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Lydia’s birthday used to be her favorite day of the year. Firstly because she got the annual chance to prove her popularity since she didn’t even have to send out invitations. Everyone would simply show up at her door—Lydia’s birthday party was one of the most expected parties at Beacon Hills High. Secondly because she had had sex for the first time on her 14th birthday, with Jackson, in his room, in his bed, and she had worn the black underwear she was still proud of to this day, and although the sex itself hadn’t been all that great, it had been memorable. And last but not least, it was the day they celebrated the fact that Lydia Martin existed. That alone used to be enough to make Lydia smile for hours on end.
Now Lydia cringed at her own silliness. After everything she had seen and been through in the past two years, all those things she had once considered important became dull and stupid. Sure, it was her birthday. But it had been seven months since Allison, Stiles and Scott had sacrificed themselves to the Nemeton to save their parents. It had been six months since Stiles had been possessed by a demon. It had been five months since that sword cut through Allison’s flesh and muscles and drained the life out of her. It had been three months since Malia had joined the pack and claimed a place that didn’t belong to her. It had been just a few weeks since they had stopped the dead pool and Lydia had been forced to hear her grandmother dying.
There was absolutely nothing to celebrate.
Nonetheless, Scott and Kira had showed up earlier that morning to wish her a happy birthday. She and Kira had gone shopping and watched a silly movie. (Honestly, Lydia had spent the afternoon trying hard not to breakdown. It felt as though she was betraying Allison. She used to go shopping with her best friend, and doing it with someone else felt awfully wrong. How dare she have fun when Allison was dead? How dare she?) When she finally got home from the shopping mall, she had her entire night planned: She’d eat ice cream and marathon her favorite movies until she fell asleep, thank you very much.
She had everything planned, so of course something would go wrong.
It was forty past eight and Lydia was wearing leggings and a t-shirt, her hair was tied up in a messy bun and her face was make-up free—she had even exfoliated. She had just sat on her bed with her laptop before her and pressed ‘play’ when the doorbell rang. Lydia contemplated ignoring it because it was her fucking birthday and she had the right to ignore the door if she wanted to. But after the person decided to rest their damn finger on the doorbell button Lydia lost all her composure. She jumped out of the bed and rushed downstairs, ready to yell at whoever was disturbing her perfectly boring night.
Only the door opened to the last person she expected to see tonight.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Stiles cheered, waving his arms about. He was wearing a red plaid shirt (as expected of him), and a white t-shirt underneath it, his hair was still damp from the shower and oh—he smelled fresh and clean and it made Lydia’s heart miss a beat.
The smirk on his face immediately forced a smile onto Lydia’s lips, but she quickly wiped it off, frowning at him. “I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s no party happening here tonight,” she pointed out, gesturing with her fingers towards her living room, which was perfectly decorated but devoid of people.
“It’s still your birthday,” he said simply, the smirk lingering on his lips.
“I’m not in the mood to celebrate it, though,” Lydia admitted. There was no reason for pretending around Stiles. She had been doing it all day and she was exhausted.
He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you’re not in the mood to celebrate your birthday, Lydia?! It’s your birthday. You have to be happy on your birthday. It’s your day.” Stiles said that with so much conviction Lydia almost believed it was a reasonable motive.
“Well, I’m not,” she offered him a tight-lipped smile. “So you can stop wasting your time on me and go do something fun while I do something tedious. Goodnight.”
Lydia started pushing the door closed but Stiles stopped it with his foot. “No, I’m not letting you kill this day, Lydia. You’re turning eighteen. You only turn eighteen once. One day when you’re old, you’ll think back to this day and be like ‘Oh, I should have celebrated my birthday.’ I’m not gonna let you live with this regret.”
“Stiles.”
“No, save your breath. We’re celebrating it.”
Lydia huffed. Only Stiles managed to please her and get on her nerves at the same time. “I’m not going out,” she dictated, eyebrows arched and eyes focused on his face. She couldn’t look at him for too long. If she did, she started counting the moles on his face and it made her want to touch him and trace invisible lines connecting them. She also shouldn’t follow the vein in his throat with her eyes and stare at it long enough to notice it pulsing and vibrating as he spoke, and yet here she was.
