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Lydia woke up to Stiles’s nose pressed up against her neck.
Blinking sleepily, she tried to pull away from him, but his arms just pulled her in closer, still looped around her waist. Sometimes she managed to make it through the night without ending up in Stiles’s arms, but those times were far and few between— she swore to god, her boyfriend was like an octopus.
Not that she particularly minded. Stiles’s arms were one of her favorite places to be, right up there with the Opera House stage and the Boston Ballet studio. His arms were paradoxically strong and soft, comforting and protective all at once. It made her feel like she was home, nestled against his chest, hearing his rhythmic breathing and feeling his steady heartbeat against her skin.
Blearily, Lydia stared at the clock on their bedside table, the green numbers blinking back at her and telling her that it was past time to get up. Somehow she always managed to wake up on days she had dance, but when Mondays came around, she and Stiles could sleep much later than they ever intended to. Having the same day off did that to them.
“Stiles,” she murmured, turning in his arms and nosing at his cheek. “Wake up, babe.”
He whined sleepily, his eyebrows furrowing together and his arms tightening around her. As much as Lydia wanted to keep sleeping, though, she knew that they had to get up.
“Stiles,” she said again, more insistent. “Scott said to get there right when they open.”
“They don’t open till nine,” he mumbled back, burying his face in her hair, sighing sleepily. Lydia almost laughed— he was really adorable when he was so sleepy. His hair was flat on one side, completely sticking up on the other, his mouth pulled in a pout and his eyebrows scrunched together. She could lay here and just look at him all day, but she knew that they had to get up if they ever wanted to get there on time.
“It’s 8:15,” she informed him, turning her head to kiss his cheek gently. “Come on, we promised Scott.”
Stiles rolled backwards, releasing her with the most dramatic groan she had ever heard, his body flopping onto the other half of their mattress. Lydia laughed softly, sitting up and throwing back the covers of their bed. “Come on,” she said, poking his side. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“Wait, no,” Stiles whined as she got out of bed, heading for the hall. “Lydia, you can’t cook!”
She ignored this comment, knowing that if she went into the kitchen of their apartment, Stiles would have to follow her. Besides, she could too cook. Not as many things as Stiles could— he had an annoying talent of being able to just toss anything together and make it taste delicious — but she could read and follow instructions, meaning she could make a few meals reliably. One of those meals just happened to be spinach omelets.
She already was sautéing the spinach in the pan when Stiles shuffled into the kitchen, and Lydia looked away from the stove for a minute to admire him. His t-shirt clung to his torso in all the right places, displaying his much-broader shoulders and toned arm muscles. The plaid pajama pants he wore, though, reminded her that he was still that spastic, clumsy guy she’d fallen in love with years ago.
“Omelets?” he asked, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the pan. Lydia hummed in confirmation, pouring the beaten egg into the pan on top of the spinach, then sprinkling it with cheese. Stiles wrapped his arms around her, leaning over to rest his chin on her shoulder.
“Remember the first time we talked?” he asked her suddenly, his arms tightening around her. Lydia laughed.
“You mean when you tried to hit on me in that bar and failed miserably?”
She couldn’t really see his face that well, but she could tell he was rolling his eyes. “No. I mean when you were leaving for dance and I was asleep on the couch, back at your old apartment you had with Allison. You made yourself this for breakfast. And you made me coffee, remember?”
“Yes,” she said, a little grin creeping onto her face. “And you let me talk about math. And you listened to me.”
“Come on, you know I think it’s hot when you talk about math,” he told her. She chuckled again. “That was almost three years ago,” he told her. “Yeah, it’s July right now. That’s crazy.”
“Is there a point to this tangent?” Lydia asked, flipping the omelets. Stiles shook his head, his nose brushing her cheek.
“No,” he said, his chin still on her shoulder. “Just that I’ve loved you since that day, I think.”
Now she rolled her eyes, laughing in amusement. “First of all, that is so untrue,” she said. “No way you’ve been in love with me since that day. You didn’t even know me.”
“Yeah, but I knew enough,” Stiles insisted. “I knew that I’d never met anyone else like you before. I started falling in love with you that day.”
She laughed again. “Okay, that’s more fair.” She paused. “Any reason you’re being especially nostalgic and sappy today?”
He shrugged, hugging her tighter. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just what today is. It’s not going to be just us two for much longer.”
Lydia laughed at him again. “You are so dramatic,” she told him, but she turned her head, kissing him on the cheek. “And I love you.”
They ate breakfast together at the island, before getting washed up and dressed. Lydia brushed her teeth while Stiles showered, and she had to keep herself from laughing as he sang out loud horribly off-key.
