For the first time in the season, things were looking up for the Beacon Hills High School lacrosse team. The score was tied at 4-4 with less than ten seconds left on the clock. Stiles watched from his seat on the bench as his best friend caught the ball and began running across the field, towards the other team's goal. He pressed his hands together in a prayer position, body tense with excitement.

"C'mon, Scotty, you can do it," Stiles murmured into his fingertips. The large teen paused in front of the goal, swinging back. The crowd held their breath, stunned into a silence. The ball soared through the air, past the goalie, and into the net.

Screams and cheers erupted, Coach naturally being the loudest of them all.

Flying to his feet, Stiles let out a series of victorious screeches, charging at his friend. The rest of the team converged around Scott, but Stiles reached him first, tackling him in a tight embrace.

"Now that's what I'm talking about, Scotty!" he cheered, patting the teen on the shoulder. Scott laughed, returning the embrace. He said something Stiles couldn't hear over commotion, and then began pushing through the crowd of victorious teens. Stiles rolled his eyes, watching him head straight for his girlfriend and lifting her into the air.

Couples, the thought in mock disgust. As if the feeling churning in his gut was amused annoyance instead of that little twinge of jealousy.

Eventually, the crowd dispersed, and the two friends reunited, Allison at Scott's side.

"Stiles, please tell me you're coming to the victory party," Allison said, her usual infectious grin on her face. Stiles chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

"I wasn't really invited," he admitted. "Which, of course, means I am morally obligated to attend." The couple laughed.

"Good. It wouldn't be the same without you, man," Scott said, patting his friend on the shoulder. Stiles hid a wince at his friend's deceptive strength, which probably had him sinking a few inches into the soil. A figure with bouncing strawberry blonde curls appeared at Allison's side, suddenly stealing all of Stiles's attention.

Lydia Martin was, as usual, dressed impeccably, her hair and makeup beyond perfect and beautiful. It was her eyes that really entranced him, however, so bright and full of energy. Her gaze skipped right over Stiles, landing on her best friend.

"Allison, there you are," she said in her cool, smooth voice. Her tone implied that she'd been looking for the taller girl, but that also implied the idea that Allison would be anywhere else except Scott's side.

"Hey, Lydia," Allison greeted. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Lydia echoed, as though it were the stupidest question in the world. Her head cocked to the side, and Stiles tried not to stare as a curl brushed against her cheek. "What's up is I need your help picking out the perfect outfit for the party, remember?"

Allison reluctantly nodded. "Alright, alright," she said with a laugh. "Just give me a sec, and we can go." She turned to her boyfriend, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. Stiles had to look away as the kiss lingered longer than necessary, his gaze involuntarily landing in Lydia. Much to his surprise, she was already watching him, her expression unreadable. As their gazes met she gave him a tiny, hesitant smile before quickly looking away. It was so brief that Stiles wasn't actually sure that it had happened.

When the couple finally pulled apart, Allison grinned and latched onto Lydia's arm.

"I'll see you guys at the party," she said as they departed. Both boys stared after them for a moment before turning to face each other.

"Dude, you guys are so gross sometimes," Stiles informed him matter-of-factly. Scott laughed.

"Right, because they way you stare at Lydia isn't totally weird or anything," he replied teasingly.

"Hey, hey, I do not stare," Stiles defended. "I admire. Besides, that's still way better than sucking face with her in front of everybody every freaking chance I get. I'm thinking of starting to carry around a crowbar to pry you freaks apart."

By the time Scott and Stiles arrived at the party at Sarah Lincoln's house, it was already in full swing. Music poured from the speakers both inside and in the back yard, shaking with the bass of some random dubstep song. The duo went around the house, straight for the backyard where they knew a majority of the action would be.

There wasn't nearly as much dancing as movies suggested there would be at a high school party, but plenty of drinking and chatting amongst the teens. They weaved their way through the crowd, searching for where the majority of their team would be hanging out.

