Hold Me Closer | Stisaac (Serendipity, Book 1)

Chapter 13 (Revised April 2024)

Have you ever known a love that's lived on after
A heart's last beat or a lung's last sigh
Well, I think I found it
And I wonder what it means to say forever
- Kris Allen, 'When All The Stars Have Died'

    The next hour passed rather quickly, much to Stiles's surprise.
    He got the chance to settle into his surroundings more when Isaac and Scott went to work passing out the cameras that Isaac had brought. He sat and watched them bustle about the room, talk and laugh with the other guests. Lydia had either downplayed the guest list to try and ease Stiles's anxiety or her definition of "small gathering" was interestingly different from his own; about thirty other guests trickled in by the time the cameras had been passed out.
Being apart from Isaac twinged his anxiety, but the exposure lessened it over time. It made him realize that, truly, there was nothing to fear. Nobody knew him, but nobody cared and somehow, that made it easier. He had to remind himself that he'd been invited, and this was a hurdle he would've had to jump sooner or later. Preferably, not at a large, personal gathering of people he didn't know, but he'd come to decide that it was best to get it over with.
     After passing out the cameras, Scott and Isaac returned to the table. They'd barely sat down before a loud crackle reverberated throughout the room, followed by an explosion of dance music. Several shouts of surprise, muffled by the music, arose. Stiles was too shocked to scream; instead he jumped, or, rather, intensely twitched, feeling much like a human bouncy ball. Lydia shrieked and nearly dropped the bottle of tequila she was holding, but saved it at the last second, hugging it against her chest like a precious jewel. Isaac's arms flailed, one of which collided with Stiles's chest and hung there, his clenched fingers burrowing into the fabric of his shirt. The round table shook violently, assaulted; Stiles assumed that one of Isaac's legs had been the culprit.
     Scott, always the most composed and coordinated of them all, tumbled out of his chair with a scream, his swinging hands managing to careen his empty chalice across the table. Lydia, apparently a psychic, swiped up her chalice with a millisecond to spare.
    In mere seconds, the chaos came and went. The volume of the music dramatically decreased and the guests resumed the celebration, now uneasily laughing and poking fun at each other. Many had witnessed Scott's incredibly graceful back-dive to the floor, and their cackling carried across the room for several minutes afterward. An older woman had sank to her knees, shaking with laughter so intense that it was silent, and streams of tears rolled down her cheeks.
    Lydia swigged some tequila from the bottle, shrugged, and then dumped some into her chalice and took a sip from that too. "I hope Erica's using the playlist I helped her with, otherwise this is going to be a loooong day."
    Stiles, finally able to breathe again, released a snort of laughter. Now that the electric shock of terror had disappeared, his body was now able to recognize the hilarity of the situation. Isaac, drawn back to Earth by Stiles's laughter, released his grip on the now-wrinkled shirt and chuckled an apology with a futile attempt at smoothing out the wrinkles.
    Scott slowly re-emerged from the floor and climbed back into his chair, face red with shame. He snatched the bottle of tequila from Lydia's grasp as she continued to nurse her full chalice and took a large gulp of his own.
     One by one, the other guests trickled out into the empty spaces of the ballroom and began to dance. After downing half of her chalice, Lydia swirled out onto the dance-floor herself, drink in hand.
    Stiles watched as everyone threw themselves about to the beat of the music. Anxiety unfurled in his stomach yet again, pulling him back to his high school days of hiding in the corner while his classmates had fun.
    Fuck it, he thought. Not this time.
    He grabbed the tequila from Scott and took a large swallow. His eyes teared up at the burn, but he quickly took another drink anyway. Isaac watched him with a raised eyebrow and an open-mouthed hint of a smile.
"I know you can handle your liquor," Isaac said, "but I've never seen someone take that much tequila at once without some sort of bodily earthquake or 'Oh God, I just fucked up' terror in their eyes."
"You know I don't choke easily," Stiles blurted. He hadn't meant to say it, but he went with it anyway and winked as if it was all going according to plan.
Isaac smacked his lips and cocked his head. "Might have to change that later."
