Stiles kept his eyes cast down as they walked, his dark eyebrows scrunching together in a knot. His sneakers made wet slapping sounds against the wooden planks of the railroad tracks. The wind breathed through the surrounding forest, rippling his unzipped jacket. Lydia didn't bother to fix her hair when the breeze blew it into her face; her mind was too preoccupied to notice her wild appearance. She struggled with the thoughts swirling around her brain like the fog that was slowly settling over the horizon like a blanket.
Lydia threw a quick glance over at the boy next to her, noticing the way he picked his way over the tracks with more grace and ease then she had expected from him. The steady, purposeful way he walked clashed with the lost look splattered across his face. His eyes were clouded and glassy, and his lips were pursed in a frustrated pink bow. Lydia wondered how many times Stile had been this way, down the old train tracks winding in and out of the towering evergreen trees like a staggering drunk.
She felt a brief surge of gratefulness for the fact that she was wearing flats in place of her usual high heels. But even with her sensible shoes, the tracks were slick with the freshly fallen rain, and Lydia could feel herself slipping as she tried to match her short stride to Stiles' long one.
Lydia took in a sharp intake of breath as she felt her left foot go out from underneath her, and braced herself to fall back onto the steel rail. But she never touched the ground. A strong hand wrapped tightly around her waist, catching her and holding her upright. On instinct, Lydia threw her hands out to stop her fall, and ended up with her palms pressed to Stiles' chest. He gently leaned against her, touching her arm with his other hand. Her blouse hitched up in Stiles' hand, and his cold fingertips grazed the small of her back, his fingernails trailing across her skin.
"Ok?" he asked quietly, his brown eyes laced with concern. A warm flush seeped into her cheeks, prickling down her neck. She flashed a smile up at him, her embarrassment evident in her pink face. "I'm fine. Just slipped on these damn tracks."
A brief smile flitted across Stiles' face as his gaze warmed, and the confused, lost look in his eyes faded. They stood like that for another minute, Stiles gripping Lydia's hips protectively, and she feeling his heartbeat beneath her palms.
Somewhere down the tracks behind them, a shrill whistle pierced the thick air, reminding them to separate. Lydia's cheeks were aflame once again. Stiles stood completely still, his eyes shining with anticipation. "It's coming," he said, staring at the horizon, "We have to run. We're almost there."
Without warning, he snatched Lydia's hand in his own, and pulled her into a sprint. The wind began to pick up, making Lydia's dress flutter around her thighs. Her feet slid across the slippery tracks, but Lydia never fell. Stiles kept her steady.
There seemed to be an intense shift in Stiles as he ran. His eyes were lit in amber fire, and his cheeks were spiked with crescents of ruddy color. His lips were parted, sucking in gulps of air through a wide smile. A shaky laugh bubbled through his teeth. Stiles freed his hand from her gentle grip, pushing forward with a surge of speed. Lydia faltered and stuttered to a stop, feeling like a ship that had lost its anchor.
Lydia watched Stiles in amazement, in awe of the fragile, careless boy racing away from her. She bent over, her sides shaking as she laughed through panting breaths.
Stiles stopped a few yards away from her, his shoulders rippling under his jacket as he planted his feet firmly to the ground. Lydia hastened to meet him, choosing to run across the gravel instead of the treacherous tracks. Within seconds, she was standing behind him, her heart thumping frantically in her chest, beating against its cage of ribs like an animal.
The dewy grass rustled against Stiles' leg as he turned and gazed down at Lydia through his long eyelashes. Electricity sizzled behind his amber eyes, liquid adrenaline pumping in his lungs. Lydia took a step closer to him, drinking in his buzz, intoxicated with everything that he was in that moment.