Late in the afternoon, for the third day in a row, Stiles finds himself curled up in bed with his laptop propped on his stomach, reading to devour another afternoon of Netflix; he's thinking New Girl, this time. He would never admit it to anyone, but he actually thinks that show is pretty brilliant. And, well, there's no denying that Zooey Deschanel is totally gorgeous.
He sighs, passing a hand over his eyes. After the events with Gerard and Jackson, Stiles was certain he'd welcome an indefinite break from all the supernatural craziness in this town, but then again, maybe he just forgot that that it was his unwavering curiosity and penchant for danger that got them into this situation in the first place: after all, if he had never convinced Scott to go look for that dead body, he never would have been bitten, and then this would just be any other Friday night, filled with video games and midnight trips to 7-11 and fighting off the natural loneliness that follows youth like a shadow.
Of course, maybe it's not the danger he misses (it totally is), but his best friend. Now that Scott has suddenly become Mr. Responsibility, Stiles hardly ever sees him anymore, which means lots of nights spent listlessly watching re-runs of his tv show of choice. Needless to say, it's June 3, and Stiles is already bored out of his mind.
He pauses New Girl at the sound of three knocks upon his door. They're not strong or loud enough to be his father, but who else would it be? Curious, he sets aside his computer and opens the door to reveal a rather uncomfortable-looking Lydia, as perfectly done-up as ever. Sometimes when he looks at her, it's hard to breathe; he's not sure if that's a good thing or not.
It's been weeks since they've seen each other, which is rather remarkable, even with school out for the summer. Beacon Hills is too small for them not to run into each other on occasion. He'd begun to suspect she was on vacation. Or possibly avoiding him.
"Uh - Lydia!" he says in surprise. "What're you - uh, what're you doing here?"
"Your dad let me in," she explains in a non-answer. "Can I...?" She moves past him into his room, and as she passes by, a few stray hairs brush against his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he turns to face her.
She looks around the room, curious, studying what she neglected to look at the last time she was here. Stiles curses himself for letting the mess go unattended for so long, but if it bugs her, she doesn't show it. After a moment, she perches herself on the edge of the bed and glances up at him expectantly.
"So what're you up to?" she asks, her eyes widening like they do when she's uncomfortable.
"Uh - nothing, just, watching, uh...nothing," Stiles answers, fumbling over as words as he always does when she's around. God dammit, Stilinski, he thinks. Get it together. She's just a girl.
As if Lydia Martin could ever be just anything.
"Oh," she says. "Sounds...fascinating."
"Yeah. Listen, Lydia, is there a reason why you're here?" he asks, taking a few steps towards her. "I mean, it's fine. I just -"
Lydia tucks her hair behind her ear, curling inward a little. "I just - didn't know where else to go," she admits, not meeting his eyes. Sensing the delicacy of the situation, Stiles sits cautiously down beside her.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
Lydia laughs humorlessly, standing and moving to look out the window. "Gee, I don't know, Stiles. Maybe it's that there are werewolves in Beacon Hills and my boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - turned into a giant lizard thing, and is now moving to London in a few months, and another werewolf basically took possession of my body and - oh, yeah, have I mentioned that I'm immune to werewolf bites and I don't know why?"
Stiles is on his feet before she can even finish the thought. "Okay, yeah," he says slowly. "I can see how that might be a little - overwhelming. It's overwhelming for me too, honestly." Lydia turns and looks at him expectantly. "But you know it'll be all right, yeah? No more werewolf attacks. No more giant lizards. I hope," he adds, and Lydia rolls her eyes, returning to the bed.
"I just want to be normal," she whines. "I just want to go back to how life was. Before."
Stiles returns to his spot next to her, shrugging. "I don't know. Pretty boring before."
"But at least it made sense," Lydia argues. "I always knew where all of the lines where. What was true and what wasn't. Now, I just..." She sighs, playing with the ring on on index figure, and suddenly Stiles thinks he understands something about all of the boxes Lydia Martin has put herself into. How she needs them to make sense of the world.
He places a hand over hers, and she looks up at him, questioning. "A world with werewolves and giant lizard boyfriends might be terrifying, but so is a world without them. You just have to find new lines," he tells her, squeezing her hand once. Lydia gazes at him for a moment then nods, standing and putting her bag back over her shoulder. She crosses to the door to leave but stops just before she exits.
"Just - thanks," she says simply, and Stiles grins at her.
"Anytime, Lydia." She smiles at little at this, turning and walking out the door and down the hall. Stiles falls back onto his bed, sighing. It's slowly occurring to him that, no matter how hard he tries, his plan to win Lydia Martin over might never work. Maybe there are some girls who are just never going to love you back.
"Stiles?" He sits up with a lightning speed at the sound of his name. Lydia has appeared in his doorway again, looking apprehensive but determined. "Would you want to...hang out?"
Stiles looks at her, a little floored. "I, uh - me? I mean, don't you have, like, some party to get to or something?"
She shrugs. "Kind of hard to concentrate on some dumb party when you're one of the only people who knows werewolves exist."
"What about Jackson?"
Lydia crinkles her nose, a little sad. "I don't really want to talk about Jackson," she says, measuring him with her eyes. "And I don't think you do either."
He has to give her that.
Grinning, Stiles grabs his keys and says, "Lead the way, Miss Martin."
It's only as they're sliding into his car that she turns to him and says, "Just so we're clear, this is not going to become, like, a regular thing."
Stiles shakes his head. "Whatever you say, Lydia."