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“Please, tell me you didn’t set the house on fire again.”
Jordan tries and fails to hold in a laugh, almost choking with effort. Asshole . That extra portion of fries is certainly not going to him tonight.
Huffing out a breath, Stiles pulls the bag of takeout closer to him. “That was one time,” he retorts, scrunching up his face. “How long until you be here? Dinner’s getting cold.” He taps a finger against the side of the bag, hating the anxiety tugging on his too-tight skin. His father always makes it in time for dinner. The one time he didn’t, he ended up at the hospital. Despite having him on the phone, hearing he is alright, Stiles can’t fully stifle that fear.
His father’s voice softens. “I’ll be there in ten. Had to go collect a young man trying to break into the school.” Even though his tone is stern, there’s something fatherly in it, almost gentle. His dad might be the sheriff, but he’s always been fair — even to people who broke the law.
Stiles licks his lips, watching Jordan type up a report. “Is he cute?”
Jordan whips around to stare at him, while Tara, a lot more used to his shenanigans, howls with laughter at her desk. ‘What the hell?’ Jordan mouths, gaping at Stiles as if he’s suddenly grown a second head. At this point, he should at least be less surprised about the stunts Stiles pulls.
His question is followed by a contemplative silence on the other end of the line, and Stiles can only imagine his father staring at the guy in the rearview mirror. “My son wants to know if you’re cute.”
What.
Stiles flails in his chair. This time, Jordan laughs too. Shit . Shit, shit, shit . His dad can’t just tell a random criminal his son wants to know if he’s cute. That’s just— that’s so many shades of rude.
After another pause, during which the ground did not open up under Stiles — a pity, really — a timid voice responds, “I’d like to say yes, Sir.”
I’d like to say yes, Sir.
Stiles sinks deeper into his chair, resisting the urge to hang up or bang his head against Jordan’s desk. This is horrifying. Why would his dad do that to him? What was he thinking? No, fuck . What was Stiles thinking? A young man trying to break into the school. If that’s one of his classmates, Stiles will throw himself off the nearest cliff. Where the hell is his last brain cell when he needs it? But… but it can’t be someone he knows. This is fine. It’s fine. No student would voluntarily break into Beacon Hills High School. This place is a nightmare by day, only someone truly desperate would dare to go there at night.
Clearing his throat, Stiles tries to regain what little dignity he has left. “Ten minutes you said?”
His father chuckles, probably delighted his lesson — because that’s what this has to be — came to fruition. “See you in a bit, kiddo.”
The call ends, leaving Stiles alone with Tara and Jordan enjoying themselves a little too much for his liking. Yeah, he’s not going to live this one down. He grabs the bag of takeout, pointing back and forth between Jordan and Tara, who have become friends way too quickly, mind you. “I hate both of you,” he informs them, raising to his feet, “and I do not make Jagodzianki for people I don’t like.”
Jordan’s laughter dies instantly. “Hey, hey. Woah . Let’s not rush this.”
“Don’t fall for it!” Tara yells, pointing a pen at Stiles. “Don’t let him emotionally manipulate you.” It’s not fair she knows all of his tricks. Jordan should have to learn everything by himself just like everyone else here.
Sighing, Stiles turns around and heads for his father’s office. “I’m just saying.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jordan whispers in horror. “He wouldn’t, right?!”
It probably says a lot about him that Jordan’s agony over potentially losing his source of Jagodzianki makes him feel a lot better before he even enters his dad’s office.
— — —
Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Stiles walks up and down in front of the desk. The next few minutes are going to make or break him. Hopefully, this guy is just some random idiot from Devenford Prep or any other surrounding school who lost a dare. He’s gotta be lucky, right? For once in his life? It’s bad enough that Jordan and Tara bore witness to his sudden loss of every ounce of thinking capability he fucking owns. If he has to face someone from his school, he’s going to lose his mind. He’s going to switch schools. He should be able to get a scholarship for Devenford, right? Pursing his lips, Stiles pulls out his phone. He should probably look into that, just in case.
Movement in front of the office catches his attention. Isaac is standing there, both arms firmly crossed over his chest, looking awfully small despite his six-two. He glances around the station, his expression almost haunted.
Stiles tosses his phone on the desk and heads for the door then stops abruptly when he spots his father standing right behind Isaac, talking to Tara about something Stiles can’t hear. She points at the office, and Stiles barely manages to suppress the urge to drop to his knees in an attempt to hide from reality. Isaac. Isaac. His dad caught Isaac trying to break into the school, probably to get away from Coach Lahey — and Stiles wondered if he was cute. Stiles asked if he was cute. The cliff sounds very alluring right now. Sure, Isaac is very cute, but that’s so beside the point.
Groaning, Stiles collapses into the chair and covers his face with both hands. This is the worst.
