Six Hours Later
Stiles wakes slowly to a hint of light filtering through his eyelids, a plush pillow under his head, warm blankets covering his body, and the feeling of complete serenity. He opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight he has ever seen – Lydia. Lydia, shining like the bright morning sun. Lydia, curled up next to him – halo of strawberry-blonde waves surrounding her head as she sleeps, graceful lashes fluttering, freckles sprinkled like stardust below, full pink lips parted ever so slightly, and her dainty hand over his heart. He breathes deeply, her unique scent of vanilla and flowers filling his lungs and uplifting his soul.
Memories rapidly drift through his mind as he admires her, taking in her peaceful countenance for the first time in over a month. Stiles can't help from smiling as he remembers another first that happened only hours ago – their first time together, the only first time he fully experienced, the only first time that he will never forget.
He remembers Lydia – the girl of his dreams, with her tiny frame and soft curves pressed up against him in the quiet hours that pave the way to dawn. He remembers thinking he should have been nervous, but he wasn't. As soon as she wrapped her body around his, leading him down towards the bed, he felt calm. Calm with the unwavering belief that nothing had ever been more right. Call it fated, or kismet, or written in the stars – he was with Lydia, and she was with him. Lydia and Stiles. Together. A perfect combination.
There were kisses. Lots of kisses. Some short and hurried between swift movements that scattered clothing, others long and tender between caresses and lingering glances. He can still taste her mouth, sense her lips against his throat, feel cool ringlets of her hair tickling his shoulders and her silky skin grazing against him as they moved. He remembers reaching to turn off the light…but Lydia stopped him. I want us to see each other, she whispered…and see her, he did. He remembers the image of her – naked beneath him; exposed shyness and openness, rapt with desire.
Stiles remembers how they took their time, slowly familiarizing each other with their bodies; all the hesitation gone as her limbs coaxed him nearer and he willingly gave. Balance was restored – no longer overwhelmed by restless noise, nor distracted by numb silence. Instead he achieved complete clarity and focus, everything else fading away…until the only words on his mind were Lydia and more.
He remembers the stillness after she guided him inside of her, how she gingerly touched his cheek, how she kissed him, soft and deliberate, before reaching for the center of his chest and rolling her hips to encourage him deeper. He remembers her expression, so bright and lovely that it made his eyes water. She worshiped him with her words and touches. She trusted him with her body, her heart, and her soul, and he has never felt more alive or been more grateful to find love in her eyes.
He remembers how she smiled as he brushed strands of copper from her face, how she giggled while he traced the insides of her thighs and the contours of her breasts with his fingertips, how she blinked with surprise when he kissed her scars and called her strong and beautiful. He remembers her quick shallow breaths, her flushed cheeks, her pale skin glistening as she took him higher and higher. He had the intense feeling that he was chasing his heart with every thrust; powerful heat flowing from her body to his, teaching him there are no limits to how deeply true love can burn.
She was above him, and beneath him, and she surrounded him. Her hands kept contact with him at all times, roaming the length of his body like it was fragile, precious, cherished, like he was all she ever wanted to touch. He remembers how she held onto him like she couldn't get close enough and would never get enough of him. He recalls the unmatched satisfaction of knowing that it was his body drawing moans of pleasure from her lips – untamed, clandestine, blissed-out sounds, sounds that he will be dreaming about…and hopefully hearing for the rest of his life. He remembers the moment she came – the way her eyes flashed wider, blown pupils rimmed by a vibrant shade of green; the way her breath hitched in her throat with a lingering whimper that elevated as she clutched at his arms; the way her whole body quaked through their rhythm, sound of his name breezing past her lips…over, and over, and over again. She led him to the edge of the highest peak, and together they dove, bound by an unbreakable tether, plunging into warm waters, crystal clear and endless deep. He remembers stars catching his eyes from above, the crash of the waves below, and the ripples of tranquility that followed.
As he breathlessly collapsed alongside her, Lydia curled into him like a magnet, unblemished beauty inches from his face, her left leg hooked over his hip, her hands delicately tracing love notes across his ribs as she drowsily whispered in his ear…until sleep took hold and her palms settled above his heart – exactly as she is now.
Lydia is with him. She is right next to him, but he misses her still. He needs to hear her voice, to see her eyes, and watch her smile. He needs his Lydia.
Lifting his right hand to gently caress her face, Stiles begins to quietly call her name, to coax her awake…the way he used to. "Lydia… Lydia… Lyds."
Lydia wakes to the feeling of a warm hand on her cheek and a familiar voice whispering her name. Her eyes slowly open to the most beautiful sight she has ever seen – Stiles. Stiles, shining bright as sunlight. Stiles, with his comforting arms around her, his soft sleepy eyes, cute upturned nose, tempting cupid's bow, and impeccable messy hair. Stiles, and his signature scent of pine needles and clean linen filling her lungs and stirring her soul to consciousness.
"Hi," he says softly, perfect crooked grin forming on his lips.
"Hi," she whispers through a smile.
"Are you real?" he asks sweetly.
"I think so," she replies with mild uncertainty, using her thumb to brush a stray fragment of sleep away from his eye. "Are you?"
"I'm not sure. Yesterday, I thought you were never gonna talk to me again…and now look at us. I… I feel like I should be counting my fingers or something."
"Maybe we should…just to make sure," she suggests.
She holds up her hands, and he does the same, pressing their palms together. They count –interlocking their fingers, one digit at a time.
"One," they say in unison.
"Two."
"Three."
"Four."
"Five."
"Six."
"Seven."
"Eight."
"Nine."
"Ten," they finish together.
"Ten, Stiles...ten," she repeats, squeezing his hands and kissing his fingertips. Her voice cracks over his name, and her lips begin to tremble.
"Aww…Lydia…"
"I missed this so much…waking up in your arms." Her throat tightens, and she purses her lips to stifle the cry that is about to escape as her insides shudder with emotion.
"Me too. So much, Lyds. So much." He leans in nudging the tip of her nose with his. "It's okay. We're together," he soothes.
Words fail, so she nods and tilts her head as Stiles lightly presses his lips to hers, lazily dragging them across every inch of her mouth, low moan escaping as he slides his tongue inside to greet hers. He kisses her slowly. He kisses and pulls back. Kisses and pulls back; intensely passionate pressure fading to barely perceptible pecks, then deepening once again. He takes his time, and though Lydia is aching for more, she resists the urge to change the pace. She wants Stiles to take lead because she trusts him.
