Five Hours Later: April 27
At 1:29 AM Lydia is still wide awake, staring into the hollow darkness with a stream of tears running back into her hair…and pooling in her ears…and trickling onto the pillow case. It has been the same every night since the funeral, but now there is an added layer of remorse. She is regretting every harsh word and every time she rejected Stiles's touch during the previous afternoon. The blinding anger that consumed her has faded and it has been replaced by an expansive empty sensation in her chest. Her body, which was so tense as they argued, now feels numb. She is missing Stiles; picturing his face – gold-flecked eyes, upturned nose, and crooked smile; longing for the sound of his voice – his whispers, his laughter, even his sarcastic tone; aching for his hands on her – callused fingertips, bitten-down nails, and all. She is wearing the sweatshirt he left behind. It smells like him – like Stiles and comfort – but it's not him. She has her arms wrapped around herself, but she wants it to be his arms around her. She is lying on the right side of her big empty bed – his side – wishing he were next to her to chase the chill from her cold sheets with his presence and warm her heart with his eyes…and his lips…and his hands. She wants him back. She wants him to make her feel alive again.
She waits, and in the midst of all the despair, the sound of the window sliding open awakens a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach – and it gives her hope.
At 1:31 AM Stiles climbs through the bedroom window – somehow, he knew it would be unlocked. He looks across the darkness. He can't see her face clearly, but he knows Lydia is crying. She looks so small and fragile, but she isn't – she is stronger than anyone he knows. The distant glow of the moon is highlighting her strawberry-blonde hair, which is spread about her pillow like a sea of auburn waves. It is making her already perfect complexion shine with an opalescent glow. She is beyond beautiful. She looks like an angel, and he loves her so much that his eyes fill with tears. She is wearing his sweatshirt. He wishes it were his arms wrapped around her instead, but now he knows why he had to leave it behind – for Lydia – and it gives him hope. He knows if he could just hold her, then his heart will quicken, he will be able to breathe, and the emptiness will fade. He wants her back. He wants her to make him feel alive again.
He crosses the room to stand alongside the bed and reaches for the lamp. Lydia lifts her arm and tugs at his sleeve; she is not ready to face him in the light.
"I didn't wake you," he says.
It's not a question. He knows she hasn't been able to sleep through the night in a long time. He guesses that the nightmares and flashbacks that started after Allison died have continued; they may have even progressed. He is irritated with himself because he wouldn't have to guess if he had been there for her…like he promised. He hates himself for unnecessarily leaving her with no one to console her when she woke up gasping and terrified. She had wanted him to be there all along, and he wasn't. He failed her, and she deserved better.
"No, you didn't," she answers quietly.
Her voice is strained from an afternoon of crying and raised voices, but she sounds more like Lydia again. The tugging in his chest stirs, and Stiles knows he can't let her drift away from him. He will do anything to keep her close, so wherever Lydia goes – this time, he is going with her.
She doesn't look at him; just keeps staring at the ceiling. With his back to the window it is too dark to see his face anyway. Regardless, she knows he is crying. She can tell because his voice is thick and hoarse, and she can hear him chewing on his lip. A single warm droplet lands in Lydia's palm and she closes her hand tightly around it. Her fingernails dig into her skin, but she squeezes tighter, trying to keep the watery gem within her grasp. She can feel Stiles looking down at her and imagines his saturated lashes and soulful brown eyes tinted with red. He is crying, and it's because of her. She did this to him. She let him think she didn't love him. She covers her face with her hands, letting his tear mix with her own. As soon as he sits next to her on the bed, she can feel his warmth penetrating directly through her clothing.
"Lydia…please don't hide from me. I can take just about anything…but not that."
Stiles takes hold of her wrists and gently pulls her hands aside. He tenderly touches her cheek before leaning down to slide his arms underneath her back. Lydia tenses but he continues, carefully lifting her until she is sitting upright, leaving his sweatshirt to fall behind her. She lets him – because she can't bear another minute without him touching her. For weeks, the throbbing ache to be with him has been unrelenting and the contact is like a tonic. He keeps his hands on the small of her back, long fingers splayed across every inch of her and the heat of his hands passing through the lightweight fabric of her camisole. She relaxes slightly, yet she still can't find the courage to look at him.
"Come on," he coaxes. He sounds more like Stiles this time – voice soft and sweet, but still colored with sadness. "We have to talk. I can't stand this, and I don't think you can either."
He moves his right hand to brush aside strands of hair that have been adhered to Lydia's face by a steady onslaught of tears. She finally lifts her eyes to him when he smooths the entire length of her mane with his palm, stopping to catch the end of one of her waves in his fist. With his back no longer to the window, the light of the moon has carved Stiles out of the darkness. Now, Lydia can see his tears. She can see the anguish on his beautifully angled face, and it spears her heart because she is the cause of it. All she had to do was tell him, but she let fear reduce her to silence. She thinks she truly must be broken on the inside; wicked to the core. She has to be, if she was unable to tell someone as remarkable as Stiles what he means to her. She assumed, and she was wrong; she expected him to figure it out and take the next step. She failed him, and he deserved better.
Bracing herself before the fall, Lydia clutches at his upper arms, digging her fingers into his muscles as if their sole purpose is to support her, like railings on a treacherous stairway. "You came back," she gasps. "You came back."
"I'll always come back to you," he promises earnestly as his lips lightly brush along her forehead. "Always," he repeats, this time pressing his mouth firmly against her skull, like he is permanently branding the sentiment into her mind.
She crumbles into him. "Stiles, I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you…I tried…so many times…but I was too scared, and the words wouldn't come out." Unrestrained sobs cut through each syllable as her lungs search for air.
"I wanted to tell you too…but I thought you already knew, and I didn't want to pressure you," he explains, looking into her eyes. "I was afraid I would ruin everything we built."
"I didn't mean for it to come out the way that it did. I wanted it to be special." She clamps her eyes shut and swallows with difficulty, "If it was too late, I'll understand but please, please stay with me…be my friend at least. I need you in my life."
"Lydia, open your eyes."
She slowly complies, shivering as she awaits his response.
"It doesn't matter how you said it. All that matters to me is that you feel it. And it wasn't too late…it's not too late. I never stopped, and I never will." He cups her face with both hands bringing her close enough that her breath wafts across his skin. "I love you," he tells her, radiating certainty and pure affection.
