Fearing that something would happen to her, Stiles follows Lydia until she reaches the bench where she will wait for her taxi. Deep down, he also wishes for her to remember him, to defy the laws of the universe and force him to abandon that idea so that they wouldn't have to part now, not so soon.
Unshed tears are blinding him, and something heavy settles in his stomach. He tries to remember that he is doing the right thing, the only thing he can do to save her. But when he sees her tottering on the dirt road in front of him, her big suitcase in one hand and the sleeve of his hoodie pressed against her heart, he isn't sure about anything anymore…except that his arms feel empty.
He can't hear what she is saying, but he knows she is trying to understand what's happening. He can see it in the way she frantically sits down, looks around her, and stands up a few seconds later. There must be something inside of her – maybe even his own memory – fighting to get her attention because she keeps looking back in his direction.
The first time she does it, Stiles doesn't know whether his heart is aching with sorrow or leaping with joy. Even if the forest and its shadows are hiding him, her eyes automatically find his. But her stare is empty. Something pulls at his heart, and he lets his body lean heavily against the nearest tree, breaking the frail connection to her as he looks down. It awakens the pain in his shoulder. He forces himself to keep his eyes down, but there's something tugging too hard at his entire body and soul, some kind of magnetism that is drawing him to her. It's hard to resist it, and he is already using all of his strength to keep his feet grounded, to prevent them from running to her. So, he allows his stare to drift to her to ease the pain in his heart a little, but his arms still feel empty.
She is staring at the suitcase now, probably frowning. The moon is full, and its harsh light accentuates the incongruous color of the suitcase. It's green, but it's the wrong shade of green, nothing like the color of Lydia's beautiful green eyes. For a minute, Stiles is frustrated with himself because he never took the time to find a name for that unique hue of green, and he is afraid he won't be able to remember the exact shade. He notices the stole slung over his shoulder. He doesn't recall taking it, but that's the color of her eyes. In a way, it provides some comfort for him. It helps him remember the long hours he spent as a kid trying to find the right colored pencils to draw her. It wasn't just the green one for her eyes and the orange one for her hair. He also needed the blue one, the yellow and sometimes even the red and the white. Lydia has all the rainbow's colors in her.
Quickly, tears prickle at his eyes. His arms are too heavy without her to lighten them with the shivers her fingers leave on his skin, and his feet are itching to get to her. "It's alright. It's gonna be alright," he whispers into the light breeze, half for him and half hoping the wind will carry his words to her ear and soothe her a little.
Stiles can't begin to imagine what it must feel like for her, being alone in a place she doesn't know without anything but a foreign suitcase, and he hates himself for leaving her in such distress. He is about to force himself to go back to the inn, when Lydia turns her stare to him. Again. She is looking at him, he feels it in his entire body and at that moment, a warm peace spreads through him. He doesn't know if it's coming from her, or from him, or maybe from the warmth their two hearts are creating with the energy they use, longing for each other.
He stands still and so does she. He can hear his own heart beating in his ears, and it feels like they are silently communicating because he can sense her features relaxing. It should be impossible, but Stiles has learned that this word doesn't apply to them. He doesn't question the feeling. It's a welcome break for his body.
Abruptly, Lydia averts her eyes and sits down on the bench, looking at the folded paper in her hands. Stiles only sees her back, but he can feel her tensing. He understands that she can't figure out what she is reading, so he breathes slowly in and out, begging the wind to carry his breaths to her to help her lungs expand and welcome fresh air. She relaxes, and it relieves Stiles for a second before his arms remind him that they are painfully useless without her. He doesn't know how much longer he can handle the ache.
He closes his eyes, focusing on his feet which have taken a few steps forward on their own. But it's hard to force them to go backwards. He realizes that he may never be able to go back to the inn. What will happen when the taxi comes, she gets in and leaves him with nothing but an empty road in front of him? Will he stay there, hoping to see her come back to him? Will he wait here for the Ghost Riders to take him?
A panic attack starts to constrict his chest. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists, ready to fight it, when suddenly, a bubble of warmth bursts inside of him and spreads all over his body. Stiles has no idea where it's coming from, but it reminds him of what he feels when Lydia smiles at him in that way that is only meant for him to see. It encourages him to open his eyes. A few tears rolls down his cheeks. Even though he feels a little better, he can still feel that nagging pain in his heart. He needs to breathe. He brings the stole to his nose, leaning against a tree and breathing through the fabric. Lydia's scent invades his nostrils, and he has to close his eyes to not burst into tears, but it helps. Her scent spreads through him and heals all his aches, helps his lungs to expand and his heart to find a more natural rhythm. He pictures Lydia smiling at him – in his Jeep, at their table in the library, across the hallway, when they randomly meet in the street, all those times when he feels like her lips are grazed by his invisible fingers and draw the most perfect smile for him. Only for him. When he opens his eyes, he feels as peaceful as if his arms had found something in the air to hold on to.
