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The Beacon Hills High guidance office had changed a lot since Isaac Lahey returned to take the job. The lighting was softer, the couch actually comfortable, and the walls were covered in posters reminding students that it was okay to be uncertain, confused, or figuring it out in their own time.
On the bookshelf near his desk was a rainbow flag pin stuck into a pot of succulents. Subtle, but visible enough that it gave students permission to breathe when they stepped into the room.
Isaac sat on the edge of his desk, one leg swinging slightly, wearing a scarf over a cozy cardigan. He looked approachable, even if his jaw still screamed ex-werewolf-model.
Across from him, three students lounged on the couch, clearly mid-lunch break. Two girls and a boy, all in various stages of identity exploration. Today’s group therapy session was informal—half support circle, half coffee-fueled chaos.
“Okay,” Isaac said with a chuckle, “we’ve covered romantic attraction, aesthetic attraction, and the difference between liking someone and wanting to be them. Now, you said something earlier, Leo—about feeling like the label bisexual didn’t quite fit anymore?”
Leo, a freckled junior with a lip ring and a sketchpad tucked under his arm, leaned forward. “Yeah, like... I used to think I was bi. I still could be, but I think I’m realizing I’m maybe more pan? Like, I’ve liked people across the board and I just... don’t care about gender.”
Isaac nodded slowly, with a small smile. “That sounds a lot like my own journey.”
The room quieted. All three students looked at him like he’d just admitted he could shapeshift into a dinosaur.
“You’re pan?” one of the girls asked, blinking.
“I figured I was bisexual most of my life,” Isaac said, carefully. “That label helped me come to terms with things, gave me a place to start. But then I met someone recently... who didn’t identify strictly male or female. And I realized—what I’m drawn to, emotionally, physically—it’s not about gender. It’s about them. Their mind. Their spark. Their ridiculous laugh when they get paint on their nose during third period.”
He smiled softly, clearly thinking about someone. The kids all picked up on it immediately.
“Wait wait—are you involved with Mx. Ronan?!” Leo gasped, nearly choking on his iced coffee.
Isaac chuckled, ears going pink. “We’re... seeing where it goes.”
“You are so dating Mx. Ronan! Oh my god, that is so cool! The hot guidance counselor and the chaotic enby art teacher? That’s like—Netflix level representation!”
“Well, try to keep it on the down-low,” Isaac said, giving them a wry look. “They’re a private person. And I think Coach Finstock still personally thinks pansexual means into kitchenware.”
That earned a round of laughter.
Leo snorted. “I swear, Coach is either five seconds from offending everyone or being the most supportive person on Earth.”
“He once told me it didn’t matter who I kissed, as long as I ran faster than the other team,” said Isaac, with a fond shake of his head. “That was his version of a pep talk.”
“Honestly, that’s kinda... iconic?” said one of the girls.
“Coach Finstock: the reluctant queer ally of Beacon Hills,” Leo declared solemnly. “Someone should paint him like one of those Greek gods. A toga and a whistle.”
Isaac shook his head, chuckling. “If any of you do that, I’m hanging it in this office. But back to the real stuff—labels are tools, not cages. It’s okay if they shift as you grow. You get to decide what feels right.”
Leo nodded slowly. “I think I needed to hear that. Like... I’m not ‘changing’ who I am. I’m just understanding it better.”
“Exactly.” Isaac looked at each of them. “And whether you call yourself bisexual, pansexual, queer, or just say ‘I like who I like,’ it’s all valid. It’s all you. And you are enough.”
There was a moment of quiet. The good kind.
Then—
“So what does pansexual mean again?” came a shout from the hallway.
Coach Finstock’s voice.
The kids burst out laughing again. Isaac just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll handle that one. You guys head to class.”
As the students filed out, giggling and whispering about pansexual crock-pots, Isaac couldn’t help but smile.
Behind the chaos, the jokes, and the uncertain laughter—these were the kind of conversations he wished he had in high school.
And now? He got to be the adult who made space for them.