He was way too tired to get into a fight, not without Stilesto back him up, so he went passive-aggressive instead. He’d swayed out into thehallway to figure out who the culprit was, then he’d grabbed a piece of paperand angrily written: I don’t care how hotyou are, you’re not allowed to be so noisy this late at night!

He’d stuck it on their door, pounding on the tape for goodmeasure, then had crawled exhaustedly back into bed. And, a few minutes later,when the noise stopped, Scott promptly slid into a deep sleep and didn’t thinkabout it again.

It’s possible, however, that he may have miscalculated where, exactly, all the noise was comingfrom. And he’s only coming to that conclusion now because Hot Scarf Guy, hisnext door neighbor, is standing at his door with note in hand, eyebrow cocked.

Scott had thought the time he’d come home drunk and tried tolet himself into Hot Scarf Guy’s apartment would be the last embarrassing thinghe did around him, but apparently that’s not to be.

(He’d originally just referred to him as Scarf Guy, purelyin hopes of warding off a ridiculous crush—Scott knows his type, okay? But whensaid crush had become unavoidable—he’d been incredibly nice about Scottpractically breaking into his apartment—he’d given in an added the hot. It was only fair.)

“You know it wasn’t me throwing that obnoxious party,right?” he says, gently waving Scott’s note.

“Oops?” Scott says, and despite the mortification he’sfeeling, he can’t help noticing just how good his neighbor looks. “I’m reallysorry.”

“It’s cool. I just didn’t want you to think I was…using my hotness to get away withsomething,” he says with a little smirk. “And I did go across the hall and tellthe actual noisy people to keep itdown, so it worked out in the long run.”

“Oh, thanks,” Scott says shyly, hoping his blush isn’tshowing.

“Yeah, I felt bad. I could hear your sad, sleep-deprivednoises—though admittedly they were very similar to the sad, drunk noises youwere making while slumped against my door the other week—and I figured I coulddo something to help.” He cocks his head. “What had you so wiped out, anyway?”

“Do you want to see?” Scott asks eagerly, bouncing a littleon his toes.

“Um, sure,” Hot Scarf Guy says, looking a little taken abackat the enthusiasm.

“Come on in,” Scott says, gesturing to the corner of hisliving room. “Have a look over there.”

Nodding, he starts to make his way over, then stops midway,turning to look back at him. “I’m Isaac, by the way,” he says. “I meant tointroduce myself earlier.”

“I’m Scott, nice to meet you,” he says, grinning brightly.Judging by the way Isaac’s eyes widen, it’s a little too sunny. Stiles isalways joking that he’s going to blind people with his smile.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, blinking a little, then turns backtoward the box in the living room.

Scott follows him, and gets to watch the expression onIsaac’s face completely transform when he sees what’s inside.

“Oh,” he says softly, crouching down. “Can I pick one up?”

“Sure,” Scott says, nodding encouragingly. “They like to beheld.”

After he’d gotten some rest, Deaton had called and asked ifhe’d be willing to take a few of the weaker puppies and look after them for alittle while. Scott had eagerly said yes, since he had two days off anyway.

“So are you, like, a pet sitter, or something?” Isaac asks,gently scooping one of the puppies up.

“No, I work for a vet,” Scott says. “And these guys had kindof a rough delivery, so I’m taking care of them and letting the mother rest.That’s why I was up so late the other night.”

Isaac nods, then waits until Scott has a puppy of his owncradled against his chest before saying, “So you think I’m hot, right? Planningto do anything about that?”

“I, um,” Scott says, nervously stroking the puppy’s back tobuy himself time. “Do you want me todo something about it?”

Isaac smiles, and he looks almost too good to be real. “Youcould ask me out on a date,” he says, suddenly fascinated by his puppy’s tinylittle paws.

“Would you actually go—” Scott starts, because sometimesthings take a minute to really sink in. “Um, I’m going to be looking afterthese guys for the next few days, but we could go on a date after that. If youwant?”

Isaac looks thoughtful for a moment, setting his puppy downin the box and picking up a different one before saying, “Well, if you can’t goout,” in a neutral tone.

Scott feels his heart sink. Was that his only chance withIsaac? Did he blow it already?

“Then we’ll just have to order in!” Isaac finishes brightly,and Scott heaves a little sigh of relief. If Isaac wasn’t going to be cool withhim spending time taking care of puppies, he probably wasn’t going to be goodboyfriend material anyway.

“That sounds great,” he says happily, then notices Isaacglancing between him and the puppy he’s holding. “What is it?”

“Oh, just trying to figure out who’s cuter, you or thepuppy,” Isaac says teasingly.

Scott is almost certainlyblushing now, he can feel the heat of it in his cheeks. He’s also probablysmiling like a dope, but he can’t really bring himself to care.

