A/N: Alright So i wrote this for a fic request on tumblr a couple weeks ago and wanted to share it here just for kicks i guess. If you're looking for a visual reference for how i picture Stiles in this fix refer to Dylan O'Brien when eh was in The Internship. I'm sure you've seen him in it, its adorable and so is that movie. Also, this ended up a lot longer than i intended but chest la vie... continuing on, the prompt was about Lydia and Teacher!Stiles soooo yea
Lydia sat at the café bar, her ankles crossed below her, nose tucked delicately into an old book. Her summer reading was long finished so she had branched into next semesters out of a constant combination or curiosity and boredom. While she appreciated the literary importance of Shelley's Frankenstein, she struggled with the concept. The impossibility of human resurrection, from difference human parts no less, as well as the creatures impossible level of intelligence, made it tedious going, but she pressed on. Besides, she had thought, a little fantasy never hurt anyone.
Her phone buzzed and she checked it, the little screen lighting up brightly in her hands.
Sorry for the delay, 10 more mins, promise. I'll get you coffee later? :)
She had been waiting for Jackson, as always, to pick her up after visiting her mom at work. He was going on an hour late. Currently they were broken up but they had had plan to have lunch. It was supposed to be the make-it-or-break-it conversation, as Allison had dubbed it, the one they needed to have two months ago when he had "not really cheated" on her with Missy Lancaster while he was with his parents in the U.K.. She groaned and decided she was done with waiting. As in forever done.
Don't come, I don't want you to.
Her finger floated over the send button, and for a millisecond she thought about clearing it out and just typing, "OK". Of letting him off one more time, because he had said he's make it up to her. But she didn't, she pressed down her thumb and let it send. She didn't want him to come, and now he knew.
Lydia closed her book with a feelings of triumph and purpase and picked up her last French fry, running it through the remnants of ketchup on the ceramic plate. She bit into it triumphantly and smiled absentmindedly at her small victory. She laughed and then caught herself, glancing around to see if anyone had notice her ridiculous display. In a second she became aware that she wasn't the only person sitting at the café's bar. Three seats down another guy with a textbook lying open in front of him was sucking down the last of a coke, blatantly watching her. She glanced up and made eye contact, and quickly his eyes dropped back to his textbook. She felt her cheeks warming and looked downward until again she felt his eyes on her. She looked at him through the corner of her eyes and could see him, clearly just watching her. It made her self-conscious, to have his eyes so intently focused on her, she wondered if she had something on her face, or her clothes, something that was just drawing his eye. She grew angry with him for some reason, maybe it was her annoyance with Jackson redirecting towards this stranger but whatever it was caused her to turn to him quickly.
"Are you done?" She spat, looking directly at him and he looked back, blushed as well and then started laughing.
"Sorry, god I must seem so creepy you're just, just-" He stammered, his hand gripping to the back of his neck. He was attractive, she thought, a goofy grin, messy dark hair, gorgeous eyes that laughed along with his smile. He was dressed decently; in clothes a young professor might wear, with thin black wayfarers eyeglasses perched endearingly on his nose. He looked smart, bookishly nerdy, but sweet and really handsome. Then she remembered she was angry with him.
"I'm just what?" She said, calming her tone slightly, embarrassed at her outbreak.
"You're beautiful." He said finally, blushing as the words left his lips. She blushed too at his honesty, wondering if this conversation was even going to continue without the two of them being so red-faced. Her anger with him melted away, too quickly she thought, and she smiled distractedly. Suddenly she realized that she needed to respond.
"Oh… that's, thank you, that's very-" Lydia stuttered slightly, silently cursing her own unexpected awkwardness. What was she doing, she wasn't this dumb, silly, girl, this was obviously some college guy, he wasn't going to want to talk to a babbling high school girl. Pull it together Lyds.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything." He said, grabbing his neck again and turning away. He closed himself off from her, hiding either his shame or just from her in general, and all she wanted to do was get him to look at her again.
"No, please, that's the nicest things anyone has told me in a long time." She said. His eyes shot back to her and he grinned. His eyes flickered indecisively for a second between his textbook and her and then he suddenly moved the two seat over so he was seated right next to her.