Stiles cracked his knuckles. “All right, we can stay in and still have fun.”
His mind was made up. It was a lost cause. Lydia could either spend the night arguing with him or just let him in and embrace her misfortune. “Whatever,” she said slightly annoyed, but she swung the door open anyway so Stiles could come in. (He actually trotted in, rubbing his hands together as if he had done something incredible).
“Is your mother home?” he asked, noting how quiet the house was.
“My mom is never home for my birthday, Stiles,” she answered, closing the door and going to stand before him, her arms crossed. “You know, in case I decide to throw a party.” She nearly grimaced at her own words. Lydia’s last birthday party had been two years ago, but Natalie still believed she kept the tradition.
Stiles’ mouth hung open. “You were seriously going to spend the night by yourself?”
“Who told you I was by myself?” she asked, convincingly. Stiles looked at her skeptically. “For your information, I was in the great company of Ryan Gosling.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “The Notebook, Stiles. I was watching The Notebook.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was a very eventful moment in your life, since you’ve never watched it before.”
Now she was offended. “It’s my favorite movie, I can watch it as many times as I wish. Any objections?”
Stiles held up his hands defensively. “Far be it from me to say something against it,” he joked. That earned a smile, which Lydia quickly bit back. “And what are you having for dinner?”
“Ice cream.”
“Oh no, oh god no, oh my god,” he made a show of running his hands over his face theatrically and groaned. “You’re depressing me now, Lydia. Come on, let’s eat something a little more…. party-ey.”
Lydia blinked. “That’s barely a word.”
“You know what I mean.”
“We could order Chinese?” she offered.
“We’re not having Chinese, either.”
“Mexican?”
“Do you really want anything from Mexico after what happened? Because, seriously, just the word Mexico brings the smell of berserkers and blood to my nostrils and the taste of dust and sand to my tongue. But maybe that’s just me.”
Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Good point.” She brought a finger to her lips. “We could always order pizza.”
He made an incredulous face. “Lydia, no! I said something special. You know what, forget about it, I could cook for you.”
Lydia laughed. It was so genuine it surprised the both of them. “You. Cooking. Since when do you cook, Stiles?”
He honestly looked offended. “Just so you know, when my dad is working late, I make dinner, okay? I confess I wasn’t good at it in the beginning, I may or may not have burned a few meals, all right, but I am good at it now. You could try and appreciate my talents here, Lydia.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed in her throat. “Are we talking scrambled eggs?” she taunted.
“No, I could make… pasta and cheese.”
“Do you mean mac and cheese?”
“I mean the kind of pasta that you cook first and then bake after that and you add cheese and whatever else you wish on top of it,” he explained.
“Bake pasta? What for?”
“To melt the cheese, genius! It’s like lasagna, but not quite,” he shook his head, then casually took her hand and gently tugged her towards the kitchen. “Come on, let me teach you how it’s done. You can help me with—”
“The salad,” she finished for him.
“Perfect.”
======
They stood side by side by the counter in the Martin’s kitchen. Stiles had just filled a pan with water and put it on the stove to boil. Lydia was cutting vegetables into small pieces to make the salad. He was humming softly to himself as he dropped a handful of raw pasta into the pan and turned to her fridge to grab the cheese, and then smiled foolishly at her as he pulled a knife from the knife holder that sat on the counter and started slicing the cheese. He was standing so close to her that whenever they moved their hands and their arms almost touched.
Lydia was focused on cutting tomatoes and trying hard not to think about how domestic this moment was. She could almost pretend they shared an apartment downtown and this was just a normal night in their lives. Only it wasn’t and she better stop daydreaming about such nonsense. As if sharing anything with Stiles were possible at the moment.
He had a girlfriend.
Lydia decided to speak. She couldn’t drown in her own dark thoughts if she was speaking.
