Hold Me Closer | Stisaac (Serendipity, Book 1)

Chapter 11 (Revised April 2024)

So walk with me into the fire, come on, follow me
Close behind and we'll go where they won't know
Our secrets and sorrows
We should leave while we can and be gone by tomorrow
Can't you see how the second hand turns?
We should go while the candle still burns
- Thriving Ivory, 'While The Candle Still Burns'

The movie portion of the hangout ended abruptly.
Realizing that it was a horror movie was all fine and good—but when the third jump-scare in a row caused Isaac's face to become uncomfortably familiar with the back of Stiles's hand, and their matching shrieks of surprise drew the attention of every other audience member, they quickly decided it was time to go.
Not much later, they'd settled into an outside booth at Pastariffic, a downtown Italian restaurant known for bottomless cheesy breadsticks that Stiles couldn't have been more excited to consume. After all, most of the popcorn had ended up on the floor, and their candy had lay forgotten once they'd become, er, occupied, with other things.
Stiles grinned at the still-fresh memory. His veins twinkled a little bit as his brain shot out residual adrenaline, the intoxicating fear of being caught, and the intense pleasure that had encompassed all of him as he'd watched Isaac come undone.
Isaac thwacked Stiles on the top of his head with his menu, yanking him out of his reverie.
Stiles reared back, flailing his arms in a shocked "get away from me!" motion. Isaac thwacked him again, presumably for fun, judging by the mischievous smile cut across his face.
"Where did you go?" Isaac asked. "Your eyes went all glaze-y and you got this stoner smile on your face."
Stiles re-situated himself on his side of the booth and picked up his own menu, waving it threateningly at Isaac. "I was just thinking."
"I know, dummy. About what?" Isaac lifted his glass of water to take a sip.
"The taste of your cock in my mouth."
     Isaac choked and sputtered. Stiles hadn't even bothered to whisper. Water misted out of his mouth and covered the table. Thankfully, it had been a small sip of water, otherwise Stiles would've been drenched. Isaac glanced around quickly to ensure Stiles hadn't been overheard. Stiles laughed and emphasized his victory by whipping his menu up and disappearing behind it.
     "Asshole," Isaac whispered under his breath. Stiles was pleased to hear a smile in his voice.
     Stiles surveyed the ridiculous amount of meal options with a twist of his lips. He was tempted to text his father a photo of the menu and caption it "AND THIS IS WHY I ALWAYS GET CHICKEN STRIPS!!! THERE IS TOO MANY OPTIONS!!!"
     Isaac whistled. "Jesus. I didn't realize there were so many different types of pasta."
    "I honestly feel like I'm imploding just looking at these pictures."
     "Do you have any idea what you're getting?" Isaac asked in a tone that implied he was mostly asking so Stiles could make up his mind for him.
     "I think I'm going to get the roasted artichoke hearts and bruschetta."
     "Oh, God."
      "What?" Stiles titled his menu so he could look at Isaac.
     "Artichoke?"
     "What's wrong with artichoke?"
     "Do you even like artichoke?"
     Immediately defensive, Stiles rolled his eyes. "I—Why does everyone abuse me about my culinary decisions?"
     Isaac smirked. "You don't like artichokes, do you?"
     "I—they're—I mean, they're okay, they have—a taste, they—What makes you think I don't like artichokes?"
     Isaac shrugged, cruelly amused at Stiles's stammered, failed attempts at false justification. "You just do not strike me as an artichoke person. Or a calamari person. And, judging by how that discussion got settled, I'm pretty confident betting that you don't like artichokes."
     "Oh, really?" Stiles sat back and crossed his arms. Challenge accepted.
     Isaac faltered and narrowed his eyes. "Stiles, what is that look?"
     "What look? This is just my face."
    "No, there's a look. There's definitely a look. What are you up to?"
     "Not a thing, Isaac. Not a thing."
