One.
Your mom dies.
You think you're dying too, because you can't breathe and your heart is doing a painful stuttering swan dive in your chest. She's dead and you're dying, and in your child's mind it makes sense. How can you be alive when the person who gave you life is dead?
Two.
You go back to school a week after the funeral and Lydia walks right by you like you don't exist. Scott has to drag you to the nurse, because your feet aren't working right and you don't even know you're crying until the nurse gives you a box of Kleenex.
Scott refuses point blank to go back to class and the nurse doesn't make him, because you are ScottandStiles, brothers by heart if not by blood.
When Melissa comes to pick you up (your dad is drowning too, but his ocean is made of whiskey) she finds Scott curled up next to you on a cot, rubbing your back.
Three.
Jennifer has your dad.
You're in the hallway at school and your dad is going to die, which means you're going to be an orphan, and all you can think is not him not him, nononoplease, not him.
"Stiles!" Lydia's mouth is moving but it's like watching a silent movie. She's a blur of strawberry blond curls and pink lips and worried eyes, and if Lydia is the last thing you see before you suffocate, well, you're mostly okay with that.
"I think I'm having a panic attack," you gasp, and then her hand is in yours and she's pulling you.
You follow her blindly, because she's Lydia, down the hallway that's beginning to spin, and into the locker room. You collapse on the floor and she tells you to think about happy things, like family. If you had enough oxygen to talk you'd say something like, are you fucking kidding me, but you don't and all you can manage is an incredulous stare while your heart contracts in your chest.
Her lips press against yours.
Everything stops. The frantic whirring of your thoughts, the way your chest is seizing up, it all goes away, and the only thing left is her. The tickle of her hair against your cheek, her hand curled up in yours, the taste of cinnamon lip gloss on your tongue.
When you pull away she looks dazed, like she can't believe that she kissed you. "You held your breath."
You says something like, that was really smart, and her face flushes with pride or maybe embarrassment, but she's Lydia Martin and Lydia Martin is too evolved for a petty emotion like embarrassment.
She's still holding your hand.
Four.
You're still in your suit from Allison's funeral. You're keeled over on your knees in Scott's backyard, hyperventilating until you throw up all over the grass.
You killed her you killed her you killed her.
Isaac of all people finds you, choking up a string of bile. There's not much in your stomach anyway, you still can't manage to keep much down.
You killed her and you wish you were dead.
Isaac leaves and comes back with Melissa. She calls you sweetie, makes you stand up and lean against Isaac. They walk you back into the house and deposit you on a couch. Melissa makes you open your mouth so she can place a small white pill on your tongue.
"Swallow," she instructs, and you do, curling over on your side because everything won't stop fucking moving.
You lose a few minutes, you're not sure how many, because when you comes back to yourself Lydia has her face pressed into the crook of your neck.
She's crying, tears hot on your skin, whimpering Stiles, Stiles, stop, because you're still babbling under your breath, I killed her I killed her I killed her.
When you wake up a few hours later she's asleep on your chest. Your shirt is soaked with tears and you don't know if they're yours or hers.
Five.
Malia's on top of you when it happens.
It's the dog days of summer, senior year hurtling towards you like a bad omen, and she's fucking you in your bed, a bead of sweat rolling down between her breasts as she bounces in your lap.
You like Malia. She's not Lydia, but then again, Malia's never looked at you like you were dirt either. It's like having a puppy. Okay, an untrained, slightly rabid puppy, but still, you can't deny the flash of pride you feel when she gives you a trusting smile and slips her hand in yours.
The thing is, they're so different. Malia is lean and strong where Lydia is all soft skin and curves. If Lydia is the sun, fiery and blazing hot enough to burn, a fixed point in your sky, a constant for you to revolve around, then Malia is the moon, beautiful and mysterious and ever changing.
Malia's nails are digging into your shoulders and she clenches hard around your dick, shuddering. Suddenly the air goes out of the room. Malia's weight on you is punishing, and you're pushing her off, one hand pressed to your chest like you're having a heart attack.
"Stiles," she whines, landing on the floor in a crouch. "What the hell, I didn't even come yet-"
Her head cocks to the side suddenly, and her eyes widen. "What's wrong?" she demands. "Stiles, what's happening?"
You shake your head, hands gripping the blanket. You let the panic attack pull you under like a wave, thinking, hold your breath, hold your breath, but you don't know how to hold your breath without Lydia to make you do it.
"I'm texting Scott." She already has her underwear on, thumbs flying over her phone before you can stop her.
When Scott barges into your room ten minutes later you're on the floor with your head pressed to your knees while Malia watches you hyperventilate.
"Stiles." Scott's in front of you, his hand warm and firm on your back. "Hey dude, you're okay. Just breathe."
"What do you think...I'm trying...to do?" you wheeze.
"What happened?" Scott asks Malia, who shrugs.
"We were having sex," she says matter-of-factly. "And then..." she waves a hand at you.
"Stiles," Scott whispers, very low in your ear so Malia doesn't hear. "Do you want me to call Lydia?"
You shake your head, wondering how different denial is from an outright lie.
Six.
