November (2) 2.

"So what did you think of the show?"

Lydia lazily glances up from her strawberry-banana-chocolate chip pancakes. Across from her, Stiles hunches over a giant mound a greasy hashbrowns, his arms circling the plate like he's protecting it. His whiskey eyes are still bright from the three shots he had swallowed while Derek and Scott were trying to wrangle the last of the equipment into their old trailer parked behind Deucalion's. He had been loud and happy since then, flitting between Lydia and Scott and Braeden quicker than any of them could track on the entire two-block walk to the Crescent Diner.

"You guys were great!" Kira pipes up from Lydia's left before Lydia can answer. Scott leans forward eagerly, almost knocking over his mug of coffee as he goes.

"You really think so?" He asks her.

"I liked that one you played third. No—fourth," Lydia says, taking a syrupy bite of her pancakes.

"It's called Snip Snip Motherfucker!" Stiles yells excitedly. Their waitress shoots them a dirty glance from behind the counter as Malia lets out a high-pitched giggle, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

"It's not called that!" Derek says sharply brandishing a fork with a skewered piece of sausage on the end.

"We don't call it that!" He continues, turning to the girls with a stern look on his face.

"I wrote it!" Stiles responds, slapping a hand down on the sticky table. "I decide what it's called and it's called Snip Snip Motherfucker!"

Malia keeps giggling into her palm, shaking so hard in her seat that she almost tumbles out of the booth. Isaac reaches out and grips her shoulder to keep her in her seat, a goofy smile wide across his cheeks.

"It's not called that," Derek repeats, gesturing with the fork so hard that the piece of sausage sails off the end and lands in Braeden's omelette. She shrugs and mixes it in with the fold of her eggs.

"The lyrics are an in-depth history of the male circumcision told through the extended metaphor of Captain Ahab wanting to skin Moby Dick!" Stiles continues, the cords in his neck straining as his hands come up to card wildly through his hair. "Don't you feel robbed, Derek?! I feel robbed. Scott does too! He told me so!"

Malia drops her hand, deep belly laughs falling out of her. Lydia almost chokes on her pancakes, laughing into the back of her hand. Kira's face has gone bright red, matching Scott's flushed cheeks, though both are smiling.

"Drink some water, Stiles," Scott says, sliding Stiles's glass of water closer to him. Stiles seizes it and leans down, his tongue out and darting wildly around trying to find the straw as he glares up at Derek. Lydia laughs at him again as he finally claims the straw and sucks down the water like oxygen. She spends too long focused on the way his cheeks hollow when he drinks before quickly dropping her gaze back to her food.

"I'm so sorry you're stuck with him as a soulmate," Isaac says sympathetically to Lydia, funneling his own hashbrowns into his mouth.

"Oh, what does that even mean? Soulmates?" Lydia scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "The Marks don't guarantee anything."

Derek and Braeden look at each other and Braeden smiles wide. Lydia can see the matching Marks on their necks from her seat.

"I wouldn't say that," She says, turning to Lydia.

"You think her and Stiles should just get together, then?" Malia asks. Stiles lifts his head up from his drained glass, the straw still between his teeth.

"I wouldn't say that, either," Braeden replies, casually taking a bite of her omelette.

"What would you say?" Malia presses. She swipes a piece of bacon off of Isaac's plate and crams it in her mouth before he can object.

"I'd say…that it's complicated."

"That's your big nugget of advice?" Lydia says. "That it's complicated?"

"Look, these things aren't an exact science," Derek says, waving a hand towards his Mark. "It's not like we saw each other and it was love at first sight or anything."

"It was more like we just…we knew there was a connection," Braeden adds, nodding.

"I knew that she was going to be important to me in some way, I just didn't know how."

Isaac puts a hand up to his mouth and blows a noisy raspberry into it.

"Bullshit. Soulmates are soulmates are soulmates," He says with a shrug, smacking Malia on the back of her hand with his fork as she tries to steal another piece of bacon. "You two were chosen by whoever or whatever is up there to be together, so you are together. Simple."

"But what about the people who have matching Marks that don't get together?" Lydia asks.

Isaac shrugs.

"Then they're stubborn," He says simply, scraping the remaining food on his plate into a heap in the middle.

Lydia rolls her eyes.

