A/N: This chapter was just... really fun. Angst. Emotional Games. Beer-pong. Jealousy. ;)

Need I say more? Enjoy.

And. Review. Maybe? Okay?


Your past-times consisted of the strange,
and twisted and deranged,
and I love that little game you had called
crying lightning.


Stiles

He stopped by the police station after he'd showered and gotten dressed.

He strolled through the station until he got to his father's office door, the one with Sheriff Stilinski embossed in shiny silver cursive. He knocked twice. "Come in," emanated a stressed voice from inside. Stiles stepped in, softly shutting the door behind him. "I come bearing tacos!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm immediately diminishing once he saw the state his father was in. He was swarmed with paper work, sitting in the midst of a sea of files and highlighters.

John Stilinski barely spared a glance at his son, rubbing his temple irritably. "We're beginning to worry about our containment system. Prisoners just keep disappearing from their cells... If I don't find a solution to this chaos soon, I'm going to be in trouble," his father didn't say it, but Stiles knew 'getting in to trouble' didn't mean being shunned to go to a corner or being suspended from duty, 'trouble' was police speak for getting fired. Stiles placed the bag of food on the table and narrowed his eyes, skimming through some of the files spread out across the table. "They won't fire you," Stiles gulped. "They can't."

Mr. Stilinski shrugged, "They definitely can. I can't even blame them. I'm failing my duty..."

"Dad," Stiles muttered sharply. "You're doing your job perfectly fine. You're just..."

"I'm in a slump,"

"You are not in a slump. This case is just a bit tougher to crack than the rest. You're stuck in a conundrum. A very temporary conundrum. You're respected in the force, you've been working for them for ever since I can remember, I'm sure they wouldn't do that to you..."

Stiles wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself, or his father.

"Don't worry, son. We'll figure things out. I promise, we'll be fine. Now you get to tell me why your butt's not in school," John said, whirling the subject. Stiles grimaced. "I woke up late?"

"Go. To. School." He ordered. "Let me handle the police work,"

"Dad. I... uh, I'll admit I've been on the scent of this case myself. Don't kill me. Listen. I just wanna help. In every way I can. You have to keep your job, alright? Plus, we've solved tons of cases together. You know I'm good at this Sherlock stuff. Anyway... I may have gotten a lead. I'll tell you about it, but first I need to confirm this piece of information... Can you let me take a peek at those records?" he babbled, grinning stupidly and sheepishly.

The Sheriff glared at him with an expression made of ice for a long time before finally complying. "Fine. Just this once because I'm having trouble with this case," he muttered dejectedly. "Yes!" Stiles grinned, pumping a fist in the air.

"So a friend of mine was recently attacked by one of those... creatures that are running rampant on the city. Of the supernatural variety." Stiles added. Mr. Stilinski looked dubious, he was having a hard time buying all the supernatural stuff, but he nodded and gestured for him to continue. "Or in this case, two of those. They were twins. I... uh, I need to know if there are any records on a duo of crazy killer twins having recently vanished from their jail cells."

Sheriff Stilinski looked surprised. "Actually... yes," he said, trudging through the mess of paper work towards a grey cabinet that held more documents. He shuffled through one of its drawers and yanked out a white file marked with red and stamped 'unsolved'. "Terry and Tommy Jordan, Uh... They committed several murders when they were on the run together before the NYPD got a hold of them from an undercover source in Mexico. They escaped, or er... disappeared from Keegan County Jail about three months ago," he explained.

"Sounds about right," Stiles responded, getting hyped up about the fact that his suspicion had definitely been right. Thank you Allison! Mr. Stilinski frowned. "Wait a second... Are you implying what I think you're implying?" Stiles nodded quickly. Mr. Stilinski raised an eyebrow at his son.

"You seriously think someone has the mojo to not only make prisoners vanish from their cells, but also to somehow... boost them with superpowers to rave around the city?"

Stiles made a face that made it look like he had about seven chins. "When you put it like that, it sounds crazier than it did in my head. But, dad, think about it. How many big time criminals have escaped from jail in these past six months? Now think about when all this supernatural mayhem began - about three-four months ago. If you take a close look at some of these so-called creatures in photographs, you'll notice they look somewhat familiar."

