“ISAAC!” She whacked him with a fist, screwed up her face in an even more ferocious fake glare, then just — kissed him.
He flinched at the hit, and didn’t have much chance to formulate a response before her lips were against his, and he hummed and melted against her.
Summer squirmed closer, kissing him harder as she felt him respond. Softly, she hummed, eyes fluttering closed, and slid one hand up into his hair. It was just as nice as she’d imagined.
“If you don’t I’ll have to do something terrible,” she threatened, lifting her face to put on a pretend angry face. “Like, indescribably terrible.”
“Oooh, like what?” He grinned and cocked his head to the side, finding her expression quite amusing. “It’s like watching a kitten trying to roar like a lion.”
“ISAAC!” She whacked him with a fist, screwed up her face in an even more ferocious fake glare, then just — kissed him.
She buried her face farther into his shirt. “It’s embarrassing, that’s why. Stop being so adorable.”
“Why? I’m only telling the truth,” He laughed then, shifting underneath her before tenderly patting her on the head. “Do you want me to stop?”
“If you don’t I’ll have to do something terrible,” she threatened, lifting her face to put on a pretend angry face. “Like, indescribably terrible.”
“You /have/ to stop complimenting me,” she mumbled, ducking her head. The longer they sat cuddled up together, the less she wanted to ‘wait and see’ — but then that was always her problem. She always wanted too much, too soon, and pushed people away with it.
“…Why?” Isaac’s eyes narrowed and he stared at her, wondering why him complimenting her was so offensive to her. Settling comfortably against her, he curled up, eager to keep this contact going whilst he was fine with it.
She buried her face farther into his shirt. “It’s embarrassing, that’s why. Stop being so adorable.”
She was glad her face was hidden, because she could feel the blush creeping hotly up her cheeks. “Me too. I don’t know anyone that special, though.”
“I do – and she’s sitting right in front of me. You’re a great friend, Summer, and you could be more, I don’t know. We could wait and see?” He shrugged shyly, not pointing out her blush as he felt his own colour his cheeks scarlet.
“You /have/ to stop complimenting me,” she mumbled, ducking her head. The longer they sat cuddled up together, the less she wanted to ‘wait and see’ — but then that was always her problem. She always wanted too much, too soon, and pushed people away with it.
“Your whole life is just one big secret, isn’t it?” she said mournfully. Awkwardly, she hugged him, face tucked into his neck.
“Maybe I might let someone special into discover them all.” He hummed thoughtfully, angling his body to the side so that he could tighten his hold around her, smiling softly. “I like this.”
She was glad her face was hidden, because she could feel the blush creeping hotly up her cheeks. “Me too. I don’t know anyone that special, though.”
“That’s not very terrible. Why would that be a terrible /secret/? It’s a terrible /thing/, but … ” Summer put her head to one side, bracing her hands on his chest.
“Well…nobody really knew that I had a brother – I was always scared that people might think that my da- that someone might have killed him.” Isaac murmured then, stiffening just a little at the near slip-up, before relaxing into her touch.
“Your whole life is just one big secret, isn’t it?” she said mournfully. Awkwardly, she hugged him, face tucked into his neck.
Summer pinches her lips together before she speaks, looking at him in a way that’s much more direct than any other time. “You can’t crash a party I invited you to. That’s not how it works. You might be new, but you aren’t unwelcome, and you don’t make me uncomfortable.”
Which is a blatant lie, but also absolute truth: he doesn’t make her uncomfortable the way he means it — bringing his friends wouldn’t have made her uncomfortable, or any of them; he makes her uncomfortable by existing, with his unconscious defense of her problematic social virtue and general geekiness and long-limbed attractiveness. She hates that she can’t /not/ see that, now.
She looks back at the keypad, and says, very quietly, “Did you /want/ this to be a date? With someone you’d only just met?”
“Maybe I can’t, but Scott or Lydia probably could. Especially Lydia, she’s basically a savant at bowling. And…everything else. To be fair. What I meant was I didn’t want to force a stranger on you that you hadn’t met at your own party, even if at least one of them is the easiest person in the world to like. Though, you know…” Stiles shrugs, a little, the gesture as sharp as ever. “I make everyone uncomfortable, it’s completely okay to admit it. I’m used to it.”
The question causes him to still a little, and Stiles tips his head downwards, attention seemingly focused on the bowling board instead of Summer’s face, or even whose turn it is. He blinks rapidly, eyes shifting to the sides a few times like he’s calculating something unseen, and then he admits, equally quietly, “I don’t…know. I don’t get dates. People aren’t interested, really, and certainly not…college chicks, I just…I don’t know. I’m not very good at it. But I’d like to at least get to know you, okay?” There Stiles looks up, considering her face thoughtfully. “I don’t want to like…set up false expectations, because that’d be pretty shitty and I picked up in like five seconds that you’ve already had your fill of dudes being shitty to you. I think maybe…we make sure we don’t hate each other first. And see where it goes?”
The wince that plays over poor Stiles’ face indicates he probably expects to be slapped.
Summer just nods, acknowledging everything he’s just said. “Yeah. Okay. Just — one thing, okay? You don’t get to decide if you make me uncomfortable. You’re a — you’re a /kindred spirit/. I’m — I can tell things like that; you know, sometimes you meet someone and you just /know/. Sometimes you don’t even have to meet them in person. All my real friends are like that.”
She glances at him from under the arc of red hair shaped from the way her braid hangs over one shoulder, almost to the floor. “I understand about … people not being interested. Jesse is — was the only boyfriend I’ve ever had. Nobody else ever … I’m not … ” She shrugs, somehow embodying embarrassment and acknowledgement and frustation in one motion. “I’m /me/. And he’s right, anyway, nobody is ever going to want me. I’m used to it.”
They’ve both used those words now, and she wonders how close his ‘used to it’ is to her own, that long knowledge of being different. His difference probably isn’t anything like hers, though. In a way she hopes it really isn’t; she honestly wouldn’t wish her ability on anyone. So to deflect the topic a little, she smiles, something bright and inviting, and says, “If you want to get to know me, you can ask me anything, I don’t mind.” She leaves him there to ponder that while she takes her turn.