God he's everywhere.

Isaac's been sprawled out on the crappy school-provided couch in his new dorm for the past half hour watching his roommate. His roommate who is all over the place. His roommate who has yet to stop talking.

"So your name's Isaac, right?" He doesn't even wait for a response. Of course he doesn't. "I'm Stiles. But I already said that. Right. I've never known an Isaac. There are, like, eighty-one thousand people in the United States with the name Isaac. It's the 610th most popular first name here. And there are 2,687 people with the last name Lahey in this country, did you know that?"

And no, Isaac did not know that.

And Isaac does not know why this kid does know that.

"Oh, uh, I looked up some stuff after I found out who I was rooming with," Stiles tells him when he sees the look Isaac is giving him. "You know, research. You think that's weird, don't you?"

And yes. Yes, Isaac does think that is weird, as would every other sane person.

He says nothing.

"Well, I promise I'm not like some creepy stalker or a serial killer," Stiles says, shrugging off Isaac's stare and going back to wrestling with the sheets on his mattress, still ranting about something or other.

And Isaac isn't minding the view. Definitely not minding the view. Stiles is starfished across the bed, trying to make the sheet corners stay in place, ass stuck up in the air. His very nice, very toned ass.

And those biceps, flexing and unflexing tauntingly, as Stiles finally gives up on the sheet and begins lifting boxes of books onto his bed.

And those lean back muscles stretching obviously through the thin shirt as Stiles places book after book on a shelf.

Isaac catches a glimpse of the skin beneath Stiles's shirt when he stands on his tip toes. The dark hair leading into the other boy's jeans seems to be mocking Isaac, daring him to just touch. And he's tempted. God, is he tempted. But if looking up the popularity of your roommates name is odd, then reaching out to run your fingers through his happy trail is certainly off-the-charts creepy. Isaac won't be that roommate. Not yet, anyway.

"Isaac?" Stiles says quizzically and it hits Isaac that Stiles has been talking this whole freaking time.

Shit.

"Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted to go grab some food," Stiles tells him, voice laced with the slightest hint of mockery.

Isaac wonders if Stiles noticed the way he had been staring. He hopes not. That's no way to start his freshmen year at college.

"Sure," he replies casually, praying Stiles doesn't notice his blush.

But Stiles's smirk lets him know that his prayers have gone unanswered.

"I was thinking Mexican. You know, something hot" Stiles tells him, still smirking and definitely mocking him.

Isaac doesn't care though, he loves Mexican. He also loves hot, be it with his food or boys.

Stiles walks, or really exaggeratedly struts, to the door, swinging his hips suggestively.

"You coming? Or did you already do that earlier when you were watching me?" Stiles asks, feigning innocence.

So, yeah, Stiles definitely knew Isaac had been watching him earlier. But, hey, maybe it's not that bad of a start after all.