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“What direction was that?”
Theo looks back at him, face without the self-assured smirk for once. Instead his expression is a mixture of surprise and irritation.
“Where was it coming from?” Stiles asks again, more urgent this time.
For a second, the expression worsens dramatically, eyes cast down to the ground. Then, as if saying the words out loud would lift a heavy weight off his shoulders, Theo looks up again and replies, “Everywhere.”
Stiles feels the despair like a punch to the gut, hard and unrelenting, brutal and skin-splitting. It echoes around him, forces him into movement. With the first step toward Theo, everything dissolves into anger: a feeling Stiles is quite familiar with. When he isn’t exhausted or in a sudden frenzy of panic, he is angry. Angry at Scott for acting as if nothing happened between them, angry at Theo for getting under his skin like a disease, angry at the Dread Doctors for ruining their lives, angry at Derek for leaving – angry at himself for being weak and useless and human.
(Tap into the void. Tap, tap into the void.)
His emotional spectrum shrunk heavily over the last couple of months; not much longer and he’ll combust or go numb. There isn’t another possible outcome, he is not going back to normal. He knew that since the Nogitsune had left him with this carbon copy of his body. Since then he has been walking a fine line; it’s just a matter of time until he stumbled and falls into one extreme or the other.
(What are you now?)
Stiles hast just gotten into range, three steps closer. He would just need to reach out, grab Theo and press his back against the wall. It would be his way to vent, his way to get rid of his anger in order to think clearly again – and the Chimera in front of him is just the perfect way of getting his thoughts back in order. He has to come down in order to save Lydia. With his mind racing like this, he can’t find her.
(Heartbeat's rising, Stiles.)
But he doesn’t even get the chance.
Theo knows his plan, like he seems to know everything about Stiles. His desire to let his anger out is killed by an unyielding grip on his upper arms. Next thing he knows, his back hits the pipes. Theo was too close, too real – body crashing into his and knees bumping.
(I know what’s coming.)
And all of the sudden, he is on the hospital rooftop pressed against the fence; sparks flying like it means something. Sparks fading as if it means nothing. He is back with Theo directly in front of him, fingers digging into his bicep; anger radiating off him in waves – holding Stiles more in place than Theo’s grip ever could.
It’s keeping them close and pushing them apart.
It’s everything and nothing.
They click together like magnets; puzzle pieces that have been missing for too long – the only reason that the process of them clicking together has its problems. Because their edges are battered and have been forced together with other pieces; pieces that wouldn’t fit, pieces that haven’t been quite right.
It was the night Theo told him he had known about Donovan.
It was the night before Theo showed him that he was a killer without the Nogitsune.
It was the night before Stiles realized Theo knew him better than any of his friends ever could.
(What were you thinking the moment you knew he was dead and there was no saving him?)
Stiles turns his head to the right. The sheer proximity of Theo taking his breath away – but not in the good way. He feels like suffocating, as if the closeness is pressing all the air from his lungs – and if he keeps on looking at him, everything will just get worse.
(One word.)
Theo seems to have other plans. With a smirk firmly plastered on his lips, he grabs his chin and yanks his head back around. Stiles opens his mouth for an insult, a comeback, something – at least he is telling himself he is opening his mouth to say something to Theo. There can’t be any other reason as to why he might open his mouth.
(He’ll come to me.)
He doesn’t part his lips because the Chimera leans in and Stiles knows exactly what is about to happen.
(I know what’s coming.)
And yet, Theo has it all figured out. Stiles couldn’t do anything as Theo hooks two fingers around his already open mouth and leans in for a kiss; hard and bruising in just the right way. Theo is invading his mouth with tongue and teeth, tasting like coffee instead of blood. There is a certain amount of awareness trying to tell Stiles to break the kiss – but as he manages to raise his hands, his fingers claw into the stupid vest instead.
Theo’s hands fall away from his bicep. He wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, one hand pressing at the small of his back. It feels so right; it feels so fucking right that it makes Stiles’ sick to the stomach. Right should be the feeling furthest away. He should hate it, feel disgusted by lips so contrary to the character they belong to. But the only reason Stiles’ is disgusted is because he likes it.
(So, you’re here because you’re never going to trust me?)
No matter the screaming voice in his head, Stiles’ legs fall open with a needy sound deep in his throat. He isn’t even embarrassed about it; and although Theo is too greedy to miss out on an invitation like this anyway, Stiles pulls him closer still. The coffee taste falls away and Stiles can’t feel anything but Theo between his legs, and Theo’s lips on his and Theo’s fingertips digging into the line of free skin where his jeans end.
His mind has gone quiet.
His body is at ease.
(Tap into the void. Tap, tap into the void.)
Stiles is kissing back with all he has, sucking at Theo’s tongue and wrapping his arms around his neck. A second later, not even a piece of paper would find its place in-between them. Theo’s body is solid against his own, something save, something to hold on to. It gives Stiles a naïve sense of security that Theo comes whenever he calls, that he follows him when Stiles dives headfirst into danger.
Everything fades away until there is nothing more but the sensation of Theo everywhere. He feels wrapped in cotton wool, safe and sound; hearts beating together in an unfamiliar rhythm, bodies not quite fitting but on their way to – minds working in the same direction. A terrifying sensation of belonging makes its presence known.
(Or maybe you just don’t feel all that bad about it.)
Stiles feels at a loss as Theo pulls back, far enough that their lips don’t touch anymore but still so close that they are breathing the same air.
“Better?” Theo’s voice indicates how much he enjoyed their little misplaced make-out session. He doesn’t even bother hiding it.
(Tap into the void. Tap, tap into the void.)
Stiles doesn’t trust his voice.
(For a little while, I was possessed by an evil spirit.)
He nods.
(What are you now?)
Better.
(Tap into the void. Tap, tap into the void.)
“You’ll trust me,” Theo whispers, self-assured. “Inevitably.”
(I came for Void Stiles.)
“Fuck off.”
(What are you now?)
A chuckle, low and dark. Stiles doesn't know where it is coming from.
(One word.)
“Let’s save Lydia,” Theo steps back offering his hand. Stiles doesn’t know what it would mean if he took it.
(You think I’ve got some kind of ulterior motive.)
Stiles snarls, pushing the Chimera away from him. The anger is back but it feels controlled now. It’s different from the mess he was a couple of minutes back. Before Theo forced his presence onto him. Before Stiles let himself fall into his arms.
(Guess we’re all telling the truth now.)
“Which direction?” He asks, agitated.
(But I also came back for you.)
Theo lets his eyes wander until, inevitably, they rest back on Stiles. As if he knows.
(If you knew the things that I know.)
Stiles turns on his heels.
(Tap into the void. Tap, tap into the void.)
He doesn’t think, just runs. Fast, blind; his feelings suppressed under a thick blanket of nothing. Theo is behind him, close to him.
(I came for Void Stiles.)
By his side.
(But I also came back for you.)
With him.
(He’ll come to me.)
They have to save Lydia.
(For a little while, I was possessed by an evil spirit.)
Stiles has to save Lydia.
(What are you now?)
Theo is passing him. Stiles can’t help but take in the determination on his face; as if finding Lydia is the only thing he lives for. But he had his hell hound and instead of taking him in, he pushed him away; instead of taking care of his pack he followed Stiles into the maze – knowing they could die with the next scream.
(Better.)
They’d die together here.
(I’m still going to be looking out for you.)