When Lydia opened her eyes, she was staring into the beautiful hazel eyes of the boy she cared so much for. The way he was looking at her. . . It twisted her stomach up into knots in the most wonderful way. Her eyes were wide and her lips were still slightly pursed and he looked confused, but in that moment everything was all right. And in that moment it was like the sun came out.

Stiles breathed out slowly and shakily. "H-how'd you do that?" he whispered gently. To Lydia's relief his breathing had slowed, and she tried to pay attention to what he was saying but all she could do was study his face with her bright green eyes.

"I, uh, I read once that . . ." she started, "holding your breath could stop a panic attack." She paused before saying the next words. "So, when I kissed you. . ." she paused again, "you held your breath."

Stiles's eyes never left Lydia's. "I did?"

"Yeah," she answered, listening to the sweet sound of his steady breathing, "you did."

He nodded softly, a sort of pout overshadowing his mouth. "Thanks." His smile was small, almost unrecognizable, but the way he looked at her. . . "That was really smart."

Lydia made a noise of disbelief before almost biting her lip, her hands in light fists as she put them down on her thighs. She ran them up the length and put them down on the ground, changing her position so she could sit more on her side. Stiles copied her movements, and the way they both shifted brought them closer together. "I just. . . I don't know. I just read it somewhere," she repeated, not knowing what else to say. She hit her leg with her hand again, not knowing what else to do. She felt like she didn't know what she should be doing with her hands, where they should go. Or her lips, should she be biting them or leaving them alone? And don't get her started on her eyes. Where to look? At Stiles? At the ground? Her palms felt sweaty, and her heart felt like it was in her throat. Just his presence beside her all of the sudden made her feel nervous. And there was something else. . .

Lydia never felt this way with Jackson. Things were very hot and heavy, push and shove, 'bop-to-the-top-or-I'll-dump-you-in-the-garbage' kind of thing. She was the best of the best, the most popular girl in school, and a natural-born leader. Jackson was the most popular boy in school, the captain of the lacrosse team, and had just the right jerk personality to push people around with. They were the perfect pair.

"Lydia, I've had a crush on you since the third grade, and I know that somewhere inside that cold, lifeless exterior there's an actual human soul. And I'm also pretty sure that I'm the only one who knows how smart you really are. And that once you're done pretending being a nitwit, you'll eventually go off and write some insane mathematical theorem that wins you the Nobel Prize."

Lydia would never talk about her intelligence with Jackson, and he never noticed it. Smart, nerdy girls weren't popular, they were small and insignificant. At least to Jackson Whittemore. He didn't have time for a girl with a 4.0 in Biology. So she hid it. "A cougar is a mountain lion. Isn't it?" A few slip-ups but she always caught herself.

And then Jackson left. But Stiles was there, helping her embrace what she was, helping her figure out that she was 'something'. Around him she never hid her genius, she ran her mouth with complicated words he didn't understand and she knew he didn't mind. Because he knew that she was smarter than him and maybe it annoyed him sometimes but he didn't mind. And it was her intelligence that just stopped his panic attack. The grateful looks he was giving her, it made her heart swell.

The quiet between them was lasting too long, and Lydia knew that they would soon cross the line between nice and sweet, and just plain awkward. She got to her feet, and stood up. Stiles's eyes followed her every move.

"I should . . . get to class," she told him. He nodded, giving her that smile once more. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she left the locker room, feeling like she was walking on air.

"Well someone's in a good mood today."

Lydia turned to her side to see her best friend, Allison Argent. The brunette smiled at her, walking with her down the hallway. This was good; the one person who she wanted to talk to most was here. She could tell her friend anything and everything. That's what best friend were for, right? She grabbed Allison's arm and pulled her into an empty classroom, closing the door behind them.

"Whoa, what's up?" she asked her strawberry-blonde friend. Lydia wrung her hands together, pacing in front of the board while Allison leaned against one of the desks.