The door opens and closes. One set of footsteps approaches and the chair right next to him scrapes over the floor. Well, that’s definitely not his father. “I think you need a better method of flirting,” Isaac says, sounding more than a little amused.
Stiles never wanted to be somewhere else as badly as he does right now. “I don’t usually do that.”
“No?”
Clearing his throat, Stiles looks up, more than aware that his cheeks are probably more than a little red. “No.” He glances at Isaac out of the corner of his eye. There are no visible bruises, and his shoulders are a lot more relaxed than upon entering the station. That’s probably a good thing.
Isaac quirks a brow. “So, you don’t usually ask your dad if the criminals in his car are cute?”
“I was bored.” It’s a weak defense, but it was at least partially the truth. “Also relieved to hear my dad’s voice. He’s not usually late, so…” Grimacing a little, he makes a weak gesture. Stiles doesn’t even know why he tries. He’s never gonna get out of this one. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? You don’t think I’m cute?”
Stiles squirms, gaze darting to the window in hopes to find his father somewhere. But his father seems to have disappeared. Traitor . “I didn’t say that.” Wait . Fuck. Can his mouth cooperate with his brain for once in his life?
“So,” Isaac drawls and leans closer with a smirk, close enough that the light moles and his cologne suddenly become very present in Stiles’ life, “you do think I’m cute.”
Licking his lips, Stiles looks at Isaac, whose eyes are very bright and very blue. He’d be lying if he said Isaac isn’t cute. But he’d also be lying if he said Isaac’s just cute. There’s no correct answer to this question unless he’s going to start embarrassing himself even further. He tugs on his shirt and grimaces. Where the fuck is his father? Dinner is getting cold, and he’s about to make an absolute ass out of himself.
“’Cause I think you’re cute.” Isaac taps a finger against his knee. “Have been for a while, actually. I just… haven't found the right time to approach you."
Stiles swallows, his throat painfully dry. "Approach me?"
"Talk to you." Isaac grimaces a little, almost as if that’s not quite what he actually wanted to say.
For a moment, Stiles isn't sure how to reply. They've been talking plenty of times. Well, mostly in a school setting, but still. They did talk. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. It doesn’t make any sense, not at all, unless…unless Isaac means something very different. Would he— no. Unless, unless maybe he does? Stiles licks his lips "You mean…” he trails off again, fidgeting with a string of his hoodie, and takes a deep breath, “You mean, ask me out?"
Isaac blinks.
Oh shit.
Stiles opens his mouth, but of course, now, his entire being has forgotten what talking is. His brain is stuck in absolute horror. He did misinterpret it. Right? Right . Fuck. How could he be so fucking stupid? How could he misread that? He can’t be that far gone.
“Would you…” Isaac runs a hand over the nape of his neck, furrowing his brows slightly, and tugs on his earlobe, eyes directed at something “would you go out with me?”
“I—“ Stiles swallows, ducking his head a little. “Depends. Are you asking me out?” Licking his lips, he turns to look at Isaac again, noting the other’s gaze dropping to his mouth. Fuck . He’s not misreading this. He can’t be misreading this. “Please, tell me you are.” The words are out of his mouth so much faster than Stiles would’ve liked. In fact, he wished he would’ve never said them in the first place because this is just fucking embarrassing, but his mouth clearly has decided that now is the time because he keeps talking, “because, I do very much think you’re cute, a— and… and, like, hot, and—“
And suddenly, his mouth was occupied with something else.
Isaac is kissing him. He’s— fuck . His heart lurches in his chest, and Stiles grabs Isaac’s shirt, curling his fingers tightly into it, pulling him closer. This is everything he’s wanted since moving on from Lydia. He’s been dreaming about kissing Isaac more times than he can count; and now it’s happening. It’s happening. Isaac is cupping his neck too, and Stiles wishes he could climb on the other boy’s lap.
But they’re still in his dad’s office.
Clearing his throat, Stiles pulls away. He licks his lips again and grins, tugging on the collar of his shirt.
“So,” Isaac says, brushing his thumb over Stiles’ jaw, “you kiss a lot of criminals?”
Stiles puts a hand on Isaac’s cheek and pushes him away. “Shut up,” he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Why were you at the school?” Furrowing his brows, he places his hands on Isaac’s knee. “Is… are you okay?”
The smile on Isaac’s lips dies slowly. “My dad heard I’m planning on moving out in two weeks. He, uh… he didn’t take it very well.” That’s exactly what Stiles was worried about. Isaac just wanted to get to a place to stay the night, to escape from his father’s wrath. It isn’t a secret at all, but it is the first time Isaac is hinting at something his father is doing to him.
Cupping Isaac’s hand, Stiles smiles. “Stay with me.”
“I—“
“I mean it.” Stiles squeezes his hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “You’re 18. You can stay where you want to. We have a guest room too if that makes you feel more comfortable.”
Isaac smiles and kisses Stiles again. “Thank you,” he whispers against his lips.
“Always.”