Stydia one-shots

69. Saturday Night

Although Stiles had slowed his alcohol intake significantly, Lydia was downing every shot being handed to her as though it were nothing. Her and Scott clinked glasses as Isaac yells, "down the hatch!" over their shoulders and Stiles laughs when Scott scrunches his nose and searches for a chaser. Lydia finds this all too hilarious, clutching her stomach as he sniffs the contents of abandoned solo cups until he finds a nearly empty two liter soda bottle and finishes that off.
"He never was one to hold his liquor." Stiles leans into Lydia's side and she leans back, the two of them too intoxicated to really care about the fact that their sides were completely flush, how her hair was sticking to the fabric of his t-shirt as they swayed apart and back together once again. He found a smile crossing her face as he purposefully pressed into her side, causing her to lean so far she nearly stumbles. The reaction to this is for her to instinctively lean  harder back into his side, fearing she may lose her balance. He's steady as a rock when she does so, nearly all her weight now on him and he can feel the curvature of her side against his own, even through their shirts. He wants so badly to wrap his arm around her waist, to tell her– to promise her– he'll make sure she doesn't fall. Instead, he promises himself in his head.
"You know where the bathroom is?" Lydia asks, squinting up at him, as though he himself is the sun. Stiles nods before taking her hand without a word, dragging her towards the stairs. He has no clue why he can do this without thinking, intertwining their fingers, leading her through the house, and yet he couldn't cross the boundary to hold her at the hip. Her stomach twists, and she can't quite tell if it's from her drink (which she is quick to abandon on a side table in the hall of the second floor), or if it's from the way he had so easily taken her hand in his. And when they stopped in front of the restroom, his rough fingertips left her own and she knew for a fact then that this feeling in her stomach was surely because of him.

The music is loud so he leans in, "you okay Lyds?"
"Yea, just guard the door for me, please?"
He agrees without hesitation as she closes herself in the restroom and immediately leans over the sink, pushing in the stopper and running the cool water on full blast. She felt her head begin to throb, her reflection contorting and spinning in the mirror, the small room twisting around her suddenly until one minute she was standing and the next she was on the floor. The door cracks open, "Lydia?".
"Sorry," she groans, sitting up and Stiles enters the restroom, turning off the sink that was soon to over flow before sitting on the ground next to a drunken strawberry blonde. He can't help the grin that comes over him, "get a little dizzy, didja?" He chuckles and she glares at him in that signature Lydia Martin way. "And, uh, what was your plan with the sink exactly?"
"For my face," she sighs.
"Oh, so you were planning to drown yourself?"
"I was just a little hot, that's all." She huffs.

"I..uh.." Lydia's at a loss for words. She chews the inside of her cheek, fiddles with the hem on her sleeves, brushes a piece of hair from her face, searching for the answer to his question.

He pushes a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear.
"God, you're so beautiful." He murmurs and though she's drunk, she knows this is not the talk of a close friend. He can almost hear the thought pass through her mind, but, drunk as well, ignores any feelings of embarrassment. He leans towards her, slowly, her eyes clearly skipping from his own to his lips, and he's leaning and leaning until the tips of their noses barely touch. He almost chokes, nearly backing away to pretend it never happened, to be miserable for all of eternity. But this is Lydia Martin before him, sparkling and iridescent and bumping noses with him and him only. And then, worlds collide, her lips so soft and delicate against his own and liquor from the party dancing on their tongues as they meet so perfectly.

"Was it okay? For us...to..." she speaks quietly.
He can hear it in her voice, the way it cracks and he knows they have to leave the lunch room otherwise she's going to fall and break herself. He needs to tell her loudly, not in a whisper, not hidden under the table. So he stands and urges her to do so as well and when everyone falls silent he explains that Lydia doesn't feel well. He needs to walk her to the nurse. Stiles rests his hand on her lower back to lead her as they walk out of the cafeteria, their friends gazes trailing after the pair. They seem to understand.

Her thoughts have driven her completely nuts by the time they slip into an empty classroom. She's screaming at herself internally.
"Don't be sorry, or anything, for..uhm....." Stiles speaks calmly but there's the slightest pink hue on his cheeks, "I meant what I said this morning; I'm glad you kissed me... Just make sure I'm sober the next time you do."
It takes her less than a minute to seize this opportunity. She can't help herself, she falls into his arms, connecting her lips to his in what she's sure is the most memorable kiss she'll ever have in this lifetime. When they pull away, she's gazing up at him, soft eyes and a tender heart. She thinks, well, he's sober now, and he can almost hear the thought slip out of her head and into his. A smile grazes his lips and he leans down just enough to reach her, a hand on her hip and she's putty in front of him.