"There's Danny," Scott pointed out suddenly, gesturing. Stiles followed his gaze, spotting the boy hanging out around a small fire, along with several other members of the lacrosse team. Stiles nodded, grinning. He took a step forward, but then faltered, spotting a familiar head of strawberry blonde. She was in the lap of a large, familiar boy, lips practically glued to his neck. Grimacing, Stiles patted Scott on the arm.

"I'll be over in a sec. Want me to get you a drink?" he offered.

"Uh, sure. Thanks." Scott gave him a grateful smile before joining Danny by the fire, striking up a conversation that Stiles couldn't hear.

Sighing, Stiles turned and headed for the drinks, running a hand through his hair.

Six years, and it never got any easier.

You'd never know it, but once upon a time Stiles had actually been friends with Lydia Martin. Him, scrawny, dorky, and awkward Stiles. Friends with perfect, beautiful, popular Lydia Martin. A blasphemous idea, certainly, which was why so few people knew about it. Now, Lydia Martin wouldn't be caught dead with the boy who was only a few rungs above outcast on the social ladder. In fact, the only reason she could even be seen around him anymore was because of his association with Scott McCall, star player and co-captain of the lacrosse team.

Things had been so different in elementary school, before things like popularity and social expectations came into play. Growing up next door to each other had meant that Stiles and Lydia were natural, immediate friends. Their mutual love of learning and reading gave them a means of bonding, and for a long time they were inseparable. And, naturally, Stiles completely adored her from age eight. But then came seventh grade, and Lydia's mother had placed her into a private, all-girl's school. After that, the saw less and less of each other. And by the time high school came around and they were back in the same school together, it was like she was a different person.

Lydia Martin, as far as Stiles was concerned, had always been beautiful. But when she walked into Beacon Hills High School, she was stunning. And that naturally made her the object of many boys' affection. Her rise in popularity had apparently convinced Lydia that hiding her intelligence and fitting into the image that everyone expected of her was far better than associating with someone as low-level and ordinary as Stiles. She refused to even so much as acknowledge him most of the time. Eventually, Stiles respected that and stopped trying to reach out to her. Instead, he settled for admiring from afar. That is, until his best friend started dating his best friend. And things have been complicated ever since.

Like that moment on the field, after the game. Stiles was pretty sure it was the first time she had actually acknowledged him as anything other than 'Scott's weird friend' in almost four years.

"Hey, Stiles!" Allison grasped Stiles by the arm, grinning.

"Oh, Allison, hey," Stiles smiled. "Scott's over by the fire," he said, gesturing. Allison gave him an appreciative smile.

"Thanks."

Stiles had barely reached the drink table before the shouting started. There was a crash, like the sound of glass shattering. And then a scream that Stiles immediately recognized. Lydia.

Moving on instinct, Stiles pushed through the gathering crowd. Everyone had formed a loose circle around two large, wrestling figures. Standing near them was Lydia, green eyes wide with horror. Her face was flushed, although Stiles couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or intense emotion.

"Stop it!" she screeched, stumbling forward. Whatever the case, she was obviously drunk. "Jackson! Get off of him!"

Stiles looked back to the two fighting teens and had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Aiden and Jackson. Of course.

Scott and Danny both quickly surged forward, pulling the two apart. They struggled in the grasps of their holders for all of maybe .4 seconds before relaxing. Aiden was quick to storm away angrily, his brother trailing after him. But Jackson lingered. His body was still shaking with fury as he turned on Lydia, his face inches from hers.

"This is your fault!" he spat, wrapping a large fist around Lydia's upper arm. He was probably referring to his now bloody and bruised face, which was one of his most prized possession (only second to his porsche). His modeling career would no doubt suffer, at least for a while. "You ruin everything! You little slut!"

Stiles was surprised when Lydia shrank back, paling. Allison was at her side in an instant, eyes wide with a fury that rivaled Jackson's.

She hissed something too quiet for Stiles to hear, but whatever she said, it seemed to do the trick. Jackson released Lydia and stomped off. The crowd parted like the red sea for him, awed gazes trailing after him.