The threat of the panic attack is gone, but he still can't find it in himself to go back to the inn, so he turns around to look at her. Clenching the stole around him, he feels his heart jump to his throat when he sees her in front of the open suitcase with his hoodie over her head, zipped up to her chin and her hand tightening its grip around it. As she takes a piece of chocolate, he feels something warm expend in his chest. It feels too good to be real. How could they be connected like this? How can he come to understand the full meaning of their connection if he isn't with her anymore? He lets his body glide down against the tree and forces himself to close his eyes, fighting back his tears. His brain seems to have shut down, leaving his shattered heart all alone, surrounded by howling emotions that he can't seem to tame.
He doesn't know what to think anymore, but his body reacts. He stands up, arms still feeling empty, and for a moment it seems like he will never know happiness again if he doesn't immediately get to Lydia. He doesn't have to look at her to know their bodies are aching to follow the same choreography, to maintain their connection. When he feels another wave of panic overwhelming him, he knows she feels it too. That knowledge is worse than the sensation of panic itself.
He is pacing now, torn between reason that is commanding him to stick to his plan – though he has completely forgotten why – and that longing inside of him that would be so easy to soothe. Suddenly out of breath, he has to lean one hand on a tree to support himself. His lungs are tight and his legs are giving way under him. He drops to the ground and crawls until he can lean his back against a tree trunk.
He is losing Lydia. Maybe she is starting to forget about him, and their connection is slowly fading away. The sensation of loss is so strong that it reminds him of her catatonic body in Eichen House – her eyes wide open but her stare empty, her frail heartbeat under his palm and her cold skin. He crumples into tears. He thought he had sensed her in that nightmarish place, thought he had been able to reach her somehow, and it had given him enough hope to come up with a plan to save her. But everything is ruined now and it's crushing him.
The silence is broken by her cries of desperation. They pierce right through Stiles's heart and he can't do anything but turn his head to look at her. She's huddled up on herself, sitting on the ground. A few strands of her hair escape the hoodie, but in the moonlight, Stiles doesn't even recognize their color. They are even paler than earlier, as if all the life has been drained from them. He bumps his head against the tree several times in frustration. He can't do this…
Then, Lydia suddenly stands, and Stiles doesn't feel their connection anymore. There is nothing between them but emptiness, and he feels himself get carried someplace else. Can the Ghost Riders take him without having to be there? Is this what it feels like to be erased from everyone's memory?
His heart is racing, and he stands up again. He isn't sure he'll be able to follow through with his plan… He is scared, and for the first time in a while, he is fully aware how young they all are, how they shouldn't have to face these kinds of situations. He just wants to get to her. He needs her.
Lydia isn't herself anymore. She is frantic, desperate, and when she takes the hoodie off, Stiles wants to rush to her, give her something warmer to wrap around herself.
He knows that if the taxi doesn't arrive soon, he won't be able to take it any longer. He's mirroring her every move as he nervously rakes his hand through his hair. He paces, taking a few steps towards her…then towards the inn, and not being able to decide what to do. The plan. He has to stick to the plan… But how could he leave her like this when she has become her own shadow? Her body is there, but her mind seems to have escaped.
Then, as if it was always meant to happen, something breaks inside of him. He mutters something underneath his breath as his body freezes while watching her, and he can't remember why he thought any of this was the right thing to do in the first place. He wipes his eyes and without waiting any longer, he rushes to her. As he calls her name, he can feel the strings around his heart loosen with each step, soothing his entire body.
She says his name before they collide, and hope bursts with the strength of a thousand fireworks inside of Stiles. He is still crying when his arms finally envelop her, finally filling the void between them.
The warmth of her body, the sensation of her hands and her hair give him a new breath. It feels like she is reshaping him, carving his body and mind out of a bundle of flesh and bones, and he swears never to part from her again. He has no idea what he saying to her, or what he is doing either because she is everywhere, and Stiles wants to give her all he is, all he has…if that's what she needs, what they need. Her lips graze his, but they are gone so quickly that he thinks he must have imagined it. He promises her countless times never to leave her. Never again. He kisses her again and again, because the sensation of her lips on his skin spreads shivers all over his body, and he wants to give her just as much as she is giving him. He wants to be enough. God, please, let me be enough, he keeps thinking when she looks at him in between kisses. Because the decision he just made is maybe his most selfish one ever, and he is afraid.
