A/N: This fic won in the hurt/comfort category for Stydia week and I'm really ecstatic about it. Thank you so much to all of my readers, I wouldn't have gotten as involved in this plot as I had if there hadn't been the support you give me.
- A lot of you are confused as to why Scott can't sense what's happening with Lydia and I promise that will be explained in the story at some point.
- Also, there were a few questions about why Lydia was worried about what Calvin could do to her friends, and I'm not exactly sure how to explain this one but I'll try. Calvin came to Lydia at an already seriously volatile time in her life. She was majorly depressed, alone, and grieving, but when Calvin came along he gave her hope for not only friendship but romance and a way to finally find happiness. He completely tugged that security out from underneath her feet and scared her to death, nearly getting her killed in a car accident and blackmailing her. Maybe he wouldn't be successful in hurting her friends, but what if he did? How would Lydia feel then? She can't ever let anything happen to them, and that feeling is especially strong now that Allison is gone. She can't feel the heavy weight of that guilt with another person she loves. I hope that makes sense and answers your question, if not, we can just agree to disagree on Lydia's thoughts and fears.
I'm sorry you had to wait so long for a chapter just for it to be one that doesn't have much action, but there's a little bit going on here so give me a chance?(: Again, thank you to everyone who's stopped by my page on tumblr or even left a review here. It's really sweet and I appreciate the feedback so much.
Empty
It's the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me
Ray LaMontagne, "Empty"
Eleven
"You don't care you just like being in control."
Lydia admires the coffee stain on her shirt as she shoves her bottom drawer shut, sitting on the back of her legs on the soft carpet rubbing against the tips of her toes. She wasn't even going to bother changing. It was 7:00 in the morning and she was already being harassed by the memories of yesterday, one of the longest days she'd had in a while (and that was really saying something.). Guilt was eating her away like maggots do a corpse, and her restless night filled with nightmares was a consistent reminder of what she'd done.
She'd wake up in the middle of the night sticking to her bed, covered in a thick sheen of sweat with the image of Stiles' hurt face fuzzy in her mind, something she'd seen just seconds ago in a hazy dream. Eventually the call of sleep that she couldn't answer became too difficult to bear so she stole a sleeping pill from her mother's washroom and swallowed it down with a cold glass of lemon water. It was only then she stayed down, sleeping until the blaring of her morning alarm noisily filled the room.
Deciding to have a cup of coffee to start the day off with some energy turned out to be a bad idea when she got distracted and filled it just a little too high, causing it to splash against her top when she tried to pick it up. Her own appliances were against her now.
The vibration of her phone is a welcome distraction; anything to get rid of the depressing thoughts sneaking around in the nest of her brain. That snarky little voice that used to silently laugh at mismatched clothing and faux designer labels was now laughing at Lydia; and it never failed to remind her that she was a failure.
She knew it was going to be Scott so she didn't even bother checking the ID. There was no one else that would bother calling her, probably not Kira, not Malia and especially not Stiles.
"Hey Scott," she tries to sound cheery but falls short. She's too worn out, and pulling on the bags under her eyes as she stared into the mirror was only making it worse. She immediately digs through her bag for that magic little marker and starts applying concealer underneath; the perfect mask for her weariness. It's smart that she avoids looking her reflection directly in the eyes, because she already knows that the only thing she'll find there is shame.
"Hey, Lydia,"
He's also lacking in enthusiasm and she notices just as much. "What's going on?"
"Ahh, I'm just calling to let you know that we got the results back on the blood test, you know, on your –," he clears his throat uncomfortably, "ah - Allison's dress."
"What?" Lydia shakes her head. That wasn't exactly what she was expecting, but it was better than their usual morning banter. She was usually too tired for it. "When did you find this out?"
"Stiles called me ten minutes ago so now I'm calling you. Don't worry, Lydia, I'm not leaving you out of the loop."
Lydia shifts her weight to the opposite foot. He was an idiot for thinking that was the reason she wanted to know when he learned this new information. He was worried she was going to flip out again because she was so sensitive about being left out last time. She'd be angry about that later, because she was currently focused on more important minor details, like the person on the phone with her right now and the reason he was that person. "Why didn't he call me?" She's well aware of how bothered she sounds, but Scott is always caught up in pack drama so she might as well involve him where it concerns his best friend. How much did Stiles tell him about their camping trip, anyway?
