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It starts with a brush of fingers when River hands him a sketchbook.
Accidental. Casual. Intentional in that way quiet things sometimes are.
They sit side by side on the edge of the old dock behind the school, legs hanging over the still, moonlit surface of the retention pond River insists on calling a “water mirror.” Isaac doesn’t point out that it's full of frogs and probably fertilizer runoff. He kind of likes how River makes ugly things feel magical.
“You smell different when you’re nervous,” Isaac says suddenly.
River blinks. “That’s not creepy at all, Lahey.”
Isaac shrugs, a ripple of laughter in their voice. “Perks of dating a werewolf.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Perks of maybe dating a werewolf?”
River chuckles as they look across the river.
Isaac doesn’t know what to say. His throat feels tight. The cool breeze off the water lifts River’s hair and sends a faint mist against their faces. He watches them close their eyes to the air like they’re listening for something deep under the surface.
“I like this,” Isaac says after a moment. “Being here. With you.”
River opens one eye. “Even though I’m weird and fishy?”
“Especially because you’re weird and fishy.”
They smile at that, warm and open, but something shifts in their body language. Not quite pulling away—more like… pausing. River’s gaze drifts back to the water, thoughtful now.
“I need to tell you something,” they say, voice quiet. “Before this gets… before we go further.”
Isaac’s stomach flips. He suddenly hears Peter’s voice in his head—"If they start a sentence like that, prepare for chaos."
He ignores it.
“Okay.”
“I’m ace,” River says, simple as breath. “Asexual.”
Isaac blinks. “Okay.”
They look at him then, gauging, weighing.
“No, I mean—okay, like… that’s fine. You thought that was going to be a dealbreaker?”
River shrugs. “You’re a werewolf. Pack-driven. Physical. Touchy. That kind of closeness—sex—it usually matters more to wolves. I just wanted to be clear, in case it’s important to you.”
Isaac watches the way their fingers dip into the water beside them, the way the ripples echo wider and wider from the small movement.
“I like touching you, Ronan,” he says. “Not because it’s leading somewhere. Just because… you feel real. Steady. I don’t always get that.”
They say nothing for a moment. Just stare down at the little circles their fingers make. Then:
“I’m not sex-repulsed or anything. I can. And sometimes I want to. Just not often. Definitely not at first.”
Isaac nudges their knee with his. “I’m not trying to get you into bed.”
River snorts.
He rolls his eyes. “I mean it. I want this more than anything. Sitting here. Quiet. The smell of the water and your weird metaphors and the way you always carry like six pencils but never a sharpener.”
River smiles again—less amused this time, more moved.
“Okay,” they say softly. “Then we can just… see where it goes?”
Isaac nods. “Yeah. Wherever it goes. At your pace.”
Their pinky finds his on the wooden dock, a soft link. Their head leans on his shoulder a minute later. And nothing more needs to be said. Not yet.
The pond reflects stars above them, silent and wide.