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Even before Scott tries to fiddle with his zipper, he knows: something's really wrong with his dress, and that something is probably that it just doesn't fit him anymore.
Not that this is entirely surprising on its own. Scott's been gaining weight since last July or thereabouts, and going off to college did nothing to help with that. It was a perfect storm of factors, really—he quit playing lacrosse and working out so much, the dining halls were all buffet-style, plus some explanation Derek gave him around Christmas about the ins and outs of werewolf metabolisms—so there's nothing unexpected about Scott's dress not fitting him anymore. But that fact doesn't make it any less disappointing that he might have outgrown this dress, the same way that he's outgrown clothes before.
It doesn't make Scott any fonder of the fact that his thighs chafe up against each other, or the fact that his cheeks have visibly rounded out, or the fact that he has a belly now—a soft, plump belly that he can jostle around and sink his fingers into and everything. Which makes sense, considering how much weight Scott's put on, but he still doesn't enjoy that idea. He doesn't enjoy the idea of admitting how much weight he's gained, either, because as of yesterday, it's kind of a lot, but there's also nothing Scott can really do about that, at the moment. Not unless there's some magical way of losing sixty-two pounds in five minutes or something… which seems unlikely, and it'd probably have side-effects or kill someone or who even knows what else.
All in all, this is probably what Scott gets for liking pizza and sweets as much as he does: a sizable paunch settled around his middle, hips curvier than Allison's or Lydia's have ever been, something that Isaac affectionately calls a bubble butt, and a really cute dress that, in all likelihood, doesn't fit anymore.
"So, are you ready to get going yet?" Isaac pipes up, and as though he's reading Scott's mind, he tacks on, "Maybe I can't see your front right now, but I'm pretty sure you look lovely. And that no one can tell if you've gained weight or not. And that if you're worrying about something, it's probably really not based in anything that's obvious to anyone but you. And we're going to be late if you don't, y'know, zip up your dress and put on your shoes already. And you know Lydia's not going to like it very much if we're late."
With a sigh, Scott drags his eyes up and down his full-length mirror, and he frowns at his reflection (tries to ignore Isaac's reflection, and the way he's sitting on Scott's bed and leering at him). Unfortunately, Isaac has a point. The two of them are supposed to be on their way to Lydia's birthday party by now, not waiting around Scott's room for Scott to stop haggling over outfits—first because he couldn't pick the right one. The one that would be perfect for finally sharing this side of himself with everyone who isn't Isaac or Stiles or Allison. The one that would really do the job of telling everyone that the former co-captain of the lacrosse team, the True Alpha of Beacon Hills, likes to wear dresses and heels and feels his best with at least a coat of mascara on his lashes, and now…
Well, now, Scott's haggling over his supposedly perfect outfit because the stupid thing might not fit him anymore. The tight black leggings are fine—clinging to his skin, sure, to say nothing of how the elastic waistband's slicing into Scott's pudgy sides like it's going to leave red marks behind on his flesh, but aside from that, they're fine—but Scott's dress is another story entirely. Even without the zipper done up, the outline of Scott's stomach stands out pretty clearly, all round and chunky where he used to be a mess of abs and angles. The fabric's thick enough that Scott can't see the shadow of his belly-button on it, the way he can with some of his t-shirts, but his belly and his fleshed-out hips still strain the seams enough that Scott can't be sure it's safe for him to keep breathing. Every time he exhales, his belly surges forward and has another chance to split something, or rip something, or otherwise ruin everything.
Huffing, Scott runs his hands down his stomach and down his hips, pointlessly smoothing out the wrinkles that aren't there. It really is a pretty dress—a faux-fifties retro number in cotton-candy pink with cap-sleeves and black polka dots and black tulle puffing out the swishy, knee-length skirt. Isaac got it for Scott as a Christmas present, after he found Scott's secret Amazon wish list, the one full of the clothes and shoes Scott wanted but couldn't afford, or wanted but didn't see a point in buying because he'd probably never wear them, he'd just hang them up in his closet and stare at them wistfully, wishing he were brave enough to wear them out in public. This semester, he's been working up to something like this, wearing makeup to his classes or throwing on a skirt instead of jeans some days, mixing some pastels and frills and glittery detailing in with the rest of his wardrobe.