She has never done this – cuddle with someone, sleep and wake next to a boy, lying naked and exposed. In accordance with an unwritten rule, she has always left a barrier, her clothing...an armor of sorts – a dress, a camisole, a bra. Afterwards, she would distance herself as much as she possibly could, and she would never fall asleep.
Yet, here she is, with Stiles, in his arms, after having peacefully slept next to him for hours, her body completely bared, completely…defenseless, and she has never felt more at ease, more protected, or more herself. With Stiles, she allows her mind to wander, mesmerized by the way he touches her; bare skin finding bare skin under the covers. He is an artist, painting a picture with his mouth, blending the colors with his hands, and she is the blank canvas, open and willing for whatever he has envisioned because she loves him.
Lydia's mind floods with memories from just a few hours ago. Memories of Stiles against her in the dim. Stiles, with his solid arms and long sleek muscles that she clung to, and took refuge in, and never wants to be parted from. Stiles, and his gentle hands that are capable of force, but which hold her like she is fragile, precious, cherished. He was above her, and beneath her, and inside of her. He radiated quiet confidence with every motion, enamored by the fact that he can figure out exactly how and when she wants to be kissed, and held, and touched. He faded away everything from her mind…until the only words on it were Stiles and more.
She can't suppress a laugh as his lips make their way to the pulse point on her neck, and his mouth curls upwards in response. Maybe it isn't fair to compare, but she does. People go on…and on about experience, but she has been with boys who had plenty of that, and none of it was worth a damn because none of them were Stiles. None of them cared the way he cares. For the first time, someone asked her what she wanted, what she needed, what felt good. For the first time, someone responded in ways that made her believe he could read between lines she didn't even know she was drawing.
She blushes at the memory of their first time – hands and mouths unhurriedly exploring until they discovered their own unique rhythm; bodies syncing up in movements, beats, and breaths. Saturated in love, Lydia was washed clean of a burden. The nagging hesitation that had been preventing her from moving forward drifted away, and she was finally and fully ready to accept everything Stiles had been offering all along – his body, his heart, and his soul.
She remembers how his shyness faded with every kiss, how he coddled her, and teased her, and worshiped every inch of her…gentle…gentle…delightfully less so at times. She remembers the moment he slid inside of her – deliberate fluid movement, liked he belonged there…and he does. She remembers the feeling of ecstasy and relief, how he filled her, excited her, made her whole and alive. She remembers his left eyebrow arched a mile high, wondrous smile on his beautiful mouth...like he just touched the sun.
She remembers his dark eyes, speckled with light, and his lashes casting fine shadows over angled cheekbones and flushed cheeks. He took her further and further than ever before, erasing the scars of a month's long separation with every back and forth. He set her alight on the inside with a shimmering spark she could barely contain. Electric energy flowing directly from his body into hers, teaching her there are no limits to how intensely true love can burn.
She remembers the way she cried out when she came; tether tightening, undercurrent flowing through every inch of her, thunder pounding in her heart and lightning flashing in her eyes. She remembers how he followed shortly after with a thrust and a shudder, head bowed to hers, muscles flexing, and her name…an echoing growl, rolling across his tongue. She can still feel the lightness that arose from the pure act of witnessing his pleasure and the joy that came with knowing her body was the source of it. She remembers lips, parted and wide, as their panting mouths connected to share a breath that transformed into a kiss.
After far too much distance, a newly revealed closeness took shape. Lying next to Stiles, she eased into the quiet, the stillness, and the limitless possibility of rising daybreak. Everything that had faded from her consciousness gradually reappeared with an unexpected richness and complexity. She remembers the familiar comfort of being securely tucked into the arms of the boy she loves and how that comfort rose to a higher level – his body not only steadfastly shielding her from the outside world, but also from the part of herself that thought she had to hide. The inner turmoil that she restlessly struggled with was finally losing its hold, allowing her to find freedom by exposing vulnerability to someone she trusts. She fell asleep to the soothing sensation of his hands caressing her back, and the lyrical beating of his heart underneath her palm.
By the time Stiles has completed his masterpiece, Lydia is dizzy and bleary-eyed. He pulls her close, because he knows she needs him, then wraps of every part of her in his infinitely perfect embrace. She returns the contact just as passionately because she knows he needs her too. She traces the curve of his spine with the pads of her fingers while he weaves his hands through her hair. They cling to each other for an extended length of time. Warm, and safe, and together, and so in love.
He kisses her cheek. "How'd you sleep? Any flashbacks?"
Another first, she realizes. "None... First time in over a month."
He shifts back, expression guilt ridden as he looks at her. "Every night, huh?"
Lydia quirks her mouth and shrugs.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you. Lyds, I—"
She puts her hand to his lips. "Shh…no more apologies. Okay? We're together now. That's all that matters."
He kisses her index finger which still hovers over his mouth. "Can I ask you something?'
"Sure," she answers, moving her finger to her own lips.
"What did you do when you woke up scared and…"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yeah."
"I'd cry for a while." Lydia can tell how much it hurts Stiles to hear this, and it imposes a sharp twinge below her ribs, but she knows she can ease his burden with the truth, so she does. "Then, I would lie on your side of the bed and read all the notes you left me."
Stiles feels his throat tense and his heart swell at the revelation. "You kept them?"
"Every single one." She points over her shoulder towards the nightstand. "See that box? They're all in there."
He chews on his lower lip. "That's not all of them…"
Lydia raises her eyebrow at him in question.
"I've got a month's worth of those in the Jeep."
Her heart rushes. He never stopped. "You do? You wrote me – all that time! Really?"
"Yeah…every day. Sometimes more than once. They're yours if you want them."
"I do, Stiles. I want all of them," she tells him, taking his face in her hands and pressing her smiling lips hard against his…once…twice…three times.
"Well, if they make you that happy, I'll go get them now," he replies with a vibrant grin as he begins to slide out from under the sheets.
"No!" she says a bit too loudly, stopping him by the shoulders, then catching the sound of her own desperation; emotions running wild. "I mean…later," she continues, actively working to gain control of her voice.
He sees it – the anxiety in her eyes, the kind he put there when he left her, made her feel abandoned, made her doubt him, and it hurts to recognize it.
Taking her hands from his shoulders, Stiles lightly kisses her palms before he speaks, trying to be as reassuring as possible. "Lydia, you know I'll come back… Right?"
She hesitates, sucking in her bottom lip. "Yes, I do. I didn't mean to—"
"It's alright. I know saying it isn't enough. It's going to take time."
She sees it – the disappointment in his eyes, the kind that is riddled with self-blame, tells him he hurt her too much, makes him doubt her trust in him. She can't have him thinking that, when it couldn't be further from the truth.
