Nothing. [She says it with a dismissive little frown and a shake of her head that's almost convincing, because it doesn't feel like a lie.

She's not upset. She's not angry, she's not even suffering any dashed hopes. She's just...wistful. Longing for what could have been, reminded enough of how much she loves--loved Scott that it stings like a papercut.

It's not the kind of sorrow that breeds resentment. And it hurts worse for that. To have loved--to love someone so much that she can be happy for him...and want to cut out her own heart so she can forget that she ever cared.

She doesn't let it show...her eyes get too bright, but her expression doesn't falter. Because she won't burden even Lydia with this if she can help it. Not when the last Port was so hard on all of them, not when they're planning parties and watching movies and she gets to have Stiles back somehow while she's saving him.

Not when they're all allowed to be happy for a little while...especially when there's a shadow behind everyone's eyes.

A hole she can't identify...a hole they think she can't see.]

I'm fine! I'm just emotionally invested in this movie night. For obvious reasons...where do you keep the white cami?