It really shouldn’t be possible to still be breathtaking with tears streaming down her face, and yet somehow, she is. She has her arms wrapped around her chest, holding her will-o-the-wisp frame together - she’s lost weight, just in the last few days, and it shows, particularly in her blacker-than-black dress, contrasting with the stark whiteness of her skin - and she can’t look at him for long without breaking out into another round of heart-wrenching sobs.
Finally, she gets herself mostly under control and tells him, “I just - I just need some time, okay? Can you just give me some time?”
He aches to hold her, to push her hair out of her face.
He holds himself back.
“So... I’ll call you in a few days?”
She sniffs and shakes her head. “No, I don’t think you understand, Scott. I need some time. I just can’t - deal with this right now. If things get better, I’ll call you, okay? But we can’t - I’m not.” She sighs, and it practically bowls her over, the force of her own desolation. “I need some time.”
“Okay. Sure. Whatever you need.”
That gets a trace of a smile, and then she’s gone, leaving only the scent of her skin and her mourning behind.
“It’s been three months, man. I don’t think Allison is ever going to make that phone call.” At first, it was agonizing, even more so than the first time they split. He spent hours staring at his phone, in between trying to take down Mr. Harris and bringing Jackson back into the fold. Eventually, some of the pain began to fade, soothed by the time he spent with the other werewolves. It was such a relief, being around people who understood something that had become such a core part of who he has become as a person. Stiles was there for him every step of the way, even though he had plenty of his own problems to deal with (the fight that broke out between them when Scott finally found out Stiles had been hiding his father’s losing his job was one of the ugliest the two friends have ever had, because they’ve always had each other’s backs, and he doesn’t need his best friend to protect him from the harsh realities of life - he just doesn’t).
“Maybe,” Stiles hesitates, then continues, “maybe it’s for the best. That whole Romeo-and-Juliet thing never works out that well, you know?”
Sighing, Scott nods and scoots back until his back meets his headboard. “Yeah. It’s really not that romantic, when you think about the whole thing. My mom loves that story, though.”
“And trust me, we will never be able to understand why. The mind of a woman is a terrifying and impregnable place, my friend.” They’re quiet for a while, the silence comfortable in the way it can be for people who have known each other most of their lives. Then, Stiles bites his lip and lets out a steady stream of air. “I guess now would be a good time to mention that I saw Allison out with Matt this weekend?”
Okay, yeah, that - definitely still hurts. But he’s not incapacitated by it the way he would have been before. He can deal. “I’m glad.”
In a tone that’s an odd combination of skepticism and hope, Stiles asks, “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m happy she’s happy.” And he is.
“That’s - very mature of you, buddy.”
Scott can’t fight the grin that wants so desperately to break out at this. “Thanks.” Then he remembers that there are other reasons to smile right now. “So, have I told you that Isaac wants to go to a concert this Friday?”
“Uh, no, you did not share this very important bit of news. How did this happen?” His best friend’s eyes are wide as he stares up from his place on Scott’s bed.
“He called me last night and told me he was going to a concert, but Erica backed out after he’d already bought the tickets, and he wanted to know if I’d be interested.”
It’s a very rare thing, Stiles being at a loss for words. He flounders for a while and finally settles on, “Well, good for you, dude. You deserve to party your little werewolf ass off for a night.”
Huh. From the way he’s talking, it’s almost as if Stiles thinks this is supposed to be a date, but that’s crazy, right? If Isaac wanted to go out, wouldn’t he have just asked? Instead of voicing his confusion, he simply says, “Thanks.”
He stares at Scott, an inscrutable look on his face. “Be careful, alright?”
“I’ll make sure no one gets seriously hurt.”
The look becomes somehow more intense, even as it becomes more difficult to read. “No, I meant you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Oh. It hits him like a lacrosse ball to the head, and he gapes at the spot where Isaac stood long after he should have headed to the Jeep with Stiles and Boyd.
Lydia-not-Lydia just keeps coming, even though Derek gnawed through most of her neck earlier, and Erica snapped one of her legs. Her blood-matted hair glows like fire in the light of the setting sun, and her eyes are void of life.
Scott braces himself, knowing that it’s entirely possible these spaces in between heartbeats could be his last on this Earth.
She’s a breath away, and then a blurred figure rams into her, knocking her off course. Scott leaps forward to help, scenting pack and pain and Isaac, and fearing he might already be too late.
Even with his increased body temperature, Scott feels the icy shivers of shock, and he clutches one hand around both sides of the thick blanket Dr. Deaton placed around his shoulders three hours ago. His other hand holds Isaac’s, their fingers tangled together in the way their lives have become recently.
“You have to get better, okay?” He chuckles in self-deprecation. “I’m kind of slow sometimes, and I just figured everything out, so you have to get better so that we can actually do something about it.”
There’s a slightly wet cough, and then two beautiful blue eyes stare up at him knowingly. “Do something about what, exactly?”
Scott leans forward and rubs their foreheads together, then nuzzles at the tender flesh of Isaac’s neck. Finally, he draws back a little, his gaze falling to Isaac’s lips, and then he’s closing that little bit of distance and whispering, “Something about this.”