Archive of Our Own

Living in a small town truly was an experience of a kind. It was like living on another planet to a certain extent, while also being just an hour drive away from a bigger city, and all the entertainments it offered. After your parents' divorce, you were torn away from the big city you were born in, and lived all your life. Your mom left with the new man in her life, claiming she needed some time for herself and to see the world. That didn't leave you many options besides moving in with your dad, who just so happened to come from a small town, and now that nothing held him back in the city, he wanted to go back and live there.

You obliged, not putting up much of a fight – you were a bit of loner and never had many friends or anyone worth causing more drama within your household. You didn't have a boyfriend, your closest friend hadn't given any news in tn days and when your dad assured you that his birth town was just big enough to have a brand new Theater and Starbucks, it was settled.

Everything happened in a blur really. Your two stories apartment in Oakland quickly emptied and it was like all trace of your passage here vanished from one day to the next. The first seventeen years of your life had been erased, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to feel anything besides mild annoyance, because putting all your stuff in boxes – with the perspective of having to unbox them a few days later – was the exact opposite of what you had planned to do for the last couple weeks before the end of summer break.

Neither you nor your father mentioned your mom's departure – it was long overdue if someone asked you, it was only a matter of time before it happened and now that it did, you were sort of relieved. Having tensions at home had made your stomach churn for too long.

When you first saw the “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign, you realized you hadn't even known where your dad was taking you all this time – you honestly couldn't find it in yourself to care – and you quickly pulled out your phone to google it.

It didn't say much, the wikipedia article was fairly short – which was a statement in itself. When the car stopped in front of a typical suburbian house with a white fence and a porch you snorted. This was just fantastic. It would be the first time of your life that you lived in an actual house, without annoying upstairs neighbors to make noise at three in the morning, and it had to be a poor imitation of a Desperate Housewives house. A sigh fell from your lips – just like any other thing in your life that you don't have a saying about, you would get used to it. You got used to your mom leaving five months before, you got used to receiving dump post cards from her every time she reached a new exotic destination, you got used to everything that was ever imposed to you.

The following days were a restless coming and going of moving vans, bringing your furniture and boxes. You dad had somehow managed to contact some of his High School friends and one of his cousins that still lived here, and they came to help set everything up. You took care of the unboxing and when you were finally done, you ran up the stairs and chose a room. There were three, and your dad told you to pick whichever you preferred, he didn't mind having a smaller one. You picked the one with the balcony – you had always wanted to have one – with a view of the backyard.

You didn't ask why your dad wanted to live in a house now that you were just the two of you – you figured it must have been your grandparents' house. To be perfectly honest, you never really talked to your parents. It was like you had some sort of personality disorder – you were extremely quiet around them, and as soon as you were around people of your age, every last one of your inhibitions disappeared and you started talking twice as much so make up for the hours spent in silence. Your straight-forward, almost crude way of talking often got you bad comments and that's why people avoided you most of the time. You weren't shy, or awkward, just a bit intense.

“Care to help me?” Someone asked, making you rip your eyes away from the window.

A man stood in the doorway, holding a piece of your furniture and obviously struggling to open the door. You jogged over to him and held the door open while he carried it inside. A thick veins on his forehead indicated how heavy it was.

“Where to?” He asked, looking around the empty room.

“Huh I don't know yet. You can just put it in a corner,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. It was hot – too hot to carry heavy boxes and furniture – and sweat trickled down your neck, despite having your hair up in a high bun.

“Alright,” he said in a grunt, carefully putting it down. “So.. You're Alan's daughter?”

“The one and only,” you smiled in gratitude. He wasn't the cousin, that you knew. Must be a High School friend of your dad. “(Y/N),” you introduced yourself, shaking the man's hand. He seemed surprised by the gesture but a small smile spread his lips and he shook it firmly.

“John Stilinski,” he replied. “I'm the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.”

“Oh well, I'll try not to see you too often while in the line of duty,” you tried to joke but soon realized how it sounded. “I mean, I'm not a teen delinquent or anything. I just have a really bad sense of humor,” you deadpanned. This time he laughed.

“If we do meet while I'm wearing the uniform, you might meet my son, he's inherently incapable of... how did he put it? Ah yes, of staying in his lane,” he informed you, rolling his eyes while wearing an affectionate smile. “If there's something going on, he's not far away.”

An alarm started pounding in your head at the mention of a son – why did adults always think that their kids and their friends' kids should necessarily be friends? That wasn't how it worked.

“Maybe I'll see him in class then,” you said, slightly uneasy.

“Yeah, right, you're in the same year I think. Senior?” He asked, not sure of your age.

“Yeah, last year before freedom,” you said. This conversation was tiring you out, you weren't especially fond of making small talk. Mr. Stilinski looked like an amiable man in his late forties and you were sure he was a good father and Sheriff but you weren't in the mood. You wanted a cold bath, or even better, you wanted somebody to set up the goddamn air conditioner.