Stiles rushed over, stopping just a few feet away because he wasn't sure how appropriate it would be to express his full level of concern. Scott and Allison are right beside her, the latter already whispering words of comfort to her distraught friend. Everyone is still staring, and Stiles can see by the hunch of her shoulders that Lydia wants to run away and hide from their prying eyes.

"Maybe we should go inside," he suggests. "Or just somewhere with less people."

"I want to go home," Lydia said stubbornly. Scott and Allison both nodded, and they began escorting her through the crowd. Stiles trailed behind, making sure to give his harshest glares to anyone still staring at them. Only a few had the decency to look away, while most continued openly gaping. Jerks.

They made their way out to the front, where the line of cars was parked. Stiles could see his jeep sitting at a corner not too far away.

"Shit," Allison suddenly said, stopping dead in her tracks. "I left my phone inside." She turned to Scott. "Do you think you could help me find it?"

Scott frowned, clearly confused, but nodded. "Yeah, sure, of course."

Allison smiled and looked to Stiles. "You guys live next door, right? Why don't you take her home, and I can gift Scott a lift back once we found my cell," she suggested.

"Me? You want me to- I mean, yeah, sure I can, of course. So long as she doesn't- do you mind?" He immediately turned his attention to Lydia, who had her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"That's fine," she said, looking away. Stiles tried not to let himself feel down about her obvious indifference, and instead focused on the fact that he was about to be alone with Lydia Martin for the first time in years.

Better yet, maybe he shouldn't think about that…

"Alright, let's go then," he said, trying hard not to sound too eager or nervous (it probably didn't work, if Scott's face was anything to go by). The couple said their farewells before quickly disappearing back inside.

Stiles gave Lydia what he hoped was a comforting smile before turning and leading her towards his beautiful jeep.

The first five minutes of the ride were relatively silent, so Stiles attempted to break the tension with some music. Except that as soon as he reached for the radio, Lydia was speaking.

"How much do you hate me?"

Stiles looked over to her in shock.

"What?" She let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes.

"Don't act like you don't, because I know you do. I've been ignoring you for years, treating you like shit… What kind of best friend does that?"

Stiles looked back to the road, shifting uncomfortably. He tried focusing for a moment on maneuvering through the heavy city traffic before returning his attention to Lydia.

"I don't hate you," he said. "I mean, I was mad for a while, yeah. But I got over it. You moved up in life, made something of yourself. No reason to ruin that by hanging out with a nobody like me, right?" There wasn't any bitterness to his tone. Just honesty.

Lydia was silent for a long moment, expression unreadable.

"I miss you," she murmured, almost too softly for him to hear. He quickly glanced at her, mouth gaping slightly.

"You- you do?" He came to a stop light and took advantage of it to watch her. She met his gaze, eyes brimming with tears.

"I don't even know why I'm friends with these people," she confessed. "None of them actually like me.I thought that if I made myself prettier, if I became more popular, people would like me. But they don't even know me. But you do."

Stiles was forced to look away as the light turned green. "What about Allison?"

Lydia sniffled, wiping furiously at her eyes. "Allison is my best friend, and I love her. But she still doesn't know me like you do. And I miss that. I miss you."

Stiles couldn't help but wonder how true that was. It had been years since they'd last had a genuine conversation. And people changed over time. At this point, he really couldn't say that he knew Lydia anymore. But he would definitely love the opportunity to get to know her all over again.

Still, he also knew that Lydia was drunk and emotionally unstable. Now was definitely not the best time to get his hopes up.

"I'm right here, Lydia," he said softly. "I've always been right here." He wasn't sure if she heard him or not, but if she did, she never replied. He pulled up into his driveway a few minutes later, pushing down his parking brake.

Lydia turned to Stiles, giving him a small, watery smile, before hopping out. He watched her silently for a moment as she crossed the yard between their houses and pushed open her front door. Once she was gone, Stiles let out a weary sigh. He wasn't quite sure what to make of his relationship with Lydia now, if they could even say that they had one.

Either way, this definitely had to be filed under 'Top Ten Most Confusing Nights. Like Ever'.