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It was the third Friday of the month, which meant one thing.
Pack Night.
A horrible mission gone wrong (a.k.a. Stiles running off from the group without any sort of warning just in order to make sure the Jeep was intact, also causing Malia to attack without being told to since she thought that Stiles running off meant the plan was to now improvise, leaving Derek and Scott to somehow logically attempt to fend off a pack of ravage—whatever, it doesn’t matter) made the two Alphas come together and decide that communication and companionship and trust were the three things that needed to be built between the teenagers who called themselves pack.
Hence, Pack Night was invented.
A long list of activities had already been gone through, including the more fully-supported ones of bowling and shopping and stargazing and hiking. They had yet to actually get around to the most obvious bonding activity there was: movie night.
Which was one of the things they actually had yet to do without treading into territory of painting mugs or tie-dying shirts, so Derek sent a text to everyone telling them to meet at his loft the following night with their favorite movie so they could all vote on which to watch.
Stiles, ever the enthusiastic one, was absolutely delighted to hear they were finally going to be able to all cuddle up to one another and share the experience of cinema together. He had immediately responded to the text group saying that it should also be a sleepover, something Derek tried to shoot down within seconds, and was met with agreement from everyone else. Scott also believed it was brilliant, seeing as they’d all slept on each other’s floor at some point or another—so why not do it all at the same time?
Stiles was at Derek’s loft right at the time he’d told everyone to be there, knocking on the door with as much fervor as a puppy meeting new people for the first time. The older man pushes open the door with a heave and narrow-eyed look at the younger one, crossing his heavy arms over his chest. “So when exactly did I say it was okay to invite yourself and everyone else we know to stay the night at my place?” he questions with his usual stony-faced expression.
He moves around the Alpha with a quick maneuver, rolling his eyes as he toes his shoes off instantly and drops his overnight bag and pillow onto the ground. “Don’t be such a sourwolf, sourwolf. This is gonna be a hell of a time so strap in big boy.”
“Big boy?” Stiles hears off to his left, spinning around with little grace at the unexpected voice. “That’s a new one.” He spots Lydia sitting on Derek’s lonely blue couch, her dainty fingers expertly typing something into her phone before shoving it deep into the pocket of her loose sweatpants.
“Would you rather I called you big boy instead, Lyds?” he quirks before bouncing onto the sofa beside her. He discreetly throws his arm over the back of her cushion, giving her a cheeky smile.
“Oh, of course,” she scoffs, moving her body to the right so she could see his face better. “Nothing gets me going more than when a boy is insulting my gender.” She gives him that close-lipped, adorable smile she pulls out whenever she’s being sardonic or sarcastic—depending on the situation—and he can’t help but grin back widely.
“I wasn’t necessarily insulting—” The loft door (more like garage door, let’s be honest) is shoved open again and Scott comes bounding through with a blanket draped over his shoulders. Kira trails behind him with a bucket of RedVines and her thin lips pulled into a huge smile.
Derek throws his head back and groans at the sight of the movie Scott was not-so-subtly holding out so everyone could easily read the title printed on the front of the case. “Scott. I swear to God if you somehow convince everyone that we should watch Underworld: Rise of the Lycans AGAIN, I will personally rip your throat out with my teeth.”
“I’d pay to see that,” Kira grins slyly, patting Scott on the back as she passes by him to get to the kitchen.
As Derek and Scott argue over what the latter boy describes as the best piece of cinematography of this generation, Stiles turns back to see Lydia gazing up at him. He quirks his lips at the sight. “What’s up, buttercup?” he questions, popping the ‘p’ on both words.
“How is it that you can look so handsome one second and then become such a doofus the next?” she throws her arms up exasperatedly.
He ignores the way his stomach flip-flops at her calling him handsome and instead shrugs overdramatically with a smile etched on his mouth. “It’s all in the genetics. Blame my parents.”
She pushes his shoulder playfully, rolling her eyes. “Still a doofus.”
Malia and Liam eventually show up, both looking frazzled as they had clearly taking a detour on the way to Derek’s. Their budding relationship was not only absolutely adorable, but terribly infuriating as they were the horniest pair the rest of the pack had ever met. But everyone was happy to see they’d finally given into their feelings for each other so it’s not like anyone was complaining.
Once Braeden finally rolls in, giving Derek a lingering kiss on the cheek in greeting, they all place their choices for the movie on the coffee table.
“Oh my god, there is no way I’m letting Stiles make us watch the original Star Wars.”
“I heard that Cowboys and Aliens royally sucked.”
