Refers to Episode: Formality (01x11)
10:16 AM
"Well, I'm definitely late, so there's no point in going to school now," Stiles comments.
"You wouldn't be late if you hadn't spent the last two hours sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling," Lydia teases.
"I was contemplating," he responds with a mock tone of offense.
"I could tell."
"Hey, where are your keys?"
"Why?"
"I think I'll go to Kira's and pick up your car."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know, but I don't mind."
"I could come with, if you want," she offers.
"Yeah, sure. I'd like that. We could stop for breakfast on the way… What do you think?"
A few hours alone, and the ease between them has returned. It feels so good that Lydia agrees without even thinking about it. "I need to shower first, but I can be ready in twenty."
"Okay. I'll just stay here…" he says with a yawn, stretching his arms overhead, "…nice and comfy…in your bed."
She jabs him gently with her elbow, gets up from the bed, and walks over to the closet where she reaches for her favorite jeans and a pretty, white lace top. Then she moves to her dresser. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices that Stiles is watching as she selects her underwear, his brows arched with curiosity. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, she decides there is no need to be discrete about what she was doing. Besides, if she has to be fully cognizant of what she is missing out on – every second of every day, then Stiles can get a tiny peek at what he was missing as well. She flashes a signature look his way, so he'll know she hasn't missed a trick, then crosses the room to the adjoining bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Lydia finds she is nervous as she gets herself ready. The energy is influencing her to move at a quickened pace and she knows it's because she is rushing to get back to Stiles. Thankful that she washed her hair the previous night, she pulls it into a topknot and showers in record time. After dressing, she decides to abbreviate her makeup routine down to the bare minimum – moisturizer, curled lashes, sheer eye shadow, and rose-pink gloss. She lets her hair down and combs it through, then finishes with a mist of her favorite scent; floral with a hint of vanilla.
When Lydia reenters her room, Stiles is standing by her nightstand, holding a silver picture frame that houses a photo of them. He turns when he hears her behind him. "I texted Scott to let him know we're taking the day off," he informs her.
"Good. He'd have been worried otherwise."
"You look pretty", he remarks.
"Thanks," she says sweetly, briefly flashing her dimples at him.
His eyes linger on her for a few more seconds, then he shifts them back to the photo. "This was Scott's birthday, wasn't it?" Stiles asks, pointing at the candid image.
"Yeah," she answers, suddenly struck with the memory of that day. "I don't know how Allison took that photo without us knowing. She gave it to me a few days later."
She intentionally refrains from telling Stiles that Allison had attached a note to the reverse side of the image. The message, though brief, spoke volumes. It read: Because I know how you feel about him, and because you should always remember how happy he made you last night. Love you, A
Lydia is reminded of how glad she is that she thought to save the note. Occasionally, she removes it from the frame just to hold that small, but meaningful, piece of paper as concrete proof of their friendship. She studies the graceful style of Allison's handwriting and traces every curve and undulation with her fingertips. She imagines the sound of her friend's voice speaking those words, and for a minute or two, Lydia can pretend that Allison isn't gone. It's been a while since she performed that soothing ritual. She makes a mental note to do so when she is alone.
Allison had a knack for understanding and speaking to Lydia's nature. She would listen to and advise her friend without ever pushing or prying. Lydia reminisces about one of the last conversations they had. Allison had helped Lydia gather the courage to tell Stiles that she loved him. She was able to shine a light on the fact that Lydia wasn't protecting anyone by denying what she felt. She opened Lydia's eyes to the fact that she was only hurting herself and Stiles in the process. Lydia promised her friend that as soon as Stiles was himself again, she would take the leap. But in a matter of days, Allison was gone, and Lydia was so consumed with anguish that she shut down completely.
Ever since, Lydia has not been able to shake the impression that she is dishonoring Allison's memory. Her life was cut short. She will never have the chance to reunite with Scott. Lydia has Stiles right in front of her, but she continues to let fear hold her in contempt. She can hear Allison's voice calling to her: What are you waiting for? He's right there. You love each other.
"Lydia are you okay?" Stiles asks with apparent concern.
