpha pack around.”
“Why would you want me back, after that…mess I caused?” Isaac asks, because he can’t believe Scott would forgive and forget and pretend this never happened.
“I think the word you’re looking for is debacle,” Scott grins easily, but it falters after a few seconds. Isaac is distinctly unimpressed by Scott’s prowess with SAT words right now.
“Look, Isaac,” Scott sighs, “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do.”
Isaac has a hard time believing this. “What about Allison?” He pushes, suspicion coloring his tone, and in the back of his mind he thinks he sounds like a jealous, jilted lover.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Allison,” Scott says, and when Isaac makes a move to leave Scott reaches out and holds him in place, his hands gripping each of Isaac’s arms. “But I’m not sure what kind of love I have for her now, to be honest. I mean, you say you’ll always love each other in the heat of the moment—but we’re teenagers, you know? We grow and change and…I don’t know, I guess we’ve both changed. We’re not on the same path, right now.”
“And we are?” Isaac raises an eyebrow, tries to keep his tone neutral, but the hope bubbling up in his chest is threatening to burst.
“I don’t know,” Scott replies truthfully, and Isaac’s shoulders sag. “But, then again, I feel like I never know anything anymore. I do know, however, is that I like you. And you confuse me, too. And I guess this means I’m bi because I really, really want to kiss you at the most inappropriate moments, sometimes.
“What I’m trying to say,” Scott continues, sighing in frustration. “Is that things are kind of shitty right now, what with Derek kicking you out and people dying and the alpha pack and all that. And you caught me by surprise today—but that doesn’t mean you did something wrong. I’m willing to try this out.”
And Isaac doesn’t know what to say to that, except for a quiet “Really?” because he still isn’t sure how this is happening, how it’s possible that he didn’t fuck up for once, how it’s possible for Scott McCall to want to kiss him back.
(But, oddly, with the way Scott says you didn’t do anything wrong, Isaac is inclined to believe him.)
Scott huffs, an exasperated smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he says. “Can I kiss you now?”
Isaac nods, and Scott steps forward to press their lips together. Isaac has to angle his head downward to adjust for the height difference, but it’s perfect—the way Scott’s hands rest at Isaac’s hips, the way their chests are pressed together and Isaac can feel Scott’s heartbeat against him and it’s beating just as rapidly as Isaac’s; one of Isaac’s hands comb through Scott’s hair and the fingers of his other hand trace a pattern on the warm skin of Scott’s cheek.
They pull apart for air, but they keep the closeness of their bodies, and Isaac rests his forehead on Scott’s.
“See? If you’d stayed, you would have avoided this whole imbroglio.” Scott says, a smug smirk on his lips.
“Your SAT words are really unnecessary, Scott.” Isaac huffs, and he moves his head to place a series of butterfly kisses on the skin of Scott’s neck.
“I gotta be prepared for the PSAT,” Scott shrugs, almost hitting Isaac in the chin, and then he’s pulling away, lacing his fingers with Isaac’s. “Let’s go home. Mom’s gonna be there any minute, now.”
Home. With Scott. The thought leaves him giddy and happy and he wants to howl at the sky for some reason, but instead he pulls Scott in for another kiss.