Hold Me Closer | Stisaac (Serendipity, Book 1)

Chapter 23

Risky kid with no direction, in your orbit
The lakeshore, too cold for me
Too cold for me
Light blue, high-waisted
Damn, it's all too much for me
- Greyson Chance, 'High Waisted'

Bang. Gasp. "Fuck!"
    Stiles jolted awake at the commotion. He rolled over to face the sound. Isaac hunched over the foot of the bed, grimacing as he cradled a foot in his hands. Damp hair clung to the edges of his face. Still shirtless, his unbuttoned blue jeans hung off his hips. As Stiles shifted, he lifted his head, looking caught.
    "I'm sorry," Isaac said. "I'm late for work. I was trying to be quiet but this stupid bed-frame attacked me."
    Through a yawn, Stiles replied. "It's okay. I guess I should probably go then."
    Isaac dove into the bed, jostling Stiles. He groaned. It was too early for that.
    "What the hell did you just say?" Isaac said. Stiles stared at him askance. "You can stay, Stiles. I'm not going to kick you out."
    "I don't want to impose. I know you have to go to work."
    "And? If you want to stay, you can. Rest. Eat all the food in my kitchen. I don't care. I could pick up dinner on my way home. If you'll still be here..."
    Stiles didn't want to go home, but he didn't want to stay at Isaac's, either. He had already gone out of his way, opening his home to Stiles the night before. Stiles didn't want to be too much. Didn't want Isaac to feel used or trapped.
God, you idiot, he thought. Stop being a fucking hypocrite. How many times has Isaac stayed over at your place? You'd give him the shirt off your back if you had to. Don't act surprised that he would do the same.
    "I'll still be here," Stiles decided.
    Isaac beamed, eyes shining like sunshine on water. He crawled forward, planted a kiss on Stiles's cheek, and resumed his chaotic scrambling to get dressed. Stiles watched him calmly, contentedness nearly lulling him back to sleep. He closed his eyes for a moment and just listened as Isaac moved about the room, cursing about this, muttering under his breath about that. His existence was...comfortable. But that meant that Stiles felt a little empty once Isaac departed and left him with nothing but silence and the lingering scent of his sweet-smelling cologne.
    Stiles sighed. With nothing else to do, he decided to take a shower. He took his time, hoping to eat away at the several hours ahead of him that he had to find a way to fill with distractions. He found himself perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in an over-sized towel, much quicker than he'd hoped. Only twenty minutes had passed, but it had felt like much more. He threw himself back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, directing his attention to counting the particularly large bits on the stipple ceiling. Stillness terrified him. It would inevitably lead his mind to wander to places that he didn't want to go to.
    His phone rang, startlingly loud in the quiet. Assuming it was Jennifer, he instructed Siri to answer the call on speakerphone.
    "Hello?"
    "Hey." It was Isaac. Stiles lurched into a sitting position and flung himself across the bed, snatching up his phone from the bedside table.
    "What's up? Did you forget something?"
    A beat. "No, I...Just pulled into work. But I wanted to hear your voice."
    "Oh my God. Why are you so obsessed with me?" Stiles quipped in his best impression of Regina George.
    Isaac laughed. "I guess I just can't help myself...I, uh...I miss you already. I know I probably shouldn't say that but—"
    "I miss you too," Stiles admitted.
    "Waking up to you...Makes me feel like I'm on top of the world. Every time feels like the first time. It's always the best moment of my life."
    A vicious ache seared in Stiles's chest. He swallowed hard. He wanted to say that he felt the same. He wanted to say many, many other similar things. Instead, a joke fell out of his mouth before he could decide what to say. "We're not really acting casual, are we? Sounds like there should be a terrible Elvis impersonator with a couple of arcade machine rings on a stage behind us."
    "I'm sorry." Isaac's voice was low, an unreadable tone creeping into it. "I know we're just hanging out."
    "I didn't—no, that was a bad joke. I'm not even sure why I said it."
    "It's just a joke, right? Doesn't matter. Look, I have to go inside now. I'll see you when I get back. Get some more rest, okay? I know you need it. Sweet dreams."
    "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep without you here..."
    "I know the feeling."
    Isaac ended the call.
    Stiles stared at the phone as his contact photo disappeared and the home-screen took its place. A deep emptiness opened inside of his stomach. He couldn't tell if it was fear, loneliness, or both. Defeated, Stiles resolved to find something to do.
    He explored Isaac's apartment, hoping that something would strike out at him, but nothing did. It was a small, one-bedroom space, but cozy and well-organized. Nothing out of place. No dirty dishes in the sink that he could clean. Not even a speck of dust that he could wipe away.
    The walls were lined with precisely placed framed photographs of Isaac and his friends, and various art pieces that ranged from completely abstract to humorously random. The two largest pieces were hung just above the television, perfectly spaced. One was an image of a group of cats dressed as humans, gathered around a poker table. A couple of them were mid-drag on oversized cigars. The other was a painted portrait of someone that he instantaneously recognized — Isaac.
     Though it was a caricature, the stunning blue eyes and mop of curly dirty-blonde hair gave it away. Where most work of that nature was grotesquely exaggerated for comic effect, this one was sinister in nature. It possessed a striking balance of light and dark, a depth that Stiles immediately knew was Lydia's trademark style; he was not surprised to see her tiny  initials swirled in the bottom right corner. The colorful, abstract scenery behind Isaac juxtaposed the thick black line that stretched across his embellished face. His arms were crossed over his chest in an X. A beam of sunlight radiated from the area where his heart was.
    Stiles's heart warmed at the image. It summarized Isaac perfectly. Despite his trials, despite his pain, he remained a steady source of all-encompassing, golden light that permeated everything around him. Especially Stiles. Isaac saw darkness, was all-too-familiar with it, but refused to let it win. Refused to let it take him down. Refused to let it take Stiles down. He was everything that Stiles wished he could be. Everything that he wanted.
    But he could never be like Isaac. He could never have him, either. His warm sunlight was not meant to grace Stiles's barren wasteland.
    Stiles would only pull him into the shadows, burn out everything inside of him that made his soul beautiful.
    He would ruin him.