"You can call me Stiles." He said, extending a hand. Her eyebrows raised at his strange greeting and the even stranger name to follow, but she just looked back, took his hand laughing and said her own.
"You can call me Lydia."
"Nice to meet you Lydia."
"Nice to meet you Stiles." She said laughing at the whole encounter. He was so nice, so strangely friendly, so insanely sweet. She could get used to this.
"How's Frankenstein, god I haven't read that since high school." He said, gesturing to her book that lay cover up, splayed out on the bar. She blushed, wondering if it would give her away.
"Not any better the second time around I promise you." She said, picking it up and bookmarking her page, trying to shove it behind the bag she had laid on the countertop. Her phone beeped, a message from her mom reminding her about all her homework and Lydia groaned audibly, typing a nippy retort and whirling back to Stiles.
"Annoying text?" Stiles asked, extending a long finger in the direction of her phone. Lydia blushed.
"Sorry it was my-" College students don't get texts from their moms do the? "uhm roommate, she's having some problems with books and stuff."
"Right right. You going to school around here? I just finished at USC." He said, not picking up on her awkwardness surrounding the book. She breathed a sigh of relief. He definitely thinks I'm in college, she assumed, silently rejoicing. It didn't matter for a minute and she considered how best to reply.
"Uhm, I'm a sophomore this fall." She said. In high school, she added silently. She exhaled loudly afterwards, averting here eyes because of her little white lie. It wasn't a lie she reasoned, but it wasn't the whole truth.
"Wow, good for you. Know what you're going to Major in yet?" He asked.
"Biochemistry with a minor in Latin and Spanish. I'm thinking medicine." That one wasn't a lie.
"Hermosa e inteligente, por dios. Pre-med?" He said with a tone of surprise, and she nodded proudly, a tinge of pink staining her cheeks at the look her gave her.
"Sí señor." She managed.
"Hot." He said simply and she blushed even harder, looking down at her empty plate of fries.
"Two compliments already huh? You don't play around." Lydia replied sheepishly, looking at him through a curtain of red hair.
"Right? I'm off to a good start?" He said, only slightly embarrassed at his own honesty. "But really, a girl who knows what she wants and is obviously intelligent, that's refreshing. And hot, still hot don't let me neglect to mention your hotness."
"Do you always pick up girls at café bars at 3 in the afternoon?" She said, unable to help the laughter that was rising in her throat.
"Oh totally, that and libraries, those are my go-to places. Most of the women there tend to be in my league you know, old ladies and such, other librarians. You though Lydia, are so far far far out of my league." He said, and though his smile laughed with the words, his eyes were rather serious as he said her name, the look in his eyes intensifying as it rolled off his lips. She watched him curiously, laughing at his frankness and just him being him. Being around this guy made her laugh, and smile, a great deal more than any one she had ever met.
"How bout you. What did you major in?" Lydia asked, honestly curious to know more about him.
"Education, well History and English, but I intend to teach so, education." He said, looking away for a minute and raising a finger to the man behind the bar to refill his coke.
"Good for you, I don't think I could stand in front of a bunch of kids and try to teach them something. Like, if they couldn't understand it I would just get so frustrated and start screaming at them." She said, unable to hid her distaste for the career.
"Don't hate appreciate Lyds. Someone's got to teach, why not me?" He said. A look of slight embarrassment settled over his faces and he rushed to apologize for something she hadn't even noticed. "Sorry I called you Lyds it was weird but I went with it." He said, laughing a little more at his own words.
"It was okay, I liked it." She said, and suddenly her tone slipped a little lower, the conation of her words unexpected, even by her. He heard it happen, and she at first hadn't meant it to happen, but it had, and she didn't intend to take it back.
"I-Uhm-I… yea, okay?" He said, his eyes flickering to her lips. She turned away and grabed at her drink, sipping the dregs from the glass noisily. They sit for a minute in silence, both highly aware of the others presence, listening to the sound Lydia's straw makes as she drinks. She stops and glances back at him, the air thickening as she breaths.
"Do you- would you want to-" Stiles stuttered, but he tapered off, uncertainty shuddering into his words.
"You want to get out of here? Go to the library or somewhere?" She laughed at her own library joke, standing up suddenly. He mirrored her, standing as she had, reacting in synchronization. They stood close to each other, trapped between the stools they had been sitting in before, their chest maybe five inches apart, their lips even closer.