"Mm? Oh…sorry, I was…remembering."
"Allison," he says quietly.
She nods, wiping a stray tear.
"Sorry, I know how much you miss her. I didn't mean to… We don't have to talk about this."
"No, it's okay… It helps. Talking about her…makes her seem…not so far away. What were you saying?"
"That it was a great day – one of the best. The four of us were together, we went bowling and drove up to Cannon Creek for a bit," he recalls.
"Then, we decided to give Scott and Allison some time alone, so we went to the arboretum."
"We spent the rest of the afternoon, just the two of us, lying in the grass…watching the clouds. We talked for hours, didn't we? About everything and nothing at all." He takes a few steps towards her.
"Yeah, we did…until one of the staff told us we had better leave…or else we would get locked in for the night," she goes on, resisting the temptation to match his advance.
"I took a detour instead of driving you straight home. I left the Jeep running with the head lights and radio on, and you let me convince you to dance with me."
"You didn't have to try that hard. I wanted to," she admits.
"Did you know you were the first girl I ever danced with? ...At the formal…sophomore year…" he tells her, bashfully averting his eyes and poking the rug with the tip of his sneaker.
"I didn't realize that."
"Remember how the battery died? I was sure I had ruined the whole day and that you were going to be so mad at me, but..."
"I wasn't. It was nice to have an excuse to be together for a bit longer," she finishes for him.
"Yeah it was. We walked miles to the station to meet my dad, and when I held your hand…" he reminds her, taking her hand in his.
"You noticed how cold I was, so you gave me your jacket. The sky was perfectly clear that night… Wasn't it? It felt like the stars were closer than usual…" Lydia's voice trails off as tears sting her eyes. Her heart is fiercely pounding against her rib cage. Emotion threatens to overwhelm her – from the memory, from being so near, from wanting to express how much she loves him. She hears Allison's voice again: Don't repeat my mistake. You may never get another chance. She opens her mouth to speak. It seems like it is going to be now or never, and she doesn't want it to be never. "Stiles…"
"Yeah, Lydia…" His eyes are glistening.
"I…"
An unexpected buzzing sound makes Lydia jump.
Realizing it is his phone, Stiles quickly removes the device from his pocket and silences it. "Sorry about that. I thought it was already on silent," he apologizes.
As he pushes the phone into his pocket, Lydia can see that the caller ID reads "Malia". She takes the interruption as a sign that she should stop talking and every ounce of resolve she had composed drifts through the open window.
"Should you get that?" she asks, hoping the hurt is not coloring her tone.
"No, we're talking. Go ahead…"
She steps backwards and clears her throat. "I…was just going to say…that we should get going."
Stiles studies her carefully. Evidently, her response is less than convincing. "Lydia, are you sure? It seemed much more important than that."
"Yeah, of course," she alleges, deliberately lightening her tone. Then she picks up her boots and slips into them; fiddling with the zippers is a perfect means to avoid eye contact. "Anyway, if I know you, you're probably starving by now…even though you ate before you came here."
"Well, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so why not have two of them?" Stiles jests feebly. His face is serious, and his tone is punctured by inauthentic levity. He is still very prudently examining her.
She rolls her eyes. "Let's get going. You get grumpy when you're hungry." Then she grabs her pale pink suede purse, takes his hand, and leads him out the door.
The pair are quiet for the duration of the drive. All the while, Lydia is preoccupied with the notion that Stiles wants to hold her hand. He was reluctant to let go when they reached the Jeep, and ever since he took his place in the driver's seat, he has continued to peer over at her. She wants to reach out to him, but she keeps her arms wrapped firmly around her abdomen. Malia's call was a setback, and Lydia feels herself growing colder by the minute. She has a nagging sensation that if she lets her guard down for too long, she will be setting herself up for more pain and disappointment.
As they are stopped at a traffic light, Stiles speaks. "I was thinking… How about we get breakfast to go and take it over to the arboretum? Might be nice…I mean, if you want."
