Work Text:
The loft was quiet except for the occasional shuffle of someone shifting from where they were seated, the passing of quiet questions and the flipping of pages. And then -
"It's so damn hot in here," Stiles whined. "Couldn't Derek have invested in an air-con?"
"Well, we could be studying in the cool school library is someone hadn't gotten banned for two weeks," Lydia replied, not looking up from her notes.
"Heu, first of all, that was Liam's fault," Stiles defended, sitting up from where he had been sprawled on the floor. "Secondly, we didn't have to come here, of all places."
Malia groaned from in between them. "Get a room, you two," she complained, ducking as Stiles and Lydia started swatting at each other in a bid to probe their arguements. Everyone else glanced at each other.
"Uh, Malia?" Kira offered quietly. "Wrong context?"
"I don't care," the werecoyote replied. "They've been bickering over my head since we started studying. Which wouldn't happen if they were locked up away somewhere, literally. Except that I need Lydia's help so I can't do that."
Malia had been studying with Lydia since winter break and Lydia found herself actually liking the coyote. Maybe it was the improved EQ, and the fact the she and Stiles had broken up before winter break (but they were still good friends and he still helped her with her work too). She was a surprisingly eager learner, except for math.
Lydia closed her book and scooted closer to the girl. "Right, what was it again?"
Malia reached behind her and retrieved a large drawstring bag. She opened it and turned it over, spilling the mass of wire and string onto the floor.
"It's my elective. It's supposed to be a woven net thing, but I'm getting the knots wrong," she explained. "You used to take art, so, I dunno, you could help me sort this out."
Lydia had never worked with 3D medium, but she was, afterall, observant, and she had seen people doing similar things. So she took some string from Malia and started threading with the wire.
"I want there to be a thick row of knots down here," Malia directed. "I'm not really sure what it's called, but it looks like a compressed ladder with loops sticking out of the side. She wound some string around her finger as Lydia helped to twist some wire through the loops formed.
"No, no," someone said, and a hand appeared, pulling the string off Malia's fingered. "You're supposed to alternate between the two strings, or, in this case, the wire," Stiles said, interrupting the girls. "What? My dad showed me a few knots," he justified, when they gave him shared weird looks. "C'mere."
He pulled Malia's hand over and started demonstrating how to create the pattern Malia wanted.
Lydia watched as he threaded the string in and out of Malia's fingers. There was a time where it was her fingers. Sometimes, she still couldn't help be envious of the coyote. Lydia shook her head. They're just friends.
So are you.
When she snapped out of her thoughts, Stiles was asking Malia about the project.
"It's about overfishing. They said we had to reflect on a modern issue and they said fishing was a serious issue in biology." the werecoyote explained.
Kira looked up. "Yes, it's a problem in Japan too. Fish is an important part of the cuisine."
"You know, there's an artist who is making artworks out of old fishing nets and gear," Lydia said. "I can find some pictures you can use as reference."
"Did you hear about the new law in the Nordic countries where..." Stiles started, and the three of them - boy, coyote and kitsune - started a long discussion about fishing worldwide. Lydia sighed and closed the tab on her phone. "Nevermind," she mumbled to herself.
An hour later, they had drawn Scott into a debate on whether bluefin tuna or sharks were in more critical danger.
"These are two exclusive issues!" Lydia tried to cut in. "Conservative work on one species does not mean that the other issue is being neglected. And sharksfin soup is served at weddings and during the lunar new year. Not during midautumn."
Her comment went unnoticed as they continued arguing. Looking around, Lydia noticed that Stiles and Malia had shifted closer to Scott and Kira so the debate could ensue, forming a smaller circle that Lydia was lying outside of. She pursed her lips. It was nothing new. She was aware of being a fifth wheel for a while. Maybe she thought that things would change since everyone wasn't all coupled up anymore.
Her phone chimed with a new message. Jordan had an update on the small case he was working on and was asking if she could drop by the station to take a look. Lydia glanced at her belongings. She only had AP biology and she had finished her notes for it a long time ago. She had revised thoroughly and was prepared. Besides, Malia's art project had been forgotten for a while.
Lydia gathered her belongings into her bag and stood up to announce her departure.
"You're not staying for dinner?" Scott asked.
She shook her head. "No, I have to be somewhere, and I'm done with my work anyway. Good luck, you guys."
Lydia stepped out onto the parking lot and texted Jordan that she would reach the station in fifteen minutes. Then she heard the footsteps - loud and hurried, running down the stairs, before she heard his voice calling.