She lets out a whimper and stretches her arms around him, dipping her face into the crook of his neck, gripping at his flannel, and squeezing him with all of her strength. She needs every inch of his ribs connecting with hers; planes of his broad expanse fitting around her narrow, undulating curves in a way that gives her tangible evidence of their connection. She can feel it – they have been cast from opposite sides of the very same mold – only made whole and complete when paired together. It's been too long without this sensation and she has been craving it. He returns the embrace with equal passion, and it feels like home to her.
Stiles lets his body collide with Lydia's, dropping his head down and peppering a series of light kisses along the curve of her shoulder. He is letting go of tears in a way that he had not been able to do earlier – without restraint. The release is driven by a combination of relief and ecstasy; relief that she didn't push him away and ecstasy from the satisfaction that comes with holding her. He feels her quick abbreviated breaths ghosting over the skin of his neck as her petite, yet powerful composition of flesh, and bone, and sinew compresses against him. It's been too long, and he is addicted to her. Lydia's embrace is intensely consuming, and it feels like home to him.
She inhales deeply for the first time since…before he left. She fills her lungs with him and holds her breath until her insides are screaming for release. The emptiness is beginning to fade from her chest.
He expels a flurry of words with his exhale, before he forgets how to speak in her presence. His statements are hurried. Later on, he wants to kick himself for their lack of eloquence, but the words are plain and honest, and his message is clear.
"I shouldn't have left. I don't know how it all got so mixed up. All I ever wanted was to make things okay for you. I can't stand to see you suffering. I didn't care what happened to me – I only wanted to protect you, but every day without you was worse than the last. I missed you so damn much. Being apart from you hurt more than dying…I should know – I've done both."
Lydia can feel his tears collecting on her shoulder and flowing like a river down her back. They are leaving a trail of cool moisture on her skin, washing away any residual anger and hurt that may have been hanging on since their argument.
He continues, "The whole time, I wanted to be with you, to get back to where we were. You said I stopped looking at you…and you were right. I did. I did because it hurt too much – to look at you and not be able to touch you. I stopped looking, but it didn't help because I never stopped seeing you. You were always there…everywhere…I saw you…even when my eyes were closed, Lydia. When we ran into each other at Scott's…I wasn't even sure if you were real at first, and you were wearing that blue dress, and you were so gorgeous that I couldn't even find the words. I was so pissed at myself for not being able to talk to you. Then, the other day, when I finally let myself look at you again and…you smiled at me, I knew…I knew I couldn't stay away any longer. I needed to see you so badly, and I came here because I wanted to tell you…I wanted to tell you what you are to me…but there was so much to say that I didn't know where to start…and then all the words…they just came out wrong…and I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I need you…I need you to forgive me."
"Stiles, it's my fault…for letting you be unsure…for letting you think that you weren't enough…when the truth is…you are so much more than I deserve."
He shakes his head against Lydia's neck before he pulls back to look at her. "Don't say that – not to me. It's not true," he says with resolve.
"But I made things so difficult. I held back, even though you've always given me everything. I should have realized you were trying to protect me. I was so hurt, and I wasn't thinking…but you have always put me first and tried to keep me safe. I haven't forgotten all of the times…like when you nearly broke your hand trying to get to me when Jennifer…when the Darach had me, or when you shielded me from all of those ravens – you didn't even hesitate, and long before that…when Peter attacked me on the lacrosse field…"
His expression shifts to one of bewilderment and Lydia gets the confirmation she is looking for – proof of something that, deep down, she always knew to be true.
"How did you know I was there?" Stiles asks with shock.
"I didn't know for sure…until now. I heard your voice that night. I couldn't see you, but I heard you. You said…I'm not just letting you leave her here. You said…Just kill me. For a long time, I didn't think it was real. I couldn't imagine anyone being so willing to sacrifice himself for me, but the more time we spent together…the more possible it seemed…and the more it scared me – the things you are willing to do for me. I never want anyone to get hurt because of me…especially you, but then yesterday I hurt you with the awful things I said…I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about it. I said things I regret too."
"No, listen. I need to say this. You've always been there for me and you've only ever been good to me…and I should never have compared you to Jackson. You are nothing like him. He wasn't the person I went to when I was scared or lost. He never made me feel safe and loved. He didn't make me laugh or make the breath catch in my throat. He never understood me…never even tried to. He liked thinking I was oblivious because it made him feel superior. He would have never done anything brave or selfless for me…and you always have. Stiles, you aren't like anyone else, and I should have told you a long time ago how important you are to me. You show me over and over that I matter to you – and you have changed my life."
Stiles reaches into his pocket for a tissue, then gently blots Lydia's tears before pulling her into his chest. "Aww, Lyds…come here," he soothes.
She rakes her nails up and down his sides, desperate for the sensation of his body against her fingertips – for physical assurance that he is real and actually in her arms. He squeezes her even more tightly this time, yet the pressure doesn't hurt, it heals – Stiles is fusing her together again.
"It's alright," he tells her, speaking softly with his face pressed to her cheekbone.
"No, it isn't. I hurt you. I hate that I did that."
"I understand though. You were upset, and you were right to be. I shouldn't have assumed and then decided for us both. I should have at least waited until morning, talked to you more, made sure. We are supposed to handle things together. I hate that I hurt you too. It breaks my heart to know that you needed me, and I wasn't there for you." He kisses her cheek repeatedly while gently strumming on her spine with his thumb.
"Stiles, do you have any idea how much I missed you…how much I need you? It can't be good."
"What do you mean?"
Lydia loosens her hold on him and leans back. She needs to look in his eyes when she says this. It is still dark in the room, but she can make out a few mesmerizing flecks of gold in his irises. They are exactly as she remembers, and they give her the courage to continue.
"I was already afraid that something would happen to you…just like Allison…you know – in a split second…because of me. When you were gone, it was worse than I feared. I was devastated…and if you leave again..."
"Lydia, I'm right here and I'm not leaving you."
She shakes her head and glances downwards. "Maybe you think that now, but…"
He touches her face to bring her back to him. "Listen to me. Okay? You are literally going to have to push me out the door if you ever want to get rid of me. It wasn't what I wanted. I wouldn't have left if I wasn't so stupidly convinced that it was the only way to help you."
"Why would you ever think that being away from you would help me?" she questions, smoothing her hands over the front of his shirt. "Stiles, please tell me. If I did something to make you think that, I need to know."
"I…because…every time we got close…there was so much pain and fear in your eyes."
"But there's something else. What aren't you telling me?"
"I thought you were asking me to go that night."
"What? When?" she asks hurriedly, clutching at his shirt.
"When we were in your bed."
