None of it's mine, etc.

This is really short, but hopefully still sweet. I hope you enjoy it.

Seven Minutes

"Just a heads up," Jackson said, addressing the circle at large, "whoever goes into that closet next had better mind their god damn hands, or they'll be dealing with me." He glared at them all with warning.

"Why don't you go and beat your chest some more, Tarzan," Lydia said with a roll of her eyes. She wriggled closer to the empty vodka bottle that lay in the centre of the circle and she stretched out a hand. Her bright eyes glanced around at the people in the circle, and Scott gulped and felt thoroughly evaluated. "Here goes," she whispered, all sugar and sweetness, and she spun the bottle with a flick of her wrist.

Everyone seemed to lean inwards, watching with curiosity. Stiles, who was beside Scott in the circle, was whispering faint prayers under his breath.

The bottle spun around and around, blurring until it was a glassy shimmer, and then it slowed. It came to a stop pointing directly at Danny, who barked with laughter.

"Come on," he said good-naturedly, getting to his feet and offering a hand to Lydia to help her up, "let's go to heaven, baby."

"After you," Lydia replied, her cherry lips stretched in a grin, and with a giggle she followed him to the opposite end of the long living room to where a closet door stood ajar.

"Keep your hands to yourselves!" Jackson called after them, though he was grinning and looked relieved.

"Whatever," Lydia quipped over her shoulder, and with a toss of her hair she disappeared into the closet behind Danny. The door closed after them with a secure click.

Conversation bubbled up around them, and Scott turned to Stiles. "Better luck next time, dude," he sympathised.

Stiles's lip quivered dramatically and he let out a long, wistful sigh. "Did you see how close that was?" he asked. "The bottle was only five people away from landing on me." He shot a sad look over his shoulder at the closet.

"Cheer up, man," Scott encouraged him, patting him comfortingly on the shoulder, "you still have a chance. You have to spin the bottle, remember? You might land on her."

Stiles eyes sparked with hope and he stared ahead, clearly imagining the scenario. "You're right," he breathed, "I can still do this. If I spin it just right, I can make it land on her." He grinned broadly and looked back at Scott. "So, who are you hoping to land on?" he asked.

Scott had been asking himself the same question since they'd started the game. He shrugged his shoulders a little and glanced around the circle of his classmates, half of them members of the lacrosse team and half of them people he knew from his classes. It was Jackson's party in celebration of a victory on the lacrosse field, and even though Scott had been on the bench the entire game, Jackson had explicitly said that everyone was invited. Hell, he'd stood upon the changing room bench and shouted the invite at the top of his lungs.

"I don't know," he said finally, his eyes returning to Stiles, who was yet again glancing worriedly back at the closet. "I don't really mind."

"There isn't anyone you'd like to spend seven minutes in heaven with?" Stiles asked with raised eyebrows, surprised.

He shrugged. "No."

"One day you'll find your own Lydia Martin," Stiles told him reassuringly, and Scott grimaced through a smile. "Until then, how about you just keep your fingers crossed for my spin to land on Lydia, hey?"

"Sure," Scott said, laughing. "I can do that for you, dude."

"In just—" Stiles peered around the circle, counting under his breath "—two spins it will be my turn." He bounced a little from where he sat cross-legged on the carpet, a look of wild excitement upon his face.

Scott looked across the circle at the space Lydia had left. Beside her gaping absence sat Isaac Lahey, his legs crossed neatly before him. He wore a quiet expression, one that was both sad and soft, and Scott cocked his head and studied him further, curious. Isaac was glancing hesitantly around the circle, checking the faces of his companions. His teeth wore incessantly at his bottom lip, worrying away at the flesh, and Scott knew he was nervous. It was painfully obvious that Isaac was worried about who he'd land on – and how they'd react.

It was then that Isaac's eyes fell upon Scott, and they stared at one another, both startled to have been caught looking. It took a frantic moment before Scott was able to make his lips quirk into a smile. He hoped it cheered him up a little and made him feel better about it all.

Isaac tore his eyes away, his face flushing pink, and Scott did the same.

"Time's up!" Jackson announced, and he jogged excitedly over to the closet door and rapped his knuckles against it.

The door opened and Danny and Lydia emerged, both smiling and cheerful.

"You'd better watch out, Jackson," Danny said, shoving their shoulders together playfully, "or I'll steal her away from you."