“Are you sure that Twilight was a good option, Braeden?”
“Everyone’s laughing aren’t they?”
“God fucking damnit, Lydia, I refuse to watch Beaches!”
And so on and so forth.
Eventually, Liam won out in the end and Derek boots up his system to start The Fifth Element. As much as Kira and Malia continuously declined watching something sci-fi related, everyone else voted against them. So everyone begins laying out blankets and pillows on the couch, chairs and floor, picking their spots and grabbing food and beverages.
Once they all settled and the DVD screen popped up, Derek flicks the lights off before returning to the couch to plop down beside Braeden. The button is pressed and the movie soon begins.
It was five minutes in when Lydia returns from the restroom and drops herself next to Stiles. His heart stops beating for a brief moment before he forces his breathing to go back to normal and his eyes to stay on the screen. He just eats another piece of popcorn, pretending like he hadn’t even noticed her presence at all.
Seconds later, she leans over. “I’ve always liked this movie.” Then she reaches down and grabs popcorn from his bowl, popping one in her mouth. All while keeping her eyes locked on the film.
He gulps, finding the need to run his hand back through his already unruly hair. “Mhm.”
The rustling of blankets and bodies splaying out surrounds them as the movie plays on, Stiles still acutely aware of Lydia beside him. He sneakily glances around and notices that there were plenty of open spots next to the other six members of the pack; so why did she choose Stiles to sit next to?
As another ten minutes passes, he realizes the answer pretty quick. The other six were paired off—which meant they were all already cuddled up or doing…ahem, various couple activities. So it would make sense that she would choose the open spot beside Stiles, since he wasn’t going to be distracted by a significant other. A part of him sinks a bit at this realization, basically disappointed that she hadn’t sat next to him because she wanted to sit next to him.
They were finally at the part in the movie where Bruce Willis is being crashed into by Milla Jovovich. At this, Lydia inches her hand closer to Stiles.
He blinks.
Another centimeter closer.
A swallow moves down his throat, his heart practically palpating.
Her pinkie was suddenly in touching distance of his. He has never felt so dry-mouthed in his entire life. It’s as if he had just drunk an entire bag of sand.
“Can I hold your hand?”
The question was so blunt, so straight-forward and so completely and utterly out of nowhere that he almost jumps out of his skin. But he looks down with a not-so-composed face, his eyes having a hard time focusing when he sees her face angled up toward his. The shape of her lips and nose and cheeks were so distinct from the just the glow of the television and he wanted to cry she was so beautiful.
“Sure,” he finally replies after a few heated silent seconds, his voice shaking in spite of himself.
That’s when she takes the initiative and reaches out, twining their fingers together so they were a mess of tangled digits, his eyes finding it hard to distinguish what was his and what was hers. But that didn’t stop the strings of warmth creeping up his entire arm from the miniscule contact, his nose taking in a sharp inhale. She smiles up at him before returning her attention to the movie.
They go on like that for the majority of the film, his finger gaining enough strength every once in a while to smooth his thumb over hers, the skin soft and exactly how he thought it would feel.
Stiles eventually uses his free hand to move the popcorn bowl off his lap and onto the ground.
Somehow, her head must have gotten heavy as she drops it onto his shoulder, the red of her hair tickling his nose if he angled himself too far to the left. But it barely bothered him since her hair smelled like lavender and flowers and GOD stop being creepy, idiot!
As the night wore on and they were moving toward the opera scene—the scene Stiles had been highly anticipating—Lydia moved closer and closer to him. He could feel her side pressing against his, could feel the heat of her body, could still feel the weight of her head close to his neck, could feel everything and he didn’t know what to do.
“Is this okay?”
Her voice sounds drowsy, slow, tempting. He has to take a moment to soak it in, soak in the slur of it and the way it wiggled its way into his brain.
“Of course,” he murmurs back, gathering the courage to place his other hand on her thigh, stroking down it with his hand in a reassuring and comforting gesture. Her body shifts at the motion, her throat humming. “Did you think it wouldn’t be?”
In response to his bold move she throws her leg over on top of his, her eyes slipping closed as her mouth breaks into the widest grin he’s ever seen her sport.
“I never know with you, Stiles,” she mumbles.
He was still trying to process it, process that Lydia Martin had not only now kissed him once many months ago, but was now expanding on it. She was snuggling up to him while watching a movie with all of their friends, their pack.
So he stretches his fingers over hers, brushes his palm across her newly angled leg, and begins to feel that each new touch was like another new breath into his lungs.