✓chapter⁰⁸

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memento mori.
vii. slow dance to rock music.

"NO WAY!"

"YES way!"

"You're best friends a werewolf?!" Angie exclaims, jumping up from the bed with wide eyes and a bright grin of disbelief. Stiles nods his head frantically, stuffing his face of more iced rings, finding a new love for the British biscuits.

"Uh-huh" Stiles smugly responds, "and I'm in a pack with a banshee, a kitsune, a werecoyote and multiple werewolves."

"I don't even know what half of those things are." She throws her body onto the bed, staring up at the blank wall while Stiles shifts to get comfort though staying upright. The darkness from the outside shines through the window, casting shadows onto her face which exemplify her features, much to Stiles joy. Unintentionally, he finds himself gazing again. Her eyes shut, face relaxed and calm while her nimble fingers trail circles on her stomach. He turns, laying himself down next to her though posture stiff and tense compared to hers.

She peaks one eye open at the sounds of shuffling, catching Stiles' eye which ultimately causes them both to burst out with laughter. "Let's go somewhere else, I'm bored." Stiles speaks softly, his words contrasting to the actions of him pressing his head further into a pillow, no regards to close proximity of the two.

"The dance floors yours." She responds, "Just gotta make your subconscious think of something good, I'm not in the mood for fighting demons."

He tucks his arm under his head, scrunching his face up to a thinking expression which causes Angie to playfully roll her eyes. "Let's just go out the door and see where it leads us, yeah?" She suggests, pulling her body off the bed despite its protests to remain in the comfort.

Following this, they both exit the room to be greeted with a rooftop. They roam forward, taking in the view of the city below them. Buildings are tall enough to scrape the sky though don't threaten the plethora of stars that leap around the dark sky, stumbling like baby deers. Twinkling, they light the midnight area, entertaining the two teenagers. The ground seems blurred, thousands of feet away from the rooftop, making it seem like they'd never hit the floor if they fell, going on for infinity. Buildings carry on till infinity, ranging from modern rock to broken bricks alongside the neon lights that glitter and sprinkle the boring downtown with colour.

Angie sits on the edge of the rooftop, feet dangling carelessly as her eyes try to memorise the scene, cautious as if it would disappear at the blink of an eye. Glancing back at Stiles' figure, she nods her head to the side, silently telling him to follow her. He does so, picking up a box that was carelessly thrown on the floor before finding a comfortable position adjacent to her.

"What is it?" She questions, voicing Stiles' curiosity.

"Saw it on the floor, could be anything." He answers, ripping it open without a care. Threads and strings of different colour explode from it, thick lilac yarn and thin peach strands. "Knitting?" Stiles confusion lacing his words.

"Oh! We can make each other bracelets." She claps her hands excitedly, releasing the childish girl within her. She crosses her legs in a criss-cross position, now facing Stiles, which the cold brick freezes the pale skin, goosebumps appearing. "Me and my brother used to make them all the time." She reminisces, feeling nostalgic, an urge and desperation to remember her old ways.

She sucks her bottom lip between her front teeth, concentrating on twisting three different colours together. Despite teaching Stiles an easy way to do it, leaving out the specifics and detail of a perfect friendship bracelet, his fingers still thumble with the small threads. In frustration, he rolls his tongue on his bottom lip, before stuffing the string onto his tongue to wet it and dipping it back into one of the holes. "Do you ever miss being alive?" He curiously asks, breaking the silence, save for the rustles of leaves and groans of the wind.

"Hmm, I miss my brother and England. Beacon Hill wasn't a great place for me since I was locked up in Eichen House." She mutters, barely loud enough for Stiles to hear it but he does. "Plus being your guardian angel isn't so bad." She smirks, finally meeting his eye. They stare at each other for a few minutes before Stiles clears his throat, looking down at the bracelet.

"It's done." He shows her, lifting it up and twisting, to give her a full 360 view of his amazing artwork.

"So is mine." They swap the bracelets, Angie tying Stiles' purple creation around her ankle, contrasting dramatically to her snow white skin. Stiles tries to wrap Angie's around his wrist, falling to do so but not giving up, just letting out a few huffs of irritation.

He lets out a deep breath when Angie moves forward, grabbing the small threads and tying them carefully around his wrist which he holds up, surprisingly still. She smiles softly as she shuffles backwards after successfully tying it in a pretty bow.

"It looks pretty." She beams, fiddling with the purple material, finding it perfect despite some snapped threads and the split ends because of Stiles naturally shaky hands.

"Yeah." Stiles agrees, not taking his eyes of the angel in front of him. "Pretty."

A comfortable silence finds it way to the pair, loud yet peaceful. Their legs dangle off the rooftop, curious irises staring out into nothing but the city. Droplets cascade down their arms, the clouds letting out solemn sobs with the occasional lightning cries. Despite the passing hours, the sun doesn't escape its coffin, buried alive so the usual orange horizon is a long forgotten memory to the pair – melancholy taking over the city.

"Why can't we touch each other?" Stiles speaks up, "You mentioned it in a different dream."

"Well I'm only a soul i guess, since I died in real life. So if you touch me, I'll disappear into thin air. It's pretty much the only thing that we're taught in a way that isn't cryptic, way of scaring us to not mess with the persons head." She replies, Stiles nodding along as he thoroughly takes in the information, not scratching the small pebble against the brick they were situated on anymore. "Unless we have a strong enough connection, there's a possibility I come back to life. Like my bodies resurrected.

But there's only a small chance, absolutely minuscule. A rarity within the supernatural world."

memento mori,       stiles stilinski.Where stories live. Discover now