So I'm reasonably new to the whole Teen Wolf scene, but I'm kind of in love. I really don't know who I ship the most, I'm kind of all over the show, but I'm completely in love with Dylan O'Brien and Daniel Sharman. I think that Holland Roden is incredible as well, the females all play such strong characters. I love them.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. Unfortunately...

Lydia Martin would be the first to admit that she had never really noticed Stiles Stilinski before, well, everything happened. Like, she knew that he existed, obviously, it was kind of hard to miss him. He was the clumsy, babbling comic relief, who was almost always getting in trouble at school but the teachers were too fond of him to really do anything about it. And he was always flanked by his shy best friend, Scott McCall.

It was all different now, though.

Over the past few years, everything had changed.

At one point, Lydia had thought that maybe Jackson Whittemore was the love of her life, but that all seemed so long ago now. What she had with Jackson...Maybe it was puppy love. But she had had to hide such a big part of herself, a big part that had fooled everyone. Everyone except Stiles, who had always seen her, seen how smart she was. She had just never really appreciated it until she had taken a breath, and actually looked at him.

And now, all this time later, they had been through life and death situations together, and they had always managed to pull through. She actually had friends—a pack, really—rather than the followers that she had had almost all her life. She had lost friends as well, but they were all surviving the loss together.

And Stiles...Stiles had saved her.

Stiles had never given up on her.

After she had screamed, and the windows in Deaton's clinic had all exploded, and Stiles had thrown himself over her to protect her from the shattering glass without a thought of himself, she didn't remember much. There were a few minutes where everything had just gone black. Everything was dark, and she had felt as though she was spiralling out of control, imploding in on herself, and for a while, she had thought that maybe that was it. But then she had heard Stiles, saying her name over and over again, and as she had slowly come to, she had felt his thumbs on her face, brushing over her eyes and her cheeks, the urgency and desperation in his voice pulling her back.

Stiles had saved her.

They hadn't really had time to talk about it, and when she had brought it up one evening when they were studying in her room, Stiles had sort of just mumbled that there wasn't anything to talk about. It was what they did, right? They saved each other. Lydia had felt a little affronted by the way he had shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but maybe he was right. It was what he would have done for any of them. And it was. She didn't doubt that for a second, she just thought that...That there was something that set this time apart.

Because it was her.

But then, things were different now. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Not just in the supernatural side of things, but also with her and Stiles. The whole element between them had shifted. She was no longer this perfect, untouchable Prom Queen, and he was no longer this awkward-in-his-own-skin goofball. Well, still a goofball, but she saw a lot more to him now.

She liked him.

She was scared that what she felt for him was more than just liking him.

And so that was why she was on his front porch on a Sunday night, lips pursed together so firmly they were practically bloodless, and she was shifting nervously from foot to foot, still not quite brave enough to knock. Lydia had already turned around to walk back to her car three times now, and she was about to do it again when the door swung open, and Sheriff Stilinksi was standing there with a small smile on his face and an eyebrow raised.

"Uh, hey, Sheriff ," Lydia plastered a smile on her face, and she knew that her voice was overly perky.

"You've been out here for a while," he told her calmly. "At first I thought it was someone coming to rob us, and then getting backing out. But then it kept happening."

"Oh, uh," Lydia winced a little and looked down at her expensive, heeled boots. "Sorry."

"Are you okay?" His voice was calming, fatherly. That was another thing that had changed. Even though the teenagers had seen so much and had grown so much quicker than they should have, the Sheriff , Melissa McCall and Alan Deaton had become like three more parents to Lydia, and she would be forever grateful to all of them. "Lydia?"

"I'm fine," she took in a deep breath. "Is Stiles here?"

"Yeah, he's upstairs," the Sheriff stepped to the side to allow Lydia past. She gave him another tight smile and then walked toward Stiles room. The door was slightly ajar, and she could hear music playing softly. She vaguely recognized the song, but wasn't too sure who the singer was as she knocked her knuckles against the wood of his door.

"What's up, daddy-roo?" Stiles called and this time it was an honest smile on Lydia's face as she pushed open the door and Stiles spun around in his seat and saw it was the redhead standing there. "Oh," he made a face. "You're not my father."

"And you're hella observant," Lydia teased him back with a roll of her eyes. Stiles smiled at her and then his eyebrows pulled together.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, a concerned expression on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't just come and see my friend?" She questioned him as she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her with the hell of her boot. He didn't really seem to care that the door was shut as she walked into his room, looking around. She had been in his room more times than she could count, but every time she had been here, it was because of something they were working on for the pack. If they were studying together, it would be at her place, or at the library. If they were all hanging out together, in one of their wind down periods, they were usually at Scott's, it was like they all just gravitated there.

