Breaking it off with Malia had been hard.
After the kiss he shared with Lydia the night he killed Donovan, there was obviously no question on who Stiles thought he belonged with. Stiles had been with the wrong girl for a few months shy of a year. He couldn't believe that he had been so blind.
But he knew that there was this underlying part in him that knew that it had always been Lydia and that it will always be Lydia. There was no denying that.
He really did feel guilty breaking things off with Malia. Stiles had been pretty much her first everything. First person she really opened up to, first kiss, first boyfriend, first time. Those were a lot of firsts to be weighing upon his shoulders. So, if he hadn't felt the least bit of remorse for breaking things off with the brunette, he would question if he were really human or not.
Let's just say that things with Malia didn't go too well. Upon being many firsts for Malia, he was also her first breakup. So, she had never experienced one before. She didn't know what to expect or what to do.
So, what she decided to do was throw a hair dryer at his head, effectively hitting the target.
After a rather substantial amount of blood trickled down the left side of his face from his forehead, he booked it out of the Tate's household before Mr. Tate could get ahold of his gun, hopping into his Jeep and speeding down the street.
And that's how he was subconsciously led here. Sitting in his Jeep in the driveway of the Martin household.
It's strange how he knew just exactly he knew how to get to her house. All of those nights up late studying or researching the next supernatural force they were dealing with. He had been to the Martin's house so many times, he was starting to think it was close to adding up the amount of times he'd been to Scott's.
He just sits in the driver's seat of his Jeep, his shaking hands tapping against the black steering wheel as he contemplates actually going in or not. It suddenly felt like all of those nervous emotions from sophomore year were rushing back, planting themselves in the pit of his stomach.
Yes, Lydia and his relationship had progressed very far in the past three years. Really far, actually. If someone told him that Lydia Martin would willingly let Stiles Stilinski into her house to study just for the hell of it, he would've laughed in your face and told you you were crazy.
He had gotten so used to being ignored by the strawberry blonde for the majority of his life, that when she started opening up to him at the end of sophomore year, he literally didn't know what to do.
Until he did. They got closer and closer until she nearly knew him better than his best friend did, and he nearly knew her better than her best friend did. Stiles didn't know about her, but he often found himself looking back on the time they've spent together over the past few years, and he finds himself wondering just how the hell it happened, but thanking God that it did.
A sigh falls from his lips as he looks back up at the front door of the Martin household through the windshield of his Jeep that really needs to be cleaned. His eyes venture up to a window on the second floor, a light visible through the white curtains in the night air. Glancing at the clock, the digital numbers glow the time of 9:31.
And finally, without another moment's thought, he pushes his door open, taking the keys with him as he shuts it behind him, walking up the cement pathway to the front door.
He rocks back and forth from the heels to the balls of his feet after he rings the doorbell, waiting for the five foot three banshee to answer the door. He knew her mother wasn't home. Natalie Martin is always working late or out on the town with her friends. Even if it is only Thursday night.
Seconds later, he hears the distinct sound of heels against wood come closer to the door in front of him. She must've not changed out of her school clothes yet, he thinks. He wonders where she went after school that entitled her to still be wearing her school clothes.
The door opens, showering Stiles with light from the interior of the house. Lydia's face shows one of surprise as she leans against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest as she glances at the boy in front of her.
Stiles can see the goosebumps rise on the pale, bare legs of the girl as she stands before him in only a red dress with flowers that has cap sleeves, a v neck line, and goes to right above her knee. His eyes glance down at her shoes quickly, noticing those familiar tan wedges that she seems to wear all the time.
His whiskey eyes meet her green ones as she looks at him with a quirked eyebrow.
"What are you doing here, Stiles? It's half past nine," she says, her voice filled with curiosity at the boy's presence on her front porch. "And what happened to your head?"
A large hand with skinny fingers comes up behind his neck, scratching there awkwardly as he looks at her. He had completely forgotten about the trail of blood that flowed down his face from Malia. It was probably dry by now, making it look worse than it actually was.
"Well, there are some things that I want to talk to you about," Stiles says vaguely, bringing his hand from his neck and into his front pocket, along with his other hand that rests in his other front pocket. "Can I come in?"
Lydia nods her head, stepping aside to let him in. After he steps over the threshold, she closes the door behind him, walking past him and into the living room to take a seat on one of the couches. She pats the spot next to her as he stands still by the door, gesturing him to come sit by her.
"Don't worry," she starts with a smirk, "I don't bite."
