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"i am," you said, a half truth. you were listening to him, just not to the words. his voice was a lullaby from another life—the one where you were nine and he was thirteen and he used to carry you home on his back after long days diving for pearls. the one before he was famous. before you were reaped. "you're shaking," he said, stepping closer. his brow creased, and he touched your arm. "you’re scared," you wanted to say you weren’t, that you were strong. that you had a plan, that you'd studied every tribute, that you knew how to fight and fish and gut a man if it came to it, but your mouth wouldn’t open. finnick sighed, a soft, broken sound, and pulled you toward him. “i don’t want to do this,” you whispered against his shoulder. “i know,” he murmured into your hair. “i know," his hands were trembling, too.

training was hell. not because you were weak—you weren’t. you were smart, fast, with a good throwing arm and a mind like a net: everything stuck. but the capitol kids were brutal. careers twice your size sized you up like they were already planning how to kill you. even your ally, district four’s male tribute, looked at you with a distant kind of grief, as if he’d already buried you. the only place you felt real was in the private room finnick used to coach you. “i need you to stop hesitating,” he said on the third day, “you hesitate, you die.” you threw the spear. it buried itself two inches off-center in the dummy’s chest. “two inches is a kill shot,” you snapped.

“it’s not your aim i’m worried about.” you turned, taut with tension, “what is it, then?” he stepped forward, jaw clenched. “it’s you. you’re still kind. you still think there’s a way out of this that doesn’t destroy you," you opened your mouth. closed it again. there was a brief, heavy pause. “i don’t want to win,” you said finally. finnick’s eyes flashed, “don’t say that," “i want to live. that’s different. i’m not like you, finnick. i don’t want to be beautiful and deadly and haunted for the rest of my life. i just want to go home," he looked like you’d struck him, “you think i wanted this?” “no,” you whispered. “i think you survived. that’s worse,"

that night, you found him on the rooftop. you were in capitol pajamas, some silky thing with golden embroidery. he was sitting with his back to you, legs drawn up, a bottle of something expensive hanging loose in one hand. “i didn’t mean what i said,” you told him, voice soft and hesitant. “yes, you did,” he glanced at you over his shoulder, “that’s what hurt.” you sat beside him, not too close. not yet. he didn’t look at you when he said, “do you remember when you broke your arm on the docks?” you blinked. “i was nine," “you were crying, and i carried you all the way to your house. your mother threatened to gut me for letting it happen," you smiled a little.

“i hated seeing you hurt,” he said quietly. “i still do.” you turned your head slowly, “finnick-” “no. don’t say it," his voice cracked like a wave against stone, “if you say it, i won’t be able to let you go," your throat tightened. “i don’t want you to let me go," he looked at you then, eyes full of storms. when he kissed you, there was nothing soft about it. it was made of desperation, of goodbye. he carried you back to his bedroom just as he carried you all those years ago, tender and careful, his arms your only sense of security through everything.

he took his time with you, learning every inch of your skin like it would stop you from slipping away. he was patient and kind, eyes shining when he looked up at you from between your thighs, reveling in your pleasure as if it was his own. “you’re so beautiful,” he must have said it a thousand times, over and over like a mantra, like he needed you to believe it. he fit inside of you like he belonged there, like you were made for each other, taking your breath away with each thrust of his hips. “oh, honey,” he panted, brows drawn together, the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen, “you’re so amazing,”

you’d had sex before, meaningless boys from four, summertime flings with stolen kisses and brief moments spent in their beds. this was something else entirely, like you and him had become one in more than just the physical sense, cementing your preexisting belief that whatever you were made of, finnick was the same. it felt right, felt real, his weight on top of you like an anchor. he was doting and generous, making you finish with his mouth, then his fingers, then one last time while he was inside of you. he treated you like you were sacred, like he worshipped you, all the adoration spilling over at once.

it wasn’t supposed to happen. you told yourself you were just going to talk. just to lie beside him one last time. but when he opened his arms, you folded into them like you belonged there, like you always had. “i’ll stay until sunrise,” you whispered, your cheek against his chest. he shook his head. “stay until i forget what goodbye tastes like," you woke tangled in his sheets, and he was already watching you. eyes rimmed in red, hands gripping your fingers like he could memorize them through skin. “don’t be brave in there,” he whispered, “be ruthless.” you gave him a sad smile, “you always said I was too soft," “you are," his voice broke, “that’s why I love you," the room was quiet. time stopped.

you stood in the launch room with your arms bare and trembling. not from fear, not entirely. but from the ache of him not being there, of the fact that he was watching you from some capitol screen, powerless. bleeding inside and smiling outside because he had to. you closed your eyes, remembering his voice. “trust your instincts, don’t hesitate," a shaky kiss pressed to your temple, the smell of salt and warmth, "stay alive," and then— “i love you," the platform rose. the light burned white. the games began.

the roar of the arena echoed in your ears as the platform shot upward, hurling you into a sun-baked hell. the games were just beginning, and the bloodlust was already rising. the world around you was savage. every face, every sound, was a reminder that the only law here was death. survival. kill or be killed. your fingers were shaking, but not from fear. you weren’t afraid anymore, not truly. the warmth of finnick’s touch, the softness of his kiss—those memories felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. when the cannon fired, it wasn’t someone you knew. it was just another dead tribute. another body to add to the pile. you didn’t flinch. you survived the bloodbath. that’s all that mattered.

the first few days blurred together; water, food, heat, death. you killed without hesitation. you didn’t have to think about it. it was a reflex, a tool. the spears finnick had taught you to throw became an extension of your body, your will. each throw was a message to yourself: i’m alive. i’m still here. there was one boy, a career from district 1, who thought he could intimidate you. he was bigger, faster. but you were smarter. it took three seconds. three seconds of pure, raw instinct. your knife cut across his throat, and he crumpled before he had the chance to register the betrayal of his own body. the taste of blood in your mouth was metallic and cold, and for a second, you almost remembered the feel of finnick’s fingers against your skin. almost. but you buried it. you buried it deep.

far above you, in the capitol’s pristine viewing room, finnick was watching. his breath was shallow, his hands tight against the armrest as he clutched the edge of his seat. he could see everything—the traps you were setting, the bodies falling to your hands, the cold look in your eyes. it was like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. he knew what the arena would do to you. he knew what it did to him. but this? watching you, someone he’d known his entire life, become a shadow of the person he loved—it was too much. "you promised me you wouldn’t become like them," he muttered under his breath, his voice breaking. he rubbed his hands over his face, desperate to look away, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t stop watching. every kill, every moment of brutal survival. the way your eyes hardened with every passing tribute that fell. he couldn’t help it. the thought of you—his friend, his love, the girl who used to smile at him as they ran barefoot through the sand—turning into something else—something cold, calculating, dangerous—it ate at him like allfire.

the night was quiet. the arena had turned into a war zone. tributes were thinning out, picking each other off in the shadows. the trees were a canopy of whispers, the ground a patchwork of blood, mud, and death. you were alone now. the alliances you’d formed—those fleeting moments of fragile trust—had dissolved like salt in water. you crouched behind a tree, your hand clutching your spear, watching a shadow in the distance. your breath was steady, focused. you moved, soundless as a predator, closing the gap. the girl from District 2, the last of the careers, was sitting near a fire, unaware of your presence. your fingers tightened around your weapon. and then you saw her face—the one you had only glimpsed in passing, the one who had tried to make alliances with you, the one who had looked at you with hope. her hope was long gone now. you threw the spear. she barely had time to scream before the weapon pierced her chest, and she fell forward, lifeless. you didn’t even flinch. you didn’t feel anything anymore. except, distantly, for him.

the wind carried the scent of salt through the arena, a faint echo of the ocean you’d left behind. and for a brief moment, you felt like you were home again—standing beside finnick, feeling the cool breeze against your skin. you closed your eye, his voice drifting into your mind. “stay alive.” you clutched your chest, the pain seeping into your bones. his words were like a brand, etched deep into your soul. he was the only thing tethering you to humanity, to who you had been. you weren’t sure if it was enough to keep you from slipping into the abyss, but you held on. you held on for him.

soon, another cannon fired. the sound of death was louder now, closer. the last of the tributes were falling, and soon, it would come down to you and the boy from district 7. he was strong, quick. you had no choice but to eliminate him before he got too close. your hands trembled with anticipation. you couldn’t afford to hesitate, just like he taught you. hesitation meant death. just as you raised your spear, a thought flashed through your mind—one of finnick, standing beside you, his arms around you, holding you together. and then, like a wave crashing over you, the warmth returned—the love you had buried under the weight of survival. the spear flew from your hand. the boy from 7 collapsed, the sound of his body hitting the ground like thunder. you were alone.

the train ride back to district four was a blur. the bright lights of the capitol fading into the background, leaving only the quiet hum of the train’s wheels on the tracks. you sat in a compartment, hands resting in your lap, staring out the window, but seeing nothing. the games were over, you had survived, you were a victor. but all you could feel was numbness. they’d cheered when your name was called. the capitol loved a victor, especially one who had survived the games with such cold, calculated efficiency. but when the last cannon fired, the crowd’s roar felt empty to you. hollow. you had become exactly what they wanted you to be.

finnick had been by your side through it all. watching, helping. but now, back in district four, he seemed like a stranger, even though his eyes never left you. his concern was written all over his face, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze for long. you had won, but you had lost a piece of yourself in the process. he found you alone on the beach the first night you were back, standing at the water’s edge, staring into the endless horizon. you hadn’t spoken much since the games ended, not to him, not to anyone. the weight of it all—the blood, the bodies, the fear—it was crushing. you felt like you were drowning, even with the shore beneath your feet.

“you don’t have to pretend,” finnick’s voice broke through your thoughts. his hand brushed against your arm as he stood beside you. he didn’t try to touch you more than that, but the offer was there. the comfort was always there. you didn’t reply at first. the silence stretched between you, heavier than anything the arena had thrown your way. “i’m fine,” you lied. your voice was raw, hoarse. you could feel the cracks deep inside, the parts of you that had shattered in the games, pieces of yourself lost forever. finnick exhaled slowly, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough with emotion. “you’re not fine. and I’m not fine either. you’ve seen things… done things," “i did what I had to,” you snapped, a sharp edge to your words, “you told me to survive, and i did. i did exactly what you wanted.”

he flinched, “that’s not what i meant," you turned away from him, your gaze lost in the distance. the ocean, the sound of the waves—it was a distant memory, the sound of something that used to be your life. you couldn’t hear it the same way anymore. “you’ve changed,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. the words hit harder than the wind. you didn’t want to admit it, but you knew. you were different. you weren’t the girl who’d walked into the games—bright-eyed, terrified, full of hope. you were a victor now, yes. but the victory had left you empty, shell shocked.

the first night after you got home, the nightmares came. it was always the same—screams, blood, the faces of the tributes you’d killed. the spear you’d thrown, the boy from 7 falling, the light in his eyes fading, his blood soaking into the ground. you woke in a cold sweat, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest. the sound of your own breathing was too loud, too harsh. you couldn’t tell where the nightmare ended and reality began. you stumbled out of bed, your legs shaking as you made your way to the door. the house was dark, the stillness oppressive, the air thick with silence. the ocean should have comforted you, but it felt like an eternity away. then you heard the footsteps. finnick. his shadow appeared in the doorway, his face illuminated by the dim light from the hallway. his eyes were wide, filled with concern, but there was something else there—something darker, more uncertain.

you didn’t have to say anything. he had heard you, just like he always did. “i hate this,” you whispered, voice trembling, “i hate what i've become," he was silent for a long time, his expression unreadable. he didn’t say anything at first, just reached out, his hand steady and warm on your shoulder. you felt his touch, and for a moment, it was the only thing grounding you. and then, slowly, he pulled you into his arms. his warmth, his familiar scent, the way he held you—it was like coming home. but it didn’t fix anything. you thought, ruefully, that nothing would.

“you didn’t become this,” finnick murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "you had to survive. it wasn’t your choice, alright? but i see you. i know you," the words should have comforted you, but they didn’t, not really. not when you could still feel the weight of every death in your hands, when the echoes of the games rang in your ears every time you closed your eyes. but when he kissed you, the rest of the world faded.

it started slow. tentative. almost like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you anymore, after everything. after what you’d both become. but then you kissed him back, desperate, clinging to something real. something warm. something you could still feel. it was the only thing that felt like life. real life. you pulled him closer, your hands sliding over his chest as you deepened the kiss. his breath quickened, and for the first time in days, you felt something other than numbness. finnick’s hands trembled as they slid down your back, tugging you closer. the need, the desire—it was impossible to ignore, even with the weight of everything that had happened between you. but it was more than that. it was the pain. the longing, the need for comfort, for a connection that didn’t feel like it was tearing you apart. you were so close to losing yourself, but in that moment, with him, you felt like you were coming back together. and for a moment, that was all that mattered.

the first time, before all of this change, had been slow, beautiful, achingly tender. this time was new, desperate touches and shining eyes, bitten lips and fingernails sunk into his back, holding him as tight as you could manage. “missed you,” he moaned between messy kisses, thrusting into you like you were his for the taking, filling every bit of emptiness you’d slipped into, “god, i love you,” “love you,” you felt hot tears streak your face, but couldn’t place the source, which of you they came from, “finnick, you’re so good, missed you s’much,”

you came undone quickly, all the tension finally snapping, your lips meeting his urgently, muffling your cries of pleasure. “there you go,” he worked you through it, his touch growing more gentle, “feel so good around me, honey, so perfect for me,” he was slower then, taking his time, careful not to overstimulate you as he continued to fuck you, slow and steady, eyes shining with admiration. your thighs trembled, your hands gripping his toned shoulder tightly, like he might slip away. “i’ve got you,” he mumbled into your chest, leaving a trail of red marks, just dark enough to remind you both that he’d been there, “oh, god, i’m so close,”

you watched in awe as he came undone, crumbling before you, his beautiful features all screwed up together as the pleasure rolled through him. his lips were parted and red, raw from your kiss, his cheeks tinged pink and glowing with heat. “beautiful,” you pulled him back down to you, clutching him like a promise, “love you so much, finny,” “love you more, my darling,” he pressed slow kisses anywhere he could, pulling you over onto his chest, “get some sleep, i’ll be here when you wake up,” for the first time in months, you let yourself fully relax, trusting him enough to believe that he’d keep you safe.

the next morning, you woke tangled in the sheets, the warmth of his body beside you still fresh in your mind. you could feel the weight of the night, the rawness of what you had both shared. but the room was quiet now, and the silence felt heavier than before. finnick was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, staring out the window. the light of dawn cast a soft glow across his face, but his expression was distant, lost in thought.

Inhaling the heavy scent of salt and fish, hearing the wooden deck creak under you, leaning against Finnick's house, waiting. Smiling once seeing him in the dark morning light, coming down the sandy road, head hanging low, hands dug deeply into his shorts' pockets.

Stepping off the deck, warm sand filling your shoes with each step, gazing into a familiar pair of soft, sea-green eyes. Something within your chest blooms as he smiles, seeing you, engulfing each other with open arms. Smelling the ocean, tasting the salt upon his lips as you kiss.

Welcoming your boyfriend home from his usual late-night surfs, wetsuit acting as a second skin for Finnick, the waves helping to clear his mind.

Warm hands cup your cheeks, kiss deepening, stumbling back, caught by Finnick's quick hands. Pressing against you, teeth almost snagging the skin of your lips, causing you to pull away, seeing an open tenderness displayed upon his face. Breath catching, staring into sea-green eyes, lips inches apart, aching to be put back together. Using the glow of the sunrise to search for certainty in Finnick's eyes that he wants this, wants you.

"I'm ready," he whispers, eyes never straying from yours. Giving a sad smile, fighting back the tears that burn to exist, nodding. Taking your hand, leading you inside, stepping down the house's fancy hallway, not caring for your volume, as no one but Finnick lived in the home.

Pushing the door open to his bedroom, gently closing the door behind you before looking at you. Stepping closer, having his face inches away from one another, breaths mixing in the silent air. Scanning down his face, gaze drawing along his lips, watching them twitch, eyes floating back up, seeking Finnick's permission.

Seeing his head give a slight nod, allowing your fingers to bury themselves into his salty copper locks, pulling the man into another kiss. Humming at the feel of each other's lips, bodies buzzing with the mixture of excitement and heat, feet dancing around Finnick's bedroom floor, blindly leading you to his plush bed. Hands gently pulling at the hem of your clothing, kiss breaking, peeling off your top clothing before crashing his lips back into yours.

Moaning against your lips as your calves finally touch the edge of Finnick's bed. Knees failing, falling back onto the bed, smelling the mix of salt and eucalyptus on his sheets.

Staring up at Finnick, breathlessly looking upon one another's bodies, solidifying the wants that race around in your mind. Watching as he takes action first, shrugging off his linen shirt, dropping it to the floor without a second thought, along with his shorts. Leaving on his underwear before moving towards you, legs opening, granting him access to your pair of bottoms.

Sliding the rest of your clothing along the length of your legs, eyes never taking a glance, as if wanting to know it was you, and only you, who is under him.

Peering down as Finnick leans in, eyes still gazing into yours, lips finding their way onto the surface of your chest. Kissing the stretch of warm skin, exciting the hills of your nipples, perking as his soft, warm lips approach.

Engulfing one of them whole, whimpering as Finnick's tongue slowly licks your hard nipple, firmly sucking on the thin skin. Hands acting with their own purpose explore down the length of your body, finding the space between your legs, chest rising as moans slip from your lips. Jaw melting open as his hands work with pure confidence, following your body's reaction like a road map.

Grabbing Finnick's sun-burned shoulders, fingers digging into his hot flesh, bring the man to your lips, only for the hiss to break. Taking hold of your thighs together, moving you to the center of his bed.

Comforter hugging you as Finnick moves himself back between your thighs, hands gliding up them, lightly squeezing at your flesh. Looking up into his eyes, feeling his hand find its way back, watching your body start to twist, mouth melting open once again, allowing moans to sing for him.

Peering down, eyes following the trail movement of his other hand, dug under the hem of his underwear, stroking his cock at the sight of you. Noticing your interest, Finnick uncovers its length, feeling an explosion of arousal flood your body.

Leaning in, kissing your lips, hands still stationed where they are, gasping as Finnick drags the tip of his cock along your clenching hole. Pushing the man back, breaking the kiss, looking into your lover's eyes, making sure he wasn't anywhere else but here. Peering into your eyes, softening at your search into his eyes, hearing him whisper against your lips.

"I want this, I want you...Please," Finnick begs, brow furrowing softly. Caving, gazing into his eyes that shine in the growing yellow glow of the waking sun.

Nodding, seeing a smile stretch along his lips before removing his hand from you. Licking the taste of you from his fingers, trading it for spit, feeling as it meets you again. Stretching, lubing the path for his cock that twitches so closely to your vulnerable skin.

Moans hum against Finnick's lips as his fingers travel further in, slightly curling, applying pressure to your walls. Chest rising, hands gripping his back and shoulders, hips starting to move, causing him to stop.

Whining at the disappearance of pleasure, left only with a blinding desire. Breaking the kiss, lips trailing down to your jaw, kissing along the bone as his cock enters you. Slowly opening you up, stopping only at the tip while giving your neck a gentle trail of kisses, calming your firing nerves.

Lips finding themselves back onto yours, gasping against Finnick's lips, stealing the air from within his mouth as he pushes himself fully within you. Moving a hand up to the forest of hair atop his head, moans, humming a harmonizing mix. Feeling as Finnick's hands find a home atop your hips, keeping them in place, thrusting slow, length feeling every inch of you again and again.

Grasping at his flesh, desperate to find a home upon his body, a stark contrast to the soft kisses your lips give. Low claps of skin echo from the blinding pace between you, getting your walls used to the motion, to soften around his girth.

Working off any discomfort, hearing Finnick's moans echo into your ear, body reacting, allowing his cock to have a more lubed path. Hands traveling up his neck, cupping his warm cheeks, sweat starting to cover both of your skin. Pace speeding up, thrusts still keeping their tenderness, kiss breaking, allowing the release of Finnick's moans.

Gazing down at you, studying every idea made by the pleasure he gives you, encouraging your lover's thrusts to deepen. The sound of skin echoing off the walls, Finnick's brows knitting together, eyes adoringly admiring you, filling with an abundance of love.

Hand quickly removing itself from your hip, finding its way back between your legs. Building your orgasm alongside his own, fingers digging back down onto Finnick's shoulder, causing the man only to move faster. Watching, feeling hunger build within the man inside you, needing the closeness, the painting of you cumming.

Head rolling side-to-side, starting to feel your edge, body squirming under Finnick, hearing his labored breaths. Thrusts becoming rapid as his orgasm nears, eyes never leaving yours as the prickling warmth fills both of your bodies.

Cumming by his hand, head digging back into the pillow, moans pouring out from you without a filter. Feeling more than hearing Finnick's orgasm, pulling out, leaving your walls clenching in on themselves. Ropes of warm cum decorate your stomach, peering down, watching his hand pump out the last few strings.

Bodies shaking, both catching your breath, watching as Finnick leans down. Kissing your lips with a soft passion, whispering "I love you" between them. Fingers digging back into Finnick's tufts of hair, deepening the kiss as a thank you for trusting you with his love and body.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

The halls of District 13 are a slate gray, nothing like the pristine marble and dark oak of the Capitol. Nothing like the cobblestone and white-painted wood you remember from District 4. Your home, which seems like a distant memory now, locked away along with the soft kisses from a green-eyed man you once knew and adored, with the stupid giggles of a girl in love. District 4 was a lifetime ago. 

You’re ushered into a hospital room by people you don’t know in dove gray uniforms. An IV gets stuck into your arm to pump you full of morphling. You know what they’re doing, but you can’t fight off their attempts to sedate you as you thrash and attempt to fight off the people tending to you. 

You’re curled on your side half an hour later in your hospital bed. The morphling has taken its effect now, leaving you all spacy, your eyes slightly glazed over as you stare at the blank wall and machinery in the room until the door opens and you’re partially snapped out of your daze. You expect to see another one of the District 13 medics bringing food, but instead see Finnick Odair. The man who mentored you. The man you once loved. The man who left you to be eaten by the wolves.

“I’ve brought you food,” he says, holding a tray with a bowl of some sort of soup and a smaller bowl of mixed fruit. “It’s not much but it’s edible. The fruit is the only sweet thing we really get here, so I tried to get extra for you.”

“What do you want?” is all you ask as he sets the tray down on your lap.

“To make sure you’re alright. I haven’t gotten to see you since you got here,” he says.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me. Not since you left me,” you spit.

“I didn’t leave you—”

“You did,” you say. “You left me in the arena to die while you get to go off and save the country with the Mockingjay.”

“I wanted to go back for you,” he tries to insist. “They—Plutarch, I mean, Coin and Haymitch and everyone—they told me we couldn’t. I tried to convince them otherwise but they wouldn’t budge.”

“Liar,” you say bitterly, looking down at the tray of food in your lap.

“Why would you think I’m lying?” Finnick asks, sounding almost hurt at your accusation.

“Because that’s all you’ve ever done.”

It’s late in the evening, after the tribute parade for your Hunger Games. Everyone should already be asleep. You should already be asleep. But you miss home, and you’re in desperate search for the comfort of food.

“You can’t possibly think she’ll win?” You overhear a voice say as you linger in the hallway of your tributes’ apartment. Your mentor’s voice, Finnick.

“I think she has as much of a chance as I do,” you hear your District partner, Minnow, say. 

“She’s nothing. Not charismatic enough for sponsors, not strong or fast or skilled in any sense,” Finnick says in response. “Mags can deal with her for all I care. My focus is on you. You can actually win this. You can make it out alive. She’s been dead since her name was called at the Reaping.”

You cry that night. Alone in your bedroom, tears staining the plush pillow beneath your head. You remember someone coming into your room that night, bringing you a mug of tea and holding you, comforting you. You think it was Mags, or maybe it was Minnow. You’re not quite sure.

Days later, right after your interviews, you’re curled on the couch in the apartment, still in your dress and makeup. Finnick is sat beside you; quiet, just watching.

“Do you think I can win?” you ask, breaking the silence. “Do you think I’ll at least make it out of the Bloodbath?”

Finnick doesn’t answer for a second, as if searching for what to say. Eventually, he says “Yes. I think you can.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes. Nor does he specify if he thinks you can win the Games or only survive the Bloodbath. He doesn’t have to. You know his answer from the conversation you overheard nights ago.

Finnick can’t sleep. He thought that when you were brought back from the Capitol, back to him, he would finally be able to rest. He had spent days in District 13 waiting, knotting rope and staring at the small photo of you he always kept on him. Now you’re here and he could visit you at any time, yet he still resorts to the photograph in the middle of his sleepless nights, rather than to your arms that he missed so dearly.

Where are you? Where’s that girl he met eight years ago who trusted him to help her win the Games? The girl who helped him train new tributes every year? The girl who would comfort him after a rough night in the Capitol, treating him like a person after he’s been treated like a toy all day? The girl who didn’t hesitate for a second to volunteer for Mags at the Reaping for the third Quarter Quell? Where did you go? What did they do to you?

How could he get you back?

“I’m Finnick Odair.”

“I know who you are,” you say, curled up in your seat on the train ride to the Capitol. “I think all of Panem knows who you are.”

“I thought it’d be polite to introduce myself anyway,” he says.

“What’s the point? I’m living on borrowed time anyway, why waste it on niceties?”

“Don’t say that. I think you have a chance to win this.” He then cockily adds, “With me as your mentor, I’m positive you do.” His poor attempt at bringing some lighthearted humor to the situation fails miserably. 

“You’re my age. How could you possibly help me?” you ask. “I get that you won at fourteen with your dashing good looks or whatever, but I’m not you.”

“I know that,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t have your own strengths. I’ll help you figure out what they are, and I’ll show you how to use them to make it out of there alive.”

“Promise me,” you plead softly. “Promise that I’ll get to go home. Alive and breathing, not in a wooden box.”

He knows he should tell you he can’t. That there’s no guarantee. That he could do everything in his power and there would be no guarantee you could live. But you seem so hopeful, and he can’t crush that. “I promise.”

That same evening, after the tributes’ parade, Finnick stays up late to talk with your District partner, to convince him to form an alliance with you. You’d work better as a unit, there would be more of a chance for either of you to survive. Not just to bring home a victory for District 4, but to bring home a beating heart and breathing lungs.

“You can’t possibly think she’ll win?” Minnow says over a mug of coffee.

“I think she has as much of a chance as you do,” Finnick objects. “And if you team up with her, your chances will both increase a lot.”

“She’s nothing. Not charismatic enough for sponsors, not strong or fast or skilled in any sense,” Minnow argues. “If you focus on me, let the old lady deal with her—”

“Mags.”

“—Right, yes, Mags. If you just let Mags deal with her, you can show me how to win. I can win this for us. For District 4. We both know she’s been dead since her name was called at the Reaping anyway.”

“I’m training both of you, whether you like it or not. My goal is to see at least one of you come out of this alive. Either one of you,” Finnick says. “Goodnight, Minnow. Think on the alliance.”

As he returns to his room, he hears quiet sniffling coming from your door. He returns to the kitchen, brews you a mug of tea just how you like it, and comes in without knocking. He holds you close throughout the night, pressing the mug to your lips and coaxing you to drink, to take deep breaths. He stays until your tears have been drained onto his shirt and your exhaustion takes over, tucking the covers over you before leaving to his room again.

Finnick remembers the night after your interviews, right before the Games officially begin. You’re all glitter and blue chiffon draped to mimic ocean waves and strings of pearls along your throat and arms and throughout your hair. You’re a vision. You’re a drowned maiden. You’re a dead girl walking. That’s what you were to everyone else tonight. To Caesar Flickermen. To the Capitolites in the audience. To the rest of the tributes and their friends and families watching from home. 

But not to him. In his eyes, you’ll be the one to stay afloat. The one to swim to shore without a drop of water in her lungs. You’re the hope for another day.

He’s snapped out of his train of thought when he hears you ask “Do you think I can win?” 

Finnick doesn’t respond for a moment, still slightly disoriented by your sudden question. 

“Do you think I’ll at least make it out of the Bloodbath?” you continue, doubt lacing each word you say. 

“Yes,” he answers honestly, eyes still drifting over the pearls adorning your skin rather than meeting your gaze. “I think you can.” He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t think he needs to. You’ll win this. You both know it.

You don’t remember much from the Capitol. You remember being swathed in white, some toxic-smelling substance being forced onto your head to lighten your hair to the perfect golden yellow color before being forced in front of cameras to film propaganda for Snow alongside Peeta and Johanna. 

You remember being strapped down on a bed in a sterile-white room, a needle forced into your arm, pumping you full of something. Some sort of drug or medication. It would make you all disoriented, warm and feverish. They—the Avoxes forced to perform on you—would show you videos as the drug distorted and warped the images.

Some were standard: recordings from your original Games, clips from the 75th. Many, you didn’t know existed. Bits from your tributes’ apartment, from both Games. Recordings of you in your home in District 4’s Victors’ Village, recordings of Finnick’s home, from when you would visit. Videos taking place in Capitol hotel rooms you vaguely remember; it’s hard to know what is from when, as all of the glass and marble blur together after years of doing the same things over and over again. 

You thought you had finally escaped it. But you were back there again, being held down while needles get plunged into your arm, something heavy injected into your bloodstream. Instead of the pristine and cold white walls from the Capitol buildings, it’s a suffocating gray and a cream-colored tile that tries too hard to be cozy, and it ends up making you feel like it’s closing in on you instead. 

Rather than the drug getting pumped into your bloodstream making you all floaty and loopy it instead dampens your senses. The Capitol drugs were like bubbles filling your brain, this just makes you tired. Sluggish, fuzzy. Cotton balls rather than bubbles.

Instead of videos of Finnick Odair, he’s there in the flesh.

“What do you want now?” you ask. You’re not abrasive, not passive aggressive. Just tired. Betrayed. 

“I want to know why you hate me so much,” he says simply; easily, almost. As if your messed up state doesn’t affect him at all. You’re not sure why you expected it to. Foolish hope, maybe, that he still cared for you. That it wasn’t all just a lie to get you to trust him. 

“You can’t seriously be asking me that,” you say. “You left me in the arena, Finnick. You left me to be taken by the Capitol. To be tortured and hurt and starved. You left me to die.”

The arena is dark, you can hardly see three feet ahead of you. You know you need to focus, to keep an eye on Johanna and Peeta and make sure they don’t get hurt. You need to watch out for Enobaria or Brutus so you don’t get hurt. Yet you can’t stop replaying Finnick’s words from earlier, over and over again. 

“She’ll be better off if Brutus or Enobaria kill her,” he had said to Beetee. “She’ll never make it.”

You’re certain you were never meant to hear them. It doesn’t change the fact that you did. That you heard Finnick say you’d be better off dead. 

You wanted to go with him and Beetee and Katniss. To stay close to them, to help in some way. Finnick had convinced you that your part was to help Johanna and Peeta distract the other victors. You realize now that you were never meant to be a distraction. You’re supposed to be bait. 

You’re forcefully jolted back to reality as an arm wraps around your throat, forcing you into a headlock as you struggle to call out for Johanna and Peeta. You see Johanna locked in a fight with Chaff, unable to help you. You attempt to get Brutus off of you before he’s wrenched away in a blur, and you refocus just in time to see Peeta kill Brutus, and you rush to get Chaff off of Johanna. 

Just as you manage to dig a stiletto knife into his clavicle, lightning strikes the tree in the twelve o’clock sector of the arena, and everything collapses around you. The last words you hear replaying in your mind are Finnick’s. 

“She’ll never make it.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe you are better off dead. Maybe this will be the end of you, and you’ll all be better off for it in the end.

Finnick doesn’t know what to do. You have some warped version of the past clouding your memories, and he’s certain he can’t make you listen to reason, no matter what he does. He wants to grab you by the shoulders, shake you and kiss you until you snap out of it and remember him again.

“That’s not true. Whatever you believe, whatever Snow told you, it’s not true,” he tries to argue. “I wanted to go back, I’ve told you so already. I couldn’t sleep without you. I still can barely sleep now.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Finnick. I’m done believing your lies,” you say. “Say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.”

“I do,” he says. “I care. I care about you. I care about us. I don’t want to leave you here, with the idea that I would ever lie to you. That I would ever purposefully abandon you. I love you.”

“Don’t fucking say that. You don’t get to tell me you love me after you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you!” he says, getting irritated at your insistence that he left you to die, though making attempts to not show it. “I didn’t even want to be apart from you for once second in that arena. It was torture—”

“You don’t get to talk to me about torture, Finnick,” you interupt sharply. “Not when I was tortured because you left me. You left me to be taken by the Capitol. You don’t fucking know what torture is. Torture is being given the same rations you’d give to a fucking dog each day. Torture is ice baths and electric shocks and being strapped down and injected with who knows what.”

“You don’t need to believe me,” he says. “You don’t need to believe a single word that I say. I just want you to listen.”

You scoff, the noise is bitter, full of resentment. “Do I have a choice?”

“I don’t want you going off on your own,” Finnick says as the two of you sit on the beach, staring at the Cornucopia. 

It’s a shameful facsimile of home. Of the way the two of you would sit on the beach back in District 4, watching the waves as they come and go while the sun sinks below the horizon. Sometimes his hands would be working on a length of rope. Sometimes you would be sorting through whatever seashells you had collected that day. Sometimes you’d talk, other times, you’d simply stay quiet and just exist with each other, blocking out the rest of the world one sunset at a time. 

“I won’t be on my own,” you tell him. “I’ll have Johanna and Peeta with me. We’ll be okay. You need to stick with Katniss, make sure Beetee’s plan works. You know I’ll only slow you down.”

“Don’t say that—”

“I’ll say what I want, Finnick,” you huff, nudging him with your shoulder. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”

“Just stay alive. Promise me that,” he says, hand finding yours, holding onto it as if he never wants to let go. 

“You know I can’t, Finnick,” you say, eyes closing, attempting to block out the world. It doesn’t work this time. Not here, not in the situation you’re in.

“Why not? I promised you I’d get you out of your first Games alive. Now promise me you’ll stay alive. That I didn’t do all of that just to lose you in the end,” he says. He’s not asking, he’s begging.

“No one else thinks I’ll make it,” you tell him. “We both know that. I’m a liability. I’m not tough like Johanna or smart like Beetee or Katniss’ lifeline like Peeta is. I’ll be better off if Brutus or Enobaria kill me. They don’t need me.”

“But I need you,” he says. “If you want to go with Johanna and Peeta, I won’t stop you. But you can’t leave me. They can’t take you away from me.”

“I love you, Finnick,” is all you say. “But I won’t make promises I can’t keep.”

You spent the next few weeks replaying Finnick’s story in your head. Trying to envision what his version of everything could’ve possibly looked like. What it could be from his perspective, what it could be from yours. You’d stay up late into the night, stuck on a singular memory for hours as you quietly act them out to yourself, acting as each person as you repeat their words like lines in a play. 

You’d ask questions whenever someone would come by to deliver another dosage of morphling or bring you food. You never believed the answers, never quite trusted them, but they were important to keep track of. You’d ask the same questions to different people, compare their answers with each other, then with your own beliefs. 

It’s not until you’re staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night—when you really should be asleep—that you realize your memories have a faint sheen over them. Wobbly and iridescent, like they’re trapped inside of a bubble that you can’t quite pop. 

Some of the memories don’t have that same shimmer, that dream-like quality. Not the ones deep inside. Not the memory of Finnick holding you close and letting you soak his shirt in tears after you won your Games. Not the one of you and Finnick taking quiet walks along the beach of District 4, after you finished your Victory Tour. 

Not any of the happy ones. Those were real. Tangible. They stayed and they made sense. The bad ones—the ones where you’re left hurt and broken and confused—they shimmer and wobble and pop if you prod at them enough, if you try to look too closely at the details and realize something’s not quite right. You finally figured it out, and you had to tell him. 

You wait until morning, when a medic brings a bowl of beige slop that is barely passable as oatmeal and dried fruits for breakfast. 

“Can you get Finnick for me?” you ask, poking at the oatmeal with your spoon rather than eating it.

“Did he not tell you? He’s off on a mission with the Mockingjay and a few others,” she informs you. “We’re not sure when they’ll be back. I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything else to her. You just stare into your oatmeal and silently hope that he’ll come back to you soon.

The days continue to pass. You’re weaned off of morphling gradually but it doesn't stop you from being quite dependent on it, and you're allowed outside of your hospital room to stretch your legs every once in a while. As you walk around the industrial halls of District 13, you catch a glimpse of bronze hair through a hospital room window. You rush into the room, fighting past a few officers attempting to stop you, elated to finally see Finnick. 

You rush to his beside, grabbing onto his shoulders eagerly. “I’ve figured it out!” you say, ignoring the medics trying to pry you away from him. 

“Figured what out?” he asks, slightly disoriented at your sudden appearance and the way you practically pounce on him.

“The memories. My memories. The fake ones—all the ones where you lied to me and hurt me—they’re shiny,” you attempt to explain. 

“Shiny?”

“Shiny. Iridescent. Like they’re trapped inside of a large bubble and I can’t see or hear them properly. The real ones, the ones you told me of, they’re not shiny like that,” you say. “Finnick, I know what’s real now. At least, I can differentiate what’s real and what’s fake, if I think about it hard enough. And—” you pause to take a breath, having winded yourself with your rambling explanation “—and now I know that you’re real. That we’re real.”

“What are you saying?” he asks, a tinge of hope in his voice.

“I’m saying I can love you again,” you say in a rush, shaking him slightly, not noticing as he winces in pain. “Not yet. But some day; some day soon maybe. Once I pop all the bubbles.

“Once you pop all the bubbles,” he repeats. Finnick breathes out, almost as if in relief. “Tell me a real memory. One that’s not shiny.”

“Won’t you already know it?”

“I want to hear it anyway. It’ll distract me.”

“Distract you? From what?” You take a pause, his words making you realize where you are now. You’re looking down at a very bruised and battered Finnick, barely conscious on a hospital bed as you spew a torrent of discoveries onto him. “You’re hurt.”

“I am,” he laughs, the sound strained. “But I’ll be okay. Just tell me about a memory, so I can stop thinking about the pain.”

“How are you so sure you’ll be okay?” you ask, ignoring his request for a memory, instead checking to see if you jostled any of his injuries upon your eager bound into the room. 

Finnick grabs onto your hands, stopping your frantic movements as you see if he’s okay. “Because I’ve got my girl back,” he says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “And I won’t let them take you away from me again.”

a/n: happy birthday eza i was never going to kill finnick i just wanted to throw u off-course mwah ily

you were crushing on him, and it was getting hard to hide. every time he carried your backpack, or brushed hair out of your face, or made you take his sweater when you said you didn’t need it, it made you wonder if he liked you too.

he sat there, eating watermelon the juice dripping down his fingers as he carefully picked it off the small plate between you. he is wearing a hoodie, that once he let you borrow and somehow for some odd reason some of your perfume ended on it, but you told him it was an accident.

“you always look so peaceful when you’re painting” he says, his voice low and warm.

you glance at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, its pretty peaceful.”

his eyes flicker with something gentle, and he gives you a small smile, offering you a slice of watermelon. “here, you need to take a break.”

you take the watermelon, and take a bite, the sweetness filled your mouth, and a drop of juice slipped down your chin, you wiped it away with the back of your hand.

“thank you” you say.

“anytime.” he says, shifting slightly so he’s sitting closer to you, the wind blowing makes your perfume more noticeable.

“here” you say, dipping your brush into the pale blue and handing it to him “help me with the clouds.”

isaac raises an eyebrow, curls falling forward onto his forehead as he leans in. “you trust me with the clouds?”

“i trust you” you say softly, eyes meeting his for a moment before you look away shyly.

he takes the brush“okay” he says, dipping the brush into the paint, and you watch the way his hand moves, steady, delicate, as he drags the soft blue across the pink sky you made.

“you’re good at this” you say, tilting your head.

“i just don’t want to mess up your painting” he chuckles, his eyes flicking to yours, before returning to the canvas.

you shift closer, you point to a spot on the canvas. “there. a little more blue.”

he hums softly, adding a soft swirl of color, and when he looks at you again, you realize how close you are, your faces inches apart.

for a moment, neither of you move, the world quiet around you, the sound of screaming kids and barking dogs was muffled in your head. his gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“can i… uh kiss you?” he starts, his voice low, careful

you swallow, your lips parting as you nod. “yeah.”

he leans in, pressing his lips to yours, soft and warm, his lips still had watermelon juice. your hand moves to his jaw, as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss just slightly before pulling back.

you’re both smiling like completely idiots.

“wow” you whisper, breathless.

“yeah “he says softly, letting out a quiet laugh. “i’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

you giggle, brushing your thumb across the corner of his lip to remove lip gloss that was left behind. “me too.”

he looks down at the canvas between you, the pink and blue sky, the soft clouds. his thumb brushes over your hand, his voice warm and unsteady when he finally says

“uh- can i go out with you?”

you bite your lip, grinning, your heart full. “yeah”

his smile is soft and real, and he leans in to kiss you again, this time, his free hand curling around your waist to pull you closer.

you both break into laughter, the tension dissolving into warmth as you pull back, you shift your position, resting your head on his shoulder, the canvas sits between you.

later, as the sun began to set, you packed up your paints, as isaac as he helped you fold the blanket. he picked up your tote bag without asking, slinging it over his shoulder while he held the folded blanket under his other arm.

“isaac, you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” he said, giving you a small, warm smile that made your chest flutter.

you walked side by side, your arms brushing as you moved down the quiet sidewalk. isaac’s hand bumped yours once, then again, until finally, he slipped his fingers between yours, giving your hand a soft squeeze.

you looked up at him, your cheeks warm, and he was already looking at you, smiling.

“is this okay?” he asked softly, swinging your joined hands gently.

“yeah,” you whispered, your heart feeling like it could explode

when you reached your house, you stopped, turning to him. he leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to your lips, sweet and warm, his hand still holding yours.

“i’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“yeah” you whispered, smiling.

you watched him walk down the street, turning back every few steps to wave at you, your heart light as you think of all the romcoms you seen and how it feels like you are living in one, you know the second you reach your bed your going to replay every moment of that special day.

an: he is just a baby and is 3 apples tall 🍎🍎🍎 i wanna give him the biggest hug ever 😚

YOU USED TO LOOK AT THE MOON FOR COMFORT. 

It was a method of self-soothing when you were overwhelmed by your own mind or when there were drastic changes in your life. You still like to admire the moon, but it was a constant reminder of how much your life has changed in a matter of months. 

You always thought that Beacon Hills had its charm for a small town, but with a lot of small towns, and to the opinionated teenage mind, you found that there wasn’t a lot to do in it. You prided yourself on appreciating the town for what it was, but you soon found out that it was hiding secrets within the roots of the forests that surrounded it. 

If you had the option to live in ignorant bliss about what was actually occurring in your town or be privy to what lurked in the shadows, you would want to live in bliss. But the blindfold was ripped off your eyes when your best friend turned into a fugitive after the sudden death of his father. 

You had noticed how weird things kept happening in your usually quiet town—a jogger had died, there were rumors of mountain lions prowling about in popular areas of town, and after multiple series of other strange events you had noted, Lydia had gotten attacked by one at the winter formal. 

It didn’t add up in your head. You did your own digging and research, and the only common denominator you found and noticed was that Stilinski and McCall were also doing the same thing you were doing, but you could tell they knew a lot more than they let on. 

You weren’t exactly friends with them, but you’ve known them since elementary school and shared a handful of classes with them. So you had a few conversations with them over the years. You would have taken your suspicions to any of your other friends, but you knew that they wouldn’t take you seriously, so you went to Isaac instead. 

Isaac Lahey. The boy who has stuck by your side ever since you sat next to him in kindergarten and offered to share his crayons with you after your parents had forgotten to pack yours in your backpack that morning. You were like two peas in a pod, uncaring about the fact that the other might have cooties. There wasn't a day that you guys didn’t find a way to talk to each other, and you guys had even gone as far as to create your own secret language with each other that you still use to this day. It came in handy after Isaac’s mother and brother passed away. 

You had started to see him less, despite your best efforts to see him, but you either got no response when you would try to knock on his door during summer break, or his father was very short with you and slammed the door in your face at 13 years old. 

So, you did what any reasonable and rational teenager would do. You went around the house and knocked on his window until Isaac responded. You were lucky that his room was on the first floor of the house, so when Isaac checked his window and opened it, you quickly climbed through it and greeted him with a huge smile. 

You remembered the shocked look on his face as you climbed in as stealthily as you could (it wasn’t graceful, but you landed on both of your feet once you got into his room). But your smile was wiped off your lips when you spotted the purple coloring on his pale skin surrounding his left eye. 

