"When I suggested that I stay home, I was hoping that you'd be keeping me company," I groaned, tugging at Scott's fingers, which were intertwined with mine.
"If I was here," he replied with a smile, tugging back at my fingers, "there'd be no one keeping an eye on Isaac."
"Gross, I did not need to hear that," Isaac said from where he was stretched out on the couch, the television remote in his hand.
"But what if Mason comes after you? Or Stiles, or Allison, or Lydia?" I asked, my face crinkling in concern. "He wasn't afraid to go after Isaac."
"He won't," Scott replied firmly, and I just rolled my eyes, dropping my hands from his.
"Don't go 'I'm a true alpha, you have no idea what I can do' on me again. You're not Superman, Scott. You're... you're more like... a low-key Wolverine. Minus the smoking, drinking, and adamantium skeleton."
"But I've got the healing factor."
"But you've got the healing factor," I repeated with a faint smile on my lips, which Scott proceeded to kiss off my face. "You only know that because Stiles made you watch X-Men Origins: Wolverine, don't you?" I mumbled against his lips.
"Yep," Scott mumbled back.
"You guys are so cute it's making me sick," Isaac mumbled from the couch, but he hadn't take his eyes from where they were glued to the television. I would've stuck my tongue out at him, but I was too busy kissing my boyfriend.
Eventually our slow-paced make out at the front door came to a stop, and Scott rested his forhead against mine.
"I've got to go," he mumbled, and I frowned.
"You suck," I mumbled back.
"Don't take it out on me; take it out on the school," he said, pulling his head up from mine.
"I will." I paused, thinking for a second. "With an entire carton of eggs."
"Nat, I'm sorry, but I've got to go, or -"
"- you'll be late, I know. I just wish you could stay home with me."
"Well, I can't," he said, pressing a kiss to my lips, "but I'll be home after school."
"Hurray, all I have to do is wait for six hours."
"You'll be fine. Isaac will keep you company. Aaand now I've really got to go, and maybe speed just a little bit," he said, backing up and grabbing the door and swinging it open, pressing a kiss to my lips and then running out the door to his bike.
"Drive safely!" I shouted to him as he sped off, and I felt like his mom, in the sense that his motorbike was indeed a death trap. It didn't matter that he was a werewolf and could essentially grow back a limb, but that thing was still as dangerous as hell. I shut the door and walked over to the couch, not even bothering to walk around it but instead just climbing on the back and sliding down, head slightly off the cushion and feet hanging over the back.
Isaac and I sat in silence, the only sound coming from the click of the remote and the noise of whatever channel the television had landed on.
"I know you're not supposed to be doing any physical activity," I said eventually, looking over to Isaac, "but do you want to help me movie all of the furniture to slightly to the left?"
.
"Isaac!" I yelled, halfway into the hallway closet upstairs and on my tiptoes. "Guess what I found!"
"I don't know!" he shouted back at me.
"You're supposed to guess," I half-groaned, half-yelled as my fingertips brushed against a wooden box. It was high up in the closet, but I was determined to get it without any help of a stepladder or Isaac. After a few seconds of struggling to get a grip on the wooden box, I managed to pull it off the shelf, only to have it collide with my face. I managed to catch it after it left a scratch that instantly started to stitch itself together and disappear. I shut the closet door and started back down the hallway to the stairs.
"Fine," he groaned back. "A puppy?"
"I wish it was a puppy." I climbed down the stairs and into the living room, the box pressed to my back so Isaac couldn't see what I was holding. "Guess again."
"Uh..." He scratched his head, before clapping his hands together, a smile spreading across his face. "The Holy Grail. You found the Holy Grail in the closet."
"No, not the Holy Grail. I did not cross an invisible bridge or go on a quest across England to find what I found. I merely just climbed up the stairs. You've got one more guess."
He leaned his head back on the couch, like he was trying to search his brain for a reasonable guess. "I give up," he finally said, bringing his head back up.
"Isaac, you're such a spoilsport," I said, dropping down onto the couch, pulling the chessboard out from behind my back as I did and punching him lightly on the shoulder. "I know you heard the pieces shuffle around."
"Rematch?"
"Rematch," I replied, opening the box and setting it down on the coffee table, beginning to pull out the wooden black and white pieces. "And I am going to beat your ass, just like before."
"We'll see about that, King."
"Bring it, Lahey."
And as per usual, I beat his ass in checkers. Out of the eleven games we played, he won one. One. But right now, he was prancing around the room like he just won the Stanley Cup or some shit. Beating me in checkers was not the metaphorical equivalent to only putting a dollar in the vending machine, in the real world. But I guess that it was that metaphorical equivalent to Isaac, because he was still dancing around the living like a graceful woodland creature and yelling things excitedly at me.
"Take that King -"
"Isaac -"
"- in your face -"
"Isaac -"
"- looooser, loser -"
"Isaac -"
"What? Can you not take the defea-"
"Isaac I let you win," I said, but it came out in a steady stream of words without any spaces between the words. Isaac stopped flat in his prancing - if it could be called prancing, it was more of just jumping around and on the furniture - and nearly tripped over the edge of the coffee table.
