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Summary
“Come on, Stiles,” Lydia pushes. “What’s the one thing? What would you regret?”
She’s looking into his eyes so urgently that Stiles is beginning to wonder if Lydia has a specific answer in mind. You, he thinks, aching. I’d regret not getting to talk to you anymore.
But that’s not one-hundred-percent it. That’s not everything. And there’s something else nudging at him, something that bleeds less than not getting to see Lydia every day. He can give that answer to her. The way he feels like he can’t breathe when he thinks about any version of consciousness in which Lydia Martin is unreachable to him? Yeah. That’s gotta be just for him.
“Um,” says Stiles. “I guess I would regret dying a virgin.”
“Well.” Lydia pauses. “Maybe I can fix that.”