     Isaac sighed deeply, but smiled. He waved down the waitress as she passed by. A moment later, she swirled back around to them with a smile, took their orders, and flounced away, barely registering the face-palm Isaac punctuated with a groan when Stiles proudly ordered the artichoke dish.
    Stiles sat and stared at Isaac, waiting for him to lift his head back up. When he did, he immediately caught Stiles's gaze and broke out into a wide smile.
    "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
     "No reason. Just looking."
     Isaac chuckled nervously and bit his lip, quelling his smile. His gaze flickered to Stiles's hand as he subconsciously ran his fingers along the rim of the glass. Returning his eyes to Stiles's, his face now slightly reddened, Isaac licked his lips and shook his head.
      "What?" Stiles asked.
     Isaac shrugged. "I don't know. Just...happy, I guess. Today has been good."
      "It has."
      They stared at each other for a moment in comfortable silence.
     "So, uh..." Stiles began. "You said you moved here when you were fifteen, right?" Isaac nodded. "What's your favorite thing about living here?"
     "The air. I know it sounds weird, but it's so, like...fresh. And the weather is nice and it's so green. Even the cities are beautiful. Plus, living in Portland, there's always something to do, right? And I've made some good friends here. Made it a lot easier."
    "That's good to hear. Uh...do have any crazy ex stories? I feel like that's the obligatory, cliché thing we should talk about. Especially when, you know, my whole, uh, relationship skeleton kind of, like, exploded out of my closet already."
     Isaac took in a breath and straightened. "Uh, yeah. I mean, kind of. To be totally honest, the one relationship I had...it ended terribly, and it really fucking sucked, but it...I always thought that a breakup was supposed to be, like, the end of the world. Especially your first one. But it wasn't like that for me."
     "What happened?"
     "He ghosted me. We were together for two years. I came home one day and he was just...gone. I cried for two weeks. Wondered what I did wrong for six months. But I moved on. And it was a good relationship. I loved him. I missed him when he left. But I realized afterward that I don't think I was, like, in love with him."
     "That's terrible. I can't believe someone could do that to you."
     Isaac shrugged. "I was nineteen. It was years ago. It's okay."
     "I'm surprised," Stiles admitted.
     "About what?"
     "That you've only had one relationship. You just seem so...I don't want to say 'experienced' but I can't think of the right word. I guess I just mean that you're, like...the things you say. How you m-move, and touch, and—" Stiles shook his head, unable to extrapolate his chaotic thoughts. "You always say the right thing. And when you touch me, I—"
     Isaac rolled his lips contemplatively. Or maybe it was hesitance. "Stiles, none of that comes from experience. It comes from you. And h-how you make me feel." A red flush crept up his neck. He averted Stiles's eyes. "I've never done this before. Not like this. Do you remember when I told you that it seemed like you'd never been t-touched gently before? It was true—I did think that. But it was also me thinking about how I'd never been touched like that before. Never had the chance to touch someone else like that, or ever really wanted to...Until now. It's almost like I can kind of, uh, see myself in you, I guess? Or maybe it's that I just connect with you—I'm sorry. I'm rambling."
     "Don't apologize to me," Stiles said. "You don't ever have to apologize to me. I understand how you feel."
    Isaac looked at him hesitantly. "Y-you do?"
    "I feel the same way. Like you said...a connection."
     Isaac swallowed. Stiles suddenly felt like the world was moving beneath him as he locked eyes with Isaac.
     "There's something about you..." Stiles whispered. He didn't realize he was speaking aloud until it was too late. He sat back and pursed his lips. Too much, too much. That was too much. Way too much. This is too much. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to say that..."
     Before Isaac could respond, the waitress returned and unloaded their steaming plates. Stiles frowned at his artichoke-filled pasta. He'd never had artichoke before, but seeing the green-ish, rubbery-looking bits meshed in with his otherwise delicious looking plate convinced him that that had been a mercy.
     Isaac laughed. "I knew you didn't like artichokes."
