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December had been cold and blustery. He had spent most of it in the three coffee shops that existed in Beacon Hills, rotating his selection at random to keep his trail changing. Werewolf senses were sharp, though, and the longer he stayed at his selected coffee shop, clicking through internet sites in a sorry attempt at research and drinking decaf lattes, the more likely that he’d be joined by a sheepish looking Scott, or a quirk-smiled Isaac, or an aggressively sweet Erica. His leg was starting to feel fine, despite the near-constant ache along the inside of his calf, but each time one of the wolves showed up it started throbbing down through his ankle and up all the way to his hip.
It was just their way of reminding him that he was still a part of it, part of things, part of something, but it didn’t matter much to him because from Scott’s awkward answers he’d gathered enough to know that something was going on and he wasn’t being told about it. So he kept his conversations short, at least with Isaac and Erica, and tried to keep himself from abusing bro-code to squeeze information out of Scott.
And every time he got aggravated, and wanted to grab his best friend and shake him until the answers to all the unspoken questions came tumbling out, the shudder in his pocket reminded him that there were other things he should be focused on. Important things. Things that he was supposed to be figuring out so he would stop waking covered in sweat from dreams of running over forest paths under a swiftly swirling dusk-dawn sky.
So he’d started dragging Lydia along with him. She’d been effective at keeping Isaac and Erica at bay, though Scott had no problem dragging over a chair to their table and plopping down in it with that kicked-dog look he’d taken to wearing whenever he was around Stiles. Lydia wasn’t the best company, as it turned out that outside of their classes they really didn’t have much in common, and the irritation of making small talk with him often put a sour look on her face so most of the time she’d pretend to be engrossed in reading while he chattered away at her. Still, he preferred her over Isaac’s awkward attempts at conversation and weird looks and Erica’s dagger smiles and dagger claws scraping along his thigh as she leaned over in her seat to sneak a glance at his computer screen.
Lydia would sit, cinnamon skim cappuccino steaming next to her, across from him with her focus on her iPad and the sun setting her hair glittering. It would hurt, sometimes, to look at her. It was deep in the physical sort of way when it got started up just below his ribcage and spike up to his throat and he’d always say a lot when they were at the coffee shops, together, but not really say anything at all.
“Do you like trying new things? Because I, personally, I mean I think trying new things is sort of what life is all about, you know? Just, finding things to try, and then trying them, and then possibly maybe trying again just in case, you know, your first impression might not have been accurate,” Stiles had said once, babbling more than usual because asking for extra caramel and extra fudge and adding six packets of brown sugar had not been a bright idea but he wasn’t exactly known for those. “I just think that trying new things is something people should do, as a rule, maybe. Maybe not a rule, that’s a little harsh, maybe just a sort of firm suggestion.”
Lydia had sipped her cappuccino and pursed her lips, and finally gave him a pointed look.
“I like trying new things if I think I’ll enjoy them.”
He’d hid his disappointment behind a laugh.
“Well, obviously you should only try something if you think you’ll like it,” He had said, and slouched in his chair until her face was blocked from his view by his laptop screen. “Bone totems in spiritual magic” had returned over fifty-five million hits and he hadn’t viewed any of them yet.
Ten minutes later he’d tapped his fingers along the table in tune with the shop’s music until his hand was tired and bit his tongue until it was sore and the links still mocked him, unread and unreadable, really, in his current state of mind.
So he took another sip of the syrupy concoction he liked to call a coffee and leaned over a bit to look at the redhead sitting across from him.
Lydia was looking out the window next to them, her chin resting in her right hand while her left still held the iPad. She had a slight frown curving the line of her lips and her eyes had defiant sort of glint to them. She looked determined. He could imagine a myriad of reason why she would be looking so determined, sitting in a coffee shop with a cinnamon cappuccino at her side and an iPad in her hand, but he preferred to simply look at the way the sunlight curving through the window set her hair glowing around her perfect warrior angel face as the pang set in just below his last ribs and speared his lungs.