"That's not…I was trying to tell you how I feel about you, not—"
He brings her left hand to his lips and kisses her palm, then holds it up to his jaw as he speaks. "I know that now, but when you told me how much you were hurting and how scared you were…and that it was getting worse...I thought you meant it hurt too much to be around me, that it hurt you to see me."
"I only meant that I was too scared to tell you. I know I did an awful job of trying to explain it, but I don't understand why you took it that way. Why would seeing you hurt me?"
Stiles rather abruptly shifts off the bed and kneels on the floor in front of her. He reaches for the lamp, and this time Lydia doesn't stop him. She simply watches him and swings her legs over the side of the bed to follow his movement. He tilts closer still, settling his body between her legs as he grips at her hips, towing her towards him without even thinking about how forward he is being. He feels her shudder against him but disregards it because he needs to make her understand.
"Because of what he did to you."
She looks at him blankly.
"The Nogitsune…he abducted you, cornered you, he…put his hands on you – and he…and he had my face when he did it. I didn't want you to have to remember…every time you looked at me. I thought you were afraid of me. That week…I kept catching glimpses of how scared you were. We were getting closer and your flashbacks were getting worse…and I felt how you shuddered when I touched you…you're doing it right now...and you kept telling me that you didn't blame me, but I thought that you just didn't want to hurt my feelings."
Lydia reaches for his shoulders to keep from quivering. His eyes are pleading with her. Even in the dim light of her crystal lamp, she can make out the emotion they convey. He is racked with guilt and shame, and he is begging for absolution that only she can give him. "Oh my god, that's what you…Stiles…no."
His chest is heaving with the weight he has been carrying. Lydia is sure he must be unaware of how firmly he is pressing into her hips. She shifts closer to appease him and lifts her hands to his face. He closes his eyes, but she needs him to stay with her.
"Stiles, look at me. Shh, look at me. Shh, Stiles."
When he meets her gaze, she speaks softly to him. "The fear and the pain you saw…they were real. I can't deny that – but it wasn't because of what you thought. I was afraid because of how open and vulnerable I feel when I'm with you. It's like…it's like you can see right inside of me, and it's intense…and kind of intimidating, but at the same time it makes me feel significant and alive. The pain came from a lot of things…from missing Allison, from the guilt I have for not being able to save her, for falling deeper and deeper for you at the same time that I was grieving for her, and mostly for not being able to tell you how I felt because…I was so sure that I would lose you if I did. And when I shudder, it's only because I want you so much."
She gingerly caresses his jaw as she continues. "I could never be afraid of you. The only thing that scares me is how out-of-control in love with you I am. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone – but I can't help it with you. The more scared I am, the more I want to ignore it and be with you anyway because I trust you…and…"
Lydia pauses to kiss the crease in his brow. When he relaxes under her lips, she arches back to make eye contact.
"…and Stiles, it's really important that you hear this – he never looked like you – not to me. He was angry, and twisted, and threatening…and his eyes were dark and lifeless. But you…you are kind, and warm, and loving, and there is so much light in your eyes. When I look at you, all I see is the good that's inside you…Stiles, there is so much good in here," she affirms, pointing to his heart. "You are the best person I've ever known, and he never looked like you to me. Not even for one second."
His breaths are short and labored. His eyes well up, then spill over as he blinks. "But the things I did…I let the darkness in…and it set everything else in motion. How can I even begin to ask for forgiveness that I don't deserve?"
She wipes his tears with her hands and presses her lips to his cheek for an extended moment. "You did it because you had no choice…Scott told me."
"But I helped her, and I hurt everyone I love."
"You couldn't have predicted what would happen. I know you. If there is anything you can do to prevent someone else from suffering, you always do it. It's one of the things I love about you…and…if it's forgiveness you need, then you can have mine. I forgive you, Stiles. No one deserves to be forgiven more than you. You've only ever tried to do the right thing for everyone."
The tension leaves him. His breaths have evened out, and he calms a little more with every loving word and every soothing touch she offers. His expression is awestruck and grateful when he asks, "How did you do that? You always do that."
Lydia tilts her head, waiting for him to elaborate.
"You calm me…even though I'm nervous just being this close to you…you steady me."
"I don't know," she smiles, "…maybe it's not me…maybe love does that."
Lydia leans closer to Stiles, until her forehead is resting on his. They are so close, breathing the same air again…finally, and the room is so quiet that the rest of the world begins to fade away. His thumbs are tracing circles on her hips, and it feels like he is saying he loves her. Her eyelashes are tapping against his cheekbones, and it feels like she is saying she loves him.
"I got your note," she begins.
"You did?"
"Yeah."
"I'm glad."
"Stiles?"
"Mmm…"
"I need you to know…I missed you, and I love you, and I can't live without you anymore either."
He sighs and holds her tighter. Somehow, there is still too much space between them and he wants to eliminate it. He doesn't have to say a word for Lydia to understand.
"Stiles…" she breathes, "…you can kiss me. Please, kiss me."
His eyebrows arch against her forehead, but it takes barely a second for his lips to capture hers. They have both been waiting for this and neither can deny the anchoring pull they feel towards each other.
Kissing Stiles is even better than she remembered. He is gentle at first, but intensity blossoms as she responds to his lips. He tastes like spearmint, and sugar, and Stiles. When he runs his tongue along the inside of her bottom lip and moans into her mouth, she feels dizzy with the bliss of a thousand summers under the stars. His heart is thumping so furiously against hers, that she can't tell one beat from the other. This is how it's supposed to feel.
Kissing Lydia is even better than he remembered. Her lips are soft and glide over his with a sense of urgency. She tastes like vanilla, and honey, and Lydia. When she wraps her legs around his torso, he is glad to already be firmly kneeling on the ground because he feels weak at the thought of her beneath him. Her heart is pounding so rapidly against his, that their beats sync up. This is how it's supposed to feel.
The fire accelerates quickly. She pushes navy and red plaid over his shoulders, while his fingertips search for silky skin that is veiled only by the thin lace of her camisole. She clutches the collar of his tee shirt, dragging him along with her as she leans back. His right hand immediately shifts to cradle her head as he lowers her onto the bed. He is kissing her neck and she is gliding her hands up and down his spine; dainty cream-colored digits cloaked under dark cotton.
