He wakes up with an old woolen blanket wrapped around him instead of Scott's arms and his heart fills with terror before he can even open his eyes. But then there's a pair of soft lips on his cheek and a warm hand on his shoulder and Isaac thinks about words left unsaid that he pretends he can hear anyway.
"Wake up, I found something," Scott whispers. Isaac can hear him grinning, excitement and anticipation coloring his voice.
He mumbles something about Saturday mornings and wanting to sleep longer, but he does open his eyes eventually and he's greeted with a blinding smile that makes his stomach do cartwheels and his chest feel all tight and funny in the best way. It's been like that for a while now if he's being honest, but now is not the time for life-changing conversations.
"Morning," he says groggily, not expecting the second kiss Scott places on his cheekbone.
"Morning, sunshine. Now get your ass up and come on."
The creek Scott found – "Heard, actually," he tells Isaac, grinning proudly – is shallow and the water's too cold, but freezing water seems to be their thing these days and it's not like they can catch a cold, so.
Scott strips down to his boxers and Isaac decides that's where he has to draw the line, starts shaking his head, "Scott, no. Scott, you're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding. Scott!" but then he's taking his shirt and jeans off too, and just like that they revert to being six year olds, splashing each other and yelping and laughing, pushing each other into the water, tiny rocks leaving marks on their backs for what feels like less than a second.
Scott is looking carefree for the first time in months, allowing himself to let go, to stop worrying, to just enjoy the moment for what it is, and Isaac wishes he could do the same but the nagging voice in the back of his head keeps reminding him that less than twenty-four hours ago Scott was the very opposite of cheerful and relaxed, and this is not the kind of change that comes so easily, so suddenly; it takes time, it happens gradually, it's not like a switch you can press to turn the worries off. But Scott's smile is wide and his eyes bright, and Isaac can't bring himself to talk about darkness and heavy hearts when he has the sun so close to him.
He thinks about happiness but maybe it's still too early for that; happiness is tricky and Isaac has learned to be wary of its vivid colors and tantalizing perfumes. Being cautiously optimistic is something he can work with, though, and if he's also feeling a bit relieved, it's still an emotion he can keep under control.
"Dude, stop spacing out," Scott complains, mock indignant voice bringing Isaac back to reality. Or maybe what makes him snap out of his restless daydream is the way Scott's fingers curl around his wrists, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against sensitive skin, sending sparks down Isaac's spine, heat spreading from his toes to the roots of his hair despite standing in cold water.
His breath hitches involuntarily. He can feel his eyes widening, his heart going into overdrive because of a small gesture that Isaac is clearly reading too much into. It brings back memories, hazy and coated in fear until his body recalls Scott's touch, a single life-saving flame in a sea of ice, soothing and safe, grounding him, helping him remember how to control himself. It has the opposite effect this time, setting his every nerve ending alight, and Isaac knows that the sensible thing to do would be to break free of Scott's grip, laugh it off like they always do, just another accident, another harmless joke. He's used to moments like this but it's different when there's someone else around and standing too close with arms brushing and thighs rubbing together when they're sitting on the couch or on Scott's bed or on the floor trying to study really is as innocent as it looks, just friendly touches with no underlying meaning. But it's just the two of them now, and the air feels too thin and Scott's skin looks so soft and Isaac wants –
Wants. He simply wants.
To touch and feel and taste, to let his fingers trace the tattoo on Scott's arm, to press his lips to Scott's crooked jaw and run his teeth over his neck, to write novels on Scott's body using only his tongue and fingertips.
He isn't sure what he's allowed to do, there is a line they haven't crossed yet and maybe it isn't the right moment to push and hope that this time Scott will push back, but he leans down a bit, eyes still on Scott's lips, breathing becoming ragged and uneven when he feels Scott's hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in. Isaac closes his eyes, his long fingers bump-bump-bumping over Scott's ribs, sliding down slowly to his hip, and Isaac can't help but marvel as he strokes the smooth skin. He dips his thumb into the waistband of Scott's boxer shorts, hesitantly brushing over the jutting hipbone.
Scott jerks away.
Shit.
