They talked about everything.
Walking down the halls at school, bumping into each others shoulders and discussing whether green was better than blue.
"Blue is the ocean." Lydia says.
"Green is the trees." Stiles counters.
"Blue is... blue is..." she falters, she's run out of things.
He stops, turns to face her, "green, like your eyes." And then he leaves her for his next class. She's stunned in a crowd of students, rushing before the next bell sounds. Her eyes are his winning statement. She can't get the conversation out of her head during English and finds herself doodling on the side of her notes. She had named plenty of wonderful things; hydrangeas, sapphires, the sky, robins eggs. All of these things so delicately thought out as she argued in favor of her favorite color. His were good too; emeralds, jade, four leaf clovers, and of course copious amounts of vegetables. But his most impactful statement had been her eyes.
They talked about everything.
"What are you reading lately?" He asked while they were studying.
"What's your favorite movie?" She inquired on a beach trip.
"Do you prefer The Kooks or The Wrecks?" He wondered while at a record store.
She stopped her search through the vinyls, a stern look on her face, "you're seriously comparing the two?"
He had laughed.
They talked about everything.
"What's your favorite position?" She asked quietly.
The question startled him. They had spent the day walking around Beacon Hills, sharing coffee and stories and ice cream. They walked and stopped in a store and chatted then walked and stopped in another store and chatted again. But now the day had ended and neither wanted the conversation to cease. So they climbed into his jeep and continued until it seemed they were running out of questions. It was nearing midnight, the streets empty, the low hum of the AC filling any silence that hadn't been filled with their voices.
They both stare straight ahead as he asks a follow up question, "like.. sexual position?"
She nods, a little embarrassed. It dawns on her she doesn't really know why she wanted to know the answer. But then, the answer came. He said it with a bit of faux confidence, his eyes darting from her to the empty parking lot in front of them, trying to gauge whether his answer was wrong or right based on her reaction. She answered back, looking directly to him so as to not miss his reaction
Yes, they talked about everything.
They talked about the weather, if it was good or bad, what their favorite kind was and why. They talked about where they wanted to travel, how old they would be when they would go and who they would take with them. They talked about what they would do on their birthdays, what their plans were for holidays, and who they hoped to get for secret Santa that year.
They talked about his mother, one quiet evening after he had called and asked is she could pick him up from Scott's house. The boys had been drinking and he didn't want to drive and she was perfectly okay with making sure he made it home safe. But when she parked her car in his driveway to drop him off, he hesitated to get out. She didn't want him to leave either, in all honesty. And then, out of no where, he said it.
"I miss my mom." He sighs and turns to look out the window.
She doesn't quite know how to respond. She can't relate, she has both of her parents, so all she can do is grab his hand. He doesn't think twice to interlock their fingers, trying his best not to overthink what this means for their friendship. And he talks until he can't anymore, until he's afraid he'll cry if he continues so he has to stop. He tells Lydia about what he remembers, about the really good days and the really bad ones. And she listens and nods and smiles and squeezes his hand when the bad parts come.
They talked about everything.
It was another one of those late nights, where the day had ended though they hadn't wanted to. They found themselves sitting on the sidewalk outside a gas station, sharing a slurpee and giggling like children.
"Funniest memory?" Lydia asked with a smile. Stiles grinned and began to chuckle a little as he told his answer. Between laughter Lydia could decipher it was something about Scott and him when they were younger, though she can't quite figure out the plot since Stiles is laughing too hard. It doesn't matter, that laugh was so worth struggling to figure out what he had said. She went next, trying her best to be coherent, but she found she told her story almost exactly as he had: incoherently.
"Most embarrassing thing that's happened to you?" Stiles asked, taking the slurpee from her.
"Oh god," she mutters, hands covering her face, "undoubtedly my first kiss." She hesitates to tell but he nudges her for encouragement. "Sixth? No, seventh grade. I had a huge crush on this boy in my math class. We had planned it out," she laughs and begins to imitate the boy, "' after school we'll meet by the soccer field'" she lowers her voice and laughs again.
Stiles is laughing too, "was his voice that deep."
"No, no, that's just my generic imitation of guys–anyway. So we met after school and I leaned in for the kiss first and," she winced, "ugh I was all tongue!"
Stiles feigns disgust and they both giggle, bumping shoulders and passing the slurpee back and forth a few times. She explains how the boy had kissed other girls and hadn't known that was her first kiss. He went and told they're entire math class that she was a horrible kisser.
"Well it sounds like you were!" Stiles teases.
She rolls her eyes, "I'd never kissed anyone! I'm better now, I promise!"
"Oh yeah? Prove it." He doesn't even think before he says it, a redness creeping up to his cheeks and suddenly they're both silent. Oh god, had he crossed a line? He certainly had. But then she leans over to him, slowly to give him an opportunity to back out. But he doesn't. And when she kisses him, the world is slow motion and his stomach is overflowing with butterflies. When they part, they both choose to stare at their shoes, small smiles on their lips and a now comfortable silence enclosing them.
They talked about everything else after that.
About moving in together after high school and what color their couch would be. What flowers they would have at their wedding, who would be their best man and maid of honor. What color they would paint their bedroom, living room, and bathroom. How they would grow old together and never grow tired of each other for as long as they lived.
And how they would continue to talk about everything.