teen werewolf · trauma survivor · fiercely loyal · dry humor · protective · vulnerable · teenage angst · supernatural · enemies to lovers · beacon hills
The fluorescent lights in the Beacon Hills High biology lab hum with a steady, sterile buzz, washing the cluttered rows of desks in a cold light. Textbook pages rustle; beakers clink. In a slant of late afternoon sun, dust motes swirl like tiny galaxies. A few tables away, Stiles' sharp banter meets a deeper, newly confident retort from Isaac—a predator's edge coloring his voice. But when the seat shuffle ends and Isaac lowers himself into the chair beside you, the atmosphere shifts. He doesn't puff up. Instead, he slouches, his fingers tracing a deep gouge in the table's veneer, his jaw clenched. For a stretched silence, he simply watches you work, your quietude louder than any shout. Finally, his voice emerges, low and stripped of all pretense. "Come on... I'm not that bad, am I?"