     Stiles made and held eye contact with Isaac as he clumsily unraveled his silverware from the napkin sheath, snatched up the fork, impaled an artichoke, and popped it into his mouth. Isaac watched him, mouth hung open slightly in surprise. Ha! Stiles thought. Challenge accepted, challenge won.
     And then the taste of the artichoke exploded in his mouth and he immediately ceased all chewing, all movement, all breathing. He'd messed up. Oh, he'd messed up badly. Stiles widened his eyes, panicked. He couldn't just spit it out, right here, like an animal. But he really didn't think he had the strength to swallow it, either. Isaac watched Stiles fight out his mental battle, a hand covering his mouth to stifle laughter and an "I told you so" grin.
      Stiles sucked in air through his nose to prepare himself and resumed chewing as quickly as he could, enough to chomp the artichoke down to a swallow-able size. Mission accomplished, he gulped down the remaining lump and instantaneously washed it down with his entire glass of water. Able to breathe again, he gasped at Isaac.
     "Looks like that was tasty," Isaac teased.
     "It tasted like celery, asparagus and dirt had a baby inside my mouth. Never let me do that again."
    "I tried to stop you. Apparently, reason and warnings don't work on you."
      Stiles pouted his lips. "I do appear to be rather stubborn, don't I?"
     Isaac raised his eyebrows. "You say like it's actually a question, or a possibility. It's a fact, Sti."
      Isaac froze.
      "Did you just give me a nickname?" Stiles asked. "Did you just call me Sti?"
     "Uuuuh. Yeah, I guess I did. It just came out."
      "I like it."
      "Really?"
     "Yeah. No one's ever given me a nickname before. I mean, other than my name, which is actually a nickname."
     "'Stiles' is a nickname? For what?"
      "That's one skeleton that's going to stay dead and buried. Definitely not going there."
      "Oh, come on. It can't be that bad."
      "Oh, it's bad."
      Isaac stuck his fork into the middle of his pappardelle bolognese and shrugged with a cocky smirk. "I'll get it out of you eventually."
    "Is that another bet?"
    Isaac twirled his fork and scooped a bite of pasta into his mouth. "Mhm," he vocalized from his closed mouth. Swallowed. "And it's another bet that I'm going to win."
     Stiles looked down at his plate. He titled his head. "If I remove all of the artichokes, this is actually pretty good."
     Isaac licked a small bit of meat off his lip. "You can just order something else, you know."
     Stiles, on a mission, began to dig through his pasta with a butter knife and spoon, nudging the bits of artichoke onto his fork with the blade, and dumping them onto the side of the plate. "Nah, I'd feel terrible. I don't want to waste the food and money."
     When Isaac didn't reply, Stiles glanced up at him. Isaac was looking at him curiously, a slight twinkle in his eyes.
      "Stiles, what you like and what you want matters," Isaac pointed out. "It wouldn't be a waste of money for you to get something that you actually like. Plus, we could always give this plate to someone who needs it. Get it to-go or something."
     Stiles halted his mission and set his utensils down. "Why would you say that?"
     "Say what?"
     "What you said about how what I want matters. I just—I mean, we're just talking about pasta here, and that was like...weirdly...deep? N-not, like, 'weird' as in bad, but just, like, as in out of place, or whatever."
     "Uh." Isaac contemplated for a moment. "I just kind of get the sense that you're not used to, um...Being treated like you should be."
      "Like how?"
      "Like how you don't have to settle, or do something you don't want to do, or eat something that you don't want to just to please anyone else. Especially me. I'm sorry. It was just...the way you automatically started trying to find a way to...shrink yourself, like you didn't even realize it was happening, because you felt like you would be making trouble or something. I just w-wanted to say that, um, you're not trouble. Or a hassle. And what you want you should get."
     Stiles swallowed, feeling particularly minuscule, shoved under a microscope. To be seen and understood, maybe better than he could even understand himself, aroused many conflicting emotions that fought against each other in the depths of his stomach. He hated that he felt so transparent, embarrassed of himself. But, logically, he knew that being with Chris had changed him in many ways—some ways that he likely didn't even know yet, a thought that had only been proven by this exact moment.
