Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or it's characters.
Her name was Lydia Martin. She had strawberry blonde hair, and a facial expression that could kill. She was a straight-A student, and strived to be the best she could be. She could also predict death, although she isn't quite sure how to control it.
Those were the things you could tell at a first glance at the girl. If you took the time, you could notice and know the little quirks that made her Lydia.
But only if your name was Stiles Stilinski.
He was one of the few people who knew Lydia. Actually knew.
He knew that it took her an hour to choose an outfit and half an hour to do her makeup.
Unless it was a lazy day.
He knew the way that when she was thinking, she would absently-mindedly toy with the stray hair that was almost always curled. Rest of hair straight or not.
He knew that she wasn't afraid to voice her opinion or view, nasty or not.
He also knew that most of the time, she voiced that opinion for the best.
He knew that once she was out of school, she had dreams to leave Beacon Hills, enrol in a mathematic scholarship and become a professor.
He knew she could do it. And more.
He knew that she cried herself to sleep most nights, more often than not about Allison.
Those were the nights Stiles faced away from her, guilt eating away at his stomach.
He knew that she liked cold coffee in the morning, scoop of cream atop.
Sometimes she would wink and put another scoop on top, saying "a girl's has to treat herself sometimes", but that was a secret.
He knew that the mornings she didn't, were the mornings she'd got a vision of someone's death. He never mentioned it.
He knew she liked to wake up early and spend the extra hour or so doodling or tracing lazy lines on Stiles' back until he woke.
He liked the latter better.
He knew that if something was troubling her, she'd play with her bottom lip between her teeth and stare into the distance, thoughts and expressions flashing through her face.
He knew that when she was nervous or thinking, she'd run her hand through Stiles' hair.
He knew that when she'd got the right thought, she'd tug at his hair.
He usually yelped.
Sometimes she did it on purpose for no reason.
She thought it was both hilarious and adorable.
She hardly ever cried, and the times she had, she cried for hours, muttering that she could have helped, should have helped. Stiles would tell her she couldn't. They'd hug for hours, until she was completely calm, and the next day they'd lay in bed, cuddling, and she would keep apologising for the previous day.
He knew Wednesdays were excercise days, and she would get up at five to do her morning jog.
Sometimes she dragged Stiles along.
He knew Fridays were party days, and she would go out until the early hours.
He knew that Sundays were lazy days, where they would just lay in bed, watching crap on Netflix, she would wear an old hoodie of his and he would run hands through her hair.
He liked Sundays best.
He knew that once she had an idea, she wouldn't rest until she'd written pages and pages about it. She would keep it from Stiles.
He would sneak and look at them anyway, and she pretended she didn't know.
He knew that she got cranky once a month, and would crave ice cream to an addict's level.
He knew that she liked to bundle up in blankets during that time, and catch up on the latest America's Next Top Model.
He knew that she screamed once, and broke the lights.
She thinks he doesn't know it was her.
Stiles had learnt all these things. All the little quirks, all the /big/ quirks.
He fell in love with her just that little bit more with every new one he found.
And he planned to learn even more.
A/N: This is basically a spawn of my headcanons. Insp. by "Lessons In Love" - a megstiel fic.