Time seems to slow down and speed up simultaneously. Stiles only comes up for a breath when his lungs start to burn. Cool air hits his face and his exhale travels across Lydia's ear, making her tremble. He pushes off from the bed, so he can look at her. Her emerald eyes are soft and innocent in a way he has never seen. They are likewise brimming with desire, and his chest floods with warmth when he realizes it's for him. Her fair complexion is shaded to a perfect hue of blush, and her bottom lip is tucked into her mouth as she blinks inquisitively up at him. Lydia looks like heaven reached down to touch the face of the earth.
She can read the emotion and desire in his face too – constellation of moles backlit by flushed cheeks, eyes deep and dripping with love for her, mouth slightly swollen from kissing her. His hair is messy from the way she laced her fingers into it, and he is poking at his bottom lip with his tongue in that way he does that makes her insides melt. Stiles is beautiful, and he is looking, really looking at her again, and it feels like heaven on earth.
He stares for a minute. Her stomach is bare under his right palm; jagged pink wound across her left side partially concealed by his fingers. It reminds him that he isn't being completely forthcoming with her…just like the night she got that scar. He remembers that Lydia turned away from him, slipped through his fingers because she didn't know the whole truth about the world she was living in. The secrets he helped keep left her vulnerable to Peter. If he had made her aware, he could have saved her so much suffering. It felt wrong then and it feels wrong now. He can't be the cause of anymore pain for her, so he needs to tell her everything.
"What's wrong?" she asks breathlessly, already missing the contact between them. She massages his shoulders and laces her hands around his neck, attempting to bring Stiles closer.
"Lydia, wait." He shakes his head and rubs at his temples quickly. "I cannot believe I'm saying this but…we can't yet…"
"Oh. I… It's okay. We can stop…if you don't want—"
He touches her lips to stop her. "No…no…no…I want to…I definitely want to…but there's still a lot we need to sort out. I think we should do that first. I need this to be right, I need you to know everything before…to make sure this is still what you want. I don't want you to regret anything."
She kisses his index finger, which is still hovering over her lips. "How could I regret being with you when I love you so much?" she questions, playfully taming his hair with her fingertips.
Lydia surprises herself at how easily the words escape her mouth. She is so smitten that it didn't even occur to her to withhold them this time. It feels natural and right, and she is watching his expression change with every syllable.
Stiles has wanted to hear Lydia say she loved him for so long, and the ease with which she said the words turns his insides to molten lava. He bows his head and plants a kiss on her collarbone, lingering briefly before pulling back. He almost regrets saying anything, but he knows he had to – leaving her in the dark again would only hurt her more.
"The thing is…there's something you should know – about before…and I feel like until you do, there is going to be this space between us and I don't want that."
She is changing shape before him. Her eyes emitting a mix of understanding and disappointment, uncertainty and patience, dotted with a trace of fear that he wishes he hadn't put there.
"When you say before…do you mean in this past month…or before like…when you were in Eichen House?" she asks hesitantly.
"Eichen House."
"Okay…"
"First, could you just…I need you to remember…remember I love you, and I always have. Can you do that for me?"
She nods in agreement, though her anxiety level spikes. She closes her eyes and stretches up to kiss Stiles on the forehead, hoping to reassure them both. Lightly caressing the nape of his neck, Lydia waits for him. She can feel his fingertips pressed to the skin along her ribs, skimming across the scar that Peter so callously emblazoned there. It is strange to have any sensation in that spot, let alone twice within the span of less than one day. In the afternoon it hurt, but with Stiles's hands on it – hands that would never hurt her – it feels warm and tingly. Lydia is lost in thought when she notices him start to lean in for another kiss. The heat builds in her stomach as his lips find hers once more. It's different from moments ago. He applies the lightest amount of pressure, but still it makes electricity spread all over her body. She is amazed at how much she feels from even the slightest contact between them. When he breaks away, it is a few more moments until she is able to collect herself enough to speak.
"We should probably sit up," she suggests, tightening her grip on his shoulder.
"Yeah…uh…right," he agrees.
Stiles reluctantly untangles his body from Lydia's, pulling her with him as he switches to a seated position. She isn't ready to relinquish contact, so she faces him and slides forward until their knees and shins are touching. He wants more contact as well, so he takes her hands in his. Her skin is smooth, palms warm, fingertips cool. He spots a few freckles across her knuckles that he hasn't noticed before and takes his time admiring them. He notices the way her hands fit inside his, and a half-smile touches his lips at the sight of it. He wishes that protecting her could be as easy as covering her hands with his.
Lydia laces her dainty fingers with his warm and slightly rough ones, her little gold ring pressing against his knuckles for the first time in weeks. She considers the time Stiles spends working with his hands. He is always fixing something…broken electronics, Scott's motorcycle, the Jeep. Use has left them a bit worse for the wear, but she finds it comforting to know she could recognize Stiles by his hands alone. She notices the way his long digits fit between hers and how they reach all the way to her wrist. She enjoys the sight of it. The way he is wrapped around her makes her feel safe and protected. She returns his smile, hoping that he feels the same way.
They sit quietly for a while, mesmerized by the fact that they are finally touching each other after such a prolonged separation. Eventually, Stiles is ready to proceed. He pushes the air out from his lungs, and it passes across Lydia's face. She closes her eyes quickly, then re-opens them when she hears his voice.
"There's really no easy way for me to say this…but the last night I was there…something happened between me and…"
He can't say the name in Lydia's presence…in her room…the place where she is supposed to feel safe. It seems like irreverence. He lowers his head with guilt. He thinks she already knows what he is about to say, but nonetheless is seized by a pressing need to confess his mistake. It was never supposed to happen this way.
Lydia can't hear her name – not in this room. It's their space, and she isn't willing to share it with anyone else. Involuntarily, she shifts away from Stiles. She thinks she knows what he is about to say and the thought of his hands on someone else makes her blood run cold. Years of practiced psychological defense kick into gear.
She instinctively relapses, trying to mold her voice so that it sounds casual and unaffected. She tilts her head to the side and shrugs one shoulder. "You know what? You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business."
He tightens his grip on her hands. "Please, don't do that."
She looks at him timidly and purses her lips. Deep down, she knew Stiles would see through her feeble attempt at avoidance, but she had to try. She isn't ready to have her suspicion confirmed, so she looks down at her lap.
"Hey…look at me." He uses their joined hands to nudge her chin upwards until their eyes meet. "What we have…" he motions between their bodies, "…this connection between us, I think it means as much to you as it does to me. I really want it to work…but Lydia…if we are going to have any chance at all, you have to stop doing that."
"Doing what?" She practically pouts when she speaks. She knows exactly what he means, of course, but she is hoping to bide more time before the uncomfortable truth is revealed to her.