“So, you sure it’s okay for you to be here?” Yes, that was definitely the correct question.
“Yeah?” Stiles answered, eyes focused on the cheese. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Lydia could just shrug and let it go but instead what left her mouth was, “Well, I don’t know, don’t you have plans with anyone else?”
Stiles snorted. “This date is reserved, okay? I have plans with nobody but you.”
Lydia breathed through her mouth, slowly. Then chomped down on her bottom lip as her heart picked up speed. Thank God she didn’t blush easily or her face would be redder than the tomato she was currently almost smashing with her hands.
“Not even with your girlfriend?” Sure, she’d say that next because Lydia had a rule: if things are going too well, don’t give anyone the chance to ruin it; do it yourself.
“Girlfriend?” Stiles sounded surprised. He stopped working on the cheese to look at her profile. Lydia kept her eyes on her hands. “Do you mean Malia?”
“Is there anyone else?” she asked as airily as she could manage, though her heart was beating in her throat, in the tips of her fingers, anywhere but her chest.
“I don’t have a girlfriend. Period,” he explained. But Lydia still looked skeptical, so he elaborated further. “Lydia, Malia and I are just having fun. She has to learn more about relationships before being in one. We do the cool stuff, you know, the kissing and the sex and all that…”
“Stiles, I’ve been in relationships before. No need to explain that to me.” She didn’t want to imagine Stiles and Malia having sex. It made her sick. Literally sick—her stomach churned and twisted whenever they were standing close to each other, and when they touched Lydia couldn’t help but roll her eyes and sometimes grimace. They were disgusting, and she already had to deal with enough nightmares. She’d like to keep that one away from her.
“Yeah, sure. But, well, that’s all. We’re not, like, together together. We’re not getting married or anything.”
It was funny because, as far as Lydia knew, Malia seemed to be quite into him. But she was glad to know he didn’t consider her his girlfriend. She felt content with the world, suddenly.
“Why are we even talking about Malia? Can we focus on you here?” That Lydia could do.
Stiles scratched an itch on his forehead with his fist and a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Lydia bit back a smile. He looked so ridiculous with an improvised fringe it was actually quite cute.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked.
“Your hair,” she replied.
“Oh, I can’t fix it ‘cos my hands smell of cheese.” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis.
“Let me do it.” Lydia stood on her tiptoes and ruffled his hair a little so that it was messy, but not too messy. Unruly, as usual. “Better.”
“You like me with messy hair?” he questioned, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
Lydia pressed her lips together, her breath catching. I like you.
“It goes well with your face.” She loved it how she could mask almost everything with sarcasm and the right tone of voice.
Stiles squinted at her, but a smile played on his lips. “Okay, this isn’t a fair game. There’s literally nothing about you for me to make fun of.”
Lydia let out a mock laugh. “That’s not actually true. You see this?” She pushed a few strands of her hair aside to expose her ear. “My left ear sticks out. They’re not symmetrical like they should be.”
Stiles looked bewildered. “Lydia, your ears are cute. I didn’t know you had insecurities about your body.”
“Who said anything about insecurities?” she asked, checking the pasta in the pan. “I’m just saying it’s not symmetrical. There’s no insecurity here, it’s a trait.” Okay, maybe Lydia wasn’t too fond of the horrendous scar on her left waist. Not because the lines were thick and visible, but because of how she had got them and whom had caused them. It was like tattooing your assassin’s name.
“Good, because you’re beautiful. But you already know that.”
Lydia might know that, but something in the way Stiles said it to her always made something warm spread in her lower belly. He didn’t say it with desire coating his voice, but rather with affection and admiration. The same tone he used when he called her smart. The look in his eyes reminding her of the way he had looked at her when she pulled away from their kiss in the locker room. And it was what made loving Stiles in silence so overwhelmingly hard, yet pleasurable—it was not physical, it was a genuine feeling. A strong connection, beyond Lydia’s understanding—and that was saying a lot.
“I think it’s time to take it off the stove,” she said, changing the subject before he managed to make her blush. This conversation was messing with her feelings.