But the most beautiful words escape her lips, hushing all those voices in his head, "I told you I couldn't forget you."
There's a spark in her eyes, something beautiful that reflects every light in the sky and warms his heart. He understands. He translates her words and answers in the same language.
"I knew you wouldn't. It was never a question."
She smiles at him, and even in the night, he can see all her colors, the green in her eyes, the pink on her cheeks and the flame in her hair.
"I missed you," she tells him, her voice catching as she squeezes his hands.
Stiles doesn't know how long they've been holding hands like that, but he has no intention of letting go. He brings her closer, whispering, "I missed you too," as he takes her in his arms, finally exhaling.
They sway slowly from right to left and left to right, completely obvious to the world around them, until they can both feel that their hearts aren't aching anymore. Stiles doesn't know if he is the first one to hold tighter, but he eventually presses harder into her back, responding to the melody of her faint moaning sigh.
She grasps his hair more tightly, rising on the tip of her toes. "We should go to sleep," she whispers in his ear, her lips skimming his skin.
Stiles nods against her and lays a kiss under her ear before pulling away.
Over the next few days, they would talk a lot about the events that followed.
After Lydia fretted about his shoulder and Stiles told her he didn't feel any pain, they walked in silence towards the inn…until they came face to face with the immobile silhouette of a Ghost Rider, and they froze.
Lydia wouldn't remember that Stiles had talked to her, squeezing her hand a little tighter and telling her to run. She wouldn't remember because at that very moment, her mind was entirely focused on trying to understand what the creature in front of them was trying to communicate to her. It would only occur to her later on that she was actually able to see it, and what that implied.
What she would remember very clearly would be the horror and anger she felt when she finally understood the meaning of the images the Ghost Rider was trying to impose on her. Without taking a second to ponder what to do, she cut the communication short and screamed, pushing Stiles aside at the last second and telling him to cover his ears. The Ghost Rider's body was catapulted against a tree, and it didn't stand up again. Around them, dozens of lightning flashes hit the ground, vanishing all the other Ghost Riders that were hidden in the shadows.
Incredulous, Stiles had gaped at Lydia. When she asked him, still panting, if he had heard what the Ghost Rider said, he answered that he had only heard her scream.
They walked back to the inn, unable to speak, their shaken minds trying to catch up with everything that had happened in a single night. Their hands remained interlaced, Lydia gripping Stiles's like one would grip a lifebelt in the middle of the ocean. He was the only thing making sense at that moment.
Since then, she hasn't been able to stop thinking about it.
The day is breaking at the horizon. The trees are slowly casting their shadows against the wooden floor, and the birds have been singing for a long time. The adrenaline has worn off, but sleep won't take her. There are too many things to sort out, to clarify, too many things that need to be said between them. And this time, Lydia fears that she has reached the limits of her ability to think.
The more she considers it, the more she thinks that what the Ghost Rider showed her wasn't meant to frighten her, like she first thought, but simply to present her what would happen if she accepted their deal. They had taken her for their ally, and the idea alone is enough to make her skin crawl. Did they really think all this time that she would be willing to give them Stiles? It was already inconceivable three days earlier, and the mere notion was even more unbearable now. Because now, she knows what he will have to go through, alone in a place that doesn't exist in space, or in time, being prey to the deepest loneliness and the darkest despair.
No matter what she does, her thoughts keep circling back to a vision that is slowly devouring her heart. She closes her eyes, fighting with all her strength against tears she knows are waiting to fill her eyes and burn against her eyelids. Her emotions are getting too strong, too violent and she doesn't know how to handle them, how to express them.
With a quick sweep of her wrist, she wipes her eyes and realizes she's quivering. It's stupid. She wishes she could turn around to face Stiles, shake him awake because he didn't have the right to tell her he loves her right before abandoning her – to leave her alone in a world where he wouldn't be there, but where she would still feel his distress. She imagines letting the tears run down her entire face, shaking Stiles while screaming her anger in rambling sentences…until all that raw emotion peeled itself away to reveal its core. A core she pictures like the one in an apricot, solid and too big for such a small fruit. A core with sharp edges that would keep carving its shape into her heart after staying concealed for so long. With what was left of her strength, she would have withdrawn it from her own heart to give it to him; bloody but solid, everlasting and as big as his heart. His wonderful heart, whose beats have never stopped influencing hers, ever since she allowed herself to accept more than Reese's from him. In a watery smile, she would tell him she loves him too and that she won't allow him to sacrifice himself. They would kiss for real this time and with his beautiful hands, he would bandage her wounds. And she would finally know what it feels like, what his eyes really mean when they look at her.
