There's a fire tonight. We don't see it dimming anytime soon. Our fire started this evening with two stones, a spark, just as it did every night in the past. Each stone was nothing without the other.
Scott and Stiles applied the pressure to our small family, good pressure. They let us grind together to bring light into the dark, help push it away. They keep us bright with air in their lungs.
We suck ashes in from the cloudless sky, pulling in the night and thanking God the fireflies aren't glowing.
Scott's eyes burn red behind the curtain of darkness, overpower the fire we surround. He's keeping us together, under his arms no matter how far apart. A true alpha; risen to power by the force of his own will.
The golden embers of Stiles' eyes caramelize the light around him, giving him his own striking appearance, a natural hold on the pack. It's his eyes, more than Scott's that give him an authority, a loving one. Self-sacrifice, versus Scott's aggressive protection. Stiles gives us our will, our hope.
This is him.
Our golden boy.
Our spark.