"Acting like you're indifferent the minute things get uncomfortable. Please don't tell me it's not your business. 'Cause if it isn't…then…that means we're not on the same page here. I want it to be your business. I want you to care."
"But, Stiles…"
"Lydia, please."
Stiles has his gaze fixed on her. She detects his apprehension in the way his right eye is slightly narrowed and by the fact that his top lip is twitching. He looks like he is preparing for the worst. Lydia is fully aware that her response will either lighten his burden or break his heart. It is not a difficult choice to make. She chooses the former and tells him the truth.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I do care. It's just…I know it's hypocritical of me…and I don't have the right to be…jealous, but I am. Okay? I'm insanely jealous, because I think the two of you…and I hate it. Maybe we need to get it out in the open, but at the same time…I don't want to hear you say that you were with her...or anyone else."
The words are cutting at her throat like little shards of glass, making her voice sharp and raspy. Pain and embarrassment cause unwanted tears to form in her eyes. Stiles releases her hands to take hold of her face, erasing the tears from her cheeks with gentle kisses that make her stomach flutter. She suddenly feels too warm and his mouth is burning her skin. She thinks her face must be covered in red marks that are shaped like his lips – lips that were on someone else.
"Lydia…"
"You were with her…weren't you?" She hiccups and holds her breath waiting for his answer.
"I…yeah."
She raises her eyes to the ceiling and bites her bottom lip. "What about after?"
He looks at her, arching his eyebrow. "After?"
"After you left…when I called you that night…and again the next day, she answered your phone."
Stiles closes his eyes and releases her face, dropping his hands to his lap as a few more pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. "That's what you meant this afternoon…isn't it? Aww, Lydia…I had no idea. She never said anything."
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that she answered your phone and didn't even bother to tell you…her social skills are severely lacking," she says, rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest.
"Did you think that I—"
"Stiles…it was the middle of the night."
"And I had just left…and you didn't want me to go. Lydia…I'm so sorry. It wasn't like that though. I mean…she sort of showed up in my room…I explained to her that nothing else was going to happen between us…and then…my dad came home and…shit…shit…I left the phone behind."
He grabs Lydia's waist and drops his head to her shoulder for a moment. Then he remembers something else she said, and he springs back up.
"Wait, you said the next day too. I had my phone with me all day…except… When did you call me?"
"At lunch time."
"Fuck…except then. Danny…I was talking to Danny. He was asking about you because you weren't in school…and I left the phone on the table…she was sitting there." He puts his head down and runs his right palm across his forehead. "Oh my god, Lyds…I can't believe this…I checked for messages over and over…but it never occurred to me that she would answer the phone. Why the hell didn't I check my call log? I'm such an idiot," he utters with frustration.
Lydia presses her palms to his knees. "No, you aren't, and I messed up too. I should have tried harder to talk to you – in person. I wanted to but…"
"What stopped you?"
She remains silent, gripping his knees and tightly pursing her lips.
He covers her hands with his. "Hey, what is it?"
"I…I…" she stammers.
"It's alright. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
"I thought you didn't want me because of all the things I told you…things I've never felt safe enough or even wanted to tell anyone else. I thought you left because I was depending on you too much, and it made you realize you didn't love me…and I was so hurt…and everything else just fed into it…and I couldn't."
"Lydia," he begins, locking their fingers together. "Do you have any idea how happy it made me...every time you opened up to me? Every second we spent together…all the ways you let me in…every secret you told me – it all made me fall more in love with you. There is nothing you could say to me that will change how I feel about you."
"But…"
"But what?"
"If you felt that way, then why her…and why in that place?"
"I'm not sure I understand it myself."
She takes in a shaky breath and wets her lips. "We never really talked about when you were in Eichen House. Can you tell me what happened?"
"Some of my memories are kind of hazy, but I can try."
"Okay. What do you remember?"
"The first thing I remember is you. That doesn't surprise me though, it's pretty much how my brain works. You're like this bright spot that stands apart from everything else," he explains, quirking his mouth to one side.
Instantly, Lydia recalls what Stiles asked of her just moments earlier – remember I love you – and the burning in her cheeks subsides. He loves me.
"Stiles," she whispers, squeezing his hands and moving closer until their legs are touching again.
"I remember coming here to see you the night I checked in, how you smiled when I came in through the window, and how your expression changed when you saw how nervous I was. I hated telling you I was leaving but I couldn't go without seeing you. I remember how you asked me to stay, and how much I wanted to do that – to just stay here, sit with you, talk to you, watch you read or sketch, have you fall asleep with your head on my shoulder like you started doing a few weeks before. Hell…I wouldn't have even minded doing homework…I didn't care, as long as I could be with you. But as much as I wanted all of those things, after what I did to Scott, I didn't trust myself anymore, so I knew I had to leave. When you started crying, it tore me up inside. That's when I realized…"
"Realized what?"
"That no matter what I do, I hurt you."
"Stiles, that's not true. You make my life so much better."
"You think that? Even after…"
"I know it," Lydia replies, pulling their hands into her lap. "What else do you remember?"
"The way you held onto me…it seemed like we were more than friends, and I remember wanting to kiss you so badly."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I knew if I kissed you, I'd never be able to leave." He blinks rapidly as his eyes start to water. "I also remember promising to come back to you, and I remember what it felt like…when I could see in your eyes how much that mattered to you."
"It did matter. It still does." She brings their joined hands to her lips and kisses his knuckles.
Her words and touch give him strength. He closes his eyes, committing them to memory, then takes a breath. "I remember turning to leave, closing the window behind me, and thinking that I left part of myself in this room with you."
Lydia lets out a soft whimper. He loves me, she thinks as she leans nearer, positioning her head at the center of his chest. His beats are quick and uneven as he smooths her hair and rests his cheek against her temple. The two remain motionless for a few minutes – holding onto each other in silence.
When Lydia speaks, her voice is soft, conveying nothing but understanding and patience. "Can you tell me more?"
"The next thing I remember is seeing Scott outside Eichen House, and how he tried to change my mind. It took everything I had to keep it together…to make him believe I was sure about what I was doing. I know he saw through it, but he never let on. I told him if Deaton and Chris couldn't find a way to help me, then I needed him to make sure I never got out."
"What? How could— Scott would never do that," she insists, sitting up and looking into Stiles's eyes.