And it's just so appropriate that, when he's finally gotten up the nerve to show off his femme side in Beacon Hills, the dress he wants to wear might not fit him anymore—anything that can go wrong will and all that stuff. Never mind the seventeen extra pounds that Scott's put on since Christmas or how they all but guarantee that no, really, the dress just doesn't fit him anymore and he'll probably be lucky to get it even halfway zipped.
Fiddling with the zipper does nothing to make Scott question that assumption, either. He gets it up partway, but then, right when he's thinking that he might be fine, it snags. So, Scott undoes the work he's put into the zipper and starts the process all over again; defiant, the zipper stops budging in what feels like the same place. Or maybe it's slightly lower, but Scott doesn't really want to think about that possibility—or the possibility that he might have to pick out something else to wear, no matter how likely that's looking. Even if he does manage to get the dress fully on, the way it looks on him right now might not be worth the hassle. But since he won't know that until he manages to get the zipper done up, Scott just undoes the zipper one more time, intent on trying this again.
"Oh my God, Scott," Isaac groans, and flops onto the mattress like Scott can't see him being melodramatic in the mirror. "You're not having second thoughts about the outfit, are you? You spent long enough picking that one out. And I'm sure you look gorgeous, okay?"
"I don't know? Maybe I am?" Scott says, fighting off the impulse to roll his eyes as he starts inching the zipper back up. "I still want to wear this one, mostly, but I'm just…" He sighs, and really does roll his eyes this time, and flushes hot and pink as he admits, "It's the zipper, okay? I can't… I've gained weight again since Christmas, okay, and now the freaking zipper won't freaking close."
"Like Hell it won't close. You wanted to wear that dress, and you're going to wear that dress." Isaac's nudging up behind Scott before Scott can think about anything, batting his hands away from the zipper and taking it over, only for it to snag in the same place. But while Scott slouches a bit and tries not to pout, all Isaac does is huff and flick one of his fingers against Scott's back. "Stand up straight and suck in a little, okay? You're not really helping by pushing your stomach out like that."
"I'm not trying to push my stomach out, it just kind of does that now, in case you haven't noticed." He's not trying to whine about this, but Scott still lets a hint of that creep into his voice—enough of a hint that Isaac snickers at him. As Scott straightens up and tries to suck in his belly, he can't help scoffing. Even though Isaac manages to inch the zipper up further and further, Scott scoffs—and it takes everything he has to keep his core tightened and his stomach pulled back when he has to breathe. A few months ago, Scott probably would've been able to do this without any problem, but now, the muscles in his gut ache after a few seconds and the only breaths he can get are short ones.
It occurs to Scott that he could tell Isaac to hurry up so he could get back to breathing like a normal person, but Isaac probably wouldn't be taking his time with this unless he had to. Like, he's probably trying to keep the dress in one piece and Scott understands that, because there's too much Scott and not enough dress. And anything that runs the risk of letting Scott's stomach surge back into place is something that they can't really trifle with right now, not if they actually want to get anywhere with cramming Scott into this stupid dress. Anything that might make Scott's stomach insist upon itself could wreck the dress, or just make it impossible to zip up ever again, which would be just as bad.
Not that this fact keeps Scott from telling Isaac, "Like, I'm sorry that I'm not skinny like you anymore, and I'm sorry that my stomach's making this hard for you. But it's not like I got fat on purpose, okay? And I definitely didn't get too fat for this dress on purpose, either."
