kiss you // S.S.

Chapter thirty-seven: war cry

XXXVII

Derek was dead.

And it didn't feel real.

Isaac sat mid bus with Boyd, his shoulders hunched toward the window, cheekbone darkened from a bruise that hadn't finished healing. He hadn't said a single word since they'd boarded. Boyd had barely moved either, arms folded, gaze locked forward like he was watching the road with some grim purpose.

More toward the front, Ethan and Danny sat close together, heads bowed in hushed conversation, their body language tense. Just two boys quietly holding each other up.

In the very back, Leo sat beside Stiles with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly between them. His posture was rigid, face unreadable but it was the silence that gave him away. No sarcasm. No whispered jokes. Not even a single annoyed groan at the bumpy ride.

He hadn't spoken since they left the lot.

Stiles kept glancing at him from the corner of his eye. Leo's fingers were twitching. Something simmered just under his skin, restrained only by the force of his guilt. And across the aisle, Scott sat by himself, jaw clenched, gaze hollow as he stared at nothing. It wasn't just grief. It was distance. He wasn't fully here.

"Yo, Scotty," Stiles tried, voice soft but insistent. "Hey, yo, Scotty? Still with me?"

Scott blinked, barely turning his head. "Yeah. Sorry. Uh... what's the word?"

Stiles hesitated, then nudged Leo's knee gently with his own, trying to coax something out of either of them. "Anachronism."

Scott stared blankly for a beat before answering. "Something that exists out of its normal time."

"Nice," Stiles said, quietly relieved. "Okay, next word... 'incongruous.'"

Scott didn't respond right away. He blinked again, as if trying to pull his thoughts into order. "Can you use it in a sentence?"

Stiles exhaled. "It's completely incongruous that we're sitting on a bus right now, headed to some cross-country meet, after what just happened."

Scott nodded slightly, voice rough. "Out of place. Absurd."

Leo let out a slow breath, but still didn't look up. He was watching the floor like he was trying to burn a hole through it with his thoughts.

Stiles continued, voice barely above a whisper now. "Next word. Darach. Noun. We should talk about it sometime. I mean, we're gonna be stuck in this rolling coffin for five hours, so why not start now?"

Still no answer from Scott. And Leo—still unmoving. Tension clung to him like a second skin.

Stiles tried again. "Next one. 'Intransigent.'"

"Stubborn," Scott mumbled, just enough to qualify as a reply.

"Buddy," Stiles said, leaning forward. "You okay? I knew we shouldn't have come. We should've just—"