"Lydia! Lydia, wait."
She turned around. Sure enough, Stiles was running down the last few steps. He stopped three feet away from her and caught his breath. Lydia waited for him to stop panting. He did, lifting his head and simply gazing back at her, not saying anything.
"Did you want to tell me something?"
Stiles blinked. "What? Oh yeah..." he fumbled, looking at his feet. It was a while before he looked at her again. "Lydia are you okay?"
I've been waiting for you to ask, she wanted to say. Instead, Lydia frowned slightly. "Everything is fine, Stiles, why?"
Stiles stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's just...I don't see you around that much any more. You leave early and we don't spend a lot of time together. Pack events aren't the same without the whole pack there, Lyds. And it's study day, you're the smart one. We need your universal expertise."
"You guys are doing fine. Really, you don't need me. Jordan does." She spun on her heel and started to walk away, eyes starting to sting with tears.
"I need you Lyds. I've always needed you."
The earnestness in his voice made her stop and turn around.
"You have Scott and Malia," she forced herself to say. They're right in front of you - "
"And I should take notice before I lose them? Huh, that's what you've been telling yourself, right? Is this what it's really about? You think it's too late?" He didn't raise his voice, but he sounded frustrated and...angry.
"I had my chance with you, I didn't take it. That was my fault. Now, I have another one, with Jordan, and I'm taking it before I lose him too."
Stiles simply shook his heads before his long arms reached out and pulled her into a deep kiss. It was passionate yet gentle, as Stiles slowly slanted his lips across hers, increasing the pressure, until Lydia's heart nearly burst out of her chest.
He pulled away ever so slightly that his lips lightly brushed hers as he whispered, "You never lost me Lyds."
Her senses tingled and she felt dazed. Stiles was like gravity, and she was always falling towards him. Lydia nearly kissed him again, only to be pulled out of the trance by the chime of a new message in her phone. She wriggled out of his embrace and brought a hand to her face to wipe her tears. "I- I can't do this Stiles," she stuttered. She wanted to turn and run away, far far away, where she wouldn't have to deal with the feelings he made her feel. But he looked at her with his eyes pleading Why not? and she couldn't bear to leave him without an answer, no matter how crappy and irrational. See, that's what love does to you, it makes you lose sense of everything.
"I..." she choked. "You...drive me...crazy, Stiles!" she managed between sniffs. "I keep telling myself I'm over you, and that we're friends and it's all great but then you pull me back down again because you're just so you and you do things to me I don't understand!"
Stiles brows were knitted together in this strangled, confused look which gave Lydia the impression that he was fighting between calling her out on her stupid answer and kissing her again.
She took a step back and shook her head. "You're right, Stiles, we're not drifting apart. We're still close. It just does't feel close enough." The boy's shoulders dropped resignedly as Lydia turned to leave. She had only taken a few steps before he spoke again,
"I can't get closer if you don't let me in, Lydia."
She held back a sob and walked to her car. She closed the door and quickly drove away, not daring to look back and see his broken figure standing in the lot, his heart sinking with the burning sun.
"Hey dad, I brought you some food," Stiles announced as he walked into his father's office waving an old lunchpack he had in grade school.
"I've already had dinner, Stiles," replied the Sheriff, not taking his eyes off the file.
"Yeah, two and a half hours ago. And I know if you're not starting to feel the graces of hunger again right now, you're gonna start feeling it soon. Which is why," Stiles paused as he dramatically dumped the bag on the table and revealed the contents, "I brought you fruits and a homemade smoothie before you start binging from the mini fridge."
The scratching noises from the pen ceased as the Sheriff stopped to look at his son. Smiling gratefully, he took the bottle and took a sip of the smoothie.
"Mmhm, it's good. What did you put in this?"
"Apples, watermelon, grapefruit and a bit of kale," the boy replied as he seated himself in the chair across the desk.
"Interesting choice. I assume this is a leftover?" the Sheriff commented as he reached for the apple that came with the drink.
"Technically they're all leftovers from Liam's home econs project but you assume correct," Stiles replied. He casually took a piece of paper from his dad's desk but barely got to read the first word before it was snatched back.
"This," the Sheriff said, "is for your friends over there."
The Sheriff tilted his head slightly and Stiles followed the line of action. The office windows were slightly tinted and the blinds were half-closed but from his angle he could see Parrish walking towards the desk, followed by a certain strawberry blonde.
