Lydia finds herself always looking up when he appears, because he is quite a bit taller than her, she notices. But, that's not really it. She starts to realize her eyes wonder up to the doorway waiting for a boy clad with messy hair and a flannel to walk through it and every single time he would appear not a second later, like somehow she knew he was coming. Sometimes she thinks she hears the light echo of his sneakered footsteps a few minutes before he's there and Lydia doesn't even know how that's possible. Lydia also starts to remember all of the times she had reached for him unconsciously, hand searching for his grasp and the soft fabric of his jacket. She hadn't known at the time, that she was always reaching for him because he was always there.
Stiles was always the one, the one who she called when tears streamed down her face in fear of the body that she had just found laying behind her. The one who held her to him when she had drove the only other banshee she had ever met over the edge or when a certain werewolf had died and she knew it before she had even seen. The one who had comforted her when she had got him in trouble. But she was also the one. Lydia was the one who had read somewhere that holding your breath could stop a panic attack. So she stopped it, Lydia made Stiles hold his breath by planting her lips on his, and she found herself holding hers as well.
She remembered pulling away and air entering her lungs again and she didn't want it too. She wanted the feeling of his soft lips back on hers immediately. She had opened her eyes when his hot breath hit her face and saw him. That's when Lydia really saw him, she remembers. It was the first time she had really looked at him and saw Stiles. His eyelashes had fluttered open before her and she saw his eyes. His eyes, Lydia realized his eyes were the warmest shade of honey there was, the most beautiful color she had ever seen. And then he spoke, and she curled her lips back and finally looked away from him and those beautiful eyes.
He had told her that was really smart, and that's when she looked back. She felt her heart jump and heat up again, like a tiny fire was lit in her stomach. No one had ever told her that, and she remembers Stiles telling her the same thing a long time ago and she realizes that Stiles was the only one who had ever noticed. He was the only one who had cared to pay attention. She remembers him calling her beautiful, something no guy had ever told her either. Usually it was simply, 'pretty' or 'hot', nothing more.
For some reason she thinks of the time Allison had told her to remember.
"Just for one second, please try and remember."
"Remember what?" She had asked.
"Remember what it feels like! All of those times in school when you see him standing down the hall and you cannot breathe until you're with him."
Lydia remembered searching for Stiles' face in the crowded school hallways, worry always striking her gut until she saw him and he was okay.
"Or those times in class when you- you can't stop looking at the clock because you know that he's standing right out there waiting for you."
Lydia remembered watching the clock multiple times in class, knowing Stiles was waiting for her so they could solve the new mystery that had struck Beacon Hills with a ton of red thread and detective work to be done.
"Don't you remember what that's like?"
"No." Lydia had answered.
But now, now she realized, she remembered. Lydia Martin realized that when she had kissed Stiles Stilinski that day in the locker room, that's when it all changed. That day, though filled with panic and fear and worry, that was when she started to listen, to pay attention, to remember. That day was when she realized that maybe this could be the start of something. Lydia Martin realized she loved his messy hair and honey eyes and worn flannels. Lydia Martin had no clue how she had been so oblivious to the fact that Lydia Martin is in love with Stiles Stilinski.