Lydia crossed her arms and sniffed. "I'd like to see someone try to steal me," she said with dire warning. With a flip of her hair and the click of her heels she strutted away from them and returned to her place in the circle.

"Your turn, Lahey," Jackson said as he lowered himself into his spot. "Spin that bitch."

Isaac looked up nervously, his eyes fluttering between everyone. Finally he swallowed painfully and reached out and gave the bottle a firm spin.

As the bottle twirled before them all, Scott hoped that whoever it landed on wouldn't cause a fuss. He didn't want to see what Isaac looked like when his feelings had been crushed. Also, if someone rejected Isaac – who was genuinely beautiful, what with his clear eyes and strong jaw line – Scott had more than enough reason to be concerned about how the group would react when it was his turn to spin.

The bottle began to slow, and Isaac's eyes were fixated upon the sight. Scott was watching him, waiting for his reaction, when the bottle came to a stop. Isaac's eyes shot upwards to meet Scott's, and that was when Scott looked down and saw the bottle pointing directly at him.

His heart jumped unevenly.

"Aw, you guys get it easy," said Samantha from History class, who had been slobbered upon by three different spinners already.

Scott attempted a smile and nodded his head. A nervous chuckle escaped him. "Yeah," he agreed. He felt awkward and uncomfortable, he felt exposed.

He got to his feet and Isaac followed.

"Seven minutes, fellas," Jackson called after them. "Make them count!"

Scott rolled his eyes where Jackson couldn't see, and then stepped into the closet. Isaac followed just a little after, a look of hesitance and panic just visible on his face.

When the door clicked close and the darkness became absolute, Scott heard Isaac gasp.

"Hey, are you alright?" Scott asked with genuine concern. It was impossible to see and he felt stupid standing there with his eyes open, and yet it felt just as strange to have them closed.

"Yeah," Isaac said, his voice thin and shaky, "I'm fine." He laughed a little, and the sound was awkward and forced. Scott could hear him fidgeting, could hear the rustle and brush of his clothes.

"Are y-"

At that moment there was a crashing sound as Isaac bumped into something that was stacked in the closet with them, and they both bent to catch it at the same time. Their foreheads slammed together with a burst of blinding white pain, and Stiles let out a hiss that was echoed by an equally painful yelp from Isaac.

"Oh my god," Scott gasped, pressing both of his hands to his forehead where they'd collided.

"Shit," Isaac breathed, "I'm so sorry!" His voice had a tremor to it now, as though he wanted to cry.

"No, it's alright, it's okay," Scott told him, and it was true, he wasn't hurt. It was just a momentary flare of pain, that was all. "Didn't even break the skin." He paused a moment before asking, "Are you okay? Not bleeding?"

"M'fine," Isaac told him.

Scott wasn't convinced. He could hear Isaac's feet shuffle against the floor as he fidgeted, and his breathing was quick and thin. "Dude, are you sure?" he asked. "You sound like you're kind of freaking out."

Isaac's breathing sharpened, taking a frantic edge, and Scott reached out to catch his arm, to calm him somehow, but his fingers found his wrist instead.

"Isaac," he said quietly, flexing his grip around his wrist, making sure he was there, "are you afraid of the dark?"

"No," Isaac wheezed, and there was a hint of delirious amusement in his voice, like being of scared of the dark was a joke, was nothing. "Just – small spaces."

Scott swallowed thickly. "You're claustrophobic?" He couldn't imagine why Isaac would have agreed to play the game if that was the case.

"That's what I said, didn't I?" he snapped, and he jerked his wrist out of Scott's grasp. Scott missed the touch.

"Sorry," he murmured. He felt big and clumsy – felt dumb.

Isaac breathed loudly for a long moment before he seemed to reach some decision within himself. He said, "No – no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped like that. I just – oh god – I don't like enclosed spaces like this." He shuddered, and Scott felt it against him.

"We'll leave," Scott said, already reaching for the door handle, but suddenly Isaac shoved him back, pushed him into the coats and jackets that hung behind him.

"No," he rasped frantically, and Scott could feel the gust of his words against his skin, "don't."

"But-"

"I don't get invited to things like this, Scott," he whined, his voice steely with determination. "If I go out there now, if they realise I'm scared of a stupid game of seven minutes in heaven, they'll never forget it and I'll never be invited again."