Scott sighs shortly, probably unsure of what to say. He couldn't exactly tell her that Stiles had asked him to call her as a favor. Begged might even be a better word. He didn't know they were fighting until Stiles' request was made and that was strange enough, especially when they seemed so perfectly content over the weekend. Actually, they were better than that. Stiles was completely glowing and the topic of Lydia had been off limits until they had some kind of "talk"; just the two of them. Apparently the talk had been had and Stiles didn't like what Lydia had to say, because he didn't even want to talk to or about her at all now. As always, Scott was left in the dark about the details of their issues with one another. He considered asking Lydia about it, but now wasn't the time.
"He got busy," Scott utters pathetically. It's the best he can come up with right now without directly lying to his other best friend. He couldn't take sides and hoped they would understand that, but the shuffling on the other end of the line was giving him paranoia that suggested otherwise.
"Okay…" Lydia already knew what that meant, but she won't push the topic any further. There are other urgent matters to be discussed.
She takes a calming breath to prepare herself for whatever he might be about to tell her about the results. She'd been pretty successful in keeping it in the back of her mind over the weekend, but that had only been because there were so many other problems to focus on. "What was it?"
"It was just an animal," he's just as puzzled by the fact as she is to hear it. "A deer's blood, to be more specific. Isn't that nuts?"
"To say the least," Lydia mutters, absorbing this new information. She's relieved that it isn't human, but she was hoping that by getting the blood test back they would have some real answers by now. There was still nothing, and the news that the blood belonged to an animal did little to comfort her. It was just another question to add to the list of concerns that left her shrugging her shoulders and unsatisfactorily learning to let things go. It wasn't a math problem that she had the wrong formula to; it wasn't a dilemma between two multiple choice answers. She was stuck in a situation that couldn't be solved, and for the first time Lydia Martin was stumped.
"Is that everything?" She mumbles, aggravation something she's grown used to at this point. Whether it was caused by one of her friends or Beacon Hills and its ridiculous mysteries, she knows it well.
"Ahh," Scott pauses on that note and drawls, like there's something burning his tongue that needed to be addressed. "Shouldn't we be worried about the fact that someone broke into your house and snuck a deer's blood into your room?" It almost sounds sarcastic. It should have been more obvious than it was that this was a serious problem.
Lydia's fists involuntarily clench, the nail of her thumb digging into the sleeve of her olive shirt and widening the space between the yarn threading sewn there to leave a small hole.
"Or we could be worried about our dear friend Allison getting unceremoniously dug up from her grave and placed on the Nemeton like a sacrifice!?" Lydia was surprised by her harsh shout, almost accusatory.
The alpha was quiet for only a second, but he was firm when he spoke. "How 'bout we worry about both?"
Lydia knew a rhetorical question when it knocked on her door. She could picture what his face looked like right now, his eyebrow ridged and low like his forehead carried the weight of the world; a puppy dog pout that pleaded her to cooperate with him; a look that only he could give her.
When he hears her sigh he gives in, "How about we talk about this in person? I'm giving you a ride to school, right? I can be there in ten minutes."
"No," Lydia corrected quickly. "Actually, I'm gonna be late today."
She can almost hear him frown. "What for?"
She scoffs, letting out the most annoyed breath of air she can fake because she doesn't want to actually answer that question. "Scott, I don't have time to chit-chat with you about my comings and goings. I'll see you when I see you."
He's reluctant. "Okay, but we really do need to talk."
" – And Scott? Don't tell the others I'm not at school. If they ask, just tell them I'm around."
"Around?" Scott snorted. "I'll lie for you, but you're telling me what's going on later."
Lydia's lips involuntarily puckered into a pout, but she quietly agreed and ended the phone call. She'd worry about what her excuse would be later, and how she was going to slip past his keen werewolf senses that enabled him to read a lie whenever he wanted. So far, lying to him about Calvin had been easy because he had no reason to believe she was lying. If he had a reason to listen to the rate of her heartbeat, he'd do it in a split second without even telling her.
But the plan for this afternoon was simple. While the rest of her pack cluelessly fluttered around the halls of their school she would show up at Calvin's house with the intention of finding answers. She wasn't sure what she expected to see there that could be so revealing, not when he was just a teenage boy. There had to be something more there, especially when every time she looked at him she saw a secret lingering beneath the surface, one that was dying to get out. Meeting Forrest had been suspicious enough. At the time, he only seemed a little awkward and rough around the edges. Now that Lydia knew what she knew about Calvin, she could talk to Forrest about it. He had to know about Calvin's problems, especially when he'd cautioned Lydia about him; even if his warning had been more of a plea not to leave his side.
