Knocking lightly on the door leaves Lydia Martin with a pool of nerves in her stomach and a desire to run back down the stairs she had just climbed. This particular door had once been familiar to her, almost like a second home, now she feels like an alien landing on earth for the first time and she decides she doesn't like it. It's only after she starts to push the door open that she realises that he might have company – company in the form of Malia – she debates whether the earlier plan of escaping down the stairs is still an option. Just this once Lydia begs some higher power, just this once let him be alone.

She's sure he hears the sigh of relief she breathes when she sees him standing at his crime board – even from across the room. She can't stop the edges of her mouth lifting as he turns to greet her, a smile warming his brown eyes.

'Lydia,' Stiles tone is welcoming, yet she can't shake the uncomfortable feeling that has settled around his shoulders and she hovers in the doorway, unable to enter this room which holds so many memories.

Stiles frowns at her unease and defiantly catches her hand to pull her inside. She sits delicately on the edge of his bed, staring quietly at the carpet in front of the crime board. Lydia only needs to know Stiles to guess that if she measured all of the carpet fibres in his room, they'd be thinnest in front of the hulking piece of furniture that displays all the supernatural activity in Beacon Hills.

There's a silence that neither is used to between them; it's more likely that they're throwing ideas back and forth or even arguing like an old married couple; but this silence is foreign and unfamiliar and it's starting to fray the edges of Stiles' nerves. He tries to think of a single thing to say but surprisingly his brain ceases to provide words. Instead he sinks to his knees before her trying to let his eyes do the talking but her gaze never wavers from its place on the floor.

She feels the pressure of his fingertips first, they settle on her chin as he pulls her head to meet her eyes. She leans into his touch but his fingers slide away too soon and she realises just how much she's missed human contact.

It breaks him to see her this way – the bright, beautiful light that normally shone from Lydia Martin was damaged beyond repair – a shell of the girl she once was. A side-effect of the world they'd dragged her – kicking and screaming – into. Scott, Allison and I, he thinks bitterly, she would be without a care in the world if it wasn't for us.

'Lydia,' Stiles says once more, softly, the guilt clearly etched across his features. 'Talk to me Lydia… please,' he all but whispers; the bright smile she flashes towards him does nothing to hide the tears in her eyes.

'Help me, Stiles,' she chokes out, eventually meeting his gaze. His eyes follow the path of one of her tears as it slides down to the tip of her nose and runs off the end.

'I thought you might know a thing or two about what it feels like to go insane,' she continues, ending with a shaky laugh.

'Thanks!' He offers a slight snort in an attempt to lighten the mood. His guilt gnawing away at his insides as he tries to remember the last time he was alone with Lydia; the last time he asked her how she was feeling… he couldn't remember.

'You know what I mean,' she lowers her eyes and with a voice which sends an unwarranted shiver down his spine, Lydia says, 'Nogitsune.'

Even with the ordeal long over, Stiles regularly has nightmares about being under the control of another entity; seeing through its eyes, knowing what it was doing but being unable to stop it.

Stiles looks up at her, his eyes filled with honesty, 'Yeah, I've been there. Lydia, I know I wasn't there for you when I needed someone to turn to – but from this moment I promise you that that will change.'

'Thanks, Stiles,' she blows out a breath, 'I think I'd just become so used to having you there that it wasn't until you weren't that I appreciated just how much I depend on you.'

There's a moment of silence as he processes what she just said and then he smiles at her and it's brighter than the sun to her because it's Stiles.

Then, as if to prove just how very Stiles he is he fetches snacks from the kitchen. Returning, he finds her laid on her stomach her strawberry blonde hair hanging in curtains around her face and resting in pools where it hits the bed. In front of her rest the pages he'd printed the evening before and as she slowly turns them it's clear that it's more to help her think than to actually read the text.

'Nothing adds up,' she points out.

'I know,' Stiles says, 'how did Meredith have the mental clarity to carry out Peter's plans?'

'Meticulously, whilst locked in a mental institution and without anybody noticing?' Lydia remarks.

It brings back memories she'd thought she'd buried, studying the information with him, making connections with him, sharing the same space with him. Lydia leaves before it starts to get dark and Stiles spends the night worrying about her.

It's two nights later that Stiles wakes to the sound of his phone buzzing and falling off the bedside table. Since they've been texting almost constantly since Sunday, he expects it to be Lydia and is almost surprised that Malia's name pops up with a text: 'You busy?'

He frowns at himself, just as it wasn't fair that his friendship with Lydia suffer in favour of his relationship with Malia, it's also not fair that he should neglect Malia in favour of Lydia. He types a quick reply and re-reads a page entitled, 'werewolf telepaths,' before he notices a shadow at his window.

Malia offers him a small smile as she wanders into his room, perching on the end of his bed. Stiles' eyes widen - he's pretty sure Malia has never perched anywhere in her entire life. It's normal for her to come in, throw herself on his bed and sprawl across it for the rest of the evening.

After watching her for less than ten seconds, it's clear to Stiles that Malia has something on her mind.

'I feel torn,' she says with unexpected suddenness. 'I never knew what torn felt like till now, Stiles but I think that's how I feel.'

Seeing that he's about to launch into a speech of an indefinite length she puts a finger to his lips.

'Let me speak, Stilinski.'

'Uhh… okay?' He mumbles around her finger.

'Basically what I wanted to say was - please don't hate me – I need to figure out who I am and what I want in life… alone.' Malia runs a hand through her long brown hair. 'God, that came out so wrong. Please can we be friends. Oh, look at me, I'm doing all the clichés now…' She winces at him, 'you know, you're supposed to be the one who teaches me how to do this – to interact with people.'

Stiles laughs long and hard, 'So you want me to teach you how to break up with me?'

'You're laughing. Why are you laughing? You're not supposed to laugh.'

Stiles tries to keep a straight face and fails.

Malia scowls mumbling something that sounds like, 'the internet is useless,' before she looks at him properly, her gaze transforming into the softest expression he's ever seen on her face. 'It's not that I don't love you Stiles, but I think I love you like a friend.'

Stiles scratches behind his ear, looking uncomfortable, 'I um… I think I know exactly how you feel.'

Malia grins at how he looks, 'Just because you're the only person I actually like doesn't mean I'm in love with you.'

Stiles grins back at her.

'Friends?' Malia asks.

'Best friends,' Stiles replies with a smile as he throws himself next to her.

Stiles has just fallen asleep when his phone startles him awake at two in the morning. Keeping his eyes closed against the harsh glare of the screen in the dark room, he answers. Sitting up to avoid falling back to sleep he groans a groggy hello into the speaker.

'Stiles?' his eyes fly open at the sound of Lydia's voice, panicked and sore.

'Stiles. Please can you come?'