maybe your character works as a barista maybe they're just unwinding after a long day at work getting their caffeine fix in the morning maybe they're on a date
[He hasn't seen Isaac for a few days and he hesitates when he spots him at a table. He hesitates for a minute and then rubs his hand over the back of his neck before moving to sit down across from him.]
[ He only scents him a few moments before the chair squeaks.
He really isn't very good at this, still. How sad. How telling. ] Hey. [ Isaac shifts uncomfortably, and his eyes dart to the door. Turning his cup round between his hands, carefully. A slow shuffle on the tabletop.
It's not like he's avoiding them.
He just wasn't intending to be near any of them. For a while. The slightest clearing of throats, barely audible, and he breathes, conceding, ] What's up?
[Stiles shifts on the chair when Isaac does, not really realizing it, twining his fingers together in an effort to keep his fingers from twitching. He's not possessed anymore, but he's still not really sleeping well either, for different reasons now than before.]
Not much. Just.. [He motions toward the counter.] Getting some air and thought I'd grab some coffee while I was out. You?
[He feels really, really terrible and doesn't quite know what to say to Isaac at this point.]
Yeah. [ He blinks. The cup scrapes along the table. Then he amends, ] Yeah, same. [ Stiles doesn't smell off the way he'd been as of previous, but there's still an aftertaste of something sickly.
Whether it was nerves and personal agony, or actual illness, he had no idea.
He wonders if he should ask if Stiles is okay. It would feel hollow. Insincere. None of them were okay. This was not okay. There was no repairing this town, in his eyes. No washing the streets. Yet what else could he say? Feeling homicidal? How's the head? He and Stiles had both tied themselves up in playing for the same alpha; yet they'd never properly acquainted with one another. They'd never cut past the bullshit. Too little, too late. ] Is-- [ It trails abruptly, and he looks down. His jaw tightens for a moment. ]
How's Scott? [ Isaac had been holing up at the Argent place. Not that he had explicitly told anyone. He hadn't even been clear with Scott, prior to this whole clusterfuck, exactly how much time he'd been spending there.
Mr. Argent had offered, and he'd taken him up on it. Somehow as simple as that. ]
[The only thing that Stiles is sick with is guilt. And terror. And the knowledge that every bad thing that's happened recently is because of him, whether he'd been in control at the time or not. It didn't matter. He'd been invaded, held hostage, and forced to watch himself do terrible things to the people that he cared about the most.
He'd almost killed his dad. Coach. Isaac. He'd hurt Scott. He didn't see exactly what happened to Allison, but that thing had been a part of him and he feels responsible all the same. Feels that guilt weighing upon him so heavily that it is literally hard to breathe sometimes.
The question about Scott makes him look down, and he finds himself wanting to just go back home to bed. Today is the first time he's left since being un-possessed.]
He's...Scott puts up a good front. But he'd probably like to see you soon. [It still kind of pains him to admit that Scott would probably be better off around Isaac than him. Makes his chest physically tight and he swallows heavily, not daring to look up.]
That's not going to happen. [ There. It's blunt, it's out in the open, and he stares at the lip of the cup for a solid few seconds. How to phrase this without being a callous dick. His eyes flick up.
Christ, Stiles looks a bit like Isaac feels. Drained and numbed. Raw. How it feels, he can only imagine. He doesn't try.
Stiles had been right. Isaac was muscle, and unhelpful banter. Well meaning, but kind of barely functional. All this pain was abstract; Isaac wasn't even on the board. Mind games, and love lost. Psychological torture, and he was never strong the way they were, smart and persistent, all these walls and anchors. Isaac would have broken, if it had been him instead of Scott's right hand human. Crumpled within a day, and being supernatural wouldn't have saved him. He had let Scott down. Lies of omission and being half there. Half listening. Allison had died because--Allison Argent.
It was too much. He couldn't begin to know how to be the better man here, and help chip the weight on Stiles away.
His words are slow, measured. ] I think that her dad needs some time away. And-- [ He swallows tightly. ] That's not such a bad idea.
[The words catch him off guard and for a moment he doesn't know what to say. He wants to fix things and he knows it's far too late, far too out of his hands now. Maybe it was never in his hands to begin with.
He regrets a lot, including the way he's treated Isaac. It's no secret the two of them haven't really ever gotten along. In retrospect, it now seemed really petty and pointless. They'd been vying for Scott all this time, and Stiles, at the very least, should have known that was stupid. Scott had a big heart. There was room enough for both of them in Scott's life.