Scott took a shaky breath. He understood – god, he understood. Every time he had to stop during training to get out his inhaler, every time Coach looked at him and sent him to the bench to catch his breath, Scott worried that someone would see and would think he was weak. He wanted to belong so badly.

"Okay," he whispered, and he shut his eyes against the dark. "Can I – is there anything I can do to help?"

Isaac shifted nervously, but his breathing had slowed a little. "Just talk to me," he said, "that's all."

Scott wet his lips and opened his eyes, and the darkness seemed to lessen. Isaac's face was almost visible in the soft black of the closet.

"My mom's working over-time at the hospital," he said quietly. "Sometimes she doesn't get home until after breakfast." He swallowed. "I don't see her very much." He hadn't even told Stiles that, but he figured that if Isaac was being so honest, if Isaac was sharing so much of himself, then Scott owed him that much in return.

"I'm sorry," Isaac said gently. His hand grazed against Scott's.

"Don't be," Scott murmured. He'd heard about Isaac's own family problems – no mom, and a brother lost in the war – and his own seemed pitiful in comparison. "It's alright, really. I just worry about her sometimes, that's all." He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Isaac's breathing was stable. "You're a good son," he said, and there was sadness in his voice. "She's a good mom."

It was quiet for a moment. Scott's eyes felt heavy. "I think the seven minutes are almost over," he said, hoping to cheer Isaac up at the prospect of escaping the tight confines of the closet.

Before Scott could process what was about to happen, Isaac leaned in and kissed him, soft and chaste. Gentle.

Scott made a noise of surprise. He'd never been kissed before – he'd never so much as held hands with someone – and yet there he was, wrapped in the darkness, and Isaac Lahey's mouth was on his own.

The kiss broke and they stood close to one another, a stunned silence having fallen between them. There was just enough light in the closet for Scott to know that Isaac's eyes were on him.

"Time's up!" came Jackson's muffled shout from out in the living room, and just like that the door opened and light spilled in.

Scott squinted and blinked and he staggered out behind Isaac. He could hear him sucking back deep breaths of air, comforting himself with the space around him. No one seemed to notice or care.

He took his place in the circle, still watching Isaac as subtly as he could manage.

"How'd it go?" Stiles asked conversationally, never expecting that they'd actually kissed in there.

"It was…" Scott shrugged.

Stiles, too distracted by his upcoming turn to spin the bottle, didn't seem to hear him.

On the other side of the circle Isaac sat with a flushed face, his expression just a little shell-shocked. Scott watched him and pressed his lips firmly together, wondering if he'd imagined it.

TWO YEARS LATER

It had been three weeks since Isaac had arrived, dripping water on Scott's carpet and asking if he could stay. He hadn't given them a time frame to work with, and Scott knew that there was none. Derek had kicked him out – and Isaac wouldn't talk about it, so he knew it had been messy – and then, left with nowhere else to turn, Isaac had come to him. He was staying indefinitely.

So Isaac had stayed with them for the past three weeks, and after a while he no longer felt like a guest. His presence had become as safe and familiar as home.

It was a Saturday and it was a slow night – a distinctly rare event. There weren't any fights to take part in, and the Alphas were quiet for once. It felt like a holiday, almost.

Scott's mom was working the night shift at the hospital, so they took advantage of her absence to watch the films she did nothing but complain through.

"Which hobbit is your favourite?" Isaac asked from beside him on the couch. He was slumped down bonelessly, his chin almost touching his chest, but his eyes were transfixed upon the screen. "I think I like Merry the most, but that might be because of my residual feelings for the actor." He turned his head towards Scott, curious. "Did you ever watch LOST?"

"To answer your first question, my favourite is Frodo," Scott replied, watching as Aragorn swung a sword across the television, "and as for your second, no. Never got into it."

"Aw," Isaac sighed sadly, disappointed. "I liked it."

"You watch Breaking Bad?" Scott asked him, twisting his neck to gauge his reaction.

He shook his head with a sad smile. "I've heard good things about it, though," he said.

"You should start it," Scott told him, "it's good."

Isaac nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah," he said, "I will."

It alarmed Scott, sometimes, just how easy things were with Isaac. Conversation was effortless, and they'd developed their own kind of shorthand that he'd only ever thought was possible with Stiles, who he'd known since before he could remember.

It was frightening how quickly he'd come to like him, especially since before recently, before the bite happened to them both, he hadn't spoken to him at all.

Except.

His breath caught a little, and he hoped Isaac would dismiss it as a reaction to the film.