Mr. Stilinski rubbed his chin, but Stiles could tell he was winning his father over. He had a pretty strong argument. "Call your guys. Get them to run facial recognition on every superpowered criminal they can catch on camera." He insisted. Mr. Stilinski nodded. "Wait. There's more. This is gonna sound nuts,"

"What could possibly be more nuts than this?"

"I have a feeling that Wolfram & Hart's got a hand in all of this. They might be the only ones with the resources and the money that it takes to pull off such a stunt. And I know. It seems implausible, but they're a corporation that runs on aiding douchebag criminals, so when their lawyers fail; what do they do for their clients? They bust them out of jail and load them up with magic powers so they're free to play out their revenge."

"Yup," Mr. Stilinski muttered, shaking his head. "Considerably nuttier."

xxxxx

Lydia

Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine...

Counting sheep wasn't helping. It was another sleepless night and Lydia was tossing and turning in her bed like it was made out of jelly instead of comfortable mattress. Everytime she closed her eyes she saw his face. She saw those eyes that always looked like they had sunlight trapped in them, even in the dark. She saw those winter lips of his, those awfully kissable lips that controlled her every heartbeat when they touched her own. She saw that look on his face that was beginning to haunt her dreams. God. That look that assured her that she could give him a universe with a smile.

Do you think you're in love?
No, no, no, no...

Lydia refused to believe she'd fallen in love with Stiles Stilinski. She was too afraid to even think the thought. All these days, Lydia had considered the tumbling inside her gut and the racing of her mind when around him to simply be enticement or infatuation, but she was sure now that it was something larger, deeper, scarier than that. Complicated. Lydia had never known what she felt for Stiles, she was always drawing blanks when it came to him, never knowing what to make of him. With Jackson, heck, with every guy that had come before - she always knew where she stood, even if she was head over heels; she knew it.

Not to mention she was always the one in control, always calling the shots. With Stiles... She lost track of the world, of herself. She couldn't control her own actions, her own thoughts, her own feelings. Everything that she did when she was around Stiles didn't just surprise Stiles, it surprised her too because she'd never know how she would react the next time their hands happened to brush against one another. Feeling like this for Stiles was a new thing, she definitely wasn't falling for him when she first met him, in fact, she'd hardly ever noticed him looming around her like a shadow all the time. Since then things had changed and suddenly he was a billboard of lights, he was bright neon, he was a fairytale.

Like someone had drenched him in spotlight, like a light bulb had illuminated somewhere.

It wasn't because he was Spiderman. At first, that's what she thought it was, but it wasn't. Lydia had lines of boys fawning all over her all the time, but most of them just fell for her exterior beauty, none of them really knew her; none of them even wanted to. They offered her praise, complimented her hair or her eyes, but their words were just sugar-coated, empty attempts at getting in her pants. It was true. She'd been used for sex time and time again by boys she had given her all to but Stiles was the first guy to see her for who she truly was, surging right past the facades like his eyes held x-ray vision.

Stiles hadn't fallen in love with the New and Improved, stiletto-wearing, eyelash-fluttering Lydia Martin, he'd fallen for the little girl with the sunset hair who sat across him at school. Before she got pretty. Before she got popular.

That's what struck a chord with her.

Stiles was the first guy who seemed to genuinely mean it when he told her she was beautiful. Stiles didn't just think she had a gorgeous body, but he also thought she had a gorgeous brain.

He was also cute and sweet and in love with her.

Stiles... Lydia began to realize, was everything she ever wanted and it petrified her.

She was too afraid. Of what, exactly? She wasn't quite sure. She was afraid of what being in love with Stiles warranted. She was afraid of love itself. She was afraid of him. She was afraid of herself when she was around him. It was dangerous... falling so deep down the rabbit hole.

Lydia's stormy thoughts were suddenly interrupted by her phone's constant chirping.

It was three am, and Allison was calling. Lydia felt her heart skip a beat as she fumbled with the touch screen to answer it. "Ali! Are you alright?" she'd come to a paranoid level of panic and concern ever since Allison had gotten kidnapped and hurt. "Wow. Relax. I'm fine, I'm just calling to talk to you about something," she explained. "I'm sorry. I just feel like I've been a horrible best friend lately. I've been so tangled up in my own stupid -"

"Are you kidding?" Allison cut her off. "If there's anyone here who needs to apologize it's me. I'm the one who got so swept into Scott Town that I totally abandoned you. And then there's all the stuff with my psychotic family... Still, I should've made time for you. It's coincidently why I'm calling actually, I want to make it up to you," she went on to say.

