Isaac stood frozen at the entrance of Quinn's bedroom, his gaze fixed on the room's disarray. The familiar space was unrecognizable, torn apart by the chaos of the night. Quinn, still unconscious, lay on her bed, her still form a stark contrast to the state of the room.

Isaac had done what he could to clean up the mess, though he knew it was far from perfect. He had covered the mattress, which was visibly sagging from where the springs were exposed, with a thick mink blanket, hoping to at least make her comfortable. The rest of the room, a scene of broken objects and scattered remnants of their past, stood in stark contrast to the careful tenderness with which he treated her.

As he moved around the room, Isaac's eyes lingered on various items—familiar stuffed animals, old clothes, and knick-knacks they had collected together from their childhood days, things that once held meaning, now just clutter in a room that seemed to hold so much more pain than it ever had before. The objects brought memories flooding back: their adventures in the forest, the laughter they shared, and the way Quinn's smile had always lit up even in the darkest moments. It hurt to think about those times, knowing how fractured their bond had become. But still, he picked up what he could, trying to restore some semblance of order to the chaos.

Once the room looked somewhat presentable, Isaac carefully sat on the edge of Quinn's bed, making sure not to disturb her as she slept. She needed this rest, more than he could say. He didn't want to wake her, knowing how exhausted she must be, physically and emotionally. His eyes drifted to her nightstand, and for a moment, the sight of the one thing in the room that remained untouched made his breath catch. A photo of the two of them, a captured moment of innocence and joy from years ago, stood there. He reached out slowly, careful not to disturb anything else, and took the photo in his hand. His fingers traced the edges, the memories flooding back with each touch.

But before he could fully lose himself in the past, his eyes landed on something else—something that caused his chest to tighten. It was her trash bin, positioned carelessly by the side of the bed. Atop the pile of discarded items was something that made Isaac's stomach turn. His jaw clenched, and his breath caught in his throat as he reached over and pulled the bin closer. His chest still ached, and his mind wandered back to the thought of Quinn and Scott, the possibility of them together in ways that made him feel both betrayed and gutted.

The sound of Quinn's voice broke through his thoughts, a weak, raspy sound that sent a jolt of panic through him. He turned quickly to see her lying there, still propped up on the bed. Her eyes, although tired and filled with exhaustion, held a spark of awareness. She was awake, and in that moment, Isaac knew that everything he had been trying to hide would be laid bare in her gaze.

"You're still here," she muttered softly, her voice barely audible but carrying a weight that made Isaac flinch. He quickly tried to compose himself, attempting to push down the anxiety rising in his chest.

"Of course," he answered, but his voice betrayed him, thick with something Quinn easily recognized. Her eyes searched his face, noting the way his heartbeat quickened, the tension in his posture, the way his eyes flickered nervously toward the trash bin. She wasn't going to let it slide. Her smile faded, replaced by a frown as she asked, her voice softer but filled with concern, "What's wrong?"

Isaac's heart skipped a beat at her question. The last thing he wanted was for her to see how rattled he was, and how deeply the scene before him had affected him. He cursed silently under his breath, knowing his racing heartbeat was a dead giveaway. "Nothing," he muttered quickly, but Quinn wasn't buying it. She shifted in bed, propping herself up on her elbows and staring at him, unblinking.

"Isaac," she warned her voice a mix of frustration and concern. Her sharp eyes followed his line of sight to the trash bin, and Isaac's gaze involuntarily followed hers. It was like a punch to the gut when she saw the pregnancy test, her lips pressing together in a grim line.

"Oh... that," she said quietly, the words carrying a weight that neither of them could ignore. Isaac's mouth went dry, and he struggled to find the right words. His mind raced, caught between his desire to protect her from the pain of their past and the raw, lingering jealousy he couldn't control.

"I didn't think you and Scott went that far," Isaac blurted out before he could stop himself, the words tumbling from his mouth in an unguarded moment of vulnerability. He immediately regretted them, watching Quinn's face twist into an expression of surprise and confusion.

"It's not your business, Isaac," she replied, her tone sharp but defensive. She glanced down at the bin, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides. "He was my boyfriend, and sex is normal for couples. I'm not intruding on you and Allison, you know—"

"We never had sex," Isaac interrupted quickly, his voice rising slightly with the frustration he was trying to mask. "We weren't in a relationship."

Quinn paused, her eyes widening in surprise as she processed his words. "But... Stiles said—"

"I thought you never listened to what other people tell you," Isaac said, forcing out a laugh, but the humour didn't reach his eyes. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as if the words he'd spoken were heavier than he intended.

Quinn met his gaze, her expression softening just a little. "I'm not going to apologize for sleeping with him, Isaac," she said quietly, her voice holding a mixture of regret and resignation. She glanced down at the trash bin again, her gaze lingering on the discarded evidence of a chapter in her life she wished she could forget.

Isaac bit down on his lip, the question that had been burning in his mind finally slipping out. "Do you love him?" he asked softly, almost as if he were afraid of the answer. His voice trembled with a vulnerability he couldn't hide.

Quinn's throat constricted, and for a long moment, she didn't say anything. Her eyes closed briefly as she tried to find the right words, the words that might explain something Isaac wasn't ready to hear. Her silence was all Isaac needed to hear, and a part of him shattered inside. He could already feel the weight of her non-answer settle in his chest.

"No, Isaac," Quinn finally whispered, her voice barely audible. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze directly. "I don't love him. And he didn't love me either," she continued, locking her eyes with his, her words deliberate, like she was forcing herself to speak a truth she had kept hidden for too long. "We both knew from the beginning it was impossible."

Isaac felt a pang of relief, but also something deeper—an aching sorrow for the both of them, for the path they had chosen. "But why?" he asked quietly, his voice cracking just slightly as he leaned forward, desperate to understand. "Why did you let it go that far if you knew?"

Quinn shook her head, her eyes distant for a moment as she considered the question. "I can't tell you, Isaac," she replied, her voice full of quiet sadness. "You have to figure it out on your own." She took a deep breath, looking at him one last time. "But maybe that's for the best. Some things... they don't need to be said out loud."