Work Text:
“Is it supposed to be this cold this late in January?”
Scott’s fingers pulled at his scarf as he asked the question, attempting to bring it closer to his neck without allowing it to strangle him. It was a delicate balance of warmth vs. comfort and Scott wasn’t as skilled in keeping the balance as he would’ve liked. Isaac seemed to have it down, though; something Scott idly noticed – not for the first time – as he sat on top of the picnic table in the alley behind the restaurant that was their makeshift break room.
Most servers in most restaurants had the privilege of taking breaks in an actual work lounge or maybe the kitchen, but not at Pleine Lune, the restaurant the Hale siblings had inherited after the death of their parents. Of the three chefs, two were a couple of the sweetest people Beacon Hills had ever known. Danny and Allison could cure disease with their smiles and French cuisine alike, everyone at the restaurant agreed. But the other chef was Derek Hale and Scott, for one, was rarely in the mood to risk bothering him while he prepared gourmet cuisine and somehow, the noise they made in the break room adjacent to the kitchen always bothered him to point where the vein in his neck bulged a little bit. That scared Scott.
It was different on the weekends, when they would get together and Derek would make enough pasta or omelets to feed an army of servers and hosts and chefs and table clearers, and smiled at his sisters and staff like nothing in the world could get them down for a second or two, but at work, he was terrifying and not to be crossed.
Every time Scott mentioned these warnings, Isaac laughed at him.
“You’re overdramatic. If going back in time to when that elderly Mexican woman forced you to watch telenovelas and stopping her was an option, I would recommend taking it,” he joked, pushing at Scott but digging long, frozen-pale fingers into Scott’s scarf to lay it more evenly and create a little room to breathe. Scott smiled, but it was hard to tell whether it was because of the fingers so close to his person or the joke. Both, maybe. Both was good.
Scott pulled his legs up to the bench of the picnic table and tilted his head down to bury his nose in his scarf. He turned to look at Isaac and smiled beneath the thick warmth of the wool. Isaac’s nose was wind-bitten to a rosy pink that matched his cheeks and without another thought, he scooted over until they were shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh; their shoes up on the bench, constantly kicking at each other. Isaac fit his nose against Scott’s scarf, adding to the closeness that surrounded them and their little moment. Moments like that reminded him of why he voluntarily went outside in the cold instead of staying quiet in the break room with a cup of hot chocolate. Certain company made the weather a little less biting.
“Rosa didn’t force me to do anything. She was a good babysitter. She just wanted me to be more in touch with my Hispanic side. I’m sure she would’ve woken up from her TV coma if there had been an emergency.”
The joke made Isaac smile, but it also reminded him of how quick Scott was to defend the people he cared about, even the little old ladies who babysat him when he was a little niño. It was more than sweet or endearing. It was genuine and very characteristic of Scott. It made Isaac wonder why none of Scott’s relationships had lasted in high school; the months on months of Allison and the pining that followed, a short-lived attempt with an odd, cheerful girl called Kira, a drunken kiss turned to awkward, insignificant coffee dates with a guy, Grant. Scott radiated kindness and thoughtfulness, even to people like Isaac, who were quick to cynicism, but none of those people had stuck.
It was perplexing, in the least.
“You in there?” Scott asked, waving a hand in front of Isaac’s face with a wide, amused smile on his lips.
Isaac snorted, shoulders moving back a little bit while his foot kicked at Scott’s. “Somewhere else, actually,” he admitted, not bothering to pretend he was anywhere but in his head.
Scott studied Isaac's eyes for a good several seconds. “Disneyland? I can see it in your eyes, dude,” Scott teased, but when Isaac looked over at him and shrugged, his expression was just a little bit sad.
“I never got to go,” he muttered, something flashing in his eyes that made him seem small and vulnerable for a second before he swallowed, like he was still that eight year old that had been promised everything and received nothing. That was all Scott needed before his mind was made up. He clapped Isaac on the shoulder and smiled to him.
“Maybe we’ll go sometime.”
--
After that, their break was over and it was back to waiting tables, charming customers for tips, and chatting up the kitchen staff while they ran food to the patrons and plates to the sink. If there was a new sparkle in Scott’s smile for the rest of the day, nobody mentioned it.