On the other hand, the fact that someone could look at him and truly see him, comprehend his complexities, and contradict the ways in which his trauma had taken root inside his mind...it was exhilarating. Breathtaking. Heartbreaking.
     "This is what I was talking about earlier," Stiles said. "You, saying the right thing. I-I don't know how you do it."
     Isaac shrugged coyly. "I guess we can thank my uncanny and annoying talent for unfiltered verbal regurgitation of whatever pops into my head."
     "It's not annoying. It's refreshing. The honesty. The fearlessness."
     "Oh, there's plenty of fear. It's just that my brain and my mouth don't always seem to be connected when I speak, so..."
     Stiles laughed. The flickering, fickle shyness that reared its head whenever things got slightly intense drained out of Isaac's tightened shoulders and clenched jaw as he smiled at Stiles.
     Stiles eventually removed all the artichokes from the pasta, though he did order a baked ziti—he figured he would do a small kindness for whoever ended up with the dish. It took them a while to finish their food. Stiles found that talking with Isaac, seeing his smile, his laugh, even hearing about his work life, drowned out the rest of the world, delicious food included. He noticed things about Isaac (things that for some inexplicable reason stuck to his mind like glue), like how the pinky of his left hand raised whenever he ate or drank something, and how he held his fork between his pointer and middle fingers and cradled it with his thumb. He chewed an obscene amount of times before he swallowed and he almost always took a sip of a beverage after a bite.
     Isaac was odd. Perplexing. Eccentric. Stiles knew it, and had known it since the moment they met, but he found it more endearing every time he discovered something new. Every time a new mannerism popped up that could only be described in one word: Isaac.
     After finally finishing off their pasta, Isaac somehow managed to make room for dessert, ordering tiramisu and a vanilla gelato sundae. Not to be outdone, Stiles swallowed his "I'm so full, I want to burst" comments with each bite of dessert. They each ate half and then switched. By the time the sundae had rotated to Stiles, he licked more than he actually swallowed—after completing his transition to Violet Beauregarde post-blueberry state, he felt quite sure that one more actual bite would cause his implosion.
    Stiles noticed Isaac staring at him, his fork full of tiramisu, hovering halfway to his open mouth. Stiles slurped a scoop of ice cream off his spoon and held out his hands in a "what?" gesture. Isaac smirked and dropped his fork to his plate. The tiramisu rolled off the fork and over the edge of the plate.
     "Stiles, you are devouring that ice cream," Isaac said.
     "I—Did you just call me fat? Am I missing something?"
     "Oh my God, Stiles. No, I'm not calling you fat." Isaac laughed. "I'm saying—"
     "He's saying that you've essentially turned into a PornHub advertisement," a female voice quipped from behind Stiles.
    Stiles whirled around. A young woman, nearly lost beneath a curtain of strawberry-blonde hair that blew wildly in the wind, smiled at them, lighting up her big green eyes. She wore a tight black pantsuit and matching heels. One hand on her hip, she curled her fingers in a wave with the other. From her outfit to her stance, she was clearly and undeniably a woman of independence and power,
     Before Stiles could speak, Isaac did. "Lydia?" he said, sounding shell-shocked.
     "You should've told me you were coming here, Ice," Lydia exclaimed. "It could've been a double-date."
     "It's not—we're not—" Isaac stammered.
     "You're Lydia?" Stiles said.
      Lydia nodded at him and extended her hand. He shook it. "So you know about me?"
     "Yeah, Isaac talks about you a lot."
     "You, too. You're cuter than he said. It's nice to meet you."
      Stiles blushed. Isaac talked about him with his friends? Stiles turned back to Isaac, who looked positively short-circuited with pink cheeks, wide eyes and a creased forehead. Lydia came around the table and pulled Isaac into a hug.
     "What are you doing here?" Isaac whispered.
     "Jackson and I are out for dinner. I didn't know you were here, I swear."
