043.

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.*・。. AN ODE TO CLARK KENT .*・。.
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043.
THE F U ALPHABET.
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——

   Lois tapped her foot anxiously, making her knee bounce up and down, until Stiles placed his hand on her thigh to stop it. She sent him a grimace, feeling rather ill about everything they had seen in that one night alone, and he managed to mirror it perfectly.

Sometimes looking at Stiles Stilinski was like looking at her twin; he was her reflection, even if they didn't look exactly alike or share a womb. He could replicate her in ways that no one else could. In faces he pulled, in emotions he felt, in things he said. Most of the time, the duo were too alike for their own good. People got sick of it — it being their likeness to one another, because you could never get something from Lois without getting it from Stiles too, and vice versa — but the two could never get sick of it. Lois and Stiles both understood one another better than they understood anyone else, save Scott McCall when he was being his particularly transparent self. Other than that, it was just them.

That was why no words needed to be exchanged to know what it felt like to watch Scott walked away from them, back on the roof.

They just knew.

As little kids, Lois and Stiles would say that they could feel one another's emotions. Their twinstinct. Of course, they couldn't — it didn't seem so far-fetched now, however — but they might as well have been able to. Words weren't necessary to know that they were both crushed. Scott had left with Deucalion and, in turn, left them alone and utterly hopeless.

It was the stiffness that lingered in the air, the sour smell wafting through the halls, the stuffiness to their noses. No words needed to be exchanged, because Lois and Stiles felt the same.

AN ODE TO CLARK KENT ➸ isaac lahey ²Where stories live. Discover now