They had another hour left of their shifts before they got to go home, but it had been a long day. Derek took one look at them and sent them on break. With hands that spoke of misplaced attempted stealth and maybe a little guilt, Isaac pulled out a pack of cigarettes and nodded at Scott. “I’m gonna smoke, you good in here?” he asked, which wasn’t uncommon near the end of a shift. Scott’s answering smile was enough to take the guilt from Isaac, who immediately relaxed and went back into the alley, leaving Scott to search for a man he needed to see about some tickets.
“Stiles, those tickets your dad bought for him and Mom, is he still selling them?” Scott inquired of Stiles, catching him taking his break in the work lounge. He knew for a fact that Stiles was louder than he and Isaac, but Derek never neck-vein-bulged at Stiles.
“Yeah, buddy. Valentine’s Day extravaganza. He has to keep lowering the price because nobody in Beacon Hills will take them, which kinda sucks, that’s a ton of money down the drain, but what can you do? At least he got the refund for the hotel, you know?” Stiles goes on, but there’s a fondness in his voice that Scott shares. Whatever was happening between their parents wasn’t new – hadn’t been new since their junior year of high school, which was more than two years in the past.
“Do you think he’d sell them to me? Isaac’s never been to Disneyland and… I mean, I dunno, I thought it’d be nice,” Scott said, smiling all goofy at Stiles before ducking his head down to hide it. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, but soon his lips followed soon after, raising into a smile.
“For Valentine’s Day?” he asked, elbowing Scott with a few playful nudges. Scott put his finger to his lips and widened his eyes at his friend, as if Isaac could hear him. Stiles scoffed, pushing at Scott’s shoulder. “Come on, he’s not in here. Are you finally gonna make a move, Scotty? Is my boy growing up?”
Scott had never rolled his eyes so hard in his life, but it landed Stiles in a fit of laughter. “Alright, I get it. Secrets, secrets. Sheesh. Yeah, I think he’d sell them to you. For cheap, too. Do you want me to schedule around you guys for that weekend, maybe Monday, too?” Stiles offered, and from the smile on his face, he knew he’d be taking advantage of his duties as host. Lydia, their other host, probably would’ve done the same thing.
You know, for love.
--
The campervan - after an hour at the self-serve car wash, where Scott cleaned the vehicle inside and out, top to bottom until his hands were all but raisins - wasn’t so bad, especially since he had it for free for the week. It was from the mid-1970s and the grandpa that lived four doors down had just put it out for sale, but took one look at Scott with his crumpled money and said he could take it off his hands for a little while. Even after the generosity, the mattress inside had to go. It looked like it spent the seventies assisting in a lot of practice of free love, and Scott was beyond freaked out about that. It fit a double mattress, which Scott eventually found on sale at the thrift shop, and the mattress he shoved into his new campervan looked less like it would hurt them or give them genital herpes.
Scott stood back, looking at the camper parked in front of his mom’s place, thinking about the tickets in the envelope in the bedroom at his apartment and all the birthday money he was finally putting to good use, and felt better about this plan than he had about anything else in a while.
He worried about Isaac. They all did. He wasn’t some broken puppy or needy orphan from Oliver Twist, but that’s what got to them all. He was a man, two years out of high school with a steady job and a room he paid rent on at Laura, Derek, and Cora's place. He was a man who just happened to have had the most awful childhood and adolescence that any of them could even fathom. His brother had died in combat, his mother had died of breast cancer, and his father had killed himself and two teenage girls when he decided to drink and drive. His entire family was dead and he’d spent most of his childhood bruised and bleeding and locked in a freezer. Even the Hales, who had lost everyone in one fell swoop, knew he must have been worse off than any of them.
And he never showed any sign that he wasn’t perfectly fine. Even when someone dropped a plate in the kitchen or yelled at him a little too suddenly and he flinched, or when it got too crowded on the street and his breathing went uneasy, he still smiled and promised that everything was okay.
Scott wanted that to be true, just for a few days. Three days when they didn’t have to worry about work or money or what had happened in the past. Three days when everything was already taken care of. Three days at the Happiest Place on Earth.
--
“Scott, it’s six in the morning.” Isaac’s voice was barely a sleep-addled grumble when Scott called him two weeks into February, which just made him grin, waiting outside the Hale home, where Isaac lived. And really, the words were so jumbled with exhaustion that anybody would find them endearing, Scott was sure.