     "Jackson is here too?" The color in Isaac's face deepened.
     "Yes, he's trying to find somewhere to park. Calm down. You look like you're about to have an aneurysm."
     Isaac rubbed his face with his hands and sighed deeply. Lydia leaned against the back of the booth seat and brought her attention back to Stiles.
     "How are you?" she asked.
    "I'm-I'm good," Stiles replied. "Great."
     "Oh, good! You guys saw a movie, right? What did you see?"
     Isaac turned a spectacular shade of scarlet.
     "Not totally sure, to be honest," Stiles said. "It was pretty boring. But the action really picked up about halfway through." Stiles caught Isaac's gaze and winked at him. Isaac promptly closed his eyes, crossed his arms, and slid down in his seat. "So, you're here with someone? Jackson? Is he your boyfriend?"
      Lydia nodded. "Yeah. We have a little date night every week, it's actually pretty great. This is one of my favorite places." She eyed the table. "You can thank me for the tiramisu, by the way. I'm the one who brought back leftovers a few months ago and got Isaac hooked."
     Stiles laughed. "Well, thank you, it's delicious. Do you want to join us?" Stiles gestured to the booth, prepared to scoot over or slide in next to Isaac.
     Lydia shook her head. "Oh, no, no. Thank you, but I'm pretty sure Isaac's about two seconds from blowing his lid like a High Striker at a carnival. I just saw him sitting here and thought I'd say hi. Embarrass him a little. Put your face to your name, you know?"
     Stiles glanced back at Isaac. "He is kind of turning into a melted tomato right now, isn't he?"
     "I am not ketchup," Isaac hiss-mumbled from behind his hands. He sprang up and twisted to face Lydia. "I love you, Lyds, but if you don't go away right now—"
     Lydia pushed away from the booth and raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry! But you talk about him all the time and I wasn't just going to walk by and act like I never saw you! As your best friend, it's my job to be nosy and embarrass you."
     "And she's doing a great job," Stiles interjected.
     "Thank you!" Lydia bowed at Stiles, stepped forward, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I like you." She glanced down the sidewalk. "Oh, Jackson's here. I'll save Isaac a conniption and introduce you to him later. Maybe, say, at Erica and Derek's wedding?" Lydia raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes at Isaac pointedly. "Well, you two enjoy the rest of your date!"
     Isaac jerked forward, seemingly prepared to launch the rest of the tiramisu at Lydia, who simply turned back to Stiles and threw him another wide smile. "It was nice to meet you, Stiles."
     Lydia stepped away, winked at Isaac, and waltzed away victoriously in her red-bottom heels. Stiles decided right then and there that he liked her very, very much. He took a sip of his water and inspected Isaac, waiting for his face to return back to a normal color. Evidently, Stiles wasn't the only one who enjoyed taunting Isaac.
     Isaac sighed. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea she would be here. Normally, their date nights are on Tuesday or Saturday."
     "It's okay. I like her. She seems great."
     "She is when she's not purposefully trying to send me to an early grave."
     "Oh, come on. It's only because you're easy to tease, and it's a lot of fun. I don't know about her, but I find your embarrassment incredibly fucking cute."
     Isaac pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again, but couldn't hide the smile that tugged at his lips. "Really? You, too? You like to witness my pain?"
    "No, but I do like to see you squirm." Stiles spooned up another glob of gelato and sucked it into his mouth, making sure to overuse his tongue. From the way Isaac flattened himself against the back of the booth, gripped the edge of the table, and clenched his jaw, Stiles knew that his message had been received.
     "You're evil," Isaac said.
     "Thank you." Stiles took great pleasure in his work.
    "You do know that I'll get my revenge some day, right?"
     Stiles grinned and licked his lips. "Counting on it."