Your dad arrived with another man, both carrying your bed, and the rest of your room furniture, so you left, and after asking if they needed help and being told they they didn't, you went downstairs. After opening three boxes you eventually found the one with your clothes in it, and quickly grabbed something light – and most importantly clean and not drenched in sweat – to change into.

“Hey kiddo,” the Sheriff called you when you came out of the bathroom. If any other person had called you kiddo, you wouldn't have thought about it twice before giving them a piece of your mind, but it sounded weirdly ordinary and somewhat nice. He had this fatherly tone that made it totally okay for him to call people “kiddo”, or “son”. “If you're looking for a cool place to hang out, the theater has kick ass air conditioning.”

Not even twenty minutes later, you were sitting in said theater, alone in your row, surrounded by half a dozen couples who obviously came here only for the good air conditioning and certainly not for the movie. When you saw the very few movie options you had, you almost laughed. Those came out months ago! You'd seen them all at the Premiere when they first aired in Oakland – you were a big movie buff. But never mind, watching Star Wars VII twice can't hurt, right?

But hearing couples suck off each other's face was not something you were looking forward to. You twisted your head around to see who else was in the dark room. The movie hadn't started yet and there were still a few lights on. Everybody came with someone else, besides the guy sitting in the row behind you, three seats to the left. His foot restlessly tapping the floor was what drew your attention in the first place. He seemed to be intently staring at his phone but he didn't flinch or touch the screen, so your guess was that he was trying to avoid looking at the face-sucking couples and faked to be on his phone.

“Hey!” You called in a whisper, not wanted to draw any unwanted attention.

He raised his head, frowning and looking around to see where the voice came from. You twisted your upper body and leaned over the back of your chair.

“Hey,” you repeated, this time catching his attention. “Is this seat taken?” You asked, pointing at the one next to him. He looked absolutely dumbfounded and awkwardly pointed at himself, then at the empty seat, as if to make sure you weren't talking to someone else. You nodded your head and smiled encouragingly.

“No, it-it's free,” he eventually mumbled, still staring at you like you might disappear if he looked away.

“Cool,” you said, climbing over the row of seats and quickly propping yourself in the seat. “I hope it's okay if I join you,” you said when you caught the disbelieving frown on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I don't mind, not at all actually,” he rambled, suddenly seeming to wake up from his trance. “I'm sorry, who are you?” He asked. “Not to sound rude or anything, but I thought I knew everybody in this town, and I'm pretty sure I would remember you if I had seen you before,” he kept on rambling and it make you smile.

“I'm (Y/N), I just moved in,” you explained.

“Oh. Oh, great, yeah, that's awesome. My name's Stiles,” he introduced himself after some more awkward rambling. A crooked smile split his face, digging small dimples in his cheeks. He had wild dark brown hair and big brown eyes to match it. “W-why exactly did you want to sit with me? I mean, I'm not complaining, quite the opposite, but I just-”

“You seem to be the rambling type,” you pointed out, making him blush. “It's okay,” you giggled, shrugging. “Look at all those couples around us, they obviously came here only because it's like a million degrees outside and I'd be surprised if they even know what movie they bought tickets for,” you said, gesturing around with your hand. Stiles' eyes followed the movement. “But you and I came alone, which means we're here to actually watch this movie, and since I don't know anyone here, I thought this was as good as way to make a friend as any other.”

“That was an unexpectedly thorough answer to my question,” he said, blinking a couple times. You grinned at him. “So you like Star Wars?”

“Of course I do!” You exclaimed, just low enough to keep the other people in the room from hearing you. “Who doesn't like Star Wars?”

“I know so many people who haven't even seen one of them, it's ridiculous really,” he told you.

“What? That's terrible, Star Wars' like, basic knowledge. I automatically assume everybody gets Star Wars references, not knowing who Han Solo is is like not knowing the earth revolves around the sun,” you scoffed. Stiles remained silent for the next minute or so, and you wondered if you had once again gone too far and been too frank with somebody you only just met.

“Stiles?” You called his name and he shook his head, as if he had been daydreaming.

“I'm sorry, but how are you even real?” He asked, making you knit your brown together in confusion. “You sound like something straight outta my imagination, and-” he dragged that last syllable. “-I just said this out loud, didn't I?” He slapped his hand straight on his face.

“Kind of,” you laughed silently. “It's okay, I've heard worse.”

“What I was trying to say is that you sound really cool, and you're pretty and- shit, you're sitting next to me, and I- I'm gonna shut up now, yeah? I think that's a good idea, I should keep my mouth close more often,” he said, mimicking to lock his mouth and throwing away the key.

“Oh, it's fine, I can do all the talking if you prefer,” you assured him. “Have you seen it already?” You asked, making a small movement with your chin to gesture at the screen.

Stiles shook his head.

“It's a small town, you know, don't expect movies to reach Beacon Hills before at least six months after the Premiere,” he said, obviously unable to keep his mouth shut as he wanted to. You liked him already.

“Streaming?” You questioned.

He looked offended at that.

“No! I wanted the full experience!” He said. “With the big screen, the pop corn, the tense atmosphere because I usually get stuck between two couples trying to suck each other's soul out.”