But Lydia doesn't know how to do that.
Her anger is there. It's seething under the surface and it's giggling because it knows her.
Her anger knows her all too well. It knows that it is born out of frustration, out of an inability to express who she really is, what she really feels.
Her anger thinks it provides her protection, something she couldn't live without.
It has a petty voice, never too loud. Sometimes, her anger sounds like a snake, hissing in the ears of those she runs into.
Lydia tells herself that if her anger is a bit louder today, maybe that's because it's afraid. Maybe, if she wins this last fight against herself, it will lose its power over her.
When the first tentative ray of sunshine licks the horizon, giving an almost red shade to the clouds hanging low above the treetops, Lydia stands up. She tries to move as carefully as possible to not wake Stiles up and she glances at him. A smile crosses her lips. Never has a stake as been this high, this worthy.
And she feels ready.
As if challenging her and testing her will, a draft glides against her neck, working its way into her shirt. Without a second thought, she puts Stiles's blue hoodie on, relishing for an instant in the peaceful quietness that overwhelms her mind and the warmth spreading through her body.
"Is everything alright?" Stiles's voice startles her and she turns around. Just like her, he is fully awake. "You can't sleep?" he asks her while straightening up in the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees under the sheet.
Lydia shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. Her stare loses itself in the forest outside and she can't help but see a deeper significance in this odd red shade spreading in the sky in cotton balls above the trees, that seems to exhale blood. The fight has begun.
"I'm not tired."
"Me neither…" Stiles lets his voice trail off, and Lydia turns to look at him, waiting for the rest of his sentence which comes a few seconds later. "I… I can't believe you can see them now…" He closes his eyes and exhales slowly in his hands before letting them fall on his knees, revealing eyes redden by the lack of sleep and tears too often wiped in silence.
"Stiles…" Lydia feels inside of her a wave of warmth and she burns to join him, take him in her arms to reassure him, but as she is about to sit in front of him, he continues in a weary voice.
"I put you in danger, I should have waited until tomorrow. It was irresponsible to let you go in the middle of the night…"
Those words send an electric shock through Lydia, and she feels her entire body tense, her face closing up. Her anger's venom leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Excuse me? You should have waited for what?"
Stiles must sense the change in her attitude because he lifts his eyes to look at her and freezes? "I uh…"
"You should have waiting until morning to drop me by the side of the road like I'm a dead weight? Waited until morning to get rid of this helpless girl that's been nothing but a liability?"
Lydia is delirious, she feels it in her voice and in her hands that can't stop shaking. She hides them in the pockets of her hoodie and pours out all of her anger on Stiles, not even noticing that his face is turning paler with every knife-like word she throws at him. Her fingers graze a piece of paper in the pocket and she takes it out. She unfolds it and tosses it into the air. It falls between them, the words Wild Hunt staring at the ceiling, accusing and useless.
"Lydia, I didn't—"
"How… How am I supposed to feel when you say you love me and then try to get rid of me, to make me go back to Beacon Hills? How can you behave like the most perfect human being…to reassure me, and be gentler…and more considerate…more respectful than anyone has ever been with me and then use it…to force me to forget about you? How can you give up on me? After everything, how…how can you give up on us?"
Her voice breaks over her last words, and she turns around to hide her tears. She knows Stiles must notice her shoulders jolting with sobs, but maybe if she doesn't make too much noise, he won't see her crying. Her anger is still smothering her. It grips her throat and she doesn't have any other recourse than to let her tears out because her heart is shattered in millions of pieces, and she refuses to take the easy option by putting up walls between them. Not now. She has to resist. She has to fight against the anger that hisses in her ear, tells her that he doesn't love her, tells her that he doesn't need her, and that he only said those words to make sure she would remember him.
He loves her. Of course, he does. She has always known.
Finding the strength to rekindle the hope that has led her here becomes more and more vital. She can't let her anger drive her crazy, but it feels like moving forward in slow motion against more and more violent gusts of wind, with a single match in her hand to lighten her way. A small amber-orange halo, flickering with each step.
Ever since she started talking, her anger keeps screaming the word selfish. Stiles has been selfish. It tells her that he was only thinking about himself when he left her. It tells her, her own distress never occurred to him, not even for a single second. Or even worse, it tells her that Stiles wanted to see her like that, to see her suffer for him…like he suffered for her during all those years.
