All characters belong to the lovely Maggie Stiefvater. I claim absolutely no ownership. Unless I throw in some OCs. Which I might. Anywho.

Authour's note: Wow, I haven't written one of these in a while. I haven't been in the mood to write any real stories. I definitely don't have the time. Yet, here we are. All right, I have a few things to say, and you should listen to what I have to say before diving in, otherwise you might be let down. Or confused. I tend to have a confusing effect on people, but I guess you can be the judge of that (; First of all, I wrote this because I love Isabel and Cole so much that it's kind of completely insane. So they'll be the focus. There is a stunning lack of fanfiction on them. I'm contributing, loveme. Second of all, they're both really wonderfully complex and interesting characters, so forgive me if you think my characterisation is off. But tell me, so I can improve~. Thirdly, I haven't planned the whole story out yet. I hope I finish this, though, I really do. I'm posting this because I had a sudden burst of inspiration at 6am on a Sunday morning and this was the result. I have noooo idea why I sound so oddly formal right now. I'm 17 going on 56. I think I'm writing all of this as if I were Sam or something. I just spent all day reading Linger. 'Nuff said. And lastly, the formatting is bound to be way off from how it looks in Word, so I apologise in advance! NOW, all of that out of the way, I would also like to say that I hope you enjoy this. I think I'll have as much fun writing the rest as I did writing the first chapter. And I'm sorry it's so short. I guess it's like a teaser of sorts. But mostly, it's because it is currently 6:46am and I should probably definitely sleep. Enjoy! :3

Chapter One

● ISABEL

I was lying in bed, not thinking of anything.

This had always been my bed, which was sort of a strange concept. Something as simple as a bed, something I used every day without thinking about it, had been with me my entire life. First we moved it from California to Minnesota, and then we moved it back again. I wasn't thrilled about either trip.

This time, I should have been happy. I missed California every day I spent in Mercy Falls and everyone knew it. It was like nothing pleased me anymore, if even being back in California made me more frustrated than excited. It almost didn't matter. I was done with high school, thank God, and now I would be moving out to attend college, anyways. But I wanted my roots planted firmly in Mercy Falls. Like I was still planted firmly in Mercy Falls. I guess there was a quota on the amount of miracles one person could receive in a lifetime and I'd spent all of mine. At least they hadn't been wasted.

And suddenly I wasn't thinking about mundane things like my stupid old bed anymore. I was thinking about him. And how our goodbye had been less than satisfactory. And how there was the very real possibility that I might never see him again. I wanted to get over it. I wanted to get over him. I was good at hiding my feelings. I just wasn't good at making myself stop feeling them.

● COLE

I didn't hate summer as much as I used to, but I did still hate it. There was no chance of becoming a wolf, at least not without the help of an injection. As much as I believed I was right, that I had the cure and the cause of what turned us into wolves, Sam insisted that I needed more than just him as proof of my success. I was slightly offended by the notion, but whatever helped him sleep at night. I'd do more research. I just needed more test subjects.

I never seemed to spend enough time thinking about what other test subjects I could use. I spent my time thinking about pointless things instead.

16 days since Isabel Culpeper had left Mercy Falls forever. 19 days since I had talked to her, face-to-face. Naturally, as was the habit of my brain, I thought about her the more I didn't want to be thinking about her. I didn't want to think about her hair or her laugh or her kiss. That last one was actually pretty interesting when you started taking it apart. I remembered our first kiss. It was unexpected and fueled by lust and I didn't even know her. She says I know her now better than anyone else. That was funny to think about. I remembered our last kiss, too. Every kiss seemed to mean something different, seemed to indicate some kind of new step in our relationship, or whatever it was we had. Her lips had felt soft and familiar. The rest of her body welcomed me as I pressed against her, firm but gentle. These were the kisses I liked most and hated most.

Sam walked into my bedroom to find me lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, lost in my thoughts of Isabel. He knocked on the inside wall of my room and I was so unbelievably grateful for the distraction. "We going out, Ringo?"

He regarded my unkempt hair and lack of a shirt as a clear indication that my suggestion was out of the question. "Even if you were dressed, we wouldn't be going anywhere. I just wanted to make sure you were alive, since you never seem to leave this room anymore."

It was a true enough statement, but I didn't need to be reminded of it. What else did he expect me to do, exactly? Get a job? Enroll in online college? Find a nice girl of my own to write heartfelt love songs for? None of those options appealed to me in the least.

"Actually, that's not why I came in here," Sam continued, tapping absent-mindedly against the doorframe. "It's that time of day where I go to visit Grace and we both pretend that her parents are actually giving me a chance." He inhaled a sharp breath before exhaling through his teeth. "But I guess that's what makes it a compromise."

"Guess so," I said, because I didn't really have a better response. I liked Sam, and I liked Grace, and I possibly liked them even more together, but the whole thing with her parents really didn't mean anything to me. He went and visited her all day long and I just stayed here in this damn house with nothing to occupy me but my thoughts. It was like some sick punishment for saving his life. I never brought that up, though. Sam did it often enough that I didn't have to. And every time I would deny it. I'm not a hero, I'd say, and really mean it. I'm not sure what I am.