"It's not that. I trust you. You promised, and I believe you. I'm just…feeling a lot of things right now…and I want you with me. Please stay. I want you to stay and kiss me some more. We've got at least a month's worth of kissing to make up for."
He is looking at her, in the reverent way that he does, like she just broke his heart and put it back together at the same time. It reminds Lydia that his heart is fragile, like hers, but it's resilient too. She can feel how much she needs him, and when he relaxes and smiles, tilting his head up to kiss her forehead, she can feel how much he needs her too.
"Stiles."
"Mmm…"
"Lower."
He kisses the tip of her nose.
"A little lower."
He nuzzles his nose against her cheek and angles his face, capturing her lips with his.
"Perfect," she says into his mouth. Because he is.
"Yeah…you are," he whispers. Because she is.
"Stiles."
"Hmm…"
"More."
As Stiles rolls her onto her back, Lydia's gaze drifts upwards; bright white butterflies on the wall above to match the ones in her stomach. He lies next to her, propped up on his left arm while his opposite hand glides forward and finds its place, heavy and hot on her belly. The connection guides her eyes back to his. He is looking at her like he can see right inside – past translucent skin, torn muscle, and fragile bone – right into the very heart of her. He is looking at her, seeing past all the damage, to the part that wants to courageously unravel for him and because of him; to bravely open like a snowdrop flower in early spring, despite the persistent threat of frost. He is looking at her like she is the most beautiful, hallowed, and beloved thing he has ever seen…and it feels so unbelievably, irresistibly good. She needs him. She needs the feeling of his hands gripping her hips, the sensation of his lips gliding over hers, and the feathery light brushing of his abdominal muscles against hers as he relentlessly grinds into her. He edges closer, warm skin and taut muscle leaning into her side, face colored with desire. His hands start to travel, and he is perfectly hard against her thigh. She wants him. She wants her Stiles…again. She is pretty sure it will consume her, the love she has for him, and more than anything – she wants to let it.
Lydia's body is warm and inviting, her eyes focused directly on his. She is looking up at him like she has found something that she has been searching for all her life. She is looking at him like he is the answer to every question she ever had. She is looking at him the way he has always dreamed she could do – filled with certainty and honesty, with readiness and awe, with longing and lust, with tenderness and love…so much love. He can feel it – so present, so pure, and so true. Lydia is real, and she chose to be with him…and it feels so completely, incomprehensibly good, better than he ever imagined. He needs her. He needs the feeling of her delicate hands grazing against his back, the contact of her smooth curves arching up to meet him, and the sensation of her whole body tightening around him. She presses nearer, soft skin and open arms winding around him, body relaxed and calling out just for him. He wants her. He wants his Lydia…again. He thinks it will devour him, the love he has for her – but he wouldn't have it any other way.
They give in. Lose themselves in each other, bodies pulled and locked together in an endless loop of need and want.
Stiles swiftly reaches back, grabbing the sheets and pulling them overhead while sliding Lydia downwards with him until they are both tented, head to toe, in downy cotton. Daylight flares through the windows, reflecting off the mirrored surfaces of the dresser and vanity. It casts radiant beams around the room that glow directly through the pale grey fibers of Stiles and Lydia's makeshift cocoon. He gazes at her, taking in every inch of her body as though committing it to memory. She melts into him, staring at the smile on his face, clutching at his jaw, and bringing him down to her lips.
When they collide, it's novel, yet familiar at the same time; skin on skin, tangled legs, and interlaced fingers underneath crisp cool fabric and a cloud of free-flowing passion. The mattress cradles them as they sway, excitement soaring with every breath, beads of sweat rolling down his spine to match the ones trickling across her chest, bodies tensing as they take each other higher and higher one more time. They reach the top together, murmuring over the sound of their own heartbeats pounding in their ears, panting and trembling through the rush of pleasure, then relishing in the joy they find in each other before settling into the pleasant aftermath.
Stiles tosses the sheets aside and lies down, towing Lydia with him, a loud sigh escaping his lips as he pronounces her name. "Lydia…how in the hell is it possible for anything to feel this amazing?"
"I was wondering the same thing," she agrees, taking a few stippled breaths as she leans closer, throbbing pulse of her orgasm just starting to wane as she reflexively stretches her body beside him.
"Really?" he asks.
She nestles her head in the crook of his shoulder, placing one palm flat against his chest. "Yeah…completely new experience for me."
Eyes pointing towards the ceiling, his expression is one of genuine thoughtful surprise.
"Stiles."
"Yeah?"
Lydia waits for his eye contact before continuing, "I've never felt anything like this."
"Is it wrong for me to be happy about that?" he inquires timorously.
"No," she answers, biting her lip through a smile.
"Good. By the way...same here – nothing in my life has ever felt this incredible. Not just the sex. I mean, yeah...obviously…wow… But being this close to you – it's unreal."
"I know what you mean," she concurs.
He rests his cheek on her forehead and envelops her with both arms, and it feels natural to be this transparent and unrestricted with each other.
"Hey, Lyds?"
"Hmm…"
"When was the last time you ate anything?"
"Uh…lunch. Yesterday."
"Me too. You hungry?"
"Yeah."
"Wanna make breakfast together?"
"I bet we have everything we need for blueberry pancakes," she tells him, heart synchronizing to the steady beat Stiles taps on the small of her back with his thumb, "but first…I need to shower." She kisses his chest, slides out from his embrace, and crosses the room to the adjoining bathroom. Sensing that his eyes are watching her, Lydia flirtatiously glances over her shoulder. "Stiles…what are you waiting for? There's room for two," she informs him with a wink, waves of strawberry-blonde bouncing behind her as she steps out of view.
He looks down at his hands and takes a quick count from one to ten. Pleasantly satisfied by the confirmation that he is indeed awake, Stiles leaps from the bed…only getting caught in the jumbled sheets for a second or two, then follows her into the bathroom.
Lydia is already at the sink, blue toothbrush in one hand, tube of mint-flavored paste in the other.
"You don't happen to have an extra, do you?" he asks.
She silently smiles; the brand-new orange toothbrush that she felt compelled to buy several months earlier suddenly makes perfect sense. She reaches into the medicine chest, locates it, and presents it to Stiles with an open palm, as though it magically appeared. He takes the toothbrush in one hand and catches her wrist with the other, turning her hand over to kiss the skin above her knuckles. It takes every bit of Lydia's inner strength to hold it together, to keep from dissolving into a puddle at his feet on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, but she manages. She simply gazes at Stiles, hoping to convey as much love as possible with one look – the way he does. She thinks her attempt must pale in comparison, yet Stiles seems to understand because he tugs on her hand and pokes at his lip with his tongue, fighting the water in his eyes as he rapidly blinks. They both take a full, rejuvenating breath then stand side by side, brushing their teeth, each mesmerized by the other's reflection in the mirror.
