[Chaos. Stiles absently rubs at his chest, glancing away.]

It wasn’t. [An honest admittance; though he doesn’t apologize for the wording, guilt crawls down his throat.] Not really thinking too much about that part of your resume. Not yet, at least.

[Cyram isn’t the first individual in this resort who has claimed to be a god—but it’s still a little too much for Stiles to wrap his head around when his mental health has been so compromised.]

But since you brought it up…

[The note crinkles as he twists it between fingers, indicating it.]

…You into poetry?