"So you think people can't have any meaningful relationships outside romantic ones?" She says. "What about people with different Marks who get together and stay together for years? What about people with no Marks at all? You think they're doomed to an existence alone because they weren't 'blessed with the means to find their Match?'"—Lydia throws her fingers up in quotation marks as she recites the mantra they've all heard hundreds of times—"Love isn't this one-shot thing. You choose who you love and you choose who means what to you, not some stupid mystical force."

Malia begins to slow clap. When no one joins in, she stops, but not before she winks at Lydia. Isaac is staring at her with his mouth hanging slightly open, clearly at a loss for words.

"You don't believe in fate?" Scott finally asks.

"She doesn't believe in fate," Stiles answers him, a bemused smile on his face.

"I don't believe in fate," Lydia affirms, nodding.

Scott looks at Stiles. Stiles shrugs, his smile still on his face.

"I believe in fate," Stiles says. "I don't believe in the Marks, but I believe in fate."

"How do you not believe in the Marks?" Isaac scoffs.

"Like she says," Stiles replies, nodding towards Lydia. "People with different Marks get together and stay together for years. People with no Marks at all fall in love. People with red Marks still find love and live out happy, healthy lives with happy, healthy relationships. The Marks are good guidelines, sure, but they're not the end."

Stiles leans down and starts shoveling the rest of the hashbrowns into his mouth, looking up at Lydia with bright eyes.

"That's easy for you to say," Isaac says. "You're Golden."

"No, I'm Stiles," Stiles replies. "And you're an idiot."

"I'm with him," Malia says, pointing at Stiles before Isaac can respond. "I haven't found my Match, but that doesn't mean I'm just gonna wait around for them to show up. But I know I'll meet my Match when I'm meant to meet them, you know?"

"I like her," Stiles says to Lydia. "Stay friends with her. She's smart."

Lydia rolls her eyes and kicks Stiles underneath the table. He looks scandalized and kicks back, missing entirely and hitting the seat beside her. Lydia leans forward and steals a bite of hashbrowns. Stiles retaliates by stealing a stray syrup-soaked strawberry off of her plate. He grins at her from across the table, syrup trailing down his chin, and Lydia laughs.

"You don't have a Mark," Malia says, turning to Kira. The alcohol had made her braver about talking to her ex. "What do you think?"

Kira looks around in surprise. Scott perks up.

"You don't have a Mark?" He asks. Kira shakes her head, cheeks red.

"Nah, I checked," Malia grins. Lydia reaches behind Kira to smack Malia on the back of the head.

"Be nice," She hisses. Malia winces and nods.

"No, I don't have a Mark," Kira mutters shyly, shifting away from Malia. "And I—I don't really know what I think. I mean, I hoped fate was real, I guess. Or—I hope it is real. But I don't know."

"Wonderfully said," Derek says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the time. "But we've got to go."

Derek and Braeden scoot out of the booth and stand, Braeden stretching her arms behind her back and Derek tossing a handful of folded bills onto the table. Lydia glances down at her phone as well.

"We should head out, too," She says to Malia, who is smiling coyly at Isaac with her hand on his leg. Malia spins around in her seat, still smiling.

"I think I'm gonna stay out a little while longer," She says with a wink.

"Well, I've got a test tomorrow so I'm going to go home," Lydia responds, nudging Kira and forcing her and Malia to get out of the booth so she can exit.

"I'll walk you!" Stiles says, standing up so quickly that his knees knock into the table. Instead of making Scott move, he swings a long leg over the back of the booth and jumps down to the floor. He stumbles on the dismount, but quickly straightens up and tugs down his jacket.

"I can make it on my own," Lydia says, planting her hands on her hips.

"Right, but I can help!" Stiles beams. His smile fades and he leans towards Scott.

Lydia sighs. It would be nice to have company, even if that company was a loud, tipsy Stiles.

"Fine," She concedes, turning towards Malia. "Don't stay out too late, you have a test tomorrow, too."

Malia waves as Lydia turns and starts for the door, Stiles trailing happily behind her.

"Stiles, the subway is this way."

"But wouldn't you rather walk home?"

"It's thirty degrees and it'll take an hour to walk it."

"So, we'll make it a brisk walk."