You hesitate to start
You just stand there with your hands bare,
and wonder who you are
And you take too much to heart,
so you build another thrill
'til this one falls apart
- Thriving Ivory, 'While The Candle Still Burns'

After stuffing themselves to the point of explosion, Stiles and Isaac decided to drive to a lake park fifteen minutes away and work off the food. However, once they'd arrived, they chose to do the exact opposite. The park was gigantic, though most of it was parking lot and grass. A small play structure preceded a roofed picnic-barbecue station, complete with four separate grillers, attached sinks, and three long metal tables that could've easily fit forty people.
The park culminated in a cement downslope topped off with picnic tables that led to the water. A few large boulders scattered about the area, providing something for them to lean against as they settled down in the grass overlooking the lake. It was cold and dark, but there was enough moonlight to illuminate the water as it gently rippled and lapped against the cement.
Isaac sat back against the boulder. He gripped Stiles's shoulder. "Stiles, you're shivering."
Stiles jumped. He'd zoned out without realizing it, lulled by the water. Isaac was right—he was shivering. Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling the chill in his bones.
Isaac spread his legs. "Can I—? Uh. Do you...Can I hold you?"
Stiles ran his eyes over Isaac, his titled head, polite, questioning expression and the expanse of his shoulders. His long arms, already prepared to move, and his chest, rapidly rising and falling. Wordlessly, Stiles scooted over a bit, positioning himself in front of Isaac, and slid back between his legs to curl himself against Isaac's warmth. Isaac wrapped his arms tightly around Stiles's middle and did the same with his legs, squeezing Stiles between them.
Shivers wracked Stiles's body, more so from being close to Isaac than the cold now. This prompted Isaac to hold him even tighter and curl his arms up
underneath Stiles's arms to where his hands rested palms-down on Stiles's shoulders. He gently rubbed Stiles with his hands. Stiles closed his eyes and placed his arms and hands over Isaac's. He felt Isaac, his softness and hardness and his warmth all around.
Stiles slid himself down a bit to rest the back of his head against Isaac's shoulder. The world stilled, only the gentle ripples of the lake water and Isaac's slightly harsh breathing.
"Are you okay?" Stiles whispered, afraid to speak too loudly and shatter the fragile peace that had enveloped them. "You're breathing pretty crazy."
"Y-yeah," Isaac whispered back. He swallowed, the sound loud in Stiles's ear. "It's just..."
"What?"
"When you're c-close to me. It gets, uh. Hard to breathe."
Stiles blew out a breath and rotated himself to face Isaac, moving his arms up and around Isaac's neck. He kept his heavy eyelids closed. "Kiss me?" he breathed. Unsure why he'd asked, unsure why he sounded so goddamn desperate, and unsure why it felt like he'd die if, for some ungodly reason, Isaac didn't do it, Stiles licked his lips and swallowed.
Isaac's lips found his immediately—at first a soft graze, and then a harder, deeper push. Stiles pulled away after a moment, overcome with a sudden shyness, a sudden desire to disappear, a sudden lack of breathing abilities. He buried his face in Isaac's neck, resting his head at an angle just right so that he could hear Isaac's racing heart in his ear. It wasn't long before things grew fuzzy, and the sound of Isaac's heartbeat and breathing became all that Stiles could hear, his warmth all that he could feel. The sensation of safety, of peace, gently burned through his veins, foreign and terrifying and invigorating.
Sleep took him away.

Have you ever let another put out your flame?
Have you ever said, 'I'm a fool to stay in the same place?'
So we'll go where they won't know our secrets and sorrows
We should leave while we can and be gone by tomorrow
- Thriving Ivory, 'While The Candle Still Burns'

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Please leave any feedback that you have while reading! Thank you all for reading, commenting and voting :) Visit the story on AO3! My username there is @/burningahighwaytohades.

Find the soundtrack of songs that inspired, or coincide with, this work on Apple Music and YouTube.

Hold Me Closer, a Stisaac fan-fiction by iceandtanqueray: the soundtrack: https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/hold-me-closer-a-stisaac-fan-fiction-by/pl.u-55DPpLVh8kg86BW