"I'm listening," Lydia grinned. "Well... I'm making it up to the both of us, technically. It's just... I almost died, you know? And yet I didn't. I feel like I want to celebrate that, embrace it. This whole week I've just felt so spontaneous, but I was in recovery and I couldn't do anything about it. Now I'm better and I have a proposition," she continued.

"Let's hit the road. Head upstate for a road trip, somewhere away from the city."

"Just the two of us?"

"Actually... I asked Scott and he's totally up for it. I was thinking you could ask Stiles..."

"Absolutely not."

"But -"

"Allison, no,"

"You haven't spoken to him in a week and he's going to go for Malia's stupid party if you don't whisk him away with us," Allison said. Lydia felt her heart twitch. "Um. What party?"

"Malia's friend's having a birthday bash and she invited Stiles and Scott. Stiles is going, Lyd. He thinks you don't want to be with him."

"Let him go. Let him have the time of his life with that skank. I couldn't care less."

"Really? Why is she a skank, then?"

Lydia bit her lip. "I don't know. She just is."

She could almost imagine the brunette giving her a don't-try-to-fool-me-I-can-bloody-see-right-through-your-bullshit look and grimaced. "Come on, Lydia. You aren't telling me you're just gonna let him raise his hands up in surrender and walk away? What about the whole you move on before they move on policy you told me about when you broke up with Jackson?"

"That doesn't apply to Stiles. None... None of my dating rules apply to him," Lydia murmured softly, in her defense.

"Have you been watching the news? Stiles has been taking out his frustration on random criminals. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but I prescribe getting your shit together before Tuesday morning, which is precisely when I'm dragging the both of you on our road trip. Okay? Love you, bye."

Lydia wanted to protest, she wanted to more-than-protest, but the other line already went dead.

Now she was thinking about Stiles in the arms of another girl. In the arms of not just any other girl, but his ex-girlfriend. His gorgeous ex-girlfriend. It made her want to throw up, so she downed an anti-depressant and went to sleep.

xxxxx

"Don't do it, bro," Scott warned warily.

"It's just one party. It's not gonna hurt. It's not like I'm gonna go make-out with Malia or anything," Stiles muttered defensively. "Yeah, well - you better not. Backlashing is ugly, dude. Plus, she's so obviously not over you. Every time she looks at you I swear it's like she wants to swallow you whole; eat pieces of your flesh and viscera for breakfast."

"You have a very vivid imagination. Anyone ever told you that?"

"Sorry. Werewolf side effects." Scott grimaced, scratching the back of his neck as Stiles finished spraying his deodorant, almost emptying the bottle in the process.

He knew he looked different, he even felt different. Back when Stiles was dating Malia, he was more-dork, less-appealing. Always wearing plaid and button-downs and keeping his hair cut short. The boy who looked back at him in the mirror was from another galaxy. He was clad in a black Henley and khakis, his hair was a messy ocean of dark chocolate as he'd let them grow out enough so that they curled around his ears a little, he smelt like expensive cologne and mints.

Scott whistled. "God you look hot," he muttered. "Please don't cheat on me, I love you,"

Stiles rolled his eyes. He agreed to Scott, he did look better but he also didn't truly look like himself. It was stupid, it was all so stupid because he wasn't even interested in the party in the first place, he certainly wasn't interested in Malia Tate anymore.

"Of course not, babe," he winked jokingly. "You're my world."

Scott scoffed ironically at that. "Go tell that to Lydia Martin,"

"Shut up."

He didn't want to hear about her. He didn't want to hear her name, even. After all, she was the reason he wanted to get away and lose himself at some party with a bunch of people who would help keep his mind off of her. "So you gonna have a drink at this party?" Scott questioned, something akin to concern veiled intricately into his faux casual tone.

"Drinks. Plural. Yes. What's a party without alcohol?"