"I know. As messed up as I was, I think I knew it then too, but I had to try. It would have been awful though, to spend the rest of my life there…because inside that place…Lydia, inside was even worse than I expected. I remember sitting in an office with my dad, knowing how upset he was, hating that he was reliving what happened to my mom, worrying about him being alone, all the while trying not to show him how terrified I was. He told me, more than once, that I could still go home…he kept saying that I didn't bring my pillow…and that we should go back for it because I wouldn't be able to sleep."
"You never seem to miss that pillow when you're here," Lydia points out, struggling to lighten the heaviness in the air. She is surprised to find that it works.
Stiles gives her a small grin. A flash of gold ignites in his eyes when he winks at her in agreement. "It's the only time I don't," he admits, moving his hands to her wrists.
She offers a glimmer of a smile in return, glad of the fact that she can ease his suffering even by a small measure.
He looks down and gnaws on his lip before continuing. "As soon as I walked away from my dad, this feeling – this cold empty…dread took over, and when the nurse was taking me to my room, I saw…I saw this guy. He was on the stairs above…and he was saying something…I can't remember what…and he tied something to the railing, and then he just…jumped. Everyone kept calling it an accident, but it wasn't."
"Oh my god, Stiles. How awful."
"That wasn't even all of it. I saw the Nogitsune too…it kept appearing. By then, it was obvious I made the wrong choice, but it was too late to do anything about it because I wasn't allowed any phone calls. I didn't sleep at all that night."
"Neither did I."
"You didn't?" he asks, sliding his hands to Lydia's elbows.
"No. I couldn't stop thinking about you…wishing I had said more…something that would have convinced you to stay. When you were here, I wanted to tell you how I felt…but I was afraid you'd think that I only said it to keep you from leaving."
"I guess we were both pretty scared that night."
"Yeah," she confirms with a quiver in her voice. "What happened in the morning?"
"That was even worse. Morrell was a counselor there. She was leading group therapy, but she pulled me aside because she saw these marks on my neck. She called them…um…figures…something to do with lightning…"
"You mean Lichtenberg figures?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"I've read about them. They're remnants of high voltage electrical activity…usually they indicate some kind of equipment failure. They're shaped like branches," she says, tracing the veins on the inside of his left forearm with her finger. "Sometimes they also appear on people who have been struck by lightning."
He stares at her, shaking his head in awe. "Of course you know that. You are as smart as you are beautiful."
She looks away, trying not to smile. "Stiles…you were saying…"
"Uh…I can't think right now."
"Lichtenberg figures…" she coaxes, nudging his knee with hers.
"Oh…right," he concedes, mouth turning into a frown as his face grows solemn. "Morrell was cryptic…as usual…but she was pretty clear on a few points. First, that when the marks faded, it would mean the Nogitsune had control over me. Second, that the only way to keep that from happening was to stay awake…and third…here is the really fun part…she said, very calmly I might add…that if the Nogitsune did get control over me, she was going to kill me…she even told me how she would do it."
"Stiles," Lydia breathes with a gasp. Her brows cinch with pain at the thought of what he must have been going through – locked in a strange place, so afraid, with no one he could trust to help him.
"By that point…I just remember being exhausted and feeling completely trapped…like I was never going to get out of there…and that I had let everyone down. I hadn't slept in…I'm not even sure how long…and knowing that I shouldn't somehow made me even more tired. Plus, it was still going to be another two days before I could call anyone."
Stiles leaves his right hand on Lydia, his palm and fingers completely encircling her elbow as he nervously adjusts his grasp. He lifts his left arm to scratch at the back of his neck, then moves his hand to his mouth and begins chewing on the end of his fingernail.
Lydia's stomach clenches tightly in response to his visible anxiety. "Is this the part where she comes in?"
"Yeah, but before we get to that… Could I hold you?" His tone is laced with sadness and vulnerability.
There is a deep-seeded fear inside Stiles that tells him it might be the last time he gets to hold Lydia, that after she hears what happened she will lose whatever trust she had left in him, that she will tell him she can't be with him and ask him to leave.
The request tugs at Lydia's heart. To her, it is proof that even after one month apart, he is still her Stiles – a best friend who immediately recognizes the hurt and conflict inside of her; someone who is sensitive to the fact that although she loves him, she might not want to be physically close in this moment – the moment when he is telling her that he was with someone else. It is proof that in spite of all the trauma he has experienced, Stiles is still the same boy she fell for – the one who respects her enough to ask permission; the one who consistently shows how intensely he values her by always offering her the choice to either accept or refuse his affection. He loves me, she remembers for the third time. It makes her want to be held by him. It makes her love him more.
"Yes, you can. Please hold me."
Stiles shifts around, letting his legs extend over the side of the bed as he kicks off his sneakers. Lydia slides next to him, pressing close to his side as he wraps both arms around her. She turns her face inwards and deposits a tiny kiss on his neck before nestling her head on his shoulder. They sit in silence again, slowly breathing together, each taking comfort in the presence of the other.
Stiles speaks in a tentative voice; low and unassuming. "Is it totally inappropriate that I wanna kiss you right now?"
Lydia remains quiet. His right hand is flush against her ribs, holding her to his chest, his thumb mindlessly grazing back and forth along the side of her breast. She has been trying to ignore the sensation, but it is near impossible.
"Is it okay if I do?" he asks.
She wants to let him kiss her – she does – but she feels unsure of whether it is the right time, so she hesitates. Turning to Stiles, she searches for the answer…and finds it. His expression is soft, patient, and as always, openly expressing his concern for her. A pair of dark eyes meet hers for an extended moment and she sees it – she can see how deeply he feels for her. He loves me. The emotion on his face and the heat from his body chase away the ice in Lydia's veins at the thought of Malia's skin against his.
"Yes," she whispers with a nod.
Stiles waits. He gives Lydia the time to change her mind before gingerly tucking his index finger under her chin and tilting her face towards his. The room is noiseless and still as he dips down to meet her in an achingly tender kiss. Lydia sighs softly into his mouth as Stiles tightens his grip on her waist. She knows he wants to deepen the kiss, but his lips remain gentle and reverent. He shows her that he wants more, but also that he won't take it without her consent. Right now, this is enough for her. Lydia resists the temptation to give into her desire for him. She ever so lightly nips at his bottom lip with her teeth, pulls away, and returns her head to his shoulder.
When Lydia ends the kiss Stiles is disappointed, but he understands. It's reassuring that she allowed him so close when she could have just as easily refused. The way she nipped at his lip did not escape him either. It shows him that she was reluctant to part from him. He only hopes she can still feel that way after he explains what happened with Malia.