Instantly Isaac's arousal turns into panic, heart clenching in fear almost painfully as he watches Scott take a few steps back. Scott is an open book most of the time, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, and Isaac's learned over the last few months what every wide-eyed stare means, has learned to distinguish and read every twitch of Scott's mouth, but he can't for the life of him figure out what is going through Scott's head right now, what the wide brown eyes are trying to tell him, and it hurts because this is the boy he's come to think of as his closest friend, but right now he feels as if he's looking at a stranger, at some ethereal golden mystery shrouded in icy fog. And Isaac hates it because this is still Scott, the kid who told Isaac to be careful even when they barely knew each other, and Isaac should be able to tell what Scott is thinking, if he's upset or angry or grossed out by Isaac's actions. But he can't and that scares him more than anything. He doesn't remember how to act around a Scott who isn't his best friend. So he keeps staring, feeling tears prick at his eyes, silently begging whoever is listening to let Scott be the first to make a move.
"Isaac, man, get out."
Well, apparently someone actually is listening.
"Dude, seriously, your lips are turning blue."
Oh. Huh.
It's hilarious – it's pathetic – how his body wasn't affected by the cold water when Scott was close to him. But then Scott was gone and so was the pleasurable warmth and Isaac knows it's all in his head and he doesn't really have an excuse for not realizing that he was shivering.
Scott starts to rub his shoulders, his arms, brows furrowed and eyes concerned, and Isaac can feel himself relaxing. He wants to laugh and cry at the same time, because he's an idiot who has no control over his urges but of course Scott doesn't hold that against him and only worries about Isaac's well-being.
Isaac thinks he should apologize. He wants to apologize. He wants to thank Scott. He wants to give him words that matter, precious words that make a difference and build galaxies but it's been a while since he's last said them to a living person and not to a grave, and he doesn't think they would come out right.
He doesn't say anything.
/ / /
They change into fresh clothes when they get back to the Jeep, and if Isaac pointedly ignores the looks Scott keeps giving him – well, it's no one's business but his own. It's getting easier to breathe once he begins to realize that Scott doesn't seem to hate him now, that he hasn't lost his best friend yet, and while he is thankful for that, it's still glaringly obvious that something's changed between them. Rejection is something Isaac is used to, but this doesn't compare to that one time when he asked Lydia out, thinking he actually had a shot with her and, unsurprisingly, she only laughed at him. It had been embarrassing back then, to listen to her disdainful giggle and the condescending tone of her voice. This, though, Scott rejecting him – this feels like swallowing a gigantic bag of ice cubes, leaving him numb to his very core until the bitter disappointment starts to set in and fills every void.
It also makes him feel like a terrible person because he has Allison, and who in their right mind would want to make out with their current girlfriend's ex-boyfriend?
Clearly, Isaac has some issues.
"I'm driving!" Scott announces suddenly. He sounds cheerful and relaxed and nothing like Isaac feels. His heartbeat is still slightly off, however.
Good.
"We should go back to town, grab some breakfast. I'm starving, man."
Isaac nods, doesn't even care where they're going anymore. Maybe this whole trip was a bad idea. He lets out a short self-deprecating laugh before getting in the car. Good intentions and bad ideas, that's who he is.
He's sitting with his shoulders hunched, arms wrapped tightly around himself, wishing he could disappear into thin air or melt into the seat. He hasn't felt so out of place in really long time, especially not around Scott, who is gently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along to the radio as if nothing happened.
Isaac can't say he's surprised that Scott doesn't want to talk about it and he doesn't exactly mind either. He's mostly disappointed in himself because the whole point of the trip was to help Scott and fix their friendship, but instead he ended up with a royal fuck up on his hands. Maybe ignoring what happened really is the best idea.
Scott turns the radio down, sighing deeply. "Please stop it," he moans, throwing Isaac a pleading look.
"What?"
"That! Stop it with the kicked puppy face and stop thinking about it. Also, stop thinking about apologizing, you did nothing wrong."
Isaac takes a deep a breath. Did Scott become an Alpha or a mind reader?