"I kissed Stiles," she began. Her friend's eyes widened slightly, and she rambled on before the brunette could say anything. After all, it was innocent, right? "He was having a panic attack and I thought– hey! I remember this one thing that I read that said holding your breath could stop a panic attack! And I, I don't know, I guess I just thought the best way to do that was to put my lips on his. . ." Okay, it wasn't sounding so innocent after all. Who gets someone to hold their breath by kissing them? She could have just as easily plugged his nose and covered his mouth with her hand for a second or two. So why–

Lydia stopped thinking when she heard Allison chuckle. "What?" she asked, exasperated. Her friend smiled widely at her.

"You like him."

The banshee's eyes grew. What was her friend saying? "Don't be crazy!" she tried to convince her. But her friend only rolled her eyes.

"Lydia, you could've just plugged his nose and put your hand over his mouth. But instead, you kissed him. Why do you think that is? Be honest."

Damn that girl for knowing her mind just as well as she did. So she actually started thinking about it. Did she, Lydia Martin, actually have feelings for Stiles Stilinski? The boy who had a crush on her since the third grade? The boy who took her to Grade 10 formal, the only boy who ever really gave a damn about her . . .?

"Fine!" She sighed in an exaggerated way, throwing her arms up and sitting in the chair matched with the desk Allison was leaning on. "But I don't know what to feel, okay? It's like whenever I'm around him, I just. . . I don't know how to describe it, I just. . . Feel good."

The brunette smiled at her friend. "I know what you're feeling. It's the same feeling I have for Scott. When I'm around him I feel like I'm on a cloud, like nothing can hurt me."

And that's how she felt. Protected. Invincible. Because some part of her knew that Stiles would do anything to keep her from harm.

"And if you die? I will literally go out of my freakin' mind."

She was going to tell Allison that, that she was right, that that's exactly how she feels right now– when a red light went off in her head. "Wait a second, Allison, you and Scott aren't together anymore." The hunter's mouth opened and her face told Lydia that she was going to explain everything to her, probably how she still loved Scott regardless of them being together. But she couldn't hear her because at that moment, she had chosen to look to the back of the classroom. And sitting on the floor, propped against the wall was Stiles, with a look of hatred she had only seen once before on him. When she was by his side, his arm around her as they backed away from the Nogitsune charging at them.

Lydia got out of the chair, not able to hear any of Allison's protests. The world had gone mute. The only thing she could hear was the boy's breathing, and her footsteps. She walked toward the back of the room, and Stiles's eyes fixated on her, that look . . . that look of determination and anger written all over his face.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked in a steady voice. Lydia's eyes narrowed, and her mouth gapped open slightly. This had to be some kind of banshee hallucination. This couldn't be real.

"Stiles–"

"Scott's not going to let you leave." His words dripped with malice and the strength of a man whose time was running out. Lydia didn't understand. Leave where? The school? Why would she be leaving? But before the strawberry-blonde could speak another word, Stiles's eyes trailed down to her side. Lydia looked down at her hand, which now occupied a metal baseball bat.

"Lydia!"

She whipped around to face Allison, her friend's eyebrows raised slightly. She looked worried. Lydia stared back down at her hand but the baseball bat was gone. She was starting to think her friend had a reason to be worried. When the banshee looked back at the wall, Stiles was gone, too. Lydia blinked a couple of times, then turned back to Allison.

"Are you okay?" she asked her friend, walking over to her. She tugged at her hand lightly, pulling her to the door. "C'mon, let's get to class, alright? Maybe Bio will clear your head."

Lydia walked down the hall with all of her friends– Stiles by her side and Scott next to him with his arm around Allison. For a few moments, the world seemed like a perfect fantasy. Like a dream. Unfortunately, Lydia should've known from past experience how fast dreams can turn into nightmares.

They were only ten or so short steps from the end of the hallway, when something caught in the corner of her eye. Lydia looked to the side of the hall, to the lockers, where Kira was sitting. Her wrist was cuffed to one of the lockers, and it looked to her that the handcuff was biting into her skin. Her head was bleeding slightly, like she had been hit by something. She looked scared. So, so scared.

