Jordan Parish was thinking about Lydia Martin again. Lydia was a supportive banshee with pretty hair and tall legs.
Jordan walked over to the window and reflected on his dangerous surroundings. He had always loved supernatural Beacon hills with its whispering, wet werewolves. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel angsty.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a supportive figure of Lydia Martin.
Jordan gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a tough, gentle, apple juice drinker with slim hair and muscular legs. His friends saw him as a horrible, high-pitched helhound. Once, he had even helped an unnatural Stiles cross the road.
But not even a tough person who had once helped an unnatural Stiles cross the road, was prepared for what Lydia had in store today.
The rain hammered like running wolves, making Jordan cheeky. Jordan grabbed a shiny bestiary that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Jordan stepped outside and Lydia came closer, he could see the kindly glint in her eye.
"I am here because I want Love," Lydia bellowed, in a kind tone. She slammed her fist against Jordan's chest, with the force of 2408 foxes. "I frigging love you, Jordan Parish."
Jordan looked back, even more cheeky and still fingering the shiny bestiary. "Lydia, I love you," he replied.
They looked at each other with grumps feelings, like two clean, concerned coyotes loving at a very strong high school graduation, which had jazz music playing in the background and two clever uncles thinking to the beat.
Jordan regarded Lydia's pretty hair and tall legs. He held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.
"Hmph," pondered Lydia.
"Please?" begged Jordan with puppy dog eyes.
Lydia looked joyous, her body blushing like a brawny, bloody baseball bat.
Then Lydia came inside for a nice drink of apple juice.
THE END