“I understand,” you nodded solemnly. “I already saw it, I can guarantee you'll love it!” You shot him your brightest smile.

“I have no doubt about that,” he replied, his eyes not leaving yours. “I'm in good company, ready to watch a good movie. This is the most luck I've ever had!” He beamed. “Caramel popcorn?” He offered you.

“My favorite,” you said just as you grabbed a handful.

Unsurprisingly, the movie was as awesome as the first time you saw – maybe even more, because this time you weren't in a huge theater, filled to the brim with hard core fans dressed up as the movie characters and whispering excitedly every time anything remotely exciting happened. At some point you thought you had seen Stiles shed a tear but when you asked him if he was crying he denied, only to be bawling his eyes out five minutes later when Han Solo kicked the bucket.

“It's alright, you patted his shoulder. I cried too the first time.”

When the credits appeared and the familiar tune began to play, you were both complete messes and shook to the core. Seconds before the lights turned back on, Stiles rubbed his face to get rid of the residual tears and tried to pull of a detached demeanor, but you saw right through it.

“Fucking heart breaking,” he groaned, kicking an empty cup of soda that was lying on the ground as you both walked out of the darkly lit room. “I kind of liked Kylo Ren, but he just killed my hero. Is post-Star Wars depression a thing?” He wondered out loud.

“If it isn't, we should totally make it a thing,” you said. “We could organize meetings and talk about our unwavering love for Han Solo and binge watch the first six movies.”

“That would be the coolest lame shit I've done in my life,” Stiles chuckled. “Need a ride home?” He asked, stopping next to a Jeep.

“I'm good, it's only a ten minutes walk to my house,” you turned down the offer, not wanting to be a bother or make him take a detour.

“(Y/N), your sandals are practically melting on the ground, just let me drive you, yeah?” He insisted, and you had to agree with him. “C'mon, I'll give you a city tour, free of charge.” He shot you a smirk. Looking desperate was the least of his worries, he just met the girl of his dreams, and he'd rather seem a little bold than let her slip between his fingers.

“Alright,” you gave in, making your way around the car and hoping in after Stiles had opened the passenger door for you from the inside. “But I pick the music!”

“I think we have a deal,” he said before starting the engine.

“Wait, how does it w-” you began to ask just when you clicked on something on the car radio. A voice came in barely audible with all the sizzling. “What's that?”

“Ah that-that's the police frequency,” he answer before switching a button and having music come out of the speakers.

“The police frequency, what-?” You once again went for a question but changed your mind halfway through. “Your name's Stiles... Stilinski?” You finally asked him.

“How do you know?” Stiles asked, his eyes momentarily leaving the road to focus on you.

“Hey! Eyes on the road!” You scolded him, pointing ahead of him.

“Yeah, right, sorry,” he mumbled.

“I met your father earlier, he was helping us unload the moving vans,” you explained. “I think he and my father used to go to high school together, or whatever.” You shrugged it off. “He told me he had a son who can't seem – and I quote – to 'stay in his lane',” you laughed at that.

Stiles smirked in a proud fashion, and flashed you a toothy grin.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You internally scoffed because you just fulfilled every parent's dream of befriending their friend's kid, and if he wasn't so nice and cute, you would have ran away, if only to avoid being a walking-talking cliché. But Stiles was nice and cute, and honestly, you couldn't believe you ever thought living here would be boring.

Your elbow slipped off the desk when the bell rang, effectively tearing you out of your daydreaming. The hustle around you made you realize it was lunch time, and you had made it through another one of Coach Finstock's classes. It was an accomplishment. After distractedly shoving your notebook in your bag, you stood up and blended into the crowd of students literally running out of the classroom. Before joining you group of friends, you went to the bathroom and to your locker to get your books for your afternoon classes. You weren't one to rush into the cafeteria only to stand in the queue for half an hour. You liked to take your time and waited until most people were finished to get your lunch.

When you walked in, you made a bee line toward the table where all your friends sat. You couldn't see Stiles' face but you saw him making large hand gestures as if he was explaining something to Scott, next to him. Liam and Hayden were at the far end of the table, too absorbed in each other to pay attention to their surroundings; Malia was busy devouring her lunch; Lydia looked at her phone – but you suspected she was only using it to see her reflection and check her makeup – and Mason and Corey talked animatedly. When you arrived, they all stopped doing what they were doing to greet you.

“(Y/N)!” Scott exclaimed, fist bumping you.

“Just in time,” Mason said. “Stiles was about to report you missing to his dad.”

“I was not,” Stiles huffed, narrowing his eyes at Mason. “I know she wasn't missing!” He objected, then he turned around to look at you with big eyes. “I still missed you though.”

You chuckled and sat down, one leg each side of the bench before leaning in and placing a quick kiss to his lips. Stiles grinned and leaned forward to steal a second one, his hand resting in the small of your back to bring you closer to him.

A concert of “eww”, “get a room”, and “you two are disgusting” erupted around you and you laughed at that. Nothing out of the usual so far.

“I used to be the only one in a relationship,” Scott suddenly said. “Now I'm the only single guy left, how did this happen?”

