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When summer shifted to fall, the leaves changed colors and the temperature dropped, his nightly visits increased. A once a month occurrence shifting to multiple times a week. It never bothered you, at this point it was like clockwork.
You’d lay in bed, eyes shut and breath evening out as the window creaked open. It’d been oiled on and off for years, yet never remained silent. The low squeal filled the room causing your heart rate to spike.
With your back to the window, you’d wait in anticipation as the sheets behind you rustled. Your bed shifting under the weight of another body and cold hands wrapping around your waist. The comfort that radiated from the touch easing the tense shoulders of the boy behind you.
Isaac hated confinement, he never closed the window upon his entrance. On rushed nights, it’d stay wide open, allowing the chill to seep into the room. On regular nights, he slide it back down leaving a 2 inch crack open. An out if he needed it, a little reassurance.
You knew all too well about his trauma and what he’d endured until the death of his father. Prior to the murder, he’d spend his afternoons at your house. Trying to avoid the scrutiny of his father, the rage and bitterness the man exuded. He’d sit at your kitchen table eating snacks and doing his homework, curl up on the couch and watch movies with your family until it got dark out.
Once he got his job in the cemetery, his visits decreased. Of course you’d still see him at school, sit together at lunch and study in the library, but he wouldn’t walk you home anymore. He’d wave and head down to start his shift. You’d spend your afternoons alone, going through the motions without him.
However, on cold nights in the wee hours of the morning, you’d wake up with him in your bed.
The first time had shaken you, fast asleep when a thud came from your window. Upon startling awake you were certain that night would be your last. All combat and safety knowledge was out of your mind as you froze like a deer in headlights. You took stuttering breaths as you stared into the pitch black of your room trying to decipher what made the sound. In the near silence you could make out a sound… sniffling. You inched closer to your lamp, cringing when your bed squeaked under the movement.
“Please don’t…” you recognized the voice, halting your hand just above the switch.
“Isaac?” You called into the darkness, sliding out of bed. You could feel the chill taking over the room, the soft glow of the moon emanating from the open curtains. The light hit his hair, indicating his curled up form next to your window. You couldn't make out his expression, face still cast in shadow.
After nearly an hour of consoling him and promising not to be mad, he’d let you turn the light on. You’d known his home life wasn’t the greatest after the passing of his brother, but you never thought it could’ve been this bad.
His lip had been split, blood staining his pale skin and night shirt. He had scrapes along his knuckles and bruises up his arms. His nails were bloody and broken down, painful to even look at. You had no idea of the torment he’d gone through, wouldn’t find out the extent of it for months.
The two of you tiptoed to your bathroom, you forced him to sit on the edge of the tub as you scrounged up your meager first aid kit. It wasn't a lot, mainly left over from when you were a kid, but you had gauze and figured it was better than nothing. So you cleaned him up, disinfected and bandaged what you could. You didn’t ask any questions, didn’t pry despite desperately wanting to.
You knew Isaac, knew he would shut down and run if pressed. So you’d rambled on about a show you’d watched, filling the room with soft chatter until you were done. The porcelain of the sink tinted a soft pink, the bin littered with bloodied tissues.
When you had offered Isaac a new shirt, one you had stolen from him, you saw how tired he’d looked. The bags under his eyes more prominent in the warm glow. You knew you couldn’t turn him away, couldn’t send him home just to take more of a beating.
“Come to bed.” You’d whispered, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. His soft hair curled around your fingers as he leaned into the touch. You could see the transformation. His shoulders relaxing like a weight had been lifted, the breath he’d been holding coming out in a sigh of relief. He looked so broken, so young and scared in the palm of your hand.
You had tried to give him space. Tried to get him a glass of water and a blanket so you could sleep on the floor beside him. But he wouldn’t let you, hand grasping your wrist firmly when you got to your bedroom door.
His hands were trembling, eyes wide in concern. Before you could get a word out, he’d gently pulled you to his chest. The two of you climbed into bed, keeping a respectful space between the two of you.
Since that night it’d become a routine. Not necessarily whenever it was bad, not always needing to patch him up. Sometimes he just needed to get out of the house, the stifling building that seemed so picturesque from the outside. He would climb the tree, slide the old window open, and climb into bed.
On rough nights he’d tap on the window first, making sure you’d be awake and not scare you like the first time. You’d patch him up and go back to bed. On gentler nights, he’d simply slide under the covers. Burying his face into the back of your neck.
You never talked about it, didn’t bring it up in the morning. At first he’d climb back out of the window, leaving just as the sun came up. But a month into the sleepovers, the fire alarm had sounded in your room. A false alarm, though it woke the entire house in the process. Your parents came into your room to switch out the batteries when they saw the two of you in bed together. Groggily rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
Your parents had sat you down that evening, deciding that was the time to give you ‘The Talk.’ When you tried to explain you weren’t dating, that it was platonic, they simply nodded along. Ignoring the sentiment.
That however made it easier to convince Isaac to stay for breakfast. To start leaving more clothes and supplies at your house. You’d made him a go bag for emergencies, but for the most part he had everything he needed at your place. His toothbrush sat in the holder next to yours, his toiletries sitting on the shower ledge. Hooks side by side with your towels. A side of your closet dedicated to his clothing, knickknacks filling your shelves. He’d slowly made your home his own.