Scott made sure he was parked correctly and got out of the campervan, tugging his jacket a little closer to his chest as he leaned against the side of it, facing the house. “I know it is, but I need you to do something for me, okay? I need you to come unlock the door so I can help you pack,” he said, nervous energy in his chest bubbling up. He was going to have to get that out at some point, but he always got like this. Surprising people with nice things was one of Scott’s patented Simple Joys of Life.
“What do you mean, help me pack?” Isaac asked, but Scott could already see him opening the door of the Hale house and standing behind the glass door that protected him from the cold. He just sort of stared at the van, but that made Scott smile wide. He ran up to the door, hanging up the phone, and opened the glass door, letting in himself and the cold. “Come on, pack first,” he instructed, automatically going to Isaac’s room.
When Isaac trailed behind him, it was obvious his mind was just as sleep-addled as his speech had been over the phone. Scott already had a suitcase out from under Isaac’s bed by the time he asked, “But where are we going? I have work at three. You have work at three.”
Scott didn’t bother to answer. He’d find out soon enough. “What shirts do you want to bring?” he asked instead, mentally going over the forecast he’d looked up. It was Anaheim. It would be in the high seventies the entire time they were there. Isaac sat back on his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest, seeming to be content with watching Scott. Scott knew Isaac’s wardrobe as well as he knew his own, which was probably an indicator of something, but he didn’t think too hard on it. He just saw Isaac an awful lot and paid attention. He was attentive, that was all.
Scott was broken from his thoughts by the sounds of light snoring and when he looked to his right, sure enough, Isaac had laid back down and was asleep against his pillows. Smile soft on his lips, Scott finished packing for his friend and zipped up the suitcase. He shook Isaac gently, laughing when he grumbled and tried to swat Scott’s hand away. “Come on, dude. You can sleep in the car. Just put some shoes on,” he offered, extending his hand to Isaac. All it took was one more grumble before they were on their way out.
--
For the first hour of the drive, Isaac did sleep. Scott hadn’t really expected that, though he had expected Isaac to be tired, but there was something about the silence only being interrupted by Isaac’s soft breathing and occasional snoring that made the first hour exactly what he needed. It was a time where he could think, where the roads stopped looking like Beacon Hills’ roads and started looking like some kind of coming of age roadtrip; like on the way back from their journey, they would have to worry about something terrible or however those movies always ended.
Scott hated movies with happy middles and ambiguously cynical endings. Isaac always said they were the most realistic. “You can go on the roadtrip, but home won’t wait for you. You can’t escape that kind of thing. You can’t escape the stress of it,” he’d said after watching some indie film Lydia had recommended off of Netflix.
“But you can try, can’t you?” Scott had countered, and his eyes must have given away how hopeful or worried he was, because Isaac had leaned into him and nodded.
“Yeah. Yeah, you can try.”
It was memories like those ones that Scott lingered on during the first hour of their trip, but his mind was pulled away when he passed a billboard that boasted “Dizzy Dave’s! Best Breakfast in the West! Try Our French Toast!” He grinned and turned up the radio, something by the Killers pumping in through the speakers to wake Isaac up.
“What time s’it?” he asked, rubbing his face and sitting more comfortably in his seat. Sleep adequately wiped from his eyes, Isaac turned them to Scott. “Where are we, even?”
Scott shook his head. If Isaac paid attention to the signs on the highway and figured it out, that would be okay, but he wasn’t going to give away the surprise. “It’s almost seven thirty. We’ve got to see a dizzy man about some French toast,” he explained, snickering to himself as he turned on his blinker and took the next exit. He knew for a fact that Isaac had a soft spot for French toast.
When they finally arrived at Dizzy Dave’s, they were not disappointed. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla and powdered sugar hit them in waves, and Scott could see why Dave was so dizzy, hanging around a scent like that all day.
“Well hello, youngsters! Welcome to Dizzy Dave’s, I’ll be your waitress and you can call me Francine,” said a women in her early forties, hair teased to mock the heavens with just a little grey at the roots that somehow made her pep even more endearing. She led them to a table and listed off all of their drink options without prompt, and one look from Scott to Isaac showed something surprising. Isaac was smiling at her, uninhibited. Scott stared at that smile, his own quirking his lips, long enough at he missed what Isaac had ordered. He started a little bit, scrambling to remember what he wanted.
