Everything Means Nothing

He had waited a long time for it – most of his life, really.

He had dreamed of it, pictured it, imagined it in every possible way.

Her perfect strawberry blond hair, her lush lips, her green eyes.

The way she would move towards him, how he'd put his hand around her neck.

How it would be chaste but perfect, the culmination of a long, silent feeling.

It was nothing like that.

He had never imagined he would be panicking about his father being taken by a dark druid.

He had never imagined that she would be the one to start it.

He had never figured her nails would hurt his cheeks, that he'd stop breathing.

He never dreamed that it would slow his heart instead of speed it.

It's weird – he still loves her.

He still cares for her, deeply, and wants to be around her all the time.

He is still more than a bit bothered by her relationship with a weird werewolf.

But there's nothing there – nothing between them, nothing that used to make him dream.

Nothing where everything used to be.

It's not poetic.

It's not even strange.

It's just… part of life.

Lydia is there, in his heart, holding the darkness apart – as is Scott, as is Allison, as is Isaac, his father, and Melissa and Mr. Argent and Scott's boss (and somewhere, a bit further but still shining inside him, as are Derek and Cara).

She holds and heals him, but doesn't keep him anymore.

He still loves her – he will always love her.

But there isn't anything where she once was.

Maybe she was never truly there.

Maybe it was just a story; maybe he was the unreliable narrator all along.

And there's nothing hidden in his heart.

(He can't see, he won't see it, not yet – not for now – what is lying deep inside)