Isaac leans in close, and softly brushes his lips acrossScott’s. “It’s definitely you,” he says.

As far as he can tell, he’s the only one up in the catwalks; all the mechanics and technicians that usually fill them have abandoned their posts, are probably down below soaking in the revelry. Not that Isaac blames them; there’s nothing for them for them to be working on, after all. Every last one of the cavernous Jaeger bays is empty, their normal occupants either abandoned in the bay or ripped to pieces or blown to bits in another dimension.

Hopefully, they'll never be occupied again.

He has to believe they’ll never be occupied again, that what happened today is a permanent fix, because otherwise everything they did, all the people they lost-

(and that is not a line of thought he wants to pursue right now, because while he’s only been at the Shatterdome for two weeks, barely enough time to get to know anyone, he knows that they were good people, people with lives and hopes and dreams for after the apocalypse was thwarted, people who deserved to live)

-was for nothing.

Abruptly, the sound of nearby footsteps thudding against metal breaks through the music, and he pulls his gaze away from the deep shadows of the bay that previously held Alpha Wolf, which is now entombed in the murky waters of the ocean. Most of the overhead lights have been switched off, so it’s a few moments before Isaac can actually make out the figure of someone coming towards him. He gets ready to defend his absence from the party below, starts combing through excuses in search of one that won’t just lead to more invasive questions that he doesn’t feel up to answering.

Thankfully, before he actually has to decide on an excuse, he recognizes the figure, and he relaxes back against the sturdy railing.

“I figured you were up here,” Scott says, smiling as he leans up beside Isaac. There are three stitches holding together his eyebrow, and butterfly bandages dot his forehead and cheeks. Two of the fingers on his left hand are bound together in a splint, and dark bruises march up and down both arms, extending from his wrists to where the sleeve of his tee bisects his bicep.

All things considered, the fact that he’s in one piece, that they’re both in one piece, is something of a minor miracle.

“How was the party?” Isaac asks, sliding down to rest on the ground with his legs stretched out and his back pressed against the railing. His ankle bone is bruised, and although the painkillers that were thrust upon him in the medical bay are top-grade, it’s probably best to get off it sooner rather than later.

“Skipped over most of it, actually,” Scott says, sinking down beside him, a wince momentarily passing over his face. “Last I saw, they were hoisting Jackson around on their shoulders.”

“I’m sure he’s absolutely loving that,” Isaac mutters.

“He probably won’t even remember it tomorrow, if he keeps drinking like he was.”

It’s the last either of them say for what feels like hours. Isaac isn’t sure when Scott’s head drops down onto his shoulder, but he follows suit by carefully lowering his own head down so that he doesn’t end up resting his ear on any of Scott’s battle scars. Their hands end up entangled together shortly after, and Isaac finds himself entranced by the way their fingers slot together, like they were solely designed for that purpose.

“It’s so quiet,” Scott eventually murmurs, the words washing over where Isaac’s collarbone branches away from the collar of his t-shirt. The Shatterdome is still echoing with noise; if anything, the music and yelling has only increased in volume, but Isaac knows what Scott means.

Without the drift connecting them, without Scott sharing every single inch and hidden corner of his brain, his own mind seems painfully quiet and empty.

“It is.” If he concentrates hard, closes his eyes and does his best to block out the sounds of revelry filling every inch of space, he can still feel something connecting his mind to Scott’s. Something thin and tenuous, like a loose thread gently unraveling from a well-worn sweater.

He wonders how long they have before that thread reaches its end and tears away for good.

He wonders what that will change between them. If that will change anything.

He hopes with everything he has that it doesn’t. Scott’s the first person in years that he’s been able to depend on, and even though they’ve known each other for all of two weeks, he’s not sure if he knows how to go back to being on his own again.

Even if he was interrogated, he wouldn’t be able to definitively answer which of them leans in first; what he knows, and what matters most, is that their mouths meet and immediately meld together like they’ve been doing so for years.

They don’t stay leaning against the railing for long; Scott slowly slumps over, until he’s stretched out on his back, and Isaac is obliged to follow him. Thankfully, the catwalk is more than wide enough to safely accommodate them so, once they’ve moved safely away from the edge, they pick up right where they left off. The only difference is that, this time, Isaac is slotted between Scott’s legs, and Scott’s right hand is fisted tightly in his hair, tugging slightly whenever Isaac shifts.

He was starting to think that his hair was getting too long, but he’s definitely reconsidering that notion.

The rough metal of the catwalk scrapes against his knees, even through the thick fabric of his pants, and he can’t imagine that it feels comfortable against Scott’s undoubtedly bruised back. But when he pulls away for a moment, before he can even part his lips to ask, Scott shakes his head fiercely.

“I don’t want to move,” he says, tightening his fingers in Isaac’s hair. “I’m fine. Kiss me.”

That’s all the assurance Isaac needs to dive back in.