"Not a party," Scott replied. "Which is exactly what I want for you. To not go. Look, according to Allison, Lydia really does like you back, I don't want you to botch this all up with her just because you've been PMS-ing all week. Lydia's not the kind of girl you want to piss off,"

Stiles scoffed. "Lydia made up her mind. She didn't even bother checking up on me after that night. I think it's clear how she feels."

"Dude, she's probably just afraid of getting her heart broken or something,"

"Are you kidding? I'm the last guy to break her heart. I've been in love with her forever and she knows it. So that makes like zero sense."

Scott shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Girls are weird and complicated. Maybe she has another reason. Maybe she has ten. What I'm trying to say is that right now you've got a chance with her, but if you go around doing something or someone that you shouldn't be doing... You might lose her forever and then I feel like you're going to regret it and come weeping to me. Look, I've dealt with I-hate-the-world-and-everything-about-it you and I don't have the energy to deal with that version of your sorry ass again. Got it?"

"Okay, mom. May I leave now or would you like to tie my shoelaces for me first?"

"Rot in Satan's butthole, dickwad,"

"Again with the gross imagery," Stiles murmured nonchalantly as he stomped out of his room.

xxxxx

Stiles wasn't one for house parties, but considering Malia's friend's house looked more like a five-star hotel than a home, Stiles figured it wouldn't be so bad.

The mansion looked like it was made of pearl-white diamonds in the dim glitter of moonlight and streetlights. The cobblestone pathway that led up to the main doors was adorned with hedges and grass sculptures on either side, the leaves of which were swathed in glimmering fairy lights. Even the barks of the trees surrounding the house were caked up. Stiles knocked twice and smiled shyly at the pretty girl with the black hair and blue eyes who opened the door.

"Hey. You must be Alice," Stiles grinned. The girl giggled, her eyes slightly glassy indicating that she was totally high. "Sheee is mee, and you arreeee?"

"Uh, Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. I'm... Malia's friend?"

"Oh, oh. Riiiiight. Come on in!" she squealed, he smiled and handed her a present. "That's for you. Happy Birthday!" she giggled once more, took the gift, and disappeared into the sandstorm of gyrating bodies enwreathing her. Stiles would've stopped to admire the furnishing of the interiors if there was anything left to cover. The living room was a jungle. People spilled into every nook and cranny of the place like liquid, the golden walls were barely visible in the company of the dry ice machines and bubble machines that made it difficult to both see and breathe. The lights were dimmed, funky lamps and candle light illuminated the room, bathing the faces of a hundred dozen strangers in mystical rainbow lights. It smelt of sheesha and heavy perfumes. The speakers thronged dubstep and trance like incessant thunderclaps. Waiters strolled about the room, offering champagne and wine and eatables. Stiles pushed past people and made his way to the bar, where he found Malia.

Malia was dressed in a body-hugging mauve dress that showed off her figure in the best way, complimented by matching pumps and a silver pendant around her neck shaped like a star. Her newly dyed blonde hair was wild and her eyelashes were painted smoky and sparkly. She wore purple lipstick as well, making the chocolate of her eyes stand out considerably. She was taking a drag of hookah.

"Exotic party," Stiles grinned, gesturing at the hookah.

Malia smiled. "It's grape flavor. Have at it," she handed him the pump. Stiles took a drag, and it left a strange irritation in his throat. He handed it back to her. "I'm glad you could make it. I feel like it's been so long since we've hung out," she said softly. Stiles ordered himself a Whiskey on the rocks and nodded slowly. "Hey. As long as I remember, you were the one who wanted to keep your distance from me,"

Malia pursed her lips. "You look good. Hotter. You're still the same, old, naive Stiles at heart, though? Aren't you?" she mumbled.

Stiles frowned at that.

"I was in over my head for you. I thought, "hey, here's this really nice guy, and he's so cute and he makes me laugh," and then I fell for you but there was always something so incomplete about our entire relationship. There were days I was convinced you were using me. That was when I realized that it wasn't your fault at all, you were just as blinded by love as I was, only for someone else," her words came out like a series of sighs. Stiles was sure she was buzzed, if not drunk. "I needed to stay away from you to get over you."

"Did it work?" he raised an eyebrow, his mind drifting back to Lydia, wondering if she was doing the same thing to him.

