Stiles remembered their first kiss, every day he thought about it. He remembered how her lips had felt on his, how her hands had reached his face, how ten years of longing and hoping had all come together in that one brilliant moment. Sure, the circumstances hadn't been perfect, but he barely remembered anything about that day that didn't involve Lydia and the way her braid fell over one shoulder as she leaned back, her finger still stroking his cheek. Stiles wasn't sure what kind of person that made him. He never believed for a second that she'd just been trying to calm him down, that she had just felt sorry for him. There had been something there. The next few years had only proved him right. He could remember every single kiss in between- the long, passionate ones and the pecks on the cheek. He'd never, ever forget how her lips felt. But mostly he thought of that day in the locker room when her voice had cut through the panic and the fear, how he'd held his breath for just a second and somehow knew that everything would be okay. Like the sun came out.
Lydia remembered their last kiss, no matter how much she wanted to forget it. She remembered how his lips had tasted of tears and his face had been slick under her touch, how three long years of kisses and cinema dates had come down in that one terrible moment. She remembered how he leaned back and whispered goodbye, how she had told him to shut up because they'd see each other soon. But she knew, in that moment, that there was no going back. That sometimes, no matter how much you loved somebody, it just couldn't happen. You were too far apart, there were too many other people, you could love each other forever but fate would never let you touch. The next few months had only proved her right. She tried to move on, just like they had both said they would, but she would never forget how she'd collapsed in his arms one last time, the horrible emptiness in her chest as her plane set off and took her so far away from him. It was never as sunny at her new college as it had been in Beacon Hills. Like the sun had been snatched right out of the sky.