“Oh, yes.” Stiles moved about, his hips brushing against hers as he walked past her. He put the pasta on a silver dish so it could go in the oven. “Do you still want to watch The Notebook?”
“Obviously.”
“Okay, why don’t we make a bet?” he prompted cheerfully.
Lydia leaned against the counter, watching as he carefully placed the thin slices of cheese on top of the pasta. It looked so tasty. “I’m listening.”
“If I happen to like this movie, which I won’t, you won’t have to do anything, but if I don’t like the movie, which is obviously going to happen, then you have to watch Star Wars with me.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
“All of them?”
“All of them. In a row. We’re gonna marathon it. Only bathroom breaks allowed.” Stiles put the pasta in the oven and set up an alarm on his phone so he wouldn’t forget to take it out.
Lydia pretended to think about it for a brief moment. “All right. Deal.” She held out a hand for him to shake.
He grinned at her. “Deal.”
Maybe he took her hand and shook it ever so slightly. Maybe his touch lasted just the short amount of time it should have lasted. Maybe Lydia’s mind was just creating things, but what she saw was something else entirely. Stiles closed his hand around hers slipping his thumb to her pulse, gently drawing circles on her skin and making goose-bumps erupt over her arm. The touch lingered until the alarm went off. And maybe Stiles stared at her lips and maybe she, too, stared at his, but she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t always aware of what her body was doing when Stiles was around.
As much as it was dangerous, it was also delightful.
======
Lydia’s cheeks were wet when the credits started to roll up on the screen. There were two reasons for that: A) the movie was touching B) the last time she had watched that movie, Allison was sitting right beside her with her head on Lydia’s shoulder. She clasped her hands together, trying to push the thought to the back of her head and focus on the boy sitting beside her.
She did not expect to see tears on Stiles’ face. But he was a basket case and it surprised her that she didn’t feel like mocking him because he had honestly thought he wouldn’t like it. Instead, she closed the player and turned to him.
“Was the film that bad?” she deadpanned, a soft smile on her face.
Stiles wiped his tears with the sleeve of his shirt and shook his head. “The movie…” He swallowed, averting his eyes from her. “I had no idea she had that illness. It was… unexpected.”
Lydia felt her stomach drop, her chest burning with sadness and something really close to guilt. Oh god, how insensitive was she? She had completely forgotten that it might bring up memories Stiles didn’t want to think of. She honestly wanted to dig a hole in the ground and disappear into it.
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” she said, her breath slightly ragged. “That was stupid. I forgot…” She chewed on her bottom lip. Lydia still felt uneasy comforting people, she wasn’t used to it. She never knew what to say to make people feel better. And it frustrated her because Stiles always had the right words to offer her when she needed. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have watched it.”
“What? Lydia, no, it’s okay,” he assured her. There was honesty in his voice, but Lydia wouldn’t accept that.
“No, it’s not. You’re upset and it’s all because you wanted to make me feel better. Talk about irony.” The words left a sour taste in her mouth and Lydia swallowed several times to get rid of it.
Stiles touched her hand, curling his fingers around hers and giving it a little squeeze. “Lydia, shut up,” he said softly. She dared to look at him; his lips were stretched into a small smile. “It was a beautiful movie. Honestly. Actually, I think my dad and I should have kept a notebook too, maybe it would have made things a little easier for her, for us.”
Lydia didn’t know what to say, so she stayed quiet, focusing really hard on her breathing so it wouldn’t grow ragged. She wanted to cry again, but there was no movie playing for her to blame now.
“Uh, now I’m depressing you. Sorry,” Stiles muttered, seemingly self-conscious.
“You’re not depressing me,” Lydia said, blinking her tears away. She rested her other hand on top of his. “You could never depress me. We’re friends, and friends talk about all sorts of things. It’s okay.” Their foreheads were almost touching. Lydia decided not to think too much about it.
“Thanks, Lyds,” he answered in a low voice. “Oh, by the way, I liked the movie.”