“I’ll uh, just have apple juice,” he told Francine with a shy grin, knowing he'd been caught staring at his friend, but it was Isaac that she turned a knowing smile on. Scott could’ve groaned, because it was clear that she and Isaac were on the same page. But he would’ve sworn he’d just been shocked that Isaac was smiling like that so soon after waking up. He would’ve sworn, but Isaac didn’t bring it up. His face was soft, just a little bit teasing, but there was nothing harsh about it. Even the sharp angle of his jaw seemed a little smoother, a little gentler.
The French toast came with enough food to feed ten hungry men, so it just made sense to share one plate between the two of them. If it was more intimate that way, they were used to keeping that kind of thing to themselves.
--
“So where are we going, again?”
Scott glanced to the side, taking in Isaac’s smirk and shaking his head. He was sure he hadn’t given it away, and none of the signs on the road had any telling information on them yet, unless Isaac knew the small towns on the way to Anaheim. “Like I’m telling you,” Scott said with a grin that just wouldn’t stay down, no matter how hard he tried to seem sneaky rather than just straight up goofy.
Isaac’s eyebrows scrunched up for a second, the precursor to a pout, but the pout never came. Instead, Scott an eyeful of Isaac huffing and leaning his elbow on the door so he could hide his smile with his hand. “Fine. I’ll figure it out,” was all he said.
The next few minutes were quiet, but every time Scott’s gaze turned on Isaac, that tiny smile was still in place. There was no doubt he’d done the right thing in taking him away for a few days. He hoped things would be as good when they got to Disneyland, but he had a sneaking suspicion they would be even better. Really, with how antsy Isaac was, he was certain of it. He didn’t seem anxious, just eager to see where Scott was taking him.
“We’re going to a picnic, just you and me, and me, I’m bringing… Apricots,” Isaac said, looking over at Scott, who seemed perplexed. He nudged Scott with his elbow, trying to get him to say the next one, but Scott genuinely didn’t know what was happening. “How have you never played this game?” Isaac asked, surprised laughter accompanying him. “My parents used to play this with me and Cam all the time, to try and get us to stop fighting on the way to my grandparents’,” he recalled, snorting. It didn’t seem like the memory was either good or bad, so Scott left it alone.
“How do you play?” was all he asked, and Isaac seemed more than happy to teach him.
“Alright, so the point is to get to the end of the alphabet. We take turns saying something we would bring to a picnic and we alternate letters. I said apricots for A, so you have to do B. And you always start with ‘we’re going to a picnic, just you and me, and me, I’m bringing…” His hands swept to the sides, indicating that Scott should fill in the blank.
“Burritos!” he said on a whim, which cracked Isaac up.
“What the hell kind of picnic do you bring apricots and burritos to?” he asked, covering his mouth with his hand for a second. Scott just scoffed playfully, rolling his eyes.
“One with a white guy and a Mexican, obviously,” he teased, a mischievous little glint in his eye. “It’s your turn, dork. Don’t slow down the game, it’s already getting good.” It was Isaac’s turn to roll his eyes at that one.
“We’re going to a picnic, just you and me, and me, I’m bringing cantaloupe,” he said, his words easy like these were his go-to picnic game foods.
“We’re going to a picnic, just you and me, and me, I’m bringing… donuts.”
“We’re going to a picnic, just you and me, and me, I’m bringing egg rolls.” Scott busted out laughing at Isaac’s use of Chinese food, pointing at him as he laughed like he was supposed to know what was so funny. Isaac looked over at Scott like he was crazy, but there was an upturn in his smile that let on to the fact that he found it endearing.
“So you can bring egg rolls to a picnic but I can’t bring burritos?” Scott teased, but all Isaac did was shove him a little bit and mutter something about liking egg rolls. Sure the van was right where it was supposed to be, Scott let his eyes linger on Isaac’s light blush for an extra moment.
When he looked forward again, always aiming to keep them safe above all else, the road got the chance to enjoy his fond smile, soft and sweet.
--
From Beacon Hills to Anaheim, the drive was supposed to last upwards of six hours. Scott added another hour for any stops they would need to take along the way, just to be safe, and the trip should’ve ended at the seven hour mark. Somehow, they ended up thirty minutes away from the place they were supposed to park and stuck in miles and miles of traffic, eight hours into their drive. The tank was full of gas from a pit stop they’d made an hour earlier, so they had the luxury of air conditioning that mostly worked, but it wasn’t the heat that was getting to Isaac and Scott knew it.
