Stiles (to Lydia): "I think you look really beautiful when you cry."
Prompt for twweek (Tumblr): Write a fic/drabble of a character relationship dynamic that you would like to see happen in your life. I relate to Stiles' relationship with Lydia because I know how special it is to meet that one person who will do anything to see you smile instead of cry. Teen Wolf reminds me that I shouldn't give up on people because someone, somewhere, cares enough about me to try and brighten my darkest days.
Get the bestiary; that was his mission. A simple sprint to Mr. Argent's office, and a swift snatch of the flash drive, was all it would take, and Stiles could finally figure out what the hell they were hunting. He dashed through the parking lot, jumping around wandering teenagers and weaving between vehicles. Almost there; the school was in sight. As he dodged around a group of four juniors, he slowed to a stop. He knew that car and, more importantly, he knew the girl inside the car. Lydia Martin, goddess of Beacon Hills, and the love of Stiles' life, was crying. This was his chance—a shot at the girl he's been pining after since the third grade! As he took a small step towards her car, he glanced back towards the school. They only had so much time before the game came to a close. After another few precious moments of indecision, he directed his body towards the girl rather than his unofficially-official mission.
By the light of the moon she rubs her eyes, says it's funny how the night can make you blind.
"Hey, Lydia, what's wrong?" The touch of concern in his voice may have grabbed Lydia's attention if it had come from another source, but she wasn't in the mood to deal with Stiles' fawning and compliments. She just wanted to be left alone! Her hair was beginning to droop as her salty tears coated the thin copper strands, and her eyes were puffy and red. She couldn't face anyone looking like this! Everyone already thought she was crazy, but this would get her sent on a one-way trip to the school counselor for a pointless hour of ink blot tests and psychological warfare.
She tried her hardest to send him away, but he was persistent, and when he said that she shouldn't have to worry about her looks, she was curious. Why? Why shouldn't she? Didn't he know that she was the town freak? Didn't he see how many people gave her a wide berth as she descended the stairs every afternoon? How could she relax? She couldn't afford to look anything other than calm, collected, poised and sane.
She shuts out the night; tries to close her eyes. If she can find daylight, she'll be alright.
"Because I think you look really beautiful when you cry," Stiles admitted, taping his fist to the top of the window. Why couldn't she see it? She was a beautiful girl—no, a beautiful woman. Her long, orange hair floated around her head in a lazy manner as a slightly cool fall breeze filtered in through the space at the top of the window. Her hazel eyes, glassy from her tears and red from rubbing at them, gazed into his own as she considered his comment. After a moment, a watery smile spread across her face as she reached for the window controls.
Stiles was perplexed. When would she open her eyes and see just how much people admired her? She just couldn't look past the popular opinion of a town full of half-wits. They didn't matter. To Stiles, she was one of the most stunning creatures he had ever met—even beyond Erica's sudden transformation. She was physically perfect, intelligent, witty and, when motivated, a great friend. She could make the worst days better, and the best days brighter with a simple smirk. Stiles let a relived sigh escape his lips as she rolled the window down. If he could, he would make her feel better, whatever the cost. She was worth more to Stiles than she would ever know, and he planned to make her see the truth—that she was heaven on Earth for a certain quirky, ADHD-ridden, teenage boy.
She tried her best but now she can't win it. Hard to see them on the ground; her diamonds falling down.