"You...you let me win?" he asked, looking down at me like I had just kicked a puppy.
"Thank god," I sighed out, rubbing my forehead. "No, I didn't let you win, I just wanted you to shut up."
"I won," he said, his face lighting back up.
"Yes, you won, now let's get onto another topic, shall we?" I resumed putting the rest of checkers pieces back into the box. "How about we arm wrestle?" I asked, closing the lid of the wooden box.
"What?"
"You know, arm wrestle - test your manly strength against your opponent to see who can pin the other's hand down."
"I know what arm wrestling is, Nat," he said somewhat sassily.
"I mean, if you're up to it," I said, shrugging. "If you're not up for it on account of your injury, I'm totally cool with not -"
"Well, let's have a looksie," he said, cutting me off and reaching down to pull up the bottom of his shirt.
"Woah, whoah - stop," I practically shouted, bringing a hand up to cover my eyes. I saw about a quarter of the bandage before I could actually bring my hand up to my face, just realizing what he was doing.
"What?" he asked, like taking off your shirt and flaunting your injuries was a completely normal thing. Okay, he technically wasn't flaunting, just assessing how much it had healed. But with Isaac's personality, he would be flaunting it.
"I don't want to see it." I kept my hand covering my eyes, in case he had pulled his shirt up any further and/or began to take off the bandage. "I've seen it once already, and I do not want to see it again. It scarred me emotionally and I do not want to make that memory resurface at all."
"Was it that bad?"
"Yes, it was that bad, I was crying and everything. I thought you were going to die."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
.
After six matches, Isaac and I were even in the arm wrestling department. Of course, there was a little cheating on both of our parts, but mostly with starting the match without telling the other person. We had made home on the couch once again, and it was getting to be around lunch time.
I pulled my phone out from the depths of between the couch cushions (where Isaac had edged it because he he caught me cheating at arm wrestling, but whatever, he was doing it too) to see a text from Scott.
FROM: SCOTT
How's hanging with Isaac? (:
The message was recieved about two and a half hours ago, but we had been busy and I hadn't noticed that I got his message. I replied with the single word "busy" and was about to lock my phone, before an idea sparked in my brain.
TO: Stiles
stiles
TO: Stiles
stiles
TO: Stiles
stiles
FROM: Stiles
what do you want
TO: Stiles
bring me mcdonalds
FROM: Stiles
go get it yourself
TO: Stiles
i don't want to leave the house and risk it
TO: Stiles
pleeeeeeeease
TO: Stiles
i'm starving and isaac won't make me grilled cheese
TO: Stiles
i won (half) the arm wrestling matches and that was our wager
TO: Stiles
he is not being a good sport, the loser
TO: Stiles
i mean as much as i love melissa, i won't eat that leftover meatloaf in the fridge
FROM: Stiles
make scott get you mcdonalds
TO: Stiles
but that's too easy
TO: Stiles
he'd actually do it
TO: Stiles
maybe even swing by taco bell just to get a baja blast for me
TO: Stiles
because he's just that nice
TO: Stiles
I NEED A CHALLENGE, STILES
Stiles didn't respond after that, which meant zero McDonald's for me. Bummer.
.
"So far we've moved all of the furniture in the living room slightly to the left, done our checkers rematch, and had an arm wrestling match," I listed, ticking off each thing we'd already done on my fingers. "What else is there to do?"
"A board game?" Isaac suggested.
"I only play Candyland, because there's no way to cheat at Candyland, but I don't think Scott has it. Next."
"A movie?"
"Hmm," I hummed, squinting my eyes slightly. "Yeah, we could do that. Now, what movie?"
"What movies does Scott have?"
"Uh, let me check," I said, rolling off the couch and crawling to the television, opening a small cupboard that held movies and assorted video games. "Okay, so we have Rocky VII, Lion King - one and two - the entire Star Wars saga, Teen Wolf, 101 Dalmatians, and Frozen." I glanced back at Isaac, who was still sitting on the other end of the couch. "Take your pick."
I could physically see the word "Frozen" form on his lips before it even came out of his mouth.
"Frozen it is."
.
"Isaac, it's a children's movie. She's not going to die, you can stop crying."
"You don't know that," Isaac whispered in a strangled, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.
"Yes, I do. Do you know how many times Scott and I have watched this movie?"
Isaac didn't reply, only sniffled at the screen.
"Seven. We've watched this movie seven times. And you know what? Look at the television, because -"
"- but the head can be persuaded."
"See, look, Grand Pabby is going to fix her. Nothing to cry about...er, well, for now, at least."
"Would you shut up."
A/N: Yes, Scott owns the 1985 (also, it's the reference made with the title, because Bowling For Soup's 1985is a good song don't even deny it) movie Teen Wolf because I feel like Stiles would pass a garage sale and/or go into a thrift store and see and be like "I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED" and casually and suspiciously either stick it on Scott's shelf when he's not looking or just give it to him upfront in a birthday present. That or Melissa already owned it beforehand.