"I promise that we'll always be together," the little boy, bruised and battered, whispered with a determined look in his eyes as he extended his pinky toward the frightened girl. His small hand trembled slightly, but there was a resolute force behind the words.

The girl, her face streaked with dirt and tear stains, gazed at him, her large eyes shimmering with the threat of tears she desperately tried to hold back. She sniffled, her breath catching in her chest, and for a moment, it seemed as though the weight of the world was pressing down on her fragile shoulders. She had seen things no child should and felt fear in a way that would haunt most adults, but at that moment, she made a silent promise to herself that she would not break down.

Slowly, she reached out, her pinky trembling as it met his, the tiny connection between them a silent vow. She forced a toothy grin, her cheeks flushed from the effort of holding herself together.

"Always be together," she said, her voice quiet but steady, as though she were sealing something far more important than a simple promise.

It became more than just words. It became their lifeline. Their bond was the one thing that held them together, the one thing that kept them going despite everything they faced at home, the endless struggles they each faced in their own quiet worlds of pain.

The world around them was filled with chaos, but their connection, their promise, was something they could always count on. It was a small light in the darkness.

Years passed, and the promise they made as children echoed in their minds. They had grown, but in many ways, they remained the same.

One day, when they were just barely teenagers, the girl, who was now a young woman, stood in front of the boy as he winced in pain, examining his bruised face in the mirror. He had been in another fight, his father's temper flaring once again. She could see the strain in his eyes, the weariness that no amount of sleep could erase, and it broke her heart. She stepped closer to him, her voice barely above a whisper as she took his hand.

"I promise to never let anyone get between us," she said with a quiet intensity, her grip on his hand firm as if she could anchor him to something solid.

The boy turned toward her, his eyes searching hers, and then, as though it were second nature, they extended their pinkies once more, the familiar gesture reaffirming the promises they had made to each other over the years.

Their fingers locked together, the bond as strong as ever. But this time, the boy knew, deep down, that this was a promise he would not be able to keep. Something inside him was unravelling, and he wasn't sure if he could hold on much longer.

It was the kind of promise they had made so many times before, each one filled with hope and love, but life had a way of testing their strength. And in the years that followed, it was clear that not everything could be kept.

...

Quinn sat in the bleachers of Beacon High, cheering loudly for her best friend, Isaac, who was currently playing lacrosse in their school's big game.

"Come on, Lahey!!" she shouted, her voice ringing out across the field with a contagious energy. She didn't care that she was probably making everyone around her go deaf—Isaac was her best friend, and he needed to know she was there. She watched as he looked over at her, a grin spreading across his face as he refocused on the game.

After a few insults from Finstock about his gameplay, Isaac was back in action, giving it his all.

Quinn was known for being quiet, the girl who could often be found buried in a book in the library, away from the chaos of social life. But when it came to supporting Isaac, she was a completely different person. She was loud, bold, and unapologetically enthusiastic. If she had been more outgoing, she might have joined clubs or made a slew of friends. But that was never her style.

Like Isaac, she kept to herself, her social circles small and tightly-knit. Isaac, on the other hand, had a bit more confidence. Though he had trust issues—largely because of his abusive father—he still found the courage to participate in school activities, even if he kept his distance from everyone.

After the game, which Beacon Hills won, Quinn waited at their usual meeting spot. Isaac never went to after-parties; it just wasn't his thing.

So, instead, Quinn and Isaac would always head to the nearest fast food joint to celebrate their way. It was a tradition, a small slice of normalcy in a world that didn't always make sense.

Quinn's eyes brightened when she saw Isaac emerge from the locker room, and without a moment's hesitation, she jumped onto his back. "Izzy, you almost had the winning shot! What happened, Bubs?" she asked her voice light and teasing.

Isaac, struggling slightly with her weight but smiling anyway, held her legs and began walking toward their usual spot. "We talked about this, Quinny. Ever since McCall had his, uh, glow-up, you shouldn't expect me to ever score the winning shot," he complained, making Quinn snicker.

"Does Whittemore still think McCall is on drugs or something?" she asked, leaning her chin on his shoulder, her voice filled with genuine curiosity.

"All the time," Isaac replied, laughing.

Quinn's grin grew, a mischievous spark in her eyes. "His girlfriend is smart, even if she chooses not to show it, but sometimes I wonder if all of that money is somehow making him lose brain cells," she mused aloud, making Isaac chuckle in agreement.

"Please, him breathing just makes him lose brain cells," Isaac said with a smirk.

Quinn laughed, her arms wrapping around Isaac's neck as they walked away together. "Okay, you win this time," she said, content in the shared humour between them. It was moments like these that made life a little brighter, a little easier to bear.

As Quinn and Isaac walked off, they didn't notice Scott, who was nearby, overhearing their conversation. He couldn't help but burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, which caused Stiles to jump in surprise, letting out the most high-pitched scream that had Scott laughing even harder.

It was one of those rare, fleeting moments that made everything feel just a little bit lighter. In the chaos of their lives—filled with the weight of their individual struggles, the hurt, and the confusion—this simple moment of shared laughter between Quinn and Isaac reminded them of something precious: the comfort of having someone who truly understood.

The world, with all its harshness and challenges, seemed less daunting when they were together. They could still find humor in the little things, and still enjoy each other's presence, and for a brief moment, it was enough to make everything else fade away.

The connection between them, forged through years of shared pain and joy, was a reminder that despite it all, they were never truly alone.