“Well, your last girlfriend left you to go train in the desert with a bunch of sand people or whatever,” Stiles felt the need to answer to Scott's rhetorical question.

“Could you be any less delicate?” Lydia rolled her eyes at that and you leaned into her side, leaving Stiles to bicker with Scott.

“Put that phone down Lydia, you look perfect,” you told her, putting your hand on her arm.

“I know,” she said, shooting you an award-winning smile.

As soon as you walked through the doors of the high school the first day, she had spotted you and your city girl aura. She had grabbed you by the arm and introduced herself, offering to be your friend and help you find your marks. It was until she told you to join her for lunch and you were face to face with Stiles, both of you blushing like two ripe cherries. One look was enough for her to figure out you knew each other, and one other look told her you liked each other. But delicate as she was, she didn't say anything until you had come to terms with it yourselves.

“I'd like to go out tomorrow,” you began, fiddling with a rebel strand of your hair. “Want to join me for a shopping spree to the mall?”

The nearest decent mall was at a one hour drive from Beacon Hills, therefore you couldn't exactly go every week, and you looked forward to going shopping with Lydia.

“I wanna come!” Malia said from across the table after shoving in her mouth the last of her lunch.

“Well, sorry but I can't,” Lydia turned you down, looking sorry. “Stiles and I will be holding a study group to help out the freshmen in biology.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said, trying not to sound too disappointed or to let it show that you didn't know about that study session. Did Stiles forget to tell you? You didn't care, you were just a bit sad at the perspective of spending your week-end at home since Lydia was the only one with a car.

Lydia seemed a bit lost in her thoughts these days, and you didn't dare ask if it had anything to do with her banshee powers. Since Stiles told you everything, a lot of things made more sense, but sometimes it was just better not to know. Like your boyfriend, you were a simple human, and while Stiles was fully involved ninety nine percent of the time – the Nogitsune episode was still a bitter memory to him – he and the others made sure you were not around when things got heated.

Simultaneously relieved to not have to fight and ashamed of your own uselessness, you thought you might as well start to learn a couple things, so that you could at least defend yourself and not burden everybody else with your protection. Lydia had combat trained with Deputy Parrish for a while, and she accepted to learn you a few things – unbeknownst to Stiles, he would get gray hair if you told him.

Since you had the whole week-end for yourself – or at least the whole Saturday – you asked Malia if she wanted to go to the gym and help you out, since she was so much stronger than you. In return your helped her finished her math homework, and before you even knew it, it was nightfall and half of the week-end had gone by.

Something about week-ends was inherently tragic: they were so fucking short. You woke up every Saturday morning to go for a run and make breakfast, and then it was like the hours became minutes. You had exercised so much today that you could already feel the soreness of your muscles, and your body cursed you in advance for tomorrow's pain. Sprawled on your bed like the amorphous mass you were, you were internally debating over what to eat for dinner when the doorbell ringing burst your little bubble and forced you to get up. Your dad worked at the hospital and he was rarely ever home these days so you didn't have much of a choice but to move your ass and go downstairs.

“Thee who dares disturb my slumber, disclose thy identity,” you said through the door, while peeking in the peephole. It was Stiles, and you didn't need to look to know that, you only wanted to mess with him.

“It is I, my Queen, your humble and devoted servant. Forgive the disruption, I bring sustenance,” he chuckled, trying to sound solemn.

You opened the door, barely enough to fit your head through.

“What is it?” You inquired, looking at the bags of food in his hands.

Stiles smirked and lifted one hand up to bring the food to eye-level.

“It's your favorite menu from that Thai restaurant you like so much,” he told you, knowing full well how much you loved the food from this restaurant.

It was borderline cheating, but in that moment, your stomach roared, and Stiles took this as an invitation to come in. You stepped aside and opened the door wider to let him in before closing it again.

“Wow, why are you wearing your pajamas, it's only, like-” Stiles began to say when he saw your outfit. Suddenly realizing he didn't know what time it was, he looked at the microwave clock and his smile fell. “-shit, is it this late already?” It was twenty past nine. 'Twas a very late dinner.

You shrugged and stretched, your pajamas following the movement and showing your stomach.

“Hey, did you really drive all the way to th-”

“Yeah,” he interrupted you, putting the food down on the table and smiling softly at your tired self. “I drove one hour to get you food, aren't I the best?” He teased you, silently asking for a kiss which you granted him.

You hopped on the kitchen counter while he put the food in the microwave and while it was heating up, you grabbed him by the shoulders and placed him between your legs.

“If I say yes, is it going to get to your head?” You asked, tilting your head to the right.

“Possibly, yes,” he admitted, grinning already, even though you hadn't said anything yet.

Without saying a word, you smiled and leaned in, slowly, feigning to pull back when he tried to kiss you again then giving him an Eskimo kiss. Your eyes were closed but you could sense how wide he was smiling, like that first time you met five months ago and you began to talk to him about Star Wars. His hands slowly trailed up and down your side, gently squeezing your hips and moving to the small of your back, then going up along your spine. He smelled of Thai food, his shampoo and also a tiny bit of Lydia's perfume, which was odd, but smelled really nice. With your hands cupping his cheeks, you finally gave him that kiss, a long, gentle kiss that neither of you wanted to end.