"I don't know what came over me," he croaks out, disregarding the way his heartbeat stutters. Scott doesn't call him out on it either. "I just – I didn't want to make you uncomfortable and I'm sorry if – "
"Isaac, we really don't have to – "
"Can we please stop already with this thing where we don't talk about what's happening to us?" he asks exasperatedly. Scott flinches but Isaac refuses to let that impress him. "Just let me say it, okay? You're my best friend and I always feel safe around you, and I'm pretty sure you know why that's kind of a huge deal for me." He notices how Scott grips the steering wheel a bit tighter for a second, how he inhales through his nose and clenches his jaw. And maybe it's wrong but it makes something warm bloom inside Isaac's chest cavity and his lips quirk just a little before he continues: "I want you to feel the same around me."
Scott snorts. "Dude, you beat up an Alpha for me, remember? I think I know that I'm safe when I'm with you."
"Yeah, that's exactly it! And that's how it should be all the time! And what I did back there was totally out of line and – "
"And it didn't make me uncomfortable," Scott cuts in with a small shrug of his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the road. His heartbeat is steady. Isaac doesn't dare to open his mouth, only keeps blinking repeatedly. "You just, I don't know," Scott shrugs again, frowning as if in deep thought, "you surprised me, I guess? Like, I wasn't expecting that? So I kinda freaked out. I mean, I didn't – I had no idea what to do, because dude, seriously, I know Stiles keeps offering to make out with me but everyone and their mother can tell that he's kidding."
Isaac can't help chuckling at that. Okay, so maybe he stumbled over thin air the first time he heard Stiles say something about experimenting with Scott, but he's learned by now that's basically their running joke. Then again, he doesn't think Stiles' curiosity is that bewildering considering he says he's been in love with the same girl since third grade.
"Really, never?" he asks grinning because he already knows the answer to that. It's a good sign that he's feeling comfortable enough to annoy Scott again. "Nothing? No awkward first kiss when you were like twelve or something?"
"Oh my G – dude, seriously!" Scott rolls his eyes exaggeratedly – affectionately, trying to bite back a fond smile that Isaac has committed to memory – and punches Isaac in the shoulder before starting to fumble with the radio knobs and turning the volume up again. "No, I've never kissed a guy if that's what you're asking."
Isaac does a double take at that, breath catching in his throat. Well. Just because Scott decided to share that particular piece of information it doesn't mean that Isaac has to do something about it. Scott was simply stating facts and the rise in Isaac's pulse rate is completely uncalled for. He thinks there's a good chance that he's going to either say or do something unbelievably stupid in about ten seconds – he's still learning to adjust to the idea that he needs to control himself around his best friend, so. But Scott successfully distracts him by starting to sing I knew you were trouble when you walked in, loudly and purposely off-key.
Isaac bursts out laughing, surprised for a moment by how genuine his laughter sounds. Which is ridiculous, because he's getting what he wanted – Scott's smiles aren't weary anymore and they're feeling at ease around each other, the brick wall between them seemingly gone. He should be grateful, he tells himself, chastising the delusional part of him that craves more than friendship from Scott. He's never been greedy and he's definitely not going to start now.
/ / /
They agree not to drive any farther – if it's taken them one day to get to here, it will take just as long to return to Beacon Hills and Isaac promised Melissa they'd be back by Sunday evening – so they decide to explore the town, pretending to be tourists for a while because Scott thinks it would be fun.
("Technically, we're not pretending. We are tourists.
"Yeah, but not British tourists, Isaac.")
Breakfast consists of too many pancakes with too much syrup and free chocolate glazed donuts that Scott somehow charms the waitress into bringing them while Isaac tries to contain his inexplicable urge to giggle. It's a good thing they can't get sick.
Scott calls Stiles later on and the cheery "Yo Scotty!" he's greeted with is all Isaac hears before he busies himself with Scott's iPod. He doesn't want to listen in on their conversation; Scott will him if something's happened, if there's anything they should worry about. But Scott is smiling, throwing his head back and laughing at whatever Stiles is telling him, and Isaac is more than content to just walk alongside him, hands in his pockets, earphones in, volume up, we stay up late and draw the lines to every constellation.