Minutes later, Stiles rinses his mouth and moves to stand behind Lydia as she sets down her toothbrush. "This probably won't come as a shock to you, but I've never showered with anyone," he admits.
"Then this is a first for both of us," she admits, watching him fight a smile at her response and enjoying the fact that he is glad to hear it.
He leans down to press his cheek to hers. "Do I get to use your fancy shampoo?"
"If you like. Shea butter and jasmine…or apples and aloe?"
"Surprise me," he says, smoothing his hands over her hips and tracing his fingers along the creases of her thighs.
"Stiles, if you keep that up…we are never going to get to breakfast," she reprimands weakly, stepping out of his reach and into the shower.
He trails close behind and draws the curtain as Lydia regulates the water temperature. Their eyes meet in silent communication, both realizing the unexpected normality of it all – as though they have done this, countless times beforehand. They let the feeling settle in, both of them warm, and safe, and together, and so in love.
Stiles washes his hair, while Lydia lathers his back. She carefully observes how his muscles shift under clouds of soap suds and trickling veins of water as he moves. Admiring the distinct pattern of moles that adorn his shoulder blades and spinal column, she touches each with her fingertips while trying to imprint them into her mind.
"Lyds, you're slacking off back there. Are you checking out my ass?" he teases.
"Maybe… Wouldn't be the first time."
He whips around to face her, swiping the stream of water from his face. "Lydia Martin!" he exclaims, amazed but visibly flattered.
"Well…it's your own fault," she fires playfully.
"And how do you figure that?" he asks, molding his strong hands around her hips and making her stomach clench with need as he dips his right thumb into her navel.
"Two words for you, Stilinski – Red. Pants," she enlightens, punctuating her last two words with kisses.
After a delayed moment, with only the static hum of running water filling the air, Stiles throws his head back and laughs. Droplets rain down as his shoulders shake and a gorgeous open-mouthed smile breaks across his lips.
Lydia hasn't heard him laugh like this for far too long. Crisp, sparkling, and exuberant, like a brilliant display of fireworks that shatters the silence and darkness of night, the sound illuminates their shared space…and it is beautiful. He is beautiful. Stiles sounds like home…and she loves it. She loves him.
He moves forward, planting a kiss on her neck and sucking at the water that has been pooling on her collar bone, before pressing his cheek to hers. "So…now, I know the real reason you kissed me that day," he whispers into her ear, making her tingle with want at the memory.
"You got me," she replies, glancing down at their hands while she winds their fingers together.
Stiles hunches down to meet her gaze, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Yeah, I've got you," he affirms with tender pride and so much love in his eyes.
Whether it's the earnest emotion on his face, the depth of sincerity in his words, or a combination of the two, something inside Lydia starts to lift. It starts low, in the tips of her toes and steadily rises. It simmers and spreads, bubbles through her veins, encircles her heart, and fills her mind. It's strong yet unassuming, soft but undeniable, and inch by inch…it takes hold of her soul, like the last warm night of summer or the first blanket of snow in winter. It's a serene kind of euphoria that she has never experienced, and it's something so precious she never wants to let go. If she had to give it a label, she thinks it's called BLISS.
When the tugging at his heart reaches a heightened intensity, Stiles steps closer to Lydia. He immediately detects something different about her. She is looking up at him with a curious expression – emerald irises flaring, freckles twinkling over dazzling pink cheeks, corners of her mouth aiming towards the sky, dimples popping. She is still his Lydia, but stripped of all her defenses, she appears open and ready to accept all the love he has been wanting to give her for as long as he can remember…and it is beautiful. She is beautiful. Lydia looks like she is lit from within…and he loves it. He loves her.
Stiles is on the verge of tears when he realizes that the misting in his eyes has little to do with how good he feels. It's because, after all the pain she has endured, Lydia looks happy – genuinely happy, and it's the most magnificent scene he has ever witnessed. As if that weren't enough to send his heart reeling, Stiles sees something else. He makes her happy. He truly sees it now. It's real – and the revelation makes his world expand with possibility.
As she reaches for the shampoo, Stiles circles her wrist with long slippery digits. "Can I?" he asks.
Lydia smiles and nods. A sudden flash of nervous energy awakens in her, but she turns her back to him and relinquishes control. Her eyes fall shut as she focuses on the sensation of his hands in her hair. Stiles takes his time; soapy hands massaging her scalp, every so often ghosting over the skin of her neck and shoulders, sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. She gives him pointers on how to apply her conditioner because, by his own admission, Stiles has no freakin' clue what to do with this stuff. He is so gentle and attentive as he works that Lydia can actually feel the love radiating from his fingertips. Emotion brims inside of her with every drop of water that descends from the shower head, with every affectionate kiss and caress he gifts her in between.
By the time Stiles rinses the conditioner from Lydia's hair and washes her back, the memories start to flow…
Good memories of friendship and support, of respect and kindness, of understanding and love – so much love. Love proven by unwavering presence, without fail, without question, without need of a score card. Love that stretches from late nights to early mornings spent sprawled on the floor with open books, empty pizza boxes, and tangled lengths of color-coded string. Love expressed by driving the long way home with the windows rolled down, and through songs sung low with the radio blasting high. Love given through bear-hugs, linked arms, tightly held hands, and kisses both platonic and romantic. Love offered in an olive-green scarf, a rambling conversation, framed drawing, lilac flower, or fragment of notebook paper. Love reflected in the careful hands, golden-brown eyes, and irresistible smile of a boy climbing through her bedroom window. Countless happy memories, all because of the three most important people in her life – Allison, Scott, and Stiles. Stiles.
But there are also lifeless hollow memories shaped in years of loneliness, hiding behind a mask of false confidence and indifference – before she embraced a life with Allison, Scott, and Stiles. Stiles.
Hopelessly bleak memories marked by the dull ache of longing – longing for an unknown peace she could not name. Stiles.
Dreadful memories of paralyzing fear, blood curdling screams, and searing pain. Peter with his wicked glowing eyes, smiling as he sunk his teeth into her side and disturbingly stoic as he wrought control over her mind. Jennifer with the sardonic sound of her cryptic voice as she tightened the garrote around Lydia's neck. An Oni with its vicious frozen expression forcing a sword into Allison's stomach, spilling her blood and making Scott cry. The Nogitsune with its sinister thirst for chaos, pain, and strife, maliciously trying to persuade Stiles to take his own life. Stiles.