Then he went AWOL. After his father died, you didn’t see much of him. He started sitting with Boyd and Erica, his attitude shifted drastically. The shy boy you’d spent years in love with, gone practically overnight.
You wondered when he’d gotten in with the wrong crowd, why he’d changed so suddenly.
Two months of avoidance, ignored messages, no eye contact, leaving rooms when you entered them, there was a tap at your window. Isaac crawled through with familiar ease, a giant cut running across his shoulder. Blood seeped through the ripped sweater he’d been wearing.
You made to call an ambulance when he stopped you, saying he just needed a place to lay low for a while.
Despite everything in you urging to disagree, you allowed it. Watching with careful eyes for any sign he was worsening. But he didn’t. The sweat on his skin evaporated, his ragged breathing came to a steady rhythm and his shoulder stopped bleeding.
He let you look him over, wipe away the blood and bandage him up when he calmed down enough.
When you sat down on your bed, he’d tried to leave. Tried to crawl back out of the window.
You had so many questions, unsure of when you’d be in such close proximity to him. Without thinking you’d lunged forward, wrapping your arms firmly around his waist denying his exit.
You didn’t budge until he agreed to lie down, kicking off his shoes and crawling under the covers. It didn’t matter that he was still in jeans, that the movement had caused his bandage to loosen and blood to stain your sheets. He was safe and sound in your bed.
He’d fallen back into routine, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your neck.
In the morning you’d made him shower. Change into a fresh pair of clothes and checked his wounds. To your surprise, there was nothing. Not even a scab or scar left in the wake of all that blood. Utterly confused, Isaac broke. He explained everything, the attack, turning, joining different packs and the expectations placed on him.
At first you wanted to laugh, it had to be some sort of sick joke right? But the more he explained, the earnestness in his voice and information you knew checked out, you couldn’t deny it. You gave him a stern talking to, about dumb choices and his avoidance of you.
You, who had always been by his side. Who always had his back and made sure he was taken care of. He looked like a kicked puppy by the end of your lecture, an apt description given that you’d just learned he was a werewolf. Most importantly you made him promise to never run off again. To check in with you and come home to ease your weary heart.
True to his word, he started hanging out with you again. Introducing you to his pack, the boys on the lacrosse team and various people who’d helped them along the way.
You were grateful he had a support system, that he’d been staying with Scott and his mother since things went south. However it left a pit in your stomach. You never told Isaac about your feelings for him, how a silly middle school crush has blossomed into a genuine love around the beginning of freshman year. How even though no words were exchanged, you thought things were reciprocated.
You felt as though you weren’t… enough. That you couldn’t save him, couldn’t protect him and help him out of hard times. Of course it was silly, no need to be jealous that he had friends outside of you, but the thought lingered.
You saw the joy in his eyes, the ease he felt in the presence of Scott and Stiles. He never looked at you like that, if only you knew.
Everyone else saw it, the pack felt it. The comfort and ease that radiated like a purr whenever you were near him. The burning jealousy when a rival player would flirt with you after games. Everyone could see Isaac was fiercely protective of you, possessive even.
Once Stiles had joked about taking you out on a date, given that the two of you had no romantic prospects, Isaac had nearly ripped his head off for that. Baring his teeth at Stiles when you had your back turned.
Scott had put him in his place after that, handling things like a true alpha. But you were none the wiser. Wrapped up in denial, it had to be spelled out for you.
A stray hunter had tried to use you as bait, putting the pieces together that you meant something to the Omega. His mistake, the boys tore him a new one when they’d found you.
Isaac had nearly lost himself when you went missing. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus. You were the only thing on his mind.
Once safe in his arms, he broke down. Immediately taking you home, washing you up and tucking you into bed. He didn’t let you out of his sight, barely compromising to sit in the bathroom with the curtain drawn while you showered.
He’d been so scared. He hadn’t ever felt so terrified to lose someone. Of course he missed his family, but he was utterly terrified at the prospect of losing you. The resurfacing thought sent him into a panic attack. One you soothed away, using various techniques to try and calm him down.
In the end what helped to ground him was you. Simply being there, letting him stare without any judgement and trace your skin. Following the veins on your arms and the moles dotting your legs. The curve of your throat and line of your jaw. The wet hair tangling in between his fingers, and steady pulse he could hear drumming in your rib cage. You were safe. You weren’t in pain, if you had been he’d have taken it all. He never wanted you to suffer, much less because of him or his actions.
Fully calm, he climbed back into your bed- arms wide and inviting you to cozy up to him.
“I love you.” He’d muttered, pressing a shaky kiss to your forehead.
God, the way you’d smiled at him. Lighting up like a star in the night sky. You captivated him, he knew then and there that he was yours.
Since that night you’d been truly inseparable. Making it official and telling the pack. He still lived at the McCall residence, spending most nights there, but occasionally would sneak over to yours. Still climbing the old tree next to your window despite having his own key.
He’d quietly slip under the covers, wrapping his arms around you with a kiss to the back of your neck as he relaxed. You’d stay still as he fell asleep, smiling to yourself, so happy that he was home.