Stiles nodded in surprised approval; he hadn't thought that confident, blunt, flirtatious comments were in Isaac's comfort zone. "Ah, somebody's getting a little big for their britches, aren't they?"
"I think 'big' is a fair statement." Isaac smirked.
"Oh, wow!" Stiles laughed. "What got into you, Mr. Innuendo?"
Isaac shrugged. "I don't know. Just feeling good, I guess. Comfortable."
A hard rock song shattered the dance-pop vibe blaring through the speakers that hung from the ceiling and sat in the corners of the room.
Isaac gestured to the speakers. "Have you noticed how unconventional this night is going to be?"
"I'm getting a pretty good idea, and I like it."
Scott made a disgusted noise in his throat. Stiles and Isaac turned to him in unison—they'd both forgotten he was there. "Get a room. Or don't, because you two are adorable, but also, like, disgusting. So, I'm gonna go—"
     Scott slithered out of his chair and gyrated onto the dance floor to join Lydia. She swayed and twirled, holding her chalice up high and steady to prevent spills. Stiles doubted there was enough left in there to worry about.
     "You like this song?" Isaac asked, gesturing at Stiles's foot, which had begun tapping of its own accord.
     "Yeah, I love it."
    "Do you want to dance?" Isaac's voice was steady and sure, but his eyes had taken on a particularly terrified widening. His fingers battled with each other in his lap and Stiles saw him swallow hard.
"Uh, no, I'm good. You look about as panicked as I feel."
Isaac chuckled uneasily. "Oh, I'm utterly terrified. But I do want to dance with you."
Stiles smirked shyly and offered Isaac his chalice of liquid courage. Isaac downed the rest of it in three gulps and erupted into a coughing fit. A tear streamed down his face. Isaac quickly wiped it away. Stiles laughed.
"And now we wait," Stiles announced.
"I know this is awkward but I hope you're having an okay time, at least."
"I'm having a good time," Stiles reassured him. "Definitely better than okay. It took a bit but I'm adjusting, you know? Lydia helped, too. She's really sweet. And you. You're helping."
"Really? How?"
"Just by being you, I guess. It helps when you're near."
Isaac tried to hide a smile but he couldn't, so instead, he reached out and laced his fingers through Stiles's.
"I know I keep saying this," Isaac said slowly, eyes fixed on their interlocked hands, "but I really mean it when I say that I don't want to pressure you. And I know a wedding is, like, a terrible idea when you're getting to know someone and it's supposed to be casual or whatever, but...Something that Lydia and Erica said made me change my mind a little bit. That's why I decided to ask you. They said that the worst thing that could happen is that you say no, and that it wouldn't change anything. And they pointed out that being around them might make it easier for me to...Well, Lydia's precise wording was 'remove the stick from my ass.'" He chuckled.
"So, what you're saying is that asking me was entirely selfish?"
Isaac nodded. "I mean, yeah, I guess. I kind of thought that if I can make myself more comfortable that it might help make you more comfortable too. It seems like we feel the same about a lot of things, so..."
Stiles squeezed Isaac's hand. "You're definitely right about that. And it does help. But I'm not going to lie to you. There is pressure. Not necessarily from you, but the whole thing in general, you know? But that's coming from me, from...everything that I've been through. I overthink things, and then I overthink the fact that I'm overthinking things. It's not pressure to do anything I don't want to do. It's pressure to do things that I want to do."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that...you make me feel things that I've never felt before, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. And I'm not sure what it means. And I hate feeling out of control, like I don't know what I'm doing or what I will be doing later. I hate the uncertainty. But I like you. I can't lie about that, or pretend anymore. And to be honest, that scares me. I don't know what we are. If we're anything. But I know that I don't want to ruin it. And that's the pressure, I think."
    "Stiles, there's nothing you could possibly do to push me away. No matter what happens here. No matter what we become. Whether we end up as friends or m-more than friends. You don't have to b-believe me right now, but you will eventually."
    Stiles swallowed. He quickly pressed a kiss to Isaac's hand before he could think too much about it and released it. He stood, his head a tiny bit fuzzy from the tequila. "I'm buzzed. Are you buzzed? Now's our chance."
