Invisible String. Stiles Stilinski (1)

xxv. when in paris

"I love your thinking."

The sound of a door clicking close made their eyes widen more— Chris had left. With a squeal of excitement, Amelie turned over and tackled Isaac who yelped in surprise.

"Let's go to Paris."

🥰

"Bonjour, Monsieur Isaac," Amelie feigned a horrible french accent when she came back from the bathroom on the train. Isaac dropped the newspaper he was holding dramatically and rubbed his invisible mustache.

"Salut, Mademoiselle Amelie," He thickened his voice with an undeniable smile. Isaac's smile was blinding these days and it was obvious France was the reason why— Amelie always called him a wanderer, he loved to roam and explore and discover new places.

"That's quite the outfit, Mademoiselle," Isaac chuckled as Amelie twirled in place. She was dressed in a full blown french outfit— really taking on the role of a tourist, with her black and grey checkered skirt, a white sweater vest and most importantly, the black beret covering her shoulder length hair that she'd cut the minute they arrived.

"Merci beaucoup," Amelie smiled, taking a seat in front of her best friend. "You know what they say. When in Paris—"

"Actually, it's when in Rome—"

"You can shut up, now," she raised a hand to quiet him down, fighting the urge to smile at his beaming face. "Let me have my moment, Lahey."

Isaac Lahey was truly a sight to see when he was in his element. Dressed in a button down and tousled hair, anyone would just drool at the sight of him. His laid back posture with spread legs under the table would make anyone weak in the knees— Amelie was almost confused how she hadn't fallen for him this entire summer.

But the not-confused part constantly reminded her why. It reminded her why she hadn't fallen for him or anyone else, for the matter— not when there was a human boy back in her hometown, crushing her spirit everyday more and more. Amelie hated the way she and Stiles Stilinski left things, her shoulders shuddered just at the memory of the venomous look he gave her when she told him she was leaving.

"You're thinking of him, aren't you?"

Isaac's amused voice knocked her out of her daydreaming, making her look at him with fake hate. "Am not!" She feigned offense, leaning her head onto her hands.

"I can literally feel your heartbreak."

"Is it Bully-Amelie-Day and I'm not aware?" She scoffed, looking away at the trees that ran before them across the windows— signaling that they were close to the Parisian train station.

"Just call him."

"And tell him what, exactly?" She rolled her eyes, mimicking a phone with her hand and bringing it to her ear. "Hey, Stiles, just wanted to tell you that I'm not a coward, and I'm not running— I'm actually looking for the only person who might help me defeat a ghost— the same one that killed my dad? I would've told you all that when I saw you but you never gave me a chance, did you!"

"Yeah!"

"Oh, God," Amelie mumbled, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. "You amaze me."

"Thanks, it's kind of the werewolf charm, you know?" He smirked, leaning forward onto the table between them.

"I'm sure."

"Well, you are going back, aren't you?" Isaac asked, raising a brow at the brunette who shrugged innocently. "Well, I haven't exactly achieved my goal here— so what's the harm in staying a bit more?"

"But, Amelie," Isaac sighed, lowering his voice an octave. "Who knows if this Angela woman is still alive? Or if she'll help you— or even know who you are?"

"My dad told me to find her," She said simply. "And I won't stop until I do."

The train screeched to a halt— signaling its arrival and bright smiles met each other across the table. Hurriedly, they stood from their place and headed to the train door where Paris awaited them and prepared an adventure.

As soon as their feet touched the cobbled floor of the train station, Amelie's phone rang. She glanced at Isaac with a panicked look, hoping the caller was not who she expected.

"Shit," She mumbled as Chris Argent's name lit up on her phone before pressing to accept the call. "Hey, Chris!"

"Hi, Amelie," He greeted the girl. "Just checking up on you, guys."

"What— Oh, we're great, don't worry about us," She laughed worriedly. "Isaac and I just were making some lunch actually!"

"Oh, really?"

"Does that lunch happen to be on a train station? In Paris?" He asked amusedly. Isaac's eyes widened at the question, gesturing harshly with his hands to improvise, making her shoo him away violently.

"Whaaat? Isaac and I are at home, Chris," The girl laughed sheepishly. "You know, home, which is totally not in Paris, ha—"

"I can literally see you guys."

"Impossible."

"Not impossible, actually," Isaac nudged her harshly in her ribs making her turn around quickly to find Chris— ridden with time and grief as wrinkles on his handsome face— standing there, with the phone to his ear and an amused smirk on his face.

"We—"

"Save it," He interrupted calmly, causing confused looks from the teenagers. "I'd usually scold you for doing this, but considering you did me a favor— I won't."

"Did you a favor how?" Isaac took a step forward.

"Amelie," Chris looked at the girl with an unexplainable expression.

"I found Angela Simone."