Dylan O'brien

the first time you see her after it happens, it’s just a flash, and you think about it for weeks after. those heavy eyes, that cascade of curls, that bowstring spine. the second time is when you know it’s really happening, she’s really standing there (in your imagination, at least) and she asks you “am i going to regret this?” like you’re both sixteen again and it isn’t going to break your damn heart all over again, and you shut your eyes but you can’t shut out the feeling, and you don’t sleep a wink that night or the next. the third time, you almost get your stupid ass killed, at least that’s what stiles yells at you when it’s all over. there’s a fight and there’s blood and there’s adrenaline and there’s a monster of the week (an old joke, lydia’s, but it isn’t funny anymore), and then all of a sudden, there’s the dress she was wearing when you kissed her the last time, and the glove she was wearing when you killed her the last time, and over and over the thud of her hand, and it takes you hours to regain your breath. your mother shakes you awake screaming (you and her, both) and she has sad, sad eyes. the fourth time, she asks “why did you let them do it, scott? why didn’t you save me?” and it echoes in your ears and you can’t sleep and you can’t eat and you don’t want to see her anymore but she is everywhere and you can’t run from that. the fifth time, the sixth time, the seventh time, the eighth. you lose track, and you miss her with an ache like a bone bruise, and you stop trying to run, and you stop trying to sleep, and you want to crush your own heart in the heat of your fist and pretend like you never loved her at all.