Maybe Forrest would do her a solid and let her snoop around Calvin's room for herself. If he didn't, then she'd just have to break in at a time where neither was home. She was definitely willing to do that, but she might not be able to do it alone.
One step at a time.
x-x-x
There was a hollow crater burrowed deeply into the left side of Stiles Stilinski's chest. It was aching at a consistent rate where it would vanish for a few short hours, just long enough to make him think it would stop for good, and then it would come rolling back with an even worse pressure with a conjoined feeling of emptiness. He first noticed the gap in his chest when he'd been freed of the nogitsune's rein, a scar the demon left behind that would never leave him. It was a powerful reminder of the not-so distant past and the dark corners in his mind he never thought he'd find.
Sometimes the aching turned into a dull throbbing sensation, and that happened when someone did something horrible and hurt his feelings in a brutal way. The most recent time, the one that was currently weighing most heavy on his mind would be Lydia Martin and her ability to chew up his hear t, roll her tongue over the veins, and then spit it back out with little more than a grunt. She played him for the last time and now he was done. He was completely disillusioned with her, and now it was over. It was in her best interest that she stay as far away from him as she possibly could today, otherwise he might say something he'd later regret.
Of course they'd still be sitting at the same lunch table, only this time it would be filled with awkward tension.
Only she isn't there for lunch… but Calvin is.
"Hey Stiles!"
Malia is extra enthusiastic when she sees him today, because now they're together. She bounds forward to wrap her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over in her haste to get to him. Her lips on his are unexpected, and he almost forgets not to pull back.
"Watch out for my tray," he says quickly, jumping back when her mouth finally releases his. "Today's gyro day." He sits down with his food, ignorant of the disappointed twitch in Malia's lips.
"Tell me about it!" Scott sucks a wiggly piece of meat through his teeth, lowering his head to avoid Kira's mock-disapproving lift of an eyebrow.
"Where's Lydia?" Calvin chimes in; breaking what Stiles presumed was a long period of silence. He had a tendency to make every day social situations extremely uncomfortable with his stoic presence. He had an annoying habit of only talking to or about Lydia. It's one of the reasons he was so hard to befriend.
Scott's eyes dart upwards and his mouth opens to spew out an automatic response. "She's around."
"Well she's not here," The bushy haired outsider pointed out. "She always sits with you guys during lunch."
Stiles is bored of this topic of conversation so he drowns out Scott's rambling answer and instead focuses on his tiny box of whole milk. He had a system where he would only drink at certain intervals during his meal, otherwise the small box was never enough and he was left dehydrated after swallowing down meats with freezer burn and chicken that probably should have been thrown out sooner. Scott thought it was stupid since he first came up with it in fourth grade, but it actually worked. Two bites of his gyro and then one sip of milk. You can't argue with a system that works. Especially when the cheap cafeteria ladies won't let you take more than one.
"Stiles?" Calvin flexes a finger in his face. "Have you seen Lydia?"
"No," he snaps distastefully. He purposely got lost in his own thoughts with the intention of staying there until they were talking about something other than her but the same bastard responsible for this mess was forcing him to listen to it. "What does it matter? She's not here, okay?" He takes an angry bite out of his food and almost regrets it when it proves to be a little too much for the size of his mouth. He coughs out a thick piece of bread but swallows down the meat with vigor.
Calvin grimaced at the unwanted attitude. "Okay, well, I was gonna invite her to my house tonight… It's my brother's birthday and we're gonna have dinner and maybe a drink or two." He doesn't even notice the way everyone is staring at him "Anyway, I also wanted to invite you Stiles."
Stiles' face drops and he draws back hastily. "Me?" His eyes flit toward Scott to see if he is making any sense of this, but he shrugs just as confused. "You want me to have dinner with you, your girlfriend and your brother?" His eyebrows are low and waiting.
"Well don't look at me like you think it's weird."
"Uhh, it is weird." Stiles scoff and exchanges wary glances with Malia.
"It's not like that," Calvin rolls his eyes and calmly explains. "I don't want my brother to feel weird about it just being me and her, and he doesn't have any guy friends or anything… I thought it would be nice if you could help him chill out. We'll have some beers and hang." He drums his fingers along the table. "Honestly, he has no friends and I don't want his birthday to be miserable. You know how to have fun, Stiles."