His chest constricted again. Since Lydia drove out of the parking lot he'd tried to put on a facade, pretending everything was fine and all the werewolves (mostly Scott, who can't and can never not be concerned about people to save his life, honestly) were delusional when they stared at him, silently calling him out. He acted like it was a normal day and they were just normal people studying because exams were coming up and not because they missed out on classes to fight supernatural creatures, and had relationship problems on top of it. That he was just a filial child getting food for his father working the night shift. So well he nearly convinced himself nothing was wrong. But now it came crashing back down on him.
"How long has she been here?" he asked. His voice was smaller than he'd liked it to be.
The Sheriff paused at his work, sensing his son's shift in mood. He looked up through the window at his deputy and the banshee, then to Stiles, who had one hand brought to his face, as if he was going to start biting a fingernail, while his eyes stared unfocused at his lap, the other hand trembling on the chair's arm.
The Sheriff pushed his paperwork aside and leaned forward. "Stiles?" he asked. "What happened?"
Stiles arms flailed slightly before resuming their original positions. "I don't know," he replied quietly. "It's just - "
He sighed heavily, bringing his arms forwards to prop his head up as he leaned on the desk. His fingers massaged his temple.
"Lydia," he started. "She hasn't been hanging out with us so much. I mean, she didn't hang out with us as much since..." He choked on his words and swallowed.
"I- I love her so much, dad," the boy said, blinking away some tears. "I thought I loved her when I was eight, and I was so sure. Then two years later I made the plan. And halfway through Scott got bitten, and it was cool and freaky at the same time, and somehow I got to actually know her. As more than the insanely smart girl who pretended to be a dumb ice queen, even though that was way more than people knew. She was my best friend after Scott. We were unstoppable, a crime-fighting force solving all the mysteries of Beacon Hills. And I remember thinking maybe all the things I said, about unspoken connections and fate, back when I was just a lovestruck kid, maybe they were actually true. And she kissed me - oh god, when you were taken..." He paused and took a deep breath before continuing.
"I panicked. And she was suddenly there. She kissed me, even if it was just to stop the panic attack. But right after. When I looked at her, we were in the locker room, and the sun was coming through the window in slits and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And then shit happened and Allison - "
The boys hands were shaking now. And the rims of his eyes were shiny with tears. Carefully, the Sheriff lowered his son's hands onto the table, placing his on them.
He watched Stiles' shoulders rise and fall before the boy spoke again, in a small, defeated voice.
"That was when she started pulling away," he said. "I thought maybe she needed time to get over it. I thought she needed space. But she actually needed me, dad, and I wasn't there. I thought she was fine, we were still solving things together, with the codes and doctors and what not. But I wasn't there. Now I know that she did love me too, and I could have - I should have done something."
"She thinks she's lost me," he sobbed. "And I'm losing her too."
He cried silently for a while. The Sheriff got up, crossed over and pulled his son into a tight hug. Stiles held onto his father's uniform like a lifeline and sobbed into his father's shoulder.
"I love her," he mumbled.
He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, holding onto his dad like he was a kid again. But when he eventually calmed down he still held on, listening to the sound of his breathing and the static from his father's radio.
"Someone's trying to call you," he mumbled into his father's shoulder. Then his brain kicked it.
"Dad, why's someone radioing you?"
The Sheriff pulled away and scratched his downturned head, the way he did whenever he was hesitant to tell Stiles something. Stiles glanced wildly from the radio in his father's hand to the Sheriff, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to dig himself into a hole at the moment, back to the radio, the problem-solving part of his head whirring madly. He ran his hands through his hair agitatedly, on the verge of pulling out a fistful. "Oh god..."
And then the door burst open. Parrish stood one foot inside the office, looking flushed and panting slightly. He had one hand on the door knob, and the other was holding a crackling radio.
The deputy's eyes locked onto Stiles and even though they weren't glowing, Stiles still felt as if they were burning right through his skull.
"You should go talk to her," he said, and Stiles didn't need telling twice. He tore from the office and nearly shoved Clark over the front desk as he raced from the station.
On hindsight he must have been insane to dash in front of her car. But it's love, it drives you crazy. He didn't hesitate to open her door and climb into her car, thankful that she hadn't locked it in her rush (though in another scenario he would have chided her on road safety rules he never followed).
"Go away, Stiles," she mumbled. Her hands were clutching the wheel and her hair shielded her face but she sounded like she was crying. Again.
Instead, he reached over and gently pried her hands from the wheel and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her. Her hands grabbed his shirt and she buried her face in the corner of his neck.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered in her hair. "I'm not going anywhere without you, Lyds. I'm going to stay right here so you'll never be able to get rid of me."