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“Have you seen Scott?”
That’s the first thing Stiles says to Lydia when she walks through the door of the McCall house. He is whizzing past her in socked feet, his flannel button-down billowing behind him as he runs.
“No?” she replies, closing the door with her foot and frowning in his direction. She would ask why, but Stiles is already swearing and running off down the hallway, leaving her alone in the entryway. “Okay then.”
She’s already seen him twice since she got back from college, but the holidays so far have been a flurry of last minute shopping, coffee dates with individual pack members, spending time with her mom, and the various parties that she’d had to attend on both sides of the family. Meaning Lydia has mostly been texting Stiles since she got home from school, just like she had been when they were thousands of miles apart. Which is why she had sort of expected a more enthusiastic greeting.
The greeting comes thirty seconds later, when Stiles slides back into view, his hands flailing out to steady himself against the wall.
“Oh. Hey.”
“Hi,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes as she kicks off her shoes— effectively losing a good four inches— and handing him the wrapped box that is her Secret Santa gift for Liam. “What’s going on?”
“Pack hide-and-seek,” Stiles says, like it’s obvious. He points to his chest. “I’m seeking.”
“Who have you found so far?”
“Uh, that would be no one,” Stiles admits, wrinkling his nose. “They all hear me coming with their werewolf senses and move before I can find them. IT’S FUCKING RIDICULOUS,” he adds, shouting it so that all of the wolves can hear him.
“So why don’t you go for Kira?” asks Lydia, hanging her coat in Scott’s closet. “She doesn’t have extra hearing abilities.”
Stiles groans, flopping harder against the wall with his shoulder.
“She and Scott formed an alliance. I’ve got no chance.”
“If you find me, can I help you seek?” Lydia asks. “Is that how it works?”
Stiles pauses, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. Lydia quirks an eyebrow before she steps into the front hall closet, closing the door behind herself. Seconds later, it opens to reveal Stiles on the other side, head tilted to the as he stares at her. Lydia shrugs.
“You caught me.”
“I’m incredible at this game.”
“Oh, undoubtedly.”
The room used to be divided into couples, but it’s just Scott and Kira now. They huddle together on the loveseat, their hands entangled as Scott holds Kira tightly. Isaac and Liam are seated in a corner, talking about a videogame that they’re trying to convince Scott to play. Malia is in an armchair, chatting with Mason about her shift, and all the work she’s put into learning more about it. And that leaves Lydia and Stiles to sit on the wooden staircase in Scott’s front hall, Lydia on the step above Stiles, watching as he scrunches himself up to try to make himself fit better.
“I can’t believe your mom actually made you stay home the other night,” Stiles says, fiddling with the strings on Scott’s guitar. They’d snuck up to his bedroom and grabbed it, and now Stiles is moving his fingers along the strings and trying to figure out chords. He’s mostly terrible at it, but he’s gotten a few good ones.
“I told you, she’s been extra clingy since I left for school,” Lydia says. “It’s a miracle how a little distance can somehow make my presence exciting again.”
“I don’t think I’d go far as to say exciting,” Stiles reasons. “Mostly you make me feel lethargic.”
He strikes a bad chord on the guitar and winces.
“It’s a banshee mind trick. I’m trying to get you to fall asleep at all times so that I can test your strength of will.”
“It’s amazing you haven’t done it yet. I have a weak countenance.”
“Been reading up on Jane Austen?”
“Kira made us watch Emma on date night.”
“Why were you on Scott and Kira’s date night?”
“I was there and the couch was comfy so I just didn’t leave.”
“Scott must have loved that.”
“Why wouldn’t he? I’m exceptional to watch movies with.”
“You make comments about continuity errors, guess what the ending is going to be, spoil the largest plot twists, and make comments about how the actor could have performed better despite the fact that you haven’t done a single day of theatre in your life.”
“Exactly. I’m a natural. You’re welcome.”
“Stiles, there is nobody in the world I would rather not watch a movie with than you.”
“Okay, but here’s the thing about that— while I’m telling everybody what the plot twist is, you’re the only other person in the room who already knows.”
“Right, but I don’t say anything because I’m not a shitdick.”
“Well, you got me there. I’m nothing if not a shitdick.”
Lydia takes a sip of the vodka Shirley Temple Stiles had mixed for her and shakes her head judgmentally. Stiles preens.
“I can’t believe it’s ten minutes to midnight.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I just can’t believe the world hasn’t ended yet.”
“Don’t joke about that.”
