When I finally get him back, I can breathe again. Stiles literally kisses the breath, the warmth, the life back into me. I can't help the sob that escapes my throat and sneaks into his mouth, where he catches it and passes it back to me, letting me know he feels the same way. His voice rings through to my soul, awakening it with the promise that he understands, that he knows I love him, that he is here. There are tears for both of us, but they are tears of joy and relief. My hands touch every bit of him in a flurry of exploration – caressing his perfectly flushed cheeks which are speckled with a distinct pattern of moles I can actually remember, grazing over his eyelashes, tangling in his hair, grasping at his neck and shoulders, pulling him tighter and closer to me – until once again, I am unable to tell where he ends and I begin. We are in the same place where I realized I love him; where I kissed him for the first time. The locker room is dark, but for me, the sun has just come out. The space I held for him has expanded and filled. The love I have for him has impossibly multiplied.

In truth, between all the I love yous – spoken and unspoken – there has been a great deal of heartache. There have been misunderstandings and wrong conclusions. There has been bickering, an impossible amount of longing, and more distance that I thought I could bear. But when Stiles and I, when we, finally get it right – it is more than worth it. And now, we are never letting go.


The night he comes home to me, I drive us home in his beloved Jeep, which he thinks I hate, but actually, I don't. It was Claudia's and now it's his. How could I possibly hate it? So many memories are linked to that Jeep, and it's fitting that we are where he first told me he loved me…with words that is. A ten-minute drive seems like an eternity. It's difficult to keep focused on he road. All I want to do is look at him. I keep glancing over to make sure he is still there, that he hasn't vanished again. He takes my hand and links our fingers together. It calms me.

The Stilinski house is dark but inviting; we are both exhausted and bleary-eyed. We find peace together as we stumble into the sanctuary of his room, ready to carve new memories into this hallowed place. We shed more tears…as well as our clothes, and silently crawl into bed. Wrapping his plaid comforter around us, we immediately settle into each other's arms. It's the breath before the leap. It's so quiet I wonder if the entire world is holding its breath along with us. Now, I can say what I have been wanting to say for over a year and it is surprisingly easy.

"Stiles, I need to tell you," I begin.

He opens his mouth to stop me. I think he's worried that what I'm about to say comes from some sort of obligation. That could not be further from the truth. I want to say the words more than I ever – Stiles needs to hear it and I need to say it.

I put my finger to his lips and tug gently as his cupid's bow. "I know that I don't have to, but I want to…I need to say it for both of us. I need you to hear the words, and I need to know that I said them…because there have been so many times when I wanted to, and I didn't. And when you were gone…I thought you knew…but when I remembered that I had never said the actual words…it killed me." I inhale deeply – I can do that now that he is with me. "Stiles, I love you…in a way that I have never loved anyone – with my whole heart. When they took you from me…I couldn't picture your face or remember any of the things we did together, but I could hear your voice in my dreams every night. I knew that you loved me, I remembered how you made me feel…and that was as real to me as holding you right now. The love I have for you – it never left. It was like I could feel you everywhere I went, only I couldn't see you, I couldn't talk to you, I couldn't touch you. It was the worst pain I've ever experienced. Without you here…I was lost…I couldn't breathe…I was only half alive. Getting you back changed all that. It was so dark, but you made the sun come out again. I love you. I love you. And I'm so sorry that I made you unsure of it. I tried to show you…but it's like my body wouldn't let me."

I think we both have tears in our eyes at this point but it's difficult to tell because my eyes are blurry, and I refuse to take my hands off him to wipe them away. He looks at me pensively, brows gathered in the middle, upside-down smile on his lips. Then he astonishes me with his words once more.

"Lydia…" The word passes his lips like a prayer. "You did show me…but half the time, I was too afraid to believe it – which…I'm aware, makes absolutely no sense because...it's all I ever wanted to be true."

"I'm sorry it took me so long to say it. Every time I let myself look into your eyes, every time you held my hand…it was always right at the tip of my tongue. I wasted so much time…if I would have just said the words…we could have been together."