You instinctively reached out to cup his face, but Isaac flinched away from you, and it made your heart drop to your stomach. Your hand fell back to your side as you looked at Isaac’s hunched form. 

“Iz, did he do this to you?” You whispered, the words of your secret language fell from your lips as you tried to catch his eye. 

Isaac shook his head no, but you knew he was lying to you. He was avoiding eye contact at all costs. 

“Isaac.” You said lowly but harshly, making him look directly at you with wide eyes. 

“Keep your voice down!” Isaac responded in a sharp whisper. “I ran into the door last night when I got up to use the bathroom.” 

You cocked an eyebrow at him, your mouth open to respond, but no words came out upon seeing his pleading eyes. Isaac’s cerulean gaze was filled with a silent plea to stop talking about it, his waterline beginning to brim with tears. 

Your expression morphed into one of sympathy. It was jarring to see your best friend retreat more into himself. Isaac was naturally a shy kid, but he looked like he wanted to crawl into the deepest hole and never climb out of it. 

“Can I hug you?” You murmured as you took a tentative step forward. The last time you guys hugged sincerely was when you were at his brother’s funeral. 

Instead of responding, Isaac shot forward and wrapped his lanky arms around you. You immediately reciprocated the hug, your chin resting on his shoulder as his face buried itself in your neck. You didn’t know it at the time, but hugging Isaac always managed to put you at peace, like you were coming home even though you hadn’t left at all—and it never failed to send butterflies fluttering inside of you. 

But with that hug in particular, you couldn’t help but feel a pit grow in your stomach as you let go and saw the slight smile on your best friend’s face—you had a feeling that things would only get worse from there. 

And in a way, it did. You barely saw Isaac that summer, the next time you saw him was the night before you guys were in 8th grade—and you only did that because you couldn’t wait to see him at school when you didn’t know his schedule. 

Regardless of seeing him less during the summer, you never failed to stray from his side, even when you guys got to high school. You were not a social butterfly by any means—but your kindness transcended outside the bubble that you and Isaac had built. In some twist of events, you managed to get onto Lydia Martin’s radar and befriended her.

So, by the time you made it to sophomore year, most of the student body knew who you were—either by association from Lydia, or how you never failed to greet people with a smile and charm anyone who seemed to talk to you. 

When the second semester of your sophomore year rolled around, the aforementioned weird events began to plague your town. You had concocted your theories about what was happening, which seemed to revolve around McCall and Stilinski (or the fact that they were coincidentally present at the events).

Isaac just listened to you with pure amusement. But you had raised some valid points, and he made sure to try to figure out what the pair would whisper about during lacrosse practice. 

Then Lydia got attacked during winter formal, and you found McCall and Stilinski in her hospital room, looking underneath her bandage, whispering about how it wasn’t healing and asking ‘what was she?’ which made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

But that wasn’t the worst part. Isaac’s Dad was murdered, and you witnessed Isaac get pulled off the lacrosse field by the Sheriff and a deputy. 

As soon as practice was over, you sped over to the station to try and plead for Isaac’s innocence to Sheriff Stilinski, planning on saying anything to try and prevent him from going to prison (yes, you would have gone as far as lying about his whereabouts the night his Dad was murdered). 

You sat in the front of the station for god knows how long, and you sat up from your slouched position when you saw Derek Hale enter with Stiles Stilinski. 

Since when did Derek Hale hang out with high schoolers? You thought as you got up from your seat to head to the bathroom. You and Stiles made eye contact, but both of your eyes were filled with confusion when your gazes met. 

You were quick to use the bathroom, but as you were exiting, the fire alarm at the station went off. You were on high alert as you walked through the hallways of the building. You could hear grunts of pain echoing from where you assumed the holding cells were, and against your better judgment, your feet carried you to the wide-open door at the end of the hallway. 

Shock flooded your system at the sight in front of you. Stiles was on the floor, scrambling to the other side of the room as Isaac fought off a deputy. You were about to shout to make him stop, knowing full well that assaulting an officer would not be great for the mounting case against him. Once the deputy was incapacitated, Derek had shouldered past you. He stepped on a needle filled with god knows what, and Isaac turned around and horror filled your body. 

His face had turned into an animalistic one, his brow bone was pronounced as his lips were twisted up into a snarl, as fangs protruded from his mouth, and hair grew out from his cheeks. You barely noticed how his eyes weren’t his normal blue but a muddied yellow, and how he had claws growing from his nails. 

Isaac glanced at you and Stiles, and he made his move to lunge at either of you, but Derek roared, and it seemed to put him in his place. Isaac retreated and hugged the wall. When he looked back, Isaac looked like himself again. 

“How did you do that?” Stiles asked Derek as the alarms continued to blare around the four of you. 

Derek turned around and looked at Stiles. “I’m the Alpha.” He said as if that explained everything. 

“What the fuck just happened!” You blurted out, reminding Stiles and Derek that you were still in the station with them. 

Stiles cursed under his breath while Derek glared at you, and Isaac’s heart dropped to his stomach. This is not how he wanted you to find out (in fact, he never wanted you to even know about this). 

But Derek and Isaac were quick to leave when they realized that the entire department could come back at any moment, leaving you with Stiles to explain everything. 

After everything was situated at the police station, Stiles explained everything, albeit reluctantly, as he drove you back to your house. You didn’t want to believe a word he said, but after everything you just witnessed, you knew he was telling the truth. 

To say that you were worried about Isaac in the coming weeks was an understatement. Since the revelation of werewolves (and other potential supernatural creatures), you stuck close to Stiles and Scott. You felt a little betrayed by Allison since she knew, but you couldn’t fault her since she was also pulled into this mess. 

When Isaac wasn’t labeled as a fugitive, you were practically vibrating with excitement, but when he came back to school, it was like he was a different person. He didn’t even try to hang out with you. He stuck with Erica, who had also become a werewolf and turned into a bombshell overnight. You’d never admit the roaring jealousy at the sight of them practically wearing matching leather jackets, and how it seemed that Isaac never took his gaze off of her. 

But you knew Isaac, and the last thing he’d wear would be a leather jacket. Despite the tensions between Derek and Scott, you cornered him the day he came back to school and confronted him. 

“You look stupid with that jacket on.” You had found him ditching Math (he always did on the occasion) and at your spot when you had free period.  

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” Isaac snarked back, looking up at you from his spot on the stairwell. 

You walked down a flight to sit on the step above him. “Well, considering that I’m still your best friend, I can give you unsolicited fashion advice.” You shot him a sarcastic smile. 

Isaac raised an eyebrow at you. “If you were really my best friend, then you wouldn’t be helping out Scott protect the Kanima.” 

You leaned forward. “You and I both know it’s not Lydia.” You hissed out through your teeth. 

“Oh, yeah? How do you know?” Isaac challenged you, knowing that you weren’t sure yourself. 

“She just isn’t.” You insisted. 

Isaac scoffed, shaking his head. “See you don’t even know.” 

You pressed your tongue into your cheek, studying Isaac for a second. “You’ve changed.” 

“Yeah, for the better.” 

“I’m not so sure about that. This–” You gestured to Isaac with your finger, “Is not the boy I became best friends with.” 

“People change. Not everyone can stay the weak person that they were when they were younger.” Isaac spat out sourly, his lips twisted into a scowl. 

Your heart twisted at his words, and you moved down to sit next to him. “You were never weak, Isaac.” 

Isaac let out a bitter chuckle. “Right, and that’s why I let myself get locked in a freezer in my basement because I was so strong.” 

You froze. You didn’t know the full extent of what Mr. Lahey did, but hearing that sent a fury through you before you remembered that he was dead and you couldn’t do anything about the past. 

“You were a kid. Hell, you practically still are one.” You shook your head. “We all are, and you didn’t deserve to be treated like that by your own Dad. But even all you've been through, you’re still here, and I still think you’re the strongest person I know.” 

Isaac was silent, processing your words. You never failed to uplift him, even when he was at his lowest. You were a constant for him ever since he had met you, and never failed to be there for him, regardless of what it was for. 

You could see Isaac’s resolve melt behind his eyes as he took in your words. He turned to look at you, Isaac’s hand reaching for yours, but hesitated. You understood what he needed and grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers with his and started to rub circles into it, grounding him and taking him out of his own ego. 

A silence settled between the two of you, one filled with mutual understanding and comfort. 

“Do you really think the jacket is stupid?” Isaac murmured, breaking the silence. 

You knew that it was supposed to come off as a joke, but you could hear the underlying insecurity within the question. You scooted closer and rested your head on his shoulder. 

“Not really. But you could have worn a different shirt with it, Izzy.” You teased, squeezing his hand. 

Isaac scoffed playfully, his heart jumping at the childhood nickname. “I like to see you pull this off.” 

“Oh, I could and I’d wear it better than you.” 

Isaac let go of your hand and shoved you lightly away from him—he regretted pushing you away from him. He was already missing the warmth that you never failed to fill him with. You laughed at his offended expression on his face, but the smile that grew on his lips told you everything you needed to know—you guys were okay.

To say you were mad at Isaac Lahey, well, that would be an understatement. 

After your mini-reconcillation in the stairwell, everything had devolved rapidly. By the time the school year ended, Isaac was gone without a single trace, besides a note he left on your dresser, which you found a couple of days into summer break. 

You spent the better part of the summer worrying about Isaac and bothering Scott and Stiles about it. Stiles was definitely annoyed by your constant questions, and Scott was a little nicer about it—but you could tell that he was peeved by your constant inquiries about Isaac. But since you didn’t have school or Isaac for the summer, you split time between Stiles, Scott, and Lydia in order to try and distract yourself from the Isaac-shaped hole in your heart. 

Oh, and over the course of the summer, you figured out that you were in love with your best friend, so that was a great revelation. 

You were hoping that Isaac would show up when school started, but you just didn’t expect him to be in the hospital when you were at school. You only found out because you were running late to English since your advisor wanted to speak with you before class. When you ran into Scott, who was leaving school, he told you what happened. You were insisting that you’d come with him, but Scott practically ordered you to stay at school. 

Then crows flew into your classroom, marking the second time that this had happened to you (the first time was when you were in the car with Lydia and Allison and the deer ran itself right into Lydia’s car). Once school was officially cancelled for the day, you overheard Stiles talking to Scott and joined him in his jeep. 

Once you got into the dilapidated house, you immediately spotted Isaac, covered in a blue blanket, lying on a dusty table. Your feet unconsciously dragged you over there, but Stiles grabbed your wrist, making you stop in your tracks. 

“What are you doing?” He hissed under his breath. 

“You’re here for your best friend, I’m here for mine.” You quickly ripped your wrist out of his grip and headed over to Isaac. 

You swallowed hard at the sight of your best friend breathing shallowly as his eyes moved under his lids. Your hand moved to brush the hair at his temple, your thumb lingering on his frigid skin. 

“Please be okay, Izzy.” You murmured quietly, brushing the curls that were plastered onto his forehead away. 

No matter how mad you were about Isaac going MIA on you, you still were worried sick about him. 

This is such a stupid idea. You thought to yourself as you helped Stiles, Scott, and Derek fill the metal tub with ice while Deaton was explaining to Isaac how this process would work. 

They walked forward as you threw the empty ice bag to the side and stood by Stiles as they approached the ice bath. 

“Exactly. You'll be half-transformed. It'll let us access your subconscious mind.” Deaton said as he stopped in his tracks

Isaac bent down to study the ice water, and you knew that he was contemplating whether or not he should do this. 

“How slow does his heart rate need to be?” Scott asked his boss. 

“Very slow.”

Derek looked at Deaton. “Okay, well, how slow is ‘very slow?’"

Deaton was silent for a moment before telling him, “Nearly dead.” 

Your eyes widened in alarm, and you looked at Isaac, and your gaze met his own. You shook your head, a sign that he should not do this. 

Isaac turned his gaze away from you and up at Deaton. “It's safe, though, right?” 

You cursed Isaac under your breath, making Stiles chuckle, and he nudged you with his shoulder. He gestured to the glove lying on the metal shelf beside him. 

“Do you want me to answer honestly?” Deaton asked rhetorically. 

Isaac sighed. “No. No, not really.” 

Stiles put on the glove, and it snapped once fully on his arm. Everyone’s eyes were on him. 

“What?” Stiles questioned, making you snicker at his obliviousness. 

The corner of Isaac's lips twitched in amusement. But it soon changed when he realized that the smile you were giving Stiles was the same one you would shoot Isaac when he was being an idiot to try and make you laugh.

A flicker of annoyance passed through him at the realization. He barely tolerated the sarcastic brunette that stood across the room from him—it wasn't beyond Isaac how he noticed how much closer you had become with Stiles and Scott, and something in his chest stirred at that—he didn’t like it.

Your attention was pulled away from Stiles, who took off the glove, and towards Isaac, who stood up and let out a breath. 

“Look, if it feels too risky, you don't have to do this,” Derek told Isaac. 

Isaac glanced at you and took in your pleading gaze before ignoring it entirely. His mind was made up as he took off his shirt. 

Your brain short-circuited as you took in a sharp breath at the sight of Isaac shirtless. You’ve seen him without a shirt before, but that was before he turned into a werewolf and his figure filled out. 

You quickly averted your eyes, trying to ignore the heat filling your face. The sight of Isaac’s toned body burned into the back of your eyelids as you moved closer to the metal tub, situating yourself right next to Scott. 

The whole process was tense, you almost left the room, seeing Isaac shivering in the cold water as he relived his memories. You were frozen in your spot next to Scott. 

Once he shot up out of the water, you were quick to grab one of the many towels set on the table next to you and wrapped him up in it once Derek and Scott got him out of the tub. He clung to you as you tried to help him dry and get his body back to a normal temperature. For a moment, you got over your anger and whispered praises to him. 

When they figured out when and where Boyd would be, and before the group dispersed from the clinic, you went up to Derek and Isaac. 

“You’re coming with me, we need to talk.” Your voice was tight with tension as you stared at Isaac with a stern glare. 

Derek went to open his mouth to protest, but you turned your fiery glare on him. “I don’t give a shit that you’re his Alpha, you can pick him up in the morning.” 

The two of you were in a tense staring match before Derek relented. “Fine.” 

“Good.” You replied before leaving the clinic, with Isaac following behind you like a soddened curly-haired puppy. 

The drive back to your house was filled with unnerving silence. Isaac knew you were mad at him—he could smell the fury wafting off of you as you white knuckled the steering wheel.  

The silence persisted even after you parked in the driveway and began walking into the house. 

Isaac cleared his throat as he followed the familiar path upstairs. “Your parents aren’t home.” His words came out more like a question than the statement he intended. 

“Out on a business trip.” You responded tersely, heading into your room to grab him some spare clothes he left here the one time you guys had a sleepover before he left for the summer. 

You shoved them into his chest. “Spare towels are in the closet, you’re going to shower, and then we’ll talk.” You said before leaving him in the hallway outside of your bedroom, and headed downstairs to make hot chocolate for both of you. 

Isaac sighed and grabbed a spare towel before heading into the bathroom to do exactly what you said. He thought about spending a while in the shower to avoid the inevitable, but you’d probably rip him another new one for it instead of making fun of him for taking so long. So he took a quick shower before dressing in the grey sweatpants and blue hoodie you gave him. 

By the time he reached the kitchen, a steaming mug filled with hot chocolate was sitting on the kitchen island, as you sat on one side of it, taking a sip of your own before typing something on your phone. 

Isaac stood in the entryway for a moment, just trying to take in the tranquil atmosphere before it became charged with your anger that was simmering under the surface of your calm facade. You managed to change while he was in the shower, he noted. You were in some sweatpants and a soft, oversized tee, looking far more relaxed than you actually were. 

Isaac let out a silent sigh before walking into the kitchen. You looked up from your phone when you heard him enter the room. You turned it off and gestured for him to sit in front of you. 

He sat down and took a sip of his hot chocolate, trying to brush off your expectant look that felt like it was digging into his skin. Isaac felt like he had gotten in trouble and was sitting in the principal's office. 

“You’re mad at me,” Isaac stated once he set the mug back on the marble countertop. 

You pressed your lips together. “Do you know why?” 

“Did you get the note I wrote you?” He asked, dodging the question. 

You let out a humorless laugh. It was sharp and biting as you shot Isaac a dangerous look. “I did. But I didn’t find it until I almost filed a missing persons report on you.” 

Isaac winced. “M’sorry, Derek needed my help.” 

“I know.” Your tone was curt and short. “It still doesn’t make it better that you couldn’t bother with a phone call or even a text.” 

Isaac hated seeing this side of you with him. There have been a handful of times when he’s seen you mad, and he has never been on the receiving end of it until now. 

“Derek told me I couldn’t. I swear if I could, I would have called or texted every day.” Isaac's voice was filled with sincerity, and his eyes were wide. His gaze was practically screaming at you to believe him. 

Your anger almost melted away at the sight of his wide, practically puppy-like look he was pinning you with. God, those eyes would be the death of you one day. 

“You’re being reckless.” You stated, looking away from him. 

“I’ve always been reckless.” 

You looked back at him incredulously. “No, you aren’t. I’m usually the reckless one out of the two of us.” You gestured between you and the boy you were sitting across, “Just because you're a werewolf now, does not make you invincible.”  

“Yeah, well better me than you. I heal faster than you do.” He shot back. 

You stood up, your hackles raised as you rounded the island to get into his face. “You really don’t get it do you?” You asked. 

“No I don’t. Please tell me what I don’t get.” Isaac got up from his seat and looked down at you. 

You hated that he was taller than you, but you ignored it as you pressed a finger into his chest. 

“I don’t like seeing you get hurt, or be in dangerous situations period. It killed me that you told me not to do anything about your Dad. But this has to take the cake.” 

“I don’t understand why you’re so worried about me. I can take care of myself.” He couldn’t wrap his brain around why you were acting like this. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” You groaned, shaking your head. “Because I like you! Okay! I like you a lot more than I should for being your best friend. And I worry myself sick about you because of it.” You turned away from Isaac, walking out of the kitchen and heading to your room. 

Isaac stood there stunned. Your words echoing in his brain. 

I like you. I like you a lot more than I should. I like you. I like you. 

He quickly snapped out of it once it registered that you felt the same way about him. Isaac ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs and barged into your room. 

You turned around, startled at your door slamming against the wall, seeing Isaac in the doorway and entering your room like a man on a mission. 

“Isaac, what the hell–” 

You were cut off by Isaac grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his body, and placing his lips on yours. You were stunned for a moment before your mind caught up with your body, and you sank into the kiss. 

Isaac cupped your cheek as the hand fell from your wrist and placed it on your hip, drawing you closer to him. One of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, burying into the hair while the other rested on his broad chest. Your lips moved in sync against his as your chest filled with warmth. Isaac’s lips were soft against your own, and you never wanted to stop kissing him. 

Unfortunately, you needed to breathe. You slowly pulled away from the kiss, resting your forehead against Isaac as you took some slow breaths, filling your lungs with air and the familiar scent of your body wash wafting off of Isaac. 

“I like you a lot too. If it wasn’t clear.” Isaac broke the serene silence after the two of you parted from your kiss. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, it was pretty clear to me Iz.” 

Isaac sent you a beaming smile at your words, joining you in chuckling as he pulled you further into his body, engulfing you in his arms. You wrapped your arms around his back, sinking into his embrace. 

The nearly full moon illuminated your room as the two of you found a new comfort in each other, your relationship evolving right then and there in your bedroom. You knew right there and then that you would stick together, by each other’s side, forever. 

you threw the strap of your bag over your head, letting it fall to the ground next to you, before you stepped closer to the desk, opening the first drawer and searching through it.

"anything interesting?" isaac asked. he was leaning against the wall across from you, not bothering to help or search the rest of the room. his eyebrows were furrowed, while he looked at you with his arms crossed.

"i'm not talking to you" you said simply, not even looking at him.

isaac's smirk widened, what you of course couldn't see. “ah, right” he pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “the enemy thing. got it”

"yeah" you dragged the word out. "you're only here, because scott thought i needed some kind of protection" you looked up at him. "like i would need you"

"sure, you don't" isaac shrugged.

"also, stiles said—"

"i don't really care about the things stiles says" he interrupted, walking around the desk. you stepped back automatically.

"just because scott trusts you doesn't mean i have to" you reminded him, waving your hands through the air behind yourself to make sure you weren't running into anything.

"obviously" isaac nodded sarcastically.

he enjoyed how every step he took closer made you step back immediately. he liked the way you squirmed, nervous about just how close he was.

you pressed your back against the edge of the desk, glancing around for an escape route, but the room suddenly felt smaller, tighter, like he was closing in with every step.

“stop… moving closer,” you said, voice unsteady, trying to sound authoritative, but it came out more like a plea.

"you don't really sound so sure there, love"

"what?" you laughed, but the shake in your voice still revealed the underlying nervousness. "are you british now?"

"i am whatever you want me to be" isaac shrugged, stepping even closer.

"ha" you made, quickly turning around and walking around the desk, so that it was standing between the two of you. "very funny, isaac"

"i am, aren't i?" isaac chuckled, clearly taking your uninterested tone as a hint to continue. "years of trauma. when you're locked in a freezer for most of your childhood you tend to get creative.." he grinned "entertain yourself, you know?"

"sure" you nodded, your eyes widening. "look, let's just search for the thing scott wanted and get the hell out of here"

"i thought you didn't want my help?" isaac wondered.

"i do if it means getting out of here faster" you rolled your eyes. the won distance between you making you act a little more cocky than you probably should've.

"but why would i want that?" he rounded the desk with two steps to the side, halting behind your back, while he mockingly pouted at you. "if i have you all to myself in here?"

"isaac" you muttered, feeling the heat of his body at your back. you tried to turn around, to hopefully push him back, but isaac gripped your arms, holding you in place.

"shh," he cooed. "just let us stay like this for a minute."

"the hell i will" you said, finding your anger again. you broke from his grip and swerved around.

your nose almost touched his and you gasped, stepping back. but there was no room behind you. your back hit the desk and luckily, isaac had reached for you at the last second. if not, you would’ve flown right over it from the force of your movement.

"careful" he said, his grin turning into a serious expression. "i don't want you to hurt yourself on accident"

you breathed heavily, not saying anything, just staring up at him. there was still not enough distance between the two of you.

his right hand wandered from your arm to your cheek. you turned your head to the side to escape his touch, but couldn't help but admit that it felt good.

warm and familiar.

"leave me alone right now, or you won't keep that hand for much longer" you spat.

isaac grinned, stepping back immediately and raising his hands, spotting a face of innocence. "you do remember that between you and me, i am the werewolf right?"

"oh, trust me, i remember" you smiled sarcastically, walking around him to continue your search at the cabinet behind him.

"oh, come on" isaac shook his head, following you. "you can't still seriously be angry about that"

"too bad" you shrugged, closing a drawer and opening the next. "because i am"

"god, y/n" isaac said, moving a hand through his hair. "it had nothing to do with you"

"sure" you nodded, shuffling through papers in the drawer, before you pushed it close and moved on to the next once more. "absolutely nothing"

"yeah" isaac pressed, his voice raising in frustration. "i was offered a chance and i took it"

"that's not the— not the thing" you said, your words escaping your lips softly.

"then what is?" isaac asked. "because you've been acting like you hate me every since i was bitten and it does feel too much of a coincidence to really be one"

"god" you rolled your eyes, pushing him back to get to the other cabinet of drawers. "i don't have a problem with werewolves, you idiot"

"okay then just with me, or what?"

"pretty much" you shrugged.

"i just don't get it, y/n" isaac said, pulling you back around by the shoulder so you would finally look at him again. "i thought i was your friend"

"you were my friend!" your voice raised, almost screaming at him. "and then you turned against us just to follow derek's stupid plan. and then it didn't feel like you were my friend that much anymore"

"that had nothing to do with you" isaac argued.

"just because you say that, doesn't automatically make it true" you shook your head, walking back into the direction of the desk to get your bag and finally leave this stupid room. "you wanted to hurt the people i love"

"i didn't—" isaac shook his head, interrupting himself while he followed after you. "i just did what i had to do. took a chance that was offered. what is so bad about that?"

"you did it even though you knew it would hurt me"

"no!"

"then why isaac? why?" you swerved around, the desk pressing against your back like earlier, while isaac was standing close in front of you.

your eyes wandered over his porcelain skin, his blue eyes that were fixed on you and finally to his mouth, pink lips looking all too inviting.

he didn't answer.

"why?" you pressed louder then.

"because it was the only way you'd ever notice me" his voice was loud and rasp, breaking between you like a fault line.

"what?" you asked surprised, your brows furrowed.

"i always wanted you" isaac said, his gaze wandering to your lips. "always"

you almost shuddered under his intense gaze. but you weren't scared. quiet the opposite actually, as you imagined what his lips would feel like on yours.

you leaned forward, giving isaac something like a silent okay, as he met you in the middle, connecting your lips.

his hand flew to the back of your neck, while you leaned your head back, your hands wandering up his chest, as your backside pressed against the desk behind you.

his mouth moved against yours with a desperation you hadn’t expected, as if he’d been holding this back for years and could finally breathe again. the kiss deepened quickly, his lips parting yours, tongue brushing against yours in a way that made your knees weaken.

he suddenly broke away from the kiss and turned to the side of your neck instead, layering warm kisses, one after the other.

your head tilted back further as you moaned.

"you can't imagine" isaac whispered against your skin, pressing a few more kisses beneath your ear. "how long i have waited for this"

his other hand fell to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. you arm snaked around his neck, while he continued to mouth at your skin, kissing, sucking, and teasing every sensitive spot he could find.

"isaac" you moaned.

you could feel his mouth merging into a grin against your neck. "say my name like that again, love"

both his hands locked onto your waist, pulling you up on the desk behind you, so you were sitting on it.

"say it again and you'll get anything you want" he stepped between your legs, his hand falling to your thigh, pushing a finger up under your skirt.

the warmth of his hand was a welcome feeling on your cold leg. "isaac" you breathed once more.

the sound of your voice spurrned isaac on, as he kissed you again, his lips catching yours in a hungry kiss, as his hand pushed your skirt further up your leg.

he broke the kiss, looking into your eyes with the dreamiest blue orbs. he looked satisfied and hungry for more at the same time, like he had already gotten everything he ever wanted, but was not about to stop here.

"let me take care of you, my love" he whispered, sinking down to his knees in front of you. his warm lips wandered over your thigh.

In the time you’d spent with the pack, you’d developed a crush on Isaac Lahey, the only other Beta werewolf within the pack who wasn’t you or Liam. He was soft, kind, and gentle, but had the ability to fight back viciously when he needed to in order to protect his pack or his Alpha.

After almost a year of learning to be a werewolf and keep control on full moons or when your emotions got too much, you were on the brink of starting your senior year, bringing about the stress of college and life.

“How much longer until Scott and Stiles get here?” you ask after checking your phone for what feels like the millionth time as Isaac shrugs.

“They said they wouldn’t be much longer,” Isaac comments, glancing over your shoulder to see the time displayed across your phone screen, the close proximity never failing to make your cheeks heat up. You knew both Scott and Stiles had volunteered to keep an eye on Liam after his last full-moon incident until the time you’d all agreed to meet up for senior scribe.

“If they’re late after all the demanding Stiles did, I swear,” you joke, laughing along with Isaac, who shakes his head.

“They’ll be here,” Isaac assures as your phone buzzes in your hand, lighting up with a text.

“Stiles is on his way. Scott’s gone to get Kira,” you relay to Isaac, who nods.

“See, I told you they wouldn’t be long,” Isaac responds as the two of you glance around as the heavens open and rain begins to pour, both of you silently grateful you’d already taken shelter under a roof. The two of you patiently wait, being joined by Malia and Lydia as you wait, seniors begin to rush past through the rain to get to the library, everyone excitedly chatting to each other about what’s about to happen.

“I’m here!” Stiles calls out, rushing over to you all.

“Everything okay? Is Liam okay?” you ask, your focus instantly on Stiles as he nods.

“He’s good,” Stiles replies.

“He didn’t lose control or anything?” you continue to ask.

“Nope,” Stiles responds, clearly trying to move on from the conversation and focus on what you’re actually at the school for, and you take the hint.

“Should we head in?” Isaac asks, gesturing with his head towards the library.

“I’m gonna wait for Scott, you guys go ahead though,” Stiles says with a dismissive wave, making you all nod as you turn to head into the library with Lydia and Isaac while Malia stays behind with Stiles. The three of you mingle in the library, chatting with each other and other classmates, eagerly anticipating the years-long tradition you are about to partake in.

Before you could all get prepared to join the line, Stiles came running up to the three of you, panic written all across his face.

“Scott’s in danger.”

The five of you, plus Liam, who had run all the way from the hospital to inform you of the danger Scott could be in, run out into the rain with you, Isaac, Liam, and Malia sniffing at the air, hoping to catch a scent.

“Anything?” Lydia asks, looking around desperately.

“The rain’s too heavy. I can’t catch a scent,” you say apologetically, everyone suddenly tensing up when they hear a roar coming from across the campus before rushing off in the direction of the roar, filled with the urge to protect your Alpha.

When you make it to where Scott and Kira are, you bare your fangs, you, Isaac, Malia, and Liam snarling at the large werewolf with blue glowing claws that dug into Scott. You longed to step in, to protect your Alpha with everything you had, but the moment you saw Scott begin to fight back, you knew you didn’t need to. You watched as Scott fought back, sending the mysterious werewolf running off with his tail between his legs.

And that’s when you met Theo Raeken for the first time.

All eyes were on the mysterious newcomer who had supposedly gotten there before you and the rest of the pack to help Scott. You watched as Scott studied him carefully before muttering a quiet.

“Theo? Theo Raeken?” Scott asked, shocked at the arrival of someone he hadn’t seen since the fourth grade.

“Who?” The question slips past your lips without even thinking, grunting slightly when Lydia’s elbow suddenly digs into your side.

“You moved away. What are you doing back here?” Stiles asks, immediately suspicious of Theo’s sudden return.

“I heard rumours that there was a True Alpha in Beacon Hills and I had to come and find him,” Theo says with a smile, glancing at Scott as everyone’s eyebrows furrow.

“You’re a werewolf? Since when?” Stiles asks, his question falling short as no one pays him any attention, too focused on Theo.

“We can worry about this all tomorrow, right? We’re here for a reason,” Lydia says, exasperated by the questioning that was happening.

“You’re right,” Malia agrees with a nod, already turning on her heels and heading in the direction of the library.

“Okay, fine, we’ll pick this up later,” Scott says with a slightly apologetic look towards Theo, who simply shrugs with a friendly smile. You all make your way to the library, thankful that the rain is beginning to ease off slightly. As everyone heads into the library, you quickly catch Liam by the shoulders, turning him away from the library as he groans.

“What are you doing that’s such a big secret?” he questions, making you roll your eyes at his question. Ever since he’d found out that you and the others were going to the school in the middle of the night for something, he wouldn’t stop pestering you about it, begging to be told what it was you were doing.

“Just wait until you’re a senior. Then you’ll find out,” you grin, reaching out to ruffle at Liam’s hair, laughing as he swats your hand away with a glare. With one last joking smile, you head into the library, leaving Theo and Liam to their own devices.

The library was bursting with excited chatter, groups of friends huddled together as they talked about their futures and the importance of tonight. You stuck with the pack, joining the line of excited seniors.

“Have you thought of any colleges yet?” Isaac asks casually, leaning against one of the shelves as you wait for the line to move, his eyebrow quirking as you purse your lips, thinking carefully.

“Nothing solid yet. I’m still worried about leaving Liam behind,” you admit quietly, only allowing your gaze to meet Isaac’s for a brief second before looking back down to the floor.

“You know Liam will be okay, right? You’re allowed to want to do things for yourself,” Isaac says, his voice softening as he straightens up, watching you carefully.

“I’d just feel guilty leaving him behind. What if he needs me?” you ask, worst-case scenarios whirling their way around your head, gleefully dragging you into overthinking.

“Then he can call you. Liam’s a tough kid, he can handle himself, you know?” Isaac says as you nod slightly.

“I know it’s just… I always promised myself I’d be there for him if he needed me. I feel like I’m abandoning him,” you mumble, your gaze dropping to the floor in embarrassment.

“You’re not abandoning him. We’re growing up, and that means moving away to do new things. Liam will understand, and you’ll still be there if he needs you,” Isaac says softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and squeezing softly.

“I know,” you mutter, relaxing at Isaac’s gentle touch, thankful for the comfort he was providing you with without even being aware of it.

“I can’t imagine it would be easy for you. We all know how much you care about Liam. But you deserve to live your life for you and not anyone else,” Isaac says, his voice never wavering in softness as he talks. After losing his brother, Isaac had regrets about not spending time with him as much as he should’ve, but he knew that with how much you loved and cared for Liam, Liam would never feel like he wasted a second spending time with you.

“You’re right,” you admit quietly, both you and Isaac smiling shyly at each other.

“I usually am,” Isaac jokes, releasing his grip on your shoulder as you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, unaware of your friends watching with raised eyebrows.

“Scott, you have been telling Isaac to make a move, right?” Stiles whispers into his best friend’s ear.

“I’ve tried. He’s pretty insistent that she doesn’t like him like that,” Scott replies quietly, making Stiles scoff quietly.

“Is he talking to her with his eyes closed or something? She’s head over heels for him,” Stiles says, gesturing towards you and Isaac as you chatted, both of you smiling widely.

“Trust me, she’s just as oblivious. I’ve tried telling her Isaac likes her, but she just won’t see it,” Lydia shrugs, remembering the times she’d tried talking to you about it.

“I’m gonna lock them in a room together until they figure it out,” Stiles mutters, quickly regretting his words when Scott whirls around to glare at him.

“No, you’re not. y/n would kill you because if Isaac had a panic attack and hurt himself, she’d never let it go,” Scott says firmly, remembering how Isaac had reacted when he and Allison had been locked in a room by Ethan and Aiden. Since then, Isaac had opened up a little bit more about his past with his dad and how his claustrophobia often resulted in panic attacks when he felt trapped.

“Okay, then what else can we do?” Stiles shrugs, glancing at everyone.

“Maybe just let them figure it out for themselves?” Malia suggests with a shrug, turning around as the line starts to move.

The line continues to move steadily, your group of friends inching closer and closer to the front. When your friends reached the shelf, Stiles was handed the marker, and you all watched as he scribbled his initials onto the library shelf alongside all the other initials of your classmates. The marker is then passed to Lydia, then Malia, and then Scott, who wrote down two sets of initials before handing the marker to Isaac.

As you watched Isaac approach the shelf, you noticed how he stiffened at the sight of the extra initials Scott wrote. You heard his heartbeat pounding as his hand hovered over the shelf, his gaze fixed on the ‘A.A.’ It was at that moment that you realised that you could never compare to Allison. Whoever Allison was, she had stolen the hearts of both Scott and Isaac, and there was no way you’d ever be able to compare to her in Isaac’s eyes, and you knew it. You always knew having a crush on a friend was risky for your heart. To get attached to someone and to love them wholly while knowing they most likely never saw you as anything more than a friend. But this felt worse. To know that someone had been so loved by Isaac before that no one could possibly replace her in his heart.

“y/n? It’s your turn.” You shake yourself from your thoughts, noticing Isaac holding the marker out towards you expectantly, all eyes on you.

“Sorry,” you apologise, taking the marker and approaching the shelf. Without thinking, you hastily scribbled your initials on the shelf and handed the marker to the person behind you before crossing to your friends.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks, noticing your increased heartbeat.

“Yeah, fine. I just need some air,” you say quickly, turning away from the pack as you feel tears burning in your eyes. You knew Scott, Malia, and Isaac would be able to pick up your heartbeat pounding, but you weren’t in the mood to be grilled for answers. Instead, you rush out of the library, almost running straight into Theo and Liam, who were waiting just outside.

“y/n? I thought you guys were going to be in there longer?” Liam asks innocently as he and Theo watch you.

“What are you guys still doing out here?” You try dodging the question, laughing nervously.

“I need a ride home,” Liam says with a shrug.

“I just thought I’d hang out and get to know my new classmates,” Theo responds, folding his arms across his chest with a smile.

“Shit, of course, I’ll take you home now Liam. I’m not feeling up to staying here much longer,” you say, plastering a smile on your face as you usher Liam in the direction of your car.

“But I wanted to find out what you guys were doing,” Liam grumbles.

“You’ll find out when you’re a senior, buddy,” you say, trying not to let irritation slip into your tone as you continue to guide him towards the car, Theo hot on your heels.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t catch your name. Is everything okay?” Theo asks, approaching as Liam gets in your car, making you turn to face him.

“Hi, sorry, I’m y/n, and I’m fine,” you say dismissively, moving to turn towards your car again before Theo gently takes your arm, turning you to face him.

“Look, forgive me for using my werewolf abilities, but you reek of sadness right now. I just want to make sure everything’s okay. I mean it’s still a full moon, we don't need anyone running off with a thirst for human blood,” Theo jokes, smiling slightly when you let out a light scoff.

“I appreciate the concern. But I’ll be okay,” you say softly.

“Here, give me your phone. I’ll give you my number, and if you need someone to talk to, I’ll be there,” Theo says, releasing his soft grip on your shoulder and holding his hand out.

“That’s very forward, mister.” You find yourself joking, pulling your phone out of your pocket and handing it to Theo, patiently waiting as he inputs his number before handing it back to you with a smile.

“Don’t be afraid to text me if you want to talk. Deal?” Theo says as you take the phone from his hand.

“Deal,” you agree, bidding Theo goodbye before climbing into the car, where Liam was sitting with his headphones in.

“You’re done flirting then?” Liam’s quiet voice made your eyes widen as you turned to look at him.

“We were not flirting,” you splutter, turning the key in the ignition as Liam nods, clearly unconvinced.

“That’s why he gave you his phone number, huh?” Liam muses as you pull out of your parking spot.

“He was just being friendly,” you insist, focusing on the road in front of you.

“A bit too friendly if you ask me,” Liam mutters, his gaze fixed on the scenery passing by.

“He’s come back to Beacon Hills after a long time, it’ll do him some good to have some friends,” you explain further, trying to justify what happened.

“I heard what you guys were talking about. Theo’s right, you’re really sad. Is everything okay?” Liam asks, glancing over at you.

“I’m fine, buddy. You don’t need to worry about me,” you say assuringly, not wanting Liam to worry about your silly unrequited crush.

“You always say I can talk to you about anything. You know you can always talk to me, too, right?” Liam says softly. You could hear the worry in his tone and smell the anxiety surrounding him, making you sigh lightly.

“I know I can. But part of my job is to protect you and-”

“I’m not five years old anymore. I’m a werewolf now. You don’t need to protect me from anything,” Liam insists.

“I know. I know. I’ve just been so used to the idea of keeping you protected from my shit. I just never wanted you to have to worry about me,” you say softly, tightening your grip on the wheel slightly.

“I always worry about you,” Liam says softly, making you briefly glance over at him before focusing back on the road.

“I didn’t know you felt like that,” you mutter, your heart panging in sorrow.

“I mean, you’ve been looking out for me my whole life. You demanded that Scott turn you into a werewolf when you found out what happened to me. You’ve been protecting me and helping me without complaint. You do so much for me and the rest of the pack, and you expect nothing back. You always listen to my problems. You deserve to have someone to listen to yours,” Liam says, a firm yet gentle tone to his voice.

“Just don’t fall in love, Liam. It can hurt,” you mutter.

“Did someone reject you? Who?” Liam demands, looking over at you as you shake your head weakly with a smile.

“No, no one rejected me. It was just a silly crush. I never should’ve even hoped they liked me back,” you shrug, finally pulling into the driveway of your house and climbing out of the car with Liam mirroring your actions.

“But did you talk to them? Do you know for sure?” Liam questions as you approach the front door.

“I don’t need to talk to them. Sometimes you can just tell, and that’s okay. Some things just aren’t meant to be,” you shrug, unlocking the front door and letting Liam in before entering behind him.

“Well, it’s their loss. You’re one of the best people I know. They’re just too blind to see a good thing even when it’s right in front of them,” Liam says, kicking his shoes off at the door.

“You have to say that, you’re my brother,” you laugh, taking your shoes off and placing them on the shoe rack.

“I don’t have to say anything. I’m saying it because it’s true,” Liam says, smiling over you as you soften.

“How did you turn out so sweet?” you ask gently, moving to bring him into a hug.

“I guess I had a few good influences,” Liam jokes, making you laugh as you release him from the embrace.

“You should head to bed. It’s your first day of being a sophomore tomorrow,” you say, nudging Liam in the direction of his bedroom.

“You should do the same. It’s your first day of senior year,” Liam states, looking pointedly at you as you roll your eyes.

“Alright, smart-ass. I’ll see you in the morning,” you bid Liam goodnight before making your way to your room. You get ready for bed and climb into bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, trying to find a way to fall asleep. Every time you tried closing your eyes, you were reminded of the way that Isaac had inspected Allison’s initials, forcing your eyes open again so you didn’t have to relive the moment. After half an hour of failed attempts to fall asleep, you reach over for your phone, unlock it and find the newest contact that has been added.

‘Hey Theo, it’s y/n. I think I might take you up on that offer to talk.’

By the next day, you felt more confident going to school for your senior year. After you watched Liam meet up with Mason and head into the building, you glanced around the parking lot, catching a glimpse of Scott, Stiles, and Isaac climbing out of Stiles’ Jeep before beelining straight into the building, colliding with someone who quickly catches and steadies you.

“Whoa, careful.” You look up to lock eyes with Theo, who grins, with no malice in his eyes, as he releases the grip you don’t even realise he is still holding onto your shoulders.

“Sorry, Theo. I wasn’t paying attention,” you apologise as Theo shakes his head with a soft laugh, waving a hand dismissively.

“No harm done. You doing okay?” Theo asks, making you shrug.

“Just distracted, I guess,” you reply, both you and Theo making your way through the hallway to get to your lockers.

“Is this what we were talking about last night?” Theo asks softly.

“Yeah. It’s like I can’t stop thinking about it,” you admit quietly. You’d confessed to Theo the bare minimum about your situation, not disclosing the identity of your crush and what it was that prompted you to realise that they didn’t have any feelings for you. But Theo had been patient with you, listening carefully and offering advice where he could.

“Maybe all you need is a distraction?” Theo offers, both of you grabbing your books from your lockers.

“What would you suggest then?” you reply with a light laugh, slamming your locker door closed mere seconds before Theo places a piece of paper on top of the books you had in your hands with a grin.

“I’m gonna need a hand finding all these classes. Fancy being my tour guide?”

As you and Theo chatted, leaning up against the lockers, Scott, Stiles, and Isaac entered the building. When Isaac spotted you with Theo, his eyes narrowed.

“Why is y/n speaking to Theo?” He couldn’t help the question from slipping past his lips the moment he noticed what was happening.

“Maybe she’s just being friendly,” Scott shrugs, already moving to get to his locker while Stiles and Isaac stay put.

“I don’t trust him,” Isaac mutters, already wondering what Theo’s ulterior motive could be.

“I think that’s the first time we’ve agreed on anything,” Stiles muses, glancing over at Isaac as the two share a slight nod of understanding.

“I’ll take it,” Isaac mutters, following Scott to their lockers while keeping a careful eye on Theo’s proximity to you.

Throughout the day, Isaac carefully monitors you, noticing how you barely speak to anyone from the pack and spend the majority of your time with Theo. You only spoke to him or one of the others if they initiated a conversation with you, but even then, you kept it brief, clearly wishing to be left alone. While Isaac was opting to keep his cards close to his chest and figure out Theo’s motives before anything happened, Stiles was much more willing to lay his cards out on the table for the pack to see, and so summoned you all to the library to show off the information he had found.

“You think Theo’s lying because the signatures are different?” Scott questions, looking at the two forms signed by Theo’s dad that lay before him.

“I know he’s lying,” Stiles insists.

“Stiles, come on, no one’s signatures are going to be the exact same every time. If you asked someone to write their signature a bunch of times on a piece of paper, it wouldn’t look the same each time,” you argue, not seeing Stiles’ point.

“I’m telling you there’s something going on with him, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” Stiles insists as you roll your eyes, pushing your chair back and standing up.

“And on that note, I’m leaving. Good luck with all that, Stiles,” you say, gathering up your books and leaving the library, ignoring the calls of your friends as they beg for you to stay.

As you head out of the library, you walk down the hallway, finding Theo leaning against his locker, grinning as you approach.

“Where did you sneak off to?” he teases, pushing himself off the locker and joining you as you walk down the hallway.

“Library,” you shrug, smiling slightly as Theo bumps your shoulder lightly.