Devastating memories of loss and despair. Allison drawing her last breath in Scott's open arms, her heart slowing to a stop as he begged her to stay. Stiles collapsing beneath Lydia's own horrified body in the tunnels. Stiles slipping away from her…like water rushing down the drain. Stiles.
Lydia's own words echo in her mind – words she spoke just a few hours ago. If we are together, everything will be fine. Words that were meant to reassure Stiles are now taunting her. An overwhelming sense of dread begins to compile. She tries to rein it in, but it is spreading through her veins at a rapid pace. But what if we aren't together? What if I lose him? I can't lose him. Not him. Not again.
She is trapped. Trapped in a town, ruled by evil forces that delight in her misery. Trapped in a place she may never escape. A place that refuses to let her be happy with the boy she loves – the boy who started carving his name in her heart with a show of concern, an interested ear, and a promise fulfilled on a cold December afternoon when they were only eleven years old. Stiles.
She fears that she lives in a world that is too cruel – too cruel to let her keep him. Someone or something will take Stiles away from her.
Her vision blurs, her heart races, and her lungs constrict. She is cold, so cold, all the life drifting out of her at the thought of losing him.
Stiles startles when he sees Lydia flinch; their moment of harmony abruptly cut short. His eyes widen as one of her hands moves up to her throat and the other clutches at her side, her entire body shivering uncontrollably.
"Lydia?" he calls, hands immediately finding their way to her waist.
She doesn't answer. Her right hand finds the marble tile of the shower wall, her left swings in reverse, loosely catching Stiles at the middle of his back as she doubles over in pain. His arms immediately encircle her, mind fixed on a six-year-old promise: Don't let her fall.
"Lydia, w—what's happening?" Stiles stammers, words splintering with concern while he pulls her tense body firmly against his.
"I…I can't breathe… I can't… I can't," she gasps.
He turns her to face him, expression stricken with worry and anguish at the sight of her distress, "Okay, okay...it's gonna be alright."
She cries unreservedly, arms locked between them as her trembling hands grasp for his chest, desperately searching for a heartbeat. Is he real? Is he alive? Maybe I'm still in the tunnels.
Stiles holds Lydia to him with one arm and claims her face with the other. He is so solid that she feels weak, and she loves him so much that she has to look away. Her heart thumps more forcefully while her knees go liquid soft, causing her feet to slide across wet porcelain.
"Lydia, look at me. Shh, look at me. Shh, Lydia," he soothes.
Her eyes are like they were on the day of Allison's funeral – begging him to understand, pleading with him to help her. This time, Stiles is sure he knows what she wants him to do. He inhales sharply…
And as he exhales into her mouth, Lydia's lungs expand to their fullest capacity. Stiles breathes the life back into her, and everything else fades away. She closes her eyes and leans into him, returning the kiss with equal fervor as he gradually builds her up again.
When Stiles pulls back, Lydia is left awestruck by the healing power of his kiss. His eyes are glossy and bright, warming her with their intensity. Water cascades from his face to hers, then skims along and runs off her skin. Her breath evens out and she draws her arms around him, positioning her ear above the familiar nook at the midpoint of his ribs, searching…still searching…then finally finding that mesmerizing rhythm that lightens all her sorrows. Turning her head inwards, Lydia presses her lips to the slick center of his chest, over and over again, through a series of sobs and hiccups before dropping her cheek flush against his sternum and working to match her breaths with his.
He counts her kisses – one, two, three, four, five – the same as the number of letters in her name. As far as Stiles is concerned, Lydia may as well be engraving her name into his chest because he is going to remember the love she is transcribing for the rest of his life. It sinks deep into his bones imparting him with the knowledge that she needs him, just as much as he needs her.
Holding her securely under a thick haze of steam and hot water, he braces her with his body and speaks lovingly into her ear. "Aww…my sweet Lydia… It's okay… It's okay. It's just us."
"Stiles. Stiles. Stiles," she repeats, whimpering into his skin, blooming with a mixture of relief and wanting.
She feels helpless like this – so frail and lost, so wildly emotional that she can't get control of herself, but so weary of suppressing that she doesn't care to try. Lydia squeezes Stiles with every ounce of her strength, wishing she could protect him from harm through sheer will…and if that's not enough, then to run away with him, leave this place that seems determined to hurt him, curl up together in some pristine corner of the world and never look back.
It's all too much – the memories, the hurt, the love – so much love that she can't contain it, and she can't let him go. Her heart is breaking.
He continues to try to soothe her through the ache, wishing for magic words that would take her pain, words that might remind her that she is not alone in the world and rekindle the happiness she emanated just moments earlier.
"It's okay. I'm here. I love you, and we're together," he assures her.
Lydia calms immediately, the influence of his words binding her open wounds. "You're here, and you love me, and we're together," she repeats.
Stiles kisses her head and leans back to shut the water. She sways, hands clasped to the sides of his ribs like he is the only thing keeping her upright.
"That's right…hold onto me. I won't let you fall."
Quickly, he withdraws the shower curtain, reaches for a towel, slips it under her arms and secures it around her body. With another, he pats her face, arms, and shoulders dry before wrapping it around his own waist. He steps out of the shower, never loosening his grip as he guides Lydia out on her shaky legs. Then, he gingerly lifts her left arm over his shoulders.
"Stiles, I can walk," she insists.
"Shh…I know you can," he answers, ignoring her reflex to resist help.
Supporting her back with one arm, he slides the other under her legs and carefully picks her up, noting how tightly she clings to him. Then, he carries Lydia into her room where he sits on the bed, cradling her in his lap.
"Okay now?" he asks gently.
She shrugs.
Lydia's cheeks are uncomfortably hot, so she keeps her head down, but Stiles coaxes her to face him.
"Hey, remember what we promised? No hiding. Tell me what's going on in there," he nudges, tapping at the center of her chest with his index finger.
She wants to say kiss me first, to rush past the difficult parts, and skip ahead to what feels good, but as soon as she looks into his eyes, she realizes what a mistake that would be. Stiles is offering nothing but love and concern, and Lydia responds to him, because he gives her exactly what she needs most – himself. He diminishes her stubborn impulse to withhold, to hide. She knows it – the only way to heal is to show Stiles everything. Not just the outside, but the inside too…even the things that make her feel unstable, and weak, and just plain crazy. She can see that the way to move forward is not just to ask for help, but to let Stiles give her the help she needs.