A flash of nerves rushes through his body as he prepares to speak. Lydia automatically senses his anxiety and reacts. She reaches for his hand and before Stiles can blink, her little gold ring is sandwiched between his knuckles, like it belongs there…and it does.
"Go ahead," she tells him.
"Okay. I remember that I ran into her a couple of times. The first time, she punched me in the face."
Lydia's head snaps up. "After you and Scott helped her!"
"Yeah," he says, brushing an errant strand of hair from her face. "The next time I saw her, she said we didn't help her, that we basically made a mess of her life, and she wanted to go back to being a coyote—"
"Well…maybe she should if—"
"Lyds…focus."
She bites her lip, embarrassed at how quickly her jealousy has flared.
"Look, I know this isn't easy for you—"
"No, it isn't, but…it's not easy for you either. I'm sorry I interrupted," she apologizes. "I am listening though."
"It's okay. I know you are," he tells Lydia, spinning her ring between his fingers. "So anyway…I needed to get out of there. She said she would help me, if I could put her in contact with someone who could teach her how to shift. Things get really hazy after that. I remember that I pissed off this orderly, a guy named Brunski, because I was somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. When he caught me, it's possible I may have overdone it a bit with the…"
"Let me guess…sarcasm?"
"It's my only defense," he answers wryly.
"No, it isn't," she quickly corrects Stiles. "These are much better," she explains, pointing to his head and then to his heart.
He grasps Lydia's index finger, poking it into his chest. "At the time, this was in pretty bad shape. I kept thinking about you. I remember missing you more than I ever thought I could miss someone. The marks were starting to fade…and the more they did, the further away you felt. I thought I was never going to see you or hear your voice again, never going to hold you, never going to be able to tell you all of the things I wanted to say. I felt sick that I made a promise to you and…I was going to have to break it because I was going to die in that place. I thought…even if by some miracle I did see you again, that I was too broken...too damaged…not good enough for you."
He loves me. Lydia shakes her head and meets his gaze with wide-eyes and trembling lips. "You were in all of that pain, and you were worried about me? And you think you aren't good enough?"She asks in disbelief.
Stiles pushes out a heavy breath. "On top of that, I was pretty sure I was losing my mind – I was seeing things that no one else saw, I thought I had the disease that killed my mother, and half of the time I wasn't sure whether I was awake or not. So, you know…I defaulted to sarcasm. Not my best work. Brunski is an ass, to put it mildly. He put me in solitary confinement…he called it the "Quiet Room"…I think. Then, he ordered his little minions to give me a sedative…even though I was already on amphetamines that Morrell gave me to help keep me awake."
Lydia's entire body goes rigid. She turns and throws her arms around Stiles in one swift movement. "Oh my god! That's so dangerous…so completely irresponsible of him! You aren't supposed to mix those – he could have killed you."
Stiles returns the embrace tightly, as both of them shudder with emotion. He holds onto Lydia as he continues, once again drawing strength from her touch.
"I pleaded with him not to…I fought back…but he had me injected anyway…and I fell asleep. It was so fast. Things were even more unclear when I woke up. I didn't know how much time had passed, Mal—" he clears his throat, "she was standing over me when I opened my eyes. My head was in a fog, and I just wanted to get out, so I followed her out of the room. The next thing I remember…I was asking her to check for the marks, but they were gone, and I knew it was over…I was never getting out of there alive."
"You must have been terrified," Lydia says, soothingly rubbing his shoulders.
He nods and loosens his arms, guiding Lydia's body away from his, so he can look into her eyes. Even through anguish, they are piercingly beautiful – glistening deep green, speckled with light. Tears roll down his face as his voice strains over the next few statements. "I explained what the marks meant. She kissed me, and I let her. At first, I thought…we were just going to kiss for a while…but then..."
Lydia averts her eyes. "You wanted more."
"That's the thing…I'm not entirely sure whether that was me…or the Nogitsune. It felt wrong because I didn't know her, but my head was…I'm not sure how to explain it…crowded…noisy. I didn't feel like I had control over anything. I knew it wasn't smart, but it almost didn't matter because it was like it was happening to someone else. I don't remember most of it…I don't even know if I…well…you know."
He is watching Lydia's lips tremble as he speaks, hating the fact that something he did is the cause.
"I didn't tell you this to hurt you or to make you doubt how I feel about you. It's the complete opposite of that – I don't want to have secrets between us, and I don't want you to hear this from someone else…or to think that it was anything more than a mistake. Do you understand?"
She nods and attempts to swallow the lump in her throat. "Do you…feel differently about her now? People say it changes things…especially when it's…"
"You mean because it was my first time?"
She answers with a shrug.
"Did it for you?" he asks.
"In some ways. It definitely changed how Jackson acted…and it changed how I responded to him. He got mean and I let him get away with it. I felt like he had power over me, that I had to stay because I still cared about him…and if I broke up with him…it would look like I didn't."
"She and I didn't have a before…so I can't say that it changed how I feel about her. It wasn't anything like being close to you. There was no connection, just quiet…an escape from the noise."
"Like a distraction."
"Yeah. With her, it didn't feel real. When we kiss Lydia, when I hold you, when you touch me…there are so many feelings – all this love – so much that I can't even put into words."
"You care about her though."
"She has been through a lot…and I mean…I feel kind of responsible because of what happened, so I think I should help her if I can—"
"Do you think it's possible that you are falling for her?"
"What?" he asks, eyebrows pinched with shock. "What would make you think that?"
"It's just…that week before the funeral, you tensed whenever someone said her name…and when I came back to school, she was always around you. I've seen the way she looks at you…and we've been apart for weeks. Maybe there is something else between you…now that you've gotten to know each other. I wouldn't blame you. I didn't expect that you would never want to be with anyone else, but you hardly knew her…and you're not like me when it comes to these things – you are better than I am."
"I don't understand."
"The summer after Jackson left, I dated a bit...never going out with any guy more than once…hardly telling them anything about me. I had sex with some of them and never thought of them again. They were a…distraction from everything that was going on – from all of the things I had to face when I found out that this whole other insane supernatural world existed…from the fact that I was a part of it by no choice of my own…and from how disappointed I was in myself for letting Jackson treat me the way he did. At the time, I thought would make it easier to separate sex from spending time with someone I had feelings for, but I was wrong. It only made me feel empty. I had to learn that the hard way, but I'm pretty sure you are smart enough to have figured that out for yourself. I guess, I always thought you would want some kind of connection before you took that step. So, now I'm worried that...maybe there was more to what happened between the two of you."