Lydia's first intention is to decline. She regrets having committed to breakfast, but his choice of location catches her off guard, causing her to make a mistake. Without thinking, she turns to face him and she sees her Stiles – lips parted ever so slightly, eyebrows raised, hint of red on his cheeks. He is wearing his hopeful look; one of his many expressions to which she has no defense. She doesn't want to hurt him. He obviously chose the gardens because of the conversation they had earlier, but in her current mood, Lydia is unwilling to let herself trust that the memory means something more to him, so she chalks it up to nostalgia. She supposes that one meal together won't be too damaging and tells herself that she can always leave if things become too uncomfortable. She is hungry anyhow, and it doesn't really matter where they eat.
"It's nice enough weather for it. Sounds good." Fearing what else that face of his can persuade her to agree to, Lydia resumes staring out the window.
11:14 AM
When they arrive at the arboretum, Lydia is surprised at how well Stiles remembers their last visit. He takes her to the same spot they had picnicked last time – directly under a giant oak that borders the stream. He sets down a blanket for them and they sit together under the shaded shelter of the tree. Its long arching branches are beginning to develop bright green leaves and sunshine gracefully trickles through the boughs, creating delicate patterns on the ground below. Once they start chatting, Lydia is so content that she doesn't want to leave. She has warmed up considerably, the birds are singing above them, the running stream making music just beneath, and the entire area is so serene that she feels as though they are the only two people in the world.
2:32 PM
Several hours swiftly pass, during which Lydia notices Stiles is using the time to inch closer to her. Eventually he decides to lie down, resting his head against her leg. At first, she tenses. Allowing him that close is not exactly her idea of being careful or keeping herself at a safe distance. But as soon as he glances up at her and asks, "Is this okay?", every reservation she has evaporates and she nods.
She is sure there is some undeniable force tightening its grip on her when her hands naturally found their way to his hair. She runs her fingertips through the short, silky strands, coaxing them in different directions while she listens to Stiles excitedly talk about baseball – maybe this season would finally be the one for the Mets; a long shot maybe, but a definite possibility. It's difficult not to apply the logic to her current situation. She smiles down at him, feeling the hope he inspires lightening her burden.
Later on, they take a lazy stroll along the visitor's path. When they see children running around the great lawn, they realize school is out for the day, so they veer off to follow the stream. At some point, Lydia figures they must have covered the entire grounds, but Stiles seems determined to find excuses to stay, and she is more than willing to placate him.
4:56 PM
After Stiles buys them ice cream at one of the local shops, they make their way back to the Jeep. As she reaches for the door handle, Stiles simultaneously steps in to open the door for her, and Lydia finds herself sandwiched between his body and the passenger's side.
By that point, the late afternoon sun has turned everything it touches to gold. It reflects off the blades of new grass, dances across the surface of the stream, and most notably, it lights up his eyes, exposing glints of gold from within. It strikes her that his eyes are unquestionably the most gorgeous she has ever seen. She watched as their color subtly transforms before her – from deep brown to radiant amber…and everything in between. An intense fluttering sensation rages through her stomach but she can't tear her eyes away from Stiles. He seems to be towering over her, making her knees unsteady and pressing her heart to beat faster.
When his hand moves up to her cheek, she does not know what to expect. Blissfully terrified, her desire to see his beautiful face battles against the urge to shut her eyes. What happens next, only takes a few seconds, but to Lydia, time slows down. His fingertips brush lightly across her cheekbone then move to her hair, traveling past her ear and all of the way down to the gently curled ends.
"You had a hair…thing," he explains.
"Oh," she responds in barely a whisper. "Thanks."
Then Stiles flashes a smile at her, waits for her to take her seat, and closes the door. Lydia sits quietly, dazed and unsure of his intentions. She desperately wants to believe that he could love her, that he is trying to tell her it is okay to admit her feelings, but she can't shake the notion that the universe was playing a cruel trick on her – showing her a version of her life that can never be, for no other reason than to have the pleasure of tearing it from her if she dares to reach for it. She stares out the window for a few minutes ultimately concluding that it is best not to make decisions when she is this confused.
After a few minutes, the sound of Stiles's voice breaks her from her trance.
"Lydia, you okay?"