But Lydia knows none of that is true, and she won't say that word. If she does, she will kill him because she pays enough attention to him to know that's what his own mind calls himself in his darkest hours. Selfish. She knows that is the exact word that makes him suffer when he thinks about the Nogitsune and about Allison… Her anger won't put that word in her mouth. She refuses to let it, and she struggles.
Instead, she keeps crying, feeling that she won't be able to stop unless Stiles helps her. She keeps talking in rambling sentences, telling him everything she felt on that road – about that dreadful void gnawing at her soul and about that piece of hope screaming inside of her, the one filling her with agony, leaving her unable to soothe it because she had no idea where it was hidden.
At one point, she realizes that she has stopped talking, and she hears Stiles crying. "I'm so sorry, Lydia…"
Inside, her anger hushed, and silence is slowly wrapping her mind in its comforting arms. She only hears the echo of her beating heart and Stiles's voice.
"I'm so sorry," he repeats.
She can't stand to see him like this, so she rushes towards him and kneels on the mattress. Her weight pulls his body to her, and she circles his shoulders with her arms as she sits next to him. She whispers his name, pressing him against her when she buries her nose in his hair. His scent invades her nostrils, and she slowly inhales, letting the softness of his hair carry her towards better tomorrows. She feels his hands tightening around her forearms and his head nuzzling against her chest.
He's trembling under his sobs and she doesn't need him to clearly articulate to understand what he's saying, "Forgive me, please forgive me. I'm begging you. I… I only did it to protect you. Lydia, you have to trust me…
Tears keep streaming down his face, dampening the fabric of her shirt. The sensation of his mouth moving so close to her breasts is making her dizzy and all the sudden, the only thing she can focus on is to stop him from crying.
She presses him tighter against her. "I forgive you, Stiles, of course I forgive you." Uttering between sobs, she kisses his skull with each word, letting her lips lose themselves in the softness of his hair once again. Her cheeks have never known such caresses, and she barely notices that she is letting out soft moans.
After a while, she feels Stiles loosen his embrace, and she pulls back. His eyes have never been this red and hers must be the exact same shade. He leans over the bedside table to retrieve the Kleenex box and hands one to Lydia before taking one for himself. Then, she kneels before him on the bed and they both blow their noses, letting their sobs slowly fade away.
When Stiles speaks, his voice is full and round, still swollen from the leftovers of his tears. "You have to believe me… The last thing I want is to leave you, but… It's not fair to you… If I want to protect you, I need to stop thinking about what I want."
Lydia remains silent. She feels her anger coming up to the surface at the same time as a budding fondness, and she understands that the fight against herself isn't over.
She wipes her eyes with the tissue and takes a few deep breaths.
"Stiles, what did I tell you after what happened with that werewolf earlier?" Before he has the time to answer or object, Lydia stands up and continues. "I want to be with you. It's my decision, and even if I'm scared, even if have no idea how we are going to cope…there's no way I'm leaving you alone. Do you hear me?" Despite her efforts, she can't erase her aggravated tone. So, she prays for some kind of divine intervention to help Stiles read the love in her eyes as well as in her smiles. "When I tell you I can't forget you, it's not just wishful thinking, it's the truth! I can protect you against them, even more now that I can see them. You saw what my scream did, right? Separating from you isn't going to protect me. It's… It's…"
Selfish, whispers her anger. But she won't say that word, so she stops, breathless. When she glances at Stiles, she can see the pain in his eyes and her heart leaps to her throat. She doesn't need to pronounce it for him to hear it.
"Selfish?" he offers in a breath, lowering his head and closing his eyes.
"No, Stiles," she immediately replies as she moves closer and sits in front of him again, lifting his chin from the tip of her fingers. She doesn't know where the sudden softness in her voice is coming from but she can still feel her anger pacing somewhere inside of her. "No, Stiles, that's not what I mean. There's nothing selfish about any decision you made. Nothing."
His eyes finally shine with something else than tears and Lydia smiles. A tentative smile that he reproduces probably without noticing.
"Stiles, I… I'm tired of crying." She has to stop speaking to contain her sobs, and Stiles takes her left hand, keeping it close to his cheek to kiss her palm.
"Me too," he murmurs.
Lydia nibbles at her lips, not knowing how to resume. There are too many things in her head, too many emotions jostling around. She wants to take him in her arms, stop talking, and fall asleep pressed against him, but she needs to finish what she started.