But now she was here, and she was more than happy to look for an excuse to stop herself from starting the conversation she knew was going to change even more between them. There were books and papers piled up on the desk, folded clothes on the top of the set of drawers, and random knick-knacks on the bedside tables and shelves. One of the things Lydia had noticed the last couple of times that she had come in here was a photo of Stiles and Scott, pinned right above his headboard. It was an older photo, maybe they were thirteen or fourteen, and they had their arms wrapped around each other and were grinning, big and cheesy to the camera. The pair of them were so lucky to have always had each other, and Lydia was lucky to call both of them her friends—her pack—now. The big glass board that he used as a 'Murder Board' was pushed up against one wall, usually covered with all of his brainstorming and pictures and his scrawl in white marker pen. The board was completely empty now, which actually made her feel weirdly empowered.

They had conquered everything.

So she could do this.

She was strong enough.

"Stiles," Lydia began, taking in a deep breath and turning slightly so that she was facing him head on. He could clearly sense that whatever it was, it was serious, because he pulled the pen he had been chewing out of his mouth and put it down on the desk, standing up from the wheely chair he was in. "Stiles, I want to talk to you about that night. That night that you got me out of Eichen House." Stiles took in a breath through his nose and his hand went to the back of his neck, starting to scratch, a nervous tic that Lydia had grown extremely fond of. "And then at the vet clinic—"

"What's there to talk about, Lydia?" Stiles' voice sounded a little tighter than usual.

"Oh, I don't know," she was trying to tease him, because they were good like that, when it didn't seem like there was lots of pressure. "You guys saved my life? You saved my life?" Her smile faltered when Stiles looked at her with a tired expression, as though this was the last place, and the last conversation that he wanted to have. That hurt, because Stiles never looked at her like that.

"Lydia..." he mumbled. "I don't want—"

"Stiles!" Lydia's tone was sharper now, closing the distance between them, only a foot or so between them. "Stiles, I don't understand why you don't talk to me!" The frustration was building between her shoulder blades and her fingers were curling into her palms, but she knew that it wasn't going to get her anywhere, especially with the way Stiles had his jaw locked, staring at the ground between their feet. "I want to talk to you about that night," her voice was lower now, forcing herself to be calmer.

"We went in to get you, okay?" Stiles snapped, his hand dropping from his neck and crossing his arms over his chest—which had broadened and become more muscular since all of their extra-circular activities had begun. "We went in and got you—we weren't going to leave you there! You're one of us, we protect our own! And I—I couldn't stand the thought of you being locked up in there, and every time I came to see you, you just looked so—" he caught himself, pressing his lips together, but Lydia's heart had skipped a beat when the word 'we' changed to 'I'. "I don't see what there's to talk about, Lydia," he concluded quietly. Lydia tilted her head to the side as she looked him over. Her hair was loose round her face, only held back on one side by a clip, and it fell backwards over her shoulder as she tipped her head upwards.

He looked tired, which was a normal look for Stiles.

He looked a little anxious, which was also normal for him.

The skittish look in his eyes though, that was unusual. Especially when he was talking to someone he cared about, one of their mismatched pack.

"You pulled me back, Stiles," Lydia stepped closer to him, her stomach clenching.

"And you did the same for me," Stiles responded, and she saw his Adams apple bob as he swallowed again, harder this time. "When me, Scott and Allison all went under—we were dead. And you pulled me back then as well. It's what we do, it's what we all have to do," his words were starting to jumble together, and Lydia didn't need to be a werewolf with a keen sense of smell to know that he was getting more nervous, and his heart rate was probably increasing. "We have to look out for each other, and save each other, and we—we can't loose anyone else." Lydia's perfectly plucked eyebrow lifted and Stiles sighed, his shoulders drooping. "I can't loose anyone else...I can't loose you."

There it was.

His whiskey coloured eyes were pained, and it wasn't until he lifted up his eyes and met Lydia's gaze, that it was the first time he had actually met her eyes since...Maybe since that night. And that was almost two months ago. She hadn't even really thought about it, but looking at him, actually looking at him, and having him look back at her, she could see the pain and it made her body ache for him.

"Stiles..." she whispered, lifting her hand to cup his cheek, and she brushed his cheekbone.

"You don't get it, Lydia," Stiles' voice was breathy, almost pleading. The hand that wasn't touching his face reached out for his hand, tugging it away from where his arms were folded together so that she could link their fingers.