But soon enough the microwave beeped and you have to breathe, so you broke apart, still holding each other like it was a matter of life and death.

“You're the best boyfriend in the world,” you told him sincerely, earning the brightest of smiles.

Before getting the food, Stiles placed a quick kiss to your neck, and another one, and another at the base of your neck and he gave you a mischievous smile accompanied by a wink before placing one last kiss to the swell of your breast.

“Remember you said that when I hand your ass to you at Super Mario!” He declared, storming off to your living room.

“Stiles, you can't beat me at this game, we're on the same team!” You re reminded him, raising both your hands in defeat before jumping off the counter and grabbing two glasses and a bottle of coke.

“If you keep talking about Stiles I swear I will shove this towel down your throat,” Malia warned you, all sweaty and obviously in a terrible mood.

She had drawn considerable attention to herself because of how much weight she could lift at the gym – every skinny white boy in the room turned cherry red at this sight and they were probably having a breakdown by now.

“I'm sorry,” you apologized before continuing your workout. “But he-”

“I know, everybody here knows (Y/N)!” Malia cut in, letting go of her weights and standing to her feet. “You're upset because he doesn't answer the phone, and you miss him and when you called Scott he said he wasn't with Stiles either, and nobody is and the only other person you cannot reach is Lydia. Wow, coincidence!” Malia mimicked your voice in a very mocking manner. “Suck it up and stop whining!”

“Don't be rude, help a sister out,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest in a challenging position – though Malia was still dominating her with her height and muscles. “If you know something, you'd tell me right?”

She sighed, quitting her aggressive attitude.

“Sorry, full moon's close,” she explained. “I don't know what you're worried about, Stiles is obviously over Lydia.”

After nearly choking on your own spit, you coughed out, “Over Lydia? What do you mean?”

“He was in love with her,” Malia shrugged, already turning around to do her next exercise. “Since, like, forever.”

Talk about a stab in the back, this one couldn't have been more painful had it been with a rusty knife. You had no idea about that, you had never cared about Stiles' past relationships and didn't ask – it was not your place and if he felt the need to tell you, he would. To be perfectly honest, it did hurt to learn that in such an abrupt way – Malia wasn't known for being gentle and it wasn't really her fault, she probably thought you knew – and realizing that it had been six months that Stiles constantly hung out with his former love interest had your stomach churning. Why keep it from you? Why hiding it? It made it a hundred times worse than to simply admit it.

“W-what?” You squealed out, insecurity washing over you. Lydia Martin was the epitome of perfection. “They were...?” You didn't finish your sentence, but the end was so obvious that even Malia and her obtuseness got the message.

“No, she never paid him any mind,” she answered just as thoughtlessly. Wasn't she aware of each word being a slap across your face?

“Stiles never said anything,” you confessed, feeling her gaze on you. It was like she didn't see the problem in that. “Why didn't he?”

“How would I know?” Malia asked, shrugging again. “Just ask him.”

Asking him? She wanted you to ask Stiles why he didn't tell you about his (former?) crush on the walking-talking strawberry-blonde goddess Lydia Martin? Yeah sure, you would totally do that. The answer was so blatantly obvious it that it made you want to shrink and hide in a mouse hole. She was sheer perfection while you were an obnoxious little city girl who constantly complained about the lack of restaurant that made decent crèmes brûlées in a fifty miles radius. You were loud, you had an annoying laugh and sometimes you had no filter between your mind and your mouth – which is why you appreciated Malia so much, when she wasn't dropping bombs like that. Stiles must feel bad for you, he didn't want you to compare yourself to Lydia, simply because you could not compare to her. Lydia was smart, a literal genius, she radiated confidence and was the kind of pretty that made both boys and girls drool, be it of admiration or envy.

Something inside you snapped, and it was like the last string that helped holding your shit together disappeared. Your heart dropped in your stomach and it was a bit like you were sick suddenly.

“I think I'm done for today,” you managed to croak out before storming toward the locker room to change back in your normal clothes.

“I'll stay here!” You heard Malia shout, already closing the door behind you.

As soon as your workout clothes were in your bag, you ran out of the locker room and into the busy hallway of the school. You thanked heaven and hell that the bell just rang and you could blend into the anonymous crowd. You rushed out the front door with all the other students and only stopped walking when you were outside.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a strawberry-blonde and a brunet stand by a Jeep, and without thinking twice, you turned left and walked home, not once peeking over your shoulder.

Malia's revelation was a poison in your mind, and infected every veins in your body. You began to notice things that weren't there, and over analyze everything Stiles or Lydia said. And slowly, extremely slowly, you gave in to your insecurity. Jealousy was eating away at you, though every time you looked up from your feet and saw Lydia walking down the hall, her heels clicking on the floor and her skirt swaying along with her hips, you felt your self-confidence shrink a little more.

