Stallison; Words are knives that often leave scars

812 26 6
                                    

Made for: indianastilinski

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Gone.

Gone? Gone. Gone for good? Yep. Because of who? Because of me? Gone because of me.

Gone because of how my feet couldn't carry me far enough. Gone because my hands were shaking too much. Gone because the rain had decided to pour too heavily.

Our, conveniently the same, eyes would no longer meet gaze or crease when we smile in each other's presences. Gone.

How Scott's eyes would intervene, and shade the world just a little more painful brown.

But you know who I am? I'm Stiles fucking Stilinski and I know how to bring back whatever is gone.

Do I?

I hope so.

Ouija board? Ouija board.

My tongue is tied, my breath hitching- eyes contorted and narrowed.

"Hello?" I say, voice calm and welcoming; though definite hesitance is there, why? Why? Why? Why hesitant?

H E Y

I didn't notice my fingers being moved from letter-to-letter-to-letter. Once I did, a slight sense of relief washes by me; but soon changes to disbelief.

It worked?

I sit alone on the floor of the school, well aware it may not be her- but I can wish.

"What is your name?"

A L L I

oh

S O N

oh

It's her?

My heart beating rapidly, since when did my heart make an appearance anymore? I thought I lost it, I thought it broke.

"Do you know who I am?"

Y E S

remembered remembered remembered

"Do you hate me?"

N O

relief confusion relief

Why?

"Why?"

Y O U

what about me?

L
O
V
E

oh how cliche

"Me? You love me?"

Y E S

"Oh."

Breathe in. Breathe out. Confess

"I love you, too."

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