"Shh…I don't want you to be sorry for anything," he explains as he kisses my forehead and runs his hand through my hair. "When I was gone…I had a lot of time to think…there really wasn't much else to do," he says with a soft grin that I can't help but return. "Mostly, I was just filled with regret. I thought about all of the times I could have told you…and how I let them slip away because I was afraid. But then, I figured something out and it made missing you a little easier to bear." He pauses to sigh, "Yeah…we might not have been a couple in the traditional sense – weren't going on dates…we weren't making everyone else insanely jealous with our non-stop displays of PDA…and as much as I would have liked to, we weren't…" he leans closer and whispers a third example in my ear that sends electricity all over my body. "Those are all things I would like to remedy, by the way…like very soon." A devilishly handsome smile breaks through but quickly fades as his tone becomes serious again and he looks at me from underneath his impossible lashes, "But all of that time, we were there for each other…in every other way – we confided in and relied on each other, we lived for each other…would have died for each other, we saved each other. When I look back, that's what I'm going to remember. I'm going to remember...that for all that time, my heart belonged to you."

I'm mesmerized by him, but I'm able to whisper, "My heart belonged to you too."

"So, I guess what I'm saying is…in that sense, we have been together, all along."

Leave it to Stiles to say the exact words I need to hear, exactly when I need to hear them. He is everything; all I need, all I want…everything…and he's always been mine. I just wish I deserved him.

"Stiles, you are so smart…you should kiss me right now."

He smiles at the memory I'm referring to, then presses a kiss to my lips that hastens my heart and makes me feel dizzy. I'm drowning in him, but I've never felt more alive. My heart is so full, I think it will burst. The air is heavy with the same emotion that is impressed upon our faces. We gaze at each other through the dim light of the moon, whispering all of the things that were previously impossible to say and are now impossible to withhold. Words spill from our lips in a rush and a jumble – impossibly fast as we fight against fear. Fear that our time together will be cut short. Then he touches my heart and the world slows down for us. We lie there for a while, locked in each other's arms, fighting against the incomprehensible need that is coursing through our veins. But after all of the waiting, is now, when we are so completely wrecked, is this the right time? The answer, of course, is a resounding YES. If there was ever a more perfect setting or a more perfect person to be this vulnerable with, then we have no knowledge of it.

We hold our breaths and when it is impossible to smother the need any longer, we give in…and the two of us unravel together like that infamous red string at my fingertips. Our movements are slow and careful, each treating the other as fragile and precious, but there is nothing slow or careful about the secrets we are revealing to each other; hearts completely open within those familiar walls of his bedroom. We hold fast to each other through what remains of the night, blissfully terrified and struggling against sleep. Neither of us speak of it, but each of us fears that the light of day will expose our reunion as a dream, a figment of imagination born out of limitless yearning. The need for rest eventually takes hold and morning inevitably arrives, yet we are still together. Perhaps by force of will, we somehow managed to tether each other to the earth and we have done the same – every night since.


Stiles is real, and he is here with me – where he belongs. Right now, it's just after dawn. Rosy sunlight is beginning to peek through the blinds. A cobalt sky is streaked with clouds and tinted with shades of pink, lavender, and best of all, amber like the flecks in his remarkable eyes. I love Stiles in the morning. There is an ease about him in those early hours – his morning voice sweet, and soft, and low; he's sleepy eyed, messy haired, and unhurried. He's lighter in the morning, before the weight of the world, that he so diligently works to shrug off at night, remembers him, catches up with him in the daylight, and climbs back on his shoulders. He's lying next to me; his head resting on a pillow that is draped with my hair, his scent enveloping me, and his beautiful face buried in the crook of my neck. Half-asleep, he plants kisses there, telling me he loves me with every blessed one – and I adore him more that I even thought possible yesterday.

The window is open, letting cool air into the room, but his body is so warm and inviting that I can feel myself melt into him. I can hear a breeze swishing the leaves that are in the trees and on the ground outside. This is a sound that previously instilled an intense fear, deep inside my bones. The same sound I heard when Stiles was taken from me; wind gusting around us as figures I could not see, channeled threats to erase my love through the sound of rustling leaves. I thought it would be impossible to hear that sound again without the reflexive shuddering it triggered in me, but Stiles miraculously transformed it. In the quiet hours of the night he returned, when he was above me – eyes laced with desire, lips linked with mine, heart thundering against my trembling hands, warm skin connecting with every part of me – he told me he loved me with words, and touches, and looks…over the sound of rustling leaves outside that same open window. He repeated it…again and again, until all of the fear dissipated and morphed into comfort. Now, when I hear that familiar sound, Stiles is still telling me he loves me, without ever having to utter a word – and it reminds me that the best thing I ever did in my life was fall impossibly in love with Mieczyslaw Stilinski.