She remembers how his eyes fluttered open when her small hand slid over his larger one. She remembers how he released the blanket he was clutching to grasp her palm.
She tells him about the drowsy but rather adoring way he gazed up at her when he sighed, “You came back.”
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” she weakly reprimanded.
“Thought I told you... I sleep better when you’re with me.”
Not bothering to suppress a smile, she recalled, “You did say that, didn’t you?”
“Mmmwhat are you waiting for then? Get in.”
“Stiles, there’s hardly any sp—”
She remembers the droplets that leaked from his eyes when he appealed, “Please. We can share. I wanna... I wanna share everything with you, Lyds.”
Lydia Martin is an icon on the MIT campus, a real life Elle Woods, the prettiest girl with the genius to match. Not many on campus truly know her, but everyone knows of the girl destined to be the smartest person in every room.
Stiles was having a boring dinner of something and thinking about Malia and the notes Malia had burrowed from Lydia which had actually been code written by Lydia and how no one ever answers their damn phones!
His dad was sitting in front of him and chewing god knows what and looking at him with a weird expression on his face. Was that the "you're in so much trouble 'cause I know you ate my totally-not-very-well-hidden midnight snack" look or the "care to tell me what possibly life-threatening news you're hiding?" look?
Whatever, it didn't matter. Thank God for phone calls. "Scotty". Uh, finally. His hand grabbed at his phone before his dad coughed, giving a pointed look.
"No phones during dinner, remember?"
"Wha- but it's important!" He protested "It's Scott and I gotta tell him about the banshee code-"
"What 'banshee code'?"
"Dad you don't just ignore pack phone calls, ok? For all I know Scott could be bleeding to death in an abandoned mine somewhere because Jennifer or someone woke up from the dead and decided to make alpha kebab out of him! How would you feel if you didn't let me answer cause of some dumb rule we made years ago and he ended up dy-"
His dad's phone started ringing- "Deputy Parrish". There was an awkward silence of several seconds, punctuated only by the synchronised ringing of the two phones, before his dad waved a hand in defeat and they both clicked the "answer" button.
"Hey, Scott, is Liam-" Stiles started.
"I buhit uhm shit-" Scott mumbled rapidly, sounding panicked.
"You hit shit??? Ew, gross. Why would you- yo Dad where're you going?" His dad had pulled on a shirt and was pulling his police jacket on.
"Murder at the hospital. Stay. Home." He warned as he started pulling on his shoes.
"Murder!?"
"Yeah Sean," Scott answered, "he's dead. The mouthless guy killed him and Stiles-"
"Wait, Sean? The creep with dead bodies in his cellar?"
"Yeah he was found dead on the roof of the hospital," his dad answered, "Now I might not be back before-"
"So is everyone ok?" Stiles interrupted him, focusing back on Scott. Scott, his mom, Liam, and a few other nurses he'd become close with over the years cause of his mom-they'd all been at the hospital.
"Stiles!" Scott sounded like he was sobbing at this point, "I bit Liam."
Stiles choked on his green peas, letting his fork clatter loudly onto his plate as his nose started to burn painfully.
"You bit-" a pea shot out of his nose, landing on the table in front of him, drowning in snot.
"Woah, you ok?" Scott asked worriedly. His dad shoved a napkin up his nose.
"Gah, I'm fine I'm fine- Dad, stop it- Scott where are you?"
"At home," he whined, "Stiles, I don't know what to do..."
"Ok I'm coming just- hang on." He hung up and rubbed at his nose with the napkin, pushing away from the table.
"I'm going over to Scott's," he called back to his dad as he shoved his feet into his sneakers.
"Stiles, what happen-"
But he was already out the door. Jeez, Scott, what have you done?
The constant static and noise surrounding his every waking thought of what he saw, has Mason seconding guessing everything he’s ever thought possible. Lydia didn’t seem phased by it at all. Like it was a normal everyday occurrence. That’s what shocked him the most and he’d mention it to Liam if he could, but he’s still wrapping his head around it.