Scott can practically hear the roll of Isaac's eyes in his voice as he says, "You're not too fat for this dress, Scott, and if there's anyone who says you are… Well, they'll have to deal with me, and I'm not gonna be particularly nice about it at them. Because nobody's allowed to tell you what you can or can't wear. Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it." Scott has to swallow a laugh at that, just because laughing might make his belly fall out of place and undo all the work Isaac's put into getting the zipper done up. "So, you're just gonna the big, bad wolf, but like, a good big, bad wolf, telling off everybody who says my fat ass can't dress like a pretty, pretty princess if I want to? And fucking up everyone who gives me crap because I'm not skinny anymore?"
"Basically," Isaac says. "Besides, you weren't ever skinny in the first place—you were lean, sure, but you had too much muscle to really be considered skinny. And you're always beautiful, so, y'know. There's that."
"Yeah, well, you're my boyfriend—if you don't call me beautiful, I can just make you sleep on the couch." Despite giving it his best effort, Scott doesn't manage to keep himself from chuckling, but he wrinkles his nose as his eyes drift around his reflection. "And whatever I was before, my arms have definitely gotten too fat for cap sleeves. I think I left my black cardigan at school, though, which sucks."
"Your arms are not too fat for cap sleeves, and anyone who says they are isn't anyone worth listening to." As though this somehow makes his point, Isaac gently pinches one of the places where Scott's biceps have given way to soft, yielding flab. "And I keep calling you beautiful because you are beautiful. No other reasons. No ulterior motives. Just because I like telling you how beautiful you are. And remember, I've seen you naked plenty of times, so I think I know what I'm talking about here."
Isaac huffs and pats Scott on the shoulder, rubs at his upper arm, then kisses the back of his neck and Scott leans his head forward so Isaac can have better access to his skin, so Isaac can leave a trail of kisses down onto his spine—he completely fails to ignore the way that the pocket of flab underneath his chin pooches out, and he can't exactly tune out the way his heart sinks at that feeling, but at least Scott's getting some kisses out of this. At least he has the feeling of Isaac's slightly chapped lips brushing against his skin, and he can smile about that. He doesn't even look half-bad in the dress, either. Still pretty chubby—and it's definitely still noticeable that he's gotten bigger since Christmas, Jesus, especially around his face—but he doesn't look half-bad.
"Okay, pretty boy," Isaac whispers against Scott's skin and kisses him again, on the shoulder this time. "Zipper's up, dress still fits you fine, and you can stop sucking in now."
Scott lets his belly go with a relieved sigh, which turns into a groan pretty quickly. "Oh my God, I can't wear this," he says, grimacing at his reflection, at all the places where his gut is practically busting out of the fabric. He worries his hands up and down his stomach, pushing it in and, despite himself, letting a few stray whining noises slip out—maybe he didn't look half-bad with his stomach sucked in, but with it out in place again, all round and chunky and insisting upon itself? Scott looks even fatter than he feels, which is a huge accomplishment, since he feels pretty fat to begin with. The dress is obviously a size too small for him, at least, and all over, he looks like he's about two seconds from ripping one of his seams. Eating too much or moving the wrong way could completely wreck the dress.
Shaking his head, he says again, "I can't wear this, Isaac—I really can't… This isn't gonna work, I really, really need to pick out something else, something I can at least pretend fits me—"
"You. look. perfectly. fine. Scott," Isaac snaps at him, punctuating that sentence with another series of kisses up the back of Scott's neck and snaking his arms around Scott's waist, giving his belly a squeeze. "You look stunning, in fact, and if you try to spend another two hours picking out a different outfit, I'm seriously going to scream. And maybe make you sleep on the couch tonight. Just to teach you a lesson about fat-shaming yourself."
