Lydia Martin cannot possibly be in love with Stiles Stilinski. Or, at least that's what she tells herself late at night as her heart pounds furiously against her chest. It's become almost a mantra, a chant, reminding her to come back down to Earth. But every chant is accompanied by the memory of their last moment together. She can remember it so clearly: the way he held her face in his hands and kissed her with gentleness she thought he didn't possess. And now he's gone: picked up by the wind in the night, destined to be forgotten by all those who hold him dear.

It's been five days.

Five days since the Horsemen came to get him. Five days since she's heard his voice or touched his skin. Five days since her heart stopped beating, since she realized it was Stiles that her heart was beating for all along. And those five days were torture, not just for her, but for each and every person that could remember him: Scott, Malia, Sheriff Stilinski, Derek, Liam, and Hayden.

They all worry about the day when their memories will disappear.

Scott hasn't stopped searching for his best friend. Any trace of evidence left behind, he finds. But he's not a detective in any sense of the word, especially not the way he needs to be. Not the way that Stiles was. Liam and Hayden are helping him, but their memories are slipping away. Lydia can see it on each of their faces when someone says Stiles' name: there's a moment of confusion before they remember, and a twitch of guilt right after the fact.

Lydia fears the day her memory goes, too. It seems impossible, though, that she could ever forget Stiles. There are some things, some memories, that are just woven into your mind…

They were running through the tunnels, stumbling to find a place to hide from the monsters that were chasing them. Eventually, they hit a dead end. There was nowhere to go, no place to find safety. Lydia ran her hands up and down the wall frantically, searching for some way out.

"There's got to be a trap door or a hole or something here," Lydia told Stiles. Her voice was raw from screaming and it was fragile even to her own ears. She wanted to believe that they would escape, despite everything that told her that her efforts were futile. There had to be a way to save Stiles.

"Lydia," Stiles said, his tone quiet and hopeless. That was when she knew he had given up. She didn't even look at him, didn't want to see the darkness of defeat in his eyes. Accepting that Stiles would be taken away from them, from her, was too much. She refused to do it.

"There's a way out, Stiles. There's always a way out."

"Not this time, Lydia." He put his hand over hers and stopped its movement. She finally glanced over at him, to see the look in his eyes, but he was gazing at her hand, his expression unreadable. "Not this time."

Wordlessly, he grabbed both of her hands in his and rubbed his thumb over her calloused skin. A tremor went through her then, one made up of both fear and excitement. He lifted her right hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss, as if he was healing a trusting child's pain. All of a sudden she had the urge to crash his lips to hers, to make him a part of her so that he could never leave her side. It was such an intense feeling that it knocked the wind right out of her and she gasped unintentionally.

"I guess this is when we say goodbye," he said, his voice slightly cracking at the end of his sentence. His face was open, his chocolate eyes melting, and all Lydia saw was his brokenness. She wanted to fix it, to heal his wounds, to right all the wrongs done to him. She wanted to bend the world in order to shape it to his preference, because his happiness would inevitably mean hers. And she was shocked. This was Stiles she was thinking of this way, Stiles she desired in this moment, and probably all along. She'd just never been forced to notice it so acutely until now.

"No," she whispered. "I can't-" she shook her head, unable to voice her discovery.

"You have to, Lydia." He cradled her head in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "They're coming and I won't let you get yourself hurt trying to protect me." Lydia couldn't take it any longer. She pulled him to her with a strength she didn't know she had, crushing his lips against her mouth.

He was surprised at first, his hands splaying on either side of her face, but his lips melted into hers soon enough and then the world dropped out from underneath her. She had to hold onto him for balance because it truly seemed as if the Earth had shifted on its axes. His thumb brushed her cheek and she expanded, a sensation she'd never felt before. It was like he was killing her by cracking her open: her heart raced, her lungs could suddenly breathe more air, yet all she wanted to do was breathe in Stiles. Lydia felt both as if she was more alive than ever before and as though she was dying. But even if she knew that kissing Stiles would kill her, she'd do it again. She'd do it a thousand times, die a painful death a million times over, rather than lose him.

That's when the footsteps echoed down the tunnel and they broke apart, his hands still caressing her cheeks, her fists still balled up in his t-shirt. He looked in the direction of the sound while holding her to him, as if she was the one in need of protection. As they got closer, Stiles pulled Lydia's face close to his, a mixture of happiness and heartbreak lighting up his eyes.

"I love you, Lydia Martin." The steps got closer, and the Horsemen rounded the corner. "Don't forget me." He brushed her hair back wistfully.

"I won't." And then it all goes black.

That was the last time Lydia Martin saw Stiles Stilinski. It was also the first time she thought she might be in love with him.