Your mood swung between outrage and acceptance. If the girl you were back in Oakland met you today, you would bitch slap yourself. Never before had you been so passive about someone possibly doing you wrong. But you had never found yourself in this position. You loved the guy. Stiles wasn't some jock who could potentially play you and cheat on you. It was out of character. And your heart was torn between trusting him blindly and thinking, thinking, and thinking again about what Malia told you.

What if he still had feelings for her? Those don't just go away like you chase a fly. If he really had been pining over Lydia “since forever”, then he might still be. You weren't sure if you wanted the answer to this question or just forget about this whole story. Whenever he was with you, he managed to make you forget every last one of your doubts and make you feel like no one counted but you. This was a feeling you cherished above all else, but as soon as you step out of the comfort of your homes, you were met with the harsh reality. Bad people often came to Beacon Hills, you lives were constantly in danger, you were a useless human not even worthy of being possessed by an evil spirit – not that you complained about this one – and one day, Stiles, all your friends would realize it. And they would leave you. Like your mom had left, without batting an eyelash.

“(Y/N)!” Lydia called your name for the third time, putting a hand on yours. “Are you okay? You were drifting off again,” she inquired, being insufferably sweet. Her eyes shone with concern, and it upset your stomach that she could look stunning no matter what expression she had.

“I'm fine, thanks,” you said, smiling and squeezing her hand to reassure her, but you saw it in her eyes that she didn't believe you and would probably question you later when you two were alone. She squeezed your hand back and walked to her locker to get her books.

The worst thing about this whole situation was that you couldn't even be mad at anyone. You were painfully aware of what they were worth. Stiles was smart, funny, loyal to a fault, dedicated and loving, and Lydia was beautiful, sharp, determined, compassionate and strong. You loved them both dearly, in different ways yes, but you loved them.

“You're getting distracted a lot lately,” Scott said, giving you his fatherly look of Alpha.

“I'm just-” you tried to find a plausible excuse and ran your hands through your hair. “-I haven't gotten much sleep and this home essay due tomorrow has been driving me nuts, sorry,” you quickly made something up. You finished your home essay five days ago, and you slept so much it began to get out of hand.

“You tell me about it!” He said, apparently not seeing through your lie.

You couldn't tell exactly when your heartbeat had stopped giving it away when you lied. They were little white lies, shit you served to your parents when you had a bad day at school but didn't want to talk about it, or when they asked why your best friend wasn't coming over anymore and you didn't want to admit they you fought over something silly. Stupidly simple lies. Like when someone asked you 'How are you?' and you said 'fine' instead of admitting something was wrong.

“Hey, how do you feel about a Marvel movies marathon tonight?” Stiles asked just when you felt a pair of arms loop around your waist from behind. “We've been busy for the last couple weeks, I feel like we haven't had one minute together,” he said, placing a peck in your neck, sending a shiver down your back.

“Do you have the last Captain America?” You asked, raising both your eyebrows in amusement.

A sense of warmth and comfort washed over you, but when you looked up and met Lydia's stare, it vanished. She wasn't smiling. Your own smile dropped and you while part of your brain processed Stiles' answer, the other half was screaming at you. If you listened to the voice of reason, you would realize that Lydia Martin was not jealous. She wasn't glaring at you because Stiles' arms were holding you and not her. But right now, she looked oddly upset, and one glance at her was enough to belittle what confidence you had left. You would swear she wanted to pluck your eyes out with a spoon if you didn't know her.

But Lydia was also Lydia. She liked to stay mysterious and when you thought about it, you realized that you didn't know anything about Lydia that didn't directly come from her. If she really did like Stiles, and she didn't want you to know about it, than you wouldn't know. That's it.

“I'm pretty sure she's dozed off again,” Scott said, and you shook your head.

“I told you I'm fine,” you laughed to dissipate his worry. “I'll meet you at your place after I stop by Lydia's tonight, yeah? I still have a few items of clothing to give her back,” you informed your boyfriend, feeling him smile against your skin.

“Oh right! Yeah, I'll be there too,” he suddenly exclaimed, his lips leaving your neck. You turned around, your eyebrows knit together in a silent question.

“At Lydia's?” You asked.

“Euh, y-yes, she asked me to help her with something, she said she had a problem with her car or something,” he told you, rubbing the back of his neck.

The fact that he stayed horribly vague and said 'something' twice was enough to make the alarm in your head pound. You flinched but he didn't seem to notice, but the look of guiltiness on his face didn't escape your attention. He just lied.

“Okay,” you said softly, ignoring the sound of your pounding heart and the blood pulsing in your temples. “Let's go to class now.”

And just like that, your heart crumbled in your chest and you felt the familiar feeling of betrayal overwhelm you. Was that how your dad felt when your mom left? No wonder he never talked about her.

As much as you loved Stiles and Lydia, you would never forgive them for breaking your heart if you found out that your suspicions were true. Sadly, the dominant part of you, the one that'd been hurt before in such a way, acknowledged that sometimes there was no fighting for the ones you loved. Sometimes they were just better off without you.