"No," she smiled. "Not at all... but, it did make me feel considerably less horrible," Stiles felt something inside his chest sting.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I... I'm an idiot sometimes. No, scratch that. I'm an idiot all of the time. If it makes you feel any better, I'm glad you dumped my sorry ass. You deserve someone so much better, Lia. Someone who loves you... the way -"

"The way you love her?"

Stiles gulped at the almost taunting tone in her voice. "The way you deserve to be loved."

"Right," she muttered, sighing. Tentatively, he touched his palm to her shoulder and rubbed it ever so gently, in a consoling manner. "I think coming to this party was a bad idea. Wasn't it?" he dropped his hand and finished his Whiskey in a single gulp.

"Nah. Inviting you was the bad idea."

Stiles chuckled dryly. "I couldn't agree more."

He was on his way out, about to change his mind when he saw her. "Okay. Either that's Lydia or Lydia's doppelganger or I'm losing my mind," Stiles whispered to himself as he struggled to catch a glimpse of the familiar flash of strawberry-blonde hair he thought he spotted in the sea of people. Stiles thought he saw her in the corner of the hall, so he began to amble through the crowds, making his way towards where he last saw her, or thought he saw her.

When he saw another glimmer of auburn locks, he knew for sure she was at the party. He didn't know how or why, but his legs didn't give his brain the chance to comprehend anything as he quickened his pace, now pushing past everyone to get to her. When he reached her, his heart dropped into his stomach and he felt like his intestines were twisting into fifty different knots at the same time.

It was Lydia no doubt, and she had her arms all over some buff dude with dark brown hair, making out with so much fervor that she hadn't even seen him standing there, merely centimeters away.

"Lyd?" Stiles choked. She heard him; even though the bass was louder than the sound of his voice. He watched her stiffen and then pull away, rosy cheeks getting rosier.

Stiles literally felt his heart break as the guy next to her rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and then walked away. It was like a shot in the chest. It was like a stab in the gut. It was like going up in flames, drowning and collapsing all at the same time. He felt his fingers twitch, he wanted to punch any guy who touched her. There was fire encrusting his heart all of a sudden.

She's mine.

He thought. It was the simplest thought, but he'd never felt something like that before, that overwhelming need to be with another person. He still couldn't stop himself from admiring her mind-boggling beauty.

She could stand out in the middle of a hurricane or a colorful New Orleans festival. Lydia wore a stunning sleeveless dress the color of cherries that fell just by her knees. It showed off just the right amount of cleavage and curved in every perfect place. She'd straightened her sunshine hair for the night and she'd pushed them to one side of her neck so they cascaded down her right shoulder like silken cataracts. Her toned legs sparkled with glitter body lotion and she wore black, strappy six-inch heels that looked like their tips were sharper than blades. Lydia's pond green eyes were highlighted by shades of dull scarlet eyeshadow, pink mascara and more glitter splashed across her cheeks, her lipstick was the color of blood. She stood out like a constellation of red, a maroon sky in the midst of all the black and grey.

She bit her lip at the sight of him, playing dumb, even though Stiles had caught that evil twinkle in her eye. She knew he was approaching her throne, yet she pretended like it was the surprise of a lifetime. "Stiles," she mumbled, tilting her head to the side like she was an expert actress and running her fingers through her hair to straighten them in a faux show of cautiousness.

"Good golly! What are you doing here?" she chirped.

Okay. So she was being oh-so-sarcastic. Scott's words suddenly echoed in his head.

Lydia's not the kind of girl you wanna piss off...

Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep from cringing and dig his nails into his palms to keep from fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. He wondered what her game plan was. He wondered how she got into the party in the first place. He didn't wonder for long. Lydia could get herself into the White House if she wanted, probably with a bat of an eyelash and a sparkling giggle.

"I could ask you the same thing but I'm actually a little scared right now..." he responded, cautiously. Lydia pouted at him petulantly, and then suddenly broke into bubbly laughter. "I'm having fun, silly! Isn't that what people do at parties?"

"I guess?"

Lydia grinned, twirling a strand of hair around her finger flirtatiously. "I must've made out with five... no wait... seven guys? It's so much fun! How much fun have you had, Stiles?"

