They began gradually, but unsurprisingly, everyone foresaw the sheer cliff much sooner than they did. By the time they realized it, they were already free falling, endlessly and endlessly, without fear of solid ground below. They fell together.
Together. Them.
It was on a Friday, in a Friday's which their saga made its start. Once as friends, and again as forever. Betwix the unsettling departure of a once dear friend, and the unsavory arrival of a Wendigo in Beacon Hills, everyone needed time to repair their defect hearts. A week after her funeral, the scars clearly decorated their skin - they wore it on their smiles, and it settled lurking in the depths of their eyes. It sung on their sighs and danced with every unsure gesture. Not just the farewells of Allison, but the weight of responsibility which thrust itself upon them. Weary were they, in their soldiering duties.
Isaac, who knew pain and loss like bitter friends, suggested it. Stiles agreed and proceeded to drag everyone else along. Scott, Lydia, and Kira of course, and although Isaac still had objections, he begrudgingly agreed to letting the twins come too.
"They should come too, you know? As much as they sucked (one more than the other, he adds offhandedly), they are pack. At least Ethan is," he shrugged.
Rolling his eyes, his chest heaves a silent sigh and he looked down, his fingers entwined, "I still think we should take them out back 'n give the Old Yeller…"
Then he feigned a shotgun pump, and fired with a "Pow!"
Stiles just stares at him.
"It wouldn't kill them, but there's the beauty," Isaac gave Stiles that conniving half-smirk he'd come to know, cocking his head with bright round eyes and shinning teeth, "We could put them down over and over and overand…" he sighed with content.
"Oh my god, Isaac."
Stiles kind of enjoyed Isaac's humor.
They ended up sitting together, Stiles between Scott and Isaac. Of course, Kira had a special place next to Scott at the end of the table, and it just left Lydia stuck on the other side of the booth with Ethan (and Aiden). A morbid atmosphere turned condensate, and Isaac immediately picked up on it. Stiles himself feared such an occurrence - he still felt undeserving of his best friend's trust despite the circumstances surrounding it. How Scott's smiles seemed forced and complying, and his posture rigid with uneasy tension, Stiles couldn't even trust himself, convince himself that he was just envisioning it all, as some sort of principle punishment.
He honestly couldn't bear the slightest touch.
Isaac lost more than he ever gained. He wasn't really good at it at all, the whole relationship thing, because the only thing that ever remained constant in his life is himself. Eventually, he'd lose that too, but for now, it was the only thing he believed in. And Scott. Scott seemed pretty constant, and for all it's worth, he made Isaac want to be a better Isaac. Scott wouldn't last forever, perhaps. No one did, but he supposed that's why having a network of valuable friends was a good thing. To have something to catch him when he falls.
"Alright guys," Isaac said, leaning in, elbows on the tabletop, the half-assedness of the gathering really bothering him. "Allison is dead. We had her funeral last Friday," he stated with candor, his features set seriously and attention directed pointedly to whom each statement was for, "Your mother is old enough to be more 'great' grandmothers than anyone cares to count. Welcome to the supernatural. Jackson tromped off to England, leaving you with Tweedledum over here. And your best friend tried to kill us all," Isaac didn't miss a single knit brow, or the the empty stare Stiles gave him.
Rip it off quickly and harshly. It'll sting a little, but it's much better than doting on the issue.
"We all have our…tattoos," he ducked his head, shifting his gaze toward Scott a moment before focusing on Stiles, "But tonight, they're just artwork under our shirts. Can we please not be so morbid? I think the waitress is starting to get freaked out."
"Oh my god, my dad fucked an 800 year old woman." Kira bursts out with a sudden epiphany.
The table roared with laughter, even with her shell shocked expression. Afterwards, the atmosphere precipitated most of the dread, leaving room for a little happiness in the sky.
Stiles was very unfortunate to sit beside Isaac. He liked to steal fries off his plate, and even the goddamn broccoli. Heaven forbid Stiles eat any of his shrimp, Isaac's fork too sneaky, too quick, and always privy to the perfect opportunity. Damn werewolf powers. Stiles made for Isaac's last rib, and everyone knows the last rib is the best tasting rib, and to his surprise, Isaac just smiled and shrugged.
Stiles' food was Stiles' food. He'd share provided the mood was right, but over all, he'd just swat the greedy hand away with a hiss of "Mine". Isaac was one of those guys. The one with passing bubblegum under the table. A giver. It didn't belong to him anyway, it wasn't his. What shit would he give if Stiles wanted to claim it for his own?
That's how it began. It was food first, then it was time, story, and space. It snowballed, their natural tendency to share. Their kiss wasn't in Friday's but rather a Logan's, and the time they shared skin was memorable - Stiles making sure everything was perfect before they went to bed. His bed, but not. After that first Friday's, Isaac spent less time at the McCall house as the year progressed.
Stiles liked giving skin, and Isaac liked taking it.