Who were you to deny them happiness? You wished Stiles the best, even if his happiness didn't involve you anymore. That's how much you loved him.

You stood outside of Lydia's huge house. You had been for the last ten minutes. It was freezing outside tonight, but the cold came from within you. Your feet were glued to the ground, almost like stuck in the cement. The lights were on inside, and you could see everything. You could see Stiles laughing his ass off. His eyes were closed and you'd swear little tears had appeared at the corner of his eyes. She was laughing too. They were both sitting at the kitchen counter, drinks in front of them. Were they waiting for you? You didn't know. You didn't want to know.

You pulled out your phone and quickly dialed Lydia's number which you knew by heart. You had no idea what she saw in you the first day, or why she grew attached to you. But you were thankful, she was an amazing friend even though she might appear cold and distant from time to time. And Stiles! God, you wished you knew what he liked about you. You bonded over Star Wars, and you liked how dorky and gentle he was around you. It was refreshing after having to deal with all the jerks you encountered in Oakland.

You watched her pull out her phone, look at it and shove it back in her bag. A painful gasp escaped from your lips and you realized you were crying. God knows for how long. It was practically a confession, to see them interact, laugh together. Lydia threw her head back, and her luscious hair followed the movement.

Maybe it would be better if you ditched Stiles tonight. You weren't in the mood for a movie marathon, not even for Captain America. This time you called him. He picked up after the first ring tone, and that had you smiling like a goof.

“Hey,” you whispered, watching his face lit up through the window.

“(Y/N)!” He greeted you and even if you weren't standing a few feet away and watching him, you would have guessed the smile on his face. “Where are you? Will you be there soon?”

“I-I think we should cancel tonight. I'm not feeling well and I have a lot of sleep to catch up on,” you lied again, this time feeling your heart constrict in your chest. Lying to Stiles was worse than lying to Scott. A thousand times worse.

“What? Why? Are you sick?” He immediately worried.

“No I-” you shook your head, unable to find it in yourself to lie to him again. Lies, more and more lies. Was he lying about Lydia's car having a problem? Were they really at the library two weeks ago for this study sessions for freshmen? “Just drop it Stiles, okay? We'll do this movie marathon another time.”

Before he could talk you into changing your mind, you hung up. As if magically recovering your ability to walk, you turned on you heels and walked back to your house, therefore not seeing the look of utter confusion and concern twisting Stiles' features, nor Lydia's eyebrows frowned in disbelief because Stiles had put you on speaker.

“What's going on with her?” She asked him.

Stiles had no answer to give her. He knew something was wrong with you, but he had hoped you would open up to him at some point if he gave you enough space.

“I don't know,” he admitted, powerless.

You had been walking in the dark for about twenty minutes when a car honk made you jump.

“Sorry!” You heard an all too familiar voice shout from the vehicle. “I didn't mean to scare you (Y/N),” Stiles said, stopping the car while you kept walking.

“Go home Stiles!”

“Wait!” He ran after you when he realized you weren't slowing down. “Wait (Y/N)! Please!”

You froze when he hand fell on your shoulder. He placed himself in front of you to prevent you from walking away.

“I just went to your house, I freaked out when you weren't there,” he informed you. “Where were you? Why are you walking alone in the dark if you don't feel well?” He bombarded you with questions while gesturing around.

“I needed some air,” you shrugged. Half lie. Just like your excuse of being sick. You didn't feel well, for evident reasons.

Stiles licked his lips and gave you a look that clearly meant that he didn't believe you. That was a look you had never seen before, he never directed this disappointed look toward you.

“(Y/N)...” he said in that same voice parents used on their children when they knew they were blatantly lying to them. He pulled something out of his jean pocket.

You didn't have a mirror with you but you didn't need any to know that your faced turned white at the sight of your phone.

“Taking a walk, eh?” He scoffed, putting his hands on his hips after you grabbed your phone.

“Stiles, I-”

“What's going on (Y/N)?” He cut you off, his tongue slightly peeking through his lips in that same way it did when something was bothering him or he was facing a particularly difficult equation. “You've been acting off for days, and I didn't say anything because I figured you'd tell me when you were ready, but now you're ditching the only night of the week we have together and you lie to my face,” he rambled, helpless and upset.

“I'm so sorry,” you managed to mumble, fighting off the tears. He's been in love with her for, like, forever. “I was at Lydia's,” you admitted. “I just- I changed my mind.”

“About what? Us? Do you want us to break up?” Stiles was almost aggressive now, and you couldn't blame him for being mad at you. “Is this what you want?”

“No!” You shouted, taking a step forward and cupping his face. “That's the opposite of what I want.”

“Then why are you so distant with me? I can see that you're hiding things from me and I have no idea what to do to show you that you can tell me anything, trust me with anything you need, I'll always be there for you (Y/N)!” Your throat was so constricted you couldn't even answer – not that you knew what to say. “(Y/N) please, don't cry.”

You were crying? Maybe you were, you felt numb.

“I just-” you tried to say but the words wouldn't come out. “W-why didn't you tell me you liked Lydia?” You eventually asked him.