"Not at all, apparently," he responded bitterly, his heart threatening to fall out of his mouth and hop on the next flight out of town. "Liar," she pouted once more, suddenly resembling a six-year-old. "I saw you with Malia. You looked like you were having so much fun!"

"Look. Whatever you're doing. I'm not into it, okay? I was on my way out of here anyway. See you later." He spat, knowing he had to get out of there before he ended up bringing the whole party down or tracking down every single guy who she'd touched and broken every single one of their bones until they were reduced to bumbling tears and pissing in their pants.

Lydia strolled over to him, so effortlessly in those heels she might as well have been floating. Stiles wondered if those heels were actually killing her on the inside. At this point, he kind of hoped they were.

"No. Hold on," she cooed, gesturing towards a table where a bunch of kids were holding an intense game of beer pong. "Let's play. You against me. If you win, I'll do whatever you say for the rest of the night. If I win, vice versa."

Stiles frowned. He doubted he'd lose. He had come to realize he was freakishly good at drinking games, even though he didn't do much partying. "Lyd. Really, I'm not in the mood -"

"Oh, come on. It's just one game."

"I don't think so,"

Lydia bit her lower lip, her eyes looked a darker shade of jade than usual in the hazy lighting, making it look like there were probably entire enchanted forests in her pupils.

"Aw, Stilinski. You aren't afraid I'll totally kick your ass, are you?"

"No, what? Of course not. In fact, I'll... I'll eat your ass for breakfast," he cringed at his own phrasing. "I... uh, I didn't mean -"

Lydia smirked. "I've heard that one before,"

Stiles wondered if it was possible for the earth to simply open up a chasm right under his feet and make sure he plunged into its deep, dark depths. He felt like his cheeks were on fire as he stared down at his shoes, avoiding her teasing gaze. "I can't wait to make you cry," she grinned, her smile as light as a leaf but still heavy as a stone at the same time. "I hate to brag but I'm kind of a Beer Pong God, so... I highly doubt that," he responded, in his defense.

Lydia raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, dubiousness coloring her features. "It's so on," she grabbed him by the hand and they ambled past dancing couples and twerking females and drunk dudes to the beer pong table. Stiles leaned against a blue couch and watched as Lydia skipped over to a guy with a goatee (who was handling the game) and whisper something delicately into his ear. The guy nodded instantly. Lydia flashed Stiles a poisonous smile. "Two minutes. Their game's almost over. Then it's our turn."

"Okay. Teams?"

"Oh no," Lydia shook her head. "One-on-one,"

Lydia looked like she wanted to chop his head off, he wasn't quite sure what he'd done to piss her off, but he was pretty sure she was taking out some revenge on him and her tactic to deal with it was trying to embarrass him by having him lose to her.

Okay, Lydia. We'll play it your way for now.

He was into it, just because he wanted to see where she was going with this and how it would end; most probably in burning flames, but he was up for the challenge despite of that.

Eventually, the tables would turn, and when they did, everything would fall into place. He hoped.

xxxxx

Ten red plastic cups were instantly arranged in a triangular formation on either side of the table.

Lydia stood on one end, examining her cuticles and pretending to look bored. Stiles stood to the other side, tapping his right foot incessantly and fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt while Goatee Guy filled the cups half-way with fizzling gold liquid. Once their game was set up, Goatee Guy began filling them in on the rules.

"You two will take turns shooting the balls alternatively. When one of you has legal possession of the ball during your turn to shoot, you are deemed the shooter and the opposing player is deemed the defender. The shooter can shoot at anytime," he continued. "During a turn of redemption, the shooter shall only have one shot. If during this turn of redemption, the shooter sinks the ball, you will not be rewarded another turn of redemption. If the defender has more than one cup remaining, it won't be possible to achieve redemption. Got it?"

"What if I knock a cup over?" Lydia quizzed, reapplying her lipstick now, without the aid of a mirror. "Then it's a cup made," Goatee Guy responded. "Alright," Stiles sighed, cracking his knuckles so the bones underneath them whistled. "Let's do this."

"Okay guys," Goatee Guy announced. "Begin your game!"

