Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.
Drink Up
Lydia is handing out drinks again, and God, she looks beautiful in that blue dress. Really, how can he not love her? She's intelligent, resilient, she looks like a lifesize Barbie doll…and he should probably stop that analogy. Nothing good can come from that.
Stiles finishes what's left of his punch and enjoys the way it fizzes down his throat. It's so much better than the Jack Daniels he sneaks sometimes when his dad is busy. He has no idea what's in it, and he doesn't care.
If there was ever a time to drink, it's now. He needs this. He needs to stop thinking so much.
Lydia takes his empty glass and presses a full one into his hand. Her fingers, when they brush against his, send warmth all the way up his arm. He wonders if she feels it too.
"Drink up," she says. Her expression is blank. Why isn't she having fun? It's her birthday, after all.
She turns toward another guest. "Wait," he says, and grasps her hand. She flinches, and it hurts him a little. He should have been more careful. He should have remembered what she's been through.
"I just wanted to say thanks," he splutters. "That's it."
From the way she looks at him, he can tell that she expected something else. For once, he doesn't have any words with which to follow up. He can't find any.
Lydia's face begins to blur around the edges. He can't keep his eyes focused on her—they dart all over the place, seeing everything but taking in nothing. "Are you…having fun?" he finally asks. It sounds terrible. If she was paying attention before, she certainly isn't now.
"Yes," she says, and her tone sounds forced. But she's listening! She's still there!
"You sure?"
She puts the tray of glasses on a nearby table and sits down next to him. "Last week, at the lacrosse game…"
"I know," he says. "That was awful of me. I'm so sorry. I got…caught up, and I couldn't make it back to you." Dammit, now it sounds like he's talking too much.
"That's not what I meant," she says. She pushes a curl of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, and it takes all his energy not to touch it. "I just want you to forget about it."
Stiles frowns. "I can't. I wanted to be there for you."
"I just want to know what's happening." Her voice is soft and fragile.
And maybe Lydia's been drinking too much of her own punch, or maybe he's hallucinating, because she tilts her face towards his and kisses him once, gently, on the lips. He swears that it's just like the stories, that he can see fireworks.
"I'll tell you everything," he breathes.
Scott catches him by his shirt collar and hauls him up. "I need you," he says.
When Stiles looks down, Lydia is gone.
