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He’s sleeping. Belly down, face smushed onto his pillow, drool pooling on the fabric, and a small snort escaping as he swats at something imaginary and flops to his other side. Even in sleep, totally uninhibited sleep, he’s restless.
She’s sitting in Scott’s desk chair practically on the bed she’s so close. Her strawberry blonde locks falling over her shoulders, ripped sleeves, and a tattered hem of her favorite dress. Her boots covered in mud and singed from the energy it took to get the Nemeton to reveal the Ghost realm. Her bruised and scraped elbows resting gingerly on her knees as she leans forward to brush away a stray lock from his face.
She can’t take her eyes away. It’s like seeing it for the first time all over. And she silently berates her third-grade self, feeling complete dumbfounded that she’d never once gave a second glance at this beautiful boy. His moles, and the myths she’s created in their constellations. The moments and lives she’s imagined for them. The fantasies she’d forgotten. Even before the Ghost Riders, she’d suppressed it all… He had always been off limits to her.
She can only see the back of his head and the high point of his gorgeous cheeks, even the small peeking of a few lashes.
When she’d first met him she wouldn’t let him get too close. He knew too much, knowing her so little. And then they became friends, and she couldn’t lose him, and yet she kept him at arms length. Then she kissed him. And she kept him further away. Then Malia, and she certainly couldn’t bring herself to cross that line. But he saved her, and something shifted. She started to question that “off limits” sign she mentally posts over his head… and when the Ghost Riders took him she ripped it down and shattered it on the floor… She needs him. Period.
And then she feels it. The tear. It hits her forearm, and she wipes her shoulder across her cheek. Not giving a flying fugh that she’s smeared her foundation or cream blush. She’d be damned if she let go of him. Her hand resting on his shoulder blade.
“Lydia,” she lurches, and turns in horror to see Malia standing there. Watching her. Her face indecipherable. Finally, Lydia pries her hand away.
“He’s not going anywhere,” despite the smile on Malia’s face, Lydia knows it’s a promise- a threat- to anyone or anything to come for him again. Lydia only nods in response. She’d personally carry out whatever bloody deed to ensure it.
“Lydia?” Their eyes connect again. And she sees Malia’s pain. And her heart breaks. Because her mind goes there- this is her fault. Her friendship could end, and it is her fault. But she just loves this boy too damn much. The guilt is suffocating.
“No,” Malia is stern, the tension is clear, and Stiles huffs in his sleep; they both still.
Malia gestures with her chin that they should leave and Lydia agrees. He hadn’t slept in days, he needs the sleep.
Once in the hall and the door cracked, the girls return to their confessions.
“Malia, I- I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” and she crumples a little; miraculously holding back her own tears. Lydia’s heart is pounding because her friend knows. Of course she knows. Lydia remembers confessing her love for Stiles. I think I loved him.
Of course, unbeknownst to them, it was Stiles. The boy that they both loved. But Malia is smart, and she remembers, too. Lydia is terrified she’ll lose them both.
He wasn’t hers. He was Malia’s. He was Malia’s first everything, and that is something Lydia can never imagine taking away. But her heart aches, and it’s hurting and swelling from the hemorrhage knowing she can’t have him.
Lydia wants to break down and beg, but she stops and pulls it together when she sees Malia’s hands. White knuckled and fisted at her sides.
“Lydia-” Malia breathes deeply, looking everywhere but at her, tears and heat and completely unsure, “I don’t know how to do this…”
“You don’t have to do anything- say anything… I know. I know I can’t have him. I kn-”
“You don’t know shit,” Malia is full fledged crying, now. Angry and broken.
Lydia is looking up in terror. She can’t lose them both. This fierce girl who has saved her, who she saved. Who she’d literally break down walls for.
“Do really you think I’m gonna let you give him up?” And the world tilts on its axis. What did she just say?
“What did you just say?” Lydia squeaks, a hiccup constricts her throat. She’s suddenly whoozy.
“Did you think I came here to take him away from you? Lydia… I came here to make sure you were okay. I’m still not good at the comforting thing, but you smelled so sad- it’s everywhere. And Scott is still getting stitched up. Nearly had to knock him out to let him heal.”
Malia placed an awkward but firm hand on her shoulder.
“But you- and he- and you guys-” Lydia is stammering. Everyone and their mother knows Lydia does not stammer.
“- are over,” Malia raises an obvious brow. And her grip pulls Lydia forward into a fierce hug. Her nose diving into her neck and shoulder, unconsciously nuzzling her in an effort to comfort.
“Lydia, you saved my life. I know you’d never hurt me. He’s special to me. I love him. But you-,” Malia swallows and when she speaks again her voice is thick, “You saved me. You gave me a life. It’s only fair I give you your life back, too.”
And Lydia can’t hold it in anymore. Wasn’t very successful thus far anyway, but the relief of having Stiles back and knowing Malia wasn’t going to hate her… it was everything.
And then comes Scott.
They jump apart hearing his barreling feet run up the stares.
“What’s wrong, I heard a wail? Is Stiles okay? Lydia are you okay? Malia? What’s wrong?”
He could shoot holes into the walls he’s firing off questions so fast. They laugh sheepishly. And Scot finally sags in relief, chuckling himself.
“Was I sleeping funny?” They all jump again, Stiles standing in the doorway, swaying tiredly.
Malia and Scott look to each other, then at their respective best friends. And smile. They walk together, Malia holding up her alpha, down the stairs of the house.
“Lydia?” Stiles is so utterly confused, half asleep, and bleary-eyed. Unbelievably adorable.
“Come on sleepy, let’s get you back to bed.”
She wraps his heavy arm around her shoulder and helps him to lay down. One hand resting on his abdominals as he sits down on the mattress. Ducking her head to accommodate for the height difference. But she catches her breathe when her nose bumps his as she turns to face him. He smiles shyly.
“Stiles- I-” and she doesn’t finish. Simply sits next to him. He mindlessly tucks her into his side. Habit. Necessity.
“You don’t have to say it, you know,” he says. Sounding so assured, but she knows him better. He’s testing the waters.
“No,” sitting up taking her head off his shoulder and facing him fully, “I do.”
He’s awake now, sober even. And he listens.
“I love you, too… I have- gawd I have for a while now. So much. And I… I can’t even explain to you how wrong it was; you being gone. This world, this reality, suddenly being robbed of you. I felt like I could scream. But I couldn’t put together why, I was going insane! I needed you, without knowing you. Without remembering you, my body felt other. It felt adrift. I was so scared. And I was scared I was losing myself. I was scared I already had– and I had! And then when I heard your voice… I could finally breathe again… Stiles, you’re a part of me. You’re a part of my life. You are my life. So don’t you ever go disappearing on me again, you hear me! From now on old abandoned house are off-fucking-limits because I can’t live without you again,” and she’s a blabbering wet mess by the time she’s done.
He doesn’t care. Because so is he. His face beautifully blotchy with tears and, yes, even snot. But to her he’s fucking perfection… He’s breathing. He exists. He’s here. And she’ll have him snotty and blotchy and crying, than not have him at all.
“I love you Lydia Martin,” he smiles sloppily, bringing their foreheads to rest together.
“And?” She sniffs. But she has to hear it.
“… and old abandoned houses are off-fucking-limits.”
“Good,” she breathless, now. For totally different reasons.
His thumbs are burning circles into the skin of her forearms. His knee is singing the skin of thigh. His breath is igniting her lungs. And she swears she can see herself in his eyes. Better- she can see ‘them’ in his eyes. And when she kisses him, melting even more, she wonders how she ever let him be off limits.