    Isaac smiled up at him and stood as well. They stared at each other for a moment, neither one particularly willing to lead the way, despite the tequila-smoothed edges. Stiles bit the bullet and headed toward the dance floor. Isaac followed, hands in his pockets. Stiles glanced back a few times to be sure Isaac was still there and that he wasn't marching himself into embarrassment all alone. Each time, Isaac's gaze was still on him.
     Scott and Lydia had maneuvered themselves into the middle of the floor. Lydia clutched her chalice with one hand and Scott's shoulder with the other as they flung themselves around. Scott resembled one of those giant inflatable noodle-people that thwacked around outside auto lots. Lydia, however, was the epitome of grace, despite her heels and intoxication. With her eyes closed and head back, she danced with abandon.
Stiles and Isaac stood there in the throng of bodies like statues. Stiles had hoped that the alcohol would loosen him up enough to let go, but he either hadn't consumed enough or hadn't given it the proper time. His stomach churned and knotted. Heat crawled over his skin, sweat beaded over his forehead.
    Isaac didn't seem to be faring much better; he stood much like Stiles, though his shoulders were bent forward and in, as if he were trying to shrink himself. His eyes were on the floor. Stiles could almost hear the panic alarm in his head.
    That's enough, Stiles thought. You can do better. You can be better.
Stiles took a deep breath and stepped toward Isaac just as the song changed — hard rock became slow and soulful. Lydia used the change of pace to take another swig from her chalice.
Stiles leaned into Isaac's ear. "I've got you," he whispered.
Slowly, he cupped his forefinger and thumb around Isaac's chin and lifted his head up. Isaac's wide eyes confirmed what Stiles already knew, because he felt the same: Isaac was absolutely petrified.
Stiles slid one arm around Isaac's waist and curled his other hand around the nape of his neck. Close enough to feel Isaac's breath ghost across his face, Stiles began to sway from side to side, gently pulling Isaac along with him. Several inches still separated their bodies. Stiles made no move to close the gap—he would allow Isaac to take the next step when he was comfortable. Their gazes remained locked, and after a moment, signs of relaxation trickled through Isaac. His terrified, doe-wide eyes settled back to normal. His shoulders loosened and sagged as he opened his chest.
     A silent, physical release of breath poured out of Isaac as he brought his hands to Stiles's hips and matched his motions, sinking into the swaying rhythm of his own accord. In that moment, the world around Stiles truly faded away, an event that only Isaac seemed to be capable of causing. All that existed for him was Isaac. His captivating blue eyes that still shone even in the dim lighting. The heat and firm muscle of his shoulders under Stiles's hands. The confusing clench of his jaw that occurred when he was concentrating, nervous, or aroused. Stiles had the urge to lean over and kiss it. It took him a second to realize that he hadn't just thought about it, but had done it.
    Isaac licked his lips, and finally broke their eye contact to roam Stiles's face instead. In one fluid movement, Isaac closed the space between their bodies and rested his forehead against Stiles's, closing his eyes. Stiles wanted to do the same, but more than that, he wanted to memorize how Isaac looked this close up, how his labored breaths puffed out of his nose and mouth to drift over Stiles's suddenly chilled skin.
     Stiles brought his lips to Isaac's in the lightest of brushes. Isaac's fingers curled into the fabric of Stiles's pants, his mouth left open, teased and wanting more—another situation that Stiles left for him to rectify. Stiles hovered his lips over Isaac's, just enough to barely graze the flesh, to let him feel his breath.
     Isaac groaned softly. "Evil, I swear. I can play games too."
     Stiles's laugh was cut off by the press of Isaac's insistent kiss. He moved his fingers to the back of Isaac's head, wading through his soft curls. Isaac deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue out just enough to tickle his bottom lip. After a moment he finally slid his tongue into Stiles's mouth and then quickly withdrew it, pulling his head away just enough to kinda-sorta look into Stiles's eyes.
     Stiles, bested at his own game, accidentally let out a scoff of disappointment. Isaac grinned.