Hermione had gone from having a delightful shower in her nice and comfortable Head Girl dorm’s bathroom to reliving one of the worst moments of her life.
It was Christmas Eve, and all was supposed to be well.
Especially since the ministry had finally located her parents, set their memories right. So right, in fact, that they had even picked up immediately where they left off, heading out on the vacation they had already planned over a year prior, sans their daughter But most importantly, Ron had came to visit for the holidays.
However, despite all of the wonderful things that took place after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione couldn’t seem to stop the frequent nightmares and flashbacks from happening. Even in death, Bellatrix Lestrange still plagued her life.
It had been her shampoo bottle slipping from her hand, smacking hard against the stone bottom, that had triggered it. The harsh snap of the thick plastic ricocheted from wall to wall, sounding eerily like the hard heel of Bellatrix’s shoes that she had worn that day in Malfoy Manor.
The warmth of the water disappeared, and in it’s place was the dreadfully chill memory of the unforgiving marble floor of the drawing room. Before she knew it, Hermione had been thrusted back, as if she had never left. Once again, she could hear Greyback’s menacing and lust-filled growl, and feel the heated eyes of the Death Eaters staring at her, wicked sneers and malicious scowls etched into their faces.
And then, her voice. Icy and maniacal, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Now my Mudblood dear, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Tell me, where did you get that sword?”
Hermione started panting. She looked around quickly, trying to take in the fact that she was not in the manor. She was not in any danger.
Her voice croaked out, pleading, as if she was back in front of Bellatrix. “I….I don’t know, I swear!” she sobbed.
She closed her eyes. Big mistake.
Bellatrix stood over her, the insane witch aiming her wand down at her, screaming the spell that caused her the worst pain she had ever felt in her entire life. Her skin had felt as if it had burst into flames as her blood boiled, her nerves screaming in agony.
No, wait— it was her.
She was screaming and she couldn’t stop. She was begging Bellatrix to stop.
She lied.
She had said it was just a copy.
That it was merely a fake.
But Bellatrix hadn’t believed her.
Tears were streaming down her face, mixing with the shower that was indeed starting to run cold. She felt as if the shower walls were closing in on her, and her breathing became more panicked by the second. Bellatrix was closing in on her. Greyback was closing in on her. They were getting closer and closer and—
“Hermione!!”
It was as if an angel had called out her name. It sounded faint, like the tinkling of a bell, then, as she heard her name being called again, it sounded a bit closer.
Then she felt warmth. Unbelievable warmth as arms surrounded her and a large hand slipped over her small one, squeezing it tight.
“Hermione,” whispered the voice of her savior. “You’re not there anymore. It’s okay. You’re at school. You’re in your room. You’re with me.”
Hermione looked up and into the sapphire eyes of her comfort zone. Ron looked down at her, worry etched all over his face. This wasn’t the first time he had found her like this. Lying on the floor, in the fetal position, crying out like she was trapped inside of her nightmares. And he knew it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
But to happen to her at a time where she should feel nothing but happiness? It only proved that evil never slept and never left good people alone.
Hermione latched onto Ron, soaking the front of his jumper. Suddenly, the images were gone. The cold that she had felt was replaced by Ron’s body heat. She realized that she wasn’t in the manor anymore.
She was home.
Ron snatched the towel hanging on a nearby rod and held it up for Hermione to wrap around herself. A crooked smile tugged at the sides of his lips as the blood rushed to her cheeks, turning them a twinge of pink.
“A fine time to be bashful, don’t you think?” he joked lovingly.
Hermione smirked as she stood up, wrapping the towel tightly around her, “I hadn’t envisioned your first time seeing me in the nude would be while I’m making a fool of myself in the shower,” she whispered as a feeling of vulnerability washed over her. She hated feeling that way, especially in front of him.
Ron gently rubbed her cheek, “You weren’t making a fool of yourself, don’t say things like that.”
“Then why do I feel so foolish?” asked Hermione, as they made their way back to her room. “You found me cowering in the floor, as if I were a child.”
“You have every right to do that,” said Ron. “All the shit you went through? You were hit by the bloody cruciatus curse for crying out loud.”
Hermione blushed. When Ron would speak on the fact that she had endured and gotten through her torture, it always made her feel like she was giving her more credit than she deserved. She had yet to tell him that the only reason she had survived the ordeal was because she heard him call out her name over and over, and that the sound of his voice kept her from slipping out of reality.