"I would love to but to be honest I wasn't thinking library, I was thinking something, closer than that, something sooner than that, cuz I, I really want to, uhm-do something to you that I can't do in a library, and I really want to do them, like right now, like as soon as possible, or like as soon as social acceptable." He stuttered slightly under his breath, glancing back at her lips quickly. He kept looking at her and under his gaze she felt her eye flitting back and forth from his lips as she chewed her own nervously.
"It's two in the afternoon on a Wednesday…" She said stepping backwards into the stool, realizing the absurdity of it all. He laughed suddenly, his hand flying spastically into his hair, a habit he seemed to have.
"You're right. People don't, do this kind of thing in real life I guess." He said. But neither of them had sat down again, neither of them had decidedly gone anywhere else. Lydia rocked on her heels and he looked at his feet, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt and cracking his fingers nervously. Silently she thought, let's do it anyway. They're eye connected quickly and she realized he was thinking the same things. They both smiled suddenly and she barely heard the bell on the entryway tinkle and the sound of a voice she knew too well.
"Lydia?" Jackson said, confusion traced over his face as he burst into the café in a ball of violent energy. He hadn't been able to see them from outside, but now he could tell something was going on between Lydia and this stranger.
"Jackson? I told you not to come." Lydia said angrily, breaking the trance between her and Stiles, and whipping her head in Jackson's direction, her bright red hair sweeping across Stiles face. Stiles looked on, confusion crossing his features as he backed away from her.
"Well I'm glad I didn't listen, who they hell is this?" Jackson said, storming up to her and beginning to push past her to Stiles who now sat at the bar, hiding behind his arm. She watched him and saw in his eyes that anger she knew too well. His skin tightened in his forehead, his lips pulled up in corner as if to snarl at someone. She knew if she didn't do something Jackson would do something he would regret.
"Stop it. Come one let's get out of here." She said, planting both hands on his chest and pushing him backwards to the door. At first she didn't think he would go, his feet planted in the ground staring down the other man at the bar, staring down Stiles, but eventually he turned, grabbing her hand bitterly and jerking her out the door. She went with him, fretting that he might try something stupid if she didn't, but as the door swung shut behind her she turned to see Stiles watching them leave, a hurt look on his face. It was a wounded look, a look of betrayal, and she felt more guilty than she ever had.
"I'm taking you to my house." Jackson said over the rev of the engine, extending a hand to turn the music up. Angrily she shoved his hand away from the radio.
"No. You're taking me home."
When a classroom remains teacher-less after the bell has rung it doesn't take long to pinpoint the slow descent into chaos. The paper airplane start flying, the quiet chatter gets much, much louder, and the energy in the room starts to rise. This was the state of the AP World History classroom Monday morning the first day of school. Summer was still the first thought on every students mind as they sat, crammed uncomfortably into desks that were too small, and tried to pay attention.
Lydia contemplated her history textbook with disdain. Her summer post-café encounter had remained relatively dull, in the short four days since then. She thought about Stiles, the college graduate she would never see again, how awful it must have looked as Jackson had stormed in and pulled her away. He must think I'm some sort of girl who was cheating her boyfriend, she thought. In some ways, she had been, but not in the way he would think.
She had already thoroughly read through the first 10 chapters and compiled her notes, which she could only assumed was more than the required reading for the entire semester. She lifted her schedule; the black computer ink printed onto pink paper, and began to transcribe it into the front of her planner. Not that it was necessary; she had already memorized it, and therefore knew exactly why the desk at the front of the room was clean and unoccupied and the classroom was collapsing into slow rising chaos. Where there should have been a name printed in the little scheduling grid under the column entitled TEACHER, her first hour AP World still had an empty box. She started filling that box with meaningless doodles as her boredom increased tenfold.
Lydia was shaken from her brief reverie by the tap of a finger on her shoulder. She spun around quickly, whipping her long strawberry curls over a shoulder.
"What?' She demanded as she came face to face with Jackson. Her on again off again boyfriend, currently off again, had inconveniently maintained his seat behind her in class, like he always had their freshman year. She had broken up with him for good immediately after his little outburst at the café. It hadn't been over that though, there had been so much more wrong with their relationship, but that outburst had sealed the metaphorical deal.
