Chapter Text
It’s an hour before Isaac gathered the courage up to say anything. Don't get him wrong, there is conversation, Lydia's cheerful commentary as she leads them around the mall, his quiet with increasingly bewildered agreements. There is no silence, its' a constant hour of other people milling around, heartbeats a symphony around him.
Slowly he's getting loaded up with shopping bags as Lydia coos in appreciation of some shiny object and scampers off to the next store. Isaac gives a resigned sigh and follows her; she’s seated in a shoe store, buckling up a strappy pair of heels that look exactly like the last ten pairs she’s tried on in the last ten stores. Isaac shifts a little switching the bags from his right hand to his left and tries to think of the best way to phrase his question, the tension is beginning to get to him. He feels like he is hanging, suspended by a string, fraying, waiting for the punch line. In the end she cuts him off before he can even ask why on earth he of all people is her sudden shopping companion.
“Why-”
“Alison's busy,” Lydia interrupts, not looking up at him. She goes to the mirror and swivels gracefully, admiring the hazardously high heels. Isaac feels the sink of disappointment and shrugs, it's not surprising really. Everyone else is busy, he's a last choice, and it makes sense. He has had to come to terms with the fact he is not the first choice for anyone in the pack. Jackson and Danny paired off, Scott and Stiles are thick as thieves and Alison and Lydia, as the only girls in the group have started spending almost all their time together. Derek, as the alpha doesn't hang with anyone if he can help it, but then again, that's also a Derek thing. Though it makes him feel rather pathetic and needy, Isaac is honestly just glad for the company.
He watches in silence as she hums affirmatively slipping off the heels and pads to the counter to pay for them, handing the bag over to him once they're paid for. She flounces back out to the mall, Isaac close behind. He watches, slightly transfixed as she pivots slightly on the balls of her feet, fingers tapping full lips as she contemplates which store to go to next. Seeing something that catches her fancy she swings off to the left. He catches up to her in a few strides, when she stops to covet something shiny in the jeweller’s window. She doesn't look at him, but slips a hand through the crook of his arms and sets off again; he is helpless to do anything but follow.
Her small hand feels hot enough to burn him on the bare skin of his arm, he can feel her pulse through the points of her fingers, the smell of her hair and perfume; this closeness is overwhelming. Not in an unpleasant way, it cuts through the haze of the crowd, the stench and clamour that is thrown up by the people who brush by them. He takes a deep breath centring himself, she smells sweet, sort of like strawberries and some kind of soap, he thinks he might like it.
“It's not the only reason you know.” she murmurs to him. He turns to stare and is levelled with the full force of her gaze. It almost knocks the air right out of him, her eyes are so blue and her gaze sharp and intelligent as if she can see right through to the core of him.
“Hmmm?” he hears himself say. Intelligent Isaac, really.
“I didn't just bring you here because the others were busy,” she confesses. He raises an eyebrow and can't help but smirk, she slaps him on the bicep. “No!” she chides, “Nothing like that!”
He can't help but chuckle, ducking his head.
“Besides, if I was trying to sleep with you, you would know,” she smirks, “and you would be naked,” she purrs. This time he can’t help but throw his head back and let out a full blown laugh, one that come right from his belly. She watches him with a sly grin on her face. When he has managed to contain himself she sniffs, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.
“I don't chase people who are sold on someone else anyway,” she said softly. His head snaps around to look at her so quickly it almost hurts mouth falling open.
“What?” He runs the hand not weighed down with bags quickly through his mess of hair. A gives a faint chuckle and crinkles his nose. “I'm not sold on anyone,” he assures her, his voice far more sure than he feels.
She gives him that searching look again that quickly turns to one of pity. Her mouth forms a perfect pink cherry lip glass stained 'o' shape, “Oh honey,” she whispers, “you don't know.”
He decides then and there he never wants to have someone look at him like that again. It makes him feel ill. He lengthens his stride and breaks away from her hold on his arm. Stalking over to the nearest shop window he pretends to be riveted by whatever it was they were selling. He takes the moment to try to get his breathing, which at some point turned into desperate gasps, under control. His heart beat is so loud in his head he could not have recalled what was in that window to save himself. He is not sold on anyone. He does not need anyone.
The pack thing is nice, a convenience, but he is fine on his own. He definitely has not been watching anyone more than usual out of the corner of his eye. Nope. Not him. He sways forward, until his forehead is resting against the cold glass, hands white knuckled around the bags. He can feel the looks of passersby weighing down on him, can almost feel their eyes burning through his back. It only takes a moment before Lydia is there, her perfume wafting past him before he feels her smaller, warm presence by his side. She leans in close until they are touching shoulder to shoulder and gives him a small bump with her hip.
“You'll figure it out,” she assures him.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, grits his teeth. Still teeth, not fangs. Good. “Why did you bring me?” he grinds out. He can almost hear her roll her eyes. When he turns to look at her, her lips are pursed, she looks much prettier when she smiles.
“You don't fit well with the pack,” she observes. The growl is out of his mouth before he can stop it.
“It wasn't an insult. It's just something I've noticed,” she gives him a weak smile. “It's ok though. I don't fit right either”
“You fit fine” he says.
“No. I really don't,” she tells him bluntly, “but it's ok. It's new. I'll give it time... I had just noticed, that maybe you feel the same.”
It strikes him that no one really gives Lydia enough credit; they forget how clever, how observant she is. She's slipped her hand back into the crook of his arm, he does not pull away.
“After Erica...and Boyd” he confesses. She nods her understanding. After the two had left the pack, he had felt separate somehow. The two he was turned with, the two he felt like family. Gone.
“The others, Scott and Jackson and Danny, they aren't as touchy with you” Lydia points out.
Isaac nods. Touch is a huge part of bonding within the pack, scent marking, makes you feel like pack. Nothing sexual, just play fighting, hugs, laying sprawled out next to each other after training. The others don't touch him.
“I,” he hesitates then sighs “...I don't really like being touched.” Lydia goes to pull her hand back as if she's been burned. Quicker than she can move he places his hand over the top of hers on his arm, pinning it there. “No, no, don't. This is fine.” he assures her, holding her gaze. “This? This is good. Nice.” After an assessing moment he can visibly see the moment she believes him and relaxes in his hold. When he takes his hand away to run through his hair her smaller one stays in the crease of his arm.
“Is it because of...” she lets her question trail off into nothing, he knows what she meant.
“My dad?” he shrugs “maybe, I don't know.” He can't help it anytime a hand lands on his shoulder he flinches, a pat on the back makes him cringe. Any touch he doesn't see coming. He doesn't mean to, it hurts to watch the flicker of pain in his pack mate’s eyes when he flinches away from them. They stopped trying pretty quickly, for both their sakes.
“Erica and Boyd got it though, didn't they?”
“Yeah,” he lets out a slow, long huff. “They did”
She looks as if she is going to bump him with her hip again, but thinks better of it; instead she gives his arm another light squeeze, then pulls him back out into the sway of the crowd. “Don't worry” She assures him “We'll figure it out.” He follows her, feeling a little more at peace.