Warning: mentions of cheating.

They snuck into her lake house on a summer night.

It was abandoned.

It hadn't been sold, despite the most valiant attempts of her mother.

The red wine stain was still on the carpet.

He noticed the way her eyelashes fluttered, gazing up at the moon. The silver light from it illuminated her irises.

"Lydia," His voice was milk.

She dipped a foot into the water, letting it wash over her toes. She peered up at him from her spot on the dock, smiling as soft as cashmere. He sat down next to her.

"I've always loved this lake," Her voice was honey.

She lay her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around her waist. They dangled their feet in the water.

Their meetings have always been secluded and rushed. Secret and guilty.

But he let himself relax, breathing in the smell of her vanilla skin.

The guilt would always creep back into him anyways. He would remember his girlfriend, her loving words hidden beneath rough skin.

He didn't deserve Malia.

Her cherry lips met his.

He forgot about Malia.

"Swim with me," She mused, slowly slipping away from him. Her dress was gone.

The white lace gleamed in the moonlight against the creamy skin.

She slowly let herself into the water, before letting it swallow her up whole.

He followed her, letting his jeans and T-shirt lay limp on the docks. Her arms were slung around his neck, and her eyes trapped him underneath her.

She was a siren in the night.

He wanted to drown.

_______

3 months ago.

It started in the playground of their childhood.

The swing creaked underneath him. She was too light to cause a sound.

It was abandoned, the chatter of the rest of their friends flittering into nothing. They were alone.

It started with her smile.

He couldn't keep his eyes off those cherry lips that smiled up at him. He couldn't keep himself from feeling her soft cheek in his hand.

Her lips felt even softer.

As he drew away, it was impossible to read the emotions on her face. It was the first time he couldn't read her. Her face was confused, but her eyes were empathetic.

"Stiles, what-" He darted up, taking several paces away from her. He was breathless.

"I'm sorry." He noticed her bottom lip quake. He walked away, telling himself it was the last time he would touch those cherry lips.

_______

2 months ago.

It wasn't the last time.

He didn't feel guilt as he held her against the counter, staring at bewildered look on her features. He'd pulled her in there when no one was looking.

Malia's voice was a muffled memory from the room next to them. The door was locked. Everyone hadn't noticed that they were gone.

He didn't feel guilt as he kissed her again. And again. And again.

He only felt guilt when her evergreen eyes looked up at him.

He didn't deserve Malia.

She smiled as soft as cashmere.

He didn't deserve her.

_______

1 month ago.

He snuck into her room when her mother was out of town.

He tried to ignore the thump in his heart when he realized she had left her window unlocked.

She was waiting for him, round eyes looking up at him. The light pink slip clung to her body. She walked to him, a silent wraith in the light of the stars.

His hands found her hips. Her hands found his neck. His skin was set on fire with her pressed against him. He wanted to burn with her in his arms.

He was close to her lips, but stopped, and whispered to her.

"I love you,"

Their love was red wine.

Thick, dark, austere, complex.

It always stained.

_______

1 month later.

"We sold it." He wasn't sure if it was the phone distorting her honey voice.

His breath got trapped in his throat, and he gripped the phone in his hand. His jaw clenched.

"There's nothing keeping us here." Her voice sounded strained- it wasn't the phone. He heard a voice in the background calling flight 537.

"Nothing?" His voice was cracked. The words barely made it through his clenched teeth.

He noticed her pause, soft breaths escaping the lips that were so clear in his mind.

"Something." He felt a breath escape him in relief. His grip didn't relax. There was another long, drawn out pause. It made his heart thump.

"But it was never mine." He hadn't noticed the tears slip. They left red wine stains in their wake.

"I love you. Keep her happy."

The call disconnected. The phone hit the wall. His head was in his hands. His tears were on his cheeks.

He wanted to be hers.

He closed his eyes, and he could see her cherry lips and smile as soft as cashmere. A siren in the night, a silent wraith in the light of the stars. A fire that he let die.

Their love was red wine.

And it had stained them.

_______

A/N:
Ok, ok, ok, please don't kill me.
I haven't released any writing since April, and I'm very sorry.
I'm having a strange case of writers block- so many ideas for stories, but no real inspiration to actually write. It's very, VERY frustrating.
But the one shot you guys voted on (if you can even remember) IS ALMOST DONE! YAY!

Anyway, this is some Drabble-y, stylistic writing that came to me on the plane.
And no, the point is not about villain-ising or victimizing any of the characters. I just thought it would be interesting to write the moral conflicts of a secret relationship like this. I hope you guys like this short but bitter (not sweet) little thing!

In compensation for the wait, I will give you a little teaser- poster thing for the next upcoming oneshot. Enjoy!

(If you want to know more about it, go to the part titled 'New Oneshot?' And read option 2!)