A/N: Hot Tip: All the chapter titles are stolen and paraphrased from Blind Pilot songs. Mostly from their 3 Rounds and a Sound album. You should listen while reading to set the right mood. :P
Scott
"It's not morbid, it's romantic."
You smile at him, even as he looks at you like there's a screw loose somewhere deep inside. You twirl a rogue curl around your finger and laugh, kicking at his shins beneath the sheets. "You can't really believe that." He turns away from you to pull on a pair of peach cotton panties and cut-off denim shorts.
"I can't believe I'm dating a hipster. I mean, really, where do you even get your clothes?" He wrestles on a black and white striped sweater that falls off his shoulders and tucks his hair beneath a knit hat. Such a shame. He gives you a look—the one that always follows any sort of affection, and steps into his moccasins. "Don't go." You drag it out, put at him, pull your best pair of puppy-dog eyes. "C'mon we only just finished! I promise, I won't talk about cancer or shaving heads or granite bench grave markers anymore. Scout's honor." You cross your heart and climb out of bed, tugging on his shirt and rolling your hips against his.
"I can't. Stiles has the afternoon off and I promised I'd take him out to lunch." He squirms away from you, surprisingly practiced in his escape, and frowns in a way that's probably supposed to be apologetic, but completely misses the mark.
"Then take me with you. He's your best friend and I haven't even met him yet! You spend more time with him than me, I should at least get to be introduced." You scramble to the other side of the bed and start to dress as quick as you can manage, putting your briefs on backwards, but not caring as he starts to back away. "I'll just brush my teeth and put on some deodorant. He won't even be able to tell that we—you know." You hop across the room, hoisting up your pants.
"Umm…. I don't know if that's such a good idea." He looks pointedly out the glass doors behind you and scratches at the back of his head. "He's been going through some pretty major stuff lately and I don't think that he'd appreciate me bringing a stranger—"
"But I'm not a stranger." You stop in your mad dash to get ready and force him to catch your eye, stepping into his space and holding his chin between your fingers. "I'm your boyfriend." You kiss him, once, twice, right on the lips and smile, small. "I mean… you've talked about me, right? We've been going out for weeks." He doesn't say anything, doesn't move, doesn't even seem to breathe. "Isaac?"
He pushes you away and chews at his lip. "Look, I just—I want to keep this separate okay? For right now?" He looks at you like he's scared of what you might say, of what you might do. It hurts. "His relationship, it's about to fucking go super nova and I can't—" You sit on the edge of the bed, run your hands through your hair, and try to just listen. "I need to compartmentalize. I can't process the death of something and the start of another in the same space. It's too much."
"No—ya, I get it." You nod quickly, and swallow hard, trying to smile. "I do, I really do, and if that's what you need…" You play with the soiled sheets for a minute, make sure with yourself before you promise something you might not be able to deliver. "I can do that for you. I can be that for you… As long as you promise it's not forever." You look at him, really look at him, not caring for once, how it makes him fidget.
"I don't plan on it being forever."