Part of him thinks that they should be talking about this, trying to work through things before they step over a line that they can’t come back from, but that part only remains in the forefront of his mind for a few moments. The last few weeks have been an absolute exercise in control, in keeping himself carefully between the lines, so that he didn’t jeopardize the mission. The drift was no better, because for every errant thought that slipped through, every memory of his father or every half-thought out musing about what Scott would sound like choking back a moan, there were dozens, hundreds more that he had to keep hidden away.

He’s tired of holding himself back.

The others down below are celebrating their victory with rivers of booze.

Isaac is going to celebrate by letting himself go.

His own various aches and pains let themselves be known across his body as he rolls his hips down against Scott’s, but he does his best to ignore the urge to pull away when Scott’s fingers press into a bruise or trail over a line of fresh stitches. When he braces his forehead against Scott’s to take a breath, the butterfly bandages holding Scott together scrape against his skin, and he silently apologizes for any pain he’s causing before he dives back in.

By the time Scott’s fingers yank open his button and zipper, Isaac already feels like he’s walking along the edge, whether it’s from the adrenaline that has yet to totally wane from his system or from the sheer fact that he’s alive, they’re both alive, still living and breathing and able to touch each other.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to last,” he laughs against Scott’s swollen mouth, words trailing into a gasp as Scott’s fingers slide past the elastic of his boxers.

“I was going to say the same thing,” Scott grins, arching his hips into the line of Isaac’s thigh. “There’s always later for that.”

Later.

Hearing that word pass from Scott’s lips officially shuts down the last remnants of concern in Isaac’s mind.

When Scott’s fingers wrap around Isaac’s cock, Isaac’s breath catches in his throat. He wants to return the favor, but for a few moments, all he can focus on is the feeling of Scott’s calloused palm, the slick slide of his thumb slipping across the head of him. It’s just on the right side of overwhelming, and he thrusts his hips into the loose circle of Scott’s fist, bites back a groan as his mind finally sparks back to life. He sits back slightly, putting more weight onto his knees, so that he can better access the zipper of Scott’s pants. His fingers, normally so sure of themselves, fumble and skitter, until he finally manages to get the button open with a frustrated growl.

“Take your time,” Scott says quietly, resting his free hand on Isaac’s face. The metal of his splint is warm against Isaac’s cheekbone and he twists to press his lips to it, another silent apology.

The real thing can wait until later.

He gets Scott’s zipper down with more ease, yanks his pants down his hips until he can get his hand inside. It’s far from a great angle; warning twinges of pain shoot through his wrist, but he ignores them.

What’s a little more pain, after all?

In the end, he doesn’t have to worry about finding a way to work through a wrist cramp; before the warnings can turn into the real thing, Scott spurts onto Isaac’s fingers with a sudden gasp. His head drops back against the catwalk with an alarmingly loud thud that seems to echo. The grip of his fingers around Isaac’s cock grows tighter, and he twists his wrist in a unfamiliar way that makes fireworks go off behind Isaac’s eyes.

He comes with his teeth pressed into Scott’s bottom lip and the taste of blood in his mouth.

Who the blood belongs to, he couldn’t say.

Once he’s gotten his breath back, he wipes his hand off on the thigh of his pants and carefully lowers himself to the ground at Scott’s side, wincing as every ache and pain that he’s been ignoring makes itself known with a vengeance, painkillers be damned. Scott wipes his own hand off on the hem of his shirt before carefully tucking himself back into his pants. There’s a fine sheen of sweat covering his face, and when he rolls his head to face Isaac, so close that their noses brush together, a smile more radiant than the nuclear heart of a Jaeger splits his mouth.

“We’re here,” he says. One of the bandages dotting his forehead is slowly turning red, the skin underneath freshly split open. “We’re here.”

Now that the adrenaline has started to melt away, replaced by pain and rational thought, Isaac is ready to admit that, at some point, they’ll have to talk further. They can’t just ignore what happened today, all of it; they need to mourn for the people they lost, find their place in a world no longer on the edge of disaster, figure out how they fit together without the drift to tie them together.

But all of that can wait for tomorrow.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, dropping one hand to Scott’s chest, right above his pounding, beautifully strong heart. “We’re here.”

he and scott are a lot closer than he ever imagined them being, honestly. he knows more about scott than he really wants to, given his own intense need for privacy, but he could probably compete with stiles in a “who knows scott better” contest and put up a pretty good fight. for the most part, they just spend a lot of time together playing video games when stiles is out with malia, or teaming up against the rest of the pack in trivial pursuit because somewhere along the line, scott discovered he had an elephant’s memory when it comes to pop culture facts. it’s great. isaac has a real best friend, one he can confide in if he ever feels the need, and there’s a weird comfort he finds in that.

it’s allison’s death that changes everything.

