Assignment 2 | Egyptology, Task 1 | Write about someone being protective over someone else.
Word Count: 617
Warnings: discussion of suicide/death
forever
Lydia was only about… forty-two percent surprised when she got back to her dorm and found Stiles sitting on the bench outside, his leg bouncing up and down as he looked off into space. It wasn't entirely unusual for him to visit unannounced, but she knew that he had exams next week, and he was taking his exams very seriously. It was actually kind of attractive, but then again, she'd found Stiles' wild theories that turned out to be right more attractive than she was willing to admit.
"Hey there, handsome," she greeted when she was close enough, flashing him a big smile.
He startled at the sound of her voice, jolting on the bench, but recovered quickly and met her smile with one of his own.
"Hey."
He stood up quickly and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her brows furrowing. It wasn't just that he had shown up unannounced that made her worry – she could feel that something was wrong in his touch and hear it in his voice.
"I learned something," Stiles answered, his brown eyes boring into her as he spoke.
"What?"
He looked around, hand sliding from her shoulders down to her elbow. "Not here."
He pulled her lightly toward the door of the dorm, and she understood his message. Lydia quickly pulled out her keys, buzzing them into the building with the fob and then marching straight to her room. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Stiles wrapped his arms around her again, this time in a tight hug that betrayed the depth of his emotions. She knew him well enough by now to know that he was only ever like this when he was feeling something particularly strongly.
"Stiles?" she said softly after a moment, trying to prompt him into talking to her. She knew that he would once he was ready, but she was always impatient.
"Lydia, I learned…" He stepped back, running his fingers roughly through his hair, a somewhat crazed expression in his eyes like he was hoping that she would be able to read his mind. "Lydia, do you know how many banshees die by suicide?"
She felt her blood chill in her veins. Whatever Lydia had been expecting Stiles to tell her – and she hadn't been expecting anything good – it wasn't for him to talk about banshee suicides.
"Like, ninety percent," he said when she didn't answer, clearly worked up. But then all of his agitation seemed to disappear, and he deflated like a popped balloon. "And I just needed to… to…"
Lydia felt her heart clench. He was so incredibly sweet sometimes, and she didn't often give him enough credit for it.
"Stiles, I'm fine. I promise." She reached out, cupping his cheek and rubbing her thumb gently across his skin. "Stiles, listen to me, look at me." She waited until his eyes met hers, and then she made sure to speak deliberately, intently reassuring him of the truth. "I am not going to kill myself."
"Promise?" he asked, sounding fleetingly like a little boy. But when he pulled back to look at her, there was nothing boyish about it.
"I promise," she swore, reaching out to cradle his cheek. "And if I ever so much as briefly think about it, I promise I'll tell you. But I'm pretty sure that you're going to be stuck with me for a very long time."
He cracked a smile for the first time. "I'll gladly be stuck with you forever."
Lydia smiled as well. She loved it when he talked about forever. Especially when it meant Stiles looking out for her forever.