“You a secret bookworm or something?” Theo teases, chuckling as you shake your head.

“I wish, my grades would definitely benefit from that. I was just meeting with the others,” you say with a soft laugh. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to lie to Theo, so you figured you’d tell him the truth, but not the whole truth.

“Fair enough,” Theo grins as you continue to walk together, only separating when you make it to your classrooms.

By the end of the school day, you found yourself searching for Theo in the sea of students trying to make their way home for the day. It didn’t take you long to locate him, grinning as you approached.

“You waiting for me or something?” you tease, shoving your books into your bag at your locker as Theo quirks an eyebrow.

“My locker is right here too, you know,” he retorts, knocking on the door to his locker lightly with his knuckles.

“But maybe I stuck around to see you, too,” Theo then adds with a smile as you close your locker, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Are you trying to soften me up or something, Theo?” you joke, the two of you then making your way out of the school building. It doesn’t take long for Liam to track you down, bounding up alongside you with a smile and Mason at his side.

“Hey, Liam, you ready to go home?” you ask, glancing between your brother and his friend.

“Yeah,” Liam says with a nod, bidding Mason goodbye and heading in the direction of your car as you mingle behind with Theo.

“I’ll see you around. If you need me, text me,” Theo says with a smile as you nod slightly with a shy smile of your own before turning and heading to your car, where Liam was waiting impatiently, jiggling the door handle as if it would unlock the door by itself.

“Can you not potentially damage my car?” you scold jokingly, unlocking your car so Liam can get in.

“Am I going to have to wait for you to flirt with Theo every time I want to go home now?” Liam grumbles, shoving his bag on the back seat before settling into the passenger seat while you get behind the wheel.

“You could always take the bus or catch a ride home with Mason. No one’s forcing you to get in my car,” you say, glancing at Liam out of the corner of your eye as he rolls his eyes, unintimidated by your joking threat.

“You’d never make me take the bus,” Liam says, calling your bluff almost instantly.

“True, but I’m not above making you Mason’s problem instead,” you joke as Liam scoffs lightly.

“Maybe, but I know you love me,” Liam says, glancing over at you with a grin.

“Unfortunately, I do,” you tease, laughing as you pull out of your parking spot.

“And you know that Mom and Dad would kill you if you left me behind,” Liam then adds with a chuckle.

“That too,” you confirm, smiling as you focus on the road. 

The journey back to your house was uneventful, and once you made it home, Liam disappeared into his room to do his homework, and you went to your room with the intention to do the same. Only you ended up spending most of the time texting Theo, seeking comfort in how he listened and offered advice. You’d barely known Theo for the best part of a day, yet you felt like you’d known him forever. You had no idea if it was something that came with being a werewolf and the desire to find a pack, or if it was just Theo’s alluring charm, but you felt yourself wanting to be around him more.

You talked with Theo until he told you he was about to head out somewhere, and he’d have no service. Taking that as your cue to actually make a start on your homework As you work diligently on your assignments, you hear the front door open and shut, making you sit up slightly when you don’t hear the jangling of house keys, signalling to you that someone had left the house instead of coming home. Knowing Liam was the only other person in the house, you instantly beelined for Liam’s room, knocking on the door and furrowing your eyebrows when you got no response. You opened the door enough to stick your head in, quickly realising that Liam had left the house, making you pull your phone out of your pocket and text him.

‘Where did you disappear off to?’

“Guys, she just texted me, she knows I’m gone,” Liam says, leaning forward from the backseat of Stiles’ Jeep, holding the phone in front of him so Isaac and Stiles could see the text.

“I mean, she is a werewolf too. She definitely heard you leaving. Just lie to her, man,” Stiles says, returning his focus to the road.

“And say what? If I can’t tell her you guys have dragged me out of the house to go and stalk Theo, then what am I supposed to say?” Liam questions wildly, panic preventing him from having a rational thought. In response, Isaac takes Liam’s phone, types out a response, and hits send before waiting for your response.

“There, she thinks you’re at Mason’s, now text him and tell him to cover for you,” Isaac says, handing the phone back to Liam when he sees your response. Nodding quickly, Liam types out a message to Mason, begging him to cover for him if you contacted him.

“The sooner we find out what this guy is hiding the sooner we can get y/n away from him,” Isaac mutters, settling back even further in the seat, folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes, willing for time to go faster so he can figure out what it was that was going on with Theo so he could get you away from him.

‘I went to Mason’s, I’ll be back later.’

“Could’ve said bye,” you mutter with a soft laugh as you close your phone, returning to your room to finish your homework. You went about your evening, oblivious to your brother’s activities with Stiles and Isaac. You were unaware of them tracking down Theo, trying to catch him in the act of doing something treacherous, but instead found him paying tribute to his sister.

Defeated by the lack of evidence and after being caught by both Scott and Theo, the trio called it a night and headed home, both Stiles and Isaac particularly dejected at the failure of their plan.

‘Has your brother got a tendency to trail along with your friends to follow people?’

Theo’s text made you furrow your eyebrows, your eyes scanning the question over and over again, trying to make sense of Theo’s question.

‘Are you sure it was Liam? He said he was with his friend Mason.’

You hit send on the text, chewing your fingernail as you pace your room, hoping Theo was just joking.

‘Pretty sure it’s the same kid I saw at the end of the school day with you. I can’t think of any other sophomores that would hang out with seniors.’

You bit your lip harshly when Theo’s response came through. Just as your thumbs readied themselves to send another text to Theo, you heard the front door open and close, making you jump out of your skin before you realised that Liam was home. Knowing this was a perfect opportunity to find out what happened, you headed downstairs, greeting Liam from the stairs.

“Hey, how was Mason’s?” you ask with a smile, leaning against the bannister as Liam stops in place, his heart rate instantly picking up, something you couldn’t have missed even if you tried.

“It was good. We just played some video games,” Liam shrugs, clearly trying to get you off his back, his heartbeat so loud it was almost like it was being drilled straight into your brain. Part of you wanted to drill him further, to find cracks in his lies and get the truth out of him. But the other part of you was betrayed enough by his lie that you couldn’t be bothered to try questioning him further.

“I was going to order some pizza, you want in?” you ask, keeping your smile on your face, waving your phone in the air.

“Yeah, okay,” Liam stammers, clearly caught off guard by you dropping the subject.

You tried to spend the rest of the evening acting as normal as possible around Liam. You had dinner, cleaned up and managed to hold a civil conversation with him the whole time. By the time you got ready and collapsed into bed, you couldn’t help but stare at the ceiling, squeezing your eyes shut when tears threatened to build.

“Damn it, Liam,” you mutter tearily to yourself. You couldn’t believe that Liam lied to you. You weren’t naive; you knew he’d probably lied to you hundreds of times prior to the two of you becoming werewolves. But the two of you had always been close, and Liam had never lied to you about where he’d been and what he’d been doing, especially when he knew you could tell when he did lie. You just couldn’t make sense of it. You couldn’t understand why Liam would’ve lied to you, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the gaping hole in your gut as your thoughts consumed you, sending you spiralling even as you fell asleep, continuing to plague you into your dreams.

The next morning, you dragged yourself out of bed and got ready, not feeling up to going to school at all but knowing you needed to. Once you were ready, you went downstairs and made yourself breakfast, waiting for Liam to join you. Despite the conflicted emotions you were feeling, you knew you couldn’t abandon Liam to make his own way to school, so you forced yourself to wait, texting Theo as you waited to pass the time.

When you and Liam were both ready, you climbed into your car and drove to school. The drive was awkward, both of you knew that Liam had lied to you last night, and neither wanted to approach the subject with a ten-foot pole. Once you made it to school, you got out of your car, quickly locking eyes with Theo as he offered you a friendly wave.

“I’ll see you around, Liam,” you say haphazardly, throwing your bag over your shoulder and heading over to Theo.

“Hey, are you okay?” Theo asks the moment you reach him, clearly picking up on your conflicting emotions.

“Just confused about last night,” you shrug, heading into the school building with Theo by your side.

“We can talk about it at lunch if you want?” Theo offers softly, lightly bumping your shoulder in an attempt to cheer you up.

“Only if you’re okay with listening to my problems,” you say with a small smile.

“It’s fine. You need someone to talk to, and I’m happy to be that guy,” Theo says, slinging an arm around your shoulder with a grin as you both make your way to your homeroom.

When lunchtime came around, you met up with Theo, both of you grabbing some food before finding a quiet place to sit down where you wouldn’t be bothered.

“So, talk to me about yesterday,” Theo says, instantly digging into his food.

“I just don’t know what to think. You told me one thing and Liam told me another,” you shrug, poking at the food on your plate with your fork.

“I’ll tell you what happened, and you can listen to my heartbeat the whole time. I went out to the woods to bring some flowers to where my sister died. I haven’t been able to do it for a few years, so I figured I owed her. While I was there, I heard your friends, Stiles and… Isaac, is it? Clearly, they brought Liam along too. I asked what they were all doing, and Stiles was pretty open in confessing that he thinks I’m suspicious. I’m pretty sure Isaac thinks the same, but he’s not the kind of guy to say that to your face. I mean, I get it, I show up out of the blue after years, wanting to join Scott’s pack, but I would’ve appreciated them coming and talking to me instead of following me into the woods. Those two made their stances pretty clear, but Liam? He’s the mystery. I can’t figure him out yet. But he’s definitely tougher than he looks.” You listen carefully to Theo’s heartbeat, unable to pick out a single increase in speed. His heart beat as steady as a drum the whole time.

“I just don’t get it,” you mumble, still trying to make sense of everything in your head.

“Does Liam not lie to you often?” Theo asks, his voice soft.

“Not since we became werewolves. He knows that I know about him lying last night. I don’t know why he’d lie to me,” you say, lifting your drink to your lips and taking a sip.

“Sometimes people lie to protect people they care about,” Theo shrugs, his gaze never leaving you.

“But what was he trying to protect me from? He knows I get on with you. I trust you.”

“Maybe it’s because Liam knew Stiles and Isaac didn’t trust me, and he wanted to protect you from that?” Theo suggests, briefly glancing over your shoulder, fighting back a smirk when he locks eyes with Isaac, who was glaring at him from across the cafeteria, clearly hearing what was being said between you.

“He doesn’t need to protect me from anything. I’m his big sister, it's my job to protect him,” you argue, glancing down at your plate and missing how Theo twitched slightly, feeling a pang in his heart as he thinks of his own sister, wondering if she had ever thought the same about him. Not that he’d blame her if she didn’t after what he did.

“I mean, he’s a sophomore now. He’s gonna become more independent and you can’t hover over him forever, especially with college around the corner,” Theo says with a shrug as you slump slightly, your fork hovering over your food as you digest his words, frowning as the reality sets in. He was right. You knew that you wanted to go to college, to go out into the world and begin your life. If you wanted to do that, then you had to accept that you’d be leaving Liam behind, too. You knew it came with growing up, that you and your family would grow up, and you and your brother would start lives of your own. Liam needed to have time to figure out who he was and where he fit in the world. You’d spent so much of your life looking out for Liam and worrying about him that you’d forgotten that you could live life for yourself.

“Just for the record, I hate when people are right,” you mutter, smiling as Theo lets out a breathy laugh, helping to ease the tension.

“Hey, how about we hang out after school today?” Theo offers, smiling at you. At first, you went to interject, ready to say that Liam had lacrosse practice, so you had to stay to take him home before you stopped yourself, instead nodding at his question.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool, I’ll catch a ride with you after school then?” Theo says, grinning as he looks at you. The moment your gaze slipped away, he once again looked over your shoulder, cocking an eyebrow when he notices that Isaac had not stopped staring at the two of you. You and Theo continue to talk until your gaze drifts down to your phone, seeing the time, which makes your eyes widen.

“Shit, I just remembered I was supposed to meet with the guidance counsellor. I’ll see you later,” you say apologetically, grabbing your tray and leaving the cafeteria, clearly in a rush. Taking advantage of your absence, Isaac gets up from his seat, crossing to Theo and sitting down opposite him, where you had been sitting previously, a set look on his face.

“Can I help you?” Theo asks, turning his attention to his food, uninterested in Isaac before the conversation had even started.

“Yeah, you can. Stay away from y/n,” Isaac says lowly, resting his arms on the table and leaning forward, attempting to intimidate Theo.

“I’m just being friendly. I don’t know why you’re acting like I’d hurt her,” Theo says, glancing up at Isaac with a look that only served to irritate him further.

“I don’t know what your plan is here, but it’s going to get y/n hurt if you don’t leave her alone,” Isaac says, fighting the building growl in his throat. At first, Theo stays silent, studying Isaac’s expression carefully before leaning back, a smirk drifting across his face.

“You like her, don’t you?” Theo asks, putting the pieces together in his head as Isaac scowls.

“She’s my friend,” Isaac says, his glare hardening. Despite Isaac’s words, Theo was unconvinced, picking up on the skip in Isaac’s heartbeat, something that gave away his true feelings.

“You can lie to yourself, lover boy, but you can’t lie to a werewolf,” Theo says, tilting his head slightly as Isaac clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to leap across the table and strangle Theo.

“If you hurt her, I’ll rip your throat out,” Isaac growls, his warning not having the intended effect as Theo chuckles.

“Look, man, I don’t know what to tell you. We’re just hanging out. She needed someone to talk to, so I stepped up. I’m not the one following people into the woods when they’re trying to pay respects to their dead sister. How did Scott feel about that one by the way?” Theo queries, resting his arms on the table with a raised eyebrow. Sensing that Isaac was struggling to come up with anything, Theo shrugged.

“You can hate me all you want. I’m just here to find a pack. You’re gonna have to get used to me,” Theo says, turning his attention back to his food, finished with the conversation as Isaac gets up from his seat, crossing back to the others with a scowl on his face.

After your meeting with the guidance counsellor, you made your way to your next class, still trying to wrap your head around everything you had discussed. College was the next big step for you. You needed to get your grades up and decide where you was you wanted to go for college, so as you entered your next class, you were ready to work your ass off to get the grades you need to get into a good college.

By the end of the day, you were ready to head home and spend time with Theo, desperate to spend time enjoying being a teenager instead of worrying about what supernatural threat might come and attack you next.

“Hey, Liam, I’m heading home early today, so you need to catch a ride home with someone else tonight,” you say, catching Liam in the hallway.

“What? Why?” Liam asks, stopping in his tracks as he looks at you.

“I’m hanging out with Theo tonight. I’m sure Mason can give you a lift,” you say, nodding over at Mason, who grins.

“Yeah, I can drop you home,” Mason says, clapping Liam on the shoulder.

“You always stay for practice, though,” Liam mumbles, his head dipping slightly.

“Come on, Liam, you don’t want your sister hanging around you all the time, right? You’ve got your friends, your lacrosse team, you can handle things without me,” you say, clapping him on the shoulder as he shrugs.

“Okay,” Liam mutters grumpily, turning and walking off with Mason in tow. You couldn’t help but feel guilty as you watched Liam walking away. You didn’t like having to ditch Liam, but you knew you needed to have time for yourself, something that had been in short supply since you became a werewolf.

“You ready to go?” Theo asks as he appears alongside you. Just before you can turn to face Theo, you catch a glimpse of Isaac and quickly turn your back to him.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” you say quickly, ushering Theo out of the building as he raises an eyebrow at your switch in demeanour.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, following you as you beeline to your car.

“Yeah, fine, just saw someone I didn’t want to talk to,” you mutter, pulling your keys out of your pocket and rushing to unlock your car. As you focus on your keys, Theo spares a glance over his shoulder, smiling to himself when he sees Isaac exiting the building with Stiles, both of them clearly looking for you. He could smell their anxiety and stress from a mile away.

“Let’s go.” Your voice pulls Theo’s attention back to you as he nods, climbing into the passenger seat as you get behind the wheel. As you drive out of the parking lot, Theo clears his throat awkwardly, glancing over at you.

“Okay, I don’t want to make assumptions or anything, but… is Isaac the guy you like?” Theo’s question was quiet, no sound of judgment in his tone, but you couldn’t help but clench the steering wheel tighter in response, your heart pounding out of your chest.

“Am I that obvious?” you ask, embarrassed.

“Not to most people, I just saw him in the hallway when you were rushing us out of there. It would also explain why you’re avoiding him,” Theo shrugs, keeping his voice soft.

“I just know he doesn’t like me like that. I need to move on somehow, but it just feels so hard,” you admit, sparing a quick glance over at Theo before returning your focus to the road.

“He’s the idiot who can’t see a good thing when it’s right in front of him,” Theo says, making you laugh under your breath.

“I’m nothing special, Theo. I’m no different to anyone else,” you say with a roll of the eyes.

“You’re a werewolf, for starters, which makes you different to a lot of people. You should give yourself more credit; you’re awesome. I can see that after only a couple of days,” Theo says softly, leaning back against the seat, his gaze focused on you as you drive. Unused to hearing any sort of compliment come from someone outside of your family, you fall silent, feeling your cheeks heat up as you fight to keep your focus on the road.

When you finally make it back to your house, you lead Theo into the building, giving him a brief tour as he takes in every inch of your home.

“Are your parents not home?” Theo muses as you enter your room.

“They work long hours, they’re usually home super late or early morning. We’ve got the whole house to ourselves until Liam gets home from practice,” you shrug, perching on the end of your bed as Theo mimics your actions.

“That gives us some privacy to hang out, especially without another werewolf’s prying ears,” Theo jokes with a laugh, making you roll your eyes.

“Trust me, even if Liam were here, he’d never think my life was interesting enough to pry,” you retort, raising an eyebrow at the mere thought of Liam wanting to pry into your private life.

“I’m kinda glad he’s not here,” Theo mutters, making you glance at him, confused.

“You’re glad Liam isn’t here? I thought you wanted to make friends with the whole-” you’re cut off by Theo suddenly pressing his lips to yours, taking you aback for a brief moment before you came to your senses enough to reciprocate the kiss.

“Wow,” you mutter quietly as you pull away, unable to wipe the grin off your face.

“I told you, you just needed a distraction. If Isaac wants to miss out on someone like you, then it’s his loss,” Theo says, his eyes fixed on yours.

“You’re calling yourself a distraction?” you question with a laugh as Theo scoffs lightly, shaking his head.

“I walked into that one, didn’t I? Well, I was hoping I’d be a bit more than a distraction,” Theo replies, shifting closer and placing his hands on your middle, pulling you even closer.

“You’re certainly confident,” you tease, your lips just inches away from Theo’s as you both laugh.

“Should I not be?” Theo asks, his voice low as he moves just close enough for your lips to brush up against each other, sending a shiver down your spine as his lips connect with yours once more.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you admit with a laugh as you pull away.

“Just cute? Not jaw-droppingly handsome?” Theo asks, quirking his eyebrow as you roll your eyes.

“Do you want to add ‘has a massive ego’ to that list too?”

“If it gets me another kiss.”

Theo pulls you impossibly closer, his lips grazing yours once more as you giggle, placing your hands on his chest and putting some distance between the two of you.

“Slow your roll there. Let’s take it easy, maybe watch a movie or something?” you suggest, watching as Theo nods.

“Okay,” he says, getting to his feet and tugging you up with him, both of you grinning as you head downstairs. You grab snacks while Theo picks a movie. Once you’re all ready, you curl up on the couch, Theo instantly tugging you into his side as the opening credits of the movie play.

The two of you watched the movie cuddled up together, sharing comments and laughing at unrealistic moments of the film. Just as the film was nearing its conclusion, you heard the door open, and you glanced over as Liam appeared in the doorway, stopping and furrowing his eyebrows when he saw the scene in front of him.

“Is practice over already?” you question, glancing down at your phone to look at the time.

“I wouldn’t be home if it wasn’t,” Liam mutters through gritted teeth, folding his arms across his chest as you sit up, shocked by his sudden attitude.

“I should head out, my parents are probably wondering where I am. I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n,” Theo says, sensing the tension between the two of you and getting up, but not without pressing a quick kiss to your lips. As Theo walked past Liam, the two brushing shoulders, he smiled, only to be greeted by Liam’s vicious scowl.

“Liam…” you warn lowly as Theo exits the house, Liam suddenly rounding on you when the door closes.

“You ditched me at practice to kiss some guy you met like two days ago?” Liam asks, making you clench your jaw, frustrated with Liam’s attitude.

“Liam, seriously? Firstly, I didn’t ditch you, I told you before practice so you could find someone else to take you home. Secondly, yes, okay, I just met Theo, but he gets me, and I can talk to him about anything,” you argue, turning the tv off and beginning to clean up after yourself as Liam trails behind you, following you into the kitchen.

“You can talk to me about anything, remember? You don’t need to protect me from anything,” Liam says, reminding you of the conversation you had two nights prior.

“I thought you liked Theo,” you mutter, swiftly changing the now awkward subject.

“I liked him when he wasn’t kissing my sister.” You hear Liam mutter, making you glare over at him.

“Liam, he’s not doing anything wrong,” you scold, frustrated with the way Liam was acting. Before Liam could respond, you finished shoving everything away and stormed off, not wanting to continue the argument, instead choosing to hide away in your room.

The next morning, you made your way downstairs, shocked to find Liam in the kitchen. Usually, you were the one up and ready first, but judging by the set look on his face, you could tell he didn’t want to talk to you.

“Mason’s picking me up today,” Liam says gruffly, barely glancing your way as you halt, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“If that’s what you want,” you say with a shrug, returning your attention to your breakfast. When you finish eating, you tidy up, moving to grab your bag as Liam’s phone buzzes.

“Bye,” Liam says quickly, rushing past you as you stand dumbfounded.

“Is the air chillier in here, or is it just me?” You turn around, startled at the sound of your stepfather’s voice, seeing him leaning against the doorway with a smile.

“Everything’s fine,” you say quickly, scrambling to pick up your bags as you hear a soft chuckle from behind you.

“Do you want to try sounding more convincing?” You’re asked as you sling your bag on your shoulder.

“Dad, it’s okay, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not like you and Liam to act so cold with each other. You’ve been close as anything since the day I met you both.”

“Seriously, you don’t need to worry about us. I need to get to school anyway,” you say, scrambling for an excuse to leave the house while your stepfather regards you quietly.

“Have a good day at school, kid.”

“I’ll see you later, Dad,” you call over your shoulder as you exit your house, letting out a slight sigh of relief after freeing yourself from the awkward situation before making your way to your car, mentally preparing yourself for school.

When you arrived at school, you met up with Theo and Scott, ignoring the not-so-subtle glances from Stiles and Isaac. Even if some of your friends weren’t keen on Theo’s presence, it meant a lot that Scott was willing to have an open mind about Theo despite his closest friends insisting otherwise.

Unbeknownst to you, while you, Theo, and Scott were making your way down the hallway, talking and laughing as you went, Liam sidled up alongside Isaac and Stiles.

“I think Theo and y/n are dating now,” Liam mutters, glancing at the older boys as they gawp, glancing at each other before focusing on Liam.

“Wha- what do you mean?” Stiles questions, turning to look at Liam, fighting the urge to shake him by the shoulders when Liam remains quiet for a moment, gritting his teeth as his gaze flicks to the floor.

“When I got home from practice last night, I saw them kiss,” Liam says, glancing over at Isaac when he hears Isaac’s heart rate pick up and a low growl form in his throat.

“Are you doing okay there, buddy? You’re looking a little… tense,” Stiles says, noticing how Isaac’s posture had shifted, like every muscle in his body had been tightened.

“I’ll be okay once Theo’s gone,” Isaac growls lowly, his eyes fixed on you and the others talking, and how Theo had unashamedly wound his arm around your middle, tucking you into his side as you all laughed.

“And as much as I love the ‘let’s get rid of Theo’ train. You can’t start a fight in school. That’s a surefire way to get yourself in trouble and probably make y/n hate you, which I’m guessing is not your end goal here,” Stiles says, placing a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, regretting his action slightly when Isaac glared over at him.

“You’re right,” Isaac mutters, shrugging Stiles’ hand off his shoulder as Stiles gawps slightly, looking over at Liam.

“Did you hear that? He said I was right,” Stiles says proudly, his laugh falling short when he sees the unimpressed glances from Isaac and Liam.

“Hey, Liam, do you think you could try to keep an eye on Theo for us? If he’s at your place, just listen in or do what you can to see if there’s anything off about him,” Isaac requests, turning to address Liam, who nods quickly, keen to help out despite the nagging feeling that he was potentially betraying you and Scott who both trusted Theo wholeheartedly.

A few weeks down the line, any hope of a normal senior year had gone completely out the window. You had been forced to confront what you quickly learnt were chimaeras, people that had been killed and turned into a mix of different supernatural creatures by a trio of scientists that called themselves the Dread Doctors. You had no idea who they were and why they were so desperate to experiment on people in such a way, but you did know that you had to stop them, whatever their plan was. You worked with the pack and Theo, and you could tell that even despite being forced to work together, Isaac and Stiles refused to give Theo the benefit of the doubt.

Despite the looming threat of the Dread Doctors and their chimaeras, you still had to go to school as usual when you could, carefully keeping an eye on your fellow classmates, looking for anyone who was acting out of the ordinary. As you entered your English class, ready for another class on intensely watching everyone else’s moves, you made your way to the nearest table to sit down.

As you sat at a table in your class, you smiled as Theo entered the room, gesturing him over and just as he reached your table, Isaac barged his way in, forcing his way into the seat Theo was about to claim.

“Isaac, what the hell?” you question, your eyes widening as he pulls out his books, ignoring Theo, who just rolled his eyes and walked away.

“The seat was free,” Isaac shrugs, unbothered.

“Theo was clearly coming to sit here,” you point out, glancing over your shoulder at Theo, who was now sitting at the back of the room, shooting you a slight shrug.

“I’ve not been able to hang out with one of my best friends in forever, and I’m the bad guy here?” Isaac asks, raising an eyebrow as he looks over at you.

“I’ve been helping out with the pack, I’ve not gone anywhere,” you argue with a glare.

“Okay, I’ve not been able to talk to you alone for a while, and I missed you,” Isaac then says, clearly attempting to appeal to your softer side.

“We could’ve had this conversation outside of class. I know it’s because you don’t trust Theo,” you mutter, opening your notebook and trying to focus as the teacher begins the class. To your relief, Isaac stayed silent for most of the class, only talking to you when the teacher requested you to talk to the person sitting next to you, but the moment class was over, and he realised Theo was staying behind to talk to the teacher, he trailed after you.

“I don’t think you should be dating Theo,” he says quickly, following you through the hallway as you step out of the building.

“You don’t get to do this, Isaac,” you say lowly, your grip tightening on your bag strap as you stop in place, frustrated by the constant hounding.

“I’m not trying to do-”

“The one time I finally have something good going for me and you want to step in and ruin it?” you say, running a hand through your hair, exasperated at Isaac’s words.

“I’m not trying to ruin anything. I just don’t think you should trust him,” Isaac tries, attempting to step closer to you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly when you step back, a far cry from the times you had cherished his presence.

“He’s not done anything to make anyone consider him untrustworthy. I don’t get why you won’t trust him,” you say, confused as to why Isaac was acting like this.

“Because I know what it’s like to have someone manipulate you. To use love as a cover for when they do bad things. Ever since Theo showed up, bad things have happened, and I don’t want you to go through what my dad put me through,” Isaac says in a brief moment of vulnerability, something you’d only seen a sparse few times since meeting Isaac.

“Isaac… Theo’s not like that. I’m sorry that your dad put you through that, but… Theo wouldn’t do that. He’s not done anything bad towards me, I swear,” you say, trying to get Isaac to understand that you trusted Theo wholeheartedly, wanting him to at least give him a chance.

“He’s not the right guy for you, y/n,” Isaac says, making you roll your eyes, irritated at Isaac’s recently constant desire to insert himself into your life. Before, you might’ve found his insistence to be around you endearing. Now that you were finally happy with someone, you were beyond pissed off that he was trying to take it away from you.

“Oh, and I suppose you know who the right guy for me is, then, huh?” you argue back, glaring up at Isaac, the two of you locked in a standoff.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Theo’s voice broke the apparent staring contest between you and Isaac, making you look over at him.

“No, you’re fine. I was just looking for you anyway. I’ll see you around, Isaac,” you say quickly, crossing to Theo and smiling as Theo’s arm winds around your middle, tucking you close against him as the two of you walk away, leaving Isaac alone.

After that, tensions were high between you and Isaac, and you began to make an effort to avoid him as much as possible until the pack needed to come together.

And then your brother went missing.

The Dread Doctors had taken Liam and a chimaera called Hayden, and you felt like you were going insane with worry. The argument that had hovered over you and your brother was suddenly non-existent; you were just terrified for your brother’s well-being. You were snapping at everyone when you couldn’t find any hints to your brother’s whereabouts, and you were running yourself ragged looking for them. Despite Theo’s reassurances that you’d find them, you couldn’t find it in yourself to believe anything until you saw them safe.

‘Come to Scott’s house, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

The text you received from Theo while on the outskirts of the woods at first sent a wave of frustration over you, making you think he was making light of a situation that was beyond terrifying for you. But after taking a breath and reading the text again, you realised that Theo wouldn’t have sent a text like that if he hadn’t had a good reason, so you headed back to your car and drove to Scott’s house. The moment you enter the house and peek in the living room, you catch sight of your brother and Hayden sitting on the couch, and tears spring to your eyes.

“Liam,” you whisper, relief washing over you as Liam gets up from the couch. The moment he reaches you, you grab him in an embrace, holding him close. You knew the slight argument between the two of you was unresolved, and it still hung in the air, but you wanted to ignore it for the moment, desperate to reassure yourself that your brother was okay.

“Are you guys okay?” you question, holding Liam at arm's length to check him over before glancing over at Hayden, who was still on the couch.

“We’re fine,” Liam says, nodding as he pulls away from your grip slightly before crossing back to the couch, wrapping an arm around Hayden, holding her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head as you watch quietly. You were surprised to see the way they interacted, especially knowing what went down between them in the sixth grade, but you did want your brother to be happy. Finally tearing your glance away from the two, you locked eyes with Theo, quickly striding over to him and capturing his lips with yours in a kiss.

“Thank you for finding them,” you say after pulling away, winding your arms around Theo’s neck.

“No need to thank me,” Theo replies softly, his hands settling on your waist. You keep an eye on Liam and Hayden while Theo calls Scott, letting him know that Liam has been found, and while you wait for the others to arrive, Liam and Hayden end up dozing off on the couch, curled up in each other’s arms. You move to cover them with a blanket, regarding them softly before moving to sit with Theo, the two of you embracing as you watch over the two, waiting for Scott to get back.

You had naively hoped that with Theo saving Liam and Hayden, it would’ve earned him some trust within the pack, but Stiles and Isaac remained steadfast in their lack of trust. Even Liam was hesitant to trust Theo fully. It was clear that Theo saving them had at least gained a little bit of Liam’s respect, but he still opted to keep a distance, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was Stiles and Isaac who had convinced him that Theo was untrustworthy. That thought hurt your heart slightly, wondering if Liam didn’t value or trust your opinion. All you could do was continue to push forward, hoping Theo would finally get his moment to prove his worth to everyone.

Instead, everything backfired on you.

It happened on the night of the full moon, a full moon that just so happened to be a super moon, making the pull of the moon stronger than ever, setting everyone over the edge. You couldn’t figure out what it was the Dread Doctors wanted to achieve with their experiments, especially when they were branding them ‘failures’ and killing them. You were beginning to find yourself frustrated with the lack of progress in the pack’s investigation, just wishing it could all end.

“Hey, I was going to go looking for that chimaera who went missing later to see if we can get some answers, you want in?” Theo asked, pulling you aside in the animal clinic. You hesitated at his question, glancing out at the setting sun before your gaze flicked to the examination room where Liam was anxiously watching as Melissa did her best to save Hayden’s life after the Dread Doctors had pumped her full of mercury.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? With everything that’s going on, wouldn’t it be safer for us to stick together?” you questioned, glancing back over at Theo, whose expression softened slightly before he took your hand in his.

“You trust me, right? I’m confident we could track him down easily,” Theo says softly, squeezing your hand as you purse your lips slightly, debating with yourself quietly.

“If you’re sure…” You mumble, your gaze flicking to the floor before looking back up at Theo.

“I’m sure we can find him. The others can focus on saving Hayden,” Theo says, his voice reassuring as you nod slightly.

“Okay. If this can lead us to the Dread Doctors, we might be able to find a way to help Hayden,” you say as Theo smiles, squeezing your hand once more.

“I have some things I need to do first, okay? I’ll text you when I’m ready to go looking,” Theo says, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before backing away and leaving the animal clinic. You turn your attention back to helping Melissa with Hayden. You knew the tensions were high after Scott had rejected Liam’s request for him to bite Hayden to turn her into a werewolf so you felt like you were stuck in the middle of it all until Theo sent you a text asking to meet you at the preserve, which you did so happily, especially when Melissa was beginning to talk about transferring Hayden to the hospital.

“You going somewhere?” Scott asks, all attention suddenly on you as you nod.

“Theo and I were going to go look for Lucas, he could lead us to the Dread Doctors, and maybe we can find a cure for Hayden,” you say, noticing how Liam perked up slightly at your words.

“Be careful out there, y/n,” Scott said as you nodded, giving him a small joking salute before leaving the animal clinic, hoping Scott and Liam can stay civil long enough to help Hayden.

You make your way up to the preserve, meeting Theo, who was leaning up against a nearby tree with a small smile, pushing away from the tree as you approached.

“So, do you have any idea where it is we’re going?” you ask curiously as Theo begins to walk off with a sense of purpose as if he knew where to look.

“I’m just guessing he’ll be hiding away somewhere. If he’s starting to show signs of being a failure, we might be able to catch a scent of mercury or something too,” Theo shrugs, continuing to walk as you chase after him.

“Do you think he could be near where you found Liam and Hayden? If the Dread Doctors were operating in that area, he could be nearby, right?” you ask, glancing over at Theo.

“I can’t say for sure, it depends on how he feels about the Dread Doctors,” Theo replies as you both quietly sniff at the air, trying to pick up a scent.

The two of you look around the abandoned water plant first, your search coming up unsuccessful with not a single other person in sight, human or otherwise. As you both exit the abandoned building, you turn to Theo.

“Where did you find Liam and Hayden? We should look there next,” you say, glancing around as you await Theo’s response.

“I don’t think he’s there. I have an idea of where he could be,” Theo says, gesturing with his head for you to follow him, which you do without question. Theo leads you to a sewer grate, lifting it with relative ease and climbing down the ladder, with you following close behind.

“We’re never going to catch a scent down here,” you grumble the moment the stench hits your nose.

“And that’s why it would be the best place to hide,” Theo says, smiling at you as you reach the bottom of the ladder.

“I’m glad you had the sense to think of this place because I wouldn’t touch it if you weren’t here,” you laugh as you follow Theo, the two of you navigating the damp sewer. As you follow Theo, a sudden sense of unease begins to wash over you, a shiver running down your spine mere seconds before Lucas springs out from around a corner, growling, his face inches away from Theo’s, who barely flinches.

“Theo! Get back!” you cry out, worry instantly clutching at your heart at the closeness between the two, expecting Lucas to lunge at any second. Instead, you watch as Lucas backs off with a grin.

“What’s going on?” you then question, glancing between the two.

“I could ask the same question. I thought you were coming alone,” Lucas says, turning to look at Theo as he scoffs.

“I did say that, but there was a question I needed to ask y/n, and it was best to have a little privacy and some backup,” Theo says, quirking an eyebrow as he glances at you and Lucas.

“Theo… what is this?” you ask again, beginning to feel your heart pound, something that didn’t go unnoticed as both Theo and Lucas focused on you.

“You don’t need to be scared, y/n/n. I just have an offer to make you,” Theo says, and despite his friendly smile, you could sense the sinister undertone, making you take a small step back out of fear.

“Theo, you’re scaring me.”

“I told you, you don’t need to be scared. I just want to offer you a place in my pack,” Theo says, standing before you as he folds his arms across his chest.

“Your… pack?”

“Yes, my pack. That’s why I came back to Beacon Hills. When I heard about the True Alpha and his pack, I knew I had to have it for my own,” Theo states as your eyes widen.

“I…”

“Think about it, you could take Scott’s power for your own and we could run the pack together,” Theo offers, his voice dropping to the soft tone you’d grown accustomed to hearing, attempting to sway you as you started to understand what he wanted you to do.

“You need me to kill Scott,” you mumble, remembering the times you’d been told that as Betas of Scott’s own making, only you and Liam had the capability to take his Alpha power from him. When Theo fails to respond, you shake your head, getting ready to run to warn Scott of Theo’s betrayal. However, Theo was quicker, ordering Lucas to attack you.

Lucas’s attacks came hard and fast, and no matter how much you tried to fight back, once Lucas got his poison in your system, you found it harder to fight. You soon collapsed to the floor, dragging yourself to sit upright against the wall as you heard Theo quietly urging Lucas to run away, muttering something about the Dread Doctors.

“You know, as much as it’s disappointing that you won’t join me, there is a silver lining. With you out of the way, it’s going to make getting to your brother so much easier. After all, between us, he’s the strongest Beta out of the two of you. If I can talk anyone into killing Scott and taking his power right now, it’s Liam, and that will leave me free to take the power from him,” Theo gloats, turning to face you as he shows off his claws, admiring them with a smirk.

“If you hurt Liam, I swear,” you snarl, baring your fangs as your eyes glow a vibrant gold, attempting to intimidate Theo as you struggle even to try to get to your feet.

“Oh, don’t you worry y/n/n. I’m not going to hurt Liam. Not until he can give me what I want,” Theo taunts, crouching down and leaning in close as you continue to growl at him, clearly unintimidated by you.

“Theo, please, don’t do this,” you then plead, tears filling your eyes as you sit back against the wall, fighting the urge not to writhe in pain.

“I need a pack of my own. And to do that, I need the power of an Alpha. I’m not going to let anything stand in my way,” Theo says, straightening up as you try one last feeble attempt at a growl in his direction before Theo stalks off, leaving you alone.

Isaac was lost; he couldn’t escape the violent twist in his stomach that something was wrong and that you needed help wherever you were. You weren’t responding to his texts or his calls; all he knew was that you had left the animal clinic with Theo, something Isaac would never get used to.

“Come on, y/n. Give me a sign you’re somewhere,” Isaac mutters, shifting his gaze to look up at the supermoon, watching it silently for a moment. He could always feel the pull of the full moon once a month, but controlling himself got easier with each month. But the supermoon was different. Its pull was stronger than ever, and he felt like any little nudge could set him off.

“Looking for someone?” There was the little nudge. Isaac felt irritation mixing with his anxiety as he clenched his jaw, turning to face the source of the voice.

“Where’s y/n? I know she was with you, so don’t lie to me,” Isaac says, stalking over to Theo, a growl building in his throat while Theo remains steadfast, leaning against the tree.

“Lover boy’s certainly gotten himself worked up. I’m sure she’s fine,” Theo says with a shrug, smirking at how easy it was to rile Isaac up.

“Where. Is. She?” Isaac snarls, baring his fangs as he steps as close as possible to Theo, his incessant snarling not having an ounce of an effect on Theo who simply cocked an eyebrow.

“Are you done? Because if you keep snarling at me like a wild animal, you won’t find her in time,” Theo says, a smirk playing across his lips as Isaac steps back, a mix of worry and anger playing across his face.

“Where is she?” Isaac demands once more.

“Giving that away would take all the fun out of this little game. All I can suggest is you hurry up. I don’t know what Lucas’ poison will do to a werewolf this time around. You might want to run, lover boy,” Theo shrugs as Isaac’s heart begins to pound, his head whipping around in every direction, desperate to catch a scent, a hint that you were anywhere nearby. As he desperately racks his brain for any ideas on where Theo could’ve taken you, a few locations come to mind, making him sprint off in the direction of one of the areas. As Theo watched Isaac disappear into the woods, he pushed himself away from the tree, smiling to himself. Now that the pack was out of the way, he could finally put his plan into place.

As you lay in the darkness, your hand pressed firmly to the wound that was beginning to burn, you felt tears continue to pool in your eyes. You felt like you deserved every second of pain you were experiencing. You were the one who had turned your back on your pack, tossing them aside just because a boy had finally looked your way. And now you had to lie helpless, bloody, and alone, all while knowing Theo was about to manipulate your younger brother into killing his Alpha just to steal the power for himself.

“y/n? y/n, are you down here?” You couldn’t help the sob that escaped your lips at the familiar sound of Isaac’s voice. Somehow, he had cared enough to look for you in your absence, even when you’d treated him awfully.

“Isaac, I’m here! Please help!” you beg, the tears now flowing freely as your breaths begin to quicken. You wait anxiously, listening for Isaac’s footsteps as they grow closer, and Isaac’s face comes into your line of sight as he worriedly checks you over.

“Did Theo do this to you?” Was the first question Isaac asked, identifying your injuries and carefully assessing them.

“He wanted me to join his pack. When I told him I couldn’t turn my back on Scott, he… he let Lucas attack me.” You wince as you attempt to move, the burning sensation beginning to spread viciously across your body.

“That asshole,” Isaac mutters, a slight growl behind his words.

“You need to get to Liam before Theo does; he’s going to manipulate him into killing Scott,” you say, attempting to push Isaac away to get him to save your brother and your Alpha.

“I’m not leaving you,” Isaac argues, shaking his head.

“Isaac-”

“No, y/n, I’m not leaving you here. Scott can handle himself. It might be bad of me to say, but my priority is you right now,” Isaac says firmly, making your defences come crashing down as tears well in your eyes.

“I just want to get out of here,” you say tearily, making Isaac nod quickly, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and easing you to your feet, apologising as you whimper in pain. Isaac carefully navigates you through the sewer, helping you up the ladder and into the fresh air.

“I’m going to take you to the animal clinic first, okay? I have Deaton’s number; he can help me treat your injuries over the phone.”

“My car… It’s parked at the edge of the preserve, you can take that,” you say, weakly digging in your pocket and pressing the key into Isaac’s hand. With a determined nod, Isaac helps you to your car, easing you in carefully before getting behind the wheel and driving you to the animal clinic. Isaac drove with a sense of urgency you’d never seen from him before, and you felt like you arrived at the animal clinic in what felt like record time.

“Come on,” Isaac urges, helping you out of the car and into the clinic, helping you sit on the table before fumbling for his phone to call Deaton.

You wait awkwardly after explaining what happened to Deaton over the phone, feeling utterly useless as Isaac rushes around, grabbing the ingredients to make something that’ll help ease your pain and hopefully combat the poison.

“Okay, chances are it might sting, but you need to put it directly on the wound.” You hear Deaton’s voice crackle through the phone as Isaac finishes making the paste that made your nose wrinkle once the smell hits it.

“Is there not any other way?” you ask weakly, attempting to lean away from the noxious mixture.

“If you want to try to treat that poison, then it’s the best thing we can do. I’m sorry, this mixture should help a lot,” Deaton says, making you groan slightly. You listen as Isaac hangs up the phone, promising to contact Deaton if anything else happens before turning his attention to you.

“Could you… lift your shirt?” Isaac asks awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you as you nod, carefully lifting your shirt to expose the wound that sits on your side.

“You can look, it’s okay,” you say softly, making Isaac finally look over at you, his eyes fixing on your injury. Wordlessly, Isaac applies the mixture to your wound, making you gasp at the stinging sensation. As if he acted on instinct, Isaac grabbed your wrist, and the moment you felt him trying to take your pain, you wrenched your arm away.

“What are you doing?” you ask, looking at Isaac, whose eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“I’m trying to take some of your pain, let me help,” Isaac says, watching you expectantly as you shake your head, your eyes once again filling with tears.

“I don’t deserve your help. You have done all this for me when I’ve done nothing but treat you badly. You shouldn’t have even come looking for me in the first place. I pushed you aside because a boy finally looked my way and I’m so sorry.”

“I meant what I said a few weeks ago, you know? You’re one of my best friends, and I’d do anything for you. I had a feeling that something was wrong, and I wasn’t going to just sit back and let something happen to you. I care about you so much, so let me help.” Isaac’s words were firm yet gentle as he watched you carefully, tenderly reaching out to wipe a falling tear from your cheek. When you do nothing other than silently nod, Isaac gently takes your hand in his, taking some of your pain as you relax.

“Thank you,” you mumble, gratefulness in your tone as Isaac squeezes your hand softly before letting go, moving to bandage your injury, making quick work of the task before looking up at you.

“I should get you home, you need to rest and heal,” Isaac then says, helping you off the table and leading you out to the car.

“Once you drop me off, you need to find Scott; he might need your help. Theo would’ve gotten to Liam by now, and he’ll need you to help him.” Your words came out quietly, but Isaac heard you all the same.

