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To be honest Stiles didn’t remember Isaac before he became a werewolf, maybe it was because despite being a ridiculous height Isaac always had a way of seeming smaller than he was. It was because of this that the first time Stiles had meet Isaac, it was a fleeting glance and then Isaac was gone. Thinking back Stiles would realize this but it wouldn’t matter, not now anyways, because that Isaac was gone, in his stead was a new Isaac, some parts better, his true self, he’d say but other parts, other parts seemed to rise out from the ashes of his former self. It didn’t matter to Stiles. All that mattered was that Isaac was his, would always be.
Isaac knew who Stiles was from the start, that’s why their first introduction was a quick one, who was he to the Sherrif’s son? Who was he to anyone? It would take a while but eventually Stiles would embed into his skin that he was someone, his someone for that matter. Long nights and lazy mornings would finally get that message to stick.
Stiles finds it ironic that the last time he sees Isaac is like the first time, in a fleeting glance. He also finds it ironic that when they met again for the first real time he would hate him and his cocky werewolf smile, the new gift making him an ass. The irony being that Stiles would hate him the last time he sees Isaac, he would hate not seeing that smile, and how he’d rather have that asshole Isaac than no Isaac at all.
It was quick and painfully slow all at the same time. One moment Stiles is waving over at Isaac from across the street, the next glance his beloved werewolf would be standing strangely still with a hand through his chest, his heart clutched in the stranger’s fist. Stiles considers that fleeting glance across the street as the last moment of seeing Isaac alive. The last real moment of seeing Isaac would be at the funeral staring angrily at the cold, unmoving face that lacked a cocky smile and a golden glow.