He had worried about this part, being stuck in the camper for so long, but the first several hours had gone so smoothly. They stopped often, either to grab a meal or some snacks or another drink, any excuse to stretch their legs and get something better than stale air, but they’d been in traffic in almost forty-five minutes and Isaac kept wringing his hands. Scott had seen what could happen if Isaac’s anxiety about small spaces got bad enough, and the last thing he wanted was for Isaac to meltdown.
Without really thinking, Scott moved his hand off of the wheel and reached over to the back of Isaac’s neck. His hold was gentle but present, thumb brushing over the skin in what he hoped was a comforting touch. After a minute or two, Isaac’s hands stopped wringing and he took in a deep breath. He turned a smile on Scott, display gratitude and something like guilt for seeming helpless. Scott kept quiet, but he didn’t move his hand. He let Isaac change the music and every few minutes, when Isaac took in a deep breath, he didn’t mention anything about how shaky his breathing was. Similarly, when they finally started moving at the speed limit again, he didn’t mention how the breaths seemed calmer, stronger. He didn’t even mention the way Isaac frowned when Scott had to move his hand back to the steering wheel so they could take their exit.
Neither of them really spoke until the signs for Disneyland started popping up; the signs for parking garages bragging back and forth about the walking distance to the park, tourist traps bringing in unsuspecting Midwesterners with knock-off Disneyland souvenirs. Isaac tapped on Scott’s shoulder a few times, finally figuring out where Scott was taking them.
“Scott, we’re not… Are we?” he asked, afraid that if he said the words, they wouldn’t be true. Maybe Scott was taking him to a concert or a different amusement park or a convention. But the way Scott beamed at him told him they were exactly where he thought they were. Never mind that they were parked in a long row of motor homes, half an hour away from the actual park by foot. For all Isaac cared, they were already at Disneyland.
Scott turned off the camper and set the emergency brake, smiling over to Isaac. “Let’s get some fresh air and then change, yeah? We’ve still got most of the day to exhaust ourselves at the park,” he suggested, rolling his shoulders and unbuckling his seatbelt.
When they got out of the van, Scott went to open up the back and grab a new outfit and his deodorant, but Isaac stopped with a bone-crushing hug that turned into something softer, more meaningful when Scott wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. “Thank you, Scott. Thank you,” Isaac said, wondering if Scott knew how much it meant for him to be at Disneyland. How could he? Disneyland had come to represent his entire failed childhood; hundreds of promises he had believed would never be broken, hundreds of times he had been let down and hurt, made to believe it was his fault. Just seeing the rides from the distance and hearing the sounds that were loud enough to make it to them felt like some kind of closure. He’d been trying to move on, especially lately, but this was a sign.
He looked at Scott, still so close from when he’d hugged Isaac back, and smiled to him, eyes a little watery. This was a sign that he could let Scott in and that he didn’t have to move on alone.
--
The first steps through the gates, the feel of the turnstile against his thighs, the rush of color and sound and laughter and children and characters, it was wonderful. Scott knew the trip was for Isaac, but he was already enjoying himself. But what made the nine hour drive, the months of savings all used up, and the stress of such a long trip worth it was Isaac’s smile when he saw Cinderella walking past them.
"Sorry, princess?" Scott called out to her, watching the way she turned and faced them, still in character. The hour had just turned and it was likely she was going to take a break, but he couldn't ignore the way Isaac had beamed when he saw her, like he was eight again. "Could I get just one picture of you with my friend here?" He held up his phone, going to his camera to get it ready.
Isaac was gaping at Scott, a little wide-eyed and trying to hide it, but he went up to the princess and stood for the picture, smiling genuine and dazed at the camera. It was a perfect first picture, and when Cinderella kissed Isaac's cheek before walking away and calling out, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” to them, Scott was lucky enough to get a perfect second picture.
