Stydia one-shots

66. The Crush

Scott's mouth dropped a little. "You like Lydia."
"No." Stiles responded too quickly but Scott knew better and hooked an arm around his neck before dragging him across the hall.
"Hey, Lydia!" Scott was grinning so hard she was sure his cheeks would fall off. She smiled back and Stiles' knees almost gave out. "I'm having a party tomorrow, you want to come?"
Her smile fell partially. "A party?" Her eyes flickered to Stiles, speedily checking his body language.
"It's more of a throwback. No alcohol, just junk food and cool people. Stiles is going, right Stiles?" Scott's arm was around the boys neck again and Stiles nodded, too nervous to speak because this time, Lydia did look him in the eyes. Straight in the eyes, unafraid. Well....slightly afraid. She liked what she saw there, what she was never close enough to see; a light Amber with a smooth chocolate rim on the outer edge of his iris. It may have seemed stereotypical to think, but she truly did like his eyes. Her smile slowly came back to life. "Sure. I'll come." She said softly.

His knees were officially jello.

Never once in his life had Stiles ever second guessed an outfit. He never put on his clothes to go to school, looked in the mirror and then decided to change his shirt or his pants. He was always the 'grab what's clean and let's go' kind of guy. But not tonight. What had changed? Surely it wasn't Lydia. His throat felt dry. "Lydia." He mumbled her name, checking how he looked in the mirror that was stuck to the back of his door. Did the dark blue of his shirt wash him out or make him look more tan? He took it off. "Lydia." Another shirt, this time gray. Did the v-neck give off a trying-too-hard impression? He took it off. "Dammit." And then he was out the door, settling on a maroon baseball tee, telling himself not too think too much about it, that this was it: this was the outfit and he was sticking with it.

He was surprised, to say the least, that Lydia didn't immediately bombard him as soon as he entered the McCall household. Had she even showed up yet? He couldn't remember if she had her license or not yet or if she did, if she had a car. He needed to find Scott and ask because if she needed a ride, he needed to know. Scott McCall, Stiles also concluded, was a liar. Because this party definitely was not a kickback and most definitely was an actual high school party. A good forty-five minutes passed as Stiles searched the household for his best friend but could not find him. So, drink in his hand, he went upstairs to check Scott's room in a last attempt to find him.

His room was dark and quiet, taking all noise of music and screams from downstairs and drowning them in silence. Stiles felt his cheeks involuntarily heat up. Because sitting at the end of the bed, on the floor, leaning up against the mattress, was Lydia Martin. The moonlight from the window gave her a sort of halo, an angel-like glow, and it only added to the ambiance.
"I didn't know you drank." Was the first thing she had said while he closed the door behind him and joined her on the floor. He mimicked her pose, legs up to the chest and arms wrapped around them.
"I don't, it's just water."
"Trying to look cool?"
"Exactly." He laughed, not because it was necessarily funny but more because in less than three sentences, Lydia already understood him more than anyone else at this party. She nodded at nothing in particular and for no particular reason.
"I like your shirt." She commented.
"Thanks. I like your shoes."
"Thanks."

He sighed, then took a deep breath and held it and tried to listen to how she was breathing but only heard his own heartbeat through the blood in his ears. He exhaled.
She glanced at him.
He raised his brows.
She looked at the ceiling.
Their silent body language basically tied him to a post and tortured him. He wanted to hear her voice so badly that he would basically ask her to talk about how she had murdered someone just to hear that sweet, smooth, voice of hers.
"Say something." He ushered, as close as he could get to asking her to speak without admitting exactly why he wanted her to talk.
"Like what?"
"Like anything." He said but she was still silent, "what's your favorite color?"
"Blue."
"Like the sky or the ocean?"
Her heart dropped to her feet. His voice was low and steady and confident and if only he were to make a move right now she would have given into him so easily.
"The ocean." She said softly, "that rich sort of dark blue."
He loved her. He decided right then and there: He loved her, He loved her, He loved her, he could say it a million times and it still wouldn't be the same as feeling it because how are you supposed to use one word to describe something so pure?