“I will, I promise,” Isaac assures you.

“If Liam is there, please don’t hurt him,” you then add, your hand resting protectively on your injury as Isaac pulls out of the animal clinic’s car park.

“I’ll try my best,” Isaac says. You understood why he couldn’t promise, with Liam’s IED combined with the strength of the supermoon, he might not listen to reason, and if needed, Isaac may be forced to fight back. The drive was silent, your thoughts consumed with the evening's events and worry for your younger brother. When Isaac parks your car outside your house, he quickly moves to help you out of the car.

“I’ve got it from here, Isaac. Go and help Scott,” you urge Isaac, pushing him away from you slightly, trying to encourage him to leave. At first, Isaac hesitates, glancing at you worriedly before letting out a soft sigh, nodding and running off in the direction of the school.

You entered the house as quietly as you could, wincing with each step taken. While you were beginning to heal, you could still feel the slight burn from the poison that was making its way through your system. As you made your way to your room, you heard a door open, making you stop in your tracks as you waited to see who it was, worried you’d woken one of your parents. Instead, you see Liam entering the hallway, his eyes locking with yours. Seeing Liam took you aback slightly, expecting him to be somewhere else, but when you see his red rimmed eyes that are filled with tears, you know you couldn’t let yourself fall apart yet. Not when Liam needed you.

“Come here, buddy,” you urge quietly, opening your arms for Liam to walk into, holding him close as he clung to you desperately.

“Hayden’s gone.” You hear Liam say through his tears, ignoring the pain that shot through you when he squeezed tighter.

“Oh, Liam…” you mutter sympathetically, moving to escort him back to his bedroom, sitting him down on his bed as you tuck him against your side.

“I almost killed Scott,” Liam admits after a small silence, his voice so quiet you wondered if he’d meant to say it out loud at all in the first place.

“That wasn’t your fault,” you say quietly, attempting to hold Liam closer, stopping when he pushes against you, putting distance between you so he could look you in the eye.

“Did you hear me? I said I almost killed Scott,” Liam reiterates, his eyes flicking between yours, waiting for your reaction.

“I heard you, Liam. But I know it wasn’t you. You were upset because of Hayden, and Theo used that and the supermoon against you,” you say softly, not letting a single ounce of judgment slip into your tone as Liam’s eyebrows furrow, putting pieces together in his head.

“How did you know it was Theo?” he questions, making you sigh slightly, realising your slip-up and knowing you needed to be truthful or else Liam would know.

“Turns out Theo has a tendency to monologue just after letting someone almost kill you,” you admit with a weak chuckle, wincing as a flash of pain sparks through you.

“He tried to kill you?” Liam asks, his eyes blown wide as you shrug.

“Not Theo himself. He let Lucas have at me, though. I think the Dread Doctors made him stronger; this poison is really taking its time to heal. Deaton says I’ll live,” you say, your hand drifting to the tear in your shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Liam apologises, his gaze drifting to where your hand was resting.

“You don’t need to apologise, Liam,” you begin, stopping as Liam shakes his head, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

“I should’ve been there. I could’ve helped you. Instead, I let Theo talk me into-” you cut Liam off suddenly, cupping his face in your hands and lifting his chin gently so you could look him in the eye.

“Liam. Do not blame yourself for this. I’m the idiot who let Theo separate me from the rest of the pack. I let him come between us. You’re my brother, and I shouldn’t have turned my back on you. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me,” you say softly, gently wiping away the tears that rolled down Liam’s cheeks. Your heart felt like an iron hand had it in a vicious grip, squeezing as hard as it could. You hated seeing your brother upset, no matter the context, but seeing him upset because of you shattered you in a way you didn’t know was possible. Feeling your eyes burn with tears, you shifted to hold Liam closer, cradling his head close to your chest as he clings to you, reminding you of the times you had comforted him when he was younger.

“Did someone help you? Or were you…” Liam asks, his voice a quiet mumble, as you hold him close.

“Isaac found me. I don’t know what I did to deserve having a friend like him to come looking for me after what I did to him,” you admit, finally allowing a smile to tug at your lips as you think of Isaac, the selfless boy who risked everything to come looking for you just based off a hunch that something was wrong. You couldn’t believe that even after you made it clear you didn’t want to be around him, he still cared enough to come looking when you went missing.

“I’m glad he was there,” Liam mumbles softly as you hold him impossibly closer.

“So am I,” you mutter, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“I just want to forget about everything that happened,” Liam says quietly, neither of you moving to break the embrace.

“Why don’t we watch a movie or something? That might help,” you offer, moving your head away slightly so you could look down at Liam, who lifts his gaze to meet yours, nodding.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, you stay here and pick which movie you want to watch. I’ll grab us some snacks,” you say, moving to excuse yourself from the room, wincing when the pain flares up once more and before you could get too far away, Liam grabbed your hand, taking some of your pain for himself as you soften, tears building in your eyes once more at your brother’s kindness.

“Thank you, Liam,” you mutter softly, moving to hug him once more before finally making your way downstairs to raid the kitchen for snacks. You grab a variety of snacks, grabbing what you knew Liam liked before scooping up some drinks and making your way back to Liam’s room with armfuls of food and drinks.

“Did you just take everything?” Liam asks with a slight laugh as you enter the room.

“Pretty much,” you admit, closing the door behind you before dumping the snacks on the end of the bed and placing the drinks on the bedside table. Once Liam had picked a movie, the two of you sat up against the headboard as you tucked Liam against your side, hugging him close as the opening of the movie played.

About halfway through the movie, a knock at the door rings out, making you and Liam stiffen slightly, both of you looking at each other.

“You stay here, buddy,” you say quickly, forcing yourself to your feet as you make your way to the front door, your hand hesitating above the doorknob for a moment before you bite the bullet, tugging the door open.

“Isaac?” you question, your head tilting slightly when you see Isaac standing before you, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Do you think I could crash here for a little while? I didn’t get to Scott in time, and Melissa didn’t take it well. I don’t blame her for reacting like that, so I figured I’d find someplace else to crash, give her and Scott some space,” Isaac explains, smiling sadly at you. It upset you to hear what had happened, especially given that Melissa had become an important maternal figure in Isaac’s life after losing his own mom at a young age.

“Come in, we’re watching a movie, so just dump your stuff in my room and join us,” you say, gesturing for Isaac to come into the house. You lead Isaac to your room, letting him put his bag down before bringing him to Liam’s room.

“Hey Isaac,” Liam says, offering Isaac a kind smile as you entered the room.

“Hey, Liam,” Isaac replies with a curt nod and a small smile of his own. You sit down alongside Liam once more, wrapping an arm around him again while patting the free space alongside you, encouraging Isaac to sit with you. As Isaac sits down alongside you, you grab his hand gently, squeezing it softly as you both smile at each other. The three of you then continue to watch the movie, enjoying each other’s company and putting the day's events behind you.

As the closing credits of the movie begin to roll, Isaac shuffles slightly, preparing himself to make a comment that falls short the moment he sees you and Liam fast asleep, his head on your shoulder as your head rests atop his. Isaac couldn’t help the soft smile that covered his face at the sight. He carefully eased your hand out of his and crossed to grab a blanket before carefully covering you and Liam with it, before moving to sit on the beanbag in the corner of the room so he could get at least a few hours of sleep himself.

A few weeks down the line, Isaac was still staying at your place after an awkward conversation with your parents, as you and Liam tried to explain the situation without exposing your family to the supernatural world.

The pack had come back together after a lot of apologies, and you had to focus on finding and defeating a creature called the Beast of Gevaudan, which had been brought back by the Dread Doctors, learning that their chimaera experiments were dedicated to.

On top of that, Theo still had the audacity to keep showing his face after what he had done. He had revived a number of chimaeras, Hayden included, to make his own pack, and it took everything within you not to rip his throat out every time you saw him in the hallways. Thankfully, Isaac stuck to your side like glue and helped keep you calm and away from Theo, especially when he tried to get involved in the pack’s investigations.

After what felt like forever, you learnt that the Beast of Gevaudan had been Mason the whole time, making the pack realise that you needed to do whatever you could to save him which seemed fruitless, especially when the Dread Doctors had been successful in using Mason as a vessel to revive the true monster behind the Beast. But thanks to Lydia’s banshee scream, she was able to bring back Mason after a long, hard battle that left most of you knocked off your feet before Theo showed up, keen to use his newly gained powers he had gotten from killing off members of his pack.

Then you watched as Kira stepped forward, protecting you all from the electrical blast Theo had sent your way before telling him that the skinwalkers she had been training with had a message for him. You watched in horror as Kira stabbed her katana into the ground, and a sinkhole opened up. You saw Theo’s sister clamber out of the hole, grabbing Theo and dragging him down with her as Theo begged and pleaded for someone to help.

“y/n! Help me, please!” You were shocked when Theo called out to but you didn’t move from where you were on the ground, just watching as Theo was dragged under the ground, which then sealed itself up, leaving everyone speechless for a moment before Isaac crossed over to you, extending a hand to you. 

“I told you he wasn’t the right guy for you,” Isaac muses softly as you groan, in too much pain and annoyance to deal with his jokes.

“Are you ever going to tell me who the right guy for me is, or am I going to have to keep making mistakes like Theo?” you ask, sitting yourself up against the wall as Isaac falls silent for a moment, clearly thinking before he speaks up again.

“I can do better. I can show you instead,” Isaac says, inching closer. Your heart pounded as he moved closer, it was so loud you were sure Isaac could’ve heard it without his supernatural hearing. Just as his lips were millimetres away from yours, he stopped, his eyes flicking up to yours.

“Is this okay?” he then asks quietly.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breathy before Isaac closes the gap, pressing his lips to yours, as he cups your face gently. Isaac’s kiss was soft and full of love, and you couldn’t help but melt into his touch.

“I thought you guys would never figure it out,” Lydia’s words made you and Isaac pull apart, the two of you smiling shyly as the rest of the pack laughed softly as you rolled your eyes, leaning against Isaac as he wrapped an arm around you.

“Come on, guys, let’s get out of here,” Scott says, making everyone nod. Isaac helps you to your feet as the rest of the pack make their way out of the dingy tunnels, desperate to leave the Dread Doctors in the past where they belong.

After getting a phone call from Deaton, Scott and Liam rush off to the animal clinic to check on Hayden, who had been attacked by the Beast and found her way to the clinic despite her vicious injuries. All you could do was hope that it wouldn’t end up the way it did last time. You could tell Liam loved Hayden, and you didn’t want to see his heart get broken all over again.

“Let’s go,” Isaac says softly, leading you away from the abandoned water plant and away from everyone else, leading you to a secluded clearing so the two of you could have some privacy. Once you are confident you’re away from prying ears, Isaac turns to you.

“How are you?” he asks softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face without a second thought.

“I’m fine. I’m healing pretty quick-”

“No, how are you feeling? I saw the way you looked when Theo got taken.”

“I couldn’t care less about what happened to Theo. I’m glad he’s gone after all he put my pack through. Wherever he is, I hope he’s suffering.” You’d never been filled with so much anger towards someone before. The bitterness was clear in your tone, and you could tell that Isaac was concerned.

“It doesn’t change the fact that you liked him.”

“Yeah, past tense, liked. Anyone would be creeped out seeing someone getting dragged underground by their dead sibling. It’s fine, I’ve got my pack, I’ve got you,” you say softly, taking Isaac’s hand in yours.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be there,” Isaac says softly, squeezing your hand as you nod wordlessly.

The two of you then spend an hour or so in the woods together, relishing in each other’s presence and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. When you call it a night, the two of you head back to your house, entering the house and heading into the living room when you hear the tv playing.

“Hey, you two,” you greet Liam and Hayden, a smile on your face as you lean against the doorframe, stifling a laugh when they jump, turning to look at you.

“Look, Hayden’s okay!” Liam says excitedly, showing off Hayden to you as you nod.

“I can see that. Did Deaton figure something out?” you ask as Isaac sidles up alongside you, winding an arm around your middle.

“No, I think being a chimaera made things a bit more complicated for him. Scott gave me the bite,” Hayden explains as you nod, happy for the two younger teens.

“That’s awesome! You know it’s great to have another female Beta, I was beginning to worry I’d stay outnumbered forever,” you joke, squirming when Isaac lightly pokes you in the side and Liam jokingly glares.

“We’ll leave you two alone, but don’t stay up too late,” you say, pointing between the two as Liam groans.

“Yes, Mom,” he grumbles.

“Love you, Liam,” you say as Liam rolls his eyes before softening.

“Love you too.”

Deciding to leave Liam and Hayden alone, you make your way up to your room with Isaac, the two of you instantly curling up on your bed together, your head resting on his chest as he pulls you close.

“This is nice,” Isaac admits quietly, his hand drifting up and down your back as you hum contentedly.

“I feel like I can finally breathe after everything that happened,” you murmur, your eyes slipping shut at Isaac’s soothing motion.

“It’ll be nice to go back to normal. At least until the next supernatural problem.”

“Please don’t tempt fate. I wanna get through my senior year with as few issues as possible,” you grumble, opening your eyes and lifting your head to look at Isaac.

“I’m not tempting anything, it just seems to happen,” Isaac says with a soft laugh as you roll your eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumble, pressing a soft kiss to Isaac’s lips, something he reciprocates quickly.

“If being cute gets me kissed, you won’t catch me complaining,” Isaac says as you pull away.

The two of you spend the evening cuddling and kissing until you fall asleep in each other’s arms, a sense of relief you hadn’t felt in a while settling over you.

The next morning, you both begrudgingly get up and ready for school, heading to school with Liam and Hayden in the backseats. At first, you had expected Liam to complain about being delegated to the backseat, but he was more than happy to be sitting in the backseat with Hayden, the two engrossed in each other’s presence and barely giving you a second thought.

When the four of you arrived at school, you bid goodbye to Liam and Hayden as you all went your separate ways to begin the school day. Unbeknownst to you and Isaac, as you walked down the hallway hand in hand, you were being watched by the rest of the pack who couldn’t stop smiling.

“What? What are you all smiling at?” Stiles asks, his back to you, making him unaware of the progression with you and Isaac’s relationship.

“Behind you,” Lydia mouths, looking pointedly over his shoulder as Stiles finally turns around, his eyes widening when he sees you and Isaac kissing.

“Wha- when did that-”

“Yesterday, after everything went down with the Beast, Isaac finally ‘fessed up,” Scott says, folding his arms across his chest with a smile.

“The one time I’m not there and they finally kiss? Does Isaac really not have a sense of timing?” Stiles complains, gesturing over to the two of you, blissfully unaware of Stiles’ rant.

When the pack meets up in the library at lunch, it was relieving to talk about school and life instead of researching some historical werewolf. You loved moments when you got to feel like a normal kid again, even if it meant dealing with your friends joking about you and Isaac’s newfound relationship.

By the end of lunch period, everyone but you and Isaac cleared out of the library. You both stayed because you had a free period, and you wanted to talk about colleges with Isaac, finally ready to take the leap. You were aware of the closing window you had to apply, and you were finally able to accept that Liam would be okay in your absence; he had Hayden, and he had Mason. He was going to be just fine.

Just before you and Isaac looked at anything, you found yourself drawn to the shelf you and the others had signed the night of senior scribe, and you carefully removed the books, a soft smile on your face as you regarded all the initials while Isaac approached you.

“You know, the night we did this, I saw how you looked at Allison’s initials, and I thought there was no way you’d like me in the same way you loved her. I let my feelings get the better of me, and that drove me right into Theo.”

“Hey, you don’t need to worry about that. I did love Allison, you’re right, but I also love you,” Isaac says softly, making you look at him with a soft smile.

“I love you too,” you say quietly, pressing a soft kiss to Isaac’s lips before focusing back on the initials, Isaac wrapping an arm around your middle as you lift a hand to ghost your finger along Allison’s initials.

“I’d love to hear about Allison someday. She meant a lot to you, so I want to help keep her memory alive,” you then say, looking at Isaac, who nods, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I’ll tell you some stuff someday. But I can say wholeheartedly that she would’ve loved you,” Isaac says, helping you put the books back on the shelf before you head to a free table to start your college research.

It had been a long and rough beginning to your senior year, but it made you more confident. You knew you had your pack beside you, and it helped you and Isaac finally confess your feelings for each other. You knew you were ready for the next step in your life. You’d be okay.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns, and is generally described as feminine (mentions of the reader wearing make-up in this chapter); there are no mention of the reader’s race, hair type, hair colour, or eye colour, and throughout the fic there is slight implications toward her being plus sized that can be easily ignored, and it’s not a main plot point of the fic; this fic DOES use the term Y/N throughout, and I would recommend using a word replacer extension on your browser to put in your actual name in order to get the full experience; mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - though it not stated how much taller, and it’s based on the idea that Daniel Sharman is six feet tall, and he would be taller than most people; Stiles and Isaac argue a lot during this chapter - I’m sure some people would call this OOC Stiles, but this was heavily inspired by the whole ‘are you still milking that?’ scene (Stiles does get a character arc in this fic, so hold on); Stiles being generally mean and bitchy; implications of Stiles having a crush on the reader (one sided) (everyone seems to know about it but her); mentions of Scott x Allison (which will be a theme throughout the fic - they are a background ship, but pretty far in the background and not a major focus); mentions of Erica’s canon death, and mentions of Isaac’s having trauma surrounding losing Erica and how she died; descriptions of Erica’s dead body; descriptions of violence - Isaac beats up Ethan and some random side asshole (two separate incidents), which includes descriptions of blood, punching hard enough to break bones, and choking for the sake of inducing major harm, but no major injuries are inflicted (especially because one of the victims has werewolf super healing); the reader is called ‘ugly’ and ‘fat’ by some random asshole; mentions of the abuse Isaac’s father inflicted on him (which is a warning on pretty much all the chapters); Isaac having a negative internal monologue due to being abused in the past; Isaac exhibits symptoms of PTSD and symptoms of being emotionally abused by his father when interacting with other people; mentions of Scott and Stiles having different accidents and injuries over the years, including: vomitting (from high alcohol consumption - this is due to inappropriate underage drinking/binge drinking) (in context, it’s a single incident, not a pattern of binge drinking), a broken bone (with the bone sticking out of the skin), playing with a nail gun, Stiles having a rash on his penis due to poison oak; mentions of inappropriate eating habits when dealing with stress - both under eating (from Allison) and stress snacking (from the reader); mentions of Allison’s mother dying (in alignment with the canon); carried over from the prologue oneshot - mentions of the reader’s mother being dead, killed by Peter Hale/The Alpha; mentions of Isaac ‘cheating’ on the reader with Erica (again, read the prologue for context); Isaac attacks the reader during a panic attack - a flood of panic induced adrenaline causes Isaac to semi-shift and he attacks the reader with his claws (a minimal injury, small scratches, is the result); I believe that is it for this chapter. 

A/N: I am incredibly proud of this whole story, and I love this chapter. Something that has continually happened to me with this story is that when writing, I will off-handedly mention something in one sentence and then go in and further flush out the idea later because I can't stop thinking about it. And the Raven painting and the Edgar Allen Poe metaphors are a huge example of that. At first, it was an off-handed mention of how Isaac and the reader met, and then it turned into this whole entire flashback - so, I hope you like it. I had a lot of fun revisiting this chapter and reinforcing the ideas and I am really proud of getting to post it now.

...

Your second period of the day was English. 

It was a subject you excelled in - you loved reading in your spare time, and since elementary school, you had been someone who devoured books far beyond your years and sought to bury yourself in stories to avoid the troubles of the real world. You loved the library and the mental peace of a good book. 

Miss Blake was one of your less abrasive teachers, though she seemed to have some kind of quiet vendetta against you. Whenever you raised your hand to comment on the themes of the material, she would dismiss you easily rather than continuing the discussion, and she would scold you for making your essays ‘too long’, telling you that nobody would bother to read all of what you had written, even if she hadn’t set a limit on certain assignments. 

Strangely, she seemed to dislike you for being ‘too smart’. But some teachers could never be pleased. And you had no plans of dumbing yourself down to please her. 

On this day, during a reading and discussion of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart, your mind was still heavily fixated on Isaac. Because of course, even this reminded you of him. 

… 

You thought back to the final days of middle school, right before everyone had transitioned into the rocky, drama filled hell of high school. Days when you had sequestered yourself in the art room right before summer vacation. 

Your art teacher had put on a ‘contest’. She wanted everyone in the departing eighth grade class to make their best art piece - no prompts, no rules. The only outline of the contest was to make a piece of art of your own choosing - to express yourself. And the best ones would be chosen to be displayed on the front bulletin board at the beginning of the next school year as inspiration to incoming sixth graders - supposedly showing them what they could achieve during their time at this school. 

The assignment was entirely optional, and that meant that time spent on it was optional as well. The art teacher left her room open for students to use during lunch hours and after school, and you found that you were pretty much the only person there working hard on a piece. 

The only person aside from a lanky, curly-haired boy that you didn’t quite know. Someone you would come to know as Isaac Lahey. You had seen him around, and sure, you knew his name somewhere distantly in the back of your mind - but you hadn’t spoken to him before. You had never shared a class together and you had never interacted before during your three years at the school. Others would have known him as shy, or even a bully at times - if he snapped and his anger got the best of him. 

But at the time, to you - he was a nobody. 

For those first two days in the art room, you knew him as someone who came in, sat down quietly, and worked hunched over a notebook without saying a word. He was a silent presence in the otherwise empty room, and he almost always left shortly before you did, timing himself out the door as you cleaned up your supplies, never over-staying his welcome. Occasionally, he would glance over at you, and then whip his head back down if you dared to look over at him - as though being caught looking at you were some kind of crime. 

Finally, on the third day - he spoke to you. 

You were fussing over a large canvas - one you had bought with your own money, wanting to put your all into a project that had no true guidelines, no limits. You were curious when Isaac moved from his usual spot across the room toward you, gently coming up behind you, clearly with the intention to peek at your artwork where it was sitting on the easel. After a moment of silently looking over your shoulder as you painted some calm brushstrokes, he finally spoke up. 

“What - what are you working on?” He stuttered out, his voice nervous for some reason. 

“The Raven.” You told him. You backed off slightly, stepping to the side so that he could get a better look at the picture - it was a large, highly detailed portrait of the aforementioned bird, sketched out and half filled in so far. 

At first he had mistaken it for a crow, and he didn’t quite understand the difference, or the significance. 

“A raven?” He mirrored back, his voice quiet and gently curious. 

“No, The Raven.” You corrected. “It’s inspired by the Edgar Allan Poe poem.” 

Isaac was glad that somehow, this didn’t feel like scolding - just a natural sharing of knowledge. It felt like you offered him a hand up, trying to make him better by giving him a bit of your brain, instead of tearing him down because he didn’t already know. 

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile. 

Isaac was shorter back then - you had been to, but he had rocketed up far past you in height while you hadn’t grown much. You had changed in your looks, but he had far outgrown you. His hair had been longer at the time, hanging in his eyes as something for him to hide behind in shyness - and Coach had demanded that he cut it when he started playing First Line because he couldn’t properly see. 

“Never heard of it.” He shrugged. 

Little did you know, the next time he was in the library, he looked it up just because he had been thinking about you. He found the poem droning and slightly confusing to read. But he soon found a clip on youtube of a segment from The Simpsons which depicted the poem, and he found it easier to understand when visualized as a cartoon. He didn’t quite understand why you wanted to paint a picture of a bird that tormented someone, but your version did turn out to be beautiful. 

“It’s about a man who mourns for his lost love.” You explained. “But it could also be interpreted as someone who battles with the inherent dichotomy of darkness and light in life - the most basic contemplation of evil and hope. Or it could be someone grappling with his own morality.” You mumbled quietly, thinking aloud. “Either way, I like what The Raven represents.” 

“What does it represent?” Isaac asked, naturally wondering this. He liked listening to you speak, and he couldn’t help but to prompt more of the conversation. 

“It represents balance. The necessary darkness life needs in order for hope and light to thrive.” You told him. 

As you spoke, you began painting a few more gentle strokes of the bird’s feathers, and you were too busy concentrating to notice Isaac - to notice the way he was looking at you. Intrigue and gentle affection flowing so easily through his expression. 

He had never truly noticed you before, but now that he was speaking to you, he couldn’t help but to love every single word that came out of your mouth. You were intelligent, and so passionate. You were better than reading any book, and he had a feeling that he could listen to you talk about any subject and never be bored. 

“I also think they’re beautiful creatures.” You added on. “A lot of people see them as evil, but that’s not true. In actuality, they’re incredibly intelligent - they’re some of the most intelligent animals, even among birds, who have some of the highest trainability and best memories. Sadly, they just have a reputation as being a symbol of darkness or evil due to their dark appearance - that plays into their symbolism in literature a lot. It’s sad… too many people only know that reputation and don’t know the beautiful, gentle creature they are.” 

Isaac gave a small smile. 

“That’s really cool.” He said, nodding. 

He felt a tingling in his stomach because in the back of his mind, even if he knew it wasn’t true, it felt like you were talking about him. He liked to think that if you could see a dark evil bird as ‘beautiful’ and ‘gentle’, then maybe you could be the one person in the world who could see the good in him. Maybe you could look past his sour reputation and see something more. 

“What are you working on?” You asked, using your hand that was holding the paint brush to gesture toward the notebook he had left open on one of the desks. 

“Oh, uh -” He let out a nervous chuckle, swaying on his feet as he looked down at the ground, as though he had been caught doing something wrong. “Nothing.” He admitted, and paused, waiting for you to scold him or tell him that he was breaking some kind of rule. “Nothing - not really. I just kinda like hanging out in here. It’s quiet.” 

His instincts recoiled with shock when you let out a gentle laugh, rather than threatening to tell on him. 

“I get it.” You said, giving him what you hoped was a reassuring smile in return. “I hope I’m not the only one submitting a project. That would be so awkward. I hope other people are working on theirs at home, or something.” 

“Probably.” He nodded, wanting to give you reassurance in return. 

There was an awkward pause, and then you let out a huff. He thought that you might tell him to leave so that you could have the room to yourself and enjoy the quiet alone, and he was surprised by what happened next. 

“Well, if you’re not busy, you can help me.” You said brightly. “Pass me that container of paint, please?” You pointed to one high on a shelf, one that he would be able to reach that was just out of range for you. 

He let out a soft laugh and grabbed it for you, setting it down on the desk next to your easel. He then sat down in a nearby chair, not returning back to whatever he had been doing in his notebook. He watched you work for the rest of the afternoon, the two of you exchanging gentle conversation about a range of topics, slowly getting to know each other more over the coming days. 

Those days in the art room had been so precious to you. Isaac had smiled at you sweetly, the first rays of your crush forming - something that would turn into the devastating love you would come to have for him. But like an egg in a raven’s nest - it was small and so new back then. 

… 

“I don’t get it - it’s so stupid. If he killed the guy, how the hell is his heart still beating? That means he didn’t kill him, right?” 

You were drawn out of your lovely memories by the annoying, nagging voice of Greenberg. Without thinking, and without putting your hand up to ask permission to speak, you couldn’t help but to charge against his idiocy. 

“It’s a metaphor, you mouthbreather.” You hissed at him. “Hearing someone’s heartbeat becoming increasingly louder after you have killed them and buried them under the floorboards is a symbol of guilt, not a sign of their ongoing life. Especially because it states in the story that the police clearly can’t hear the sound of the heartbeat - because it’s not literal, it’s a hallucination that the protagonist hears because he’s experiencing intense guilt due to taking someone’s life.” 

Without stopping to take a breath, you continued.

“And nobody has one literal single blue eye - it’s likely a symbol for surveillance. The idea that an omnipresent being is constantly watching us, and the protagonist has a desire to stamp out that surveillance and be free, but he feels guilty when he does. It’s about personality morality and grappling with one’s conscience - about doubting the literal existence of God.” 

By the time you had finished your rant, everyone in the classroom was staring at you, some of them snickering quietly under their breath, some of them mouth agape. You even caught one person taking notes, as though what you had said would be on a test. 

“What the fuck?” Greenberg replied, curling a brow at you, confused. 

“You are so hopeless.” You mumbled quietly. 

“Language.” Miss Blake said, putting up a warning hand toward Greenberg. “But yes - Miss L/N is correct. It is all metaphorical. That’s why we’re studying it. Though please, next time, don’t speak out of turn.” She said this sharply toward you, scolding you for making a very intelligent point. 

You raised your hand, asking permission to speak this time, and she sighed before she nodded at you, giving you that permission. 

“Can I have the bathroom pass, please?” 

You needed to escape. Maybe it was because you hated all the eyes on you, or because you couldn’t stop thinking about how Isaac would have commended what you said, even if he didn’t fully understand it. He was the only person who always let you speak your mind freely. And you felt far too smothered - you felt lost without him. 

“Yes.” Miss Blake huffed out, clearly annoyed. 

You stood up as she handed over the pass, and you whisked out of the classroom without a second thought. 

… 

For their second period of the day, Scott, Isaac, and Stiles had PE, and of course, Coach basically just used it as an excuse to squeeze more cross-country practice in. 

As they changed in the locker room, Isaac was only subjected to more nagging chatter about how he was handling the situation with you poorly. It was bad enough that he had his own guilt brewing inside of him, but now he had to listen to Scott and Stiles go on and on. 

“You know, you can’t avoid her forever,” Scott sighed, taking off his shirt. 

“Really? Because I think it’s a splendid idea. Just stay away from her. Stay away from Y/N, because she doesn’t need a dumb dog like you nipping at her heels.” Stiles whined, giving Isaac a glare. “If she wants to adopt, I’m sure there’s a nice shelter mutt somewhere-” 

“Stiles.” Scott sighed, a scolding warning toward his best friend, along with a glare. 

Stiles sighed and kissed the inside of his teeth, whipping off his own shirt with a fierce annoyance in every single movement. 

“I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Isaac glared Stiles down intensely, his eyes flashing golden for just a moment, resisting the urge to grind his teeth as Stiles agitated him. “I’m pretty sure if I died tomorrow, you still wouldn’t have the balls to make a move on her. You had plenty of time before I came along, but you’re just a damn coward. She’s too good for you anyway, you pathetic-” 

“Okay, woah. Stop.” Scott hissed, raising a hand in Isaac’s direction as a warning. “Both of you - stop it.” 

“Why do I have to-?” Stiles whined, and was quickly cut off. 

“Stop!” Scott jabbed out. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything more. He was slightly flushed pink, clearly slightly embarrassed at having been called out so blatantly. He obviously believed that his ‘secret’ crush on you was a lot more secret, and a lot less obvious. Little did he know, pretty everyone but you had picked up on how he felt about you - how he had felt about you since sixth grade. 

“It’s not like you’re one to give advice, anyway.” Stiles huffed at Scott, picking a new target for his annoyance since he wasn’t allowed to combat Isaac anymore. “How are things going with you and Allison?” 

Isaac wanted to add on, but he remained silent as he pulled up his jogging pants and knotting them stiffly, his whole body tense. He didn’t want to be caught agreeing with Stiles - at least not out loud. 

Scott’s eyes flickered to the floor, and he shrugged as he pulled on his athletic top. 

“Allison and I are friends.” He replied, his voice full of a strange kind of guilt that solidified the fact that this was definitely not true. 

Stiles let out a snort of laughter at this. 

“Friends?” He replied, sarcasm ripe in his voice. “So that’s why when I called you the other night, she picked up?” 

Scott didn’t reply to this particularly incriminating thread of conversation, and instead continued on: 

“We are trying to be friends.” He amended. “But that’s a whole lot different than me pretending she doesn’t exist.” 

He finished by staring at Isaac, who was focusing very hard on tying up his sweats, rather than daring to look in Scott’s direction. 

“Yeah, and the last time you and Allison tried to be ‘friends’, she ended up nearly being choked to death by a giant lizard.” Isaac reminded him, pulling his own athletic top over his head. 

“Which was because of her totally insane grandfather, not because of Scott,” Stiles said, all too quick to defend Scott. 

“Yeah, and last time I checked, Y/N doesn’t have any insane relatives,” Scott said, half joking, trying his best to be light-hearted, a grin on his lips. 

Isaac frowned, tying his shoes too tightly, every muscle in his body still too tense. 

“Exactly my point.” He replied, standing up to his full height and folding his arms tightly over his chest. “I’m the only one in her life who could get her hurt. And she’ll be fine as long as I stay far away from her.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles sighed, nodding. 

Before either of them could argue, Isaac swiftly left the locker room, happy to have some mindless time to run on the trail and hopefully not be stuck thinking about all of this. He hoped that he could run hard enough to get a good sting in his legs and his lungs and finally empty his mind. 

Isaac took off hard and heavy, ignoring Coach’s voice behind him telling him to ‘wait up for everyone else’. He didn’t entirely care. He needed the ground hard underneath his feet, he needed the morning air in his lungs. He passed most of the class in a few moments, entirely uncaring that he sped past everyone. 

In the back of his mind, he could hear Erica’s voice chuckling, telling him that he looked like a try-hard asshole for running so fast. 

Erica. 

A vision flashed in his mind - her eyes wet with tears, crying out for help while she was trapped in the bank vault. Her crying out his name, reaching a hand out to him desperately, begging to be rescued. 

He hadn’t gotten there in time. 

She had been so cold when he had picked her up to hoist her into the make-shift grave that Derek had dug. Her skin grey and half-rotted. The Alpha Pack had stowed her away in a closet somewhere like she meant nothing. Tossed her next to some old files and dusty shelves like she was just some thing. They had used her up and thrown her away like she wasn’t even a person - like she didn’t belong to someone, like she didn’t have a fucking family. 

Isaac forcibly shook his head, trying to force the memories out. He had to get her out of his head. He had to forget about the way she smiled at him when she called him a dork. She had to forget about her bright laugh. He had to forget about the chunk of her blonde hair that he had found attached to his coat after the burial, fallen off her, still attached to a piece of her withered scalp - 

He tripped over a tree root and went tumbling across the ground, the air knocked from his lungs as his body collided harshly with the dirt. It didn’t hurt, not with how radically his body healed and how strong the werewolfism made him. Not much could hurt him anymore. Not his body, at least. 

When he settled, he turned to sit upright, and he found himself sagging against the dirt. There was no air in his lungs, and all his muscles - for all their supernatural strength - felt as limp as wet paper, sogging pitifully against his bones. He couldn’t get up. He was stuck. 

He wanted to blame you for ruining him. He wanted to blame you for switching something inside of him, for forcing him to feel again. You had forced that box open that he had been stowing everything away in, shoving it all down deep and locking it up. 

And now it was all spilling out - the grief he hadn’t felt for Erica, the way he had missed Boyd but felt like he couldn’t tell him, the fact that he was constantly seeking approval from Derek that he knew he wasn’t going to get. The way he yearned for Scott’s attention, for guidance but felt like he could never just ask for help. 

For a small time, he had a pack, a family. And now he was more damn alone in the world than he had ever been. 

“And you aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.”

Those words echoing through his skull again. A haunting - a curse. 

You were likely the only family he had left in the world, but he could never let himself be weak enough to go back to you again. If he did - he would only be hurting you. 

Isaac gripped the dirt under his palms, shaking furiously as he resisted the urge to cry. 

“Fuck!” He screamed, his voice echoing off the trees as he kicked out his legs, utterly frustrated, unable to do anything but throw a tantrum. 

“Aww, did the baby fall down?” 

Isaac was rocketed out of his self pity by a horribly familiar voice. 

When he looked up, the twins were circling. He didn’t know which was Ethan and which one was Aiden, and he didn’t care - all he knew was that they were grinning at him, clearly satisfied that he was visibly upset. 

“Fuck off.” Isaac huffed out, finally able to push himself up off the ground, glaring at both of them harshly. “I’m not in the fucking mood, okay?” 

He moved to take off again, wanting to literally run away from his problems - but one of them stepped directly in his path. It was a stupidly childish move to make - blocking his way. And it only served to further annoy him. 

“I don’t know if this occurred to you,” The twin standing behind him said. “But we don’t care.” 

“You’ll care when I break your fucking jaw.” Isaac snarled, his annoyance and anger overtaking him in a horrible way. 

Truthfully, he didn’t want to fight them. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to go through the rest of his day without any major conflicts. He already had enough problems in his life without adding them to the mix. 

He was tired. 

Both of the twins laughed, and Isaac’s annoyance only grew, filling his stomach like a terrible sickness that made him feel too heavy. He had been here before, and he knew that he was liable to snap if they didn’t leave him alone soon. 

“Screw this.” Isaac breathed out, going to dodge around them once again, once again flaring with rage when they blocked his path. 

They were daring him to strike first - daring him to be the one to start the fight. He wasn’t even sure why. He had no clue what the hell they wanted from him. Maybe they wanted him to tackle one of them so they could blame it on him, get him in trouble. Maybe they wanted him to appear crazy in front of everyone else. He wasn’t even sure if he cared about deciphering the reasoning behind their game, because he just wanted them to stop. 

“You know, if you don’t wanna play with us, I’m sure we could go find someone else.” One of the twins said, that terrible grin still painted on his face. 

Isaac knew that they were playing at something bigger, but he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. 

“Please do.” He grunted out, his voice barely able to escape his throat, bitterly weighed down by anger. 

When he moved again, he was finally able to get around them, surprised when they didn’t move to block his path, didn’t move to grab him or stop him in some way. But of course, he only made it a few steps away, and then - he heard the fatal words that finally drew him into their game, finally got the reaction that they had been wanting out of him. 

“We should go find Y/N.” One of them said, a light, airy chuckle in his voice. 

Isaac froze. All of his muscles tensed. Your name was too sweet, too sacred to be allowed on their cursed lips. 

“We should. She’s a pretty girl. So cute and innocent. I’m sure it would be so much fun to make her scream-” 

Isaac didn’t have time to even begin to decipher if the nature of the threat was violent, or god forbid - sexual, because he had become absolutely blinded by rage. He whipped back around and grabbed the first body he saw, tackling the twin to the ground. Without a second thought, or even a first one, he began wailing punches across the guy’s face, filled with nothing but the intent to maim. 

Of course, the other twin tried to pull him off. Now that they saw the unruly beast that they had unleashed, they weren’t pleased by it. There was an arm attempting to lock around his neck, trying to pull him in the opposite direction. But a swift, deep bite with his fangs extended, digging into the guy’s forearm caused him to yelp and recoil, ridding Isaac of that problem for now. 

And with blinders on, only seeing the target in front of him, he continued on, throwing punch after punch down toward the skull under his fist. He felt quickly healing bones crack and mash and race to shift back into place under his powerful fist as he tirelessly pounded down onto the guy’s face. 

Voices fluttered in. He knew other people from the class were catching up, but as the twin stared up at him, completely fearless, mocking him with a bloody grin, he only felt more angered. 

They had dared to threaten you. 

He wrapped both his hands around the guy’s neck and began to squeeze, fighting to press both his thumbs against that windpipe - you were too good, too good to be touched, too good to be looked at by these monsters - he saw the face turning redder and redder and he channeled more of his divine anger into that brutal hold, uncaring if he killed the guy underneath him - 

“Isaac!” 

His attention was only snapped away when Scott called his name, and very suddenly, all the energy fuelling his rage left his body, like some sort of switch had been flipped. Like Scott had pushed some sort of nerve that shifted all of his instincts. When his head snapped up and his eyes met Scott’s, he saw nothing but intense disappointment lingering there. 

Maybe he was a monster too. 

“Lahey? What the hell?!” Coach Finstock pushed his way through the crowd, led by the other twin. 

He was clutching his bleeding arm - or rather, hiding the bloody spot on his sleeve where the bite Isaac had delivered was now completely healed over. 

The boy underneath Isaac was still very red faced and sputtering for air, but if anybody looked too closely past the blood lingering on the surface, they would have noticed that his broken nose and damaged eye sockets were shifting back into place far too quickly. Luckily for him, all of them were too busy staring at Isaac with horror on their faces. 

Isaac stumbled to his feet, and he soon determined which twin was which when Danny rushed to attend to the one he had left bloody on the ground. 

“Principal’s office! Now!” Coach Finstock yelled, sounding very angry as he pointed a hand back toward the school, directing Isaac. 

Isaac remained frozen on the spot, slightly shocked with himself that he had let his rage overtake him, still hating the way that Scott (and pretty much everyone else) was looking at him - with intense horror in their eyes, like he was someone to be feared. And they were probably right about that. Coach closed the gap and crept into his personal space, lowering his voice to whisper his next words. 

“You’re lucky I don’t call the cops, Lahey.” He said, looking Isaac in the eyes very intentionally. “Now - I like you. And you’re one of my best defenders on the field. So I’m gonna assume that he had it coming, and if need be, I’m gonna ask the Principal to take it easy on you, okay?” Isaac nodded. “But if you ever get violent off the field again in my presence, I will rain down a unique kind of hell on you.” 

Isaac nodded again. His throat was so damn dry. He wasn’t going to bother trying to defend himself. He knew how it looked. 

“Now go!” Coach yelled. Isaac was finally sparked into action, and regretfully, Coach Finstock added on: “Stilinski, make sure he gets there!” 

“Ugh, why me? Okay - fine.” 

Of course, Stiles couldn’t do anything without whining. As he slowly sulked off back toward the school, Isaac felt the looming presence of a skinny idiot trailing behind him. 

“You don’t have to come with me.” Isaac huffed, not even bothering to turn his head to look at Stiles. “I am man enough to go and accept my punishment without you babysitting me.” 

“Oh, that’s what you call manly?” Stiles replied, his usual sarcastic tone coming through loud and clear. “You wanna know what I call it?” 

“No.” Isaac easily answered, knowing that it was likely a rhetorical question. Of course, unlike he hoped, Stiles did not take it as a hint to shut up. 

“Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway.” Stiles hummed dutifully in return. Isaac rolled his eyes sharply, still facing away from Stiles so that he couldn’t see. “I would call it: insanity. Being a complete and total psychopath. Grossly uncontrolled violence, among-” 

As they walked into the school, Isaac dropped the door on Stiles, and he gave a small smile when he heard him let out a small ‘ow’ as he unexpectedly ran into the metal. Stiles huffed and pushed past it, racing to catch up with Isaac’s long strides. Isaac growled in annoyance when Stiles stepped in front of him, blocking his path in the middle of the empty hallway, seeming determined to be the next person to harass him today. 

Isaac crossed his arms sharply over his chest and glared at Stiles. 

“Seriously, man, what the hell is wrong with you?” Stiles posed. Clearly another rhetorical question. 

Even if it wasn’t Isaac would have no clue how to go about answering it. Even he had no clue where to begin. His mother’s death, his brother’s death, his father’s abuse and subsequent death that he somehow mourned. Breaking off his perfectly great relationship with you, throwing away likely the only good thing in his life because he was allergic to good things after all the crap that had been piled on him. 

And that didn’t even come close to touching the werewolf stuff, and the parade of crap that had followed after he had been turned. 

“Your guess is as good as any.” Isaac said, his voice quiet, lulling his head in shame. 

“Yeah, well - I don’t want you around Y/N.” Stiles announced, his nostrils flaring with annoyance. “I don’t care what Scott says. You’re dangerous. And you’re too much of an insane psycho to be allowed around my best friend.” 

Isaac clenched his jaw. Despite knowing that Stiles likely just wanted you to be single so that he could make a move himself, or that Stiles wanted you to date anybody but Isaac because of his underlying dislike toward Isaac - the words still hurt. Something deep inside of Isaac took it and filed it away as true. His knuckles were still sore and covered in someone’s blood, and he didn’t think those tainted hands should ever get to touch you again. 

“So you’re gonna protect her when Ethan and Aiden go after her?” Isaac posed, his voice dull, his throat carrying the weight of what he was feeling that he tried his best to push down.

“Scott will. She’ll be fine.” Stiles brushed it off, even though they both knew that Scott had a lot on his plate already, and it would be hard to add worrying about protecting you too. “You can stop worrying about Y/N - just forget about her. And in the meantime - go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, okay? I’m actually starting to think that your dad kept you locked in the basement for a reason.” 

The words were entirely thoughtless. Words launched at Isaac out of anger and frustration, fear at the idea of you potentially being in danger. Stiles was worried about you, still stressing about the increasing body count piling up around them, thinking about the childhood friend that he had just lost and wondering if somehow you were next. And unintentionally, he said one of the most horrible things that he ever could have. 

“Stiles.” 

Both boys were harshly ripped from the conversation by your voice. 

Isaac whipped around and found you standing there, your eyes bright and shining with tears that were threatening to smudge make-up that you definitely hadn’t been wearing earlier that morning. (Somehow, you were so beautiful no matter what - when your hair was messy and your eyes were circled dark from lack of sleep, or when you were made-up purposefully with glossy lips and dark eyeliner and cute blush. You were just so fucking perfect. Too perfect for him.) 

