[BOOK 2] "𝙞 '𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝."
As Junior Year begins, lies are unravelled, truths are revealed, and no one ever expects an angel to set the world on fire.
A...
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LIFE was back to normal—sort of. The nogitsune's were gone, Beacon Hills was safe again (temporarily) everything should have gone back to how it was.
But it couldn't.
Too much had happened.
Aspen and Stiles had been avoiding being alone for a while. It had been a few days since Agnes Epeler performed the spell that saved Aspen's life. A few days had passed, and all Aspen had been doing was trapping herself in her room, planning funeral arrangements.
Everyone offered to help—to pitch in, but Aspen insisted on doing it all herself. Chris had let her know he'd obviously fly back to attend, but until then—Aspen felt she was the appropriate person to put the ceremony together. She knew Allison better than anyone else, besides her father.
But she knew eventually—her and Stiles had to talk. They weren't sure where they currently stood—were they together? Still broken up? On a break? Neither of them knew.
Which is why they had to talk.
Finally dragging herself away from her desk, Aspen grabbed her leather jacket and threw it on, and looked at herself in the mirror. All of the colour had returned to her skin, and the bags under her eyes had disappeared. She was looking healthy again. Alive again.
She let out a deep sigh, not ready for this conversation. She had a vague idea of what it would lead to—and she wasn't quite ready for it yet. But nevertheless, she couldn't lock herself away in her room forever. She had to see him eventually.
They had to talk.
***
Looking into his eyes was hard.
Aspen had driven to Stiles' house on her motor cycle, mentally preparing herself the whole way over. She knocked on the door, and it was Sheriff Stilinski who answered. The man greeted her with a hug—knowing how much she'd suffered recently, and how she came out the other end of it. Aspen returned it, smiled at the man—who let her know Stiles was in his room—and then she slowly ascended the stairs.
She curled her hand into a fist and knocked a few times, seconds later, seeing the brown-haired, hazel-eyed boy open the door. The second their eyes met—it already hurt. Neither one would admit it—but they couldn't look at each other the same way. Not after so much had happened. While they were traumatically possessed, the nogitsune's forced them to watch everything. Each other.
They wished so hard that it could be different. That they could look at each other and not see all of the things they made each other do. They wished it could be that way with every nerve in their bodies.