"But I'm crying because you won't hear me when I tell you that I want to stay with you." Lydia takes her hand back and it is fidgeting on her lap. Her voice is weak because she fears that what she wants to say might drown under her emotions if she speaks any louder. "I'm crying because since we left Beacon Hills, I know you've been ready to let them take you…and that scares me. It scares me even more now that I know you actually would let them to protect me. But it won't protect me, Stiles, not at all. Because I'll do anything to find you again." She lifts her eyes and dives into his stare. Her heart is beating so loud and strong that she has to take a few seconds to swallow slowly and catch her breath. "Can we just agree that this wasn't a good idea and promise you'll never do it again?"
She watches as he nibbles at his lips, tilting his face slightly and she knows he has something to object. Before he even opens his mouth, a wave of desperation crashes over her, chilling her to the bones and releasing her anger from its hiding place, as if it had never been weakened. Lydia closes her eyes, only opening them when she feels the caresses of Stiles's fingers on hers.
"Lydia, it's not that I don't trust your abilities, or that I don't want you with me. It's so not that, it's actually the opposite, but – "
"But what?"
He doesn't answer right away. She understands that her two words have hit him like a slap in the face as he lets himself fall against the headboard, closing his eyes.
"Nothing…"
"Nothing?" She waits a few seconds, staring at him and expecting the rest of his sentence, but his eyes are filled with words she's afraid to hear, so she closes hers, sighing. There are tears at the corner of her eyes and it's a reflex for her to slowly stand up to hide them from him. She goes to the window, feeling her anger laugh at her. In the sky, the clouds seem to catch fire. "Nothing?" she repeats a little louder, turning around. Stiles is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her and his head in his hands. "What do you mean, nothing?"
She sees him slowly standing up to pace between the door and the bed. He shrugs and stops when he hears her question. When he speaks, his voice quivers faintly at the end. "You don't hear me anyway."
"Stiles…" she moves towards him with a firm step, but he abruptly turns, and she stops in the middle of the room. "But what?" She can hear the pleading tone in her voice and does nothing to hide it.
His hand covers his face and he heaves a long sigh. Tears of rage accumulate in Lydia's throat when she thinks he won't answer, but after a few seconds, he bursts out.
"I don't want you to steal! Okay? I don't want to turn you into a run-away and a thief. I don't want you to put yourself in danger for me, to lie for me, to risk your life and your future… You… Do you think MIT is going to overlook a criminal record? That you'll be able to work on some super-secret States project, or do ground breaking research for…I don't know…NASA?" He turns away and paces before coming back to her, then resumes speaking before she has time to retort. "The problem, Lydia, is that as usual, you don't care about yourself, or about your future, about your life. I have enough trust in you and Scott to know you'll figure something out, and that you'll save me. Why risk your future if we can find another solution? You're… You're too precious to risk everything for me…for anyone actually. I won't… I won't do those things to you too. I won't. I couldn't live knowing you felt obligated to sacrifice what you really want from life to save me."
Lydia gapes at him for a moment. She wasn't expecting that and can't think of an answer. Her mind rebels against the idea of putting her so-called future before him and against the idea that he would compare himself to other boys whose names have become irrelevant. But saying this would imply so much more and it's scaring her. Seeing his shoulders sag, she understands that he takes her silence for agreement, and her blood runs cold.
"No." She knows it doesn't make any sense, but it's the only word that summarizes what she feels. She's not prepared to let her anger or her fear take him away from her, so she repeats it, "No".
Stiles's eyes widen. Dawn's light is reflecting in them and colors them in a shade Lydia didn't know they could take. The brown is so bright that it's almost golden-orange, and Lydia is sure that if she turns around, she'll see that same color in the clouds.
"No?" His voice breaks her out of her reverie.
"No." She shakes her head and feels something caressing the top of her head and the rim of her ear, something warms that sends shivers all over her body and waves of solace inside of her.
A ray of sunshine just entered the room, a timid ray that makes its way through the particles of dust to reach Stiles. It lightens his eyes a little more, making them shine and when she turns around, Lydia gapes at the sky above the top of the trees. A deep orange illuminates the clouds and she can't help but see the same color in Stiles's eyes, as if he was the reincarnation of some ancient deity made out of the remnants of a perpetual sun. Everything becomes clear in her mind and when she turns back, words find their way to her mouth without her having to think about them. For the first time since she stood up, her voice is calm and confident.
