Everything's been good. It's been so good. And that should have been Stiles's first clue that something horrible was about to happen. He doesn't get this lucky, doesn't get to have the girl of his dreams deign to actually date him.

He and Lydia had been flirting for a while, but he had still been totally awestruck when she'd agreed to be his girlfriend. And now they've been dating for a little while (two months 4 days and 13 hours, but, hey, who's counting?) and Stiles can honestly say that even in the endless fantasies he has had about it, dating Lydia Martin is so much more than he ever expected.

It's perfect, really. He wouldn't change a thing. They banter back and forth, her smarts and his wit allowing for quick comebacks and taunts. Their dates are fun, still in that phase of everything being super new and exciting. Stiles is just having a great time.

So, naturally, Jackson comes along to ruin everything. Of course he does because that is Stiles's luck.

It's a Saturday afternoon and Stiles is late to the pack training session. Not a big deal, he doesn't even really need to be there, but he goes for moral support. It's all about solidarity. It also doesn't hurt that he knows Lydia will be there and a couple hours alone in the woods with his girlfriend (his girlfriend. Will he ever tire of saying that?) sounds fantastic.

He sees Lydia standing in front of the Hale house and Stiles could recognize that douche-bag haircut that probably costs more than his jeep from a mile away. Jackson's back. And he's talking to Lydia. Stiles gets out of his car and starts walking over to them but stops dead when he sees Jackson lean in and kiss Lydia on the lips.

Lydia.

His girlfriend.

And Stiles really should have seen this coming.

He's about to just turn back around and go right the hell back home when Lydia shoves at Jackson's chest, not hard, but enough to make a point.

"I told you I'm not interested, Jackson," he hears Lydia say.

Jackson lets out a disbelieving laugh. The douche.

"Everyone's interested, Lydia," Jackson says cockily.

"Hmm." Lydia give Jackson an unimpressed look. "I'm with Stiles now."

And Stiles wants to punch Jackson in the face for the way he bursts into laughter.

"Oh, you're serious," Jackson says to Lydia like the absolute dick he is.

"I am," she tells him firmly, expression showing a clear lack of amusement.

"You're actually dating that dork?"

Stiles can't help the undignified squawk that comes out of his throat. They turn to stare at him and Lydia gives him a smile when his cheeks begin to burn red.

"I'll just, uh, talk to you later," Stiles stumbles out, heading back to his jeep.

He hear Lydia call out to him, but doesn't stop.

She doesn't follow and Stiles should have seen that coming, too.

Monday at school Lydia walks up to him like she has every morning for the past two months and kisses him fully on the lips. He pulls back, confused as to why she isn't with Jackson and she gives him a quizzical look.

"What are you doing?" he asks, almost rudely.

"What do you mean?" she returns, not bothering to sound offended.

"I just assumed with him back, well, ya know," he trails off, trying to casually shrug his shoulders.

"What? You thought Jackson would come back from London and I'd just, what? Run back to him?"

"Well, you were with him for a while," Stiles responds, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling suddenly stupid for worrying.

"I'm offended that you think I would be stupid enough to make that mistake again, Stiles," she tells him, giving him a hard look.

"I just thought after yesterday - "

"Yesterday I told him to back off. You would know that if you'd stuck around."

And, yeah, Stiles is definitely feeling stupid now.

Stiles makes it all the way to second hour without incident. But then Jackson shows up and things go downhill. He takes the seat behind Stiles and spends the entirety of the class kicking Stiles's chair and unsubtly hip-checking Stiles's desk when he walks by.

It's okay, though. Stiles should have expected this.

It stops being okay when Stiles walks into the locker room to get ready for lacrosse practice and at least half the team laughs at him.

He doesn't know what Jackson said and he has to tell himself not to let curiosity get the better of him, that knowing will only make things worse. Ignorance is bliss after all. So Stiles hides his red face in his locker and spends practice trying to avoid Jackson's brutal shoulder-checks.

It really stops being okay the next day when Stiles misses his first two classes because someone slashed two of the tires on his jeep.

And his jeep, really? That's just too far.

So when Lydia asks him why he was late he doesn't even bother to pretend nothing is wrong.

"Oh, no reason, just your psycho ex-boyfriend slashed my freaking tires this morning."

Lydia stops walking, tugging on the hand that's tangled with hers, and stares at him. He lets out a loud, frustrated sigh.

"Look, it isn't a big deal - "

She yanked her hand out of his grip, turned on her heel, and strutted away.

Of course she was leaving.

Stiles should have seen this coming.

When Stiles gets to the locker room he is expecting the rude snickers from his teammates, but he's met with silence. Well, not silence. It's still a locker room filled with rowdy teenage boys and they're still obnoxious as all hell. But no obnoxious comments are hurled at him and he has to consider it a win.

Walking out onto the field, Stiles is slightly frightened to see Jackson coming up to him. He expects a vicious comments, maybe even a punch to the face, but Jackson stops a foot in front of him.

"I guess you finally got what you wanted, Stilinski," Jackson tells him and Stiles doesn't need to ask what he's talking about. "Sure took you long enough."

Jackson walks past him, bumping into his shoulder but this time with less force and Stiles is surprised to see Lydia standing near the bleachers.

She walks over to him, loops her arms around his neck, and kisses him hard. Stiles gets the

feeling she's putting on a show, especially when she reaches a hand up to tangle in his hair, but hell, he doesn't mind.

And this is Lydia Freaking Martin: badass extraordinaire who wears three inches or nothing and runs circles around everyone still.

Stiles really should have seen this coming.