“Would you be okay with dying if everybody else was also dead? So it’s not like you’d have a fulfilling life even if you were still alive, right?”
“Don’t do this tonight, Stiles,” Lydia complains, nudging his shoulder with her bare foot. “You can be morbid tomorrow.”
“What will have changed tomorrow?”
“Um, I won’t be near you.”
He frowns.
“That’s not really… preferable.”
It only takes that one sentence for Lydia to melt slightly. She waits a few moments before speaking.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to hang out tomorrow?”
Stiles wiggles his mouth back and forth.
“Define ‘hang out.’”
“Exorcise a demon,” Lydia says with a straight face.
“Sure. What time?”
She flicks his big toe in annoyance as the white socked foot wiggles against the wall that Lydia is leaning on.
“Everything changed this year.”
“Who’s fault is that?”
“Are you blaming me?”
“You moved to Massachusetts.”
“We graduated! I need to get an education, as you may know.”
“Right, right. And I’m sure there’s no schools in California, conveniently close to where I am going to school.”
“You’re right, I should build my whole life around you, Stiles Stilinski.”
“Three minutes!” Kira calls from the living room, and Lydia wishes that her voice had broken some of the tension, but it doesn’t.
He presses his foot flat against the wall. Stares at it.
“Naw,” he says, voice quieter. “You did exactly the right thing. You belong out there.”
She closes her eyes.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t belong right here.” When Lydia’s eyes open, Stiles is staring at her with parted lips. His bottom lip is shiny with spit, like he had just sucked it into his mouth, and it makes her heart beat faster. “Are you and Scott kissing at midnight?”
“Nah,” Stiles says. “He replaced me forever ago.”
“Sophomore year, to be exact.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I also have nobody to kiss at midnight.”
“Not even at school?”
Lydia shakes her head.
“Nope, not there either.”
“Oh.”
“Should we… go in there?”
He nods hesitantly .
Lydia stands up, and Stiles follows suit quickly, stepping off of the staircase and heading into the family room where everyone else is. They’re all gathered around the TV, champagne flutes in their hands, and when Lydia turns around to hand Stiles one, he’s staring at her.
The countdown starts at 60.
“Here,” Lydia says, handing Stiles the glass. He nods his thanks, but Lydia doesn’t stop facing him. “Stiles, kiss me.”
His face goes through a myriad of emotions too quickly for Lydia to calculate.
“Uh, what?”
“Do you want to? At midnight, I mean.”
Stiles swallows.
“Yeah. Yeah, of fucking course.”
Lydia glances around at their friends, all staring at the ball as it flashes different colors around the sky. And she doesn’t want to do this with all of them there; doesn’t want to lose herself in Stiles when anybody can see them. She presses her hand against his chest and pushes him back into the darkened front hall, where they can still hear their friends counting down.
“Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.”
“You sure?” Stiles asks, craning his neck to stare down at her. “Lydia, are you sure?”
She nods.
“I want to start this year off with you,” she says. “You’re my best friend. I want to start every year off with you, Stiles.”
He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.”
Lydia raises herself on her tiptoes, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling herself closer to him. His hands softly stroke her hair where it tumbles down her back.
“Three. Two. One.”
His mouth slams against hers, too hard and too much, but his eagerness is met with just as much force. She can tell he’s surprised, but then he moans into her mouth and Lydia backs him up to the wall next to the front door. She feels his hand slide lower, then back up again, as if he has just remembered who they are and the fact that they don’t do this normally. But she’s obviously not kissing him hard enough if he’s still thinking about that, so Lydia lets her tongue dart into his mouth and brush against his. Stiles’ hands slide back down, and he moans again. She can’t believe she suddenly knows what his mouth tastes like, for real this time, and what it feels like to slide her hands down his chest and wrap her fingers in the material of his shirt.
“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling away. He looks so thoroughly kissed, his lips wet and reddened where Lydia had been sucking without even doing it consciously.
“Happy New Year,” she whispers, pressing her forehead against his sternum.
“Happy New Year,” Stiles echoes in a strangled voice.
“So, when we hang out tomorrow,” Lydia says. “Do you maybe want to do that again?”
Stiles swallows, and she can feel his body doing it. She’s so close to him. She feels herself falling further even as she clutches onto him to hold herself up.
“Yeah, uh… yeah.”
“And after that?”
“Again,” Stiles says, sliding his hands up from her ass and bringing them to cup her cheeks.
“And after that?” Lydia whispers, tilting into him.
“Again,” he says huskily.
This time, he kisses her first.