"I wouldn't open those if I were you," Scott warns, watching Lydia grab a bag of Funyuns out of Scott's cabinet. Lydia pauses, turns to Scott, and gives him an I dare you to give me a dumb reason for putting down these chipslook.
"Those are Stisaac's," he smiles at her, as if he's given her the cleverest answer in the world.
She looks at Scott vindictively. She can't say, "like an arm grew out of his face," because by now, they've seen too much weird for that to be weird.
"You know Stiles and Isaa-"
"You did not just - whatever. Do you have anything else to eat? Funyuns probably weren't the best choice in snack anyway." She asks, ignoring the faux pas. You do not refer to your friends, who are dating, by ship names, regardless of how much you personally ship it. Just. So unclassy. For the record, they all 'shipped' it so to speak, but Scott. Scott is a fanboy. He first found out about his best friends dating after an unceremonious kiss - Isaac kissing Stiles to shut his blabbering, and Scott's mouth hung open in surprise and he smiled an affectionate, stun locked, crooked jawed smile as Isaac herded Stiles off the Lacrosse field.
Scott wasn't stupid, he knew they liked each other for a long time. But them dating was. It was a shock. He thought it'd take them at least another couple months.
"God, they should label these things over here," she says, returning the bag to the cabinet, "Actually." She rummages through Scott's junk drawer and retrieved a sharpie, "We are labeling their things."
She writes STISAAC in big pretty letters, curly in black ink. Lydia briefly shows her handiwork, smiling in all her class, and finally returns the bag to the proper place.
"Nice," Scott nods, "Oh there's yogurt in the fridge if you want any."
"Stiles is going to be pissed." Kira remarks, raising a pointed finger, then continues typing, gaze never leaving her laptop screen.
Stiles wasn't pissed. He flailed around exasperated and embarrassed, but the gesture was cute and he kinda liked it, but he couldn't
Then Isaac kissed him, right behind the ear, and everything was suddenly okay. They finished the bag at a bowling outing with everyone.
There ends up being more object labeled STISAAC laying around his apartment than Scott realized. It's not like they were slowly moving in - the whole reason Stiles and Scott never got a room together was because they already knew it would end up with Isaac always being over, and Scott would get tube socked more times than he wanted to be aware of (because really, he didn't want to know every time his best friends fucked). Or more depressingly, Stiles would spend more time at Isaac's than at home. The trinkets were starting to pile up though, and he should really get around returning some of their things.
It had always been their thing, to eat out, and it never stopped even after university. Stiles and Isaac always made time to sit together, talk and share anything they ordered. They frequented the Friday's down on Lighthouse lane, and even knew the manager and employees quite well. Their dining became so familiar, they started serving them a single large plate (it started out as a joke) with everything on it (sometimes it just required two though). They came back to them feeding each other, cuddling, and planting light kisses. It became their thing.
Our plate.
Theirs.
There were never any portioning issues either.
Anything either of them bought, they shared that too.
Isaac makes a face as Stiles pulls at his wrist, lightly tugging him along.
"Forever 21? Please don't make me," Isaac begs, nose scrunched up and brows furrowed only partly due to the intense sunlight.
"Come on, Ice," Stiles whines, pulling him further towards the glass doors and glossy brightness that is the department store, "Just trust me, okay? I'm not a big fan of clothing stores either."
Isaac knows.
Stiles leads him, hand in hand, through all the trendy dresses, technicolor tee shirts, and ostentatious accessories. It's not that Isaac thought it too girly and a threat to his manhood. He just found it all so boring. So boring it made him physically tired, which is why he dragged his feet as Stiles pulled him along, all the way into the main part of the mall. They buy coffee and cookies from a Cinnabun, and Stiles has their camera around his neck as they peruse the mall.
"I've never had that before, how is it?" Isaac asks, gesturing toward the iced cup Stiles is sipping out of. Isaac isn't much for ordering coffee, what with the overly complicated names and such. Instead, he elected for simple orders, and let Stiles introduce him to the new and wasn't interesting, and in fact, it was rather disgusting as Isaac finds out, passing the cup back to him while he smacks his lips distastefully.
"What, you don't like it?" Stiles giggles, taking a sip.
"It's bitter."
It's too bad though. It happened to be Stiles favorite.
He never orders it with Isaac around again.
They watch Divergent together, and it's totally a movie date. Stiles always has little addendums and small jokes because he knows Isaac hasn't read the book yet, and Isaac is always eager to listen to him, undisturbed with his quiet little whispers. Isaac has jokes too. Anyone else wouldn't hesitate to shush them and tell them to concentrate on the movie.
They never stop touching.
As per usual, they eat out at a restaurant, Chilli's near one of the main entrances. Their wait ends up being twenty-five minutes (they never have to wait at their Friday's), and Stiles was never one for idle time.
"I'm so-oh-who boooreed," he chuckles into his hand covering his face, painfully aware of how utterly Stiles he was being.
"Eyes make their peace in difficulties. With wounded lips and salted cheeks, and finally we step to leave. To departure lounge of disbelief," Isaac smiles, and bops his head as he sings. He wiggles his eyebrows, and holds out his hand.