Jackson's eyes flickered down to the sheet of paper resting on his desk for a brief second before he looked back up at her.
"Are you coming over after school?" He said. Last year every Monday she had lied to her mother about going to Mathletes after school and instead ditched and gone to Jacksons house to, "hangout". She considered this for a second, thought about how much she sort of wanted to come over, how much she wanted to spend time with him, and missed their little Mathletes joke. But she had made a promise to herself, and more importantly to Allison, who caught her eye from across the room. The brown haired Argent, though seemingly invested in a conversation with Danny, was watching her best friend through the corner of her eye. When the pair finally locked eyes Allison shook her head. No Lydia, remember what you said, how he hurt you. As much as she hated her for it, Lydia knew Allison was right.
"Sorry, plans with Allison. Rainche-Actually no. Just, Jackson, I can't come over alright?" She finished, and with that she turned violently around to look at the board. She felt his eyes burning into her neck, heard the sound of his fist collapsing over his sheet of paper, but something inside her didn't let her turn back around. She already had tried before this to arrange to go to a movie with him, or eat lunch with him, just to see if it was still there and all they had ended up doing was making out in his car and him proposing they become friends with benefits. She didn't want that, he wanted her but he didn't actually want to be with her. Last time was the last straw right? They should be done, they were done, and they were going to stay done. On-again-off -again no more, she thought as she flipped open her textbook and began highlighting the pages she already read and writing out answers to the end of the chapter study questions. She felt a rush of wind beside her and watched as Jackson stormed past her and out the door, nearly crashing into whoever was coming in.
The sound of paper crumpling and books falling accompanied the sound of the door opening. Hidden behind a stack of books and binders, a mug of coffee placed precariously on top of the whole things was assumedly their new teacher. From Lydia's vantage point all she could see of him was long limbs in a blue plaid dress shirt and stone-khaki colored long pants. He spun around dropping the stack of school supplies on the desk with a loud crashing, calling the chaotic classroom to attention, drawing every eye to the front.
"Sorry for my tardiness class, if you would believe it my alarm clock didn't go off. Late to my first day of school, comical almost?" The teacher said, his back still to the class as he approached the board. He reached for a marker, uncapped it loudly, and began scrawling on the board. Lydia could barely focus on the teacher though as she looked out the glass window in the door to try and see where Jackson had gone to make sure he wasn't doing something stupid. Silently she reminded herself that Jackson was no longer her responsibility. She sighed exasperatedly and turned to look to the new teacher.
"I'm Mr. Stilin-." The teacher said turning around and stopping short as he saw her, and suddenly all Lydia could do was stare at him. Her new History teacher was Stiles, as in Stiles Stiles, as in Stiles from the café. As in Stiles who she had almost spontaneously madeout with in the middle of a café, and still very much wanted to make out with very much. As in Stiles who she had then ditched at said café for her ex-boyfriend. And right now he had seen her, and he was looking directly at he and blushing violently. Both of them were red-faced, it seemed to be all they could do for a good minute of complete silence, and she was sure that someone, if not everyone in the class would notice. Stiles seemed to realize he was drawing massive amounts of attention to them and he cleared his throat and continued his introduction.
"I-uhm-I'm Mr. Stilinski, I'm your new History teacher. This course will cover from 8000 B.C.E all the way up to yesterday, in other words, think of it on a scale of Homo erectus to the iPhone. That's a lot of material to cover so let's get started shall we? Books open to chapter one, I will pass out the A.P. syllabus." He said, and he turned to write something on his desk and then took the pile of papers and passed them out. Lydia just stared at her desk; the wrath of her lies culminating into this one moment. Jackson came back in, calmer now, and took his seat behind her again. Oh god, what if Jackson recognizes Stiles, Lydia thought, realizing that Jackson might have seen Stiles back at the café. Or, Mr. Stilinksi, she thinks, as she aught to call him. It feels strange to think of him as anything but Stiles.