"We can't go back in time. The Ghost Riders are hunting you, and they're not going to stop until they catch you, or until they're defeated. Do I want us to finish high school and go to college like any other teenager? Yes, of course. But we don't have that choice right now. Maybe it was taken from us back when Peter attacked Scott. I need you to understand that I'll do anything to save you – I'll skip as many classes as I need to, I'll lie, I'll spend all the money I have…and when it runs out, I'll steal if I have to. Hell, I'd hack the FBI's mainframe if would help you. I'll get rid of anyone who stands in my way. I'll do whatever it takes to save you, Stiles…whether I'm with you or not, whether I remember you or not. Do you know why? Because without you in my life, my future doesn't appeal to me. It doesn't have any taste or any color. Because without you, I don't care about MIT and everything that comes with it. Because without you…I'll just be who I was before you came into my life, and that life…I don't want it, whatever it was. I don't feel obligated, Stiles and none of this feels like a sacrifice. Trust me, I know what it's like to…"
She nibbles at her lips, not knowing how to tell him that she doesn't do things for him like she did things for Jackson, or any of the others, but she can't find the words. She is still searching for the words she couldn't find earlier, the ones that describe that alternative to possessive, the ones that describe Stiles in his perfect nature, and she isn't even sure there are words for it.
"Stiles, believe me," she eventually continues, shaking her head. "It's not the same." He understands, she knows he understands.
As she speaks, she doesn't realize that they are both moving forwards. It's only when she feels his hands around her waist that she notices how close they are. This comeback to reality doesn't frighten her, so she doesn't take a step back. With a certain emotion stinging her eyes, she relishes in the feeling that her anger is gone and that instead, a wide peacefulness has overwhelmed her and comforts her. She cups his face in both her hands and pulls him closer to her until she feels the caress of his nose against hers. "I'll do everything I can to save you. Do you hear me? Everything."
Stiles doesn't react right away, so Lydia closes her eyes and gathers the courage to tell him those words that make her heart bleed after trying to punch their way out of for such a long time.
But before she can open her mouth, a murmur escapes Stiles's lips. "Why?"
Something in his tone and in his hands leisurely caressing her hips tells her he already knows. Their bodies find their way back to each other without the influence of their minds. Lydia realizes that all she has to do is glide her hand a little more, towards the back of his head, to bring him closer. She does, and when she feels his lips brushing against hers, she sighs. Stiles mimics her actions and moves his hand into her hair, letting it glide along her neck, his thumb following the outline of her jaw until it reaches the corner of her parted mouth.
"Because…"
She articulates that word in a single breath that Stiles immediately welcomes when he crashes his lips against hers. Lydia can't hold back a long moan, and she leans against him with her entire body, letting him kiss her lips one after the other. The hand he had laid against her hips moves to her lower back, helping Lydia to press herself even closer to him as she burns to feel every inch of him, every beat of his heart. She tilts her head a little, tightens her hands around his face, and parts her lips until she feels the softness of his tongue against hers. Stiles moans and the sound reverberates in her entire body. As she tries to catch her breath, Stiles's thumb, which hasn't left her jaw, pulls her back to him with a smile that contains so much tenderness that she has to stop to admire him for a second.
Then, she lets him steer her, put her arms around his neck before encircling her waist with both of his hands. Lydia doesn't know how he does it, but despite the strength Stiles uses to keep her against him, despite their noses and lips being crushed up against each other, she doesn't feel vulnerable. There's no desire to possess her in his embrace, no display of domination in the way he kisses her, and it makes her want to discover all the ways she can draw those noises out of him…a little louder each time until he completely loses control over what comes out of his mouth. The mere thought makes her shiver and there's a delicious warmth spreading through her entire body. She has never known this very specific tingle, and with a smile against his mouth, she tells herself that this must be a part of the answer she has been searching for. She doesn't know its name yet, but she knows she is getting a glimpse of that alternative she was looking for.
Stiles must feel her smile, because he pulls slightly back, leaning his forehead against hers and smiles too, grazing her lips with his breath before giving them a shy peck as she speaks. "It's the second time you didn't give me time to – "
Panting and smiling, Lydia is cut off by Stiles once again when he kisses her more eagerly. Their bodies resound with moans when Lydia parts her lips as soon as she feels his.
Stiles barely takes the time to pull back to whisper, "You don't have to", before he moves one hand up to her cheek to pull her closer to him and kiss her again.
They both take a sharp inhale, pressing against each other one last time before leaning back. Keeping her eyes closed, Lydia tries to catch her breath, relishing in the pressure of Stiles's forehead and nose against hers and the quick rhythm of his breath.