"Yeah, I was just thinking."
"You think too much," he notes, taking possession of her left hand.
She can't refrain from smiling. "You know something, Stilinski – I think you might be right," she acknowledges, squeezing his hand.
"It's been known to happen," he quips.
As Stiles signals to turn, Lydia notices that they aren't headed for the Yukimura home. She looks at him curiously. "Stiles, where are we going?"
"You'll see…" he teases.
6:28 PM
When they reach Crescent Bluff, Stiles pulls to the side of the road, removes his phone from his pocket, and sets it on the dashboard. As soon as Stiles turns on the radio and gets out of the Jeep, Lydia feels a flash of heat rising in her cheeks.
He crosses to the passenger's side and opens the door. In that moment, Lydia is sure there is no way she will get through the remainder of the evening with any semblance of control over her heart – and she is ready to relinquish it to Stiles.
"Do you want to dance?" he asks, offering his hand.
The gesture elevates another memory to the forefront of Lydia's mind - the night of winter formal, the night her life changed forever.
She looks at him, pursing her lips to keep from smiling. "Pass," she says, trying her very best to sound convincing.
Intuitively recognizing the parallel, Stiles plays along with her. "You know what? Let me try that again. Lydia, get off your cute little ass and dance with me now."
"Nice tactic…but I'm sticking with no."
"Lydia…" he groans.
"I'm kidding…I'm kidding!" she giggles, taking his hand.
It is shortly before dusk. The cloud-streaked sky is rapidly tinting from soft blue to saturated pink. As they walk to the front of the Jeep, Lydia lets her mind wander to the night of Scott's birthday.
Then, it was early autumn and there was a slight chill in the air. The bright lights of the vehicle cut through the wandering fog. With every step, the crunching of fallen leaves below their feet played in tune with the music. Stiles put his arms around Lydia, pulling her towards him until she was up against his chest. Impressed by the ease at which he held her, she slid her arms around his neck and their eyes locked. The sky progressively darkened as the pair swayed along with the music. A lazy, intermittent breeze swept through the bordering woods, carrying the scent of pine and dragging dry foliage in circular patterns around their ankles – a visual representation of the swirling that only he could activate in her stomach.
Lydia remembers the way her heart skipped when Stiles leaned his cheek against her temple, as well as the way his breath caught in his throat when she rested her head on his shoulder.
Presently, it is spring, and the early evening air is warmer. This time, Stiles hesitantly places his hands at her waist, his eyes searching for permission to draw her near. Lydia's mouth forms a reassuring smile. It seems to be all the encouragement he needs. She directly feels his hold strengthen, eliminating the distance between them and sending a powerful current through her body. In response, she slips her arms around his torso, gripping the back of his sweatshirt with both hands and burying her face in the crook of his neck. The contact makes her feel safe and wanted – and she falls deeper.
After a while, Lydia lifts her head to admire his face. She knows she shouldn't, that it will only make the inevitable separation she faces more difficult to bear, but her need for Stiles is undeniable. He is the Sun and she is the Earth, and gravity persistently keeps her in his orbit. Stiles looks down at her as though he is privy to her stream of consciousness. He smiles as if to say he understands – and she falls deeper still.
Just then, his eyes are attracted upward. He moves his hand to Lydia's shoulder, adeptly catching a small particle between his thumb and index finger, then holds the fluffy white entity out to her. When Lydia takes a second account of the area, she notices that she and Stiles are surrounded by a grove of cherry blossoms. The wind has suddenly picked up, blowing short gusts of air through the trees, loosening the opalescent petals from their niches, and sending flurries of them cascading to the ground like freshly fallen snow.
Ahead of them, the view overlooking their hometown is breathtaking. The gathering blue darkness is fragmented by glowing embers of light that radiate from within the homes of Beacon Hills. She can hear the distant chiming of church bells below and a nightingale's song from above. Lydia imagines capturing this moment and placing it inside a snow globe, so that she can revisit it whenever she wishes.