Lydia picked up a table tennis ball and twirled it around in the palm of her hand, like it was a fruit she was deciding whether to eat or not. Stiles ran a hand through his already-messy hair impatiently. Stiles wanted to pay attention to her stance, he wanted to remind himself that at least temporarily, she was the enemy, yet he couldn't help but watch her. There was pure determination burning in those eyes, she had her lower lip caught in her front teeth and tides of her silky hair were spilling over her face, irritating her nose so it twitched slightly, adorably.

When Stiles blinked again, he heard people clapping and roaring in excitement. Lydia had made a perfect arc shot, she broke into a soft yet devastating little smirk. "Drink up, babe," she hummed. Stiles stared down at the ball that sat in his cup. He took the ball out and dropped it in the wash cup that was filled with water and gulped down the contents of the cup she'd made.

Goatee Guy whistled. "Great shot!" Lydia simply shrugged and rolled her eyes coyly.

Stiles took the ball out of the wash cup and began to aim for the cup that was closest to him yet past the boundary line. Stiles braced himself, silently promising her he wouldn't use his superhuman skills and cheat. Yet he found himself using a hard chopping motion to send the ball in a more direct line. It knocked the intended target down and doubled into a bounce, finally plopping into the cup behind the one that was knocked over. Stiles pumped his fists into the air in triumph. "Yes!"

Everyone whistled and clapped, a thin crowd already beginning to gather in a semi-circle around their table to watch. "Fastball! Amazing!" Goatee Guy clapped. Lydia shrugged and downed two cups of beer, she looked absolutely unfazed by his dexterity. Their game carried on, both of them being extremely competitive and giving each other a difficult game. They were both so good and so close - the perfect opponents. Lydia made multiple bounce shots, Stiles made about four fastballs. It heated up towards the end when both Stiles and Lydia had only a single cup left. Now it was either game point or redemption. Stiles was feeling lightheaded by that time, but he was still in his senses enough to make aims. Lydia's eyes were slightly dewy, but if she was buzzed, it wasn't showing in her expert shots.

Stiles swore half the party had gathered around to watch their intense match. Most of them were rooting for Lydia, obviously, but he didn't care, he wanted to beat her at something. Just for fun, to kick her off her high horse.

Stiles watched Lydia squinting at his cup, her fingers quivering as she attempted to aim properly. She threw the ball but didn't make a shot, Stiles heard a bunch of sighs from her admirers and rooters. She cursed under her breath and pushed her hair out of her face, her nostrils flaring slightly. Stiles tossed his ball up in the air and caught it. He was about to make his shot when he happened to glance at Lydia again. God. There were infernos in her eyes, Stiles could practically see the smoke fuming out of her ears. He wondered why it was so important for her to win. After all - it was just a stupid game. Stiles had been super competitive all the way up till now, totally ready to win the game and put her pretty ego to shame.

Now he wasn't so sure.

He subtly, purposely, landed a bad shot. Some more peopled sighed, others 'booed'. Goatee Guy laughed. "I guess they're both off their game, folks," Lydia scowled at his words and threw the ball, landing yet another great arc shot and winning the game. Everyone cheered, Goatee Guy popped a can of beer and spilled it all over his head, practically washing his hair with it and grinning madly.

Their audience began to chant: "Redemption! Redemption!"

Stiles purposely screwed that final shot up too. Lydia won. He wanted to know what she was going to do now that she'd won the game, he wanted to know why it mattered so much. Goatee Guy strolled over to Lydia and raised one of her arms in the air. "We have a winner, folks! The gorgeous girl in red! A round of applause!"

People clapped, people congratulated her on an awesome game, people began to disperse as Goatee Guy began setting up a new game for another couple of individuals. Stiles pretended to be a bit upset over the fact that he lost, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing.

"I was super close to beating you. If I could've just gotten one more shot at redemption -"

"Why did you let me win?"

Stiles blinked, playing oblivious. "What? Why would I do that?"

"You're better than me at this game, even without your Spiderman mojo. Why did you let me win? It's a simple enough question," Lydia muttered matter-of-factly.

Stiles gulped. He wasn't quite sure himself. "It seemed important... to you, to win, I mean. I wanted to know why." Lydia shrugged. "Now you get to do whatever I say for the rest of the night," she said, evading an appropriate explanation.