It had been years ago – actual years – when they'd talked in whispers in Jackson Whittemore's living room closet. Coats and storage boxes had walled them in, and Isaac had gasped for breath and Scott had talked to him – he couldn't even remember what about. They'd kissed. It hadn't been much of a kiss, just a sweet touch of lips, but it had filled him with shivers and his lips had burned for a week.

After the party he'd searched for Isaac in the hallway at school and he'd tried to find a desk beside his in class. He'd wanted to say something, wanted to find out what had happened, but he'd never let the words out. Isaac had met his eye once or twice and his face had grown hot and red, but they hadn't said a word. And after a while Scott stopped expecting anything. He stopped watching him, stopped looking for him at parties, and he moved on. Before he knew it he'd been bitten, and then Allison appeared, smiling sweetly. It became too easy to forget. He'd started to wonder if maybe he'd imagined it.

He didn't understand why he was thinking about it now, though. Maybe it was because Allison wasn't there anymore, or maybe it was because Isaac was. Isaac, who slept in the room next to Scott's and sometimes talked in his sleep. Isaac, who was sprawled beside him on the couch, rambling about LOST without realising Scott hadn't heard a word he'd said. Isaac, whose lips were so perfect, and whose eyes were so bright.

Isaac let out a yawn, his eyes fluttering closed, and then he continued talking, his lips moving at an impossible speed.

"Do you remember when we were fifteen – before the bite, before all of it?" Scott asked, interrupting him and earning Isaac's puzzled gaze. "Do you remember a party at Jackson's house?"

Isaac's eyes widened just slightly and his body seemed to stiffen in place. He was tensed and alert. Scott breathed a little easier knowing that he hadn't imagined it – hadn't fooled himself into believing a dream.

"I don't know, man," Isaac said, laughing a little, and in the dark of the living room Scott could almost imagine that they were back in the closet. "That was a really long time ago."

Scott rolled his head to the side and watched him, studied his profile. He could hear frantic fight scenes coming from the television, but he didn't care. He'd seen the film dozens of times, knew the script by heart, but there was always something new in Isaac's expression to be memorised.

"Yeah," he agreed, "it was an entire lifetime ago. But I've always remembered that one party."

Isaac gulped and Scott watched as his Adam's apple bobbed against his throat. "That was the only party Jackson ever invited me to," he said quietly, like a confession, like it was something to keep secret.

"I know," Scott said, and Isaac turned his head to him with his eyebrows raised, inquisitive and confused. Scott explained, "I always looked for you, after that."

Isaac's eyes were large and vulnerable. "Oh," he whispered.

Scott tried to smile. "Yeah."

Conversation lulled, and Scott glanced over at the television. Gandalf was falling.

"That was my first kiss, you know," Isaac said quietly. The faint light from the television illuminated the lines of his face, and Scott knew he was flushing hot across his skin.

"Mine too," Scott admitted in a whisper. "It was a pretty kick-ass first kiss," he added thoughtfully.

Isaac laughed a little hysterically, sounding as though adrenalin was behind it. Scott could hear his heart beating against his chest, hammering furiously. He wondered what his heart-beat sounded like to Isaac.

"Yeah," Isaac agreed, a soft curve to his mouth, "yeah, it was."

Isaac was smiling, his face was flushed, and his eyes were bright. Scott watched him, completely enthralled.

In one fluid movement he leaned across the couch, bringing his mouth inches from Isaac's. He met Isaac's eyes, nearly going cross-eyed in the process, and tried to see if it was alright, if he was allowed.

Isaac's eyelashes fell as he looked at Scott's mouth. When he looked up again, when he met Scott's eyes, his pupils were blown. He nodded.

Their mouths touched, hesitant and warm, and Scott's hand found its way to Isaac's bicep. Isaac angled his head and deepened the kiss, and he ran his tongue against the inside of Scott's lips, exploring. Scott moaned at the feeling, and Isaac's heart-rate quickened.

They slowly parted after a moment longer, and Scott was sure he was on the verge of passing out. Isaac raised a hand to press his fingers against his own bottom lip, touching gently, astonished.

"That was about two years overdue," Scott sighed, and he stole Isaac's hand and held on to it, held on to him.

"We've got a lot of catching up to do, then," Isaac said around a smirk, and Scott leaned in again, confident that they had all the time in the world.

Well, they had much longer than seven minutes, at least.

THE END