Stiles smiles as Lydia stops under a streetlight, her hair glowing like fire. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her arms tucked around her waist.

She's beautiful, He thinks, his thoughts still fuzzy from good alcohol and good food and good company. He thinks about telling her, briefly, but decides that now is not the time.

"It's thirty degrees. You'll freeze to death."

"Guess you'll have to walk close to me, then."

"You're crazy."

"C'mon, it'll be fun. We'll walk through the park."

Lydia lets out an exasperated sigh, the air leaving her in a misty cloud. Stiles smiles down at her. She shakes her head, her hair falling into her face, but she walks towards him and starts heading towards her apartment. He reaches into the pocket of his peacoat to grab his bomber hat, cramming it on his head as they start to walk.

"Hey," Stiles says after a moment of comfortable silence. "Do you want to play Questions?"

"How in the hell do you play Questions?"

"It's easy! I ask you a question and you answer it and then you ask me a question and I answer it."

"So…you're asking me to have a conversation with you?"

She's trying to look aloof, but Stiles sees the smile tugging at her lips.

"No, I'm asking you to play Questions."

Lydia rolls her eyes, but the smile stays.

"Fine, ask your question."

"What are your parents like?"

"You're starting with that one? Really?"

"We're playing Questions, Lydia, you have to answer."

They turn into the park, Stiles veering a little too sharply and almost knocking into Lydia.

"Fine. Dad works at a law practice in San Francisco. Mom's a guidance counselor at a high school. They're divorced. They have different Marks and uh…when Dad found his Match he left."

"Well that's super shitty. Is that why you don't believe in the Marks?"

"Hold on, Stilinski, you already asked your question, it's my turn."

"Look at you! Getting the hang of Questions. But you're right, sorry, go ahead."

"What's your favorite animal?"

"Oh, awesome starting question. Sepia officinalis."

"The cuttlefish?"

"Yes! How'd you know? Normally people are stumped."

"Triple major in biology, physics, and math. That counts as your question. My turn again."

Stiles laughs and shakes his head.

"You're definitely winning this round."

Lydia smiles slyly.

"Have you dated anyone before?"

"Ehhhhh…" Stiles makes a non-committal hand gesture. "I've had a few casual things. There was this girl, Heather. Our mom's were friends, so we like, took bubble baths together when we were little kids. We messed around in high school, lost our virginities in her dad's wine cellar on her seventeenth birthday—super proud of that, by the way. She just found her Match online. He seems nice. Lives in Romania."

Lydia nods at him.

"Then there was Danny," Stiles continues. "We were on the lacrosse team together. Short fling with Derek's younger sister that same year. Scott and I got drunk our freshman year at University and made out, that was a crazy week. A random smattering of people since then, but nothing serious."

Lydia laughs, the sound echoing through the bare trees around them. A couple rounds the path in front of Stiles and Lydia, sidestepping around them. Lydia moves closer to Stiles as they pass, her hand brushing accidently against his wrist. Her skin is warm against his. His head is clearer now, the cold counteracting the alcohol in his system. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"What about you? Any dalliances in your past?"

Lydia makes a strange noise that she covers by clearing her throat. Stiles pretends not to notice.

"There was Jackson Whittemore in high school. We were a power couple. But he moved away to London the summer before our junior year and he was an asshole anyway so it was really for the best. And there was…there were others. But nothing stayed—nothing stuck."

She folds her hands in front of her, staring down at her intertwined fingers.

Stiles nudges her softly.

"Your turn," He says.

"What are your parents like?"

Stiles hums low in his throat.

"My father is the Sheriff of Beacon Hills back in California. He's a good man. He's the best man."

Stiles pauses, letting his eyes sweep over the naked branches and travel down to the layer of dead leaves that blanket the ground. Lydia glances up at him, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Mom died when I was eight," He says, focusing on making sure his voice remains level. "Before she got sick, though, she was…she was the sun."

Lydia opens her mouth to say something, then stops. They pass a few beats in silence before she tries again.

"Does it…does it get better?" She finally asks, her voice small but firm.

Stiles stops on the path and looks at her. Lydia takes a few steps before she realizes he isn't beside her anymore and she turns to face him. He stares at her in front of him, her figure cast in shadows. Her Mark glints golden on her cheek in the faint light from a long-passed streetlight. Stiles focuses on it as he speaks.