He's not unhappy, he realizes, feeling as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. So maybe his heart starts fluttering when Scott nudges his hip and puts a hand on the small of his back, but it's fine. His attraction for Scott clearly isn't going to just dissipate into thin air but as long as he doesn't act on it there's nothing to worry about. It's been enough until now, being just friends with Scott. It'll have to be enough from now on, too. The pang of regret he's feeling is a little unexpected, though, and, admittedly, it throws him off balance. He's never really been one to regret not doing something. Either it mattered enough to go for it without hesitation, or it didn't and then there was no point wasting time wondering what could have been. Life goes on, it doesn't wait for anyone to sort their unfulfilled fantasies.
Besides, it hurts. Getting in lost in a dream and then waking up to a reality that's so very unlike your make-believe world. So no, he doesn't do that. Or he didn't used to.
Then again, he could probably fill a dozen books with the things he never thought he'd do before meeting Scott.
/ / /
Melissa wants to talk to both of them so Scott puts her speaker and they spend minutes reassuring one another that everything and everyone is fine. Isaac and Scott are sitting cross-legged on a park bench, facing each other, bent over the phone in Scott's lap; Isaac has trouble looking away from where their knees are touching.
It's familiar and unusual all at once. It's always been there – the rush, Isaac's hope for more than, the amalgam of emotions that comes with Scott's touch. But it never was something Isaac couldn't control. So he did look at Scott sometimes, in a way that's different from how friends look at each other, and maybe he still does, but he's constantly careful not to let Scott notice. Staring longingly is harmless and up until this morning he never thought he'd dare to do more than that, but being away from everyone, from people who he's afraid would tell him that he's not enough for Scott – it feels like being freed from the heavy, invisible chains he's had wrapped around his ankles for quite some time now.
Because Scott thinks he's enough. Scott wants Isaac around, cares about him, trusts him, protects him and maybe – maybe he actually doesn't realize what it means, that Isaac could be the key to a door that's been locked until now. Or maybe that's not what this is, and Isaac's wishful thinking is getting the best of him once again, but he'll never know for sure if he doesn't take a chance. And he wants to. Because some things are worth it and sometimes Isaac is brave.
So when Scott laughs again, Isaac leans forward and places a tentative kiss on the corner of his mouth, feeling Scott's laughter in his veins, flooding his senses, hot chocolate on a cold October afternoon. No apologies this time.
Scott's eyes go wide for a second, his shoulders tense. But then he breathes out slowly, and Isaac can practically see the tension seeping out of his body as Scott ducks his head, looking down at the phone that carries Melissa's voice with a shy smile on lips. He nudges Isaac's knee with his own.
"We're okay, mom."
/ / /
They find a small music shop and the owner lets Scott play different guitars, nodding along to the melodies, giving Scott something that looks like an approving smile every now and then. Isaac hovers nearby, pretending to be interested in a set of drumsticks even though he doesn't know the first thing about drums or any other instrument and the most he can do is tell acoustic and electric guitars apart.
Scott, though – he's good. And it's not like Isaac hasn't noticed the guitar in Scott's room, but he's never heard him play, not even after moving in; it's perfectly understandable that he's overtly amazed for a moment. After a while he stops trying to pretend that he cares about anything other than the song Scott is playing and just leans against the wall with his hands in his back pockets and something that he's sure is a ridiculous, silly, infatuated look on his face.
He pictures another life, no werewolves or hunters or even asshole fathers, just normal, human teenagers with normal, human dreams. He pictures Scott on stage in front of a roaring crowd, shining brighter than the sun and all of the stage lights combined, and Stiles behind the drums, full of life as always but carefree instead of weighed down by worries. He pictures Melissa and the Sheriff waiting backstage, hearts filled to the brim with joy and pride, never having to fear that their sons' lives are in danger. He pictures himself, a blank page of a story waiting to be written, craving words that neither he nor Scott would be afraid to say and hear.
He pictures a life where things could be simpler and the truth wouldn't hurt so much and he could tell the whole world what Scott means to him. Where he could scream at the top of his lungs that Scott feels like coming home after traveling for too long, looking for something that wasn't worth it in the first place. Where he wouldn't have to feel guilty for the sharp intake of breath he has to take when Scott looks up at him, singing I'll find you when we both are kids again in a deep, gentle voice, smiling at Isaac in a way he never has before.