Lydia raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”
“Yeah, which means you won’t be forced to watch Star Wars with me. Congrats.”
The next words slipped: “What if I want to?”
Stiles’ face lighted up. “You want to watch it with me? Seriously?”
“Well, you watched my favorite movie with me. It’s only fair.” I want to make you smile like you made me.
Stiles blinked twice. “Oh my god, Lyds, this is awesome. Not even Scott has ever watched it with me. Oh god. You’re gonna watch all of them?”
Lydia tried not to laugh at his puzzled, marveled expression. “Of course. I have to in order to understand the story, right?”
He gripped her arms and for a split second Lydia thought he might kiss her on the cheeks or pull her into a hug, but he just held her, his eyes peering into hers, and smirked like a child on Christmas morning.
“Tell me you’re free next weekend,” he panted.
“In fact, I am.”
“Great. Awesome. So, next week, at my place. You, me, and Star Wars. And food, too, probably.”
“You’re gonna cook again?”
“If you insist.”
Lydia laughed wholeheartedly. “You know, you can invite Scott, if you want. So we can all watch it together.”
Stiles shook his head, his hands letting go of her arms slowly. “Nah. Just the two us of. This is our thing. I guarantee Scott won’t be jealous,” he joked.
Lydia really appreciated the use of the pronouns ‘us’ and ‘our’ in his sentence. It made her feel like she belonged. Not only because she was a supernatural creature and had powers that tied her to a rather eccentric pack, but because she was wanted.
“Oh, it’s late,” Stiles observed. Lydia checked the time on her laptop. Half past midnight.
“Yeah, we took our time eating and talking and doing the dishes.”
He stretched, standing up. “That was fun. You know, I miss spending time with you, Lyds.”
She smiled genuinely. “That’s good. I kind of miss you, too.” Lydia jumped to her feet. “Let me walk you to the door.”
======
“Thank you for passing by,” Lydia said, opening the door. “I actually had fun.”
“You mean spending time with me was better than eating ice cream by yourself? Good to know.”
“Idiot.” She hoped he knew it was a compliment.
“Well, good night, Lydia.”
“Good night.” Just as she started closing the door, Stiles turned around again.
“Oh wait!” He put one hand to the door, pushing it open. “I almost forgot I have something for you.”
Lydia’s heart jolted to her mouth. “Stiles, you don’t have to. You already cooked for me, it’s enough.”
He pressed his lips together. “Lydia, you can’t refuse a gift, it’s impolite,” he remarked, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a small navy blue box.
Lydia was doing that thing where she repressed everything and pretended not to have emotions, but she knew Stiles could see right through her. “Um, the box is proportional this time,” she scoffed. “It fits into your hand and into my house.”
He squinted at her. “What? So you didn’t like the stuffed animal? I thought it was cute.”
“I did like it, but it has its own room, because if I put it in my room there’s no space for anything else. That thing it bigger than me, Stiles.”
“That’s not a good measurement system, Lydia. Most things are bigger than you. You’re tiny.”
“Don’t you dare mock my height,” she said sternly.
Stiles continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “You know, I wanted to impress you. I wanted you to notice me. But now you notice me. You notice me a lot. I mean, you’re my best friend, just like Scott, and…” He licked his lips. “I used to think I knew you, but I didn’t. I let myself be fooled by your façade and thought you’d only care about me if I gave you something fancy like that. But I know you now; the real you. The you that hides under a few layers of indifference and sarcasm. And after everything we’ve been through, I know what you consider valuable.”
Lydia was on the verge of tears and she wanted him to shut up because she didn’t deserve half of those words. Contradictorily, she wanted him to keep talking so he wouldn’t have to leave.
“So, I concluded that size doesn’t matter, right?” he finished lamely.
Lydia curled her lips. “Well, it depends. Are we still talking about gifts?”
It took him one second to get the joke. Then: “Lydia, gross!”
She shrugged. “Just an observation.”
“Open your gift, come on.”
