His steps falter as he climbs into Scott's car.

And Issac loathes the way he literally stutters as he gets into the front seat. A spot only recently vacated by the boy with the strange name. Because even commandeering his actual spot feels like a violation somehow. Blasphemy of the highest order. Then again, he reasons with himself, it's not like he's attempting to hijack his symbolic spot. That shit isn't up for grabs, anyway. It'll never be.

Evidenced by the fact that Isaac, the newest member to their ragtag friend group, does this weird little twitchy thing every damn time he slinks into the front seat apologetically so Scott doesn't feel like a chauffeur because the boy with the strange name meant more to them than anybody realized.

Not that Scott even looks his way when he gets in.

But Issac forces a smile anyway because Scott is breathing and that's all anyone can ask of him after what he's gone through in the last six months. He's doing better than anybody could've dreamed possible after losing Allison and Stiles in such a short span of time. And yeah, technically, she was dating Isaac when she died in Scott's arms, but her heart was barely on loan to Isaac. It never belonged to him like it belonged to Scott.

And it turns out, losing the boy with the strange name is infinitely harder for Isaac. Not that he's prepared to dismantle the cage he's locked the whys barely buried beneath the surface with that one. Because it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. None of it. Not the way he stares at the last message from Stiles. Not the way he checks his phone obsessively, waiting for a response. And not the way he sends updates to the dead boy about his day, as if he's asked.

Not the way he cries. And cries. And cries.

No one ever hears him, of course. Thank God. He saves that for when he's well and truly alone. Because, like he said, it makes no sense. But it's happening anyway and he has no idea how to stop it. And he isn't sure he wants to. Not when the boy with the strange name made him feel as if he deserved a home for the first time in his whole life. As if he was loved. As if he was more than his trauma. As if he was worthy of any of those things.

And fuck, this hurts so much worse.

But dammit, Isaac locks that shit up tight because he wasn't the best friend. And he buries it again because he wasn't the love of Stiles' life. No, other people hold those titles. Better people. Which is fine. Isaac has always been the one who loves more than he's loved. But when it came to the boy with the strange name, everything felt a little more equitable.

And now it's gone.

So, sure, it's not like he's going to get anything in return. Not anymore. But on days when he has turned to tell the boy with the strange name a joke he heard only to find he's still gone a few too many times, this tether makes him feel a warmness in his chest. It doesn't bloom as far as it used to, and it doesn't burn as bright as before, but it's something.

Something is good.

And on days, like today, when Scott is on autopilot, driving them over to Derek's loft for a meeting no one cares about, he likes to think the boy with the strange name saw his messages, wherever he might be now, and he's watching out for them all.

But it sneaks back in too, hits him square in the chest, the nagging idea that maybe that's just what people who get left behind force themselves to believe so they don't lose it. Because these days, Isaac feels crazy. He feels downright insane to be messaging a phone, begging whatever deity is up there for something that can never happen, and praying Noah doesn't take away his last shred of connection to the boy with the strange name.

Maybe it's okay that it's the only thing keeping him from the brink of madness, though. The only thing that keeps him from jumping headfirst into whatever deep, dark abyss that's constantly surrounding him now. The only thing that forces out the inky blackness. That warmness, that light, tucked right behind his ribs, near his heart, guides him and it saves him, and maybe it doesn't matter where it comes from.

This godforsaken phone reminds Isaac that he's still here, even if the boy with the strange name has left them. And he has to keep going. Keep breathing. Keep living.

But whatever peacefulness he manages to scrape together crumbles to dust in his hands as he remembers Derek has been doing the same thing recently. Just staring at his phone, staring at that damned blank screen, hoping that the boy with the strange name is just late. That he might only be a few seconds away from sending a completely ludicrous excuse for his tardiness in an effort to get his Sourwolf to crack an elusive smile.

Listen, I released the Kraken. Gonna be five more minutes.

Uh, dude, they let the dogs out again. Let me round up these puppies and then I'll head over.

Jackson slipped some of his Kanima jizz in my coffee. Just unfroze. Be right there.

And the smile slips again when that realization smacks him in the face. The boy with the strange name is gone. Forever. And he's taken his hilariously absurd excuses with him. And he's taken the smiles. And he's taken the heart. Because he was the heart. And the lungs too, Isaac guesses, since none of them has breathed right since he left. All of them constantly offering up only labored gasps and strained gulps.

And maybe it'll be like this until they're all gone too. Or maybe they'll move on tomorrow. But that doesn't matter in this moment because it's awful and the only thing, the only goddamn thing, that makes Isaac feel anything is texting a phone no one will ever answer.

So, he realizes, maybe it doesn't matter if it's crazy. Doesn't matter if he's crazy. Because as he looks over at Scott again, he sees crazy is probably better than whatever hellscape the other boy is going through beside him.

Yeah, Isaac decides, crazy is better.

Just this once.