Scott rolls his eyes—he doesn't even try to stop himself from doing so—and wilts back into Isaac's chest. "Well, maybe it'll be fine for the party, but I am definitely going on a diet soon. Like, starting tomorrow. I'm going on a serious diet, and I'm going back to the gym, and—"
"And you're going to stop obsessing and accept that most people just gain weight in college?" Isaac's tone suggests that this isn't really a question, and even if it were, there would only be one right answer to it. "Like, it's a thing that happens—I mean, you gained some weight in college. Stiles gained weight in college. Allison and Lydia and Boyd all gained weight in college. I've gained weight in college—"
"Yeah, you've gained like ten pounds—maybe ten pounds, at the most. And they don't even show on you because you're so freaking tall." Maybe he's pretending to be frustrated with Isaac, but Scott still leans his head back and rests it on Isaac's shoulder. "Now, me? I've gained sixty-two pounds since July. I mean, this dress barely fits, and I'm all pudgy and soft, and I've got love-handles and a double-chin now, like honest to god? And yeah, I kinda think I really, really need to slim down? So, y'know… No more pizza, no more ice cream binges, no more midnight runs to McDonald's—I'm getting this problem under control, and this fat boy's getting healthy again, I swear to god."
Splaying one of his hands over Scott's belly and squeezing him again, Isaac sighs. "Complete disavowal's not going to work, though. You're just going to end up having cravings and bingeing and making the so-called problem worse by your apparent standards… Never mind the fact that being kind of fat doesn't make you unhealthy. Or unattractive. Or any other completely ridiculous thing that you're telling yourself right now…" He trails off and leans in closer to Scott, lipping along his jawline (or what's left of it, anyway). Which would be a little bit nicer if not for the way that Isaac's rubbing at his stomach, jostling it around (whether he means to do that or not) and drawing attention to Scott's rather unfortunate accumulation of pudge.
All of which Scott would mind a lot more, if it were anybody else doing this. If it were anybody else, the uncomfortable squirming in the pit of his stomach would be so much worse, and he'd probably be blushing scarlet instead of just pink, and maybe even sucking in his stomach again, just to get it away from whoever's playing around with it. But since it's Isaac doing this to him, Scott can kind of relax a little—kind of. His skin still ends up kind of crawling, and he purses his lips, and yeah, Isaac's seen and touched his belly when they're naked, but Scott still isn't sure how he feels about Isaac kneading at it now? It's kind of nice, Scott can't deny that—but it's also kind of weird, to find it nice instead of wanting Isaac to focus his attention anywhere but all the places where Scott's obviously gained weight. But still, Scott could get used to this, maybe?
Really, he's just glad he hasn't put his heels on yet, or it'd all be pretty awkward, trying to balance while he's slouching back against Isaac as much as Scott's doing now, curling his hands around Isaac's bony wrists while wobbling a little and trying to keep himself from falling over backwards.
Isaac rests his chin on Scott's shoulder and for a moment, it's just the two of them breathing—but then he says, "I mean, if it's what you really want, then I love you, so I want you to be happy, so I'll support you. And I'm sure there are plenty of ways we could work up a sweat, so…" Snickering, he plants a kiss on Scott's pulse point, the one right above his jugular vein. "But just so you know, you don't have to change for me or anything—and if anybody else makes you feel pressured into losing weight when you don't actually want to, then they'll have to deal with me. Just like anybody who says that you can't wear this dress."
Scott huffs and squeezes Isaac's wrist. "Okay," he says. "Maybe we'll sleep on the whole dieting thing and figure it out later. How about, right now, we get to Lydia's party before I throw you down on the bed and smear my lipstick all over your face and maybe one thing leads to another or something? Because then, we probably won't get there at all and Lydia will be really mad."
Isaac kisses his neck again and says, "Sounds like a pretty good plan to me, oh my pretty, pretty princess Alpha. I mean, I've only been saying it for the past I don't know how long."
"And you're so sleeping on the couch tonight if you don't quit reminding me about that." Not really—Scott wouldn't really do that to Isaac over this—but that's not even remotely the point. Now, the point is more like, "Do you remember where I put my shoes?"