"Then tell me," she murmured. Stiles sucked in a breath that made a little squeaking noise in his throat and he blinked a couple of times, closing his eyes and turning his head toward the ceiling, forcing Lydia's hand to fall down to his neck. When he opened his eyes and looked back down at her, there was a sheen of tears there, and it made Lydia's throat tighten and want to throw her arms around him. Instead, she just lifted her hand back to cup his jaw.

"When I get...When I get lost in my head. When I'm thinking, the way I think—"

"Obsessively," Lydia supplied.

"Obsessively," Stiles agreed, taking in short, staccato breaths. "It's my dad, and it's Scott, and it's you that anchor me, that make me come back to here, and now. And—and I can't loose any of you! I mean, I love Kira, and Malia and Liam—even though that kid is a total jackass at times—but you three? I can't—I can't loose you!" He looked as though he was going to have a panic attack, Lydia could see the signs, in the way he was breathing, the tension in his body, the way his pupils were exploding outwards, almost taking over the iris. "I can't loose any of you, and just the thought that I could have—you don't have a gun like my dad, or super healing like Scott—"

"Stiles, Stiles," Lydia tightened her grip on his hand, knowing that now was one of those times when she was going to need to pull him out of his head. "Stiles, breathe..." Stiles broke off mid-sentence, heaving in a deep breathe through his mouth, holding her hand tighter. She synced their breathing, looking deep into his eyes until she saw him visibly calm down. When he did, she chewed her lower lip into her mouth. "This is why you didn't want to talk about it? Do you panic like that? Every time you think about it?" She asked him softly.

"Something like that," he admitted quietly.

"And you don't think I'm the same?" Lydia murmured, shuffling closer and lifting up on her tip toes so that their faces were only a breath away. She could feel his breath against the crown of her head, and she could smell his toothpaste and whatever shampoo he always used and then that distinct Stiles smell that she now loved. "And to me? You're that person. You're my anchor." Stiles didn't look as though he knew quite what she meant, and Lydia licked her lips nervously, deciding that this was it. "You know how everything's changed, Stiles?" He made a face at her, rolling his eyes and exaggerating his facial expression.

"Obviously."

"Shut up, we're having a moment," Lydia snapped at him, but she couldn't stop a smile from beginning to curl the corners of her lip. Typical Stiles. Smart enough to see everything, except what was right in front of him. He tilted his head to the side, frowning, a little crease between his eyebrows.

"Are we?" He asked.

"Are we what?"

"Having a moment?" There was a hopeful lilt to his voice and her heart lifted.

"We will be, if you stop interrupting me," she gave him a scolding frown. Stiles made a show of smushing his lips together, eyes going wide and innocent, in an expression that looked nothing like the boy who was nearly having a panic attack just a few minutes ago. "Everything's changed, Stiles. And that...That includes how I feel about you." Her breathing stuttered a little and she dropped the hand on his neck to his shoulder. "Before all of this happened, you were kinda just this weird guy who stared at me all the time, and couldn't really talk when I asked you something."

"Yeah, well—funny story, actually," Stiles began with a snort.

"Moment, remember?" Lydia put her finger against his lips. "Shush, okay?" Stiles went quiet again. "But now, after everything we've gone through together? You're so smart, Stiles. And you care so much. And you're funny—most of the time," she smirked a little. "And I can't imagine not having you." Her smirk softened into a smile, a hopeful one with a twinge of apprehension as she looked up at him through thick eyelashes. Stiles looked as though he was still processing what she had told him, staring down at her. She stared at his mouth, the mouth she had kind of been obsessing over for about the past year, and then her eye fluttered back up to his.

"You like me?" Stiles asked in a strained voice, not sounding like he quite believed it. Lydia couldn't help but let out a huff of laughter.

"Something like that," she shrugged. "Maybe something more." Actually, she was pretty sure it was definitely something more, but that was for another day. Stiles pulled his lower lip into his mouth, his eyes darting between both her eyes, and for a moment, she felt the crushing worry settle back over, thinking that he was looking for a way to let her down easily. But then Stiles leaned forward, and their lips were brushing together. It wasn't a long kiss—really, it was just a touch of their mouths together, but it felt better than anything Lydia had felt in a long time.

"So I can do that then?" Stiles asked uncertainly. "I can kiss you?" Lydia couldn't contain the grin that broke out over her face as she threw her arms around his neck.

"Anytime you want to," she promised him, bringing their lips together for a second time, this time a lot harder.

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