Fics like The house won’t fall, when the bones are good.

Stiles gets stuck on the man’s eyes; they are the strangest pale mix of grey, blue and hazel, the lights from the house making the silvers in his waistcoat reflect off them, colours dancing. They are almost glowing. His eyes are positively wild. The stranger’s intense gaze reminds Stiles of a thunder storm he’d once watched from the window of the kitchen at Beacon Manor, a myriad of shades bouncing in the sky, electric. Stiles is as fascinated now as he was then. He wouldn’t be able to look away if you gave him twenty gold bars to do so. Stiles notices, though the man is not wearing it, a silver and black mask is clutched in his broad hand. Stiles licks his lips involuntarily and he touches his own fingers to his cheeks to ensure his own mask is still in place. The stranger tracks the movement, gaze following Stiles’ fingers, before seeming to catch himself.

Fics like The house won’t fall, when the bones are good.

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