"Dance with me," he invites, nodding his invitation.
Stiles is a great dancer, and no one could convince Isaac otherwise. The way his whole body moved to the rhythm, and his intense, yet cheerful expression always delighted Isaac. He did everything with high energy, and Isaac laughed and danced right there in front of the entrance, right in front of the mall map.
"I wanna hear your beating heart tonight, before the bleeding sun comes alive."
They end up getting a group of people singing and dancing along with them, before they take their seat in Chilli's.
They ignore the sideways glances directed their way as they consume their food - Stiles leaning intimately against Isaac as Isaac speaks low and softly into Stiles' tired ear.
"Is that any good, it seems like you really enjoy that." Stiles runs his question into the statement, pointing at the pasta dish Isaac was served.
"It's good."
It's the best damn pasta he's ever had.
"Can I have some?" Stiles nuzzles into Isaac's neck. At this point, he's practically feeding him every bite.
Isaac simply brings their fork to Stiles' mouth.
Stiles makes a face, and visibly swallows the pasta painfully.
"Not your thing?"
Stiles shakes his head, "No, not at all."
Isaac remembers not to order pasta with that particular spice with Stiles around.
"It's weird," Scott says, brows knit as he watches Isaac peck at his remaining food. The college didn't have the greatest cafe food, honestly speaking.
"What's weird." It's a question that doesn't really sound like a question.
"This. You. Not eating with Stiles."
Isaac lifts an inquisitive brow, intrigued.
"You DO know that we have entirely different schedules right? We can't spend every waking moment together."
"I know! It's just. It's weird okay? I'm just so used to it, I forgot you couldeat separately."
"Scott, stop being a dumbass." he simply states, and finishes his plate.
Scott gives him a long fond smile and talks about getting the group together for a concert that weekend. He's quite proud.
Sometimes though, he shipped them harder than they shipped themselves.
It was a burning Thursday, barely after midday. Scott and Stiles stopped by the athletic department, by way of habit, to pick Isaac up from soccer practice. He trotted up to the two, still sweaty and exhausted from training, and neglecting the shower (Stiles enjoyed sneaking into the stalls, bringing their bodies close and breathing Isaac). They immediately fall into conversation while heading back to Scott's apartment (their dorm was on the way). The fact that they were mainly talking to him, and that he was in the middle of them worries him.
"Are you guys fighting?" he asks suddenly, sounding kicked.
"Uhh, no? What the hell gave you that idea?" Stiles asks, somewhat irked. Isaac just grimaces and watches where this leads.
"Because. You guys aren't walking together. And you aren't really talking to each other either. Is there something wrong?"
"No, Scotty boy, nothing's wrong," Stiles clasps a hand to Scott's shoulder, "Except we apparently can't be the amazing friends that we are, and not be the obnoxiously overbearing and actually act like other friends exist." Stiles looks at him pointedly.
Though Stiles has long gotten over the Scott-is-a-shitty-friend phase, because really he's not, it still doesn't deter him from bring it up every so often.
"Besides. We just started walking, and," Isaac shrugs, "I was kinda feeling weird about it," because really, it is, "and was about to sneak up behind him and wrap my arms around him, and, " Isaac is speaking softly, fondly now, "pull him close because I know how much my sweaty musk gets him going," Isaac doesn't miss the enormous blush creeping on his boyfriends cheeks, "but nah."
Isaac slings an arm around Scott, and Stiles does the same.
"We're just gonna stay like this and make you uncomfortable." Isaac says smugly, and pats his chest. They lean in together, slowly kissing right in front of Scott.
He gives them daggers and a hurt expression, but he's all giddy inside.
Isaac ordered the long, complicated coffee beverage he knew Stiles was absolute crazy for. The empty containers always found their way into STISAAC's bin, and they were all over Scott's table, and one half empty cup was sitting in Lydia's fridge. Stiles flashed a confused look before ordering a pasta Alfredo with that in it, but Isaac was too distracted to pursue the question further. Scott was a little difficult to work around, but Stiles eventually concluded that yes indeed Isaac was madly in love with that pasta.
Isaac told Merissa not to let Cass do it. Cass kinda hated them (jokingly), and would likely to spit in the drink. But really, she just had terrible dexterity, and if his boyfriend choked to death because of this, Isaac wouldn't know if he could go on.
Stiles made absolutely certain that Cass had absolutely nothing to do with - no hand at all in hiding it among his pasta. Jarish was an excellent cook, and even better at constructing a simple mechanism to prevent the accidental swallowing of this very important object. Nothing against Cass, she was just terrible at these sorts of things.
They ended up staring at each other astounded.
"Fuck, yes Sti."
"Oh my god, yes, yes. Ice!"
They embraced, tears streaming so happy. It wasn't really the prospect of a future of them. They were already they. Their lives were already theirs. It was more a continuing, and the confirmation that, yes, that love ran deep (enough to simultaneously propose), and finally, they were able to share their favorite meals.