Shambles

The streets of New York were desert, covered in black shadows. Exposing how truly late it was in the early morning. Stiles put his hands inside his grey trench coat trying to gain some heat, he let out his breath, staring his steps and his black shinny shoes hitting against the pavement. It was the only hearing sound, everything was perfectly quiet, only an old cat meowing in the dark and a distant car. He didn’t like it, it reminded him of… home? he should still called it that, he was supposed to still call it that. But everything was so fuzzy, all he could remember about Beacon Hills were tragedies, empty spaces, was he grateful about his pack? About Derek? All that memories from his mother and father, he was, truly was. But they were also… his demons, everyday, one by one, they were pilling up behind him, like a perfect line. He closed his eyes for a moment and he could see their apartment as if he was still there.