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“Stop fidgeting,” Stiles says, grabbing Isaac’s hand.
Scowling, Isaac drops the napkin and shifts on his chair. He looks around warily and tugs at his bowtie. “We could’ve gone to a normal restaurant.”
“For Jackson’s standards, this is a normal restaurant.” Stiles squeezes Isaac’s hand softly, one eye on the entrance, the other on his way too nervous boyfriend. When Lydia told him the name of the restaurant, he was less than thrilled. He’s been to a fine dining restaurant a handful of times, but he’s more than aware that Isaac’s culinary adventures usually start and end with whatever Postmates has to offer. Stiles doesn’t blame him. He’s a big fan of it too.
Isaac turns his hand around and intertwines their fingers. “Bit pretentious, innit? I don’t understand why I need a suit to eat.” Fair point. Frowning, Isaac tugs on his bowtie. “Or this thi— Oh, finally,” Isaac mutters as Lydia and Jackson enter the restaurant. They both look amazing in their designer outfits, something Isaac seems to notice as well because once again, he tugs at his bowtie then tries to straighten his shirt.
Stiles squeezes his hand. “You look great. Stop. Fidgeting.”
“Hey, you.” Lydia beams, hugging Isaac briefly before kissing Stiles’ cheek. “Glad you could make it.”
“You clean up nicely, Lahey,” Jackson smirks, pulling the chair out for Lydia.
Isaac scowls and glances at Stiles. It’s not just the fine dining that’s gonna be exhausting for Isaac. Although they technically used to be pack, they’re not exactly friendly. Isaac hates Jackson for never saying anything when he knew what was going on in his house, and Jackson hates Isaac for torturing him during his time as a kanima. They’re having a shaky truce that mostly exists because they happen to date a couple of best friends.
“Your menus.” The waiter smiles almost a little too bright as he’s handing out cards and takes Jackson’s order of wine Stiles didn’t even know existed.
Stiles thanks him and flips his menu open. He’s instantly reminded why he doesn’t enjoy going to fine dining restaurants. Every single dish is way too complicated. Who needs truffle oil on their Parmigiano Reggiano cheese? Just give him tomatoes with mozzarella, and he’s good to go. Scrunching up his face, Stiles leans over to Isaac. “You wanna share that?” he asks, pointing at simple antipasti consisting of Italian cold cuts, cheeses, olives, and marinated vegetables.
“Yes,” Isaac whispers, nodding slowly. “Cold cuts sound great.”
They mostly sound normal. It’s the first thing Stiles read and knew what it is. He wants to eat, not study a spreadsheet to figure out what the fuck he’s putting in his mouth in the first place. Also, he’s a big fan of cheese and marinated vegetables. If he could, he wouldn’t eat anything else for a week. He’d probably do it if he weren’t living with Isaac. It’s really hard to only eat one thing when there’s a werewolf demanding food every five seconds.
Isaac flips the pages of the menu, furrowing his brows. A moment later, he leans closer to Stiles. “Do I like veal?”
“It’s like boring beef.”
“Oh.” Isaac hums quietly. “So, I’ll probably like it.”
“Probably, yeah.”
Lydia closes her menu and smiles at them. How does she already know what she wants to eat? This is a three-course dinner. How? Stiles is glad he managed to narrow his decisions down to pasta. But the menu has eight different pasta dishes, and then there’s still dessert. It’s gonna be a miracle if he makes a decision in under thirty minutes.
Especially with Isaac demanding his attention. “What are you going to eat?” His boyfriend scoots closer with his chair to take a peek at Stiles’ menu — because apparently there are different dishes on his.
Stiles lets out a breath. That’s a good question. “Probably something with pasta.” Although the Gnocchi dish sounds more than a little delicious as well.
Isaac hums. “What is guanciale? Do you think I like that?”
Jackson snorts out a laugh. “You guys realize how incredibly codependent you are, right?” Of course, the guy cannot resist adding his two cents — and by the look of betrayal on Lydia’s face, Jackson has made the same promises Isaac had to agree to earlier today.
Completely ignoring Stiles squeezing his thigh in warning, Isaac glares at Jackson. “So?” he asks, intertwining his fingers with Stiles’, “I spent a ton of my childhood hidin’ in my room or locked in a freezer. Were you really expectin’ I’d become a functionin’ adult? Or know stuff about—“ he waves his hand around overly dramatically, a small smirk curling around his lips “—this?”
Lydia covers her mouth, clearly not sure if she’s allowed to laugh.
Sighing, Stiles hides his face in his menu. He really doesn’t know if he should be proud or exhausted. Maybe proud. Yeah, probably… although there are healthier coping mechanisms. Then again, who’s he to judge? “Babe,” Stiles says, tapping a finger against the back of Isaac’s hand, “how about you focus on what you wanna eat?”
Jackson laughs and almost immediately stops again, rubbing his leg.
Way too pleased with herself, she folds her hands over the menu. “I can recommend the lasagna. It’s delicious.”
Stiles turns to look at Isaac, smiling softly at him. “You like lasagna.” If they figured out what Isaac’s going to eat, Stiles can finally struggle with his own dinner.
“I like your lasagna, Pretty Boy,” Isaac replies, pulling Stiles’ hand closer to him, thumb brushing over his knuckles.
Every time. Isaac calling him ‘Pretty Boy’ gets him every single time. Stiles clears his throat. “Then you’re gonna love this one.” He grins, squeezing Isaac’s hand tightly.
Grinning, Isaac raises their hands to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of Stiles’ hand. “Lasagna it is then,” he says in a low voice, lips moving against his skin. “I already got an idea for dessert too.”
Stiles flushes. “Let’s get through dinner first, okay?” Ducking his head a little, he glances at Lydia and Jackson, who both look as if they’re having the time of their lives. Of course, they are.
“Sure,” Isaac smirks, leaning back in his chair, “dinner first.”