"No," He says. "It doesn't."

Lydia balls her hands up into fists next to her, then unclenches them.

"People always say it gets better," She says, her voice stilted. "But every year it's like—it's like…"

"It's like you can't catch your breath because you miss them so much?" Stiles finishes for her, taking a small step forward. Lydia looks up at him and nods. Stiles reaches out and curls the pinkie of his right hand around the pinkie of her left hand.

"I will tell you that it heals," He says. "It's still hard, but it's less like an open wound. More like a scar."

Lydia nods again, her gaze falling and focusing on his chest. Her lips are pressed together in a line. Some of her hair has fallen down into her face. Stiles almost brushes it behind her ear, but restrains himself. Instead, he squeezes her pinkie with his and pulls her gently along. They begin to walk again, Lydia staring down at the path.

"Who'd you lose?" Stiles asks softly.

"My…Allison. My friend, Allison."

Stiles reaches out another finger and wraps it around her ring finger. Lydia lets him.

"We were in high school together. On Thursday it'll be five years."

Stiles nods.

"It helps if you stay busy. Do you have plans?"

"Besides class and curling up alone on my couch trying not to cry?" Lydia says with a dry laugh.

"Yeah, that's no good," Stiles says, sending a small, supportive smile in her direction. "Instead of that, would you like to go to class and then come watch us practice? I told Scott to invite Kira so we could see how well she plays. Malia can come, too."

"Will you bribe me with free drinks this time, too?" Lydia says, smirking up at him. Stiles laughs and swings their hands gently back and forth.

"We don't drink around the expensive equipment," He says. "I might've…accidently damaged something and Derek made a no-liquid-but-water rule."

Lydia chuckles. The bricks arch marking the exit to the park is around the next corner. Stiles can see the lights through the trees.

"Sure, it sounds fun," Lydia says finally.

Stiles squeezes her fingers again.

"That's the spirit, Martin."

As they approach the arch, Stiles spots a smooth pebble at the base of bricks. He tightens his grip on Lydia's fingers to make her stop, then leans down and picks it up. He begins to walk again, turning the cold rock over in his palm before he slips it into the pocket of his peacoat.

"What was that?" Lydia asks him, brow furrowed.

"It's not your turn at Questions, Lydia," Stiles responds, wagging his free finger at her. Lydia rolls her eyes as she leads them down a side street.

"Fine, ask your question. My apartment is just a few blocks away."

"Did you have fun tonight?" Stiles asks, his 100-watt grin back on his face.

Lydia screws her face up at him. Stiles opens his mouth, feigning worry. Lydia giggles.

"Yes, Stiles, I had fun."

"Good. Your turn."

They turn another corner.

"Is Stiles your real name?"

"It's my nickname."

"What's your real name?"

"It's my turn, Lydia. What's your favorite color?"

"Lilac. What's your real name?"

Stiles laughs, his cheeks going red.

"Mstivoj," He says, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his head under his cap. "Scott couldn't pronounce it when we were kids, so he started calling me 'Stiles' and it stuck."

"Mstivoj," Lydia tries out. "That's a very Polish name."

"I know," Stiles says, still flushed. "It was my Mom's Dad's name. What's your favorite movie?"

"The Notebook. This is my apartment."

Lydia comes to a stop in front of a tall, worn building made of gray stone. She tugs her fingers from his grasp. He pretends not to miss the way she felt against him.

"You've got one more question," Stiles says. Lydia looks up at him, emerald meeting amber.

"Why do you wear this ugly hat?" Lydia asks with a smile on her lips, tugging on the side flap of his bomber cap. Stiles laughs and slides it off his head, holding the worn orange fabric between his hands.

"My dad was wearing this when he met my mom," Stiles responds, looking shyly up at Lydia from underneath his eyelashes. "I dug it out of the attic in high school and I've been wearing it ever since."

Lydia smiles, taking the cap out of his hands and shoving it roughly back onto his head. She stares up at him for a moment, her eyes soft, before she shakes her head and starts walking up the stairs to her apartment.

"Goodbye, Stiles," She calls over her shoulder.

"I'll see you Thursday," He calls back. He waits for her to enter the main doors before he starts a slow walk towards the subway, his fingers still tingling from where they'd been curled around hers.