Stiles isn't sure how to respond in the slightest. He's certain that he looks just as uncertain as he feels, because at this point he's at least partly convinced that Calvin genuinely wants him to suffer. He wanted him to watch him flirt with Lydia in his comfortable little home without anything to do but sit there and deal with it. It would be three hours of hell and the only other person there to distract himself with would be the more melancholy awkward version of Calvin, if that were evil possible. "Yeah I do, but I don't think that's a great idea." He's avoiding, but Calvin is having none of it.
"Why not?" Calvin flops his arms against his sides. "You said there was nothing going on between you and Lydia, and if there isn't then why should this be a problem for you?"
Kira can feel Scott's foot grow rigid where it presses against hers under the table.
Stiles blows a breath of air, closing his eyes lightly. "Jesus," he mumbles. "I'll come to your little dinner." he nods toward his alpha. "If Scott comes too."
"I don't want to overwhelm my brother with strangers," Calvin says apologetically. "Just you."
Stiles sucks his teeth. Of course.
x-x-x
Standing on the front stoop of Calvin's home, Lydia kept one hand firmly on the pink clutch handbag her nails were currently digging into and the other frozen in the shape of a fist against the door, mentally going over what exactly she was going to say before she finally knocked. Part of her was hoping that Forrest wasn't home, that she could slither through an open window and search Calvin's room, find something incriminating and then get out before anyone ever knew she was there. It was the safest way to go about this.
Just as she lifted up her fist to wrap it against the hard wood, the door was forced wide open to reveal a particularly haggard looking Forrest. Lydia looked on in scrutiny, eyeing the beer in his hand before the clock had even struck noon.
"Lydia." He wasn't surprised. "You've been standing in front of my door for ten minutes. I was starting to think you were asleep."
"With my eyes open standing up?" She blinked at him, trying to hold back the attitude she felt coming on. If she was going to get him to work with her then he was going to have to see her as more than a nuisance to distract his brother with.
"Stranger things have happened." He tips his head at her. "You know Calvin's at school right now… So why aren't you?"
Lydia looks him straight in the eyes. "I was hoping we could talk."
Forrest puckers his lips in thoughtful uncertainty.
"Please. It's about your brother."
They share intense eye contact for a few long uncomfortable seconds until he mellows slightly and finally steps aside. She isn't sure if that's an invitation until he gestures toward the inside.
"Come on if you're coming," he sighs, already aware that this conversation was going to be difficult on him.
They stand awkwardly in the living room, him shuffling his feet and Lydia studying him like a science project. When he grows tired of her observing, he collapses onto the couch and continues to sip his beer as if she isn't even there. He's waiting for her to say something.
She lets out a short breath of air as she motions to sit beside him, her legs pressed firmly together and her hands clasped across her lap. They sat as virtual opposites, Forrest tall with sloppy legs stretched outwards and Lydia folding into herself with posture that was no less than perfect.
"Calvin's not who I thought he was." She's not sure how else to put it, and the statement remains true. "He's always getting angry and he does things that..." her voice caught when she tried to continue speaking, so she cleared her throat and gave it another shot. "He's aggressive."
The muscles of Forrest's jaw were jumping, giving way to just how stressed he was to hear this information that Lydia was certain he already knew about. "What do you want me to do about that?" He's pissed off, made evident by the hand locked so tightly around his beer and his eyebrows rimmed with the desire to not be hearing any of this right now. She should have kept her mouth shut.
"You knew he was going to get like this, you warned me about his behavior and told me not to give up on him." Her eyes wildly examine his, searching for empathy or understanding of some sort. "How can I not when he's the way he is?" she narrows her eyes and pushes a little harder. "Did you know he's been blackmailing me?" Her stare is heedful and unwavering, her voice even-toned and determined.
She knew she would have to be this way if she wanted Forrest to talk more openly about his brother. It was hard to believe it would be easy to convince him to betray Calvin in this way, but the older man was proving to be an awkward and uncomfortable person in general. If she was unrelenting and refused to back down, he'd have no choice but to be honest with her.
Forrest grunts, pushing himself up from the couch. "I think it's time you go." his eyes sparkle but remain difficult to read. "I'll see you tonight."
"Tonight?" Lydia shakes her head in confusion. "What's tonight?"
"Maybe if you'd gone to school today you'd know by now," he quips with a twist of his hands along the neck of the bottle in his clasping grip. When she expectantly tilts her head at him with raised brows, he elaborates. "Today's my birthday. Calvin insisted I not waste it and said he'd bring you and another friend over later and we'd have some dinner and…hangout." He shifts his weight to the opposite foot, clearly afflicted by her presence.