He relaxes as he senses some of the tension leaving her body, drifting into the air after an exhale of pent up emotion. He recognizes that Lydia needs to let go in her own time, so he bumps the tip of her nose with his, and patiently waits for her to open up.
"Stiles," she breathes. "Stiles, I'm scared."
He uses his hand to wipe her tears. "Do you want to tell me what happened? 'Cause...you looked so happy and then…"
"I was. I am…but… I don't know… It all fell apart. You were being so sweet, and everything felt so good…and then I started having all these memories. I was remembering you and all these beautiful moments between us…and I was thinking about Allison and Scott, and the four of us spending time together. But then something shifted, and all the awful things – Peter…and Jennifer…and what happened to Allison…and, Stiles…in the tunnels…how you almost…"
She can't say the word. She can't say died and Stiles in the same sentence. It's too horrible, too painful. It's her worst nightmare.
"All those terrible memories…they just started pushing their way into my mind. It's like I'm not allowed to be happy. I think it's starting to hit me – how real this is, and it's all so much…there are so many feelings…that I…I don't know what to do with them."
"You haven't changed your mind about us." It's affirmation rather than a question – because he knows.
"You're right, I haven't. I want to be with you, more than anything, and we've spent too much time apart already. But remember what we talked about...about my heart breaking?"
"Yeah."
"That's how I feel right now. Us being together…this is so good. Stiles, it's perfect, and I want to enjoy it…but at the same time I'm so scared. I'm trying not to be. I can't seem to stop myself though… It's like it takes over."
He tucks a length of dripping wet hair behind her ear, corners of his mouth slightly turned under. "What takes over?"
"The fear of losing you," she discloses with a shudder.
"In what way?"
"I wasn't completely honest with you when I told you what my nightmares were about. They weren't only about Allison and the Nogitsune. They were about you – losing you. No matter how it played out…every time, every single time, something…some-thing that I can't even see always took you away from me." She drops her head to his shoulder and brings both arms around his neck. "The more I want to hold onto you, the more I feel like you are going to just disappear."
He returns her embrace passionately. "Lydia, I'm not going anywhere. Okay? Wild horses couldn't drag me away."
She straightens, shaking her head and planting her hands on his shoulders. "What if they do? This place… Stiles…this place… It's always something."
"I know. But listen, even if they did…I'd come back to you. I mean, look at what we've been through already. There are so many things that could have kept us apart and somehow, we always manage to find our way back to each other. A few weeks ago, I was dying…but you pulled me back, Lydia. When we were in the tunnels, everything was getting darker and further away, but I could still feel you holding me…and it made me want to fight harder because I didn't want to leave you."
"You felt me?"
Stiles nods and rests his forehead against Lydia's as he closes his eyes and remembers. "Yeah, I knew you were with me. I sort of always do. There's this…like a tugging sensation around my heart."
She purses her lips quickly. "I feel it too. All the time."
Her words open his eyes. Her bottom lip comes into view, and she is so close that he can't help but give her a kiss. Her hands weave into the damp strands of his hair as she sighs into him. He lets his mouth linger against hers, reveling in the intimacy that has developed between them before he speaks again.
"Look." He picks up her hand and laces their fingers together. "We're linked, the two of us. Remember what Deaton said…the night of the eclipse…about emotional tethers?"
"Yes. He said you had to be with someone who could pull you back, someone that has a strong connection to you…and then he said I should go with you."
"Exactly. Lyds, I was gone for more than sixteen hours and you brought me back. I think you could bring me back from anything."
"I'd rather not lose you in the first place."
"Me too…but no matter what, I'll always come back to you."
Her eyes fill with love. "Promise?"
"I promise."
Tiny particles of water mixed with tears suspend from the ends of her eyelashes as she blinks. She bites her lip, fighting against embarrassment with an apology, "I'm sorry I freaked out."
Stiles rubs her lower back with his palm, heat of his hand passing directly through the thickness of her towel. "Hey, you're talking to a guy who has panic attacks on the regular. You don't have to be embarrassed. It's alright. I understand."
He kisses her cheek, and she immediately leans into the contact.
"You've been afraid for a long time, haven't you?" he asks.
She nods.
"Did you think I expected everything to change overnight…for all that fear to just evaporate?"
"I don't know. I'm so tired of feeling this way…so, I kind of hoped it would."
His eyebrows cinch together as he gives her an upside-down smile. "Would be nice, but I don't think it works that way. It's going to take time for both of us 'cause…I'm just as afraid of losing you. Honestly, I think there will always be a part of us that is worried about losing each other…but we can't let it pull us apart again."
"How do we do that?"
"This is a good start...facing it together. When you're scared, all you have to do is tell me, and when I am, I'll tell you. And we can talk about it, until we feel better and then it won't seem so big. What do you think?"
"That sounds really smart."
"You know what else could help?"
"What?"
"Making out for a while. I think that would definitely help us be less scared," he suggests, sneaking a kiss on the side of her neck, below her jaw – a place that he recently learned will always evoke a smile from her…if given the right attention.
"I like that idea too. A lot," she confesses through a grin.
"We're going to be alright, Lyds. I know it."
And he does know – no matter what, he is going to be with her. He is never letting Lydia drift away again. And she believes it – they are going to be okay, because Stiles always tells her the truth.
"I love you so much. Tell me you know that too," she pleads, cupping his face in her hands.
"I do. I know you love me."
"How?"
"The same way I know I love you – I can feel it. It's part of me."
There is a calm self-assurance about the way he speaks, and just like that, the boy who doubted she could love him vanishes before her very eyes. She will always love that boy. Always. She will forever admire the unassuming courage in him – his ability to bravely wear is heart on his sleeve, to offer his love to her on pieces of notebook paper, even though he realized it might never be accepted. But it's time to say good-bye to him, because there is no place for doubt between them now.
She moves her hands to his chest, concentrating on the rise and fall as he breathes. "But is it enough though? I mean…it's one word, it doesn't seem like enough to describe what you are to me. Stiles, you're my whole world."
He shakes his head. Lydia is telling him what he has dreamed of hearing. It's breaking his heart and strengthening it at the same time, helping him figure it out – the solution, the way he can help her.
"Lydia, I don't think I can put into words what that means to me. All I ever wanted was to be there for you…to be someone you could trust, the person you talk to and rely on…someone who could make you happy."
"Well you are…and you do. You are everything to me. Everything."
"I'm not," he corrects her, shifting his legs as he straightens up a bit.
