angels fall

“ why did you help me? ” rose <3

“ do you ever hear yourself? ” one of my actual chars, rose

Rose eventually quietened down when Alec asked for their attention, but not without rolling her eyes at Mason and Adrian first, finding the formalities ridiculous. Although, in a sealed corner of her brain, she really felt afraid, knowing her untimely death had cost her her abilities, and her charge. She was no longer a dhampir, no longer able to keep up with her peers or do the one job she'd been born to do, facts she’d been able to ignore when they weren’t by her side, but they’d now all found their way to Alexandria. And as relieved as she was to know they were okay, she felt like she’d lived another lifetime without them, without her abilities, without any training. Alec even inviting her along today felt condescending, especially when he knew she wouldn’t be able to perform like she used to. It was as if he wanted to embarrass her in front of those she used to dominate on the academy’s leaderboard. But there was no way, of course, that she’d ever voice that, not willing to share her grief with anybody. So, with all thoughts of Lissa shoved aside, she'd showed up, and with little to no stamina anymore, skipped the warm-up entirely and slipped into what felt comfortable instead — messing around with the boys.

Isaac laughed then, wondering why she’d even doubted herself. He’d never denied Rose of anything, not when she’d asked, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. Whatever had happened between them in the Capitol meant nothing to Isaac, he fully understood she wasn’t in control. The same way Stiles hadn’t been when Void had taken over and attacked him, the same way Scott hadn’t been when Thredson had forced him to confine Isaac in the freezer. Those decisions, those actions, came with complicated reasoning, conclusions to a horrific spiral of events. Though he allowed his friends to be sorry, Isaac couldn’t hold them accountable. He had no doubt it’d be his turn one day, that he’d be the one seeking forgiveness. When that day came, he knew they’d be there with open arms, understanding him as he had them. Being in a pack had taught him that, unwavering loyalty. 

Unfortunately, what she’d put into motion she now couldn’t stop, Rose helpless as the tidal waves of guilt she’d spent months suppressing suddenly crashed to the surface. She’d gotten drunk to feel nothing, overwhelmed by her past catching up with her, but now she was left to feel everything, the closeness of him triggering the buried guilt and rage. It only got worse when he returned the sentiment, when she could feel him, the squeeze in her gut turning to a sob. She knew it hadn’t been her fault, her doing, but it didn’t hurt any less. She’d had everything taken from her, her former identity completely stripped, forcing her to start anew, only for them to turn her into a soldier, a mindless puppet capable of hurting those she loved. Rose hated that she felt guilty, that she could still hear the crunch of Isaac’s bones, that she could recall the look in his eyes yet hadn’t been able to stop it. That she’d watched Jackson turn to dust and simply walked away. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t sleep, she lived the nightmares over and over regardless. She despised who she was, who they’d made her, and was terrified to think there was only one solution.

Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten drunk, at least not to this extent, and he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed the simplicity of it. The voices and emotions he was often weighed down by, as Rose herself went on to point out, had blurred together and been supressed into his subconscious, allowing him to truly focus. And as the hand found his face, that’s exactly where Stiles’ direction diverted, blinded to everything but her. His breath caught in his throat, overcome by the intensity of it, the music numbing to nothing more than a dull vibration in his ears. His movements slowed, their swaying progressively coming to a stop, and Stiles gaze didn’t leave Rose’s, hanging on to her every word. “Yeah, yeah. I can feel it.” The playful tone disappeared from his voice, and his stomach formed a knot he didn’t have the sobriety to understand, one which caused his face to edge closer. Usually, he’d have been overcome with anxiety, stammering with a thousand questions, but the alcohol allowed him to settle into the physical touch. It softened the noise that so often held him back. “I can feel… us.” Whatever us meant, Stiles knew he wanted to delve further into it, the hand he’d slipped around her waist remaining there, gripping onto the fabric of her top. In his current state, he didn’t have to question his actions, or hers. It just made sense. “It feels good.”

Something between them had shifted, something that had been lingering for a while but had never been acknowledged by them before. In her current state, Rose didn’t recognise what it was, but she felt the change, the sudden intensity, the way their shared gaze hadn’t been broken. And strangely, she didn’t feel afraid. She didn’t want an escape, a distraction from it, something to take her mind off things, not like her usual hook-ups. She’d come to the club for that initially, to find something to numb her pain, and in a way, she’d found it, this unspoken thing that had suddenly come to light. Nameless, wordless, it existed between them only, Rose suddenly acutely aware of his hand on her back, her hand on his face. It did feel good. His response felt like permission, the confirmation they’d both been waiting for, Rose moving to kiss him before she’d even thought about it, drawn to him without question. It hadn’t been planned, hadn’t been a means to an end, and she melted into it, her other hand moving to pull him closer, finding his hair, his neck, his chest.