“Okay, that was completely out of context. You have no clue what even happened-” Stiles began rambling, trying to explain himself, but you refused to listen. 

“Shut up.” You growled through your teeth, and Stiles shamefully looked down at the floor, already feeling guilt lapping at him harshly. 

Your eyes flickered from glaring at Stiles to Isaac, your gaze easily softening on him, giving him that same look at you always did: staring him down like he was a scared animal, liable to run at a moment’s notice. 

Isaac hated that he could feel tears forming in his eyes - such blatant weakness spelled out in front of you. And in front of Stiles, of all people. There was a huge knot in his throat, and once again, his muscles felt far too weak, almost unable to move him. 

“Isaac, baby-” 

You reached out toward him, taking a step forward to try and catch his hand, and he practically jumped away, taking a large step back. Instantly, this caused a sharp jab through your chest. You used to be the one he would come to for comfort, and now he was acting as though you were some terrible poison to him. 

You knew this look too well. The glossy eyes, the quivering jaw, the dirt on his clothing, the bloody knuckles. Something terrible had happened. You wanted nothing more than to trap him in a hug and never let him go. The way he recoiled from your touch hurt more than any smack to the face ever could have. 

“Don’t.” Isaac choked out, refusing to look at you. “I - I have to go.” 

And just like that, like the startled animal that he was, he took off at top speed, practically running down the hallway to get away from you. 

“Y/N-” 

Stiles reached out toward you, ironically, him trying to comfort you in the same way you had tried with Isaac. And you did the same to him - you whipped out of his touch, a tear running down your face now, creating a large streak through the beautiful, neat make-up that Lydia had done on you. 

“Don’t touch me.” You told him, your voice quivering and weak as sobs threatened up in your chest. “Stiles - I can’t believe you would say something like that. I can’t believe you would even think it.” 

“Look, you don’t know what happened-” 

“I don’t care.” You replied. “You have no idea what his life was like.” 

“Why the hell do you always need to defend the guy?” Stiles asked, frustrated and clearly looking for an answer. 

‘Because if I don’t, then no one else will.’ 

You refused to justify the words with breath. If Stiles didn’t get it now, then he never would. 

Instead, you simply shook your head and fled yourself, walking off in the opposite direction. Stiles considered following you, until he saw that you retreated into the girl’s bathroom. It was what you had originally left class for - though your intentions hadn’t been to end up crying loudly in one of the stalls. When the door locked behind you, you couldn’t help it. 

It was just too much - Isaac rejecting you yet again, Stiles saying something so cruel. 

You felt so pathetic as you balanced on the edge of the toilet seat, wiping your messy black eyeliner tears with some toilet paper. You knew how much Lydia would pester you later for ‘ruining her work’ - she often said that one of the biggest reasons in life not to cry was because good cosmetics were too expensive. You weren’t even too focused on that. 

No - your mind was still on Isaac. You couldn’t help but to think about the last time you had seen Isaac like that. Downtrodden, knuckles bruised. The last time you had seen him snap due to overwhelming rage and then regret it. 

… 

You thought back to a lacrosse game from over a year ago, back before you knew about the presence of anything strange in Beacon Hills. Back when Isaac’s power on the field was only driven by his personal anger, not by anything more unexplainable. When he had been driven by his father’s voice in the back of his head telling him that he wasn’t good enough, telling him that he wasn’t a ‘real man’ unless he took the other players down and made them cry. 

Of course, Beacon Hills had won the game. 

They had a reputation to uphold, and even if the players on the team only did so well due to a mountain of personal issues - Jackson leading the charge due to his overwhelming perfectionism - they got the job done. They were consistent in their perfection, leaving other teams very little room to beat them.

You had been in the stands, cheering Isaac on the entire time, and naturally, you flooded onto the field to celebrate along with everyone else. 

Luckily, Isaac’s father was nowhere to be seen. It was an early season game, and he didn’t come out for anything less than quarter-finals - he always told Isaac that he didn’t associate with losers, and Isaac better not be one. Even if the Beacon Hills lacrosse team hadn’t lost a game since its inception - he often told Isaac that he feared Isaac’s tendency to ‘fuck things up’ would scar the team’s perfect record. So far, in the dozens of games that Isaac had played, that was not true. 

You were glad that Isaac’s father wasn’t around, because it meant that you could have a nice night with Isaac - a take-out dinner in celebration of his win, spending some quality time alone with the guy you loved. It was certainly preferable over listening to his father run down every single ‘wrong’ move he had made on the field as he dragged him away. 

Isaac pulled you into a tight hug as soon as he saw you, sweaty and slightly dirty from being on the field, and you squeezed him incredibly tight, even though you weren’t a huge fan of the smell. 

“That was so amazing!” You easily praised him. “You were totally great out there! You-” 

“Oh come on, I was totally slacking during the final quarter.” He sighed, moving back over to the bench to lay down his helmet and grab his water bottle. He chugged a healthy amount of it before he continued. “I left Danny wide open and I totally let them get in that last point-” 

“Yeah, and it was twenty-two to five.” You chuckled. You hated that even without his father there, he seemed to be doing the work of dragging himself down - likely unconsciously, that negativity worked into his mind like a habit, like a tense muscle that he couldn’t ignore now. You hated that you were the only one trying to combat it. “Let those sad little babies have one point to make themselves feel better. It probably raised their self esteem a bit, I’m sure.” 

Isaac gave a subtle grin at this, and chugged more of his water. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a strange voice entered the conversation. 

“Yeah, well at least we know how to play by the fucking rules.” 

You turned your head to the source of the voice and realized that it was a player from the other team - they wore black and yellow uniforms (their team was The Hornets, you believed). It was a shorter brunet guy with a snide facial expression flanked by a couple of his lackeys. 

“Do you even care that you broke our best scorer’s wrist, or are you that much of an asshole?” He spat out, glaring at Isaac. 

You had seen Isaac make a particularly hard tackle - something that wasn’t unusual for him. And the player ended up limping off to the medical tent on the sidelines. But that wasn’t something entirely unusual for a game like this. 

Isaac’s features flashed with guilt at this - the news that he had broken someone’s bone. He could get very into the game in the moment and definitely not realize how rough he was being, but he tried not to feel too bad about it because in the end, everyone had signed up to participate. 

“That’s just how the game goes, man.” Isaac shrugged, capping his water bottle and picking his helmet back up. 

“Oh, that’s a real convenient excuse for you, isn’t it?” The guy hissed, getting even more worked up. “If we had known you guys were gonna pull that bullshit, we would have brought our wrestling team along to fuck up you ‘roided up assholes.” 

“Might’ve helped.” Isaac mumbled, sarcasm lulling in his voice, not really engaging in the passionate fight that the guy so obviously wanted. He turned his attention back to you as he stood up from the bench. He leaned down and kissed you lightly on the cheek. “Meet me out in the parking lot in fifteen? I’m gonna go shower and change, and then-” 

“Oh my god, this is your girlfriend?” The guy shouted, cutting Isaac off. He let out a sarcastic chuckle, pointing at you with a purposefully rude, harshly extended hand. “It makes sense now. You need those big dumb idiot muscles to lug around this ugly fat bitch.” 

Isaac glared at him, and from the visible grinding of his jaw, anger flowing so tensely through him - you knew that this asshole was finally getting the reaction he wanted out of Isaac. He had found the perfect button to push - messing with you. The exact wrong button that would set Isaac off every single time. 

“Isaac,” You tried getting his attention, reaching for his wrist, which he abruptly snatched away from you, his eyes still laser focused on the poor, ignorant asshole who was winding him up. 

“You guys may win a few games - by cheating your way through - but then you have to celebrate with that? Geez, I’d be angry too.” 

His lackeys laughed along with him, fake and theatrical, clearly trying to annoy Isaac more. Without another word, Isaac tossed down his helmet and whipped off his gloves. You saw it coming before anybody else did. Isaac was deadly silent, the veins in his neck popping - you had only seen it once before. 

“Do you put a bag over her head when you’re doin’ it - or do you just close your eyes?” 

“Isaac, he’s trying to piss you off-!” 

Your words were lost to the air when Isaac tackled the guy, someone who was easily a head shorter than him, and shoved him down to the muddy ground with ease. In a blink, he began wailing punch after punch into what was only a second ago, a very smug face. 

You gasped in horror as Isaac’s firm fist broke the guy’s nose - but he didn’t stop there. He cracked teeth, bruised an eye. It wasn’t long before everyone in the celebratory crowd had craned their necks to stare - some people making horrified sounds, others cheering. It was only when Coach Finstock managed to pull him off by force that it stopped. It was ironic that he had come over complaining about his friend’s broken wrist, and he ended up in the medical tent much worse off. 

Isaac got two months detention for it, and every day before and after practice, Coach made him run suicides to ‘think about what he had done’. 

Isaac thought you would hate him for it. And while you didn’t exactly like his violent side… you could understand it. The next time you saw him, you took his bruised knuckles in hand, running your fingertips gently over his hand - and you had a quiet understanding. He had done it for you. 

He had done it to protect you. And strangely - you admired that. You admired that protecting you always seemed to be his one goal. You hated that now his singular goal in life seemed to be keeping the two of you apart. 

(You didn’t know that for him - now, those two things were distinctly the same.)

… 

You were distracted all morning. You hated it, but you couldn’t focus during any of your classes because you kept thinking about Isaac. 

In between classes, you spotted Scott, and you wanted to ask him what the hell had happened - had Isaac gotten into another fight? Would he be suspended? Would he be expelled? What had caused the fight? 

“Scott!” 

You called his name, desperately weaving through students to try and get to him, and of course, the second that he realized you were headed toward him, he began walking in the other direction. He moved swiftly, clearly trying to escape you. You let out a growl of frustration - but with all your tense annoyance and general upset about the day, you weren’t going to let him get away that easily. 

“Scott! Scott, come on!” 

He continued to high-tail away from you, but eventually you caught up and got a hold of his backpack, grabbing onto it tightly and taking a stiff stance, causing him to freeze on the spot as he was unexpectedly yanked backward. You weren’t strong enough to overpower him, but you had startled him into stopping dead in his tracks. 

“Look, Scott, you can stay and talk to me, or-” 

You scrambled to come up with a good threat on the spot, not actually having much room for violence in your heart. But - you did have a lot of room for blackmail. A smirk formed across your face as you thought of the wicked idea. 

“Or I can call your mom and tell her about that time during freshman year that you got drunk off UV Blue and puked blue dye all over her brand new white rug, and I rushed to clean it up before she got home.” 

You let go of his backpack, and he rushed to face you, a look of insulted shock painted across his features. 

He barely remembered that night - it was the first time he had ever gotten truly drunk (and, according to his werewolf status, apparently one of the few times he would ever be drunk). But he remembered feeling intense shame and panic at the gross blue vomit getting all over the rug. And then feeling safe and assured that you would clean it up and cover for him so that his mom would never find out about his drunkenness. 

So that night, he went to bed and crashed, and when he woke up, his mom made a laughing comment about how Stiles had fallen asleep on the couch, and how he had parked his Jeep so awkwardly that she couldn’t fit her car into the driveway. And she had made a comment that you were ‘the only good one’ - because of course, as always, you had left the place clean and tidy. 

You always had Scott’s back. 

He knew that it was an empty threat. 

“You wouldn’t.” Scott hissed, attempting to call your bluff. 

“Oh really?” You posed, purposefully being large and over-dramatic as you reached into your back pocket and pulled out your cell phone. You didn’t unlock the screen or start dialing, but you looked Scott in the eyes as you said: “Is she still at 551-023-2024?” 

“Why do you have it memorized?” Scott asked, entirely flabbergasted that you knew his mom’s cell number off by heart. (He wasn’t even entirely confident that he knew it off the top of his head.) 

You rolled your eyes. “Do you have any idea how often I’ve had to call her?” 

Scott looked confused by this, which surprised you. 

“The time you crashed your bike in front of my house and broke your arm, and part of the bone was sticking out,” You explained, taking a breath as you began what would be an exhaustive list. Scott cringed at this memory. If it hadn’t been for your first aid skills, he probably would have been a lot worse off. “The time you and Stiles were playing Chicken with his dad’s nail gun and you nearly took his eye out,” 

Scott laughed as he remembered this, and you glared at him. 

“The time that Stiles called me panicking because he thought that he somehow got herpes even though he’s never had sex before, but he neglected to tell me that the two of you took a trip out into the woods to shoot cans with a BB gun and he took a piss and ended up wiping his junk with poison oak.” 

Scott let out an even brighter laugh as he remembered this. 

Stiles, at the time, had theorized that he had gotten an STD from the ‘sketchy looking’ urinal in the gas station bathroom that they stopped at. Which meant a far too detailed conversation about his bathroom habits when Scott jokingly asked if he had humped the urinal in order to get said STD. 

“Oh, and let’s not forget-” 

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Scott sighed. 

He knew that he couldn’t avoid helping you. With this… thing going on between you and Isaac, being a good friend meant not picking sides. Especially because, hearing all these stories only reminded him what a good friend that you had been to him over the years. And he had to pay it back now. 

“What do you need?” He asked. 

You grinned at him, glad that he had finally wised up and given in. On the surface, it might seem like he was giving in because you had threatened to tattle to his mom, and because you had so much blackmail to hold over his head. But in truth, he just needed a reminder that you had been there for him so many times before, and now, he just needed to be there for you. 

“Well - I need to talk to Isaac.” You insisted. “I-” You sighed, thinking for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t even know if I’m gonna get back together with him. I’m not gonna force a relationship on him if it’s not really what he wants.” You said, forcing yourself to face the truth. “But I’m not just gonna leave it all up in the air without even talking to him first.” 

Scott nodded, very understanding of this. It was something he had needed with Allison too - something everyone needs at the end of a relationship. 

Closure. 

“Okay.” Scott said. “I’ll talk to him. And I’ll get him to make some time for you.” 

You couldn’t help it, you stepped forward and embraced Scott in a tight hug, which he easily returned. 

“Thank you.” You said as you pulled away, glowing a relieved smile at him. 

“No problem.” He nodded. 

“You know - you’re really warm.” You noted, putting a hand on his shoulder, referencing his blaring body heat. “Is that part of the whole… werewolf thing?” 

It was also something you had noticed about Isaac that was different now. He used to have cold hands near constantly, and the last time he had been in your bed, his skin had been giving off heat like a furnace. 

Scott just raised a brow at you, unsure how to answer, and before he could stutter out some dumb reply - the bell rang. 

“Uh - I-I’m gonna go.” He said. 

You nodded, and gave him a small wave as you walked off to class. 

… 

You raced out of class as soon as the bell rang and made it to the cafeteria in time to beat the lines. You got two sandwiches, two bottles of juice, and two cookies for yourself and Allison. You figured that if she was going to do you the favour of finally talking to you, then you could do her the favour of buying lunch. Then, you walked to the library and saw her standing outside the doors, and she smiled at you when she saw you. 

“Hey,” She greeted you kindly, giving a smile. 

“Hey.” You returned. And you stuck a hand out to her, holding the sandwiches in their plastic wrap. “Turkey or tuna?”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised that you had brought food, and contemplated for a moment before grabbing one. “Tuna. Thanks.” She nodded. 

“I also have cookies. And juice. But I put them in my bag.” You told her. 

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Do you wanna go find a place to sit outside? You know how Ms. Thompson is about food in the library,” 

“Yeah.” You nodded, and followed her when she began to walk toward one of the doors. “Wait - why did you ask me to meet you at the library anyway? Were you not planning on eating lunch today?” 

Allison frowned and shrugged. “I guess not. I’ve just been so stressed out lately… I haven’t really been thinking about food.” 

“Well that’s not gonna happen on my watch.” You told her. “Honestly, I have the opposite problem. When I get stressed out, I snack. And I wanna feed people. You should come over to my place and I’ll cook you dinner.” 

Allison’s insides squeezed painfully. She hadn’t really had a good home-cooked meal since her mother had died. 

“Well, you’re gonna wanna make a whole buffet when you hear what I have to tell you.” Allison sighed. 

The two of you found a quiet, low trafficked area on the North side of the school, opposite from where the lacrosse field was. You sat under a tree and ate while you talked, and you grew increasingly shocked as she told you more and more things that you had never heard before. Things that you never could have imagined to be true. But the more she explained things… the more you knew she couldn’t be making any of it up. 

Her family - the Argents - were werewolf hunters, and they had been for generations. Though apparently, now they were ‘retired’. You didn’t fully get that part, not with the crossbow that she kept in her bag. Though you did trust that she wasn’t actively trying to kill Scott or Isaac.

She and her family had moved to Beacon Hills last year because her father had been looking to discover the identity of, and eventually kill ‘The Alpha’ - the monster that had murdered your mother. Her Aunt Kate had gotten killed in the process, apparently as revenge from Peter Hale because of the fire she had set years before. (That was one of the only things that wasn’t news to you, because the papers had called her an arsonist shortly after her death.) What painted the fire in a new light, though - Allison said that Kate had set the fire in an attempt to make the Hale family extinct, but it had been without the help of the rest of the Argents. Killing innocent children and even non-killer werewolves in such a fire went against the Argents’ Code. 

And wearing that Code proudly, Allison did assure you that she would always help Scott and Isaac when she could, rather than try to hurt them - because they weren’t killers. They would never hurt anyone, and neither would she. 

She explained that with Peter Hale out of the picture, Derek Hale was now an Alpha werewolf, leader of a pack consisting of Boyd, Isaac, and previously Erica. Apparently Jackson used to be able to turn into some giant mutant lizard called The Kanima, and he had killed several people without even knowing it, and that was the reason he had moved away - not because he was now going to a fancy private school in London, like Lydia had originally told you. (You had to guess that Lydia didn’t even know the real reason why he had moved away, and she had no clue that she had been supplying you with a lie at the time.) 

Even what you had heard at the time about Allison’s mother dying hadn’t been true. She had killed herself due to a rule in Argent family that if any of them receive the bite of a werewolf that causes lycanthropy, they must take their own life rather than turning into a werewolf that they are meant to hunt. In Allison’s mind, this meant that Derek Hale had killed her mother because he was the one who had bitten her. 

You had to wonder if in some way, the same thing had happened to Isaac. Had Derek sentenced him to death by tainting his life with all this danger? Was The Bite nothing but a curse? 

“So - did Derek bite Scott too? Does he just go around biting people? Is he trying to build up some werewolf army?” You asked, urgency stirring up in your voice. 

You were curious about Derek, wondering why Isaac seemed to like him. You never got the impression that he was a ‘good’ person - especially not when Scott and Stiles were urgently insistent that you stay away from him, and they even told you that he was a murderer. (He had been arrested at one point, even if he had been let go.) 

Maybe it was because Isaac had traded one abuser for another, and he didn’t know that Derek was too much like his father, too blind to see it. Or maybe you didn’t know enough about Derek to make the judgement call - but what you did know, you didn’t like. 

“No, Derek wasn’t an Alpha then.” Allison explained, taking a sip of her juice. “Only a bite from an Alpha can turn someone.” 

You felt vastly out of the loop, trying to catch up on all the lore, so you just nodded. 

“The one who bit Scott was Peter Hale.” She explained. 

“He’s dead, right?” You posed, wanting to be sure of this. 

It was something you distinctly remembered - chasing down Stiles at the hospital when you had gone to check on Lydia after the attack. The worried look on his face. Questioning him when Jackson let him get into the driver’s seat of the Porsche and opening one of the doors to let yourself in before they could stop you. 

The giant black beast had gone up in flames and Derek had slashed his throat. That must have been how Derek became an Alpha - by killing one. 

After that night, Scott had assured you that ‘it was all over’, and you had nothing more to worry about. Boy - had he been wrong. 

When Allison didn’t say anything, you hesitantly added on: 

“Right?” 

Allison’s expression churned with nervousness, and your insides soon matched it to a terrible degree. 

You were certain of what you had seen, but you also knew that most people didn’t believe in werewolves. So you were willing to bet on the impossible. 

“What? You’re telling me that he got up and walked away from that?” You snapped. 

Allison didn’t have the time or the patience to explain to you what had actually happened, and she certainly didn’t want you to blame Lydia for your mother’s killer still walking the earth. So instead, she went with something else. Something much easier for you to stomach. 

“Well… werewolves have a capacity to heal from a lot of things…” She mumbled out nervously. 

“Great.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, hating the lump that came in your throat as you remembered that horrible beast staring you down, growling viciously before Scott had stepped between the two of you. “Well, at least that means that Isaac is less likely to get hurt.” 

“Well…” Allison trailed off, clearly hesitating to tell you whatever was on her mind. 

“‘Well’ what?” You prodded, anxiety stirring harshly in your stomach once again. 

“Scott told me that Betas can get hurt more easily and they heal slower if they’re attacked by an Alpha.” She explained. 

“And Isaac is a Beta?” You concluded, thinking aloud. 

Allison nodded, her expression grim. 

“So, that would only be a problem if Derek attacked him, right?” You theorized, your throat clenching up terribly. 

A horrible thought flashed in your mind. It was Isaac’s father all over again. It was why he had been so shaken when he had appeared at your door the other night. But there hadn’t been any marks on him. (You did know how terribly deep mental scars could go, but you were thankful that nobody had put their hands on him.)  

“Well - there’s this Alpha pack-” 

“Alpha pack?” You gaped. “A whole pack of Alphas? A whole horde of those monsters?” 

Allison nodded hesitantly, looking at you with sadness clouding her eyes. 

“Is that who’s been killing people?” You wondered aloud - though you had heard that the recent murders had been by strangulation, and that didn’t seem like a very ‘werewolf’ method of killing someone. “Are Scott and Isaac in danger? Do-?” 

“It’s okay.” Allison said firmly, cutting you off. “You don’t have to worry about Scott and Isaac. They can take care of themselves.” 

You did trust that to be the truth, but- 

“I know. I just hate being so… uninformed.” You sighed. 

“Trust me, I know the feeling.” Allison nodded. “If anything else major happens, I’ll tell you. But you have to try not to worry so much, okay? You have to worry about the things you can control.” She said, doling out the same advice her father had given to her after her mother had died. “Like lunch and… hanging out with your friends for a little while.” 

You knew that this was covertly her way of thanking you, and you couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh. 

“Well - thank you for telling me all this,” You said. “It’s nice to not feel like I’m missing some giant piece of the puzzle.” 

“It is a very relieving feeling.” She nodded. “Oh, and by the way, Scott’s eyes do glow when he-” 

“Too much information!” 

Both of you burst into laughter, laughing so hard that your cheeks began to hurt. It was nice to spend time with one of your best friends again. 

… 

Luckily, the rest of the day flew by fairly fast for you. 

Even if thoughts of Alpha packs and the potential of Isaac getting hurt lingered in the back of your mind, you tried your best to follow Allison’s advice. You tried your hardest to push him to the back of your mind, trying to focus on what was in front of you. Which, stupidly, turned out to make you think of Isaac even more. 

Your last class of the day was art. And during the last bit of free time you were given, you found yourself sketching a pair of sad, bright blue eyes that looked all too familiar. 

You just couldn’t keep him off your mind, could you? 

… 

Three months of lunchtime and after school detentions. 

That’s what Isaac had been sentenced to for beating up Ethan. But it was a comparatively low punishment when he had originally believed that he was going to be suspended. The Principal had gone easy on him when his ranting yells about threatening to call Isaac’s father had been met with Isaac’s dull reminder that his father was dead, and so was his mother - Isaac didn’t have any parents to threaten to call. And because he was eighteen, he didn’t even have any legal guardians that the Principal could threaten to call either. 

It also helped that when the school nurse reported back about Ethan’s injuries, she didn’t seem to have anything to report. After wiping the blood off his face, he didn’t seem to have any major injuries. And Isaac had to play dumb about the whole thing while the nurse theorized that the blood had come from his nose that Isaac had ‘aggravated, but not broken’ while hitting him. 

He couldn’t break into an outburst about how the motherfucker had werewolf healing and Isaac hadn’t done any damage to him anyway. 

But still, due to the fact that Isaac had hit him, and Aiden’s whiny verbal report that Isaac had choked his brother, even though there were no marks on his neck - it still seemed bad. So Isaac now owed three months worth of detention for snapping on the guy. 

It was worth it, though, he quickly decided as he lugged a large cart of supplies up the stairs to begin restocking the janitor’s closet. Hopefully they got the message and stayed far away from you. They could mess with him all they wanted, but he had made it clear: you were fully off limits. If anybody went near you - werewolf or human - they should be prepared to meet a world of pain. 

You were on your way out of the school after art class had ended, your sketchbook in hand, physically and emotionally exhausted from the day. You were fully prepared to go home and watch Food Network alone while doing your homework in far too much detail in a continued attempt to avoid thinking too much about Isaac. And of course, you just happened to cross his path once again. You saw him carting a large trolley of stuff toward the janitor’s closet, and against your better judgement, you walked over to him. 

“Need some help?” 

You asked, trying your best to sound bright and helpful, not wanting to sound like you were upset with him. With his father’s ghost still weighing on him, the slightest change in your tone of voice could send him spiralling. It was an effort, because the smallest part of you was upset at him for trying his hardest to avoid you. 

All of his muscles visibly tensed, and you wondered if you had done something to upset him. You wondered if he regretted the sex, if the night that the two of you had spent together had been a mistake… 

“No.” He huffed, refusing to face you as he opened the door to the janitor’s closet and wheeled the trolley inside. “This is detention. My punishment. I’m not supposed to have help.” 

You were itching to ask him why he had detention in the first place. Of course, you knew that it likely had something to do with what had happened that earlier morning that you still hadn’t been told about. But knowing Isaac, even if you asked about it, he wouldn’t tell you either. He would clam up if you asked him about it. And you didn’t want him feeling guilty or thinking that you were trying to interrogate him for his ‘sins’, especially because he obviously thought that whatever he had done was worthy of ‘punishment’. 

So you took a different approach. 

You stepped into the closet with him, shouldering off your bag and dropping it into the corner, still holding your sketchbook in one hand as you came to stand beside him. 

“So - I’ll keep you company, then.” You posed gently. “We can just… talk.” 

“No.” Isaac bit back harshly, still not looking at you. 

“Look, you know we have a lot to talk about-” 

“Y/N, can you please just leave?” He spat the words like horrible venom, saying your name like it was poison on his lips. You couldn’t help the hurt that flowed through you at this. He peered over his shoulder at you, his jaw stiff as he added on: “I don’t want you here.” 

It felt so horribly forced. Once again, you were rocketed back to that terrible day in the locker room - seeing him covered in Erica’s poison red lipstick, believing a play you knew wasn’t real. And this time, rather than running away like Isaac wanted you to, you forced yourself to plant your feet. 

“Why?” 

You asked, your voice quivering, your stomach so tight, your hands shaking as you clutched onto the hardcover sketchbook. A book that was so full of Isaac, so full of your heart when you couldn’t get him out of your head, desperate for something to hold onto. You knew you couldn’t reach out and touch him, terrified of being rejected again, and still - you held him desperately close. 

Isaac forced himself to face you. And he took a sharp breath. 

‘I don’t want you getting hurt. I can’t be the reason you get hurt.’ 

The words were plump on his tongue, but never made it to the air. 

Something horrible happened. 

The door to the closet slammed shut and both of your attention was quickly directed to it. Swallowed up in suffocating darkness and now promptly aware of just how small the much larger than average closet was, Isaac rushed toward the door, yanking frantically on the handle as if trying to pull it right off. 

“It’s locked! It’s locked!” He yelled, his voice tight with panic. “We’re stuck!” 

You tossed down your book, unsure what to do - hesitant to reach out for him, knowing that he was already spiraling into a terrible panic. You knew all the details of what his father had done to him. He had told you about the freezer one day after you had invited him over to help you paint your bedroom and a mishap with a ladder falling over had caused him to get stuck in your closet, which turned him into a screaming, panicking mess. Not long after, he had been compelling to confess everything, and a lot of things about him quickly made sense in your eyes. 

“C-can you break it?” You stuttered out, hating the way his back was shaking, the way his muscles were so tense. “Can you break the door handle?” 

You began looking around the room for things that might be able to break the door down, wondering if using the trolley as a battering ram could work. But Isaac was a step ahead of you mentally, furiously shedding off his cardigan before he then began ramming his shoulder into the door. 

“There - there’s something on the other side.” He said, his voice reduced to a small, pathetic whimper. He collapsed against the door, his forehead pressed against it in a pose of pure hopelessness. 

Before you could wonder what, or who, had locked the two of you in here, Isaac’s gentle cries distracted you from further problem solving. His distress awakened something in you, and rather than continuing to formulate some plan on how to get out, that instinct of caring that you had toward him took over. He was beginning to pant harshly as he hyperventilated, panicking, and you heard him muttering ‘no, no, no, no’ as his mind was muddled with terrible emotions. 

You had to put a stop to it. You had to calm him down before anything else could be done. 

You stepped toward him, gently laying your cheek against his quivering back, tightly wrapping your arms around his waist. You squeezed as hard as you could, delivering as much pressure as you could muster, trying to regulate his nervous system. 

“You’re not there.” You said firmly, loudly, trying to ground him. “You’re not there. You’re not alone.” 

Isaac took in a shuddering breath, and you felt the chaos in his lungs right underneath your cheek. In the back of your mind, you were sure that you made his shirt wet as you released some tears of your own, your empathy for his pain nearly swallowing you whole. 

You couldn’t help but to squeeze him harder. You needed to hold him close. You needed him to feel your love. 

“I can’t - I can’t -” He heaved, still struggling to breathe. 

“You’re okay.” You said firmly. “You’re here with me. You’re not alone, Isaac. You’re okay.” 

“Please, I-” He took a sharp gulp. “Let me - let me - I need to see your face, please.” 

Hesitantly, only compelled by the pure desperation in his voice, you let go of him, and he numbly turned away from the door, leaning against it. He was covered in a layer of sweat now, and when he faced you, his lashes were glued together with tears, some streaked down his flushed cheeks. 

Instinctively, you put a hand over his heart, hating how much it was racing under your palm. He clasped his hand on top of yours, his grip almost crushingly tight. You put your other hand on the side of his flushed, sticky cheek, drawing him in so that his forehead gently pressed against yours. 

“I’m here.” You told him firmly once again. “You’re not alone. I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

There it was again - that dangerous proclamation that he wasn’t alone. The fatal idea that he wouldn’t have to be alone again. The sound of such a perfect fantasy given to him from your sweet lips, delivered to him like it was the truth. Your eyes were so warm, and you were right there. You were right in front of him like nothing had changed. Like the world wasn’t cursed by dangerous Alphas and sacrificial killers and the cruel fate that always seemed to follow him. 

He could have reached out and kissed you and he knew that you wouldn’t have pushed him away. You were looking at him with such warmth, with that perfect loving pity yet again. 

He could have kissed you, and you would not have pushed him away. You never would. 

But that was your whole problem. You didn’t know the difference between a lover and a monster. And he had to save you before you found out the hard way. 

“No.” He grunted out. 

He needed to make sure that you stayed away before it was too late. 

“Isaac?” You questioned, having no clue why he seemed so upset again just as his breathing was evening out. 

“No.” He growled. 

In an intense moment, in a fierce bid to protect you from himself, with some of that horrible panic still spiking in his system - his eyes flashed yellow and his claws sprouted against his will, and he reached up, grabbing your arm that held a hand to his imperfect heart. He only meant to push you away, but with those wicked claws, he accidentally scratched two deep gashes into your skin. It was something that he would never forgive himself for. 

“Ow!” You hissed out, more shocked than in pain. 

By instinct, you took a large step back, cradling your arm, and Isaac let out a deep growl. His own self hatred for hurting you fueled his adrenaline, and he found himself unable to shift back. You stared him down in horror as his eyes continued to glow and his teeth sprouted into sharp fangs. 

“Isaac?” You called out his name, wondering if he was in control of this, or if some greater force had taken over. 

Before you could wonder for too much longer, the door to the closet burst open, letting in a flood of light - you squinted past it, wondering who your saviour was. That saviour pulled Isaac outside by the collar of his shirt, pinning him to the floor harshly. 

“Isaac! Isaac, stop! Isaac!” 

Scott. You easily recognized his voice - and soon, Isaac’s animalistic growls dissolved into more pathetic whimpers. When you next caught a glimpse of him, his eyes were back to their usual blue colour, and his claws and fangs were nowhere to be seen. Whatever werewolf mind trick he had pulled on Isaac, it had worked. 

Cowering on the floor, Isaac noticed your sketchbook - one of you had kicked into the hallway and knocked the cover open. His eyes fixated on a picture you had drawn - a hyper-realistic wolf that had soft, baby blue eyes. You must not have known that for werewolves, blue eyes when shifted were the mark of a killer. That was likely what you thought of him as now: nothing but a horrible beast, a monster. 

He had no clue that you had drawn it because you thought it was something so soft and beautiful. Because you had been thinking about Isaac as something sweeter and more docile… like a puppy. Something loyal that would sit in your lap at the end of a long day. Which is what he had done long before he had ever received The Bite. 

Your attention was locked onto Scott as he stepped in to check on you and Isaac huddled tightly against the door, seemingly eager to get away from you once again. You knew that he was likely embarrassed and upset that he had unintentionally hurt you. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked, his voice steady, but deeply concerned. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” You said, trying to hastily hide your arm behind your back. 

You didn’t know that due to his heightened werewolf senses, he could smell the blood. He reached over and gently grabbed your wrist, and pushed up your now ripped sleeve to reveal the large cuts you had on your arm. 

“It was an accident.” You quickly explained. “He-” 

“I know.” Scott said, nodding, his face tight with a serious thoughtfulness. 

Behind him, Isaac made haste in getting up off the floor, and without so much as another word to either of you, he took off running at top speed. That was definitely something he was good at - running away from people who cared about him. 

“Uh-” Scott looked from you to Isaac’s retreating form, clearly torn about who he should take care of first. 

“I’ll be fine.” You insisted. “Go after him. He doesn’t wanna see me right now. You might be able to help.” 

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

“Yes!” You insisted, giving him a nudge. “Go!” 

“Okay.” Scott stepped out of the closet, and took one last look at you, continuing to talk while he took hesitant steps away. “There’s a first aid kit in Coach’s office, make sure you get some bandages or something. He keeps the door unlocked in case anybody needs it.” 

You nodded and tried to wave him away. 

“I’ve got it covered.” You assured him. 

“Okay, I’ll text you later!” 

He then ran after Isaac - and you just hoped that Isaac would be more receptive toward Scott. 

You then began to gather your things, and when you found your sketchbook on the floor, open to the sketch you had made that was a distant imagining of Isaac’s werewolf form… you just hoped that he hadn’t actually had time to look at it. He was probably insulted by it, or found it to be strange. When you went to grab your bag from inside the closet, you noticed that his cardigan was still on the floor where he had torn it off in a haste. 

You knew that he wasn’t likely to come back and get it anytime soon. Selfishly, you lifted it up to your nose and inhaled. It smelled like a new body wash that you hadn’t noticed on him before. But it still distinctly smelled like him, like his natural scent. You opened your bag and stuffed it inside, telling yourself that you would give it back to him the next time you saw him - if he would let there be a ‘next time’. 

Ugh. 

… 

Scott caught up to Isaac far outside the school - he would give the guy credit, he could definitely run far and fast when he wanted to. 

“Isaac, what the hell was that?” Scott hissed, both of them slightly out of breath, and walking in stride. 

Isaac still refused to slow down much even though he was clearly starting to tire, and Scott just tried his best to keep up with him. 

“I think you know what that was.” Isaac replied sharply. “The sharp teeth, the claws, the glowing eyes - the wonderful thing that was supposed to fix my life, make me whole, heal me.” 

Maybe he was beginning to regret it. Maybe he was beginning to regret you. Which one, he wasn’t quite sure. 

“Not what I meant.” Scott rolled his eyes. “You left her, and she was terrified-” 

Scott was exaggerating. You had been fine. He didn’t know that it was the wrong card to play with Isaac - it didn’t make him feel dutiful and empathetic, it just made him further wallow in his own guilt. 

“Exactly.” Isaac hissed. “She was terrified because I’m a monster. I should be exiled out to the woods, where all the other monsters belong.” 

Isaac took off running again, and Scott was too tired - perhaps more emotionally than physically - to keep up.

“Isaac!” 

Scott just hoped that Isaac would come home on his own, that he would know that Scott still loved him, and still wanted him around. Scott hoped that he wouldn’t have to go out looking for Isaac. He didn’t need another thing to worry about.

...

I would really like to see this part get 10 Comments and 10 Reblogs before I post Chapter Three - this could include anonymous asks if you're a bit shy and you still want to comment, and I am totally okay if this could include multiple reblogs from the same enthusiastic person or people.

I think that this number is really low considering that currently the first chapter currently has 92 notes, and the point of this is to encourage some people who have only liked the chapter(s) and not reblogged them to comment and reblog in order to 'unlock' more of the story.

If I was being really overeager, I would say that I would like to see 30 comments and 30 reblogs to equal to 60 people of the people who only liked the fic, but the tricky thing about likes is that I don't know if people bookmarked it for later or if they actually read it - which is another reason why I encourage people to comment and reblog. I want to know that you actually read the story and that you haven't just liked it for it later. (I definitely understand that happens, but if you read the fic, I wanna know.)

Anyway, I will likely increase this number on the next chapter in accordance with the interaction that the fic gets, and I am very thankful to everyone who has left comments on the first chapter and reblogged. I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Warnings: this is a very long fic, and there will be warnings on each individual chapter - I will try my best to keep the warnings vague enough that they are spoiler free, but also detailed enough that people can be informed about potential triggers or content they wish to avoid; the reader uses she/her pronouns, and is generally described as feminine, and there is mentions of the reader wearing a dress, heels, and make-up to a dance; there are no mention of the reader’s race, hair type, hair colour, or eye colour, and throughout the fic there is slight implications toward her being plus sized that can be easily ignored, and it’s not a main plot point of the fic; this fic DOES use the term Y/N throughout, and I would recommend using a word replacer extension on your browser to put in your actual name in order to get the full experience; carried over from the prologue oneshot - mentions of the reader’s mother being dead, killed by Peter Hale/The Alpha; mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - though it not stated how much taller, and it’s based on the idea that Daniel Sharman is six feet tall, and he would be taller than most people; alcohol consumption (technically, underage drinking) - both the reader and Isaac drink alcohol, and it’s said that the reader gets ‘drunk’, though it’s not to the point of forgetfulness or sickness, and it is in the context of having fun; descriptions of Isaac’s abuse - there is descriptions of Isaac’s injuries after being abused by his father, and implications of how he got those injuries, but the details are not specified; (but Isaac’s father dying is also still canon in this so - yay!); descriptions of Isaac’s being locked in the (unplugged) deep freezer as punishment by his father; mentions of Lydia x Jackson (very background); mentions of Peter Hale’s canon attack on Lydia; mentions of blood; semi-graphic descriptions of Lydia’s canon injuries (stomach wounds); mentions of Isaac ‘cheating’ on the reader with Erica (again, read the prologue for context); Isaac having a negative internal monologue due to being abused in the past; Isaac exhibits symptoms of PTSD and symptoms of being emotionally abused by his father when interacting with other people; mention of Isaac wearing the reader’s shirt (carried over from the prologue oneshot) - this could imply that the reader is plus sized or that the shirt is very big on her; mentions of Scott x Allison (which will be a theme throughout the fic - they are a background ship, but pretty far in the background and not a major focus); mentions of fire - including a house burning down; fire is a running theme through this fic, so if you have a phobia of being burned alive or descriptions of it, it’s probably a good idea to skip this fic; mentions of virginity as a social construct (because of Stiles bringing up the ‘virgin sacrifices’ that happen in the canon); some mentions of sexual content (mentions of Isaac and the reader having sex, but it’s not described in detail) (other chapters will have detailed smut, so if that’s not your thing, this is likely not the story for you); slight Erica bashing (from Lydia); I think that is it for this chapter.

A/N: I don't even know what else to say about this fic other than - I am so fucking nervous to post it, and I really hope that you guys enjoy it! AAAAAAAH

...

The Beacon Hills Winter Formal. 

Some people had been anticipating the dance since the beginning of the semester - it was the first real ‘break’ that everyone got; the first real sign of relief before exams, and then just a short jump to winter break. (Even though California didn’t really have ‘winter’, it was the ‘break’ part that everyone focused on, of course.) 

Your life had generally been in upheaval as of late, so you hadn’t been thinking much about the dance. You hadn’t even been looking forward to winter break much, because it would be your first time spending the holidays with your family so fractured. Since your mother’s death - just one of many that was rocking the town lately - you hadn’t been in the mood to be in a room full of people celebrating and having fun. 

In fact, you hadn’t been planning on going to the dance at all. 

But being the good boyfriend that he was, trying his best to cheer you up during such a hard time, Isaac had convinced you to attend. He had asked you to be his date and after a full day of nagging, he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He told you that you needed a night off to try and forget about all the horrible things that had been going on in your life. Deep down, you knew he was right - which was why you ultimately accepted his invitation and then immediately recruited Lydia to help with your hair and makeup for the occasion. 

Thankfully, he didn’t know about all the horrible things that had been going on in your life. 

Isaac hadn’t been at the school when you, Stiles, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Scott had been locked inside that night. When you had all been locked inside with… that thing. That horrible monster. Scott had later told you it had likely been responsible for killing your mother. And it had tried to kill you too. On that night, when you had followed Scott with a fire axe in hand, determined to defend him on his way to get the janitor’s keys… only to find out that he didn’t need much saving when he sprouted claws and sharp teeth and glowing eyes and began howling himself. 

Finding out that werewolves were real was a shock to your system. 

And finding out that one of your best friends since childhood was one - even more of a shock. 

And now, you were at the dance, trying to forget about all of it - the brutal death of your mother, the fact that the giant killer beast was still out there somewhere, the fact that Scott and… maybe others were werewolves, just living among regular people. 

You were supposed to be having a nice night with your boyfriend, but, to add to your growing list of problems - he was nowhere to be found. It didn’t entirely surprise you that he was running late. Punctuality wasn’t exactly his thing. But as the songs passed and the minutes ticked on, turning into one hour and then two, and still no Isaac, you did begin to worry. 

You picked up your phone and checked the time again, and then you opened your messages, double checking to make sure that you didn’t have any texts from Isaac. But - nothing. 

You couldn’t help the sigh you let out, and naturally, even with the music blaring through the room, Lydia heard you. 

The two of you were seated at one of the many tables lining the room, though you were among the few people not dancing. And oddly enough, for both of you, it was because the guys you wanted to dance with the most weren’t around to ask for your hands. (Though you were annoyed with Lydia for being so hung up on Jackson, you weren’t going to say anything about it.) 

“Oh come on.” She said, rolling her eyes in a dramatic but beautiful fashion that only she was capable of. “The only way you could look more pathetic right now would be to have a blues band playing behind you,” 

“Pathetic?” You argued gently. “You’re the one who did my hair-” 

“And my efforts to make you look gorgeous are being wasted on a nothing, no-good loser who hasn’t even showed up.” She harped, giving you a firm glare. 

You knew that Lydia wasn’t exactly fond of Isaac. 

She had voiced her disdain for him multiple times in the past, but you had always brushed it off. It had been small comments about how he was too rough on the field and might hurt Jackson’s ‘perfect body’, or how she thought ‘the lights were on and nobody was home’ when he refused to speak to her in passing. (You knew that Isaac wasn’t stupid - he just wasn’t very sociable.) She had made jokes about setting you up with ‘better’ guys, and you had never taken her up on the offer. 

You didn’t want to be with anyone else but Isaac. 

However, this comment surprised you. Lydia had never been so harsh with her words before. 

“He’s not a loser.” You were quick to defend Isaac, your insides stinging slightly at the idea that such a good friend of yours didn’t like your boyfriend. “He’s just running late. It happens sometimes.” 

“‘Late’ is five minutes.” Lydia scolded, her eyes much harsher than her soft tone. “This is pretty colossal, babe. I’m starting to think you’ve been stoo-” 

“Don’t say it.” You said, waving a finger harshly in her direction.” 

“You should just break up with him.” Lydia smirked, her expression turning far too mischievous. “Then you could be having fun dancing with any guy here,” 

She motioned around the room, and you did feel a pang in your gut as you saw all the happy couples in each other’s arms. But the only person you wanted to be dancing with was Isaac. You just wished that he would show up and make your night better. You didn’t want to dance with some random guy. You didn’t want to spend that time with anybody else but him. 

“Yeah, because you’re clearly enjoying yourself since Jackson dumped you.” You replied, noting how mopey Lydia had been all night. “Soaking up the world of possibilities without that dead weight on your arm.” 