"Don't say that. Stiles, I—"
"Listen to me… Okay? I am not the only one who loves you. I need you to understand that. You have so many people that care about you. Scott is one of those people. You know that. He loves you – so much. Melissa loves you too…and Chris, and Danny…he asked about you every day that you weren't in school. And there's Deaton, and Kira… You two don't know each other that well yet…and no one will ever take Allison's place, but she is a really good person. She wants to be there for you. Hey, even that pain in the ass, Lahey is smart enough to love you…and don't forget my dad. He loves you too."
"He does?" she questions, with a tilt of her head. "Even after..."
"Of course he does. How could he not? He knows what you mean to me, and he knows you saved my life. He couldn't love you more if you were his own daughter. One of the worst things about when we were apart was having to tell him."
"I miss him."
"He's been missing you too. I know it. Having you with us made such a difference, and you are important to all of us…not just my dad and me. So, my point is…sure, I want to be everything you need – but I'm not all you have. Lyds, you have an entire family, and none of us are going to let you down. There are no conditions or exceptions. We are going to be here for you because we love you…and we always will – no matter what. Okay?"
With every word, he is weaving himself tightly into the tattered fibers of her heart, mending them, making them stronger. Stiles is putting her heart back together again – just like she knew he would.
"Okay," she sniffles.
He hugs her, and she closes her eyes, both of them warm, and safe, and together, and so in love.
"Stiles?"
"Yeah?"
"Before…you called me sweet," she whispers.
"I did."
Lydia opens her eyes again, lashes fluttering along with her heart when she says, "No one's ever called me that."
"Better get used to it…because you are, and that's what I'm going to call you – whether you like it or not."
"Well I don't hate it," she admits through a half-smile.
"That's my girl." He kisses her dimples and smiles thoughtfully at her. "I'm not sure about you, but I'm starving. What do you say you go pick out some hot looking underwear, so I can admire you while we make breakfast?"
"Okay," she agrees with a fresh lightness in her tone.
Then she gets up from his lap and leads him towards her dresser. As she opens the top drawer, he stands behind her, hands immediately coming to rest at her waist.
"What if…" she begins.
Stiles waits, dropping his chin to her shoulder.
Angling her face so she can see his expression, she continues. "Why don't you choose?"
"Seriously?" he responds with a gleam in his eyes.
She nods.
"Alright..." he answers, browsing the contents of her drawer, eyes scanning over satin, lace, and cotton in every hue of the rainbow. "How about…this?" He points to a deep blue, lace bralette and matching bikinis. As she holds them out in front of her, he remarks, "That's pretty."
"So are you."
"Come on, Lyds…"
"You are," she reaffirms, taking his face in her hands. "Stiles you're beautiful – everything about you."
"You're gonna make be blush," he says, grinning brightly.
"Good. I love it when you do that," Lydia tells him as she releases his face and drops her towel to the floor.
She makes a show of wiggling into her underwear, enjoying the way Stiles watches her as well as the way he instinctively reaches to fasten the closure of her bra without her even having to ask. When he drops a few kisses between her shoulder blades, Lydia can't refrain from giggling.
He turns her to face him, pressing her entire body against his. "I'm never going to get enough of you."
"You had better not," she retorts, sliding out of his arms, picking up her towel, and stepping over to the vanity. She squeezes the excess water out of her hair with the towel, grabs a leave-in spray, and mists it through the length of her strands. Then she combs it through, scrunching the ends with her palms and leaving it to air-dry.
Stiles stands motionless for a few moments, watching her apply floral-scented body cream like it is the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. He almost can't believe he gets to see her like this – so at ease and so unguarded with him. He is sure he will never get enough of this either.
As he collects some of their scattered clothing from the floor she asks, "Can I wear your shirt?"
Stiles pulls his mouth into a frown. "The point is to see the underwear…not cover it up."
"I won't button it."
"Alright…if you must," Stiles concedes, tossing his shirt to her.
She catches the red and navy plaid and slips into it with a sigh. Soft and familiar; it smells like him and it feels like home. Neatly rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to her elbows, she gazes at Stiles while he dries the residual moisture from his arms and chest, then puts on his boxers and navy-blue tee shirt. He crosses the room to her, takes her hand, and together they head out of her bedroom, into the hallway, and down the long staircase to the first floor.
When they pass the big picture window in the living room, Lydia spots the Jeep parked out front like it belongs there…and she smiles because it does.
In the kitchen, Prada is quietly waiting for them beside her water bowl. Her head is quirked to one side, ears perked, tail innocently wagging...despite the fact that her toys are scattered all over the floor.
"Aww…my baby!" Lydia exclaims, picking up the pup and cuddling her. "I'm sorry we made you wait." She looks to Stiles, eyes luminous in a vivid shade of green. "She must have been so bored!"
Stiles chuckles as he massages the Papillon's ears. "Poor thing. We'll make it up to you though… I think one plain, Prada-sized pancake is in order. Don't you?" he offers.
Prada nuzzles her nose into his hand like she understands. Lydia sets her down on the floor, refreshes her water, collects all of her toys except the yellow duck, and places them in a basket on the opposite side of the room.
As they begin to make breakfast, Lydia and Stiles immediately step in sync, working with and around each other with ease. Stiles makes pancakes with Claudia's recipe because he memorized it…just in case. When he makes a show of flipping the pancakes, Lydia can't help but smile fondly because there is no trace of arrogance or conceit in him…and because it's adorable…and because she loves him. She takes extra care setting their places at the island, then brews coffee and cooks scrambled eggs the way Stiles likes them. The pair touch often and speak little, simply taking it all in, more than somewhat in awe. There is no room for hurt or misunderstanding between them anymore. They are just Lydia and Stiles – two people who would do anything for each other, doing something completely ordinary, like preparing a meal, together.
They sit down at the marble-topped island, Lydia on the left, Stiles on the right, so they can hold hands while they eat. Every once in a while, he raises their joined hands to his lips because even the way she eats breakfast is beautiful…and because he can…and because he loves her. They remain in silence for a good portion of the time, comforted by the idyllic proximity they have been denied for far too long.
When they are nearly done with their meal, Stiles clears his throat. "So...when's your mom coming back?"
"Not for another five days," she replies, squeezing his hand and smiling into her coffee cup at the thought of five more nights with Stiles.
"That's…convenient," he comments, mouth curling up on one side for a few seconds, then dropping to a solemn line. He scratches at his jaw, then speaks again. "I…uh…didn't mention her earlier…because I figured you didn't want to talk about her just then but—"
"You were right," she quickly interrupts.
"Lydiaaa…" he groans, glancing sideways at her over his shoulder.
"What?" she asks, hint of unintended sharpness in her tone.
"You know what."