Mr. Stilinski walks around the room passing out the syllabi to each student. He gets to the girl in front of Lydia, hands her a sheet and his eyes flicker up to meet Lydia's. She purses her lips and widens her eyes trying desperately to apologize silently. She tried to glance behind her and show him that Jackson is sitting right there. His eyes follow her and they widen as he recognizes the boy. His gaze seems to harden and his lips pull tightly together as if he's angry, she thinks, and he puts a syllabus on Lydia's desk and walks to Jackson's seat. Distractedly, all she can think of is the fact that he standing right next to her.
"Sir, I don't believe we have met." Stiles says to Jackson, tapping Jackson on the shoulder to wake him up as Jackson had rested his head on the desk and begun to fall asleep. Lydia's back tenses, she can't believe what Stiles is doing, he risk he's taking that Jackson might remember him. She hears the shuffling of fabric as Jackson raises his head.
"Jackson Whitmore." Jackson says tiredly, extending a hand to take the syllabus. There's no more anger in his voice than Jackson's usual level go general spite and anger, no more suspicion, no sign of recognition or resentment. Lydia's shoulders drop in relief.
"Mr. Stilinski. Jackson?" Stiles says, hesitating on Jackson's name. "Don't ever be tardy to my class Understood?" There's not humor, no joke in his tone.
"Sorry Mr. Stilinksi, won't happen again." Jackson says, not hint of recognition in his voice as he takes the syllabus and lies back down to continue sleeping through class.
Lydia breathes another sigh of relief and finally looks down at her own syllabus.
Meet me after class, we have to talk. is scrawled in the top margin, written messily in the same handwriting from on the board. Inwardly she groan, erasing the message with a heavy hand so no one else can see.
Lydia's first A.P. World class drags on forever. She watches Stiles at the front of the room. He's a amazing teacher, charismatic and brilliant, obviously interested in what he teaching as he paces back and forth while lecturing, throwing his arms in the air eagerly when he gets excited and scratching brilliant notes on the board, things she could never have actually learned from just reading it in the book like she had. But she can tell that he can't look at her, his eyes move specifically as to not land on her own. She gets through class somehow and the bells rings loudly in her ear as the rest of her classmates rush out. Allison tugs on her shoulder.
"What's you're next hour?" Allison asks with a smile. Lydia can tell Allison's proud of her for not caving to Jackson so long ago, thought Lydia find that throughout class Jackson is the last thing on her mind. The brunette's eyes shoot daggers at the boy who is rushing out of the class as they speak.
"I have Chemistry." Lydia replies quickly, nervously playing with a loosed strand of hair from the braid on top of her head. She frets for a second that, if they have the same class, Lydia' will have to lie to Allison about being late. The last things she wants to do is start lying to her best friend. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Stiles watching her. She swallows nervously and feels her pulse quicken momentarily.
"Darn, I've got study hall with Coach. See you after then." Allison says, not noticing how Lydia is dragging behind. Lydia breathes a silent sigh of relief at not having to lie and waves her friend off, turning to collect her things from beneath her desk. Allison waves too and leaves quickly, meeting Kira in the hallway and walking with her to their lockers. Their new friend from New York waved at Lydia through the glass and hooked arms with Allison as they assumably walked to study hall together.
Lydia glances around to find an empty classroom. Empty except for one.
Stiles stands at his desk, maintaining composure as he walks across the front of the room to the door. He closes it lightly, and the noise of the lock clicking is the loudest noise in room. She focuses solely on the sound of students rushing around outside. Noisily various teenagers rush back and forth outside, excited to see each other again after summer, oblivious to what is happening in the new teachers classroom. At the door, Stiles turns toward her and leans against the it, his hands still on the knob, closing his eyes. A silence settles for a minute. And then it erupts.
"You're a high school student!? You said you were a sophomore." Stiles says grasping his head in his hands and walking across the room and beginning pace in front of her desk.
"I never said I was a sophomore in college." She says, fighting to keep her tone even. She remains as docile as Lydia Martin is capable, sitting down in the desk, crossing her legs and angling herself casually backwards. He looks at her tilting his head in disbelief, still pacing back and forth in the front. The gravity of her white lies begin to settle on her.
