Stydia One Shots

Lækna

"So we found our way back home,
Let our cuts and bruises heal.
While a brand-new war began,
One that no one else could feel."

[ Mars, Sleeping at Last ]

____________

It had been four days after, when the moon was high in the sky and a chill overcame the night. When all was left to dream and sleep, and those who were not lucky enough to be granted with sleep would stare hopelessly at the stars with darkened eyes and pallid skin.

Lydia was not lucky.

She lay in her bed like she would sleep, but she didn't. She just watched the celestial conversations up in the sky, and wondered to herself if Allison was up there talking with them.

She almost cried, but she didn't, because it's been four days and those four days had taken all the tears she had. Her eyes were dehydrated beneath their lids, and they seemed to creak like wooden doors.

"When is a door not a door?"

Lydia shuddered, folding in on herself, feeling the demon's voice stroke the fear that resided deep within her, a sickness that kept her awake to stare at a dimly starred sky. She loved the stars. But they would not help her tonight, because it's been four days, and she hasn't seen him since.

With a sigh, Lydia stood up from her bed, cringing at the coldness of the floorboards, before going to her door for a cup of tea that she hoped would drive away the monster in her mind. (But it wouldn't, she's had some every night and the sleep would never come, but she tried anyway.)

The door opened and she held back a gasp, looking at the pale and purple face in front of her. Stiles' eyes are sunken and bruised, swirling with a look that made something curl painfully in her gut. A shuddering breath escaped his lips, and there's a feeling that hangs heavy between them- she can't tell what it is, only that it seems to be pressing down on her heart and fill her with yearning. There's so much unspoken between them, so much that should've been said these past four days, but her voice has been lost. Something at the back of her brain wanted to ask how he got in, but the question stops itself as she remembers the key hidden under a little turtle figure on the porch.

Stiles breathed in like he's going to say something, but no words come, only a silence that wraps around them and squeezes like a twisted snake. She could do nothing but stare at him, tracing his face and trying to forget the way that face had looked at her before- when it was filled with malice and hate, claimed by a soul that wasn't his and craved for blood.

She didn't fear him, but she can still feel the fox tail brushing up against her skin and the buzzing buzzing buzzing of those damned fireflies. She hated herself, because she almost shivered on instinct when she found his face, still marred by deep crimson half moons. But she didn't, because his eyes had brightened to their honey again and they no longer looked at her like a piece of prey for the fox to sink it's teeth into. She saw something safe in them- something warm.

Lydia inhaled, trying to map her thoughts into words. They're disconnected and swarming around her brain, muddy and hidden by lack of sleep, so she only croaked out a few words. "It's been four days."

He clenched his jaw, drawing her eyes to the muscle that pumped beneath his skin. His eyes closed, and she saw the way his fingers began to tangle themselves, counting and counting and counting. One, two, three, four, back to three, five, before he squared himself to her again. She could see the question hot on his tongue, "are you okay?", but he didn't dare ask it, because she knew the answer was clear enough.