Lydia's gaze lowers to the floor, understandably distressed. If she even tried to say no when Calvin finally asked her, that whole "blackmail" thing would just come back and smack her in the face once again. As the familiar tingle of panic she'd grown so accustomed to swells deep in her stomach and stirs in her brain, she finally blurts it out. "Why didn't you tell me he was so violent?"
Forrest's long form is still like the quiet air. When his lips finally part, his eyes are avoiding. "I warned you that he was odd."
As if the statement is too much to physically contain herself, Lydia shoots up to her feet, a scoff brushing past her lips. "It's more than that and you know it." She points an accusing finger at him. "You told me to stand by his side even when things got bad. Why would you do that? Calvin needs psychological help, not a girlfriend!" She's seething now, all of her previous unexpressed anger released tenfold. His brother should be taking care of him, getting him a psychiatrist and evaluating whatever mental illness he might have. No normal person should be as quick to trigger and intimidating as he is.
"He's my little brother and you're a stranger," Forrest spits angrily, showing a side Lydia didn't know existed. "Whose side did you think I would be on?" At her expression he realizes that he's shouting and looks toward the farthest corner of the room, somewhere her eyes can't haunt his. "He's got issues, okay? I know that. Our parents weren't exactly perfect role models either. The kid means well and I just want him to be happy." Quaking, Forrest places his hands on his knees to brace himself, his alcohol long forgotten where it sits undisturbed on the table. "He'd never hurt you, Lydia. Not really."
Her eyes burn. "We've surpassed hurting, Forrest."
His jaw is tight, his mind made up. "I can't help you."
"I don't expect you to," she whispers brokenly. "I would never expect you to do something that hurts your brother in some way… not directly." She waits until his gaze lifts to hers. "Just let me take a look at his room."
Forrest put his fingers to his lips thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed at the comment that came from left-field. "Why?"
Lydia's arms flop to her sides, the desperation she feels more obvious than she wants to let on. "I don't know," she sighs. "Maybe I'll find something, see something that helps me understand him a little better or figure out how to get him… out of my life. I wouldn't hurt him, I swear to you, but I can't have him around me." She hopes her argument is convincing and is thankful that he isn't a werewolf who can hear her quickened heart pumping frantically in his ears. God knows she can feel it so painfully twisting in her chest.
Forrest almost laughs and Lydia can't understand why.
"What's so funny?" She queries, shock molded into her open expression.
"You're free to try." When she continues to stare blankly at him, he rolls his eyes and remarks, "Calvin keeps a nifty little lock on his door. No one goes in our out without his saying so and he keeps the key in his pocket at all times."
Her face twists in disbelief.
"Go on and look for yourself."
She does. Her fingers graze the cold metallic texture and she tugs on the lock, hoping that by some miraculous odds Calvin had not bothered to randomize the combination before the last time he left. It jiggles but remains in its solid hold, the grievance making Lydia blow out a breath of frustrated air.
His eyes are still and very flat, even though his proclamation is one of petulant sarcasm as he shortly tilts his head at her. "Told you."
"Hmm," Lydia studies him carefully. It's probably dumb to ask but the question is burning a hole into the tip of her tongue. "What if you helped me sneak it away from him tonight?"
Forrest inhaled sharply, looking away from her. "I'm not going to help you, no way." He sounds stern, unmovable.
Lydia's lips tug into a disappointing grimace.
"Look," he sighs, growing eager to get her out of his house. "If you can get the key from him on your own, take a look at his room or whatever, I won't try to stop you and I won't rat you out either." his eyes are dark and certain, truth stirring somewhere beneath the surface. "But I can't help you."
The Easley family has a lot of secrets. It's something that Lydia decides as she considers Forrest's bargain and briefly wanders why he wouldn't immediately tattle on her. He obviously cared very much for his brother, but he was also aware of his tendencies. There were things that he wanted Lydia to know but couldn't directly tell her, that much she had figured out. But if she was going to get into Calvin's room without him knowing, she was going to need help.
An abrupt fake smile appears on Lydia's face, molding her cheekbones and giving her a sharper and more angular appearance. "What friend did you say Calvin was bringing tonight?"
And when the next syllable slipped so easily from Forrest's lips, Lydia's stomach drops so violently that she's sure she'll be feeling it weighing her down for the next few days. The spot under her arms grows warmer as a nervous sweat tackles her body temperature and raises its internal valve. Her lips become dry and her eyes are frozen where they stare blankly at the zipper on Forrest's coat. Of course Calvin would do this. He was trying to overpower her; to let him know that he was dominant.