Just by the way his face closed up, you knew you have aimed right. Malia was telling the truth.

“What does it have to do wit-”

“Do you still like her Stiles?” Your voice was broken by cries and you had no control whatsoever over your relentless sobs and your vision was blurred. You must look like a mess but at least it matched how you felt inside.

“Wha-? No! No, (Y/N), I don't like Lydia anymore!” He replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

“If you do I'd understand you know. I'm not angry, I just want you to be happy,” you kept on rambling, disregarding his protests. “Lydia's everything I'll never be, it's okay if you fell for her, I just want to know- I just- I can't keep watching you laugh with her and walk with her, and hang around at her house under false pretenses, just be honest Stiles,” you demanded, swallowing back your tears and wiping them off your cheeks to try and regain some composure.

“(Y/N) are you listening to what I'm saying? I do not like Lydia,” Stiles grabbed your hands and pulled you closer, until you were cradle against his chest, trembling a bit – but at least you had stopped crying.

“I- I haven't told you because, crap, I don't know, I was...ashamed, I guess. I mean, you were this beautiful, bubbly girl who somehow decided I was worthy of her time and when you started talking about Star Wars, I- what I'm trying to say is that you were a gorgeous girl who had no idea how much of a nerd I was, if I admitted to you that for most of my life I was head over heels in love with a girl who didn't even know my name until a couple years ago, how pathetic would that have made me?” He asked. “Lydia never so much as looked at me in another way than a friend and maybe it was for the best!”

“How would that be for the best? The girl you're in love with doesn't even look your way and you say it's for the best?!” You didn't understand his logic. “Stiles, listen, I- I'm not like her. I'm not constantly looking like a movie star, my hair isn't styled in perfectly defined locks that bounce up and down at each step, my legs don't look miles long because of the heels I wear, and I don't wear red lipstick like warpaint or have banshee powers, I know that there's no chance I can compare to her. And that's okay, I'm me, and I'm fine with that. But if you're looking for more, if you're still in love with Lydia, just say it and don't let me hope in vain.”

“Do you hear yourself (Y/N)? I know you're not Lydia!” Stiles snickered, a crooked smile on his lips. You were hit by the sudden need to punch this smirk off his face.

“What are you smiling for? Did I say something funny?”

“You just automatically assume that I would be happier without you?” Stiles wondered out loud, not waiting for an answer. “For a smart girl you can be really stupid sometimes, you know? There is no competition between you and Lydia. I'm not in love with her anymore, I haven't been for a long time, and certainly not since I met you.”

“... what's making you laugh in that?” You asked again, a bit calmer.

“The fact that you think the girl I'm in love with never even looked my way,” he said, grinning like a madman.

“Stiles, if you don't make yourself clear right now, I'll slap that smile into another galaxy,” you threatened.

He smiled in that way you had seen him do a thousand times before. Like he was thinking 'that's my girl', and it made your heart dance the lambada. It was illogical, because he just admitted Lydia might reciprocate his feelings but-

“She's right there, looking at me,” he said proudly. “Right now, I'm the happiest, luckiest guy in the world because the girl I'm in love with, is my girlfriend. Look I don't care about bouncy locks or high heels, I love you because you hang out in pajamas when you're home, and you snort when you laugh really hard, because you fall off the bed almost every night which gives me an excuse to hold you against me, and because you're as much a nerd as I am, even if you don't look like it, not to mention that you're beautiful, funny, sarcastic, sincere and the most incredible person I know.”

It was like you were struck dumb.

“(Y/N)? That's the part where you say 'oh my god Stiles, you're amazing, I love you too',” Stiles said, obviously growing nervous with each passing second you remained mute.

“I- I'm sorry,” you said, covering your face with your hands. “I'm so sorry, I...”

“Hey, hey hey...” Stiles soothingly whispered, gently taking your wrists in his hands and removing your hands from your face. “(Y/N), I love you. Alright? I love you. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise, I never meant to hurt you,” he apologized.

“It's my fault, I misinterpreted everything and Malia accidentally dropped that you liked Lydia and then I couldn't get it out of my head.”

“Why didn't you just talk to me?” He asked, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“If you thought I was in love with your best friend, would you simply confront me about it?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I guess... not,” he confessed. “I would further torture myself by analyzing your every word and trying to make sure I was right before accusing you and probably do something dumb like spy on you and stay at a distance instead of being honest,” he said, listing all the things you did.

“I get it, I was being stupid,” you said, now feeling the remains of your tears drying on your cheeks. You felt idiotic for your breakdown now that everything was said.

“I promise you Lydia is my friend and nothing else. You're the girl of my dreams, the Leia to my Han Solo,” Stiles declared like it was the ultimate romantic thing to say.

You laughed at that and he took that as an invitation and held you in his arms.

“Much better, I missed hearing you laugh,” Stiles said.

“I love you too,” you told him, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze on you. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his life. “I love you Stiles.”

“Thank god, that would have been awkward if you didn't.” You punched his shoulder and laughed at his expression of fake hurt. “I love you,” he repeated before capturing your lips for a kiss.