Lydia frowned, and rolled her eyes again. 

“I dumped him.” She huffed, still firm in this lie. “And, for the record, I am here for you. I’m not gonna go and dance when you’re sitting here all alone.” She said, trying to make up an excuse. 

“Very selfless of you,” You laughed, sarcasm edging on your voice. 

You picked up your phone again, checking, and still - nothing. Not even a text excusing his lack of presence and telling you to have a good time without him. 

“Ladies,” Stiles greeted both of you, shoving himself between both your bodies to lay down two small glasses of punch and a small paper plate filled with snacks onto the table. 

“Hi,” You greeted in return, and Lydia gave him a curt smile. 

He pulled up a chair, forcefully shoving it between you and Lydia, causing her to scoff loudly and recoil in disgust as he sat down. You gave a small laugh at his lack of sense about personal space and shook your head. He would always be the same. Lydia smoothed down her dress and picked up the punch, sipping it, and Stiles smiled at you. 

“How’s in goin?” He asked. 

“Fine.” You replied, your voice dull. 

“You should go dance with Stiles.” Lydia grinned, looking devilish at the clever idea she had come up with. 

You knew it was not-so-secretly a ploy on her part. She wanted to get Stiles off her back - to keep him occupied long enough so she could go and look for Jackson, while not feeling any guilt about owing Allison. Stiles’s face lit up at this idea, and he scrambled to get words out. 

“I - uh - yes! Yes, you should! I am available for that!” He said, grinning proudly, and stumbling to get out of his chair, offering you a hand. 

“No, thank you.” You replied, giving Lydia a stiff glare, and gently batting Stiles’s hand away. “I’m waiting for Isaac.” 

You picked up your phone again, and you weren’t surprised when Stiles let out a hiss of hot air at the mention of the name. (He wasn’t really Isaac’s biggest fan either.) 

“You know, you shouldn’t spend your time waiting around for that asshole!” He protested, likely louder than he intended, his anger mixing with his need to be heard over the music. “He’s making you so miserable, and he - he’s just not a good boyfriend! You’re gorgeous, and perfect, and you deserve better!” 

“Surprisingly, I agree with him.” Lydia added on. 

Stiles didn’t have time to comment on her use of the term ‘surprisingly’ - he was just glad to have back-up in this conversation for once. 

“You know he stood her up on her birthday too?” Stiles said, turning to Lydia this time, talking about you as though you weren’t even there. 

Your annoyance grew, but they didn’t seem to care. 

“Ugh.” Lydia frowned, entirely disgusted. “Seriously, why are you still dating him? He doesn’t treat you well at all. And he’s not even that cute. You do deserve so much better. He’s-” 

“Can both of you just shut up?!” You barked. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” 

The looks on both their faces were nothing but pure shock at your outburst. And for a few outstretching seconds, they said nothing.  

Your stomach soured, and you couldn’t stand the suffocating atmosphere of the party anymore. 

“I’m gonna go get some air.” You sighed, standing up from your chair. 

You couldn’t force either of them to understand. You couldn’t form the words, and this certainly wasn’t the time or the place to finally lay it all out in the open. So you grabbed your phone and your small purse off the table, popping open the clutch and shoving your phone inside. You left the loud, booming, overly decorated gym, wandering through the halls toward the back door that led out onto the lacrosse field. Not even looking back for a second. 

The field was completely dark, the motion censor lights not being triggered by any activity over there as it was completely empty. There were a few stragglers from the dance in this area - people perched against the back wall making out, people talking and laughing loudly as they made their way home early. The cool night air bit against your skin that was exposed by your short, sleeveless dress, and unconsciously, you hugged your arms against yourself. Even though it was getting close to winter break, it was California, so the temperature wasn’t all too unbearable without a coat. 

Mentally, you began debating if you should take your phone back out of the small purse you were carrying and call Isaac. You didn’t think he would pick up. You wondered if you should just end the night and go home. Maybe Stiles would take pity on you and give you a ride - 

“Y/N!” 

You couldn’t help the grin that formed across your face when the familiar voice called your name. You spun around quickly, your heels on the dewy slick pavement almost making you clumsy, and you were overjoyed when you saw Isaac walking toward you. Any upset you might have had about him being late - as terribly late as he was, was quickly diminished at the sight of him. He just had that kind of power over you. 

Seeing him always made you happy. 

Especially because you immediately saw evidence that he was trying. He was dressed in a suit that was definitely a size too big for him, clearly belonging to his father, the shirt untucked and hanging limply around his waist like a wrinkled white paper bag, his tie knotted in an odd fashion, too loose around his neck. 

Clearly, he had dressed in a rush before leaving the house. 

He smiled as he walked toward you, and you closed the distance at a run, eagerly encircling your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. He kissed you sweetly in greeting, savouring your lips with a quiet hum, smiling against your mouth. 

You were so overjoyed to see him that you didn’t notice how he intentionally angled his body away from yours, still trying to keep his distance as you tried to smother him with affection - patting you gently on the back with one hand rather than embracing you tightly in a hug like he usually would have. You didn’t notice how he winced as you squeezed the back of his neck extra hard, giving him another kiss on his cheek before you pulled away. 

“Look, I’m so sorry I’m late-” Issac immediately began apologizing, his voice nurturing a sincerity that you knew too well from him. 

He felt genuinely bad for his untimely arrival. 

“It’s okay.” You pressed, cutting him off. “You’re here now.” You gave him a smile, but that guilt still tainted his face. “Should I even ask why you’re so late?” 

Your stomach stirred with something terrible, and you knew that he wouldn’t be the first one to bring it up. 

He frowned, but didn’t rush to give an explanation. 

“I really didn’t want you to think that I stood you up or anything. I would have called, but my d-” He cut himself off, sharply clearly his throat. “I lost my phone. I really am sorry.” 

“I didn’t think that.” You assured him. “It’s okay.” 

He frowned again, that horrible guilt flashing across his features once again. 

“Isaac, baby, I said it’s okay.” You said firmly, reaching out to gently hold his cheek, guiding him into another kiss, which quickly rolled into another. 

He sighed with delight and his face broke into a grin, and your stomach swelled intensely with butterflies. Hovering so close to his face, staring into those gorgeous blue eyes, finding nothing but affection staring back at you - you had never been happier. 

Isaac Lahey truly was the one for you. 

“You look so beautiful.” 

Isaac whispered, an utterly dreamy tone to his voice that made you tingle all over because you knew he deeply meant it - not just as a compliment, not trying to inflate your ego. But it was an honest thought that spilled from his lips, a truth that he couldn’t contain. 

“You are so beautiful.” 

You let out a terribly girlish giggle, the affection bubbling up inside of you forcing its way out as you shied away, looking toward the ground, nearly drowning in the loving stare he was directing at you. 

“You’re just trying to get on my good side,” You joked, unsure how to respond to the purity of his affection. 

“No, I seriously mean it.” Isaac replied, still beaming a smile at you. “Even before you were my girlfriend, I always thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. You’re too good for me.” 

You loved the sweetness behind his words, but the last part dragged it down. You always hated when he said things like that - clearly living with the belief that he was lesser in the relationship. 

“You’re good too, Isaac.” You told him gently. “You’re so good to me.” 

He shook his head, no longer entertaining the conversation. Before you could speak up again, he distracted you as he reached to the back pocket of his pants. His hand returned with a small, slightly rumpled bundle of flowers. 

“These are for you,” He said, his tone slightly nervous, clearly believing that his present wasn’t good enough. 

It was a bright orange-yellow bell shaped flower that you quickly recognized as the California Poppy. Yes, you were the kind of nerd who could recognize many different types of flowers on sight. They were slightly ragged and torn up at the roots, held loosely in his hand rather than wrapped in anything, and you had to assume that he had plucked them out of someone’s garden, technically stolen them, in order to give them to you. 

But you didn’t care. They were beautiful and it was a sweet gesture. 

You smiled brightly at him and leaned out to where he had extended the half dozen poppies to you, inhaling their scent lightly. 

“Thank you, Isaac.” You told him with a smile. 

“You - you said your dress was gonna be orange, so I figured-” He said quietly, cutting himself off. “It’s a good colour on you. You look really beautiful.” 

At first, you had felt a bit self conscious about choosing something so bold, rather than going with the subtle champagne colour that Lydia had suggested. But you had found yourself drawn to the sparkling orange dress with the satin waist and the spaghetti straps. It did feel like your colour. 

You didn’t notice when Isaac’s eyes flickered to your chest, momentarily fixating on the necklace you were wearing. It was one that Stiles had given you for your previous birthday - a sterling silver chain with a matching pendant in the shape of your first initial. You thought it was beautifully simplistic and you wore it often. 

You had no idea that Isaac felt self conscious and insecure that he could only bring you (stolen) flowers when someone like Stiles could afford to buy you something like that. Little did he know, it was no comparison in your mind. You loved spending time with Isaac more than you would have loved any gift. 

Isaac pinched off one of the flowers near the top of the stem, snapping it off, and then reached up, gently tucking it behind your ear. 

“Perfect match.” He said, giving you a smile. “I was going to try and find an orange tie so that I could match you too, but… this was all I could throw together last minute.” 

He frowned, staring down at himself, clearly feeling a twinge of embarrassment at his untidy appearance. 

“It’s fine.” You told him, reaching out and grabbing his tie, loosening it from the terrible tangle that he had put it in and beginning to tie it properly. “You just need to neaten up a little-” 

“I’m not trying to impress anyone.” Isaac laughed. He tried to bat away your hands, but you persisted, neatening up his tie in a few quick moments. “It’s okay if I look like an idiot, because I was never going to look that good beside you anyway. You always outshine everyone in the room.” 

You couldn’t help but to smile as he continued to pour on the compliments. 

You grabbed one of the flowers and folded the stem in half, tucking into the breast pocket of his jacket. 

“There. Now we match.” You told him proudly. 

You moved to tuck in his shirt and he flinched away from you, taking a large step back. You rolled your eyes, thinking this was just his hesitancy to try and look nice. His stubborn belief that he couldn’t look nice for an occasion like this. 

“Look, I didn’t even come here for the stupid dance.” 

He announced, wanting to avoid going inside and mingling with the crowd. Partially due to embarrassment over his appearance and partially because he didn’t care about anybody else but you. 

Then, he reached for his inner jacket pocket, and you weren’t entirely surprised when he pulled out a bottle of booze. It was some clear liquor that would likely knock you both on your asses. 

“I came here to hang out with you. I promised you a good time. So - what do you say we go somewhere more private?” 

The smirk he gave you was absolutely sinful. And you couldn’t help but to love it. 

“I say you’re nothing but trouble.” You joked, laughing lightly. “And I get first dibs!” 

You reached out quickly, trying to snatch the bottle from him, and he easily used his height as an advantage over you, holding it over your head as he laughed at you struggling to reach it. 

The two of you picked a private spot on the edge of the dark lacrosse field, under the bleachers. You didn’t like walking through the slightly muddy grass in your heels, but you wanted to spend time alone with Isaac. It was a fair compromise. You got to passing the bottle back and forth, kissing more, and talking. This was the night you had signed up for - something that was genuinely beginning to take your mind off all the worry and dread you had been experiencing over the past few weeks. 

“I swear, you could tell Greenberg anything and he would just believe you.” 

Isaac chuckled, telling another story about one of his team mates. 

“The other week, Greenberg asked what stops the guys from just walking into the girls locker room, Stiles told him that the water to the taps in the girls bathroom has to be filtered through separate pipes because girls and guys have different ‘PH auras’ for their skin - or some bullshit, and if a guy uses a girl’s shower, it could cause him to grow boobs. He was being a sarcastic asshole, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” You laughed brightly, nodding. “Like he always is. Stiles can’t breathe without being sarcastic.” 

You took a sip from the vodka and then passed it back to him, and he took another sip before continuing. 

“Get this, though - but then, Greenberg freaked out and asked me if the fountain in the hallway was for girls, or if it was okay for guys to drink from it too.” 

You let out a snort of laughter as he finished the story, finding the whole thing highly amusing. 

“He is such an idiot.” You commented. 

You were beautifully light, slightly drunk, but thankfully not drunk enough to feel sick. You moved to take a step and the unstable, muddy ground underneath your heeled feet caused you to stumble, and unconsciously, you moved to lean on Isaac. He was standing against one of the many metal pillars that held up the bleachers, and when you leaned your weight against his abdomen, he let out a sharp, pained wince. 

Your face immediately fell from bright happiness into a bitter kind of worry. Your insides were shocked with the terror of the realization - as if ice had been poured down your back. Isaac’s expression dropped into lingering guilt and sadness. Strangely, he felt worse about you finding out about this than he did about the physical pain. Instinctively, you reached out for the still untucked hem of his shirt, and he grunted out: 

“Don’t-” 

But you didn’t listen. By now, you knew better. 

You pulled up his shirt, your jaw dropping open with shock and terror as you were met with the sight of harsh purpling bruises. It was a pattern of horror that went further and further as you pulled up more and more of the fabric, somehow looking darker and more menacing under the minimal lighting that the streetlights off in the parking lot provided. 

His entire torso was covered in such harsh, painful looking marks that only could have been inflicted with terrible intentions. 

His father. 

You had known about the abuse for a while. 

You distinctly remembered the first time Isaac had come to you with a large cut above his eye, bleeding horribly, begging you not to call the police but needing your help. Needing someone to lean on. You had attended to his wounds and tried to convince him to turn his father in. He was worried about where he would end up - if he would have to go into foster care, if he would be forced to transfer schools, if he would be taken away from you. 

You were worried about his father eventually killing him. 

That fear snuck up on you again as more evidence sat right in front of your eyes. 

Your throat felt tight - like someone had shoved several large rocks inside your mouth and expected you to swallow. Tears clouded your eyes against your will, and you hated that Isaac instinctively reached out, gently wiping at your glittery cheeks. You hated that he was comforting you over his own pain. 

His father had beaten him so horribly - obviously trying to hide in a place that he hoped no one would see by hitting him across the torso, hoping his shirt would hide it. He knew by now that Isaac wouldn’t rush to tell anyone. He was too scared. 

“Isaac.” You choked out - your previously nice drunken buzz now utterly crashed by a flurry of negative emotions. Worry for him, upset, dark pain crowding your chest as you saw evidence of how much pain he must have been in. You could only imagine what his father had done to him in order for this to be the result. 

He forcefully pulled the hem of his shirt away from you, shoving it back down, visibly containing more groans of pain as he moved. You frowned at him, choking back sobs. 

“It’s not that big of a deal.” He said, trying to brush it off. “Y/N, I’m-” 

“Not that big of a deal?” You parroted back, your throat tight. “Isaac, he could kill you. He clearly doesn’t care about-” 

“Kill me?” Isaac repeated, his voice too heavy with pain. He shook his head dully, beaten down and weak from everything his father had done to him - not just physically, but beaten down in his soul. “No, if he wanted that, he would have done it by now. Clearly, he just wants me to suffer.” 

He raised the bottle of vodka to his lips, finishing it off bitterly before he tossed the empty bottle off underneath the bleachers, not caring. 

This sentiment crushed you. Isaac refused to look at you, and you stared at his tense, clenching jaw for a few long, silent moments. You knew that deep down, he was under the impression that death would be a relief. But you couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t lose him like that. 

“We should go to the pol-” You began to state what you believed to be a solution, but Isaac quickly cut you off. 

“Don’t.” He said, shaking his head, his voice rasping with exhaustion. “Please, don’t.” 

It was an argument that the two of you had plenty of times before. You didn’t bother playing it out in full this time. 

“Okay.” You said quietly, giving in. 

“Just - tonight was supposed to be a night off. I thought I could go without any of his bullshit for one fucking night.” Isaac choked out. “It was a stupid fight. He didn’t want me to come to the dance because I got a B on the calc test. He said I was grounded. And I didn’t want to let you down-” 

You were the one who stirred with guilt this time, hating the idea that you had been the source of an argument between Isaac and his father. Hating the idea that Isaac had fought back against his father, possibly causing more damage - because of you. 

“You could never let me down, Isaac.” You pressed, becoming tearful at the thought that Isaac’s father had done this because of you. “You’re perfect. You’re never gonna let me down.” 

He reached out, petting a gentle hand across your cheek, running his thumb under your eye to wipe away your tears, smudging some of your makeup in the process. (Not that you truly cared when you weren’t planning on going back into the dance tonight.) It did cross your mind - how awful, how truly selfish it was. His father had beaten him so terribly and you were the one who was crying - but he stamped out those thoughts when he pulled you in for a kiss. 

When you pulled away from the kiss, you added on: 

“I wish I could fix it.” You sniffed gently, eyeing his stomach with disdain, even if it was now covered by his shirt. “I wish I could just… magically heal you somehow.” 

You had already delivered many sentiments in the past about wanting to make his father disappear, which he had only agreed with half-heartedly. 

“That would be nice.” Isaac said, giving you a dull smile. 

The two of you were distracted away from this quiet, intimate moment when the lights on the lacrosse field flickered to life, creating a bright, blinding distraction far behind the two of you. 

“What the hell is that?” Isaac asked, craning his neck to look around you, not entirely concerned about what it was - simply curious. 

“They’re motion censor lights.” You told him. “Could be someone who went out there looking for a place to bone and didn’t know about that part. Now they are… frightfully exposed.” 

“Bone?” Isaac repeated the word you had chosen, an air of joking overtaking his voice. “How drunk are you?” 

You had to laugh at yourself, knowing that the word was a very odd one to choose. 

“What? You don’t like boning? You’re not down with the sickness?” You added on, laughing louder, slurring your words slightly, only further adding to his point. 

Little did you know, over in the middle of the lacrosse field - was your mother’s killer. While you laughed drunkenly with Isaac and smiled, trying to salvage your night and ignore your problems, Peter Hale had his claws pressed to Lydia Martin’s neck, threatening her while Stiles begged and bargained for her life. 

“Okay, come on, we’re gonna go get you some water.” Isaac said, grabbing your hand and starting to lead you back toward the school. “If we run into a teacher, can you at least try to act sober?” 

“Maybe.” You chuckled. “Can we get pizza?” 

“You are so drunk.” Isaac sighed, breaking into a smile. 

“Lydia!” 

The two of you froze in your tracks, once again distracted from your private conversation when you saw the door that you were walking toward slam open. Jackson Whittemore burst out of it, an utterly terrified expression on his face. 

“Lydia? Lydia!” 

He called out frantically, and he began running at top speed toward the lacrosse field, brushing right past the two of you. In a moment, a sobering type of fear once again ruined your light drunkenness. The way he called out her name wasn’t good. It wasn’t casual, or even argumentative. It was filled with fear. 

What was wrong with Lydia? Had something happened to her? 

You gripped tighter onto Isaac’s hand, craning your neck to watch Jackson, losing sight of him behind the bleachers as he went. 

“Come on,” Isaac tried pulling you away, but your insides were churning with the feeling that something was wrong, and you couldn’t pull your eyes off the lacrosse field. 

Jackson was selfish, arrogant. He was an asshole. He would never rush anywhere for anybody. 

“Wait.” You told Isaac, stilling on the spot for a few more moments as you watched, waiting to see if Jackson would emerge. 

Horrifyingly, he did. And he had Lydia in his arms - she was limp, unconscious, and covered in blood. 

“Help!” Jackson screamed. “Help! Somebody help!” 

You didn’t hesitate. You had taken first aid courses all through middle school and high school. You used to work as a babysitter and it looked good on a resume. And even if you didn’t have the knowledge or experience, you still would have rushed in headfirst. Lydia was your friend. You needed to help her. 

You shoved your purse toward Isaac. 

“Use my phone, call 9-1-1.” You told him sharply before you ran toward Jackson, nearly stumbling in your heels, not waiting to see if Isaac was following your instructions. 

“Here, here, get her down.” You told Jackson, and through his shock and terror, he was too numb to argue against you. 

He laid Lydia gently on the pavement, and you didn’t register the painful scrape of the harsh surface against your bare knees as you fell down beside her. You looked down at her, and you were met with a horror show. Multiple, deep, huge gashes across her abdomen, so much blood. Her organs showing in some places. 

Somehow, you maintained your composure. 

“Give me your coat.” You demanded, sticking out a hand toward Jackson. 

Jackson didn’t hesitate to take off his jacket, and you folded it up slightly before you pressed it tightly into the middle of her stomach, holding pressure. 

“What the hell happened?” You barked at Jackson. 

Too many people were dying. You couldn’t lose her too. 

“I - I don’t know.” He sniffled out, his voice shaking. 

He had been sprinting toward the field at top speed. You knew he was lying. But you didn’t have the time or the mind to call him out on it. Lydia needed you now. 

She quickly bled through the material, and your hands squished against her - bright red, warm. Something terrible in the back of your mind said that you could feel the life leaving her, and a smaller voice spoke up and said that her warmth meant she was alive. 

Her face was so still. 

“Lydia?” You called out desperately. “Come on, stay with me!” 

Her eyelids flickered. But it could have been a hopeful hallucination on your part. 

“Lydia!” 

You saw lights flashing, but you barely heard voices around you as the paramedics unloaded and began attending to her. Your arms were stiff, forcefully holding her together - Isaac had to pull you away. 

One of the paramedics said that you had ‘saved her life’. But as you washed her blood off your shaking hands later that night, it certainly didn’t feel like it.

You hated that saving a friend felt far too much like losing one. You hated that you still woke up some nights remembering the feeling of her blood soaking your hands. 

…

You and Isaac had been through so much since then. 

His monster of a father had been murdered, and just when he was free from the abuse - the two of you had broken up in a terrible, messy way. Isaac had led you to believe that he had cheated on you with Erica, putting you through so much terrible heartbreak… and it hadn’t even turned out to be true. Both of you had been going through some of the hardest times of your lives - parents dying, your families falling apart (even if his ‘family’ wasn’t much to begin with), and you couldn’t even be there to comfort each other when you needed it most. 

And to make it all worse, you had been pushed away by all your friends too - cut off, and you had no clue why. 

After the dance, Lydia and Stiles had ghosted you, and you hadn’t heard from Allison or Scott in far too long. You knew that Lydia had been taking the break-up with Jackson pretty hard, and she was still recovering from being in the hospital after that horrible incident that nearly killed her, on top of an unexplained fugue state that had her missing, wandering around naked in the woods for two whole days. But others’ behaviour - you could not excuse. 

It left you living in isolated loneliness for what felt like an eternity, missing human contact like a wilting plant misses the sun. Until Isaac came knocking on your door one night, soaked to the bone from the rain, begging you to ‘warm him up’ in ways that only you could. 

You should have regretted spending the night with your ex boyfriend, especially after such a brutal break-up. But it was difficult to have regrets when he was so perfect on top of you, whining about how much he missed you, looking at you with those perfect blue eyes. It was difficult to think of anything but how much you loved him when he was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

Sweet blue eyes that flashed golden - causing everything to rocket into perfect clarity for you. In seconds, you realized that Isaac was a werewolf too. And you had no clue when it happened, but suddenly his avoidance of you, the break-up - everything made a lot more sense in your mind. 

And just when that clarity was becoming comforting to you… you had to wake up alone again. 

Isaac had fled from you. Again. 

… 

Luckily, the rain had ended by the time Isaac had left your place, so he didn’t get soaked a second time around. 

He felt so incredibly stupid. Derek had kicked him out, and he still didn’t fully understand why. Logically, he knew it had something to do with his general ability to fuck things up, so he guessed that he didn’t need all the details. In his terrible moment of weakness, he had gone crawling back to you. He had likely only put you in danger by letting you in on his secret. 

You were going to chase him now. You were determined in your goodness, and it was difficult to throw you off when you put your mind to something. He hated it and loved it all at the same time. 

He was supposed to stay away from you. He was supposed to keep you safe. 

And now, while brewing in that terrible guilt, thinking of all the awful things he had done, he was sitting on the steps of Scott’s house like a sad, lost dog. He had tried working up the courage to knock on the door several times, but it never came. Ultimately, he was pathetic. 

So now he was just sitting on the step with his duffle bag beside him, his knees curled into his chest. A lost boy with nowhere to go. He was quickly running out of friends - more due to death than personal circumstance. He was running out of places to go. 

The sunrise peeking over the horizon felt more taunting than it did comforting. Only reminding him of how terribly selfish he had been the night before. 

“I love you. You are loved, Isaac. And you aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.”

Your words from the night before clearly rang through his head, and his chest began to ache as he remembered the way you had looked at him - gentle terror in your eyes, clearly resisting the urge to run across the room and bury him in comforting touches. You always looked at him like he was some skittish animal that would run away at the first sign of trouble, scared off too easily. 

And he guessed that he had proven you right. 

Isaac grabbed his bag and stood up from the step. You knew him better than he knew himself. Once again scared off, he was getting ready to run again. He wasn’t sure where he would go, but he couldn’t bother Scott - 

And of course, just then, the front door popped open. Perfect fucking timing. The light, sleepy morning voices of Scott and his mom came fluttering into the air. 

“Oh, and remember to put coffee pods on the grocery list,” Mrs. McCall noted, sounding much more awake than Scott was - he was still wearing pajamas, and rubbing his eyes tiredly as he handed her a large travel mug that must have had coffee in it. “Oh, I want some of that caramel coffee creamer, that was really good last time.” 

She had her back to Isaac, and hadn’t seen him yet, but before he could make a move to run off and disappear, he was spotted. 

“Isaac.” Scott said, blinking his eyes harshly, clearly trying to adjust to see if he was mistaken. “What are you doing here?” 

Melissa whipped around harshly, and her face softened when she saw Isaac. Her eyes immediately flickered down to the bag he was carrying, and she gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I-” Isaac stuttered out, trying to back away slowly. He already felt sickly guilt clutching at his stomach over the fact that he was burdening them with his presence. “I should go.” 

“Scott, take his bag.” Melissa insisted, her voice calm but firm, leaving no room for a ‘no’ to follow. 

Scott didn’t hesitate to walk out onto the porch with his bare feet, and down the steps, nearly chasing Isaac down the pathway to snatch the bag out of his hands. He then carried it back up proudly, and tossed back inside the open front door. 

Melissa nodded at Scott, and smiled at Isaac, a silent confirmation that he was not allowed to leave - even if he wanted to. She then lifted her sleeve and checked her watch, and let out a small ‘oh’, before she moved down the steps and dodged around Isaac, heading toward her car. 

“Scott, you’ll make up the bed in the guest room?” Melissa posed, not making it sound like much of an option, talking around Isaac rather than to him, knowing that her hospitality would have to be forced upon him. 

“Will do.” Scott returned with a bright smile, and then grinned at Isaac, who crossed his arms over his chest - he wasn’t sure why he was so grossly uncomfortable at being welcomed. But he was. 

Still - it was nice to have somewhere to be. Especially because it was with Scott. 

“Isaac, sweetie, Scott will show you how to work the washing machine if you need laundry done. And if there’s anything you want, the list for groceries on the fridge, okay? I have to go! I’ll see you later.” 

She gave them a small wave as she got into her car. Isaac didn’t have time to feel awkward as she drove away, because Scott grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt and hauled him up the steps, tossing him in through the front door like he had done with the duffle bag. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Scott asked, giving a small yawn. 

Of course, he was carrying on as though Isaac showing up on his porch in the early dawn hours of the morning was a completely normal occurrence. Though Isaac supposed with half the things that went on in Scott’s life, this was about as normal as he could ask for. 

Isaac pushed down any thoughts about suggesting that he leave again. He knew that it would likely be insulting to Melissa if he didn’t accept her hospitality. 

“Coffee.” Isaac grunted. “Really need some coffee.” 

He could still smell whatever Melissa had brewed and taken with her, and he practically wanted to snort the caffeine out of the air with how tired he was. That sounded amazing. He followed Scott into the kitchen, who began brewing a large pot of coffee - likely because they both needed it. 

“Sit.” Scott told him, gesturing to one of the stools that was propped up against the kitchen island. 

Isaac let out a groan as he did so, the effects of the nearly sleepless night finally hitting him. Even though he was a werewolf, and he healed far too quickly for things like hickies and scratches to ever stick on him, especially if they were inflicted by a human, he still felt the ghost of your touch lingering on his body. He still felt your impossible warmth. And he hated it. 

He needed to focus on something else. 

“What the hell are you doing up this early on a Saturday, man?” He asked Scott, shifting his mind and his curiosity elsewhere, hoping to keep his mind off you. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Scott replied dully. 

Even with his back turned to Isaac while he attended to things at the counter, Isaac could see those gears turning in his brain, and he knew there was only one name floating around inside his mind. 

“You were thinking about Allison?” Isaac posed, a smirk easily forming on his lips. 

It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one with girl problems - more specifically, ex-girlfriend problems. ‘Ex-girlfriend that you’re still in love with’ problems. Was it a wolf thing? 

“Okay - no.” Scott sighed, his whole body tensing up. 

Isaac let out a small chuckle, immediately knowing that Scott was lying without having to focus on his heartbeat. The tone of his voice and his rush to denial gave it away too easily. 

“Oh so you weren’t thinking about Allison?” Isaac prodded, his tone mocking. “You weren’t up all night worrying-?” 

“No, I’m not gonna let you distract me by talking about Allison.” Scott said, moving to grab a box from the freezer - toaster waffles. He grabbed a few and popped them into the toaster, and shoved the handle down, staring at Isaac with a firm, interrogating gaze. Isaac frowned. “Why are you here? And why are you wearing Y/N’s shirt?” 

Isaac sealed himself into the conversation when he looked down at himself in a flicker of shock, having forgotten that he was still wearing the shirt that you had given him the night before. The black shirt with the bright red spiral on it, with the words ‘Treasure Your Life’ written boldly across the front in white, and a frame of an empty polaroid on the back that said ‘you often see more with your eyes shut’. 

Scott smirked with knowing. Isaac couldn’t play it off so easily now. 

“How… do you know that this is Y/N’s shirt?” He asked, knowing that this wasn’t even a good argument - just more bare curiosity wandering from his lips. 

“I’ve seen her wear it before.” Scott replied. “Plus - she’s the only one I know who likes those dumb movies. She dragged me and Stiles to see the one that came out in 3D a couple of years ago and Stiles called me every night for a week because he kept having nightmares about it,” 

Isaac had never watched horror movies with you. It was one of your favourite genres, but you easily understood that he didn’t like them. 

His real life was enough of a horror show, and you knew that he didn’t need to see fake gore played out on screen if he could help it. So the two of you stuck to watching cheesy romcoms together, or just put on whatever was on cable as background noise and chatted about anything and everything or made-out. (The two of you actually ended up getting sucked into a lot of cooking shows that way, and the two of you ended up yelling at the competing chefs like grown men yelling at football.) 

Truthfully, he didn’t understand why the shirt was important to you, but he knew from the way your scent was well-worked into the fabric, it was definitely one of your favourites.

“So - come on, what’s the deal?” Scott asked. The toaster waffles popped up, and he put them on a plate, and didn’t say anything as he passed them to Isaac. He put two more down for himself, and then continued: “What, you and Y/N had a big fight so you came here because you need a place to hide from her?” 

“It’s not like that.” Isaac shook his head. A fresh wave of shame rolled over him, and he was glad when Scott busied himself with the second round of toaster waffles, and syrup and utensils, and pouring up the finally brewed coffee, so he didn’t feel like he was being stared down and interrogated as he explained it. “Derek kicked me out.” 

“Oh.” Scott said - the kind of harsh ‘oh’ that clearly stated he hated even bringing it up in the first place. He paused with the coffee pot mid-air, intensely awkward for a moment before he continued. “Why?” 

“I don’t know.” Isaac said, reaching to grab the syrup, glad that he would be able to drown his feelings in fake sugar for a few minutes. He grabbed a fork and a knife and began roughly cutting apart the waffles before he continued. “He said that it wasn’t working out. That he has to be responsible and take care of Cora now, and - I got the feeling it was a lot of bullshit, and he just doesn’t want me around anymore.” 

Scott tensed with anger, and Isaac looked at the floor while he chewed. He knew that Scott and Derek were just barely back on good terms, agreeing to unite against Deucalion. Isaac would have hated to be the wedge driven between them, the thing that made Scott angry with Derek again. But of course - Isaac just had a talent for messing things up. 

“What does that have to go with Y/N?” Scott asked, still lingering with curiosity about the fact that Isaac was wearing your shirt. 

“Nothing, okay?” Isaac lied, hoping that Scott wouldn’t notice, or that he would simply drop the subject. “It’s an old shirt.” 

“Then why do you smell like her?” Scott sniffed the air pointedly before he took a sip of his coffee, and Isaac knew that he visibly deflated as he was caught in the lie. “Did the two of you have a fight? I understand if you just don’t wanna talk about it, but I am a very good listener-” 

“We didn’t have a fight.” Isaac sighed, finally giving in to Scott’s unrelenting streak of caring. “We had a really great night last night, and - I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot who’s always causing problems.” 

“How is that a problem, exactly?” Scott pressed. “You had a great night with your girlfriend-” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Isaac replied. “That’s the problem. We broke up months ago.” 

Scott looked intensely confused, and this is when it occurred to Isaac for the first time that your break-up had not been news among your group of friends. Somehow, everyone was under the impression that the two of you were still together, even if you weren’t the same ‘holding hands in the halls’, overly affectionate couple that you used to be. Or maybe Scott had just been too consumed by his own problems to notice. 

“The two of you broke up?” Scott gaped. “What? Why?” 

Isaac didn’t feel like going into the details of his grand misdeeds - faking cheating just to hurt you, pushing you so violently out of his life. 

If Scott knew what he had done to you, he likely would end up kicked out the door just as quickly as he had been shoved in. 

“I didn’t think that the whole werewolf thing would be a turn-on for her.” Isaac huffed out, bitterly sarcastic. When Scott continued to stare him down, he added on: “The same reason you broke up with Allison. I didn’t want her getting ripped apart by a giant lizard, or being killed by hunters, or having her throat ripped out by a pack of Alphas.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I asked Derek to turn me. She didn’t agree to any of this.” 

Scott was still doubtful that Isaac ever understood the consequences of receiving The Bite when Derek had given him the hard sell, but he didn’t feel like bringing up that fact right now. It was already done, and they were moving forward trying to fix problems, not dwelling on the past. 

“So you broke up with her, instead of letting her face all this?” Scott posed, thinking aloud. 

“Exactly.” Isaac nodded. “She doesn’t need to get caught up in all this.” 

In a way, Scott agreed. 

When you had been at the school and seen him facing off with Alpha Peter Hale, barely knowing what the monster even was, you had tried coming up with ways to defeat the beast - you had tried to muscle in to help Scott and Stiles. But Scott had insisted that you belonged nowhere near such danger, and he had forced Stiles to cut off contact with you so that you wouldn’t end up hurt. And it had worked. So far, you hadn’t been hurt, scratched, paralyzed, or murdered. 

So far, even if it upset Scott to keep his distance from you, he had been right. 

But in that moment, something else came to mind. 

“Don’t you think it might be easier to keep her from getting hurt if you’re there to watch over her?” Scott wondered. “If you’re keeping her close? Protecting her?” 

“What if the thing I’m trying to protect her from is me?” Isaac argued, his throat quivering, causing his voice to shake. 

Naturally, there was that small thing in the back of his head - that terrified part of him that was afraid to lose control of his werewolf abilities and hurt you. But mostly, he was afraid that there was some bigger curse following him. Something that had gotten his father killed, and then Erica. Something that meant that the people who loved him didn’t stay alive for long. So if he could stay away from you, then he could keep you alive. 

“Look, I went through the same thing with Allison-” Scott began, but Isaac cut him off when he suddenly stood up from the counter, turning his back to Scott, abruptly ending the conversation. 

“Would it be okay if I took a shower?” Isaac grunted out, not looking at Scott. 

He was doing what he did best - running away. Even if it was on a smaller scale. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Scott said. “Are you gonna finish-?” 

Isaac grabbed his bag and bolted up the stairs before Scott could ask if he was going to finish breakfast. And Scott was left with a twinge of fear for both his friends, now worrying about you and Isaac. 

… 

You were more than upset that you had woken up alone after the night that you had spent with Isaac. You thought that the two of you were on the verge of finally fixing things. Yes, the world was weird, and dangerous, and difficult - but you thought that you and Isaac had agreed that you needed each other to get through it. 

But instead, he was running away again, trying to push you away. 

You tried calling Isaac at the phone number that you had for him, but it said that the number was disconnected. Which didn’t entirely surprise you - his father often broke his phones or disconnected his number on a whim to punish him (and then got mad at Isaac for not answering his calls). Isaac often had to buy himself a burner cell like a scummy drug dealer just to call you. 

But it left you with nothing to go off. You tried texting Lydia, Stiles, Boyd, and Allison to ask if they had heard from him, but you didn’t receive any responses at first. And then later, nearly all of them came back with something along the lines of ‘no’. 

A text you had sent to Scott finally got you an answer: 

‘Isaac is safe. You don’t have to worry. He’s staying with me.’ 

But any follow-up messages you sent to him about getting in contact with Isaac - having him call you or see you in person were all ignored. It did make sense. Scott was protective, and Isaac was in a fragile state. Scott was your friend too, and he was likely conflicted about ‘taking sides’. 

You considered going over to Scott’s place, but you knew that if Isaac caught wind of you, he would just run away again. And he needed a safe place to stay. He needed a safe spot to land, even if it wasn’t with you. 

You were glad that Scott could be there for him, even if you were upset that Isaac was shutting you out. 

‘Keep him safe.’ You sent back finally, deciding that you wouldn’t bother Isaac at Scott’s place. ‘I guess I’ll see him at school.’ 

You found yourself full of anxiety and worry for Isaac, and unsurprisingly, it even got to you while you were sleeping. 

… 

You were standing outside Isaac’s father’s house. Isaac himself never called it home, and you knew that he hadn’t lived there for months now. It was a place you had been banned from entering long ago - not by Isaac’s cruel and awful father, but because Isaac himself forbade you from stepping foot inside after a particular incident. 

The house had been vacant for some time. Almost like that of a haunted myth - standing on the street, dark and imposing. The only thing giving it life being the rumors of what had happened inside - ghostly whispers from the mouths of people who truly had no clue what Isaac’s father had done to him inside those walls. 

And now, it was on fire. 

The windows were engulfed with bright orange, deadly hot flames, the walls beginning to turn black from their once ‘pure’ white. It would have been a beautifully cleansing purge of a burning - if not for the fact that you knew Isaac was still inside. 

You stood in the driveway, frozen, terrified - waiting for him to emerge, staring up at the house in horror. And suddenly, you spotted him in one of the upstairs windows. Just a flash of a silhouette - curly hair and broad shoulders that could have only been him. 

“Isaac!” 

You shouted his name, and for some reason - he disappeared. In a blink, he seemed to be sucked in, consumed by the house. Just like he had been so many times before. Your stomach clenched in horror. 

“Isaac?!” 

Operating on pure adrenaline, you rushed toward the front door, not hesitating to shoulder it open even when you found it burning hot. You forced your way in, and soon, your eyes became watery and smothered by smoke. Immediately, you were overwhelmed by just how hot the flames were. A giant oven, ready to consume you. But still, you pressed on - because if you weren’t careful, it would consume Isaac too. 

Somehow, as the flames licked at your skin, you were unburned. You struggled to navigate through the haze of smoke, the house feeling boundless, larger than it should have been. Hope flashed through you when you saw Isaac’s figure standing in the kitchen, and you rushed toward him. 

“Isaac?” 

You called out again, your lungs struggling against the thickness of the heat and the smoke. 

The moment you reached him, he was gone again. 

Then - the basement door was open, and his footsteps thumped in retreat down the stairs. 

“Isaac - we have to get out!” 

Still, despite your own words, you followed him. It was never even an option in your mind to abandon him, even as the fire became more smothering around you and parts of the house began to crumble. 

Surprisingly, the basement was smoke free, and the heat wasn’t nearly as oppressive as you lowered yourself to the cool, in-ground poured concrete room. 

You took a deep breath, drinking in the cool air - but that breath didn’t last in your lungs for long. 

“Help! Help me! Please, please, please! Fuck, help me!” 

Isaac was crying out desperately. 

Your eyes jolted toward a box - a deep freezer in the corner with a large padlock on it. It was something Isaac had told you about before, but you had never seen it. It was shaking frantically as Isaac pounded on the lid, fighting against the padlock, trying to get out. You ran toward him, and when you tugged on the padlock - of course, it didn’t budge. 

“I’m gonna get you out!” You yelled, hoping he would hear you, having absolutely no guarantees to back up this promise. 

“Y/N?” He shouted, his voice curdled by tears. “Please, hurry! I can’t do this! I can’t - I can’t -!” 

You looked around frantically and spotted a rack of tools on the wall, and in moments, you had a small crowbar in your hands. Smoke began to flood down the stairs, and you found yourself choking on your breath, once again struggling to see. But you wouldn’t leave Isaac to die. You began swinging, your arms shaking and missing each time you tried to hit the entirely too small target of the lock. 

“Fuck, help! Get me out, Y/N! Please!” 

You grew more and more frantic as you heard Isaac’s cries from within the freezer - harsh sobs muffled by the layers of insulation, the sound of him beginning to suffocate on his own breath. Your hands shook as you finally broke the padlock with a heavy swing, but the freezer door was almost too heavy to lift open, and you were choking on more smoke - 

You woke with a wheezing breath, covered in sweat. You were panicked, confused - it took you far too long to realize that you were in your own room, in the safety of your own bed. You couldn’t get back to sleep again that night because you couldn’t call Isaac and be soothed by his voice. 

Every time you closed your eyes, you kept seeing the scratched up white box of the freezer. Kept seeing the way it shook as Isaac struggled inside of it. You wondered if your imagination was worse than the real thing. 

… 

It was horrible, but you spent the weekend riddled with worry, wondering what you had done wrong that had caused Isaac to run away yet again. You were upset that you couldn’t just talk it out with him. And when you walked into school on Monday, you were a sleepless, stressed out mess, hoping to corner him somewhere so that you could force him into talking with you. 

When you saw Stiles standing at his locker, you didn’t hesitate to swarm him, hoping that he could give you some information about what the hell was going on. (If not about Isaac, then maybe he could tell you more about the werewolf stuff.) 

“Stiles,” You visibly startled him when you appeared at his side - or perhaps he was just feeling jumpy. He dropped the book that he was holding and let out a yelp of pain when it landed on his foot. “Have you seen Isaac anywhere?” 

“I…” He trailed off, leaning down to grab the book, and then he gave you a suspicious look, as though inspecting you in his mind before he said something that you did not expect. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” You replied, unsure why everyone seemed determined to shut you out. “Can you just tell Isaac that I need to talk to him if you see him?” 

“Okay,” He nodded. “Weird that you need me to be a secretary between you and your boyfriend.” He mumbled, sarcasm ripe in his voice, as usual. 

You bit your lip, hesitating to speak. Of course, you didn’t want to tell him that you and Isaac had broken up. Especially if he didn’t already know. He would likely celebrate it with some dumb, cheesy dance. And you didn’t need that right now. 

“He lost his phone again.” You explained, satisfied that it was entirely a lie. “And you’ll probably see him in the locker room, so…” You trailed off. “Just let him know that I’m looking for him. Please.” 

You moved to walk away, and then he called after you, stopping you. 

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You paused on the spot, and hesitantly turned back toward him. You were rampantly annoyed that he supposedly didn’t want to talk to you but seemed determined to waste your time. But still, you turned back to him. 

He rushed to close the gap between the two of you, and lowered his voice before he asked: 

“Did you and Isaac ever-?” He cut himself off, seemingly hating the words that were coming out of his own mouth. He shocked you when he rephrased the question. “Are - are you a virgin?” 

Your hand twitched down by your side as you repressed the urge to slap him. 

Why the hell would he ask you that? 

“Ew! What? Ew!” You hissed, completely unsure how to react to the question. Against your own will, memories of your first time with Isaac came flooding back - back when your relationship had been young and sweet, and far less complicated. You weren’t sure if you were pleased or ashamed. “Stiles-! Ew!” 

You moved to walk away again, and he caught you by the arm - a tense, worried look sprouting across his features. You were more confused than ever, but your stomach twisted into a knot at how serious his eyes were, and you wondered if something was wrong. 

“Could you just answer the question, please?” He pressed, his tone oddly serious. “It - it could be like a life or death thing.” 

Strangely, you believed him. 

You heaved out a sigh, very hesitant to get into the details with him, and hoping that you wouldn’t have to speak too much about it. 

“I… I’m not a virgin.” You told him. You were surprised when he let go of your arm, and relief washed over him - the tenseness of his shoulders relaxed, and for a moment, his face flickered with calm. “What? Is someone in Beacon Hills hunting down virgins?” You joked, wondering what the hell he was so worked up about. 