Something more frightening occurred to her; and it hit her with such a rush that it added a sickening amount of nausea to her already crippling worry. How the hell was she going to convince Stiles to help her sneak into Calvin's room, and what exactly was her excuse for it going to be?
x-x-x
The most prominent question stirring in Lydia's head was the one that wandered why Stiles would accept an invitation to have dinner with the two Easley's to begin with. If he was planning on making her miserable for what she did then so be it, but it can't be tonight. If he wants to hold a grudge against her for the rest of their high school lives he can plan to do so until she figures out how to fix everything, but until then she won't be able to figure out what's wrong with Calvin without him. She needed to know the reasons that she felt so compelled to keep her mouth shut, why his human threats could be so much more frightening than the claws of her best friend.
There was an itch that she couldn't scratch, a tingling sensation that crawled in her brain that told her that Calvin was more than just a boy. There was no evidence to suggest that this feeling was right (if she could even be sure what that feeling meant) but she knew she had to be careful with him because he was a ticking time bomb with no off switch, no way to disarm him without getting control behind the scenes. If she was going to take the power away from him in this relationship then she was going to have to be sneaky about it. She needed that key.
She goes into school as originally planned, if not a little bit later than she initially wanted to be. As expected, Calvin flags her down just before 6th period when he spots her in the hall.
"I've been looking for you all day," he says. "Why weren't you at lunch?"
"Sorry, I was with one of my teachers… catching up on a late assignment." Her shoulder bumps against his as they walk side by side. Her eyes flicker toward the clock on the wall. She's going to be late for gym if she doesn't get going now and she has to talk to Stiles. If Calvin didn't hurry up and invite her to this stupid dinner -
"You handed something in late? Hard to believe."
Her distracted gaze remains in the distance, her voice drawling and inattentive. "Yeah that happens sometimes."
"Uhh," Calvin pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. "Anyway, it's Forrest's birthday and…"
Lydia drowns out the rest of his invitation, waiting until his lips stop moving before she burbles out an automatic response. "Sounds great, see you tonight." He could have said anything and she would have answered that same way, so she was lucky enough to watch his lips lift and his eyes smile to show her that he'd asked just what she thought he might. He ducks his head as he moves past her, uttering a brief goodbye and something about seven o'clock.
Lydia changes into a pair of mud brown shorts and a spandex orange top, spending the least amount of time in the locker room than she'd ever spent before. Usually she took her time in there, sitting on the bench and texting for as long as she possibly can to delay the inevitable. It was true, she hated gym. She hated running the track and getting sweaty and smelly. It wasn't like you were allowed to use the locker room showers unless you were staying after school for a sport and it wasn't fair. Nothing good came out of gym. Not the B.O., not the frizzy hair and certainly not the clothing you had to wear.
Only, today's gym class was worse than all of the others combined, because now she had to somehow convince Stiles to do her a favor without expecting an explanation. Stiles Stilinski. The one that was still livid with her and probably would be for a while. She hadn't even thought about what she was going to say because she didn't want to sound rehearsed. He'd be able to detect that.
She hears a classmate ask one of the coaches what they'd be doing today, and upon hearing the words "partner activity" she makes a bee-line for her alpha. He's lowered onto the floor, tying his sneakers.
"Hey Scott," she leans up against the wall beside him, her eyes scanning the door to the boy's locker room and watching for Stiles. There were boys pouring out, but none of them had that familiar mole-littered face.
"Your heart is beating really fast," he says without looking up. "You want something from me."
Lydia scowls. "You're not supposed to listen to that."
"What else am I supposed to do when you won't even talk to me?" He asks blatantly, showing no discomfort to be this tactless.
The banshee squirms but doesn't answer. "We're doing partner activity today." She says it like he should know what that means.
Scott deadpans, only caring enough to shrug one shoulder. "So?" He moves to a standing position, watching the expressions flash across Lydia's face like she was a million different people in one moment.
"So," she emphasizes, "I need to be with Stiles."
Scott presses his tongue between his teeth. "Interesting choice of words."
She smacks his arm. "I'm serious. Don't ask questions, I just need to talk to him."
"What do you expect me to say to him? That I don't want to be his partner?"
"No, just tell him you already promised someone else."
Scott groans at how complicated this has become. "Who?"