isaac has nightmares almost every night of her, of all the things he could (and should) have done to save her, because she was important, she was a warrior, she was everything this pack needed to survive and just like that she was gone, and it didn’t make sense and it wasn’t right and isaac would have gone in her place in a heartbeat because lydia, and scott, even stiles, needed her more than they needed him.

he works through it, though, because he has to be strong for scott, who’s mourning and trying to figure out how they all work without the one person who anchored them all together, who needs someone he can lean on who can be there more often than melissa, who’s picking up more and more shifts at the hospital lately because they’re short on staff.

so one night, after isaac wakes up from another nightmare, he hears scott whimpering down the hall in his room. isaac knows he won’t sleep again for the rest of the night, so he tip-toes down the hallway and wanders into scott’s room. it’s heartbreaking, really, to watch someone so strong get lost in the throes of his own nightmare, probably reliving the moment where he felt the last of allison’s life drain from her body, so isaac does the only thing he can do.

he climbs into bed with scott and pulls him close.

derek told him once that close proximity can be comforting to werewolves, that in this respect they aren’t that different from actual wolves. it takes long minutes, but scott eventually settles into isaac’s embrace, breath evening out as he falls deeper into sleep. the problem is that scott is lying on isaac’s arm, and isaac really doesn’t want to wake him up, so he just kind of...stays there.

the next morning, when isaac is pouring himself a bowl of serial in the kitchen, scott offers a quiet thanks and reaches for an orange. and that, isaac thinks, is the end of that.

only it doesn’t stop happening.

it’s not even nightmares after a while, they just keep falling asleep together in scott’s room like sharing a bed with your bro when you’re both 17 is totally normal. and maybe, say, for two guys in a relationship with each other this might be normal, but scott and isaac aren’t in a relationship, so why does isaac keep sleeping here?

it doesn’t seem to bother scott, though, because he never asks about it, there’s no good-natured ribbing about how isaac uses him as a safety blanket, no subtle hints that maybe he should go sleep in his own room, nothing. scott never mentions it, not once, so isaac just sort of takes it to mean that scott doesn’t mind, and if isaac is being honest, he really doesn’t mind it either.

it’s when, a few months later, he finds melissa in the spare room - isaac’s room - with paint chips that he remembers that he hasn’t slept in here in at least two weeks.

instead of asking what she’s doing in there, planning on re-doing his room for whatever reason, he marches down the hall to scott’s room, shuts the door, and asks him what they’re doing.

“your mom is repainting my room, scott.”

he frowns. “why?”

“because i haven’t slept there much in the last few months?”

“ah.”

“so please,” he begs, “please tell me why i keep sleeping in here, and if i should keep sleeping in here, before i have to ask your wonderful, wonderful mother what the hell she’s doing in there thinking purple walls are a thing that’s going to happen?”

scott seems to give the question considerable thought, if the ten minutes it takes him to respond says anything.

“i’m just going to state some facts, okay?”

isaac makes a sweeping gesture and says, “please, i’m all ears.”

“you’re not seeing anybody. i’m not seeing anybody. we’ve been strictly sleeping together for...a very long time. so, is this, like, a thing?”

“scott, bicycles and t-shirts are things. what you’re talking about is much more than that.”

“that’s the thing, isaac!” he says, exasperated. “i don’t know what this is, you don’t know what this is, so maybe we should just figure out this thing together?”

and, shockingly, that makes perfect sense to isaac. does he have romantic feelings for scott? he doesn’t know. could he? he doesn’t know that either. all he knows is that scott is comfort, scott is safety, and maybe, scott could be something else too. 

“fine.”

scott smiles and waves him over. “fine. fine’s good.”

“you’re an idiot.”

“but you’ll cuddle me anyway,” he replies, resting his head on isaac’s shoulder.

puts up Christmas decorations in November

hmm.  Scott would probably just start with a sprig of (fake) mistletoe but he’d do that right after Halloween.

sends inappropriate texts and SnapChats while the other is in a meeting

Isaac would definitely send them to Scott, at the most inopportune time (like when Scott is at work, or in class, or trying to get homework done across the hall…)

makes Sims just to drown them in the pool

probably Scott; him and Stiles probably played the Sims when they were growing up, so I feel like it’s something Scott would go back to every once in awhile.

brings the other coffee at work

Isaac, although I feel like Scott would be the one bringing Isaac coffee in the morning in order to lure him out of bed.

takes gym locker room selfies

I feel like they’d be more likely to take pictures of each other in the locker room than selfies, but I feel like Isaac would definitely be sending some of his inappropriate texts and snapchats from the locker room!

signs them up for tennis lessons and a salsa-making class

Scott!  because stuff like that would be a fun distraction and it’d be something new and Scott would probably try to make some salsa to bring home for his mom :) 

forgets to charge the other’s iPad and leaves it dead on the coffee table