Miraculously, they were dressed and on the T by nine, arriving at Scott’s work by 9:15. He was waiting for them when they walked in the front doors, his smile wide and excited.
“You guys ready?” he asked, and Lydia nodded. Stiles squeezed her hand.
“Okay,” Scott said, coming out from around the counter and leading them further into the animal shelter. “So, we have a lot of really great dogs here. I’ll show you some of my favorites.”
“Sounds perfect, Scotty,” Stiles agreed, his fingers still intertwined with Lydia’s. “We trust your judgement.” Scott spent enough of his time here, they knew— if he wasn’t in class, suffering through vet school work at his and Allison’s apartment, or sleeping, he was definitely putting in hours at the animal shelter.
Scott showed them some of his favorites from the shelter— big ones, small ones, puppies, full grown dogs. They were all cute, noses pressed against the gates of their pens, tails wagging furiously, but—
Then Lydia’s gaze fell on one of the pens in the back, and she stopped, because she just knew.
“Stiles,” she whispered, nudging him and pointing. His head whipped from the golden retriever Scott was petting to where Lydia’s finger pointed.
“Yes,” he said immediately, nodding. “Scott, what about that one?”
“Oh, yeah, I was just gonna show you this guy,” Scott said, standing up and leading them across the kennel floor. “He’s a sweetheart. Around eleven months, we think. Someone found him on the side of the road. He’s already housebroken, too.”
The puppy wagged his tail, approaching them hesitantly, big brown eyes fixed on Lydia. His coat was the color of caramel, his ears a shade darker, but he had white fur on his chest and paws, plus the tip of his tail.
“Hey buddy,” Stiles said softly, leaning forward and sticking out his hand for the dog to sniff. He approached it hesitantly, before shoving his head under Stiles’s palm, forcing her boyfriend to pat him. Stiles laughed, scratching behind the dog’s ears.
“C’mere, buddy,” Scott said, reaching over and picking up the puppy. He held him so naturally in his arms, the dog’s tail wagging against his torso, his big brown eyes fixed on Stiles and Lydia.
“Here,” Scott said, handing the dog to Lydia. She took him in her arms— he was a decent size; not enormous, but certainly not a small dog. He sniffed at Lydia’s hair before sloppily licking her cheek. She laughed as his tail thumped against her arm, his paws on her shoulder.
“Oh, he’s the one,” Stiles said, resting one hand on Lydia’s shoulder and running the other over the dog’s back. The puppy quivered with excitement in Lydia’s arms, his tongue lolling out, and it almost looked like he was smiling.
“What’s his name?” Lydia asked Scott, rubbing behind the dog’s ears. Scott shrugged.
“Up to you,” he told them. “He didn’t have a tag on his collar when they found him.”
“So, Bark Vader,” Stiles immediately responded. Lydia groaned.
“No, Stiles,” she said. “We already went over this. No Star Wars names.”
“But, Lydia!” he whined, sounding ever so slightly like a five year old. Even his adorable pouty face did not make her sway.
“Absolutely not.”
“Obi Wan Paw-nobi.”
“No.”
“Jabba the Mutt!”
“Absolutely not.”
“What about something subtly Star Wars?” Scott interjected. “Luke? Han?”
“I’m impressed that you know those, Scott,” Lydia replied. Scott shrugged.
“I haven’t seen the movies still, but it’s hard to be friends with him for more than twenty years without at least hearing him talk about the characters.”
“How about Finn?” Lydia asked, turning to Stiles before he could respond with something about how Scott was a disgrace to his favorite franchise. “Leia’s my favorite character, but he’s a boy. Finn’s a close second.”
“I like Finn,” Stiles agreed, scratching the puppy’s head again. “FN-2187 would be his full name, of course.”
“Seriously?” she asked, staring daggers. The puppy turned his head to stare at Stiles too.
“Fine!” Stiles relented, throwing up his hands. “Just Finn.” He shrugged, looking at Lydia with the dog in her arms again. “I can live with that.”
“Awesome,” Scott said, smile wide. “I’ll go get the adoption papers.”
He disappeared back into the main room, leaving Lydia standing there still with the puppy in her arms. Finn wagged his tail as Stiles stroked his head, scratching right behind his ears. Lydia smiled at the sight of her boyfriend watching their new dog— he had that look in his eye that he often got looking at her, and she could tell he was already in love.
In all honesty, Lydia was too.
Stiles met her eyes, grinning at her, and his other hand rested on her shoulder, squeezing it. He looked back at the dog, his spare hand still on his soft coat, and his smile was so beautiful that it almost broke Lydia’s heart.
“Hey, Finn,” he said, voice low and soft, and she couldn’t help smiling. “Welcome to the family, bud.”
