Stiles choked on his beer, "Paris?" He sputtered raising his eyebrows. Malia nodded, as she reached out to touch the cool glass of the big bay window in Lydia's lake house.
"Yeah, It's my new year's resolution," she explained in a soft tone, full of wonder as she watched the snow fall. His throat tightens as he absorbs this, he tugs at his black bowtie and loosens his collar.
The music swelled from the party downstairs and the heavy bass thrummed through the floorboards. Malia was sitting across from him on the ledge of the bay window. She was wearing a beautiful midnight blue spaghetti strap dress that glittered with sparkles whenever the light caught it, and with it a pair of pretty crystal drop earrings that shimmered whenever she moved. Lydia always insisted on everyone dressing up for her annual new year's eve party. He was certain that her outfit was all Lydia's doing, but he had to admit that she made that dress look spectacular.
Malia might not have tolerated being dressed up like this a few years ago, but since graduation she'd become a little more indulgent of Lydia's whims. Though she had abandoned the ankle strap heels in a fit of rebelliousness. So now she was sitting barefoot on the ledge of the windowsill, with her legs drawn up to her chest, staring out at the snow. Her skin still flushed from dancing, her sassy pink toenails still tapping along to the beat.
She was so damn beautiful. But she always was, even when her hair was a mess and she was wearing a ratty old sweater and cut off jeans, she was perfect. Stiles blows out a breath, and pulls off the plastic new year's eve top hat that Scott had plunked on his head earlier, and runs a hand through his sweaty hair.
"So when are you leaving?" He asks, trying to sound casual as he leans back against the window beside her. The icy cool of the window kisses the back of his neck, and sinks through his crisp white shirt soothing his heated skin.
"Midnight, tonight."
Stiles bolts upright, "Tonight?—On new year's eve?"
Malia turns to look at him for the first time and shrugs, "It's my resolution, so I figure why wait."
His lips flutter for a few seconds as he tries to form words but nothing comes, so he just downs the last of his drink and crumples up the plastic cup with a satisfying crunch.
He swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth and tries to dig deep to find some unselfish feelings of happiness for her. She deserves that much from him. And he knows how much she's always wanted this. As he looks at her watching the snowflakes fall in wonder, her eyes big and innocent like a child's, it's not hard to offer her a real smile, even if there's still an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.
"Good for you, Mal." He says, warmly. Stiles tosses the crushed cup in his hand onto the floor and sinks back against the cool press of the window feeling miserable. He picks at his fingers, "So, uh, how long are you going for?"
"I'm taking this semester off and I'm gonna use the tuition to stay in Paris till next term."
Five Months! That would be roughly 153 days without her. A lot could happen in 153 days—A lot—What if she decides not to come back?
His mind is scrambling and suddenly words start tumbling out of his mouth, "Does Scott know?"
Malia tenses for all of two seconds at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. Her and Scott were still on good-terms as far as he knew but even though they were still good friends things between them were bound to be a little awkward for a while.
"I haven't told anybody, except my dad." She admits, almost seeming guilty. "I'm gonna text everyone when I land in Paris."
Stiles arches an eyebrow and looks at his phone. It's 11:04 pm, that means she's leaving the country in a little under an hour. She doesn't have a bag or any luggage with her. His eyes widen as he realizes her plan, she's going to walk out of this party before midnight with nothing but her purse and her coat and fly off to Paris just because she wants to.
There is a stirring sort of elegance to the idea. He's always liked that about her, that she knows what she wants and that she not afraid to go after it. And he can't help being envious of that quality in her now more than ever. Because after everything that's happened in this last year he finally knows what he wants more than anything. When he'd sat down on this ledge with her fifteen minutes ago, he was finally going to tell her. To say the words he's been turning over in his head for the last six months. Words that have been stuck in his throat all Christmas break. Words he'd tried to say in her ear on the dance floor, but she hadn't been able to hear him over the music.
And now he's finally got her all alone, in this perfect moment with the fresh falling snow…but if he tells her now then he'd be selfish. And he can't do that, he can't be selfish with her anymore.
He clears his throat, "Thanks for, uh, for telling me, y'know, in person."
Malia gives him a teasing grin, "Well, I figured if I didn't want the national guard out looking for me, then I should probably let you know."
Stiles chuckles despite himself. "I'm not that bad."