Lydia took it from his hand and opened it. A silver chain with a small teardrop pendant rested on the blue silk. The pendant was the same color as Lydia’s eyes.
Her breath caught and her heart missed a beat. “This is… It’s…” She didn’t know what to say.
“Too small? Maybe a shirt or a dress would have been better? Shoes maybe? I should have bought those shoes,” he rambled.
“Stiles,” she silenced him. “This is beautiful. I love it.” It was okay to say it if it was Stiles on the receiving end of her words. He wouldn’t judge her for being slightly corny.
He grinned at her. “May I…?” He gestured towards the necklace, then towards her.
“Sure.” She turned around for him to put the necklace around her neck, shivering a little when his fingers brushed the nape of her neck, then her shoulders. She imagined what it would feel like if his lips touched her skin. A sad sigh left her mouth. She would never know. She was too late.
“It looks pretty on you,” he observed when she was facing him again.
Something in his eyes made Lydia throw herself forward and wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. A noise of surprise escaped his lips. But then he curled an arm around her waist, bringing his other hand to fondle her hair, like he always did.
Lydia was at peace with the world. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and she felt dizzy, but she was content. It was good to be in his arms in a moment of happiness and not because something tragic had happened. It was her favorite place to be.
They held each other for longer than any normal hug was supposed to last and yet, when Lydia started to pull away, Stiles held her tighter, not willing to let her go just yet. She looked up at him, his hand cupped her face, Lydia’s lips parted ever so slightly, and the world stopped spinning. Lydia was sure she wasn’t breathing and she could tell Stiles wasn’t either, and each hammering of her heart in her chest was like a thunderclap. She wanted him so badly it almost pained her. Physically. She loved him. Loved him, loved him, loved him.
And he belonged to someone else.
Lydia slipped out of his embrace, hugging herself, suddenly feeling shy and too exposed. She wanted to talk to Allison. God, she needed her best friend.
Stiles looked petrified for a moment. Then he finally said: “I better get going. See you on Monday, Lyds.”
“Yeah, sure, goodnight.” She almost stammered, but got a grip of herself because Lydia Martin did not stutter. Or blush. Or fall for someone like Stiles…
Fuck that.
Lydia leaned back against the door and allowed herself to grin like a fourteen year old girl because why not? Nobody was there to witness it. She rushed to her room and jumped onto her bed, opening a picture of Allison on her laptop. Lydia took a deep breath.
“So, Allison, here’s the thing: you were right. You were right all along and I get it now. That love you described to me that night in your car; I get it now.” She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “You forgot to tell me it hurts. Is it supposed to hurt this much?”
In the picture, Allison was smiling at her, her dimples apparent. She looked confident, happy, and peaceful. Lydia accepted that as a signal that things would eventually fall into place.
“I can handle that, of course,” she said categorically. “I just… I wish you were here. Things would be easier if you were here.” She sucked in a breath, feeling her eyes water. “I miss you so much, Allison.”
But Allison was still smiling, so Lydia smiled too.
======
Lydia was already under her covers when her phone vibrated on her bedside table. She grabbed it, sitting up abruptly as she read the name on the screen. It was a text from Stiles.
[From: Stiles Time: 1:20 am]
You know, Lyds
[From: Stiles Time: 1:22 am]
It may sound awkward but
[From: Stiles Time: 1:27 am]
Tonight, at the door, I almost kissed you.
Lydia squeezed her phone. Were they flirting? Via text? She bit her bottom lip and forced herself to calm down. It’s not like they were sexting. He was just… She wasn’t sure what he was doing. It could be a confession or it could be an apology. Maybe he wanted to know if it was okay to kiss her or maybe he was trying to inform her he didn’t kiss her for some reason. Or maybe she was just over thinking the whole thing because this kind of thing was hard to deal with. But Lydia Martin always fought for what she wanted, and if Stiles was giving her a second chance, she might as well grasp it.
Decisively, she texted back.
[From: Lydia To: Stiles: Time: 1:38 am]
Well.
[From: Lydia To: Stiles: Time: 1:39 am]
You should have.