“Hey, just checking in.” Lydia smiles, as Mason turns around to find her standing there, a small smile of concern laced on her face. She’s worried, but she also holds a certain level of confidence that has Mason feeling like whatever is going on, isn’t going to break them.
“Hey. Yesterday was. Yeah.” Mason can’t help but laugh, the Berserker from the other night flooding his thoughts, reminding him just how fragile every thing is, but Lydia saw that.
“Yes, it was. You didn’t back down back there.” Lydia says, sounding impressed and surprised all at the same time. He thinks back to the bat, but his level of enthusiasm was heightened from concern over his friends, and also by Lydia’s unwavering ability to take on anything.
“Yeah, I never let down my friends.” Mason smirks, not entirely sure what’s going on just yet and he’s a little behind with what everyone is facing, but Lydia was there too and something tells him that she’s the same way.
“Me too. I think we have a lot to discuss.” Lydia informs him, and just like that Mason knows exactly what she means. The ferocious loyalty and powerful nature of the person standing before him has Mason feeling less alone. Less out of touch with everyone and the worry he had, disappears from his mind.
“Nice to meet you Lydia. The real you.” Mason smiles, as Lydia solemnly walks away, nodding for him to follow. Lydia’s a lot more complex than he thought but if Liam has Lydia watching out it for him too, he’s not worried.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Isaac says. “That she loves you.”
Stiles shrugs. “I know her,” he says simply. “I pay attention.”
✦
Five times Stiles knows, and one time Lydia does.
i don't feel like copying what i wrote, so take some screenshots of me having brainworms for the JDK villains again. primarily spurred by me going "hey wouldn't Nisha and Artemis and Apollo make cool rockstars instead"
“So,” said Lydia, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms, “you want me to come help you break into some random guy’s house at three in the morning because a sixteen-year-old drop-out is a great substitute for the female embodiment of James Bond.”
Dirk raised a finger, lowered it, and raised it again. “I never said,” he said, “we were robbing a man.”
Lydia gave the matter her full and complete consideration for an entire two seconds. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Let me go get my shoes.”
Lydia is losing her mind stuck in Farah's safehouse after returning from Belize. When Dirk appears in the middle of the night, she leaps at the chance to solve a case, and, more importantly, go outside. But as they search for clues, both Dirk and Lydia uncover more about themselves than they bargained for.
Summary: Everything stopped. His breaths. His heart. Time.
There was only the two of them and the immensely powerful connection he felt whenever they were within a hundred square miles of each other.
Three days ago, Stiles saved Lydia’s life.
With the help of their friends, he coordinated a rather masterful plan, risked everything to free her from Eichen House.
Eichen House, where she was held against her will, drugged and shocked into altered planes of consciousness, poked and prodded for information she didn’t know how to access.
For weeks, she was trapped. Inside that place. Inside her mind. Always with the threat of what else might be done to her or to her friends. She endured the heartbreak of foreseeing their deaths, one by one. She experienced the excruciating pain and trauma of trepanation when Gabriel Valack, the madman posing as her doctor, drilled a hole into her skull to amplify her banshee abilities.
The brutal and archaic procedure left her in a volatile, virtually nuclear state of supernatural unrest.
But just when it seemed as though all would be lost, Stiles appeared.
I’m not leaving you here, he said.
He meant it too. It was clear in his unwavering tone and soulful eyes that he was ready and willing to go with her – through Hell and back.
When they were separated, she could still hear him, palms pounding on steel, echoes of his screams – Lydia... Ly-d-ia!!! penetrating thecavernous walls of that awful, century-old prison. He didn’t give up. No matter the obstacles he faced, no matter who nor what interfered, Stiles found his way back to her.
Now, whenever he walks into her room, that moment replays in her mind. Stiles bursting through a pair of industrial doors. Stiles running to her with open arms. Stiles promising, We’re gonna get you out of here.
Every time, she feels the same relief, the same awe, the same surge of love for him. Her sweet, sarcastic, occasionally clumsy, super smart, superhero in plaid.