Rain taps steadily against the windows, soft at first, then heavier — the kind that soaks through everything before you even realise it.

By the time you reach the Walter house, you’re already wet.

Your hair clings slightly to your face, your sleeves damp, the chill starting to settle into your skin in that slow, uncomfortable way.

The door opens before you can knock twice.

One of the boys lets you in with a distracted “Jackie’s not here yet,” before disappearing again, leaving you standing in the entryway with rainwater dripping faintly onto the floor.

You hover there for a second, unsure.

Then—

“Hey.”

You look up.

Isaac Garcia is standing halfway down the hall, having clearly just come from the living room. His eyes flick over you once — taking in the damp clothes, the way you’re trying not to shiver.

His brows knit slightly.

“You walked in that?”

You shrug a little.

“It wasn’t that bad when I left.”

A beat.

He steps closer.

Close enough now that he can see the droplets still clinging to your hair.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Looks like it.”

There’s a brief pause — like he’s thinking.

Then, quieter:

“You’re gonna freeze.”

You open your mouth to brush it off.

He doesn’t give you the chance.

“C’mon.”

He turns, already heading toward the stairs, expecting you to follow.

You hesitate for half a second—

Then you do.

His room is warmer.

Not just from the heater — just… lived in. Comfortable. It smells faintly like laundry detergent and something that’s just him.

Isaac moves around like you being there isn’t a big deal, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a pair of sweats, then a hoodie from the back of a chair.

He turns back to you, holding them out.

“Here.”

You blink.

“You don’t have to—”

“Take them,” he says, softer this time.

You nod, stepping forward to accept them, fingers brushing his briefly as you do.

Warm.

You disappear into the bathroom to change.

When you come back out—

The sweats are too big.

You’ve had to roll the waistband over once, maybe twice, and the hoodie sleeves swallow your hands until you push them up your arms.

But it’s warm.

Dry.

And it smells like him.

Isaac looks up from where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed.

For a second—

He just stares.

His gaze lingers a little too long before he catches himself, shifting slightly.

“…They fit?” he asks, even though they very obviously don’t.

You give a small smile, adjusting the waistband.

“Close enough.”

He huffs quietly, something almost amused under his breath.

Then he leans back on his hands, eyes flicking over you again — slower this time, more thoughtful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

“They look better on you anyway.”

There’s a beat.

Like he didn’t mean to say that out loud.

He glances away quickly, jaw tightening just a little.

“Jackie shouldn’t be long,” he adds, more casually now.

He goes downstairs and you go to Jackie’s room to grab a hairbrush and dry your hair