They're ten when his mother dies.
She hasn't spoken to him in over a year, so she really doesn't have a right to show up at his house unannounced. It's possible he's forgotten about her entirely, given the perpetual cold shoulder she insists on turning his way, but she has to try.
She doesn't understand why, but she has to try.
Lydia's hands tremble as she lifts one to knock on his front door. There are several cars out front, and she knows her mother must be wondering where she went, so she shouldn't - can't - stay long. Maybe it's better this way, though. A quick apology and then she can be on her way.
The sheriff answers the door, and she's surprised to find he doesn't seem too shocked to see a trembling Lydia Martin on his doorstep. He offers her a half-hearted smile - one that doesn't quite reach his eyes - before turning and calling his son's name.
It takes several seconds for Stiles to appear, but when he does, Lydia's pretty sure she stops breathing.
"Hey," she whispers, bright green eyes flickering over his features. He looks tired, worn, broken. Can she blame him, though? His mother died less than twenty-four hours ago, and her mom says he was at her side when it happened. Even though everyone knew it was coming, she knows this can't be easy for him.
His dad excuses himself, and Stiles steps out onto the porch. They're silent for a few minutes, Lydia nervously wringing her hands together in front of her, before she takes an uncertain step towards him. He watches her, a mixture of curiosity and sadness in his gaze, before they impulsively reach for each other at the same time. His hands are on her waist and her arms are around his neck before either of them really decide to move.
They stand like that for a long time, and Lydia pretends not to notice the way his shoulders shake under her touch. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't feel like she really has to, anyway. It's enough - this hug, this gesture, it's enough.
Finally, Stiles halfheartedly pulls away and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands. "Why did you come?" He asks, puffy eyes finding hers a second later. It's a valid question, but it's one she hoped he wouldn't ask. It's one she isn't prepared to answer.
"My mom insisted," she lies, and she can see the disappointment wash over him. Stupid, stupid, stupid - his mom just died and you're making it worse!, the voice in her head yells, but she ignores it. She can't let him think she actually wanted to come here and comfort him. That would just be preposterous.
They shift their weight awkwardly for a few more seconds, before he gestures for her to take a seat beside him on the steps. She considers turning him down and walking back to her house - seriously, her mom is going to be worried - but she can't. Not when he's looking at her like she's his lifeline; the one and only reason he's still breathing.
So, instead, she sits, their shoulders brushing as she does. Neither of them look at one another, instead staring straight ahead as if this is totally normal, the two of them hanging out in the late evening air.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She finally asks, her voice soft. Warily, Lydia glances his way, only to see him shake his head.
"No. I don't."
Lydia nods, accepting his answer, and the two fall silent once more. It isn't an awkward silence, though - not even when he reaches over to take her hand, his fingers cold and clammy as they slip through hers. She should pull away, and maybe she will in a few minutes, but for now?
For now, she'll sit next to this boy - the boy - and forget about anything else. She can't offer him words of comfort, nor can she promise she'll even look his way when the sun rises tomorrow, but she can sit with him and pretend everything will be okay.
And maybe, just maybe, it will be. Not today, and not tomorrow, but maybe they'll be okay in the end.
She can hope, anyway.