She keeps her eyes on her pancakes, poking at a blueberry with her fork. "Stiles, do we have to talk about this now? I'm not trying to shut you out. I swear." Laying her fork on top of her napkin, Lydia props her elbow next to her plate and drops her cheek into her palm. "I just want to enjoy being with you. Is that so wrong?"
"No, it's not but—"
"I'm not really in the mood to analyze my mother's refusal to be present in my life." Her attempt to sound cool and unaffected is in vain.
Stiles twists his chair around and reaches to swivel her seat towards him until they are face to face. "Lydia, you know she loves you, right?"
She remains quiet, unwanted upsurge of tears betraying her. She can feel the weight of his eyes on her, gold flecks privy to every color inside of her. Instead of looking away, she instinctively meets his stare because she promised she wouldn't hide anything from Stiles and truth be told, she doesn't want to.
"I guess so…but she showed me that when it really matters, I can't rely on her." Putting her hands on his neck and caressing his jaw, she continues, "Stiles, thanks to your dad, you'll never understand what that's like. He is always there for you – no matter what, and I'm so glad, because you deserve to have someone as incredible as him in your life—"
"You deserve that too," he interjects.
"I used to have it," Lydia reminiscences with a huff, briefly looking up at the ceiling. "But now, something is broken between us…and I don't know if I can ever see her the way I used to."
Hearing the pain in her voice causes a knot to form in his stomach. "Look, I probably have no right to talk about her not being here for you…especially not after what I did, but—"
"Stiles, don't," she stops him. "It's not the same. You did it because you love me, and you thought you were making things easier for me."
"I know…but what if she took the promotion for the same reasons?"
"She's so focused on how much money she is making. She thinks it's the answer to everything."
"Maybe she needs you to remind her that it isn't. I'm not making excuses for her…but she doesn't have what we have. Maybe she lost sight of what really matters."
How does he do that? Lydia wonders. Stiles never ceases to surprise her. Somehow, he always manages to help her see past the blinding pain, to gain a different perspective, to make her feel better with such few words. It's near impossible to understand how she could ever be good enough to deserve his love. She is left speechless. All she can do is move closer and tighten her grip on his shoulders.
He slides his hands to her hips, rolling his fingers in soft circles against her bones as he talks to her. "I know you're hurt. You have every right to be. But I want things to get better for you. Don't you think you owe it to yourself to talk to her?"
She sighs, her mouth automatically reshaping into a pout.
"Will you at least consider it?"
"I don't know how much difference it will make, but yeah…I can do that."
Stiles aches for Lydia. He knows how difficult it is for her to confront all the pain she has experienced. Her willingness to try amazes him, and for about the hundredth time this morning, he feels his love for Lydia expand beyond the farthest limits of his imagination. "Did I ever tell you how incredible you are? How strong…and brave…and—"
She quiets him with a kiss. "Stiles…just eat your breakfast."
He smirks and brushes past the shirt she is wearing to trace the swell of her breasts with his index finger while suggestively licking his lower lip. "You know something… You're really hot when you're demanding," he teases her with a wink, before ducking away and shoving the last remaining fork-full of pancakes into his mouth.
She rolls her eyes at him, then smugly walks her fingertips across his thigh, feeling his muscles twitch and watching his face change…because two can play at that game.
Stiles laughs as he grabs her hand and links their fingers, thumb absentmindedly grazing over the back of her hand as he searches for his next words.
After an extended pause, he takes a breath and begins, "Hey, Lyds?"
"Yes, my love."
His stomach flutters at Lydia's choice of words and the ease at which they roll off her tongue. Timidly ducking his head down, he notes the tone of her voice – light and relaxed once again, so tender and so rich with sincerity. He wouldn't mind hearing Lydia call him my love every day for the rest of his life.
"Well…I was thinking… My dad has the late shift, but he'll be home for dinner," he informs her as he swallows the last of his coffee.
He tugs on Lydia's hand with his own and nudges her heart with his words.
"Come home with me tonight. It's still your home too…and it's been empty without you. Come home with me, have dinner with my dad and me…and then we can spend time together, just the two of us. And…you could stay over too. I want to hold you all night like I used to. I want you in my bed again," Stiles finishes, leaning in to kiss her, mouth sticky and sweet, and dripping with affection for her.
Lydia smiles brightly at him, flooded with warmth at the thought of returning to the only place that has truly felt like home; the place that makes her feel safe, and warm, and loved – not because of the things in it, but because of the people who live there. She aches to be in his bed again, surrounded by him for an entire night. She remembers the way their bodies fit together, how lovely it is to be tucked into his embrace – his scent enveloping her, his strong arms wrapped around her, the crook of his shoulder a perfect place to rest her head, his gentle hands dipping into the curves of her back, his face mere inches from hers, so close that she can study every angle, hollow, and gold fleck, and feel every one of his breaths on her skin. She can picture them together…and it is beautiful.
"I want that too," she tells him, enjoying the taste of maple syrup he deposited on her lips.
"Good."
"Stiles?"
"Of course, you can bring Prada."
She laughs. "She missed you both."
"We missed her too," he replies, looking down at the pup, who is contentedly perched next to Lydia's feet.
Together, Lydia and Stiles clean up the kitchen – amazed that they get anything accomplished between all the kisses and hugs…and despite the significant amount of time they spend splashing water at each other as they wash the dishes.
Lydia turns the stereo on, and Stiles immediately offers his hand, which she accepts without hesitation. He twirls her around the kitchen, making her laugh until she cries happy tears. When Hey Jude sounds through the speakers, he stills, leaning against the counter and towing her with him. Lydia gently cups his face in her hands, massaging his cheekbones with her thumbs…and he loves it. He loves her. His hands slip inside the flannel she is wearing, clutching at her waist as he takes a deep breath and smiles down at her through a misting of tears. She presses close, peppering a parade of kisses over every inch of his face, salty moisture saturating her lips while his heart pounding against hers. He calms, then slow dances with her through the rest of the song, singing softly and only slightly off-key into her ear…and she loves it. She loves him.
They remain that way through several more songs. Warm, and safe, and together, and so in love.
When they reluctantly part, Lydia has a request. "Will you get me the notes you wrote?"
"Yeah, sure. I should probably get a change of clothes from the trunk too."
"Okay. I'll wait for you upstairs," she says as he kisses her forehead.
She watches him turn to leave. When Stiles reaches the doorway, he looks back at her, flashes a brilliant smile, and steps out into the morning sun.
As soon as the front door closes behind him, Lydia runs up the stairs to her bedroom, still fighting the irksome fear that some unseen force might cause someone so precious to disappear from her life.