Fear overtook his features once again, and you regretted your joke instantly. 

“Okay, I don’t wanna know.” You added on, finally taking a step back. You had your own problems to deal with. “Just - let me know if you find Isaac, okay?” 

Stiles nodded, and you escaped the conversation, confused and oddly thankful that in an unintentional way, Isaac had saved your life. 

You continued down the hall, and with all your tension and your mind distracted, you blindly bumped into someone. Books and papers went flying, and when you truly stopped to look, instinctively kneeling down to help pick up the mess, you were pleased to see that it was Allison that you had bumped into. 

At least it was someone who might be able to help you. 

“Allison,” You sighed with relief, giving her back the stray papers that you had picked up. “Have you seen Isaac anywhere?” 

She looked struck with panic at this question, and you feared that she might lie. She painted on a tight smile as she answered. 

“Um, no, I haven’t, actually.” She told you, her voice tense. 

You had a feeling that wasn’t exactly the truth, but you didn’t want to accuse her of lying. 

When she pulled her backpack off her shoulder, swinging it around to the front and began stuffing some of the fallen things inside, a glint of silver caught your attention. You knew that it was improper and nosy to be staring into her bag, assessing the contents inside, but when you noticed the miniature crossbow, tipped with a sharp arrow - something that definitely didn’t appear to be anything close to a toy, your curiosity easily overtook your politeness, and you couldn’t help but to reach inside. 

“Oh my god - is this for monsters?” You asked, holding up the crossbow in awe. 

The second that your finger threatened toward the trigger, Allison snatched it out of your hand and shoved it back in her bag, zipping it up and standing up with her books in hand. 

“That’s dangerous. You can’t just go playing around with it-” She huffed at you, and you stood up to her level. “Wait - did you say ‘monsters’?” 

“Yeah.” You replied. “I mean, guessing by some of the stuff that I saw on Stiles’s computer before he shut on my fingers, there’s more than just werewolves. And-” 

It had happened a few weeks ago. You had come up behind him, trying to read what he was looking at, and he had been quick to get your nose out of it. 

“How much do you know?” Allison asked, incredibly hesitant, narrowing her eyes sharply at you. 

Your breath caught in your chest. You knew that it would be terrible to let her know that Scott and Isaac were werewolves if she didn’t already know. 

“...How much do you know?” You prodded in return, hoping that she would give some kind of rundown of her knowledge first, so that you wouldn’t become a bad friend by giving them up. 

If anything, you hoped that she knew more than you did, so that she could give you some of the answers that you needed. 

“I know about Scott.” She told you. “I know about his… condition.” 

You let out a breath of relief. 

“Oh, thank god.” You said. Then, a terrible thought occurred to you - you wondered if she had found out about Scott the same way you had with Isaac. “Wait - do his eyes glow when he-?” You cut yourself off suddenly. “You know what, I don’t even wanna know.” 

Scott was your friend, and you didn’t really want to picture him and Allison in bed together. 

Allison gave you a strange look, clearly not cluing in to what you meant, and you were thankful when the bell rang overhead, signalling for the two of you to get to class, ending the conversation. She easily forgot to ask for clarification, so you didn’t have to explain yourself. 

“I have to go, but - meet me outside the library at lunch?” She posed. “We can have a real talk about… about everything.” 

“You know what? That sounds like exactly what I need right now.” You nodded, smiling at her. “Thank you.” 

She moved off, and when you turned in the opposite direction to walk to your own class, among the dispersing students, you spotted a very distinctive tall blond at the end of the hallway. No matter how many people there were - those piercing blue eyes staring you down - looking at you like you were the only person in the room - it caused your stomach to clench up. 

“Isaac,” You huffed out, more speaking to yourself, your voice quiet. 

“Isaac!” You shouted his name louder, uncaring of how many people looked at you or how insane you appeared as you shoved past people, rushing down the hallway toward him. 

By the time you got to the very end of the hallway where he had been standing, he was gone. You lingered there for a moment, breathless, wondering how he could have disappeared so quickly. And then, you sulked to class with curiosity and regret filling your system. 

… 

“Scott, Scott, Scott!” Stiles whined as she rushed into their first class, sitting down in his seat behind his best friend. 

“What? What? What?” Scott nagged in return, wondering what had gotten Stiles so worked up this time. 

“I don’t like this - in fact, I downright hate it. I hate this.” Stiles huffed, taking out his textbook and slamming it onto the desktop in front of him. 

“Hate what?” Scott pressed, still clueless about what Stiles even meant. 

“Your whole half-cocked plan to ‘keep Y/N out of this’!” Stiles announced sharply. “Look, I understand wanting to keep her out of danger - I really do get it. She’s my best friend, I really like it when she’s alive and breathing-” 

“I thought I was your best friend?” Scott argued gently, sounding slightly offended. 

“So not the point.” Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying - how do we know that she isn’t just gonna end up in danger anyway?” 

Scott slumped back in his seat at this, not responding. It was something he had considered. Especially with the recent murders - random people who had never seen it coming. Scott knew that Stiles was taking Heather’s death particularly hard, and probably projecting that danger onto you in his mind. 

“Like - the next three sacrifices might not be virgins, but it might be people with dead parents, or people who are really smart and pretty, or-” Stiles began ranting, only to be cut off again. 

“Wait - how do you know that Y/N’s not a virgin?” Scott asked, hating the words as soon as they left his mouth. 

“I asked.” Stiles replied. “Because I’m a concerned friend, I’m a good, concerned friend, and I want to keep her safe. But that’s aside from the point-” 

“Are you going on about your stupid virgin theory again?” Isaac asked, coming to sit down beside Scott. 

“He’s worried about Y/N.” Scott explained. 

Isaac smirked widely, looking over his shoulder toward Stiles. Even though he was upset that he was no longer your boyfriend, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to get under Stiles’s skin. 

“Well, I took care of that whole ‘virginity’ thing for her a long time ago. So she’s gonna be just fine.” He told Stiles, putting on his best cocky smirk and even giving a wink. 

He was putting up a ‘cocky asshole’ front even though his heart ached when he thought about you. His heart clenched horribly when back to the night he had first made love to you, back before he knew about werewolves, and monsters, and all the other bullshit - it had been sweet, and utterly perfect. He still remembered your sweet moans, the way your soft skin had felt against him… 

“Shut up!” Stiles snapped. 

He didn’t hesitate to throw his pencil right at the back of Isaac’s head - Isaac barely flinched at the contact, but still, looked back to glare at Stiles. 

“I so don’t need you bragging about screwing my best friend right now.” Stiles hissed. “You are the worst-” 

“You’re just jealous.” Isaac huffed. “Everyone knows that you-” 

“No, no!” Stiles rushed to cut off his words, arguing a bit louder now. “I am genuinely concerned about saving human lives and you’re acting like a total asshole, you-” 

“Can both of you stop it?” Scott asked, trying to stop them from escalating any further. “Both of you care about Y/N, you don’t have to act like this.”

Isaac turned to face the front, not speaking any further, and Stiles continued to glare at the back of his head with intensity. 

Stiles remembered what you had said earlier, and he did consider delivering your message, telling Isaac that you needed to speak to him for some urgent reason. For the most part, he did the things you asked of him without question. But he didn’t want Isaac going anywhere near you if he was avoiding you, and especially not if acting like such an asshole. So he would say that delivering your message had conveniently ‘slipped’ his mind. 

“Settle down, people!” Coach Finstock stepped up to the front of the class, causing everyone to quiet down. Stiles let out a groan and slouched into his seat. “I know you just had a long weekend of making terrible decisions, but it’s Monday, and the party is over! So shut the hell up and pay attention!” 

… 

When you made it to class, you were delightfully relieved to see Lydia. She was distracted as you sat down beside her, very intensely working on a drawing in her notebook. When you glanced over at it, you saw that it was a beautiful, detailed drawing of a tree. 

“That’s pretty.” You told her. 

“Oh thanks.” She grinned, looking up at you. “And you are not.” You rolled your eyes at this comment. “Gosh, bestie, you look so stressed.” 

“Gee, thanks Lydia.” 

You knew that you had left the house that morning in a rush. Naturally, being so sleepless meant that you had fallen asleep an hour before your alarm and then slept through it, leaving you in a terrible rush to get ready. You had thrown on the first clean sweater and jeans that you could find along with a simple pair of boots, and your hair was a mess. You didn’t have time for make-up, so the evidence of your stress was written all over your face - tiredness, dark eye bags heavy above your dull cheeks. 

“Lucky for you, I’m a great friend. And I always come prepared for emergencies such as this.” She told you, reaching to the back of her chair and digging something out of her bag. 

You weren’t surprised when she brought out a hefty makeup bag and plopped it onto your desk. You didn’t fight her as she began taking things out of it. Smaller ziplock bags with jewelry, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and foundation and concealer - in your shade and her own (and a super light porcelain shade that seemed to be for Allison). You smiled fondly at the fact that she had literally prepared to share with you. Even if you had been feeling lonely for the past few weeks, this did make you feel intensely loved. 

“Thank you, Lydia.” You told her, much more sincerely this time. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

Probably end up looking like a mess. Which, looking nice was low on your priority list at the moment - but it was nice that someone was taking care of you. 

“Of course.” She responded. “I can’t have a best friend of mine looking anything less than fabulous.” 

The two of you had become infinitely closer since that night at the Winter Formal when you had ‘saved her life’. Even if she didn’t say it out loud, she always felt like bringing you coffee, or doing your hair and make-up wasn’t enough to pay you back for it. 

She began picking up necklaces, lifting them up to try and match them to the simple floral crew neck sweatshirt that you were wearing, and then, she naturally had to ask: 

“So… why are you looking so haggard this morning, Y/N?” 

“Haggard?” You repeated, hating her choice of words. She shoved an earring and necklace set into your hands, and as you began to put them on, she opened the concealer and began dotting it underneath your eyes, but she didn’t redact her statement, so you moved on. “Well… something happened on the weekend.” 

“Would it have anything to do with a certain tall, blond-haired idiot?” She pressed, grabbing a sponge out of the makeup bag and beginning to blend out the face make-up, and adding on some light foundation. 

You weren’t too fond of her choice of words, but of course - she had easily predicted this from you. 

“Yes.” You sighed. You didn’t bother to lie. It would be nice to talk things out with her anyway. 

“Oh, I knew it.” Lydia beamed. “I knew you were still hung up on him.” 

She was one of the only people in your friend group who had known about you and Isaac breaking up. You had called and told her about it on the day when it had happened, and she had consoled you, and told you again and again how terrible Isaac was and how he didn’t deserve you. She had taken you shopping that day to try and cheer you up, but then she had gone to Rome with her parents on the break and you hadn’t heard from her much, so you spent much of the post-break-up-haze alone, just trying to get through it. 

She picked up the eyeliner pencil, and you were glad that you were forced to stay still, focusing on letting her do your make-up so that you didn’t have to rehash the horrible emotions you had felt with Isaac. 

“What? He’s done sticking his dick in that trashbag Erica and he’s begging you to take him back now?” Lydia asked, her voice full of venom toward Isaac, riffling through the make-up bag, looking for something else now. 

By the sounds of it, she didn’t know that Erica was dead. And even if she did, knowing Lydia, she might not be entirely sympathetic toward someone that she believed had broken up her best friend’s relationship, even in death. 

“It’s so much more complicated than that.” You breathed out, unsure how to explain it. 

“Oh come on, I can do complicated.” Lydia smiled, sweeping some light blush across your cheeks, knowing that it would make you look bright and lively and hide your stressed tiredness. 

Well, if she wanted to hear it - you would dish. 

“Isaac didn’t actually cheat on me.” You said, trying your best to be prompt. “He - he pretended to cheat on me. Because he didn’t actually want to break up with me.” 

“Oh, is that what he told you?” Lydia snorted, obviously not believing this. “The excuses that some guys will-” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s true.” You sighed. “It’s this thing that Isaac does - he gets really self destructive, and he wants to push me away, but he doesn’t actually want me to get hurt. So he makes up stories. One time he destroyed a watch that I bought him, but then he said that he broke it by mistake. One time-” 

“Okay, okay, but, why would he pretend to cheat on you?” Lydia asked, clearly confused. 

You knew that the whole ‘werewolf’ thing played into it, but you knew that you couldn’t tell Lydia that part. 

“Because he wants to push me away.” You said, trying to explain it without giving her all the details. “And it worked. For a while-” 

“Oh, so you’re back together?” 

Lydia cut you off, sounding downright disgusted by this. And you couldn’t blame her. Any best friend who had to see their friend go back to a boyfriend who had hurt them would hate to see it happen again. (And this was what it looked like from the outside.) 

“Is he really bothering you so much? Why do you look so stressed? Babe, if he’s doing this to your skin, he’s just not good for you.” 

She said, and then she moved on to fixing your hair - or at the very least, trying to. 

“My problem is that we’re not back together.” You told her. “I thought we were on that route, and we… we spent the night together.” You explained, weary that others might be eavesdropping. Lydia chuckled lightly at this, and nodded. “And when I woke up, he was gone.” 

Lydia gasped. “Unacceptable! God, that is just plain rude.” 

“Thank you.” You sighed. “That’s what I thought, but apparently that didn’t even occur to him. Even if he didn’t want to get back together, he could have at least stayed until morning to tell me that instead of just - leaving.” 

“Look, I know he has that whole ‘damaged bad boy’ thing going on, and that can be really hot,” Lydia said, and you couldn’t help but to think that had been her perspective on Jackson. It almost made you laugh. “But if he’s not good enough for you, you have to ditch him.” 

She told you this, and you couldn’t help but to think that it was genuinely good advice. She gave you a serious look and squeezed one of your shoulders lightly, clearly trying to drive the point home. 

“He is good enough for me.” You replied, your tone desperate, as though you were trying to convince yourself. “I’m just worried that he doesn’t know that.” 

Lydia opened her mouth to say something, but just then, Mr. Harris walked in. 

“Ladies! Unfortunately, this is a Physics class, not a beauty salon. So - put it away before I throw it in the trash.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes sharply at this, but began putting all of her make-up products away. When she showed you the results in the mirror later, you were entirely pleased. Even if she didn’t understand your relationship with Isaac, she definitely knew her way around a make-up brush.

...

I really hope that you enjoyed this first chapter!

This is officially the longest fic I have ever written, and I am kind of anxious about releasing another multichaptered fic, but I want this to be a fun experience for everyone.

For reference, the entirety of this fic is completed in my drafts, and I will be editing each chapter as I post it (and I hope to be working on other things in between posting these chapters too). But, as I have done in the past, to encourage people to comment and reblog, I am going to be posting each chapter with a goal for a certain amount of comments and reblogs to be reached before the next chapter will be posted.

I would like this chapter to get 5 Comments and 5 Reblogs before the next chapter will be posted.

This number is extremely conservative, considering that the original prologue fic got over 1,000 likes. And the whole point of me doing this is to encourage people who only leave likes on fics to comment and reblog. I will likely increase this number based on the interaction that this chapter gets.

I do not care if this comes from one or two people spamming reblogs and comments, as long as it shows enthusiasm toward the story. I do not care if you reblog the fic and you have 0 followers - the point is not to 'promote' the fic, the point is to show support toward the story. I want to know that people are excited about the story and have read it and are enjoying it before I post more, instead of just wondering if people left a like on it in order to come back and read it later and then it got lost in a sea of other fics for them.

Also, something I want to say about longfics in general because this is the first multichap fic I have written in a long time, and this is the longest thing I have ever written -

This is my first time writing a fic that is over 100k, and it was incredibly hard.

(I also feel fanfic writers rarely say this and rarely acknowledge this after sharing their art with you. It's fucking hard.)

It is incredibly hard to write a long, multichap fic that makes sense and not get burnt out while writing it. So if you are someone who reads a lot of long fics and doesn’t write often (or even if you do write) - please go back to your favourite long fic and tell the author how much you appreciate all the hard work they have put in. This isn’t just about me. This is about the worrying shift in fan culture recently where people take, and take, and take, and don’t really give anything in return. I ask on behalf of all fanfic writers that you learn to appreciate how genuinely hard it is to write something this long (or how hard it is to write a fic of any length in general) and don’t take fanfic writers for granted.

Please - comment more often on all the fanfics that you read and appreciate them more.

Anyway - have a great day, and happy reading!

Warnings: this is a very long fic, and there will be warnings on each individual chapter - I will try my best to keep the warnings vague enough that they are spoiler free, but also detailed enough that people can be informed about potential triggers or content they wish to avoid; the reader uses she/her pronouns, and is generally described as feminine, and there is mentions of the reader wearing a dress, heels, and make-up to a dance; there are no mention of the reader’s race, hair type, hair colour, or eye colour, and throughout the fic there is slight implications toward her being plus sized that can be easily ignored, and it’s not a main plot point of the fic; this fic DOES use the term Y/N throughout, and I would recommend using a word replacer extension on your browser to put in your actual name in order to get the full experience; carried over from the prologue oneshot - mentions of the reader’s mother being dead, killed by Peter Hale/The Alpha; mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - though it not stated how much taller, and it’s based on the idea that Daniel Sharman is six feet tall, and he would be taller than most people; alcohol consumption (technically, underage drinking) - both the reader and Isaac drink alcohol, and it’s said that the reader gets ‘drunk’, though it’s not to the point of forgetfulness or sickness, and it is in the context of having fun; descriptions of Isaac’s abuse - there is descriptions of Isaac’s injuries after being abused by his father, and implications of how he got those injuries, but the details are not specified; (but Isaac’s father dying is also still canon in this so - yay!); descriptions of Isaac’s being locked in the (unplugged) deep freezer as punishment by his father; mentions of Lydia x Jackson (very background); mentions of Peter Hale’s canon attack on Lydia; mentions of blood; semi-graphic descriptions of Lydia’s canon injuries (stomach wounds); mentions of Isaac ‘cheating’ on the reader with Erica (again, read the prologue for context); Isaac having a negative internal monologue due to being abused in the past; Isaac exhibits symptoms of PTSD and symptoms of being emotionally abused by his father when interacting with other people; mention of Isaac wearing the reader’s shirt (carried over from the prologue oneshot) - this could imply that the reader is plus sized or that the shirt is very big on her; mentions of Scott x Allison (which will be a theme throughout the fic - they are a background ship, but pretty far in the background and not a major focus); mentions of fire - including a house burning down; fire is a running theme through this fic, so if you have a phobia of being burned alive or descriptions of it, it’s probably a good idea to skip this fic; mentions of virginity as a social construct (because of Stiles bringing up the ‘virgin sacrifices’ that happen in the canon); some mentions of sexual content (mentions of Isaac and the reader having sex, but it’s not described in detail) (other chapters will have detailed smut, so if that’s not your thing, this is likely not the story for you); slight Erica bashing (from Lydia); I think that is it for this chapter.

A/N: I don't even know what else to say about this fic other than - I am so fucking nervous to post it, and I really hope that you guys enjoy it! AAAAAAAH

...

The Beacon Hills Winter Formal. 

Some people had been anticipating the dance since the beginning of the semester - it was the first real ‘break’ that everyone got; the first real sign of relief before exams, and then just a short jump to winter break. (Even though California didn’t really have ‘winter’, it was the ‘break’ part that everyone focused on, of course.) 

Your life had generally been in upheaval as of late, so you hadn’t been thinking much about the dance. You hadn’t even been looking forward to winter break much, because it would be your first time spending the holidays with your family so fractured. Since your mother’s death - just one of many that was rocking the town lately - you hadn’t been in the mood to be in a room full of people celebrating and having fun. 

In fact, you hadn’t been planning on going to the dance at all. 

But being the good boyfriend that he was, trying his best to cheer you up during such a hard time, Isaac had convinced you to attend. He had asked you to be his date and after a full day of nagging, he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He told you that you needed a night off to try and forget about all the horrible things that had been going on in your life. Deep down, you knew he was right - which was why you ultimately accepted his invitation and then immediately recruited Lydia to help with your hair and makeup for the occasion. 

Thankfully, he didn’t know about all the horrible things that had been going on in your life. 

Isaac hadn’t been at the school when you, Stiles, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Scott had been locked inside that night. When you had all been locked inside with… that thing. That horrible monster. Scott had later told you it had likely been responsible for killing your mother. And it had tried to kill you too. On that night, when you had followed Scott with a fire axe in hand, determined to defend him on his way to get the janitor’s keys… only to find out that he didn’t need much saving when he sprouted claws and sharp teeth and glowing eyes and began howling himself. 

Finding out that werewolves were real was a shock to your system. 

And finding out that one of your best friends since childhood was one - even more of a shock. 

And now, you were at the dance, trying to forget about all of it - the brutal death of your mother, the fact that the giant killer beast was still out there somewhere, the fact that Scott and… maybe others were werewolves, just living among regular people. 

You were supposed to be having a nice night with your boyfriend, but, to add to your growing list of problems - he was nowhere to be found. It didn’t entirely surprise you that he was running late. Punctuality wasn’t exactly his thing. But as the songs passed and the minutes ticked on, turning into one hour and then two, and still no Isaac, you did begin to worry. 

You picked up your phone and checked the time again, and then you opened your messages, double checking to make sure that you didn’t have any texts from Isaac. But - nothing. 

You couldn’t help the sigh you let out, and naturally, even with the music blaring through the room, Lydia heard you. 

The two of you were seated at one of the many tables lining the room, though you were among the few people not dancing. And oddly enough, for both of you, it was because the guys you wanted to dance with the most weren’t around to ask for your hands. (Though you were annoyed with Lydia for being so hung up on Jackson, you weren’t going to say anything about it.) 

“Oh come on.” She said, rolling her eyes in a dramatic but beautiful fashion that only she was capable of. “The only way you could look more pathetic right now would be to have a blues band playing behind you,” 

“Pathetic?” You argued gently. “You’re the one who did my hair-” 

“And my efforts to make you look gorgeous are being wasted on a nothing, no-good loser who hasn’t even showed up.” She harped, giving you a firm glare. 

You knew that Lydia wasn’t exactly fond of Isaac. 

She had voiced her disdain for him multiple times in the past, but you had always brushed it off. It had been small comments about how he was too rough on the field and might hurt Jackson’s ‘perfect body’, or how she thought ‘the lights were on and nobody was home’ when he refused to speak to her in passing. (You knew that Isaac wasn’t stupid - he just wasn’t very sociable.) She had made jokes about setting you up with ‘better’ guys, and you had never taken her up on the offer. 

You didn’t want to be with anyone else but Isaac. 

However, this comment surprised you. Lydia had never been so harsh with her words before. 

“He’s not a loser.” You were quick to defend Isaac, your insides stinging slightly at the idea that such a good friend of yours didn’t like your boyfriend. “He’s just running late. It happens sometimes.” 

“‘Late’ is five minutes.” Lydia scolded, her eyes much harsher than her soft tone. “This is pretty colossal, babe. I’m starting to think you’ve been stoo-” 

“Don’t say it.” You said, waving a finger harshly in her direction.” 

“You should just break up with him.” Lydia smirked, her expression turning far too mischievous. “Then you could be having fun dancing with any guy here,” 

She motioned around the room, and you did feel a pang in your gut as you saw all the happy couples in each other’s arms. But the only person you wanted to be dancing with was Isaac. You just wished that he would show up and make your night better. You didn’t want to dance with some random guy. You didn’t want to spend that time with anybody else but him. 

“Yeah, because you’re clearly enjoying yourself since Jackson dumped you.” You replied, noting how mopey Lydia had been all night. “Soaking up the world of possibilities without that dead weight on your arm.” 

Lydia frowned, and rolled her eyes again. 

“I dumped him.” She huffed, still firm in this lie. “And, for the record, I am here for you. I’m not gonna go and dance when you’re sitting here all alone.” She said, trying to make up an excuse. 

“Very selfless of you,” You laughed, sarcasm edging on your voice. 

You picked up your phone again, checking, and still - nothing. Not even a text excusing his lack of presence and telling you to have a good time without him. 

“Ladies,” Stiles greeted both of you, shoving himself between both your bodies to lay down two small glasses of punch and a small paper plate filled with snacks onto the table. 

“Hi,” You greeted in return, and Lydia gave him a curt smile. 

He pulled up a chair, forcefully shoving it between you and Lydia, causing her to scoff loudly and recoil in disgust as he sat down. You gave a small laugh at his lack of sense about personal space and shook your head. He would always be the same. Lydia smoothed down her dress and picked up the punch, sipping it, and Stiles smiled at you. 

“How’s in goin?” He asked. 

“Fine.” You replied, your voice dull. 

“You should go dance with Stiles.” Lydia grinned, looking devilish at the clever idea she had come up with. 

You knew it was not-so-secretly a ploy on her part. She wanted to get Stiles off her back - to keep him occupied long enough so she could go and look for Jackson, while not feeling any guilt about owing Allison. Stiles’s face lit up at this idea, and he scrambled to get words out. 

“I - uh - yes! Yes, you should! I am available for that!” He said, grinning proudly, and stumbling to get out of his chair, offering you a hand. 

“No, thank you.” You replied, giving Lydia a stiff glare, and gently batting Stiles’s hand away. “I’m waiting for Isaac.” 

You picked up your phone again, and you weren’t surprised when Stiles let out a hiss of hot air at the mention of the name. (He wasn’t really Isaac’s biggest fan either.) 

“You know, you shouldn’t spend your time waiting around for that asshole!” He protested, likely louder than he intended, his anger mixing with his need to be heard over the music. “He’s making you so miserable, and he - he’s just not a good boyfriend! You’re gorgeous, and perfect, and you deserve better!” 

“Surprisingly, I agree with him.” Lydia added on. 

Stiles didn’t have time to comment on her use of the term ‘surprisingly’ - he was just glad to have back-up in this conversation for once. 

“You know he stood her up on her birthday too?” Stiles said, turning to Lydia this time, talking about you as though you weren’t even there. 

Your annoyance grew, but they didn’t seem to care. 

“Ugh.” Lydia frowned, entirely disgusted. “Seriously, why are you still dating him? He doesn’t treat you well at all. And he’s not even that cute. You do deserve so much better. He’s-” 

“Can both of you just shut up?!” You barked. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” 

The looks on both their faces were nothing but pure shock at your outburst. And for a few outstretching seconds, they said nothing.  

Your stomach soured, and you couldn’t stand the suffocating atmosphere of the party anymore. 

“I’m gonna go get some air.” You sighed, standing up from your chair. 

You couldn’t force either of them to understand. You couldn’t form the words, and this certainly wasn’t the time or the place to finally lay it all out in the open. So you grabbed your phone and your small purse off the table, popping open the clutch and shoving your phone inside. You left the loud, booming, overly decorated gym, wandering through the halls toward the back door that led out onto the lacrosse field. Not even looking back for a second. 

The field was completely dark, the motion censor lights not being triggered by any activity over there as it was completely empty. There were a few stragglers from the dance in this area - people perched against the back wall making out, people talking and laughing loudly as they made their way home early. The cool night air bit against your skin that was exposed by your short, sleeveless dress, and unconsciously, you hugged your arms against yourself. Even though it was getting close to winter break, it was California, so the temperature wasn’t all too unbearable without a coat. 

Mentally, you began debating if you should take your phone back out of the small purse you were carrying and call Isaac. You didn’t think he would pick up. You wondered if you should just end the night and go home. Maybe Stiles would take pity on you and give you a ride - 

“Y/N!” 

You couldn’t help the grin that formed across your face when the familiar voice called your name. You spun around quickly, your heels on the dewy slick pavement almost making you clumsy, and you were overjoyed when you saw Isaac walking toward you. Any upset you might have had about him being late - as terribly late as he was, was quickly diminished at the sight of him. He just had that kind of power over you. 

Seeing him always made you happy. 

Especially because you immediately saw evidence that he was trying. He was dressed in a suit that was definitely a size too big for him, clearly belonging to his father, the shirt untucked and hanging limply around his waist like a wrinkled white paper bag, his tie knotted in an odd fashion, too loose around his neck. 

Clearly, he had dressed in a rush before leaving the house. 

He smiled as he walked toward you, and you closed the distance at a run, eagerly encircling your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. He kissed you sweetly in greeting, savouring your lips with a quiet hum, smiling against your mouth. 

You were so overjoyed to see him that you didn’t notice how he intentionally angled his body away from yours, still trying to keep his distance as you tried to smother him with affection - patting you gently on the back with one hand rather than embracing you tightly in a hug like he usually would have. You didn’t notice how he winced as you squeezed the back of his neck extra hard, giving him another kiss on his cheek before you pulled away. 

“Look, I’m so sorry I’m late-” Issac immediately began apologizing, his voice nurturing a sincerity that you knew too well from him. 

He felt genuinely bad for his untimely arrival. 

“It’s okay.” You pressed, cutting him off. “You’re here now.” You gave him a smile, but that guilt still tainted his face. “Should I even ask why you’re so late?” 

Your stomach stirred with something terrible, and you knew that he wouldn’t be the first one to bring it up. 

He frowned, but didn’t rush to give an explanation. 

“I really didn’t want you to think that I stood you up or anything. I would have called, but my d-” He cut himself off, sharply clearly his throat. “I lost my phone. I really am sorry.” 

“I didn’t think that.” You assured him. “It’s okay.” 

He frowned again, that horrible guilt flashing across his features once again. 

“Isaac, baby, I said it’s okay.” You said firmly, reaching out to gently hold his cheek, guiding him into another kiss, which quickly rolled into another. 

He sighed with delight and his face broke into a grin, and your stomach swelled intensely with butterflies. Hovering so close to his face, staring into those gorgeous blue eyes, finding nothing but affection staring back at you - you had never been happier. 

Isaac Lahey truly was the one for you. 

“You look so beautiful.” 

Isaac whispered, an utterly dreamy tone to his voice that made you tingle all over because you knew he deeply meant it - not just as a compliment, not trying to inflate your ego. But it was an honest thought that spilled from his lips, a truth that he couldn’t contain. 

“You are so beautiful.” 

You let out a terribly girlish giggle, the affection bubbling up inside of you forcing its way out as you shied away, looking toward the ground, nearly drowning in the loving stare he was directing at you. 

“You’re just trying to get on my good side,” You joked, unsure how to respond to the purity of his affection. 

“No, I seriously mean it.” Isaac replied, still beaming a smile at you. “Even before you were my girlfriend, I always thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. You’re too good for me.” 

You loved the sweetness behind his words, but the last part dragged it down. You always hated when he said things like that - clearly living with the belief that he was lesser in the relationship. 

“You’re good too, Isaac.” You told him gently. “You’re so good to me.” 

He shook his head, no longer entertaining the conversation. Before you could speak up again, he distracted you as he reached to the back pocket of his pants. His hand returned with a small, slightly rumpled bundle of flowers. 

“These are for you,” He said, his tone slightly nervous, clearly believing that his present wasn’t good enough. 

It was a bright orange-yellow bell shaped flower that you quickly recognized as the California Poppy. Yes, you were the kind of nerd who could recognize many different types of flowers on sight. They were slightly ragged and torn up at the roots, held loosely in his hand rather than wrapped in anything, and you had to assume that he had plucked them out of someone’s garden, technically stolen them, in order to give them to you. 

But you didn’t care. They were beautiful and it was a sweet gesture. 

You smiled brightly at him and leaned out to where he had extended the half dozen poppies to you, inhaling their scent lightly. 

“Thank you, Isaac.” You told him with a smile. 

“You - you said your dress was gonna be orange, so I figured-” He said quietly, cutting himself off. “It’s a good colour on you. You look really beautiful.” 

At first, you had felt a bit self conscious about choosing something so bold, rather than going with the subtle champagne colour that Lydia had suggested. But you had found yourself drawn to the sparkling orange dress with the satin waist and the spaghetti straps. It did feel like your colour. 

You didn’t notice when Isaac’s eyes flickered to your chest, momentarily fixating on the necklace you were wearing. It was one that Stiles had given you for your previous birthday - a sterling silver chain with a matching pendant in the shape of your first initial. You thought it was beautifully simplistic and you wore it often. 

You had no idea that Isaac felt self conscious and insecure that he could only bring you (stolen) flowers when someone like Stiles could afford to buy you something like that. Little did he know, it was no comparison in your mind. You loved spending time with Isaac more than you would have loved any gift. 

Isaac pinched off one of the flowers near the top of the stem, snapping it off, and then reached up, gently tucking it behind your ear. 

“Perfect match.” He said, giving you a smile. “I was going to try and find an orange tie so that I could match you too, but… this was all I could throw together last minute.” 

He frowned, staring down at himself, clearly feeling a twinge of embarrassment at his untidy appearance. 

“It’s fine.” You told him, reaching out and grabbing his tie, loosening it from the terrible tangle that he had put it in and beginning to tie it properly. “You just need to neaten up a little-” 

“I’m not trying to impress anyone.” Isaac laughed. He tried to bat away your hands, but you persisted, neatening up his tie in a few quick moments. “It’s okay if I look like an idiot, because I was never going to look that good beside you anyway. You always outshine everyone in the room.” 

You couldn’t help but to smile as he continued to pour on the compliments. 

You grabbed one of the flowers and folded the stem in half, tucking into the breast pocket of his jacket. 

“There. Now we match.” You told him proudly. 

You moved to tuck in his shirt and he flinched away from you, taking a large step back. You rolled your eyes, thinking this was just his hesitancy to try and look nice. His stubborn belief that he couldn’t look nice for an occasion like this. 

“Look, I didn’t even come here for the stupid dance.” 

He announced, wanting to avoid going inside and mingling with the crowd. Partially due to embarrassment over his appearance and partially because he didn’t care about anybody else but you. 

Then, he reached for his inner jacket pocket, and you weren’t entirely surprised when he pulled out a bottle of booze. It was some clear liquor that would likely knock you both on your asses. 

“I came here to hang out with you. I promised you a good time. So - what do you say we go somewhere more private?” 

The smirk he gave you was absolutely sinful. And you couldn’t help but to love it. 

“I say you’re nothing but trouble.” You joked, laughing lightly. “And I get first dibs!” 

You reached out quickly, trying to snatch the bottle from him, and he easily used his height as an advantage over you, holding it over your head as he laughed at you struggling to reach it. 

The two of you picked a private spot on the edge of the dark lacrosse field, under the bleachers. You didn’t like walking through the slightly muddy grass in your heels, but you wanted to spend time alone with Isaac. It was a fair compromise. You got to passing the bottle back and forth, kissing more, and talking. This was the night you had signed up for - something that was genuinely beginning to take your mind off all the worry and dread you had been experiencing over the past few weeks. 

“I swear, you could tell Greenberg anything and he would just believe you.” 

Isaac chuckled, telling another story about one of his team mates. 

“The other week, Greenberg asked what stops the guys from just walking into the girls locker room, Stiles told him that the water to the taps in the girls bathroom has to be filtered through separate pipes because girls and guys have different ‘PH auras’ for their skin - or some bullshit, and if a guy uses a girl’s shower, it could cause him to grow boobs. He was being a sarcastic asshole, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” You laughed brightly, nodding. “Like he always is. Stiles can’t breathe without being sarcastic.” 

You took a sip from the vodka and then passed it back to him, and he took another sip before continuing. 

“Get this, though - but then, Greenberg freaked out and asked me if the fountain in the hallway was for girls, or if it was okay for guys to drink from it too.” 

You let out a snort of laughter as he finished the story, finding the whole thing highly amusing. 

“He is such an idiot.” You commented. 

You were beautifully light, slightly drunk, but thankfully not drunk enough to feel sick. You moved to take a step and the unstable, muddy ground underneath your heeled feet caused you to stumble, and unconsciously, you moved to lean on Isaac. He was standing against one of the many metal pillars that held up the bleachers, and when you leaned your weight against his abdomen, he let out a sharp, pained wince. 

Your face immediately fell from bright happiness into a bitter kind of worry. Your insides were shocked with the terror of the realization - as if ice had been poured down your back. Isaac’s expression dropped into lingering guilt and sadness. Strangely, he felt worse about you finding out about this than he did about the physical pain. Instinctively, you reached out for the still untucked hem of his shirt, and he grunted out: 

“Don’t-” 

But you didn’t listen. By now, you knew better. 

You pulled up his shirt, your jaw dropping open with shock and terror as you were met with the sight of harsh purpling bruises. It was a pattern of horror that went further and further as you pulled up more and more of the fabric, somehow looking darker and more menacing under the minimal lighting that the streetlights off in the parking lot provided. 

His entire torso was covered in such harsh, painful looking marks that only could have been inflicted with terrible intentions. 

His father. 

You had known about the abuse for a while. 

You distinctly remembered the first time Isaac had come to you with a large cut above his eye, bleeding horribly, begging you not to call the police but needing your help. Needing someone to lean on. You had attended to his wounds and tried to convince him to turn his father in. He was worried about where he would end up - if he would have to go into foster care, if he would be forced to transfer schools, if he would be taken away from you. 

You were worried about his father eventually killing him. 

That fear snuck up on you again as more evidence sat right in front of your eyes. 

Your throat felt tight - like someone had shoved several large rocks inside your mouth and expected you to swallow. Tears clouded your eyes against your will, and you hated that Isaac instinctively reached out, gently wiping at your glittery cheeks. You hated that he was comforting you over his own pain. 

His father had beaten him so horribly - obviously trying to hide in a place that he hoped no one would see by hitting him across the torso, hoping his shirt would hide it. He knew by now that Isaac wouldn’t rush to tell anyone. He was too scared. 

“Isaac.” You choked out - your previously nice drunken buzz now utterly crashed by a flurry of negative emotions. Worry for him, upset, dark pain crowding your chest as you saw evidence of how much pain he must have been in. You could only imagine what his father had done to him in order for this to be the result. 

He forcefully pulled the hem of his shirt away from you, shoving it back down, visibly containing more groans of pain as he moved. You frowned at him, choking back sobs. 

“It’s not that big of a deal.” He said, trying to brush it off. “Y/N, I’m-” 

“Not that big of a deal?” You parroted back, your throat tight. “Isaac, he could kill you. He clearly doesn’t care about-” 

“Kill me?” Isaac repeated, his voice too heavy with pain. He shook his head dully, beaten down and weak from everything his father had done to him - not just physically, but beaten down in his soul. “No, if he wanted that, he would have done it by now. Clearly, he just wants me to suffer.” 

He raised the bottle of vodka to his lips, finishing it off bitterly before he tossed the empty bottle off underneath the bleachers, not caring. 

This sentiment crushed you. Isaac refused to look at you, and you stared at his tense, clenching jaw for a few long, silent moments. You knew that deep down, he was under the impression that death would be a relief. But you couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t lose him like that. 

“We should go to the pol-” You began to state what you believed to be a solution, but Isaac quickly cut you off. 

“Don’t.” He said, shaking his head, his voice rasping with exhaustion. “Please, don’t.” 

It was an argument that the two of you had plenty of times before. You didn’t bother playing it out in full this time. 

“Okay.” You said quietly, giving in. 

“Just - tonight was supposed to be a night off. I thought I could go without any of his bullshit for one fucking night.” Isaac choked out. “It was a stupid fight. He didn’t want me to come to the dance because I got a B on the calc test. He said I was grounded. And I didn’t want to let you down-” 

You were the one who stirred with guilt this time, hating the idea that you had been the source of an argument between Isaac and his father. Hating the idea that Isaac had fought back against his father, possibly causing more damage - because of you. 

“You could never let me down, Isaac.” You pressed, becoming tearful at the thought that Isaac’s father had done this because of you. “You’re perfect. You’re never gonna let me down.” 

He reached out, petting a gentle hand across your cheek, running his thumb under your eye to wipe away your tears, smudging some of your makeup in the process. (Not that you truly cared when you weren’t planning on going back into the dance tonight.) It did cross your mind - how awful, how truly selfish it was. His father had beaten him so terribly and you were the one who was crying - but he stamped out those thoughts when he pulled you in for a kiss. 

When you pulled away from the kiss, you added on: 

“I wish I could fix it.” You sniffed gently, eyeing his stomach with disdain, even if it was now covered by his shirt. “I wish I could just… magically heal you somehow.” 

You had already delivered many sentiments in the past about wanting to make his father disappear, which he had only agreed with half-heartedly. 

“That would be nice.” Isaac said, giving you a dull smile. 

The two of you were distracted away from this quiet, intimate moment when the lights on the lacrosse field flickered to life, creating a bright, blinding distraction far behind the two of you. 

“What the hell is that?” Isaac asked, craning his neck to look around you, not entirely concerned about what it was - simply curious. 

“They’re motion censor lights.” You told him. “Could be someone who went out there looking for a place to bone and didn’t know about that part. Now they are… frightfully exposed.” 

“Bone?” Isaac repeated the word you had chosen, an air of joking overtaking his voice. “How drunk are you?” 

You had to laugh at yourself, knowing that the word was a very odd one to choose. 

“What? You don’t like boning? You’re not down with the sickness?” You added on, laughing louder, slurring your words slightly, only further adding to his point. 

Little did you know, over in the middle of the lacrosse field - was your mother’s killer. While you laughed drunkenly with Isaac and smiled, trying to salvage your night and ignore your problems, Peter Hale had his claws pressed to Lydia Martin’s neck, threatening her while Stiles begged and bargained for her life. 

“Okay, come on, we’re gonna go get you some water.” Isaac said, grabbing your hand and starting to lead you back toward the school. “If we run into a teacher, can you at least try to act sober?” 

“Maybe.” You chuckled. “Can we get pizza?” 

“You are so drunk.” Isaac sighed, breaking into a smile. 

“Lydia!” 

The two of you froze in your tracks, once again distracted from your private conversation when you saw the door that you were walking toward slam open. Jackson Whittemore burst out of it, an utterly terrified expression on his face. 

“Lydia? Lydia!” 

He called out frantically, and he began running at top speed toward the lacrosse field, brushing right past the two of you. In a moment, a sobering type of fear once again ruined your light drunkenness. The way he called out her name wasn’t good. It wasn’t casual, or even argumentative. It was filled with fear. 

What was wrong with Lydia? Had something happened to her? 

You gripped tighter onto Isaac’s hand, craning your neck to watch Jackson, losing sight of him behind the bleachers as he went. 

“Come on,” Isaac tried pulling you away, but your insides were churning with the feeling that something was wrong, and you couldn’t pull your eyes off the lacrosse field. 

Jackson was selfish, arrogant. He was an asshole. He would never rush anywhere for anybody. 

“Wait.” You told Isaac, stilling on the spot for a few more moments as you watched, waiting to see if Jackson would emerge. 

Horrifyingly, he did. And he had Lydia in his arms - she was limp, unconscious, and covered in blood. 

“Help!” Jackson screamed. “Help! Somebody help!” 

You didn’t hesitate. You had taken first aid courses all through middle school and high school. You used to work as a babysitter and it looked good on a resume. And even if you didn’t have the knowledge or experience, you still would have rushed in headfirst. Lydia was your friend. You needed to help her. 

You shoved your purse toward Isaac. 

“Use my phone, call 9-1-1.” You told him sharply before you ran toward Jackson, nearly stumbling in your heels, not waiting to see if Isaac was following your instructions. 

“Here, here, get her down.” You told Jackson, and through his shock and terror, he was too numb to argue against you. 

He laid Lydia gently on the pavement, and you didn’t register the painful scrape of the harsh surface against your bare knees as you fell down beside her. You looked down at her, and you were met with a horror show. Multiple, deep, huge gashes across her abdomen, so much blood. Her organs showing in some places. 

Somehow, you maintained your composure. 

“Give me your coat.” You demanded, sticking out a hand toward Jackson. 

Jackson didn’t hesitate to take off his jacket, and you folded it up slightly before you pressed it tightly into the middle of her stomach, holding pressure. 

“What the hell happened?” You barked at Jackson. 

Too many people were dying. You couldn’t lose her too. 

“I - I don’t know.” He sniffled out, his voice shaking. 

He had been sprinting toward the field at top speed. You knew he was lying. But you didn’t have the time or the mind to call him out on it. Lydia needed you now. 

She quickly bled through the material, and your hands squished against her - bright red, warm. Something terrible in the back of your mind said that you could feel the life leaving her, and a smaller voice spoke up and said that her warmth meant she was alive. 

Her face was so still. 

“Lydia?” You called out desperately. “Come on, stay with me!” 

Her eyelids flickered. But it could have been a hopeful hallucination on your part. 

“Lydia!” 

You saw lights flashing, but you barely heard voices around you as the paramedics unloaded and began attending to her. Your arms were stiff, forcefully holding her together - Isaac had to pull you away. 

One of the paramedics said that you had ‘saved her life’. But as you washed her blood off your shaking hands later that night, it certainly didn’t feel like it.