The approaching nightfall seeks to dredge up anxieties of what the next day might hold for them, but with Stiles's arms around her, she is able to push the intrusion of unpleasant thoughts and worries aside. Now, there is no awkwardness, no misunderstanding, no one to interrupt them, and she is going to cling to Stiles for as long as she can. She tightens her hold on him, secretly wishing the Jeep's battery would falter and grant her an extension of just a few hours more. Much to her dismay, that is not the case.
When Stiles lets go of her, Lydia can't withhold a shudder. In part, she is alarmed by the recurring response to their separation. It shines a harsh spotlight on the physical dependency she is developing. At the same time, she respects the enormity of his influence on her as evidence that she is better off with him than without.
"Aww, Lydia you're shivering," he points out with concern. "I hope you're not getting sick. It's been happening a lot lately," he continues.
"I'm sure I'm not. I feel fine otherwise," she replies, as Stiles shrugs out of his sweatshirt and drapes it around her shoulders.
"How's that? Is that better?"
"Much. Thank you," she tells him, sliding her arms into the sleeves and rolling them up to free her hands from the confines of the soft grey fabric.
"Good," he replies, taking her hand and walking her back to the Jeep.
As Lydia takes her seat, a calming sensation washes over her. The unsettling feeling that Stiles has been drifting further and further away from her is fading. With him sitting next to her and his sweatshirt wrapped around her, Stiles seems right within her reach.
In the time it takes to drive to Beacon Hills, the sky darkens to black. The moon casts pale blue light into the Jeep and Lydia watches as it keenly withdraws Stiles's profile from the shadows. For weeks, she has been forcing herself to avoid looking at him as though it would protect her. Now, she realizes how unnecessary it was – that she never needs to be protected from Stiles. So when he covers her hand with his and winds their fingers together, she lets him…without hesitation.
8:26 PM
When they arrive at the Yukimura home, Stiles slowly walks Lydia to her car. It's apparent that neither want the night to end, but there are no excuses left to wield. Lydia begins to remove his sweatshirt, but Stiles places his hands on her shoulders to stop her.
"Keep it. You can give it to me when we spend another day together," he suggests, looking at her though his lashes. "Anyway, it looks better on you," he tells her as he rubs more heat into her upper arms with his palms. Then he tenderly slides his hands down to her wrists and takes her hands in his own. "Thanks for today. I'm really glad we spent it together. Kind of felt like old times."
"Yeah, it did."
"You're coming to school tomorrow, right?"
"Back to reality you mean… Yeah, I'd better."
"Good."
Lydia prepares for the dull aching chill that will inevitably resume when Stiles steps back, but instead he does something she doesn't expect – he lifts her hands to his lips and gingerly kisses them before letting go. She feels herself blush, entirely smitten, and she can't think of a single word to say, so she just beams at him.
"See you tomorrow then," he confirms, leaning over to open the door of her car.
She nods, astonished by the affectionate way he is looking at her.
"Goodnight Lydia."
"Goodnight Stiles."
Lydia gets inside, closes the door, and waits for him to start towards the Jeep. Her mind is less burdened than it has been in weeks. Last night she cried herself to sleep with heartbreak, but this day has turned out to be the best in a long while. Unless it is merely wishful thinking on her part, everything Stiles did, everything he said…even the things he did not say, indicate that he still has feeling for her. The hours they spent together have not only solidified her love, they are allowing her the luxury of hope.
It takes a staggering amount of restraint not to get out of the car and run to him. Wait, she reminds herself. It is her turn to wait. Stiles needs time and she promised to put him first. He needs her patience and understanding, so she fully intends to give him both. She would give him everything she had, if he would let her.
Vivid memories of the two of them dancing – first at the formal, then on Scott's birthday last autumn, and under the cherry blossoms tonight – are fresh in her mind. Lydia has no doubt that she will love Stiles through every season, in any place, whenever he is ready, and for as long as he will have her.
On the drive home, her heart and mood lighten considerably, and when she checks the rear-view mirror she sees that the Jeep is not far behind. Stiles keeps pace with her car until she pulls into the driveway, making sure, as he has done so many times, that she arrives home safely.
"I love you," she says quietly, praying for the day she can repeat those three words so that Stiles can hear them.