Stiles still isn't sure he isn't going to crumple. Every minute of the day feels like a struggle to get through. His dad, Scott, Melissa, Lydia...they keep telling him that it's going to get better. That it's going to take time. He knows this intellectually but it feels like he's being suffocated slowly and painfully.]
Yeah, I -- I get that. [And he does, even if he doesn't like it. He does get it. He kind of wants to take off himself, but if he does, he doesn't think he'd ever convince himself to come back and he can't leave his dad. He can't leave Scott and Lydia.] But it's not... I mean it's not going to be forever, right? You're gonna come back eventually.
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isaac lahey | teen wolf
no subject
Hey.
no subject
He really isn't very good at this, still. How sad. How telling. ] Hey. [ Isaac shifts uncomfortably, and his eyes dart to the door. Turning his cup round between his hands, carefully. A slow shuffle on the tabletop.
It's not like he's avoiding them.
He just wasn't intending to be near any of them. For a while. The slightest clearing of throats, barely audible, and he breathes, conceding, ] What's up?
no subject
Not much. Just.. [He motions toward the counter.] Getting some air and thought I'd grab some coffee while I was out. You?
[He feels really, really terrible and doesn't quite know what to say to Isaac at this point.]
no subject
Whether it was nerves and personal agony, or actual illness, he had no idea.
He wonders if he should ask if Stiles is okay. It would feel hollow. Insincere. None of them were okay. This was not okay. There was no repairing this town, in his eyes. No washing the streets. Yet what else could he say? Feeling homicidal? How's the head? He and Stiles had both tied themselves up in playing for the same alpha; yet they'd never properly acquainted with one another. They'd never cut past the bullshit. Too little, too late. ] Is-- [ It trails abruptly, and he looks down. His jaw tightens for a moment. ]
How's Scott? [ Isaac had been holing up at the Argent place. Not that he had explicitly told anyone. He hadn't even been clear with Scott, prior to this whole clusterfuck, exactly how much time he'd been spending there.
Mr. Argent had offered, and he'd taken him up on it. Somehow as simple as that. ]
no subject
He'd almost killed his dad. Coach. Isaac. He'd hurt Scott. He didn't see exactly what happened to Allison, but that thing had been a part of him and he feels responsible all the same. Feels that guilt weighing upon him so heavily that it is literally hard to breathe sometimes.
The question about Scott makes him look down, and he finds himself wanting to just go back home to bed. Today is the first time he's left since being un-possessed.]
He's...Scott puts up a good front. But he'd probably like to see you soon. [It still kind of pains him to admit that Scott would probably be better off around Isaac than him. Makes his chest physically tight and he swallows heavily, not daring to look up.]
no subject
Christ, Stiles looks a bit like Isaac feels. Drained and numbed. Raw. How it feels, he can only imagine. He doesn't try.
Stiles had been right. Isaac was muscle, and unhelpful banter. Well meaning, but kind of barely functional. All this pain was abstract; Isaac wasn't even on the board. Mind games, and love lost. Psychological torture, and he was never strong the way they were, smart and persistent, all these walls and anchors. Isaac would have broken, if it had been him instead of Scott's right hand human. Crumpled within a day, and being supernatural wouldn't have saved him. He had let Scott down. Lies of omission and being half there. Half listening. Allison had died because--Allison Argent.
It was too much. He couldn't begin to know how to be the better man here, and help chip the weight on Stiles away.
His words are slow, measured. ] I think that her dad needs some time away. And-- [ He swallows tightly. ] That's not such a bad idea.
no subject
He regrets a lot, including the way he's treated Isaac. It's no secret the two of them haven't really ever gotten along. In retrospect, it now seemed really petty and pointless. They'd been vying for Scott all this time, and Stiles, at the very least, should have known that was stupid. Scott had a big heart. There was room enough for both of them in Scott's life.
Stiles still isn't sure he isn't going to crumple. Every minute of the day feels like a struggle to get through. His dad, Scott, Melissa, Lydia...they keep telling him that it's going to get better. That it's going to take time. He knows this intellectually but it feels like he's being suffocated slowly and painfully.]
Yeah, I -- I get that. [And he does, even if he doesn't like it. He does get it. He kind of wants to take off himself, but if he does, he doesn't think he'd ever convince himself to come back and he can't leave his dad. He can't leave Scott and Lydia.] But it's not... I mean it's not going to be forever, right? You're gonna come back eventually.