"Lydia, there is nothing more to it and there never will be. It was a mistake. I tensed when I heard her name because I felt awkward about what happened. You and I…we were so close…so close that I feel…like I have been unfaithful to you. Maybe that sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth. It felt wrong to keep it from you…but there was so much happening all at once, I didn't know when or how to tell you. I was worried about what your reaction might be – part of me was afraid you'd be hurt and angry, that you would think I betrayed you, but another part of me was afraid…that you wouldn't care at all. And yeah, I've gotten to know her a little…"
Stiles caresses Lydia's cheek and waits for her to look at him.
"…but she doesn't make my heart beat faster or give me butterflies. I don't miss her when she's not around. I couldn't talk to her for hours without running out of things to say or sit in silence with her and still be completely comfortable. I don't ache to hold her or dream about kissing her. I don't want to wake up next to her in the morning and fall asleep with her in my arms at night. I'm not in love with her, not even a little bit. You're right about me wanting to be with someone that I have a connection with and, Lydia…that person is you. I'm in love with you…just you…and the way I feel about you – I could never feel this for anyone else."
He loves me. She starts to cry, her tears pooling into warm palms that cradle her face and discourage her instinct to break eye contact.
"Lydia, I was lost without you. I get it if you're angry with me, but please don't hate me."
"I could never hate you…never. I'm upset…but not at you…just at the entire situation. I hate that it happened. I hate thinking that you were in that awful place, that you were scared and vulnerable, and you were with a stranger, there wasn't…someone who cares for you – it wasn't me who was there for you, looking out for you…like you have always done for me."
"I wish I had listened to you. I never should have gone there. It only made things worse…but after what I did to Scott, I didn't know what to do. I was so afraid I would hurt someone else. What if I had hurt you? You can't heal like Scott can, if I had done something to you I...I can't even think about it."
"I know," she says, clinging to the sides of his tee shirt with clenched fists, "but none of this is your fault."
"It feels like it is."
"I know that too, and I'm sorry that you went through so much. What happened to me wasn't exactly the same, but I think I understand how you feel. I can't forget the things I did, the people I hurt…when Peter…when he had control over me. It's awful, and isn't fair, and it affected us – maybe in ways we don't even comprehend yet…but do you think you could do something for me?"
"Anything."
"Could you try to forgive yourself? I realize it's not going to be easy…and I should probably take my own advice, but…Stiles, all of this guilt…it's going to destroy us if we let it, and I don't want that."
"I don't want that either. I'll try if you will. We can help each other…I mean, if you…if you still want to be with me."
"Of course, I do – more than anything."
"Really?"
"Yes. You chose to tell me what happened, and you said that it was a mistake. I believe you."
He sighs with relief. Leaning close, he presses his lips fervently against hers, then stretches up to kiss her forehead. She relaxes into him. He is sweet, like raw honey, soothing away all bitterness and insecurities from her soul.
"Stiles?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you explained everything because it made something really clear to me."
"What's that?" he questions, touching his nose to hers.
"A lot goes wrong when we aren't together, so we have to do something about that. We have to move past this because…I don't want her or anyone else getting between us."
"No one is going to come between us, Lyds. There is no room in my heart for any girl but you. As muddled as some of my memories are…all of the ones I have about you are clear. I remember wanting to be here…with you. I remember trying to get out of that place for you…and how hopeless I felt when I thought I was never going to see you again. The night I checked into Eichen, I meant it when I said I would come back to you, and I have never regretted making that promise. My heart was already yours. We had spent so much time together, and I loved every minute of it. We got to a point where we really knew and understood each other. Sometimes, we didn't even need words to communicate. I swear there were moments when I felt like we were a couple, even though we never talked about it."
"I felt it too."
"Lydia, you are so many things to me. You were the first girl I ever danced with…hell, I can go back a lot further than that…you were the first girl I ever even noticed…we were just eight years old, but I couldn't take my eyes off you. I had such a crush on you...not just then, but all of the way into freshman year, sophomore year, this year…"
"It was more than a crush though... Wasn't it?"
"So much more. I taught you to drive stick shift. Remember? I mean…Roscoe is a sensitive piece of machinery…so, if that doesn't say love, then I don't know what does."
"You pretended you needed to be persuaded when I asked you…but I knew you would say yes…" lips curling slightly, as she recalls the way she slid her hands inside his flannel and snuggled close to him, "…and I kept my promise. I didn't hurt Roscoe…and I only stalled once."
Stiles raises his eyebrows and scrunches up his face. "You mean twice."
"The second time didn't count."
"Um…yes it did. It was worse than the first time. You let off the clutch way too fast and—"
"But it wasn't my fault."
He pauses to touch her chin with his thumb, then grazes it along her bottom lip tugging at the corner of her pouting mouth. "Lyds, you were driving."
"But you put your hand on my thigh!"
"I was trying to teach you."
"What?...that you know how to break my concentration?"
His thumb, which is still resting at the corner of her mouth, goes along for the ride as a genuine, Lydia Martin smile spreads across her lips…the first he has seen in over one month…and it is beautiful. He grins broadly at the sight of her dimples, deliberately tacking kisses to each of them before moving to her mouth. As he devotes his attention to her lips, Stiles feels Lydia grip his thigh, and his stomach flutters uncontrollably.
"Okay…okay…point taken – it was totally my fault," he acknowledges, parting from her with a chuckle. "Speaking of broken concentration…where was I?" he wonders aloud.
"You were reminding me of why I'm so special to you," she answers, gazing at him through her lashes and inching closer.
Stiles lifts her hand, and places it over the center of his chest. The gesture touches Lydia profoundly; it reaches to the innermost chambers of her heart, the parts she has only ever wanted to share with Stiles, the parts that allow her the hope of seeing a future with him.
"Exactly," he says. "You are the one who helped me find my dad – helped save him, and you're the one that brought me back – my anchor. Lydia…you saved Scott, you fought for me when most people would have given up, and you saved my life."
The way he looks at her makes everything else fade away, and she stills. Lydia has no doubt that she will remember this image of Stiles for as long as she lives – eyes blazing and focused on her, lips parted and curling up on one side, hand clutching hers so tightly that she can feel his love flowing into her.
She delicately runs her hand across his forehead and down the side of his face. "You saved my life too."
"You're the first and only girl I will ever love. You were even my first kiss. Do you remember? We were in sixth grade…it was the last day of school before Christmas vacation. Remember…?"