"What about your major? You said you were going to major in Biochem, go Pre-Med, you lied about that." His hands shake sarcastically on the words 'premed' and he squints his eyes tightly together. He's still pacing
"No I didn't actually lie! I am probably going to major in biochem and go to med school…. In three years, but still, I am going to be Pre-Med I never lied to you Stiles." She said, biting her lips nervously, yet fighting back. She feels guilty, but she held to the fact that she had never actually lied to him, he had only assumed she was a lot older.
"And your boyfriend, your goddamn, pardon my language, asshole of a boyfriend is sitting right behind you, and by some stroke of luck he didn't recognize me. But you realize what could happen if he had recognized me." Stiles said, finally stopping directly in front of her.
"He's not my boyfriend." She exclaims, rising clumsily from the confines of the desk to stand directly before him, grimacing at how she had blurted it out.
"What?" He says caught off guard. Lydia collects herself, splitting her feet apart and looks at him to continue.
"He's not, Jackson's not… we were broken up when I was talking to you, I was never like, cheating on him. We weren't together. We aren't, together." She realizes that this is the first time she has said this out loud to anyone and realizes, with absolute faith, that it's true.
"I…Good. I mean not good. I mean I don't care if he's your boyfriend, I shouldn't care, but he is an ass, and a jerk and I'm glad he's not your boyfriend. So then, I do care. But it's not any of my business I guess is what I'm trying to say here." Stiles says his anger calming as he finally just stands in front of her. She can tell he's trying to stay mad, trying to remain as infuriated as he once was but it's dissipating at an alarming rate.
"Yea. Well Jackson isn't my boyfriend and he doesn't recognize you. Furthermore, nothing happened with,…" here Lydia points between them gesturing at their chests, "well us I guess, so we'll just never talk about it again, I'll drop your class and we'll act like we never met. It's the simple logical solution." She said, upset for an unknown reason. Clinically, impassively, that's how the best decisions are to be made, and that how she was making this was. Void of opinion or any feelings, just the right thing to do. They stood in silence for a second and Lydia decided that it had been too long so she reached down to pick up her bag, feeling her heart cinch a little as she made to leave. Suddenly his hand shot out and curled tightly around her wrist.
"Lydia stop. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, it's not your fault. I think I was angry still from Wednesday, jealous of you and Jackson, hurt that you went with him so quickly, and mostly that I was never going to see you again. Not that I should see you again now that all of this, well our predicament has…" Stiles said, a tension slipping back into his tone as he trailed off. She consented, having already guessed that all those things had likely made him upset with her.
"No, I get it. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have left with him, I didn't want to leave with him. I even texted him telling him not to come, way before i started talking to you. But once I started talking to you I didn't want to stop." She replied, looking at her feet and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced back up at him and realized how incredibly close they were and that his eyes had dipped to her lips once again before quickly flickering back upwards. She couldn't fight how much she wanted to look back at his lips as well, how much she wanted him to reach out and grab her, to shove her up against the nearest wall and just kiss her senseless. But he was a teacher and that wasn't okay. The fact that his fingers still lingered around her wrist wasn't even okay. She shook her head is if it might help clear away the thought.
"Don't drop the class." He said simply, breaking their steady silence.
"I have to, it would be weird to sit in a desk and call you Mr. Stilinksi." She said laughing, distracted by the warmth of his fingers on her wrist as it radiated out into her finger tips. He smiled too.
"Don't drop the class Lydia, I can be professional about this. I don't want to loose this job, this is a great job, so I can get over it. I'm the adult here." He said finally releasing her wrist but still not stepping backwards like he probably should have. Lydia didn't mind though, she silently wished he would step closer, willed him to move even closer towards her as he rocks gently on her feet.
"I see why you went into teaching Stiles. I know I hated on it a little but I can tell you love it up there, you're so happy, it's obvious you care about what you teach, there aren't many teachers like that anymore." She observed, and he smiled again, the goofy grin she had learned to recognize in a matter of minutes as one of legitimate happiness.
"I'm glad you think so." He said, loosening his tie and relaxing enough to sit back against his desk. She saddens at the distance but, like a magnet she gravitates in his direction, stepping up toward him. She doesn't think twice about it, and he doesn't seem to mind either.
"I'm serious." Lydia said, "I've already read and taken notes on the whole first two units but everything you lectured about, it but you took the reading to a different level. You made it something I enjoyed, not just something I forced myself to memorize for a grade."