"I would, but I'm still Spiderman. I've got some stuff I need to take care of."

"You should take a day off."

"Nah. It's the best of both worlds. Look, even if I don't pull on my mask, I've got to get going. And honestly, Lyd? It's late, you should get going, too."

"No sweetheart," she purred patronizingly. "You can't leave just yet."

"Oh no, I really can," Stiles insisted, but Lydia had crossed the distance between them, and now she was standing right in front of him. In those heels, she was the same height. He smelt the bubblegum on her breath and the enticing perfume scent of smoldering flowers and vanilla. She looked like a huntress on the prowl as her eyes glinted like there were stars in them and she placed a sharp, perfectly manicured fingernail against his throat; almost digging into his skin but not quite. Stiles gulped, and he knew she could feel his heartbeat speeding up against his Adam's apple. "First we're going to dance."

She wasn't asking.

Stiles couldn't tell if she was playing nice or dirty, but she was freaking him out and his heart had melted like candle wax. He simply nodded, limp and helpless when it came to her touch as she broke into another sugar sweet smile and took his hand, leading him towards the other side of the house. Lydia's hand was confident and surprisingly cool against his clammy, trembling one.

"Lydia. What's this really about? Why are you behaving like this? If it's about me being here with Malia. We were just talking. It... It didn't mean anything, I -"

Lydia cut him off by turning on her heel so fast he almost bumped into her. Stiles felt his lips reduce to jello as she pressed her index finger to them. His breathing became jagged as her smile sent daggers flying into his chest like cupid's arrows.

"Shh. Don't talk. Just... don't," she said. Lydia turned back around and continued to lead him out, through the gigantic kitchen, towards a hallway and finally through double doors that led them towards Alice's back porch. They stepped out into the night and the icy air hit him like a dozen needles prickling at his skin, he wondered if Lydia was cold, she didn't look like she was feeling anything at all. The back porch was illuminated by a small yellow bulb that hung overhead and a haze of gold fairy lights swathing the fences so they painted the illusion of fireflies. On the opposite of the porch was a swimming pool, the still waters glowing a dim coral blue.

Lydia's face was an aquamarine mask in the reflected light. Stiles began to speak again but then he thought better of it as she wrapped her arms slowly around his neck. He felt like a snake was coiling itself around him, suffocating him. "Lydia," he muttered. "Lydia, stop. This doesn't feel right. Lydia, what the hell are you doing?" he felt her hips swaying against his own, to the faint din of the music that echoed through the thin walls from the living room, but she wasn't smiling at him in the way he pictured she would be, in fact, she wasn't smiling at all.

There was something so broken in her eyes that it made his chest hurt and his gut quake. Lydia barely heard him as she leaned closer, her lips ghosting against his neck.

"This is what you want. Is it not?" she intoned, her words like thorns and knives, her breath smelt like roses and vodka.

"Not like this," Stiles breathed, unable to keep the hairs on the back of his neck from standing on end, unable to keep his body from reacting to hers. He almost lost it when he felt her press her lips against his neck, right at the pulse point. Stiles shivered under her touch, somehow magically managing to stand absolutely still without stumbling and falling into the pool.

She pulled away, something foreign in the flashing of her eyes. "Honestly? I don't feel anything for you, Stiles. I just don't." He felt his heart plunge like it was on a broken elevator shaft. Had she been toying with him all this time? No, it couldn't have been. Lydia's words may have been lies, but the look in her eyes the night he held her couldn't have been, the way she kissed him... like he was her oxygen... that couldn't have been, the sweet smile she'd offered him just before she told him she was proud of him, that surely couldn't be a lie.

Yet he felt his shoulders slump and a vile creature inside his stomach was slapping at him.

Suddenly, whatever spell she seemed to be under dissolved and she blinked; eyes clear again.

Lydia began to retract, her lower lip quivering evidently. "No, no... This is wrong," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "I have... I have to go, I'm - I'm sorry," the grimace that took control of her beautiful features was as powerful as if an earthquake had hit her. She twirled around in a blinding glimmer of red and ran past the double doors right back into the party, leaving behind nothing but a faint scent of enticing perfume and saccharine.

Stiles stared on at the empty spot where her ghost still whispered I-love-you-nots into his ear.