You hated that saving a friend felt far too much like losing one. You hated that you still woke up some nights remembering the feeling of her blood soaking your hands. 

…

You and Isaac had been through so much since then. 

His monster of a father had been murdered, and just when he was free from the abuse - the two of you had broken up in a terrible, messy way. Isaac had led you to believe that he had cheated on you with Erica, putting you through so much terrible heartbreak… and it hadn’t even turned out to be true. Both of you had been going through some of the hardest times of your lives - parents dying, your families falling apart (even if his ‘family’ wasn’t much to begin with), and you couldn’t even be there to comfort each other when you needed it most. 

And to make it all worse, you had been pushed away by all your friends too - cut off, and you had no clue why. 

After the dance, Lydia and Stiles had ghosted you, and you hadn’t heard from Allison or Scott in far too long. You knew that Lydia had been taking the break-up with Jackson pretty hard, and she was still recovering from being in the hospital after that horrible incident that nearly killed her, on top of an unexplained fugue state that had her missing, wandering around naked in the woods for two whole days. But others’ behaviour - you could not excuse. 

It left you living in isolated loneliness for what felt like an eternity, missing human contact like a wilting plant misses the sun. Until Isaac came knocking on your door one night, soaked to the bone from the rain, begging you to ‘warm him up’ in ways that only you could. 

You should have regretted spending the night with your ex boyfriend, especially after such a brutal break-up. But it was difficult to have regrets when he was so perfect on top of you, whining about how much he missed you, looking at you with those perfect blue eyes. It was difficult to think of anything but how much you loved him when he was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

Sweet blue eyes that flashed golden - causing everything to rocket into perfect clarity for you. In seconds, you realized that Isaac was a werewolf too. And you had no clue when it happened, but suddenly his avoidance of you, the break-up - everything made a lot more sense in your mind. 

And just when that clarity was becoming comforting to you… you had to wake up alone again. 

Isaac had fled from you. Again. 

… 

Luckily, the rain had ended by the time Isaac had left your place, so he didn’t get soaked a second time around. 

He felt so incredibly stupid. Derek had kicked him out, and he still didn’t fully understand why. Logically, he knew it had something to do with his general ability to fuck things up, so he guessed that he didn’t need all the details. In his terrible moment of weakness, he had gone crawling back to you. He had likely only put you in danger by letting you in on his secret. 

You were going to chase him now. You were determined in your goodness, and it was difficult to throw you off when you put your mind to something. He hated it and loved it all at the same time. 

He was supposed to stay away from you. He was supposed to keep you safe. 

And now, while brewing in that terrible guilt, thinking of all the awful things he had done, he was sitting on the steps of Scott’s house like a sad, lost dog. He had tried working up the courage to knock on the door several times, but it never came. Ultimately, he was pathetic. 

So now he was just sitting on the step with his duffle bag beside him, his knees curled into his chest. A lost boy with nowhere to go. He was quickly running out of friends - more due to death than personal circumstance. He was running out of places to go. 

The sunrise peeking over the horizon felt more taunting than it did comforting. Only reminding him of how terribly selfish he had been the night before. 

“I love you. You are loved, Isaac. And you aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.”

Your words from the night before clearly rang through his head, and his chest began to ache as he remembered the way you had looked at him - gentle terror in your eyes, clearly resisting the urge to run across the room and bury him in comforting touches. You always looked at him like he was some skittish animal that would run away at the first sign of trouble, scared off too easily. 

And he guessed that he had proven you right. 

Isaac grabbed his bag and stood up from the step. You knew him better than he knew himself. Once again scared off, he was getting ready to run again. He wasn’t sure where he would go, but he couldn’t bother Scott - 

And of course, just then, the front door popped open. Perfect fucking timing. The light, sleepy morning voices of Scott and his mom came fluttering into the air. 

“Oh, and remember to put coffee pods on the grocery list,” Mrs. McCall noted, sounding much more awake than Scott was - he was still wearing pajamas, and rubbing his eyes tiredly as he handed her a large travel mug that must have had coffee in it. “Oh, I want some of that caramel coffee creamer, that was really good last time.” 

She had her back to Isaac, and hadn’t seen him yet, but before he could make a move to run off and disappear, he was spotted. 

“Isaac.” Scott said, blinking his eyes harshly, clearly trying to adjust to see if he was mistaken. “What are you doing here?” 

Melissa whipped around harshly, and her face softened when she saw Isaac. Her eyes immediately flickered down to the bag he was carrying, and she gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I-” Isaac stuttered out, trying to back away slowly. He already felt sickly guilt clutching at his stomach over the fact that he was burdening them with his presence. “I should go.” 

“Scott, take his bag.” Melissa insisted, her voice calm but firm, leaving no room for a ‘no’ to follow. 

Scott didn’t hesitate to walk out onto the porch with his bare feet, and down the steps, nearly chasing Isaac down the pathway to snatch the bag out of his hands. He then carried it back up proudly, and tossed back inside the open front door. 

Melissa nodded at Scott, and smiled at Isaac, a silent confirmation that he was not allowed to leave - even if he wanted to. She then lifted her sleeve and checked her watch, and let out a small ‘oh’, before she moved down the steps and dodged around Isaac, heading toward her car. 

“Scott, you’ll make up the bed in the guest room?” Melissa posed, not making it sound like much of an option, talking around Isaac rather than to him, knowing that her hospitality would have to be forced upon him. 

“Will do.” Scott returned with a bright smile, and then grinned at Isaac, who crossed his arms over his chest - he wasn’t sure why he was so grossly uncomfortable at being welcomed. But he was. 

Still - it was nice to have somewhere to be. Especially because it was with Scott. 

“Isaac, sweetie, Scott will show you how to work the washing machine if you need laundry done. And if there’s anything you want, the list for groceries on the fridge, okay? I have to go! I’ll see you later.” 

She gave them a small wave as she got into her car. Isaac didn’t have time to feel awkward as she drove away, because Scott grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt and hauled him up the steps, tossing him in through the front door like he had done with the duffle bag. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Scott asked, giving a small yawn. 

Of course, he was carrying on as though Isaac showing up on his porch in the early dawn hours of the morning was a completely normal occurrence. Though Isaac supposed with half the things that went on in Scott’s life, this was about as normal as he could ask for. 

Isaac pushed down any thoughts about suggesting that he leave again. He knew that it would likely be insulting to Melissa if he didn’t accept her hospitality. 

“Coffee.” Isaac grunted. “Really need some coffee.” 

He could still smell whatever Melissa had brewed and taken with her, and he practically wanted to snort the caffeine out of the air with how tired he was. That sounded amazing. He followed Scott into the kitchen, who began brewing a large pot of coffee - likely because they both needed it. 

“Sit.” Scott told him, gesturing to one of the stools that was propped up against the kitchen island. 

Isaac let out a groan as he did so, the effects of the nearly sleepless night finally hitting him. Even though he was a werewolf, and he healed far too quickly for things like hickies and scratches to ever stick on him, especially if they were inflicted by a human, he still felt the ghost of your touch lingering on his body. He still felt your impossible warmth. And he hated it. 

He needed to focus on something else. 

“What the hell are you doing up this early on a Saturday, man?” He asked Scott, shifting his mind and his curiosity elsewhere, hoping to keep his mind off you. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Scott replied dully. 

Even with his back turned to Isaac while he attended to things at the counter, Isaac could see those gears turning in his brain, and he knew there was only one name floating around inside his mind. 

“You were thinking about Allison?” Isaac posed, a smirk easily forming on his lips. 

It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one with girl problems - more specifically, ex-girlfriend problems. ‘Ex-girlfriend that you’re still in love with’ problems. Was it a wolf thing? 

“Okay - no.” Scott sighed, his whole body tensing up. 

Isaac let out a small chuckle, immediately knowing that Scott was lying without having to focus on his heartbeat. The tone of his voice and his rush to denial gave it away too easily. 

“Oh so you weren’t thinking about Allison?” Isaac prodded, his tone mocking. “You weren’t up all night worrying-?” 

“No, I’m not gonna let you distract me by talking about Allison.” Scott said, moving to grab a box from the freezer - toaster waffles. He grabbed a few and popped them into the toaster, and shoved the handle down, staring at Isaac with a firm, interrogating gaze. Isaac frowned. “Why are you here? And why are you wearing Y/N’s shirt?” 

Isaac sealed himself into the conversation when he looked down at himself in a flicker of shock, having forgotten that he was still wearing the shirt that you had given him the night before. The black shirt with the bright red spiral on it, with the words ‘Treasure Your Life’ written boldly across the front in white, and a frame of an empty polaroid on the back that said ‘you often see more with your eyes shut’. 

Scott smirked with knowing. Isaac couldn’t play it off so easily now. 

“How… do you know that this is Y/N’s shirt?” He asked, knowing that this wasn’t even a good argument - just more bare curiosity wandering from his lips. 

“I’ve seen her wear it before.” Scott replied. “Plus - she’s the only one I know who likes those dumb movies. She dragged me and Stiles to see the one that came out in 3D a couple of years ago and Stiles called me every night for a week because he kept having nightmares about it,” 

Isaac had never watched horror movies with you. It was one of your favourite genres, but you easily understood that he didn’t like them. 

His real life was enough of a horror show, and you knew that he didn’t need to see fake gore played out on screen if he could help it. So the two of you stuck to watching cheesy romcoms together, or just put on whatever was on cable as background noise and chatted about anything and everything or made-out. (The two of you actually ended up getting sucked into a lot of cooking shows that way, and the two of you ended up yelling at the competing chefs like grown men yelling at football.) 

Truthfully, he didn’t understand why the shirt was important to you, but he knew from the way your scent was well-worked into the fabric, it was definitely one of your favourites.

“So - come on, what’s the deal?” Scott asked. The toaster waffles popped up, and he put them on a plate, and didn’t say anything as he passed them to Isaac. He put two more down for himself, and then continued: “What, you and Y/N had a big fight so you came here because you need a place to hide from her?” 

“It’s not like that.” Isaac shook his head. A fresh wave of shame rolled over him, and he was glad when Scott busied himself with the second round of toaster waffles, and syrup and utensils, and pouring up the finally brewed coffee, so he didn’t feel like he was being stared down and interrogated as he explained it. “Derek kicked me out.” 

“Oh.” Scott said - the kind of harsh ‘oh’ that clearly stated he hated even bringing it up in the first place. He paused with the coffee pot mid-air, intensely awkward for a moment before he continued. “Why?” 

“I don’t know.” Isaac said, reaching to grab the syrup, glad that he would be able to drown his feelings in fake sugar for a few minutes. He grabbed a fork and a knife and began roughly cutting apart the waffles before he continued. “He said that it wasn’t working out. That he has to be responsible and take care of Cora now, and - I got the feeling it was a lot of bullshit, and he just doesn’t want me around anymore.” 

Scott tensed with anger, and Isaac looked at the floor while he chewed. He knew that Scott and Derek were just barely back on good terms, agreeing to unite against Deucalion. Isaac would have hated to be the wedge driven between them, the thing that made Scott angry with Derek again. But of course - Isaac just had a talent for messing things up. 

“What does that have to go with Y/N?” Scott asked, still lingering with curiosity about the fact that Isaac was wearing your shirt. 

“Nothing, okay?” Isaac lied, hoping that Scott wouldn’t notice, or that he would simply drop the subject. “It’s an old shirt.” 

“Then why do you smell like her?” Scott sniffed the air pointedly before he took a sip of his coffee, and Isaac knew that he visibly deflated as he was caught in the lie. “Did the two of you have a fight? I understand if you just don’t wanna talk about it, but I am a very good listener-” 

“We didn’t have a fight.” Isaac sighed, finally giving in to Scott’s unrelenting streak of caring. “We had a really great night last night, and - I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot who’s always causing problems.” 

“How is that a problem, exactly?” Scott pressed. “You had a great night with your girlfriend-” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Isaac replied. “That’s the problem. We broke up months ago.” 

Scott looked intensely confused, and this is when it occurred to Isaac for the first time that your break-up had not been news among your group of friends. Somehow, everyone was under the impression that the two of you were still together, even if you weren’t the same ‘holding hands in the halls’, overly affectionate couple that you used to be. Or maybe Scott had just been too consumed by his own problems to notice. 

“The two of you broke up?” Scott gaped. “What? Why?” 

Isaac didn’t feel like going into the details of his grand misdeeds - faking cheating just to hurt you, pushing you so violently out of his life. 

If Scott knew what he had done to you, he likely would end up kicked out the door just as quickly as he had been shoved in. 

“I didn’t think that the whole werewolf thing would be a turn-on for her.” Isaac huffed out, bitterly sarcastic. When Scott continued to stare him down, he added on: “The same reason you broke up with Allison. I didn’t want her getting ripped apart by a giant lizard, or being killed by hunters, or having her throat ripped out by a pack of Alphas.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I asked Derek to turn me. She didn’t agree to any of this.” 

Scott was still doubtful that Isaac ever understood the consequences of receiving The Bite when Derek had given him the hard sell, but he didn’t feel like bringing up that fact right now. It was already done, and they were moving forward trying to fix problems, not dwelling on the past. 

“So you broke up with her, instead of letting her face all this?” Scott posed, thinking aloud. 

“Exactly.” Isaac nodded. “She doesn’t need to get caught up in all this.” 

In a way, Scott agreed. 

When you had been at the school and seen him facing off with Alpha Peter Hale, barely knowing what the monster even was, you had tried coming up with ways to defeat the beast - you had tried to muscle in to help Scott and Stiles. But Scott had insisted that you belonged nowhere near such danger, and he had forced Stiles to cut off contact with you so that you wouldn’t end up hurt. And it had worked. So far, you hadn’t been hurt, scratched, paralyzed, or murdered. 

So far, even if it upset Scott to keep his distance from you, he had been right. 

But in that moment, something else came to mind. 

“Don’t you think it might be easier to keep her from getting hurt if you’re there to watch over her?” Scott wondered. “If you’re keeping her close? Protecting her?” 

“What if the thing I’m trying to protect her from is me?” Isaac argued, his throat quivering, causing his voice to shake. 

Naturally, there was that small thing in the back of his head - that terrified part of him that was afraid to lose control of his werewolf abilities and hurt you. But mostly, he was afraid that there was some bigger curse following him. Something that had gotten his father killed, and then Erica. Something that meant that the people who loved him didn’t stay alive for long. So if he could stay away from you, then he could keep you alive. 

“Look, I went through the same thing with Allison-” Scott began, but Isaac cut him off when he suddenly stood up from the counter, turning his back to Scott, abruptly ending the conversation. 

“Would it be okay if I took a shower?” Isaac grunted out, not looking at Scott. 

He was doing what he did best - running away. Even if it was on a smaller scale. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Scott said. “Are you gonna finish-?” 

Isaac grabbed his bag and bolted up the stairs before Scott could ask if he was going to finish breakfast. And Scott was left with a twinge of fear for both his friends, now worrying about you and Isaac. 

… 

You were more than upset that you had woken up alone after the night that you had spent with Isaac. You thought that the two of you were on the verge of finally fixing things. Yes, the world was weird, and dangerous, and difficult - but you thought that you and Isaac had agreed that you needed each other to get through it. 

But instead, he was running away again, trying to push you away. 

You tried calling Isaac at the phone number that you had for him, but it said that the number was disconnected. Which didn’t entirely surprise you - his father often broke his phones or disconnected his number on a whim to punish him (and then got mad at Isaac for not answering his calls). Isaac often had to buy himself a burner cell like a scummy drug dealer just to call you. 

But it left you with nothing to go off. You tried texting Lydia, Stiles, Boyd, and Allison to ask if they had heard from him, but you didn’t receive any responses at first. And then later, nearly all of them came back with something along the lines of ‘no’. 

A text you had sent to Scott finally got you an answer: 

‘Isaac is safe. You don’t have to worry. He’s staying with me.’ 

But any follow-up messages you sent to him about getting in contact with Isaac - having him call you or see you in person were all ignored. It did make sense. Scott was protective, and Isaac was in a fragile state. Scott was your friend too, and he was likely conflicted about ‘taking sides’. 

You considered going over to Scott’s place, but you knew that if Isaac caught wind of you, he would just run away again. And he needed a safe place to stay. He needed a safe spot to land, even if it wasn’t with you. 

You were glad that Scott could be there for him, even if you were upset that Isaac was shutting you out. 

‘Keep him safe.’ You sent back finally, deciding that you wouldn’t bother Isaac at Scott’s place. ‘I guess I’ll see him at school.’ 

You found yourself full of anxiety and worry for Isaac, and unsurprisingly, it even got to you while you were sleeping. 

… 

You were standing outside Isaac’s father’s house. Isaac himself never called it home, and you knew that he hadn’t lived there for months now. It was a place you had been banned from entering long ago - not by Isaac’s cruel and awful father, but because Isaac himself forbade you from stepping foot inside after a particular incident. 

The house had been vacant for some time. Almost like that of a haunted myth - standing on the street, dark and imposing. The only thing giving it life being the rumors of what had happened inside - ghostly whispers from the mouths of people who truly had no clue what Isaac’s father had done to him inside those walls. 

And now, it was on fire. 

The windows were engulfed with bright orange, deadly hot flames, the walls beginning to turn black from their once ‘pure’ white. It would have been a beautifully cleansing purge of a burning - if not for the fact that you knew Isaac was still inside. 

You stood in the driveway, frozen, terrified - waiting for him to emerge, staring up at the house in horror. And suddenly, you spotted him in one of the upstairs windows. Just a flash of a silhouette - curly hair and broad shoulders that could have only been him. 

“Isaac!” 

You shouted his name, and for some reason - he disappeared. In a blink, he seemed to be sucked in, consumed by the house. Just like he had been so many times before. Your stomach clenched in horror. 

“Isaac?!” 

Operating on pure adrenaline, you rushed toward the front door, not hesitating to shoulder it open even when you found it burning hot. You forced your way in, and soon, your eyes became watery and smothered by smoke. Immediately, you were overwhelmed by just how hot the flames were. A giant oven, ready to consume you. But still, you pressed on - because if you weren’t careful, it would consume Isaac too. 

Somehow, as the flames licked at your skin, you were unburned. You struggled to navigate through the haze of smoke, the house feeling boundless, larger than it should have been. Hope flashed through you when you saw Isaac’s figure standing in the kitchen, and you rushed toward him. 

“Isaac?” 

You called out again, your lungs struggling against the thickness of the heat and the smoke. 

The moment you reached him, he was gone again. 

Then - the basement door was open, and his footsteps thumped in retreat down the stairs. 

“Isaac - we have to get out!” 

Still, despite your own words, you followed him. It was never even an option in your mind to abandon him, even as the fire became more smothering around you and parts of the house began to crumble. 

Surprisingly, the basement was smoke free, and the heat wasn’t nearly as oppressive as you lowered yourself to the cool, in-ground poured concrete room. 

You took a deep breath, drinking in the cool air - but that breath didn’t last in your lungs for long. 

“Help! Help me! Please, please, please! Fuck, help me!” 

Isaac was crying out desperately. 

Your eyes jolted toward a box - a deep freezer in the corner with a large padlock on it. It was something Isaac had told you about before, but you had never seen it. It was shaking frantically as Isaac pounded on the lid, fighting against the padlock, trying to get out. You ran toward him, and when you tugged on the padlock - of course, it didn’t budge. 

“I’m gonna get you out!” You yelled, hoping he would hear you, having absolutely no guarantees to back up this promise. 

“Y/N?” He shouted, his voice curdled by tears. “Please, hurry! I can’t do this! I can’t - I can’t -!” 

You looked around frantically and spotted a rack of tools on the wall, and in moments, you had a small crowbar in your hands. Smoke began to flood down the stairs, and you found yourself choking on your breath, once again struggling to see. But you wouldn’t leave Isaac to die. You began swinging, your arms shaking and missing each time you tried to hit the entirely too small target of the lock. 

“Fuck, help! Get me out, Y/N! Please!” 

You grew more and more frantic as you heard Isaac’s cries from within the freezer - harsh sobs muffled by the layers of insulation, the sound of him beginning to suffocate on his own breath. Your hands shook as you finally broke the padlock with a heavy swing, but the freezer door was almost too heavy to lift open, and you were choking on more smoke - 

You woke with a wheezing breath, covered in sweat. You were panicked, confused - it took you far too long to realize that you were in your own room, in the safety of your own bed. You couldn’t get back to sleep again that night because you couldn’t call Isaac and be soothed by his voice. 

Every time you closed your eyes, you kept seeing the scratched up white box of the freezer. Kept seeing the way it shook as Isaac struggled inside of it. You wondered if your imagination was worse than the real thing. 

… 

It was horrible, but you spent the weekend riddled with worry, wondering what you had done wrong that had caused Isaac to run away yet again. You were upset that you couldn’t just talk it out with him. And when you walked into school on Monday, you were a sleepless, stressed out mess, hoping to corner him somewhere so that you could force him into talking with you. 

When you saw Stiles standing at his locker, you didn’t hesitate to swarm him, hoping that he could give you some information about what the hell was going on. (If not about Isaac, then maybe he could tell you more about the werewolf stuff.) 

“Stiles,” You visibly startled him when you appeared at his side - or perhaps he was just feeling jumpy. He dropped the book that he was holding and let out a yelp of pain when it landed on his foot. “Have you seen Isaac anywhere?” 

“I…” He trailed off, leaning down to grab the book, and then he gave you a suspicious look, as though inspecting you in his mind before he said something that you did not expect. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” You replied, unsure why everyone seemed determined to shut you out. “Can you just tell Isaac that I need to talk to him if you see him?” 

“Okay,” He nodded. “Weird that you need me to be a secretary between you and your boyfriend.” He mumbled, sarcasm ripe in his voice, as usual. 

You bit your lip, hesitating to speak. Of course, you didn’t want to tell him that you and Isaac had broken up. Especially if he didn’t already know. He would likely celebrate it with some dumb, cheesy dance. And you didn’t need that right now. 

“He lost his phone again.” You explained, satisfied that it was entirely a lie. “And you’ll probably see him in the locker room, so…” You trailed off. “Just let him know that I’m looking for him. Please.” 

You moved to walk away, and then he called after you, stopping you. 

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You paused on the spot, and hesitantly turned back toward him. You were rampantly annoyed that he supposedly didn’t want to talk to you but seemed determined to waste your time. But still, you turned back to him. 

He rushed to close the gap between the two of you, and lowered his voice before he asked: 

“Did you and Isaac ever-?” He cut himself off, seemingly hating the words that were coming out of his own mouth. He shocked you when he rephrased the question. “Are - are you a virgin?” 

Your hand twitched down by your side as you repressed the urge to slap him. 

Why the hell would he ask you that? 

“Ew! What? Ew!” You hissed, completely unsure how to react to the question. Against your own will, memories of your first time with Isaac came flooding back - back when your relationship had been young and sweet, and far less complicated. You weren’t sure if you were pleased or ashamed. “Stiles-! Ew!” 

You moved to walk away again, and he caught you by the arm - a tense, worried look sprouting across his features. You were more confused than ever, but your stomach twisted into a knot at how serious his eyes were, and you wondered if something was wrong. 

“Could you just answer the question, please?” He pressed, his tone oddly serious. “It - it could be like a life or death thing.” 

Strangely, you believed him. 

You heaved out a sigh, very hesitant to get into the details with him, and hoping that you wouldn’t have to speak too much about it. 

“I… I’m not a virgin.” You told him. You were surprised when he let go of your arm, and relief washed over him - the tenseness of his shoulders relaxed, and for a moment, his face flickered with calm. “What? Is someone in Beacon Hills hunting down virgins?” You joked, wondering what the hell he was so worked up about. 

Fear overtook his features once again, and you regretted your joke instantly. 

“Okay, I don’t wanna know.” You added on, finally taking a step back. You had your own problems to deal with. “Just - let me know if you find Isaac, okay?” 

Stiles nodded, and you escaped the conversation, confused and oddly thankful that in an unintentional way, Isaac had saved your life. 

You continued down the hall, and with all your tension and your mind distracted, you blindly bumped into someone. Books and papers went flying, and when you truly stopped to look, instinctively kneeling down to help pick up the mess, you were pleased to see that it was Allison that you had bumped into. 

At least it was someone who might be able to help you. 

“Allison,” You sighed with relief, giving her back the stray papers that you had picked up. “Have you seen Isaac anywhere?” 

She looked struck with panic at this question, and you feared that she might lie. She painted on a tight smile as she answered. 

“Um, no, I haven’t, actually.” She told you, her voice tense. 

You had a feeling that wasn’t exactly the truth, but you didn’t want to accuse her of lying. 

When she pulled her backpack off her shoulder, swinging it around to the front and began stuffing some of the fallen things inside, a glint of silver caught your attention. You knew that it was improper and nosy to be staring into her bag, assessing the contents inside, but when you noticed the miniature crossbow, tipped with a sharp arrow - something that definitely didn’t appear to be anything close to a toy, your curiosity easily overtook your politeness, and you couldn’t help but to reach inside. 

“Oh my god - is this for monsters?” You asked, holding up the crossbow in awe. 

The second that your finger threatened toward the trigger, Allison snatched it out of your hand and shoved it back in her bag, zipping it up and standing up with her books in hand. 

“That’s dangerous. You can’t just go playing around with it-” She huffed at you, and you stood up to her level. “Wait - did you say ‘monsters’?” 

“Yeah.” You replied. “I mean, guessing by some of the stuff that I saw on Stiles’s computer before he shut on my fingers, there’s more than just werewolves. And-” 

It had happened a few weeks ago. You had come up behind him, trying to read what he was looking at, and he had been quick to get your nose out of it. 

“How much do you know?” Allison asked, incredibly hesitant, narrowing her eyes sharply at you. 

Your breath caught in your chest. You knew that it would be terrible to let her know that Scott and Isaac were werewolves if she didn’t already know. 

“...How much do you know?” You prodded in return, hoping that she would give some kind of rundown of her knowledge first, so that you wouldn’t become a bad friend by giving them up. 

If anything, you hoped that she knew more than you did, so that she could give you some of the answers that you needed. 

“I know about Scott.” She told you. “I know about his… condition.” 

You let out a breath of relief. 

“Oh, thank god.” You said. Then, a terrible thought occurred to you - you wondered if she had found out about Scott the same way you had with Isaac. “Wait - do his eyes glow when he-?” You cut yourself off suddenly. “You know what, I don’t even wanna know.” 

Scott was your friend, and you didn’t really want to picture him and Allison in bed together. 

Allison gave you a strange look, clearly not cluing in to what you meant, and you were thankful when the bell rang overhead, signalling for the two of you to get to class, ending the conversation. She easily forgot to ask for clarification, so you didn’t have to explain yourself. 

“I have to go, but - meet me outside the library at lunch?” She posed. “We can have a real talk about… about everything.” 

“You know what? That sounds like exactly what I need right now.” You nodded, smiling at her. “Thank you.” 

She moved off, and when you turned in the opposite direction to walk to your own class, among the dispersing students, you spotted a very distinctive tall blond at the end of the hallway. No matter how many people there were - those piercing blue eyes staring you down - looking at you like you were the only person in the room - it caused your stomach to clench up. 

“Isaac,” You huffed out, more speaking to yourself, your voice quiet. 

“Isaac!” You shouted his name louder, uncaring of how many people looked at you or how insane you appeared as you shoved past people, rushing down the hallway toward him. 

By the time you got to the very end of the hallway where he had been standing, he was gone. You lingered there for a moment, breathless, wondering how he could have disappeared so quickly. And then, you sulked to class with curiosity and regret filling your system. 

… 

“Scott, Scott, Scott!” Stiles whined as she rushed into their first class, sitting down in his seat behind his best friend. 

“What? What? What?” Scott nagged in return, wondering what had gotten Stiles so worked up this time. 

“I don’t like this - in fact, I downright hate it. I hate this.” Stiles huffed, taking out his textbook and slamming it onto the desktop in front of him. 

“Hate what?” Scott pressed, still clueless about what Stiles even meant. 

“Your whole half-cocked plan to ‘keep Y/N out of this’!” Stiles announced sharply. “Look, I understand wanting to keep her out of danger - I really do get it. She’s my best friend, I really like it when she’s alive and breathing-” 

“I thought I was your best friend?” Scott argued gently, sounding slightly offended. 

“So not the point.” Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying - how do we know that she isn’t just gonna end up in danger anyway?” 

Scott slumped back in his seat at this, not responding. It was something he had considered. Especially with the recent murders - random people who had never seen it coming. Scott knew that Stiles was taking Heather’s death particularly hard, and probably projecting that danger onto you in his mind. 

“Like - the next three sacrifices might not be virgins, but it might be people with dead parents, or people who are really smart and pretty, or-” Stiles began ranting, only to be cut off again. 

“Wait - how do you know that Y/N’s not a virgin?” Scott asked, hating the words as soon as they left his mouth. 

“I asked.” Stiles replied. “Because I’m a concerned friend, I’m a good, concerned friend, and I want to keep her safe. But that’s aside from the point-” 

“Are you going on about your stupid virgin theory again?” Isaac asked, coming to sit down beside Scott. 

“He’s worried about Y/N.” Scott explained. 

Isaac smirked widely, looking over his shoulder toward Stiles. Even though he was upset that he was no longer your boyfriend, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to get under Stiles’s skin. 

“Well, I took care of that whole ‘virginity’ thing for her a long time ago. So she’s gonna be just fine.” He told Stiles, putting on his best cocky smirk and even giving a wink. 

He was putting up a ‘cocky asshole’ front even though his heart ached when he thought about you. His heart clenched horribly when back to the night he had first made love to you, back before he knew about werewolves, and monsters, and all the other bullshit - it had been sweet, and utterly perfect. He still remembered your sweet moans, the way your soft skin had felt against him… 

“Shut up!” Stiles snapped. 

He didn’t hesitate to throw his pencil right at the back of Isaac’s head - Isaac barely flinched at the contact, but still, looked back to glare at Stiles. 

“I so don’t need you bragging about screwing my best friend right now.” Stiles hissed. “You are the worst-” 

“You’re just jealous.” Isaac huffed. “Everyone knows that you-” 

“No, no!” Stiles rushed to cut off his words, arguing a bit louder now. “I am genuinely concerned about saving human lives and you’re acting like a total asshole, you-” 

“Can both of you stop it?” Scott asked, trying to stop them from escalating any further. “Both of you care about Y/N, you don’t have to act like this.”

Isaac turned to face the front, not speaking any further, and Stiles continued to glare at the back of his head with intensity. 

Stiles remembered what you had said earlier, and he did consider delivering your message, telling Isaac that you needed to speak to him for some urgent reason. For the most part, he did the things you asked of him without question. But he didn’t want Isaac going anywhere near you if he was avoiding you, and especially not if acting like such an asshole. So he would say that delivering your message had conveniently ‘slipped’ his mind. 

“Settle down, people!” Coach Finstock stepped up to the front of the class, causing everyone to quiet down. Stiles let out a groan and slouched into his seat. “I know you just had a long weekend of making terrible decisions, but it’s Monday, and the party is over! So shut the hell up and pay attention!” 

… 

When you made it to class, you were delightfully relieved to see Lydia. She was distracted as you sat down beside her, very intensely working on a drawing in her notebook. When you glanced over at it, you saw that it was a beautiful, detailed drawing of a tree. 

“That’s pretty.” You told her. 

“Oh thanks.” She grinned, looking up at you. “And you are not.” You rolled your eyes at this comment. “Gosh, bestie, you look so stressed.” 

“Gee, thanks Lydia.” 

You knew that you had left the house that morning in a rush. Naturally, being so sleepless meant that you had fallen asleep an hour before your alarm and then slept through it, leaving you in a terrible rush to get ready. You had thrown on the first clean sweater and jeans that you could find along with a simple pair of boots, and your hair was a mess. You didn’t have time for make-up, so the evidence of your stress was written all over your face - tiredness, dark eye bags heavy above your dull cheeks. 

“Lucky for you, I’m a great friend. And I always come prepared for emergencies such as this.” She told you, reaching to the back of her chair and digging something out of her bag. 

You weren’t surprised when she brought out a hefty makeup bag and plopped it onto your desk. You didn’t fight her as she began taking things out of it. Smaller ziplock bags with jewelry, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and foundation and concealer - in your shade and her own (and a super light porcelain shade that seemed to be for Allison). You smiled fondly at the fact that she had literally prepared to share with you. Even if you had been feeling lonely for the past few weeks, this did make you feel intensely loved. 

“Thank you, Lydia.” You told her, much more sincerely this time. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

Probably end up looking like a mess. Which, looking nice was low on your priority list at the moment - but it was nice that someone was taking care of you. 

“Of course.” She responded. “I can’t have a best friend of mine looking anything less than fabulous.” 

The two of you had become infinitely closer since that night at the Winter Formal when you had ‘saved her life’. Even if she didn’t say it out loud, she always felt like bringing you coffee, or doing your hair and make-up wasn’t enough to pay you back for it. 

She began picking up necklaces, lifting them up to try and match them to the simple floral crew neck sweatshirt that you were wearing, and then, she naturally had to ask: 

“So… why are you looking so haggard this morning, Y/N?” 

“Haggard?” You repeated, hating her choice of words. She shoved an earring and necklace set into your hands, and as you began to put them on, she opened the concealer and began dotting it underneath your eyes, but she didn’t redact her statement, so you moved on. “Well… something happened on the weekend.” 

“Would it have anything to do with a certain tall, blond-haired idiot?” She pressed, grabbing a sponge out of the makeup bag and beginning to blend out the face make-up, and adding on some light foundation. 

You weren’t too fond of her choice of words, but of course - she had easily predicted this from you. 

“Yes.” You sighed. You didn’t bother to lie. It would be nice to talk things out with her anyway. 

“Oh, I knew it.” Lydia beamed. “I knew you were still hung up on him.” 

She was one of the only people in your friend group who had known about you and Isaac breaking up. You had called and told her about it on the day when it had happened, and she had consoled you, and told you again and again how terrible Isaac was and how he didn’t deserve you. She had taken you shopping that day to try and cheer you up, but then she had gone to Rome with her parents on the break and you hadn’t heard from her much, so you spent much of the post-break-up-haze alone, just trying to get through it. 

She picked up the eyeliner pencil, and you were glad that you were forced to stay still, focusing on letting her do your make-up so that you didn’t have to rehash the horrible emotions you had felt with Isaac. 

“What? He’s done sticking his dick in that trashbag Erica and he’s begging you to take him back now?” Lydia asked, her voice full of venom toward Isaac, riffling through the make-up bag, looking for something else now. 

By the sounds of it, she didn’t know that Erica was dead. And even if she did, knowing Lydia, she might not be entirely sympathetic toward someone that she believed had broken up her best friend’s relationship, even in death. 

“It’s so much more complicated than that.” You breathed out, unsure how to explain it. 

“Oh come on, I can do complicated.” Lydia smiled, sweeping some light blush across your cheeks, knowing that it would make you look bright and lively and hide your stressed tiredness. 

Well, if she wanted to hear it - you would dish. 

“Isaac didn’t actually cheat on me.” You said, trying your best to be prompt. “He - he pretended to cheat on me. Because he didn’t actually want to break up with me.” 

“Oh, is that what he told you?” Lydia snorted, obviously not believing this. “The excuses that some guys will-” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s true.” You sighed. “It’s this thing that Isaac does - he gets really self destructive, and he wants to push me away, but he doesn’t actually want me to get hurt. So he makes up stories. One time he destroyed a watch that I bought him, but then he said that he broke it by mistake. One time-” 

“Okay, okay, but, why would he pretend to cheat on you?” Lydia asked, clearly confused. 

You knew that the whole ‘werewolf’ thing played into it, but you knew that you couldn’t tell Lydia that part. 

“Because he wants to push me away.” You said, trying to explain it without giving her all the details. “And it worked. For a while-” 

“Oh, so you’re back together?” 

Lydia cut you off, sounding downright disgusted by this. And you couldn’t blame her. Any best friend who had to see their friend go back to a boyfriend who had hurt them would hate to see it happen again. (And this was what it looked like from the outside.) 

“Is he really bothering you so much? Why do you look so stressed? Babe, if he’s doing this to your skin, he’s just not good for you.” 

She said, and then she moved on to fixing your hair - or at the very least, trying to. 

“My problem is that we’re not back together.” You told her. “I thought we were on that route, and we… we spent the night together.” You explained, weary that others might be eavesdropping. Lydia chuckled lightly at this, and nodded. “And when I woke up, he was gone.” 

Lydia gasped. “Unacceptable! God, that is just plain rude.” 

“Thank you.” You sighed. “That’s what I thought, but apparently that didn’t even occur to him. Even if he didn’t want to get back together, he could have at least stayed until morning to tell me that instead of just - leaving.” 

“Look, I know he has that whole ‘damaged bad boy’ thing going on, and that can be really hot,” Lydia said, and you couldn’t help but to think that had been her perspective on Jackson. It almost made you laugh. “But if he’s not good enough for you, you have to ditch him.” 

She told you this, and you couldn’t help but to think that it was genuinely good advice. She gave you a serious look and squeezed one of your shoulders lightly, clearly trying to drive the point home. 

“He is good enough for me.” You replied, your tone desperate, as though you were trying to convince yourself. “I’m just worried that he doesn’t know that.” 

Lydia opened her mouth to say something, but just then, Mr. Harris walked in. 

“Ladies! Unfortunately, this is a Physics class, not a beauty salon. So - put it away before I throw it in the trash.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes sharply at this, but began putting all of her make-up products away. When she showed you the results in the mirror later, you were entirely pleased. Even if she didn’t understand your relationship with Isaac, she definitely knew her way around a make-up brush.

...

I really hope that you enjoyed this first chapter!

This is officially the longest fic I have ever written, and I am kind of anxious about releasing another multichaptered fic, but I want this to be a fun experience for everyone.

For reference, the entirety of this fic is completed in my drafts, and I will be editing each chapter as I post it (and I hope to be working on other things in between posting these chapters too). But, as I have done in the past, to encourage people to comment and reblog, I am going to be posting each chapter with a goal for a certain amount of comments and reblogs to be reached before the next chapter will be posted.

I would like this chapter to get 5 Comments and 5 Reblogs before the next chapter will be posted.

This number is extremely conservative, considering that the original prologue fic got over 1,000 likes. And the whole point of me doing this is to encourage people who only leave likes on fics to comment and reblog. I will likely increase this number based on the interaction that this chapter gets.

I do not care if this comes from one or two people spamming reblogs and comments, as long as it shows enthusiasm toward the story. I do not care if you reblog the fic and you have 0 followers - the point is not to 'promote' the fic, the point is to show support toward the story. I want to know that people are excited about the story and have read it and are enjoying it before I post more, instead of just wondering if people left a like on it in order to come back and read it later and then it got lost in a sea of other fics for them.

Also, something I want to say about longfics in general because this is the first multichap fic I have written in a long time, and this is the longest thing I have ever written -

This is my first time writing a fic that is over 100k, and it was incredibly hard.

(I also feel fanfic writers rarely say this and rarely acknowledge this after sharing their art with you. It's fucking hard.)

It is incredibly hard to write a long, multichap fic that makes sense and not get burnt out while writing it. So if you are someone who reads a lot of long fics and doesn’t write often (or even if you do write) - please go back to your favourite long fic and tell the author how much you appreciate all the hard work they have put in. This isn’t just about me. This is about the worrying shift in fan culture recently where people take, and take, and take, and don’t really give anything in return. I ask on behalf of all fanfic writers that you learn to appreciate how genuinely hard it is to write something this long (or how hard it is to write a fic of any length in general) and don’t take fanfic writers for granted.

Please - comment more often on all the fanfics that you read and appreciate them more.

Anyway - have a great day, and happy reading!

“It’s too early, Finn,” She said, slightly whining as she yawned. “Why are we out here already?”

“It’s never too early to see the sunrise,” Finnick simply said, a grin on his face. “And you do look beautiful, by the way.”

Immediately, with another yawn, she turned a bright red. “Well, it’s reaping day, is it not?” She said, pushing back some of her hair that wasn’t tucked into the blue bandana she had decided to wear that day.

“I have to look good in case I get my death sentence signed.”

“Don’t say that..”

Finnick grabbed her arms, a frown on his face. The idea that his girlfriend could actually be reaped and possibly never come back to him, it broke his heart.

“They won’t reap you, I’ll make sure of it.” Finnick said, grabbing onto her arms. “Trust me.”

“I don’t want you to do that, Finn.” She said, sighing as she shook her head. “Don’t do it more than what you’re forced to do just because of me.”

“I’d go through hundreds of lovers a night, if it meant that you would be safe, and that you weren’t marked for death.”

She froze, a light blush reappearing on her cheeks at Finnick’s bold proclamation. Sure, they’ve been dating for a couple of years now, but Finnick never truly failed to make her blush, or to make her feel like she was the only one he could ever love.

And that last part was true, by the way. Finnick may have gone through hundreds of lovers in the past two years, but his heart only belonged to his Aurora, his morning sun, his rock, his everything.

Finnick pulled her closer to him, just as the sun began to rise. “See, the sunrise was beautiful, totally worth getting up early for.”

“Not for being up at four in the morning, Finnick.” She yawned, shaking her head as she looked at the sunrise. “I love the sunrise as much as you, but I rather have my eight hours of sleep on Reaping Day.”

That was a rather valid point, those eight hours of sleep that any child in reaping age gets on reaping day was so beloved, for the fact that it could be their last peaceful sleep ever. Some kids even tried sleeping in on Reaping Day to the point that Peacekeepers would have to enter the houses to make sure everyone was accounted for.

Finnick sighed as the bell near the Justice Building rang out, as if alerting them of the impending hours before what was sure a death sentence. He didn’t want his beloved Aurora to be ripped away from him.

Even then, she wouldn't be ripped from him, because Finnick would be forced to mentor her, and potentially watch her die in that arena. Like a cruel punishment despite doing everything that President Snow had told him to do.

But in reality, that just was how it worked being a Victor. Doing everything he said, only for it to be ripped away from you to remind you of your place.

She looked at him, a warm hesitant smile on her face. “I’m sure everyone’s excited to see you.” She said, chuckling at him.

Finnick groaned, tilting his head back and everything, like he was a child. Even though he still was, he was only sixteen anyways. He never had enough time to really be a kid.

“Then I’m forced to spend a week away from you, and be their property for as long as they demand.” Finnick murmured, leaning down to give her a soft kiss on her lips.

In a way, this might have felt like this was a goodbye kiss, just as the morning sun came out from the rocks that covered it. It was sort of symbolic in a way. Finnick didn’t know why, but it did to him in a way that he couldn’t explain.

As he pulled away, a bell rang out again, as if a warning sign to all that the Reaping was coming so ever closer.

Finnick could see some people start making their way out of their houses and towards the Justice Building where the Reaping was bound to take place in just little over an hour. He caressed her cheek gently as she looked towards the gathering crowd, and how nervous she seemed to look.

“It’s not going to be you.” Finnick reassured her. “Your name’s only in there like five times today, along with every other sixteen year old.”

Even if that much was true, the fact that her name was only in there five times should’ve brought relief to him, Finnick just couldn’t help the nagging feeling of something going wrong.

“You’re right, Finn,” She said, a more calm smile on her face upon being reassured. “It’s a small chance, it…it won’t happen to me just like that.”

“I’ll even make sure that wouldn’t happen,” Finnick said confidently, leaning in to kiss her forehead just as the final bell rang. The final bell was the final warning for everyone to go on their way towards the Justice building.

“We should get going, y’know how the Peacekeepers get on Reaping Day,” Finnick reasoned, sighing as he fixed his shirt slightly. “I don’t want you to get in trouble with them.”

At this, she looked at the Justice Building again, and some of the Peacekeepers were already making their way to the rows of houses for any tardy children and families.

“You need to really get going, they’re gonna have you on stage soon.” She said, biting her lip as she nodded towards the crowd.

“Okay, I’ll meet you before I leave for the Capitol,” Finnick said reassuringly. “Then we can have our morning meetups as soon as I can get back to Four.”

Their morning meetups were probably the best thing that had happened to Finnick, watching the morning sun with his Aurora, his water, his rock, his everything. That’s what mattered to him at the end of the day, being with the girl that made his life worth living after winning his games.

As they parted, Finnick had waited for the very last second to part their hands entirely. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his own personal morning sun, his sweet Aurora.

Finnick stood there, automatically turning on his persona of being a flirtatious and cocky teenager, when in reality, all he wanted to do was spend time with his girlfriend.

Finnick had really thought that the night before the reaping, just moments before the reaping, was going to last forever. In a way, he really, really, wished that it had lasted forever.

I kind of think I wanna make it last forever

But even then, the morning sunrise didn’t last forever, nor did the peace. Nor did Finnick’s reassurances.