It took me a ridiculously long time to decide where to put this. But I figure it makes sense this way.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, that last episode would have gone a bit differently.
Stiles wakes up to dim light, and a blurry face hovering over his own. He squeaks and twitches slightly, far too exhausted to move away from the evil monster intent on ripping his face off.
He blinks until the figure clears into Mrs Yukimura. Not too far off, then, he thinks.
A fist clenches in his hair gently.
"Wuh?" He twists his head up to look, and realises his head is in someone's lap, a bare thigh warm against his neck.
"Hey Stiles." Lydia says quietly. He quirks a sleepy grin up at her, reaches aound to bracket her wrist with his hand. His long fingers meet around her slim arm easily, and he marvels at how smll she is in comparison with him. "Feeling better?"
He huffs a laugh.
"Not really." He tells her. He knows she appreciates him telling the truth, knows he understands that she is strong enough to hear it, strong enough to handle the worry. She flexes her fingers in his hair briefly, scratching his scalp comfortingly, then she lets him go so he can sit up. He ignores the desire to curl into her side for a couple of life times, and positions himself half a foot away, but doesn't let go of her wrist. She slides her hand down into his, and fixes Kira's mother with a firm stare.
Stiles can't focus entirely, but he catches parts, and when Mrs Yukimura starts talking about divine moves, he pricks his ears up.
"What's a divine move?" He asks. He remembers reading about them, but can't quite remember what they are.
"A divine move is a truly inspirational move, one that the other players and the audience doesn't see coming until it happens." He is told.
"So. We need a divine move." He looks at Lydia. She swallows nervously, and he lets himself look at the movement of her throat as a distraction.
"Right. Any ideas?" She asks him. He frowns, racks his brain, sluggish as it is.
"Not a one." He says, finally giving into the desire to press his face into her stomach, now Kira's parents have left the room. She wriggles down slightly on the couch, so he can lie along the back of the seat and she can still have him pressed into her side. Both of them sigh deeply, Stiles' head moving with the motion of her ribs, taking comfort in the physical contact.
He still feels like being awake is akin to clawing through syrup. But with Lydia's hand between his shoulder blades and his nose buried in the softness of her stomach, inhaling the smell of her perfume and fabric softener, he can tread water instead of drowning.