After a few seconds, she opens her eyes. Stiles is already watching her. Automatically, her fingers find his cheek and follow the outline of his smile and his jaw. She feels her own gaze fall from his eyes to his lips, barely noticing that his figure is bathed in the halo of orange morning light. Against her chest, she feels his heart beat as fast as hers. Lower, his hands clutch at her waist and Lydia realizes that they'll never be close enough to each other, but that she'll spent her life trying to meld into him if she has to.
Gathering the last pieces of her heart to give it to him wholly, she draws a last breath of courage from his lips. "I love you, Stiles. I'll do everything it takes to save you because I love you." She can't breathe until Stiles lays his lips against her again to give her back her breath.
"I love you too. So much… I love you so much, Lydia."
He keeps laying those words in a series of kisses against her lips, then her jaw and neck with a breathless voice before nuzzling his head against her shoulder. Lydia does the same, gliding her hands behind his back.
"Promise me you'll stop trying to sacrifice yourself."
She feels him nod against her and the last knots of tension still in her body suddenly vanish.
"I promise. From now on, it's you and me. But you have to promise me you won't sacrifice yourself either," he pulls away to look at her, and Lydia swallows thickly.
"I promise," she nods. "I promise." He is about to lean back against her neck, but Lydia has to say something more. "Stiles," her heart races, but it's important, and she knows her former self will never be able to come back once she says the words. "It's different…what I feel for you, the way I act…the choices I'm making. It's different because I love you like I've never loved anyone. This is me, with you… I'm me." She is sure she's not making any sense, but she knows Stiles is able to put the words in the right order and in the right sentences. "You believe me, right?" She stifles a nervous chuckle, "I mean, you're rendering me speechless, that has to be a sign, right?"
"I believe you." His smile illuminates his entire face, and Lydia can't resist kissing his lips once again.
They stay in each other's arms for a little while, waiting for their breaths to calm. Then, as if they are realizing all the accumulated tension has finally left them, they start to laugh. Lydia leans against Stiles, tucking her head in the crook of his neck and Stiles wraps her in his arms.
Lydia feels herself drifting off as Stiles slowly rocks them, his lips grazing the rim of her ear.
"I think we should go to sleep," he whispers, and it sends shivers all over her body.
She lifts her head and pecks his lips before nodding with a smile. Tomorrow, she'll have time to tell him what she learned from the Ghost Rider. But for now, the supernatural world can wait because these hours are theirs.
They face each other in bed, their hands interlaced between them. Lydia feels the caress of a ray of sunshine on her back. It warms her just as much as Stiles in front of her. His eyes have an indefinable color now, as if they absorbed even more fragments of the Sun and are reflecting colors from other dimensions.
"What did you mean when you said I didn't have to? Did you know?" she asks him in a voice coated in tiredness and awe.
Before answering, Stiles lowers their hands to lazily kiss her lips. "I suspected… I hoped."
In his voice, she recognizes the inflections she likes so much, the ones it has when tiredness overwhelms him, and worries no longer clutter up his mind. She sees his stare drawing away from hers to fix something above her. A smile crosses his face.
"What?"
Stiles smiles again. "I'm never awake at this hour. That's why I never saw it."
His smile turns contagious, and a laugh bursts out of Lydia's lips as she lets the lazy rhythm of his words caress her ears. Stiles's gaze falls on her for a moment before setting higher above her shoulder.
"Your hair color… I've always told myself that there had to be a moment during the day when the sky had its color. It's now."
Lydia turns around, but it's more an excuse to collect her wits. She doesn't need to look at the sky to know its color. It's all in his eyes.
Then, she faces Stiles again and kisses him slowly – so slowly that it almost gets frustrating. But Stiles smiles against her lips and a delicious noise escapes his, so she keeps her pace.
"Is it what you do when you look at the sky? Look for my hair color?"
"Always. I'm always looking for you. Everywhere."
Lydia needs a moment to regain control over her beating heart after that answer. Stiles has a beautiful soul, she has always known that, but experiencing it is completely different. There are so many things she would like to ask him, she has so much more to learn about him, and if they weren't both exhausted, she could spend hours talking to him. But there's no rush, not anymore. For the first time in her young life, Lydia feels like she is holding a piece of eternity in her hands and she wants to spend every second savoring it.
They look at each other a while longer, their hands interlaced between them, lowered enough to allow their lips to lazily brush against each other once in a while. Lydia's eyelids are heavy and she eventually falls asleep without realizing it, answering faintly to Stiles's good night with a good morning that makes him smile in his sleep.