"Thanks, Scott," was all Isaac said, was all Isaac seemed to be able to say at all. If Scott ever doubted that Disneyland held real magic, he was proven wrong throughout the entire day. Isaac was still himself, sarcastic and a little unsure, but that biting cynicism was gone. It didn't matter how long they spent in line for rides or food or the bathroom. It was easy to spend that time standing by Scott's side, holding his hand or leaning close to him, and enjoying the company. There was no 'will they, won't they' guessing games or identity crises, there was just Scott and Isaac, who wanted their picture taken in mouse ear hats with Tiana and Naveen and didn't see a reason to stop holding hands when the friendly tourist asked if they were ready.
Looking back later, that was Scott's favorite picture.
At eight thirty that night, they were already starting to slow down, energy spent and hearts warm and contented, but Scott still maneuvered them to a spot where they could see Sleeping Beauty's castle without any blockage from trees or too-tall tourists. They weren't terribly close, and he'd known that they wouldn't be able to get a perfect spot that first night if he wanted to surprise Isaac, but they had two other nights to wait around for two hours to get a perfect spot right in front of the castle. Where they were, it was a little more private, a little more intimate and less crowded, and that's what Scott wanted.
"Why are we over here?" Isaac asked, voice quiet in Scott's ear. "I want to do Indiana Jones before we leave."
Scott shook his head, denying Isaac's request in favor of keeping the secret. "Tomorrow. We can do Indie tomorrow." He wrapped his arms around Isaac, cheek pressing into his shoulder. It was a little colder than it had been when the sun was up, but Scott didn't need the excuse to be this close to Isaac. They weren't in the cold of Beacon Hills, waiting out their breaks and tired feet with scarfs and coats. Whatever was happening between them was still unspoken, but they both acknowledged it in little ways. The way Isaac threaded his fingers through Scott's, for instance, and trusted him enough to accept the surprise and just say, "Okay."
It was another few minutes before the music started, loud enough for them to hear it like they were right there, and Isaac was immediately lost in the words of the songs and the narrative. Scott was lost in something a little closer, something he had right in his arms. Every time they thought it might be over, another round of fireworks started and Isaac reacted in kind, lighting up and laughing a little bit at the light show. The castle lit up in deep, vibrant, dynamic colors made it look alive. Scott turned his attention to the show, oohing and awwing with Isaac, and keeping close. It didn’t feel natural to be pressed up so close to Isaac without an excuse, to have Isaac's thumb brushing over the side of his hand, to get to live their little moment so openly. It felt like a dream, like some special reward he got for a good deed in a past life.
He hadn't expected it, though the nerves in his stomach that knotted and twisted inside of him certainly had, but when the last of the fireworks were going off and the voices of the choir were singing to them that dreams really did come true, Isaac looked down at Scott and smiled. There was something in that smile that outshined every firework in the display, but that was no surprise. He'd given Scott an entire night full of those smiles. What Scott hadn't expected was for him to be the one to lean in just that little bit and kiss Isaac.
It was the easiest thing, to melt into Isaac and learn what his lips were like. It felt like finding a new way to breathe, one that gave him so much more than oxygen. It wasn’t anything but a press of his lips to Isaac’s that lingered and kept pressing on, one that turned into just one more, but it was new and it was exciting to be allowed to share that between them. Pulling away wasn’t like losing something. It was gaining something new; someone to breathe with.
Their fingers stayed linked on the walk back to the camper, both of them talking about their first day together in quiet voices, both of them afraid to break the magic that Disneyland had given them. But even as they reached the campervan and climbed inside, even as they changed out of the clothes that had experienced the magic with them and slipped into the pajamas that still smelled like Beacon Hills, both of them came to realize that it wasn’t Disneyland that gave them their magic.
They provided that all on their own.
“What time do you want to head in tomorrow?” Scott asked, laying down and pressing his back to the side of the van, giving Isaac the rest of the space to sleep. Isaac ignored all the space and pulled Scott a little closer to the middle, bringing the blanket up around them as he fit his chin against Scott’s shoulder.
“Can we sleep in a little? Just… stay in bed for a while?” Isaac seemed hesitant to let those words out into the open, afraid of the implication and the rejection he might face for it. They were both learning where their boundaries were, where they would continue to be until they actually set them, but it was enough for now. For now, they would rely on the magic of being away together to carry them through the next three nights. They could have that discussion when they got home.
Scott closed his eyes, wrapped his arm around Isaac’s back to pull him in until they were touching from head to toe, and nodded.
“We have three days to do anything you want. Anything at all."