[Oh, that's a nice change—if only for the proximity. It feels like he's won something, having lured the boy from the safety of his corner into a brave approach. They say patience has its merits; truthfully, Tyki did have a feeling it would be better to use a gentler hand with this one. He looks into that dilated gaze, his own amber eyes reflecting the flame of the candles in two warm, honeyed points.]

I happen to know I'm special. Only twelve others like me in the world, just to start. [Technically thirteen, but he'd rather not put a bad taste in his mouth thinking about that particular person.] We're a rare breed.

[The atmosphere in this room is so much more preferable to the one outside of it. Cozy, intimate... exactly the kind he'd want to get to know someone. A little hot, though, as he can feel beads of sweat gathering along his brow, and in this lighting Stiles will see the black crown of the stigmata on his forehead easily.

He remains hands off, otherwise. No matter how much his fingers are twitching to claim that leash.]

What about you? By the sound of it, if you've had such unsavory experiences then you must be pretty special yourself to warrant all the trouble. Why do the freaks flock to you, Stiles?