“Why didn’t you stay at the Burrow for the holidays?” asked Hermione, changing the subject as she pulled out her pajamas to sleep in. “I’m sure Mrs. Weasley would have wanted you all home for Christmas.”
“Mum understands that I want to be here,” blushed Ron as Hermione stepped behind her partition to get dressed. “I could say the same about your folks as well actually.”
“I couldn’t very well leave the students unattended during the holidays, could I?” said Hermione in her matter-of-fact voice. “What kind of Head Girl would I be if I had left?”
“The kind of Head Girl that didn’t want to be stuck in school babysitting ickle firsties when she could be having fun elsewhere,” said Ron. “Although, I need to remind myself who I’m talking to.”
Hermione threw her damp towel at Ron’s face as she stepped out from behind her partition. Ron swiftly caught it in his hand with a satisfied smirk etched onto his face.
“I see your keeper skills haven’t faltered,” said Hermione.
“I see you throwing things at me for the rest of my life,” laughed Ron. “I’ll need to keep these arms limber.”
Hermione smiled as she sat down in front of her vanity. She looked at the magnitude of hair that covered her head. The life that had been almost drained out of it during the hunt had been revitalized, finally, and it was now back into the mass of curls that Hermione had at last grown to appreciate.
“Let me,” he said as he walked up behind her, picking up a brush and a hair tie off her vanity and began to tenderly brush her hair. He smiled as he took in the scent of Hermione’s shampoo, reminding him of the honeysuckle bushes that grew in the spring in his mother’s garden.
“Thank you,” said Hermione as she closed her eyes. She loved it when Ron would brush and play with her hair. He was the only one (besides her own mother) that she allowed to let touch it. She loved the feeling of Ron’s fingers making their way through her ringlets. She was fascinated by the fact that it seemed his fingers would never end up trapped, unlike her own. Perhaps her hair liked to be tamed by him, as if it had a mind of it’s own.
Or perhaps her hair knew that his hands were safe. That his hands provided comfort that only Ron could give her. This was not the first time that a simple touch from Ron had made her feel as if she had nothing to fear. If she had to be honest with herself, any moment where Ron had his hands on her made her feel like she was protected.
“I’m glad you’re here Ron,” said Hermione as she watched Ron brush her hair into a surprisingly neat ponytail. “I really don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t came and gotten me off the floor.”
“You doubt yourself too much, Mione.” frowned Ron. He hated when she talked like that.
“I’m not trying to doubt myself!” huffed Hermione, starting to get annoyed. “I’m simply trying to pay you a compliment.”
“Yeah, by making yourself sound like some weak little girl that needs me to come to her rescue. That’s not you.”
“I’m not trying to say that, Ronald.”
“Well then what are you trying to say?”
“Nothing, you git. I’m just trying to thank you!!”
“Well don’t!! I don’t need it, especially when it comes at the expense of you looking venerable.”
“Well maybe I am venerable Ron, have you ever thought of that?!” snapped Hermione. She jumped out of her seat, turning to Ron, her brown eyes blazing with anger.
“Maybe I do feel weak, okay? Maybe I do feel like I could lose it at any given moment. I’m not always as strong as you have made yourself believe, Ron.”
“And neither am I,” said Ron in a low voice. “You make it seem like I have it all together and that I’m like your knight in shining armor, not afraid of anything. I’m still scared, Hermione. I still get anxious when you and Harry aren’t around. I still feel helpless like I did when you were being tortured and all I did was scream your name like a bloody idiot.”
Hermione and Ron gazed at each other, each one trying to catch their breath from their outbursts. Then, they laughed.
"Of course we would argue over the two of us trying to be considerate to one another,” said Hermione as she smiled up at Ron, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“We wouldn’t be us if we didn’t have a row over something, yeah?"chuckled Ron as he reached his hand out for Hermione to take.
He pulled her into his warm embrace, her half done ponytail tickling his neck. Hermione buried her face into Ron’s jumper, taking in the scents of fresh linen and apple pie, as Mrs. Weasley had packed small pastries along with the jumper, instructing that they should be eaten immediately.
"I guess we’re both a couple of messed up sods, aren’t we?” murmured Ron into Hermione’s thick mane.
“Language, Ronald,” said Hermione. “But yes, I guess neither one has it as together as we seem to. And you know what? I rather like that we both feel the same way.”
