Black Webs

She's Like Cold Coffee

Dear Darling;
Lovely would I be , as the moon,
slowly orbiting thee.
Close enough to change your tide.
Far enough for an eclipse to hide.
Here I could stay catching the light
you give off each day.
Cratered I became,
from all the rocks I caught,
I blocked them all out,
though it was you they sought.
Lovely as the moon,
but more I could be,
tell me we are magic,
and I'll crash into your sea.
- Tyler Knott Gregson

xxxxxx

we kiss and his lips turn into sand,
and the whole of him cascades through my hands,
making a castle on the floor
then I'm alone again

xxxxx

n i n e:

S t i l e s

"What a dick," Scott complained, anguish lacing his voice as he drove them back home.

"I swear he deserved so much more than a punch in the face," he went on. Stiles had changed back into his regular clothes: jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket, and was staring out the window, avoiding his friend's gaze.

"You wanna crash at my place?" Scott questioned, staring up at the stormy evening sky.

"It's about to get dark soon. I'm pretty sure it's gonna pour. Plus, you have your wussy face on. You don't have to go home."

Stiles snapped himself out of it, glancing at his friend. "My what face?"

"I don't know but it makes you look like a serial killer. Your left eye starts to twitch, your nose gets all wrinkled and you scowl for a good five minutes."

"Oh," Stiles sighed. "Listen. Drop me off at a cab stand. I need some time to clear my head."

Scott frowned. "Dude. You sure? I mean... Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm great. Just... please,"

"Where are you even gonna go?"

"I'm not sure yet. I guess I'll find out."

Stiles wasn't sure what he was feeling either, but something Caster had said was still throwing darts at his mind, and he needed some time to be alone.

Once Scott dropped him off and he got into a cab, the cabbie asked him where he wanted to go.

He couldn't help it when his lips recited Lydia's address, memorized like a melody stuck in the back of his head.

Lydia

Lydia hated surprises. Particularly one shaped like an awkward brunette boy standing at her doorstep like a ghost, shaking from the rain - which had swept into New York City like vengeance on that late afternoon.

Lydia couldn't find the words as she gawked at him. Stiles had his arms crossed over his chest, droplets of water shimmered across his face and neck.

He wasn't drenched but he was damp enough so it looked like he'd accidentally walked under a raging shower. His lips were slightly parted like there were words stuck on his tongue, stuck like hot honey so he couldn't spit them out.

Stiles' cinnamon eyes widened like a storm when they met her own gaze. "What's going on?" she asked softly.

I thought I'd made it very clear that I was being totally avoidy of you.

That's what her mind said, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words out loud to a boy who looked like he'd literally swam across the Atlantic to get to her in that moment.