"I don't know, Greenberg." She pushes him away. "Go now, ask him to be your partner."
"Greenberg?" Scott's face twists like he's tasted something foul and expired. He doesn't fight Lydia's persistence because he knows better than to say no to her, making his way over to Greenberg with slumped shoulders.
Lydia smiles for her victory, but it's short lived as she sees Stiles leaving the locker room, telling a joke to one of his fellow lacrosse players and earning a few chuckles in response. She watches him brush a hand through the top of his spikey gelled hair, moving a few thick pieces out of their proper position and ruffling it. He's almost adorable in a pair of gym shorts and a grey cotton top with maroon sleeves that were the mid-length of his arm. A blush creeps up her neck when she realizes that she's completely checking him out.
She watches him approach Scott, his face contouring in disbelief when Scott gestures toward Greenberg with an apology on his lips. Stiles' arms flop to his side and he snorts a "whatever", believing none other than that Scott just didn't want to be around him. It wasn't all together uncommon, just unexpected after they seemed to get past their last bump in the road.
When he moves away from them to search for another friend to waste time with, Lydia bounds toward him. He catches her in his line of sight almost immediately, jerking his head away and only bothering to look back when she's a few unnerving feet away, further proven by the strong scent of lotion wafting from her and into his nostrils. She tended to go overboard on the lotion right before gym, as if it would close her pores and stop her from perspiring.
"Looks like we both need a partner!" She declares cheerily, swaying from the heels of her feet to her toes.
"Yeah, I'm still looking," he retorts, sarcasm dripping from his words as he continues to scan the students crowding around in the gymnasium. His lips turn in annoyance; he doesn't like any of these bottom feeders.
Lydia uses one hand to pick at the nail polish on the other, a nervous habit. "Calvin told me he invited you to his place tonight for Forrest's birthday… that was really nice of you to say yes." Her voice is soft, she's trying to avoid a fight. She needs to be on his good side to guilt him into helping.
"I did it as a favor to him," Stiles remarks, spotting a familiar classmate in the crowd that he got along with well. "Hey! C'mere!" he calls, gesturing with his hand. The other boy shakes his hand to tell him he can't, and Stiles grumbles in response. So much for getting away from Lydia.
"Right," Lydia doesn't sound so convincing. "But I figure he's probably not your favorite person at this particular time so I thought maybe… you did it for me." She almost winces when she says it; her confidence is not what it used to be. Thankfully, her acting skills faired far better.
Stiles releases the tongue he'd been harshly biting into, releasing the most delicate breath of air Lydia had ever seen. During a slight change in posture he shook his head to himself, a movement that would have been invisible to Lydia if she weren't been so observant. He still won't look at her, his eyes squinting somewhere in the distance like he's looking for something (even though they both know he damn well isn't). He'll use any excuse not to be looking her in the face right now. He's not ready to do that yet. Shit. How the hell is he going to get through tonight?
One of his hands dips under the collar of his shirt to scratch a sensitive spot on his collar bone, focused on maintaining an even-tone as his mouth opens again. He's fully capable of being disinterested and coolly ignoring her if it meant that she would stop pushing him so much. Yes, he understood that she felt guilty and still wanted to be friends with him, but he couldn't possibly grant her something he can't possibly give her. Not when he's still so angry, and especially not when she refuses to give him a real answer about her decision to be with Calvin. Stiles prided himself in being a teenage investigator, someone who made connections from the victim to the suspect, a crime solver without any actual expertise. Yet for some incomprehensible reason, he can't ever figure out what's happening in Lydia's head these days.
"Yeah, well you're not exactly my favorite person either," he says thickly. "So I wouldn't count on that either."
Lydia bites back an insult. That kind of talk isn't going to be helping anyone and the last thing she wanted was for him to waltz away from her in the middle of her plea. She chooses to ignore his justified amount of attitude and continue on her mission.
"You know, I'm actually kind of glad you're coming."
His face jumps in surprise, slicing through the mask of impassive carelessness and showing a spark of vulnerability. Stiles shoves it back resolutely and scrutinizes the strawberry blonde of his dreams and nightmares. "Why is that, exactly..?"
Her heart skips a painful beat because she has to word this right. She chews fervently on her lower lip, studying his face as he studies hers. She opens her mouth to speak and – the gym teacher blows his whistle.
Stiles glances toward the bin his classmates are ruthlessly grabbing from at the instruction of their teacher. "I have to get a ball. I'll be right back," he gives Lydia a once-over and with smugly curled lips adds a necessary, "partner."