Lydia spends almost a month in the hospital recovering after you and Scott rescue her in Eichen. You visit her every day after school, sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair and do your homework, lifting your eyes from your book every few minutes to check her stats on the monitor.
She slips in and out of consciousness, never awake for more than a few seconds before her eyes slip shut again. One day you come in to find Kira sitting on the edge of the bed, painting Lydia's nails a soft lavender while she sleeps.
Kira blushes, like you caught her doing something bad. "I wanted them to look nice," she explains, "for when she wakes up. Her nails were always perfect..."
You aren't sure which one of you starts crying first.
You're sitting in that stupid chair one evening, waiting for Scott to show up with burgers, when Lydia's heart rate monitor starts beeping faster. You watch, stunned, as her eyes flutter open and then-they don't slide shut a few seconds later but widen almost comically.
"Lydia!" You jump out of the chair so fast it falls over sideways.
he's making these soft little gasps as she stares at you, her right hand reaching for the IV needle in the crook of her left arm.
"Hey, hey, don't." You catch her hand in yours before she can pull the needle out.
Lydia stares at you, trying to push away your hand. "No," she whispers. "No, don't."
"Lydia, it's okay, you're not in Eichen House anymore. You're in the hospital, you're safe."
"Please," she whimpers, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Please, not him. Anyone but him. Please, not Stiles."
"Lydia, what are you talking about?" Your hand tightens on her wrist and she starts to fight you but she's so weak that she really can't.
"Stop," she implores, her breath coming in short sharp gasps. "Go away, you're dead, you're dead-"
Your hands frame her face, watching panic wash over her features. "Hey, no, Lydia, just calm down, it's okay."
"You're lying," she hisses.
You're surprised a nurse hasn't come in yet, with the way her heart rate is steadily rising, the beep beep beep from the machine monitoring her pulse shrieking in your ear.
"Lydia, calm down," you beg. "You're having a panic attack, just breathe, okay, no one's dead, you're just confused."
"I know you're not him," she says hysterically. "Like you're not Aiden. I hate you, you son of a bitch, stop hiding behind the faces of the people I love!"
"Lydia, who do you think that I am?"
"Just kill me," she gasps, reaching out to grip your shirt. "Kill me and get it over with."
What happens next isn't about getting her to hold her breath, which you know works, because you learned it from Lydia.
You just want her to stop talking.
You kiss her.
You kiss Lydia and she kisses you back. Her lips are dry and chapped and you don't care, because it's Lydia. She kisses you like she's drowning, like you are oxygen and she'll die without you. It's the complete opposite from your first kiss-this is all tongue and lips and teeth, like you're trying to consume each other.
When you finally pull away her face is very pale and her eyes are wet with tears. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
"Stiles?" she whispers shakily, her fingers still clutching your shirt.
"Hey," you murmur. "I'm here, you're okay."
She's staring at you at wonder, blinking back the tears clinging to her eyelashes. "You're real," she whispers. "Oh god, Stiles."
"Shh, it's okay, you're safe."
She runs her tongue over her cracked lips. "But-Malia-"
"We broke up while you were...you know."
Lydia blinks slowly, a few stray tears falling. "Why?"
You cup her face, catching her tears with your thumb. "Come on, Lydia, you're the genius. You know why."
When Scott shows up an hour later with your burger you're sitting shoulder to shoulder with Lydia in the little hospital bed while she copies down all the homework assignments she missed in your history notebook.
He stops short in the middle of the room, the grin on his face a mile wide.
"Someone looks like they're feeling better," he comments, shooting you a look that says, holy shit, Lydia Martin is in a bed with you!
Lydia puts down the notebook and smiles weakly at Scott. "Are you going to give me a hug or what?"
Your burger gets shoved into your hands and Scott bends over Lydia, crushing her to his chest.
"I'm so sorry," you hear him say gruffly, like he's about to cry. Knowing Scott, he probably is. "I'm so sorry, Lydia."
She pats his back and shoots you a small, sad kind of smile from where she's peeking out over Scott's arms. "It's okay," she says softly. "I'm okay."
"No," Scott argues. "I should have been there. I promised...I'm supposed to protect you, and I failed."
"Hey," she says firmly, and pushes against his chest so she can tilt her face up at him. "Look at me."
You watch Scott blink rapidly, his eyes flicking over to you, to where Lydia has one hand curled around your knee.
"Does this look like you failed?" Lydia asks.
Scott sniffs and shakes his head. Lydia sighs and pats the end of the bed, and you choke on a laugh.
"What?" she hisses at you, and you dissolve into hysterics.
"You patted the bed...he's a wolf...you literally patted the end of the bed like you do for the dog..."
Tears are streaming down your face. God, when was the last time any of you laughed? "Hey Scotty, want me to get your water bowl?"
"Fuck you, man," Scott says, but he's laughing too, while Lydia just sits there rolling her eyes, waiting for them to get it together.
"Hey Scott," she says, poking him with her toe. "Guess what I heard happened while I was sleeping?"
Scott's raises his eyebrows, feigning surprise, but he winks at you. "What did you find out?"
Lydia turns to smile at you and it's like sunshine on your face, warm and loving and so beautiful it blinds you, every time you look.
"Stiles and Malia broke up."
The End