The three of them are eleven when it happens. They happen to cross paths in the infirmary because one of Isaac's teachers sees a strange path of bruises on his arm that he won't acknowledge; because Erica's had her first seizure attack the day before and now her classmates won't stop calling her the meanest names and she's panicking; because Genim hasn't slept in three days -since the funeral- and he'd just passed out in the middle of the class.
That's how they meet.
They meet when Erica is crying over the embarrassment, over how unfair her life is, over the pain on her still cramped muscles; when she is crying over how much she hates being like this, over how much she wishes she were somebody else.
They meet when Isaac lies until he turns blue (the nurse won't believe him, will send child services to his house, and that'll just make things worse for him, because his father is far better at lying than he is, and he'll be outraged at Isaac's disloyalty).
They meet when Genim tells the nurse that he's okay, that he's just having trouble with his newest assortment of meds. He smiles radiantly, shoving any grieving thoughts into a locked vault.
And that's when it happens.
For Isaac, it's Genim's smile. Because it's so big, so bright, so incredibly warm. So real, for a façade.
It makes him feel jealous that this kid can hide better than he can, but he's also amazed at how eager he is. He wants the nurse to believe he is okay, he wants everyone in the whole world to believe it; he even wants Isaac to believe it, directing the smile at him like a projectile. Because he's kind, and caring, and doesn't want people to worry about him.
Even when he feels shattered. And Isaac knows he does, because how couldn't he? Isaac knows how losing a mother feels.
For him, it's Genim's smile. How he looks at Isaac's eyes and keeps smiling and being dishonest while still wearing his heart on his sleeve.
For Erica, the way he hugs her. The way he talks all rushed to Lucy, the nurse, explaining with tidal waves of gestures how okay he is (with droppy eyelids, with purple bruises under his eyes; with mangled words). How when he quiets down, he looks at her and frowns.
And then walks right at her and hugs her. Without asking for permission, without making faces, without awkwardness. Without an ounce of malice.
How he says, "Pretty girls should only cry tears of happiness." all dorky smiling, to then blush and say, embarrassed, "no, that's not right. All girls should only cry tears of happiness.", to finally settle on, "but, anyway, all girls are pretty and awesome."
How he adds, after letting go of her, "all girls are pretty, but you're the prettiest of them all." How that makes her feel like all the other girls.
For her, it's ll of that. But mostly, it's his bone crushing hug.
Then things happen, things like Lydia Martin and her perfection, monopolizing Genim's eyes at all hours; things like Scott starting to eat up all of Stiles' attention. They both know his father's left, know they shouldn't begrudge him the moral support Genim lends him.
But they are eleven, and they could use the support, too.
At age twelve Genim becomes Stiles. It doesn't make him any less endearing, or any less annoying, or any less spastic; however, as time goes on and kids start replacing 'Genim' with 'Stiles' in the little slots in their heads, 'Stiles' starts being a little less of a pariah.
Kids are simple like that, sometimes.
Erica thinks of approaching him, over the years. She's fourteen and guys are suddenly okay for all the other girls, and she thinks of dances, of dresses, stands in front of the mirror in her bathroom and brushes her hair the way she would for a date with him.
She turns fifteen, and every single girl in the school is now talking about their big birthday parties for the following year. She doesn't want a big ass party, couldn't really afford one, anyway.
What she wants is to want it. She wants to want all those things that all of the other girls want. She wants to walk amongst them and gush over this or that. Wants them to stop laughing at her behind her back, to stop posting videos of her on the Internet.
She is fifteen and holds on to the idea of Genim, because he's normal, and makes her normal, too. Because when she looks at him and gets a distracted smile thrown at her, it gives her butterflies or whatever the heck she is supposed to feel in her gut; because nothing ever feels as good as fantasizing about Genim.
She thinks about approaching him but never does, is too afraid of rejection.
(And that, too, gives her a gut clenching sense of normalcy.)
Isaac never thinks about approaching Stiles. Or thinks about never doing it. It isn't because he is under the delusion that Stiles is too far up in the food chain to hang out with him, or because he is afraid of scaring the boy with his affections.
More than anything else, it's because Isaac wants to cherish the purity of this. He wants Stiles to stay unattainable and faraway, and something to look forward to. He wants the laughing Stiles, the clumsy Stiles, the Stiles whose words accumulate like dust on top of a shelf. Wants his boyish charm in that wholesome way that is only his.
He doesn't want to break down under Stiles' worried gaze (the way he knows he would), doesn't want Stiles burdened with his pain. Doesn't want to fall apart under Stiles' gentle hands and be thought of as something Stiles has to fix, out of that enormous desire he has to save everyone. Doesn't want Stiles to think that Isaac only wants him because he needs to be saved. Doesn't want to let his walls down and watch as he goes from Isaac-the-kid-that-doesn't-talk-much to Isaac-the-kid-whose-dad-beats-the-shit-out-of in Stiles' eyes.
That would be mortifying.
And he knows it's stupid. He knows that. He knows that he shouldn't feel embarrassed or, or anything. Knows nothing going under his roof is his fault or responsibility (for the exception of the few small silly things that are; the lack of dusting here or there, a floor that needs sweeping somewhere else, that kind of thing), knows that the sick feeling inhabiting him doesn't rightfully belong there, because he is not. Doing. Anything. Wrong.
He is the victim, here.
He is the victim. Even if he can't gather enough of himself to finish this, he knows.
Ultimately, that's what stops him from trying to vie with Scott for Stiles' time, for his selfless dedication.
Stiles would choose him over Scott.
For what would feel as all of the wrong reasons.
Things get weird when all of them turn sixteen.
(Isaac says 'yes' because, honestly, what other options does he have?
Erica says 'yes' because she's so honestly tired.
Stiles says 'no', Peter's comment on being dishonest about his desires be damned, because what good would it do to someone like him?)