He laughed and ran a hand through his spiking hair, "You would be the one to read everything before it was due. And please, you're too nice Lyds. I was nervous as hell, you had to have noticed."
"I couldn't tell." She said laughing, although now that she looked at him she could see the little drops of perspiration formed on his forehead. He had been nervous, obviously, but some how she found the little droplet of sweat cute. She soundlessly scolded herself for finding sweat cute.
"Yes well, I have an excellent poker face." He replied, looking at his hands in his lap, "But I mean I basically sweat through this shirt. Do you realize how terrifying teenagers are? You're all sitting out there, smartphones and Google at your fingertips, an even vaster supply of knowledge and higher tendency to question authority than any other generation. Us teachers have no easy task these days."
"You talk like you're not a part of our generation Stiles." Lydia said.
"What do you mean Lydia." He said, looking directly up at her, his hand flying to the back of his neck.
"I mean, you're not that much older than us. It wasn't just me who loved your class today. I mean I know it's the first day of school and all and that you still have the advantage of no onecompletely loathing school at this point in the year but more people were really paying attention in this class than I've seen in a history class in a while." She replied laughing. She was always laughing when he was around, the stupid nervous laugh she was so self-conscious of. Somehow that was what he drew out of her.
"Really?" He said his face lighting up as he watched her. "I'm glad because, well, I mean I don't think I've been this nervous since this one time when I was with-" He stopped short, trailing off and looking up at her. She smiled expectantly, hoping he would continue talking.
"You were with-" She prompted, clutching her books to her chest apprehensively. She couldn't figure out why he had stopped.
"We shouldn't be having this conversation you're a kid. You're a kid and I'm your teacher. You should go to class Ms…. What's your last, I shouldn't call you Lydia, what's your last name Ly-" He tapered off flying into an overanxious worried state. She realized what he was talking about and it hurt. She was a kid, to him, and he wasn't even join going to call her by her name.
"Oh. Right, we shouldn't be. The bells about to ring anyway so I mean I should go so this isn't such a bad things. Any chance you'll write me a pass… Mr. Stilinski." She said pushing past toward the door. He blinked, pressing a hand to his chest and stepping back to his desk with long swinging strides.
"Wow. That hurt surprisingly." He said, sitting at the desk and pulling out a paper clipped pile of bright green passes. He adjusted his glasses and took out a black pen and begrudgingly signed the page with flourish.
"Yea well, sorry Mr. Stilinski." Her words were bitter, the taste of his new foreign name on her lips even more bitter; she wasn't masking her anger as she spoke.
"You're angry." He replied, watching her intently, hurt in his eyes as he withheld the bright green pass so she couldn't leave.
"I'm not." Short, clipped, she couldn't help the way her words were tumbling out of her.
"Yes you are. You're angry with me Lydia."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to disrespect you Mr. Stilinski. And it's Martin."
"What?" He said, looking up at her from the desk, still holding the pass between two fingers in her direction. She reached for it suddenly but he yanked it back away from her grasp.
"My last name. You asked for it. I'm Lydia Martin."
"Middle name?" He asked with a laugh, taking her off guard. He was acting like it was normal again, like he hadn't just told her he was her teacher, and she was his student, and that all this was inappropriate and wrong.
"Stiles- you can't do that. You can't sit there and call me Ms. Martin, while I call you Mr. Stilinski then laugh and joke with me like everything's normal. I don't know what's okay here?" She said, angrily throwing out her arms. She felt her eyes wetting and shamefully she turned away from him to face the locked door.
"Hey hey hey- are you crying?" Stiles said, standing hurriedly and rushing in front of her. He stood before her, holding the top half of her arms and shushing her gently. His hands ran up and down her arms and he looked at her. She couldn't help the way the tears started to run down her checks, she hated that she seemed so fragile and weak. It wasn't her, she wasn't like this. Stiles kept running his hands over her arms as if he was trying to warm her up and she tried desperately to focus only on him, on the sensation of his hands on her skin, on the sound of his voice, his breathing, anything to calm her hysterics.