Malia shrugs and gives him a disbelieving grin, "It's O.K. Stiles, you're a worrier, it's what you do."
Stiles frowns and lifts a finger to defend himself, but Malia catches his hand, her fingers are still cool from the glass and it makes him shudder. She smirks playfully, "It's not a bad thing, it's probably what's kept all of us alive this long." Stiles lets out a small huff of laughter and then moves to sandwich her hands between his. He stares down at their hands, as he tries to rub heat into her icy fingers. His thumb strokes along the back of her hand tenderly, and he's not quite sure how he's going to let go when the time comes. He can feel her eyes on him so he lifts his head and when he does he sees something there…something he hasn't seen from her in a long time.
She's edging closer and then so is he—then there's a flash of light and a chime from her phone. She pulls her hands away and reaches for her phone that's sitting on the windowsill between them.
"It's my dad. He's here. He's driving me to the airport." She explains, as she rises up and straightens her dress, and gathers her coat and her purse. Then she starts fiddling with her purse not quite able to meet his eyes.
Stiles blinks stunned and stands up , "O.K, so this is it. You're, uh, you're going."
Malia nods the awkwardness in her stance shifting as her eyes glitter with excitement, "Yeah, I'm really going."
Stiles rubs at the back of his neck unsure of what to do with himself. "So, uh, you take care of yourself over there. And remember that they don't like American tourists but don't let them push you around—and you can download a English to French dictionary on your phone—" Before he could finish his babbling Malia pulled him down to her and kissed his cheek before crushing him into a fierce hug. Stiles was stunned for a few seconds, still feeling the weight and heat of her lips on his cheek for a few seconds before he snapped back to reality and curled his arms around her back and pulled her closer.
Her silky hair tickled his nose as he held her close and felt her heartbeat throb right through his shirt. They hadn't held each other like this, like really held each other like this in almost a year. He revelled in her warmth and the softness of her skin beneath his hands and the sweet scent of her perfume.
"Promise you won't obsess over this like you do with everything else, I'm gonna be fine." She mumbled into his neck.
Stiles gave a self-deprecating laugh, "Me? Obsess? Pfft, never." He jokes flatly. Malia pulled away slightly and squeezed his shoulder, and looked into his eyes.
"I gotta go." She whispers as she pulls away.
Stiles buries the ache in his chest and offers her a warm smile. "Yeah," he nods as he reaches up and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, and lets his hand linger there for a few seconds longer, "Go get your dream, Mal." Then he forces himself to drop his hand and step away from her till he's at a polite distance.
Malia fiddles with her purse strap as she steps away, "I'll, uh, I'll see you around, Stilinski."
Stiles gives a forced smile and watches her disappear down the stairs. He stands there stalk still until he sees a flash of lights out the window and notices Mr. Tate's old pickup truck. He watches her dash out in the falling snow and climb into the cab of the truck, and then the truck pulls away and disappears down the driveway. He can still smell her perfume even after she's gone. He stands there for a long moment just staring out at the snow, before finally tromping listlessly down the stairs to the party. He's not really sure where he's going or what he's even doing before Lydia is catching him by the arm.
"What the hell are you doing, Stilinski?" She asks yanking on his arm. Startled Stiles snaps to attention.
"What?" He grunts, confused.
"I just caught Malia leaving, she's going to Paris!"
Stiles nodded his jaw tensing, "Yeah, she told me."
"Are you really going to let her go without telling her?" Stiles raises an eyebrow at her confused. "C'mon, Stiles, everybody knows you're in love with that girl except her. So go tell her." She urges.
Stiles runs a hand through his messy hair, "It's just gonna mess things up between us even worse then they already are." He mutters dejected.
"Tell her anyway." Lydia says offering up the keys to her Prius, "'cause it's new year's eve and tonight's about no regrets, right?"
Stiles stares at the keys considering them for a few seconds before he nods, "No regrets." He repeats before he turns away.
"Hey where are you going?" Lydia asks confused. Stiles turns toward her and gives her a smirk.
"I'm going to get my jeep because I've got a flight to catch." Lydia smiled satisfied and Stiles ducked down to plant a quick kiss on his ex-girlfriend's cheek. "Thanks, Lyds."
Lydia grinned and shoved him toward the door, "Go get her." Stiles pulled his bowtie free of his collar and sprinted through the crowd and out the front door and into the falling snow.