He rolls his eyes as he walks over to her, plopping down a little too close for comfort for someone who has a girlfriend that's not the girl sitting next to him, or that's what she's thinking, anyway.
"No, but you do scream," he reminds her with a smirk of his own. Lydia just rolls her eyes, now, trying to avoid the fact that his arm is pressed against hers, his leg slightly brushing hers in the least possible way, but it still manages to get butterflies stirring in her stomach.
"So, what do you want to talk about?" she asks him after a few minutes of temporary silence.
Another sigh falls from the boy's lips as he leans his head back against the couch, running his hands over his face. He can feel the dried blood from the left side of his face run roughly across his hands as he pulls them down his face.
Lydia's eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, seeing that the brown haired boy next her is obviously very troubled. She adjusts her body a bit so she's facing him more. "Stiles, what's wrong?" the redhead asks, more concern etched into her tone.
With one last sigh, Stiles pulls his head up from the back of the couch, turning it slightly to look at the beautiful girl before him.
"Malia and I broke up."
They are five words that are so simple but can mean so much. Can mean so many different things.
To one person, it could be absolutely exhilarating. They're finally free of a relationship they had been suffocating in prior to breaking it off. They couldn't be happier.
Or, maybe they're happy in a sense of it not being their own breakup, but someone's they knew they couldn't have because they were taken.
Or, maybe happy in the sense of being able to reveal their feelings to a person they couldn't before, because they were tied down in a relationship they knew wasn't going anywhere.
And then to another person, it could be absolutely devastating. They just ended a relationship that meant a great deal to them. They don't know what to do. They're absolutely crushed.
Or, maybe sad in a sense that they're sad that it's over, but they knew that it wasn't going to last.
Lydia knew which one of those scenarios she was feeling, but she wasn't quite sure what Stiles was feeling.
He had this emotionless type look on his face, almost as if he didn't know what he should feel at that point. And she didn't blame him. As far as she knew, this had been his first breakup.
"You did?" she asks after a long pause, trying to keep her voice steady as she utters the words. "And why did that happen?"
His whiskey eyes find her again after they had strayed, his eyes obviously holding much more emotion than his facial features. He had this look in his eyes like he did back before Malia was ever in the picture. Back when he was still head over heels for her.
She didn't want to get her hopes up. Many times she had waited for that moment to come, building herself up for it just to be disappointed and let down when it didn't come. She didn't want to feel like that again.
But the words that fall from his lips almost breathlessly next make her heart melt to a puddle in her shoes.
"Because I'm still in love with you."
To say the look on Lydia's face would be nothing less of surprised would be the understatement of the millennium. Her jaw had fallen open and her eyes were wide in the utmost surprise, Stiles didn't think it was humanly possible. But, for the record, she was a banshee.
She spluttered for a few moments before she could coherently form a sentence. "Wo-wow. Really?" Lydia asked in a very Stile-like fashion.
A groan falls from the boy's lips as he stands from the couch, running his hands through his freshly cut hair. It was cut much like it had been at the beginning of their junior year. Right after they dealt with the kanima, and right before they had to deal with the Darach. Back when they had the least bit of normalcy in their lives.
"I knew you would react like this. How could I think for one minute that you would reciprocate any of the feelings I have for you? I mean, after nearly ten years I should've gotten the hint, don't you think? But I just can't seem to stop hoping and waiting for you to feel the same. But I'm obviously delirious. You know what? I'll just go home and—"
His sentence is cut off when the strawberry blonde—who he didn't even know got up from her spot on the couch and crossed the living room toward him—grabs his face in her hands much like she did that afternoon of the panic attack, steps on her tiptoes, and presses her lips to his forcefully, effectively shutting him up.
A content sigh falls from Stiles' lip as his hands fall to the curve of her hip as he takes a little breath in before slowly moving his lips with hers. If she shut him up like this every time he went off on a rant, he would go on one as much as he possibly could around her.
For years Stiles had imagined this moment happening. Sure, they had kissed before, but those kisses were to save his life. Sure, there had been other ways of stopping a panic attack rather than planting your lips on someone, but they were in moments of haste. Confusion. They didn't mean anything.
But this kiss, this kiss was real. There was no panic attack. No supernatural threat hanging over their heads, making them feel like they were running out of time. No, this kiss was just Stiles and Lydia. Finally coming together like all of their friends had been expecting. Like all of their friends had been betting on.
So when they walk into school the next day, fingers wrapped around another's, Scott begrudgingly took a twenty out of his pocket, slapping the money into his girlfriend's hand while she wore a triumphant smirk, curling her fingers around the crisp bill.