"I like green." He was sure she didn't really care but he said it anyway.
"Like the forest or like the sea?" She reiterated the question earlier asked to her.
Like your eyes, "the forest."
They didn't talk for a while then but that was okay. Stiles found himself tracing the outline of her in his head and Lydia busied herself by trying to figure out what song was currently playing downstairs. He scooted a little closer, his foot accidentally knocking against hers but he didn't draw it back into himself. He kept it there, right next to hers, the side of his long sneaker pressed against the round edge of her smaller flats. Stiles wasn't sure what he was thinking or what he was doing but before he knew it, he'd leaned closer to Lydia. Her lips parted. He was going to kiss her, she knew it, she felt it. But then something happened inside both of them, a realization that this wasn't what they should be doing, or more of the feeling that it was something they wanted to do but maybe it wasn't the best time.

Stiles sighed.
Lydia looked at their shoes.
He stole a glance at her.
She chose to ignore it.
"Hi." He mumbled.
"Hello."
Neither had a clue why they spoke quietly, it's not like anyone was listening. He held out his hand, Palm upright and daring her to hold it. She wasn't one to back out from a dare so easily, placing her own hand over his. They didn't interlock fingers, he didn't squeeze her hand or even move them, just let their palms face each other. He shifted closer to her again, this time the length of their arms touched from shoulder all the way down to elbow. She chuckled so he did too. And the two were just waiting for something or someone to ruin their moment. They figured Scott would've found them by now or a horny couple might have entered the room but no, they sat side by side in the darkness with no interruption and no excuse to leave the other.
"My arm is getting tired." Stiles whispered.
"Okay."
It gave him a reason to finally and truly hold her hand, sandwiching her fingers with his own before bringing them to rest on the ground between their legs.

He nudged her foot with his own. She nudged back. She squeezed his hand. He repeated the action.
"Are you gonna kiss me?" She asked but it was more like she was telling him that it was okay to.
"I was working up the courage to, yeah." He cleared his throat.
"I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to."
"No, I really really want to."
"Oh. . .okay." So she waited patiently until he gathered up the nerve, feeling quite awkward with their conversation thus far. But she liked him so much that they could be here, in the darkness of Scott's room, for an hour or even two hours until he was ready and she would still kiss him with every last ounce of her being. His hand left her own and she frowned at the loss, until she felt it on her waist.
"Come here." He tugged at her. She shifted closer to him. He laughed. "Come here." He emphasized and she understood, bringing herself to her knees. Swallowing hard, Stiles straightened out his legs and Lydia got the memo, climbing onto his lap for a more optimal kissing position.

His hands went from her waist to her cheeks, his fingertips brushing just barely in her hair. And then he leaned in as he had before, but this time neither of them turned away. When they kissed, it felt like a sigh of relief, like a gift from heaven, like they were the last two pieces to a puzzle that fit perfectly together. Stiles felt a chill roll through his body and Lydia didn't want it to end. But they drew away for air, eyes still closed and foreheads leaning against the other.
Stiles was first to talk: "Was that your first kiss?" He asked quietly, inches away from her lips. He smiled, the moonlight illuminating her many freckles and he thought about seeing her in the summer, under the sun and on the beach and covered in those gorgeous freckles from head to toe. She opened her eyes to look at his own, whispering the quietest "yes". Her stomach folded and contorted at the honesty, scared to watch his reaction. But the corners of his lips were still up to his ears and his gaze was still grazing over her features.
"I like you." He said. It seemed so abrupt in their situation that she nearly laughed. And he could tell, so he said it again. "I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you" over and over so he knew she would believe it. He said it through her giggles of disbelief, he said it with his hands in her hair and his lips buried into the crevice of her neck, he said it louder (yelled it even) so the party downstairs could try and hear it over the music. Over and over, "I like you, I like you, I lov–"
Her laughter halted. Had he just... The look on his face said everything. Even he was shocked that the words had almost left him.

But the more he thought, staring at her, the more he knew the words were true. So he said them, slow and clear so he knew she would hear his voice utter out those three words just for her: "I love you."