How hard could it be? • LM / SS

Chapter 123

"Whoever said it's better to love and lose,
Never loved and lost you."

"How does it feel to die and then come back to life?" Stiles asked, stringing up another piece of red wool onto his crime board. He was starting to get a headache every time he saw the colour. All it reminded him of was how many things he didn't know, including who the Benefactor was.

The plan hadn't worked in the slightest, the only useful outcome being that Scott and Max had been successfully revived by Kira's foxfire. The negatives were heavily outweighing the positives today, it was true. Noshiko had been attacked by a berserker and was currently being transported to another hospital by helicopter. Lilith had almost killed their mother, which was just a fun way to end the evening.

"It feels weird. I wouldn't want to do it in my spare time, anyway," Max sighed, slamming his chemistry book closed. He had done what he always did; open the book, flip through a few pages and then come to the conclusion his revision was done for the evening. It was a bad habit he needed to break, but given he had died less than two hours ago, he was taking the benefit of the doubt.

"Tell me about it," Stiles murmured, running a hand through his tousled hair. Although he had performed the ritual sacrifice in Deaton's a few months ago, the memories were still vivid and fresh in his mind. It was an experience he wouldn't wish to revisit again— especially because it had ended with Allison dying and Jade losing the only bit of sanity she had left. He flopped onto the bed, rubbing his eyes in pain.

He couldn't stand to look at the crime board any longer. He was almost certain he was going to lose his mind if this case wasn't solved soon. It was right in front of him, he had a feeling deep in his gut. It was a simple matter of tying up loose ends, yet no one had any clue where they were supposed to start. He found his mind drifting to its usual topic of choice; the empath sat in front of him.

It was stupid things, really. Like, what was Max thinking about, right now in this exact moment? Why was he so quiet? Was his mind racing a hundred miles per minute or was he happy to sit with his thoughts? Did he always look this serene? An art piece that should be hung in a museum to preserve the beauty of it all? Did he know his eyes embodied nature, an evergreen soul that wasn't capable of growing old? Did he notice the small things that were a part of who he was at this point? How his roots were still tinted blonde? How his sweater was two sizes too big? Or did those facts just fly over his head?

"Your gloves falling off. Why do you even wear them?" Stiles asked inquisitively, tilting his head to the side. He had kept a lid on his curiosity since the night in Lydia's lakehouse when the gloves had made their first appearance, but awkward and lingering silences were known to bring out his impulsiveness.

Max rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, his English book joining the pile of hardbacks that would be left to gather dust the second he returned home.

"Do you not trust me?" Stiles asked softly, mentally slapping himself. "Sorry, that sounded like I'm guilt-tripping you, but I'm not trying to do that. I could see that you hesitated and if this is about the Peter thing, I really was just trying to protect Malia—"

Max chuckled lightly, a gloved hand resting on Stiles' knee. God, he looked cute when he rambled. No. He needed to snap out of this. Ir couldn't happen, not while Stiles was technically still going out with Malia.

It wasn't that he didn't want to tell him— in fact, Stiles was probably the only person he would tell. It was all of the follow-up questions that made him nervous. Specifically, the questions that involved what he saw in his visions. They were private affairs, cards he held close to his heart. It wasn't up to him to spread around other people's business, whether it be from the past or the future. Sometimes the visions were messy, revealing important events that would occur in someone's life. He didn't feel comfortable sharing what he saw; love confessions, heartbreak, tragic deaths... his own disappearance.