Lydia stopped walking, staring at the sight of Kira, who was now staring back at her with frightened eyes. And then the kitsune released a blood-curdling scream. The banshee covered her ears and fell to her knees, trying to block out the sound. It hurt her, something was happening, something was hurting her– No, that's not right. Something was hurting Kira.

"Lydia?"

When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the hallway with Allison again. She was leaning against some lockers, watching as Stiles and Scott made their way into the school. They waved at the two girls as they passed by them on the way to their class.

"I want one," Lydia heard herself say, staring after Stiles as he walked down the hall. Allison laughed.

"Yeah, well one of those boys is mine, so you'll just have to stick with the other one."

"Trust me, I couldn't be more okay with that."

But Lydia was confused with the words coming out of her mouth. She remembered herself saying that, leaning against the lockers, watching two boys come into the school. But that wasn't Stiles and Scott. That was Ethan and Aidan. Something was wrong. She just couldn't place it quite yet.

"You're still coming to the dance, right?" Allison interrupted her thoughts. "I mean, I don't want to go alone since Scott can't go. Y'know, because he has detention and Coach is making him pick lacrosse. You should totally go with Stiles. I see you eying him lately, and I already know he really likes you–"

It was what Allison said that shot up more red lights. The dance. Scott not being able to go because of Coach. Her going with Stiles.

"I thought you weren't together with Scott anymore?" Lydia heard herself ask. "Because of the thing that happened that night at the school?" What was she saying? But Allison just shook her head.

"No, we're still together."

"Huh."

Lydia was starting to second-guess herself. Of course Allison and Scott were still together. He would always love her, and she would always love him. What could possibly keep them apart?

And then Lydia's heart squeezed painfully. She suddenly knew what was wrong. She knew why Scott and Allison weren't together anymore. She couldn't see it before, maybe because she didn't want to. But now she remembered, and now she knew that she couldn't just let it slide like seeing Stiles and Kira. This wasn't a hallucination this time.

"Allison. . ." Lydia started, her throat starting to swell with the tears threatening to flow.

"Yeah?"

Her lip trembled slightly. "You're dead."

The brunette closed her locker. She sighed, and didn't look at Lydia for a long, long time. Then, after a few moments, she finally did. The smile she gave her friend was a sad, painful one.

"I know."

Suddenly, there was a bright light, brighter than anything Lydia had ever seen before. It blocked out Allison, it blocked out everything, and then there was this pain. It shot up her spine, and she could feel it in her limps, in her hands, in her feet, in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting it to be over, wanting the horrible feeling in her gut to go away. But when the pain faded away, it was replaced with a feeling of nothingness. Untethered. Unanchored. Lost.

And above everything else, cold. When Lydia opened her eyes, she was lying on a cold, hard surface. She was aware of the breeze that coated her naked body. She felt her matted hair at her shoulders, tangled with twigs and leaves and dirt. She tried to cover herself, tried to get warm, but she couldn't. She could only feel the cold, only wish that someone would find her soon.

Someone's feet walked into her line of vision, and crouched down next to her. It was Stiles, only it wasn't. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and his hair was tousled and tangled. He smiled maliciously at her. The terrible feeling inside her got worse with his presence.

"Hi Lydia," he spoke. He didn't sound like Stiles. His voice wasn't filled with worry, like she knew her Stiles's would be. He wasn't trying to help her, wasn't trying to protect her. He wasn't calling his dad for help, or giving her his jacket. No, he just stared at her with the same devious smile, and making the bad feeling grow and grow.

The Nogitsune traced his fingers down the length of her body lightly. Lydia gritted her teeth, her body shivering at the touch. He chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm in control now," he told her. "And you're going to stay here. Maybe you'll freeze to death. Although, this is all just in your head, so. . ." He laughed. "Wait a minute, this isn't even your head anymore. It's mine." He stood up, his eyes racking over her body. The wind howled and a gust of air blew by, causing Lydia to shiver violently and let out a small cry. The Nogitsune smiled again, her form shifting into the body of the same strawberry-blonde on the ground, only clean and dressed.

"Goodbye, Lydia."