"Hey look at me." He said desperately. "You're right, I can't just flip back and forth, I have to stop that. I have to, I can't let you get under my skin, because that's what you do Lydia, in the sum total of ever minute that I have known you you've gotten deep under my skin. And I haven't even known you for very long." Stiles said, still running his hands along her arms. His hands ran up past her shoulders moving to cradle the sides of her neck. His thumbs brushed over her jawline and pushed at her chin, gradually making her look at him. She smiled at him through teary eyes, running her tongue along her lips to taste a fallen tear.
"Sorry for, crying." She said, shaking her head and looking back at her feet. But he wouldn't let her look away; he took his forefinger and pulled her chin up to look at him. His hand drifted along her neck, cradling the side of her head and she leaned against it, craving the little bit of warmth it supplied. His thumb began to draw idle circles along the defined line of her jaw, running back and forth along it.
"Sorry for making you cry." He said truly repentant. It hurt him to think he had hurt her and Lydia saw it in his eyes. His faced shifter to be closer to her, leaning downward as he spoke "You're just too damn likable Lydia, too brilliant, too beautiful, you're just too damn…" His lips were inches from her own, his breath dusting the skin right above her cupids bow when the handle of the door shook violently and a knock came against it and they jumped apart. The pointed nose of Mrs. Lynch peered through the window. Hurriedly Stiles rushed to the door and unclicked the lock.
"Mr. Stilinski, I was sent by the principal to check up on you after your first hour class. Why is your door locked? And why are you late to class Ms. Martin? What's going on here?" Mrs. Lynch said, entering the room, peering suspiciously down at the door handle. Her tightly pinched face and constantly sneering expression swept over the pair who had seemed suspiciously close.
"I-I-I-uhm." Stiles stuttered nervously, desperately glancing at Lydia all the while.
"Independent study Mrs. Lynch, I was doing individual research over the summer and I wanted Mr. Stilinski to confirm the accuracy of some historical documents I had come across." Lydia said, jumping in, swinging her book bag of her shoulder and tucking her other books into them as if all was normal. Her heart though was still beating a mile a minute, she could still feel his thumbs on her chin. Silently his eyes thanked her, and she tried to manage an imperceptible nod back at him and fight the smile that threaten to paint her lips.
"Oh. Fine then. If you wouldn't mind Ms. Martin, I'll need to have a quick word with Mr. Stilinski. In private if you wouldn't mind. Teacher things," Mrs. Lynch said, holding the door open for Lydia to leave, gesturing with an open palm as if to scoot her out even faster.
"Right." Lydia replied, disappointed to be leaving Stiles. She glanced back at him, "Do you have my pass Sti-Mr. Stilinski." She caught her self almost stumble over his name. He stared at her, dazed for a second and then shook his head and scurried behind the desk. He scrambled to write something quickly on the pass and then handed it to her. She frowned, hadn't he signed it before?
"Good day, Ms. Martin." He said, nodding at her, a small smile gracing his lips, before he whipped it away. The bell wrung in the background, signaling the end of passing period. She took the pass between her fingers and nodded back at him. Every move they mad felt calculated as she tried to avoid making as little contact as possible. Still she couldn't fight the way her fingertips brushed his skin and as it did it was like an electric current ran up her arm and into her heart. She saw him look up as it happened and she smiled lightly, turning as quickly as she could away. Mrs. Lynch was still there, not five feet away, they couldn't be doing what they were doing.
"Good day, Mr. Stilinski." Lydia said, and with the swish of her skirt and click of her heels she was gone. She hurried to her locker to collect her chemistry books and switch them out for her history textbook. She found herself needing to calm he heart rate as she left Stiles' classroom, fighting the blush that spread on her cheeks whenever she thought of him. She glanced down without thinking at the pass, flipping it over and examining the crease marks his fingers had left. On the back she noticed something written lightly in pencil.
My room after school. Erase this xo Mr. Sti Stiles.
Lydia couldn't contain the smile as she read it and walked to her next class, nor the way she almost skipped to her Chemistry class afterwards.
Hope you enjoyed it:) I enjoyed writing it so yea... Also I really wanted to have them kiss but i just don't think i had the time to develop the story/their relationship enough and still keep it semi=short, though i know it was not short at all.. IDK maybe this was destine to be more of a full length fic. Anywhoo!
xoxo J