The word skips in her head like a broken record, perfect repetition said in the most Stiles way. She hated it as much as she loved it.
She's tugging on the ends of her hair when he returns, lifting an eyebrow at him when he stands there without doing or saying anything. She gestures toward the ball in his hand.
"Are you gonna toss that thing or are you gonna help me braid my hair?" She queries jeeringly.
His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek; Lydia can see it rolling along in annoyance. He shrugs loosely, bouncing the ball off the floor hard enough to nearly whip her in the face. She lurches back to avoid the collision and a possibly bumped nose.
"Try to be a little more careful, yeah?" She grits out between tightened teeth and a vibrating jaw. He's trying to rile her up. It's working.
He gives her the side-eye, scoffing gently. "I'm not even gonna say it," he says, pushing the thought aside and moving to scoop up the ball where it was making its escape. Even the inanimate object didn't want to listen to their sniping.
"Say what?" She challenges, taking a few delicate steps forward. God, she'd feel a lot less stupid if she were wearing stilettos and not squaring off with his shoulder blades. Even he finds it comedic.
Stiles' tongue slides along the back of his teeth. "Maybe if you weren't so short I wouldn't have to worry about the rate and velocity at which I throw a ball," he declares, snarky lips twisted bitterly.
Lydia gapes. "How dare you!?" she pokes his chest with a pointed finger. "You know I'm sensitive about my height."
Yeah. Stiles remembered that conversation. He remembered trying to reassure her by ghosting his fingers along the pale fresh of her arm and pouting his lips at her. He remembered what he said to actually make her snort a laugh, playfully hit him, and then ultimately hug him. "But you're an adorable little cotton tail."
"If you get to call me that, then you're a beanstalk."
"Would that make Scott, Jack?"
"Does your best friend often climb you like a monkey?"
Lydia seemed to be stuck in the memory as well, her bleary eyes toward the wooden floor and her lips inverted and her cheeks rosy.
Stiles clears his throat to wash away the landfill of sadness that they were both caught up in. He didn't know why she looked so sullen about it, anyway. This was her fault. If she wanted to be with him then they'd be together right now and they wouldn't be looking back on sweet memories like they'd never happen again. If she really loved him, all she had to do was say it.
"Stiles…"
But those aren't the next words out of her lips. As many times as he watches something akin to something like love flicker in her eyes when she's looking right at him; as many times as he sees those almond green eyes and thinks this is it it never is; and in the world that Stiles lives in now, it's never going to be.
So he doesn't want to hear her apologize. He doesn't want her to lessen the blow by saying it gently. He doesn't want her comforting hand touching his shoulder whenever Calvin's in the room; that reminder that says "it could've been you, but it's not."
"You know what, Lydia?" He husks, "don't even bother."
Her eyelids flutter quickly at the unexpected comment. She reels back to create some more distance between them and coughs quietly. " – you still have the ball," she finishes awkwardly. She could see how desperately he wanted to drop it before he even spoke and so she'd already planned to. Now they were both tense, and even worse, she was going to have to figure out how to get into Calvin's room by herself (at least for now). Whether Stiles like it or not, he was going to help her, be it last minute or otherwise.
While their thoughts are heavy, the air between them is still.
"Oh," Stiles says meekly. "Right." He tosses it to her.
Across the gym, Scott uses his plastic hockey stick to smack a rubber blue ball into Greenberg's goal, managing a victorious chuckle despite it being a 40-minute gym activity. A friend pats the back of his hand against his shoulder.
"Hey man, what are Stiles and Lydia doing?"
Scott instantly has a million guesses, but none of them are right. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the sight. "I think they're playing catch."
"They know they're supposed to be playing the game, right?"
Scott lets out a hoot of laughter and shakes his shoulders. His eyebrows shoot upwards and his eyes twinkle knowingly. "Definitely not."
Although he wasn't aware that they were distracted by their petty fighting and not the hearts in their eyes, Scott was in no way surprised by their obliviousness to the rest of the world. They made an excellent duo when it came to solving the seemingly unsolvable and cracking past cases wide open, but if they were to do something as daring as make eye contact, the rest of the world would melt away somewhere in that burning stare. It was a connection that ran deep, even when they were arguing. He didn't know if they would ever be together, or even if they should be, but he knew that no matter what they would always be tied together in some form or another.
Scott was more observant than his pack gave him credit for – at least sometimes.