“I like that too.”
The tiny owl in Hermione’s cookoo clock that Hagrid had made her popped out and started to hoot softly, indicating midnight. Hermione smiled as she looked up at Ron’s face, his callused yet surprisingly soft hands cupping her cheeks. He moved his head down to hers, and their lips met with a tender kiss.
They both sighed against each other’s lips. To them, each kiss felt just as special as the first timid one that they had shared with each other back in the end of sixth year, when they didn’t exactly known what they were.
“This place actually reminds me of a little coffee shop in my hometown.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.”
“They do have really good coffee,” she offered, grinning at him slightly. Stiles laughed, nodding his head, before turning back to his homework, the conversation between them dying as they fell back into comfortable silence.
He was cute, Lydia had to admit. Not her typical type, but— ever since Jackson, she’d been a little leery of her typical type anyways. His nose turned up at the end, and he had a slight scattering of moles across his face, his jawline sharp and defined. But his eyes were what really got her— god, she had never seen eyes like his before. And it had been nice, chatting with him for those few couple minutes. He was funny, albeit a little awkward at times, with his flailing limbs and exaggerated facial expressions. But it worked for him— it was almost endearing.
Lydia decided that maybe sharing her table with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Merry Christmas Martina @herostairss! I hope you enjoy this!
There was someone sitting at Lydia’s table.
Not that it was officially her table. But it was the place she sat every day when she came into this coffee shop, bag heavy with textbooks and her laptop. It was in the perfect spot— right by the windows, secluded enough for her to focus on her homework but also not so isolated that she couldn’t keep an eye on her stuff when she needed to go order a refill. She’d staked her claim on it back in the first week of the semester, almost two months ago, when she had discovered that the MIT libraries, while certainly beautiful, were not an effective place for her to study.
But right now, that plan was ruined, because there was someone at her table.
It was a guy, probably about her age, based on the textbooks and laptop sprawled out in front of him. He was drumming out an imaginary beat on his temple with long fingers, the other hand holding loosely to a scarily large cup of coffee. His eyes were trained on the textbook before him, engrossed in whatever he was reading, his lips pursed in concentration. It was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
Annoyed, Lydia took another table.
***
He was there the next day too.
Lydia groaned when she saw him, clutching her extra large macchiato in one hand and the strap of her bag in the other, because she had a modern physics project that she needed to work on, and the only other table available was between a group of soccer moms and a horde of middle schoolers.
The guy didn’t even need that big of a table, Lydia thought angrily. He was just reading something on his laptop today, his chin propped in his hand, his eyes scanning the screen. He could have easily taken one of the armchairs in the corner, or one of the stools at the counter, or anywhere but her table.
Lydia had a system and a plan, and she didn’t like when things messed with it.
Maybe that was why she walked up to the table, slinging her bag over her shoulder and bracing her free hand on her hip. It was probably a bitchy thing to do, seeing as it wasn’t really her table, but she had a ton of work to do, and she was already aggravated at the thought of having to go back to campus and study in her room.
“This is my table,” she told the guy, her tone of voice indicating how annoyed she was. His eyes immediately snapped up, locking on hers, his expression completely bewildered.
“Uh?” he stuttered, just staring at her. “I’m… sorry?”
“I always sit here,” Lydia informed him. “So if you could sit at a different table in the future, it would be very much appreciated.”
“Sure,” the guy responded, running a hand through his chestnut hair, making the front stick up even more than it had been before. “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d, uh, already staked your claim.” She could tell he was nervous, just by the way his hands flailed a little when he spoke. “Um. You can sit here now, still, if you want.”
Normally, Lydia would have walked away, found somewhere else to work. But the coffee shop was packed— the empty table she’d seen previously was less than desirable, and there was a lot of open space at this table. And she liked this spot. Hopefully this guy would leave soon, and then she would have the booth all to herself.
Hesitantly, she placed her coffee on the table, waiting to gauge the guy’s reaction and see if he was serious. He didn’t protest, just slid his laptop down a little more, making more room for her. She dropped her bag on the bench, sliding into the opposite side of the booth from him, before tugging out her laptop and her textbook, rummaging through for a pencil and graph paper to start her work.
The guy didn’t leave right away, much to her dismay; however, it wasn’t necessarily horrible, sharing the space with him. He didn’t say a word, just kept reading whatever was on his laptop, completely engrossed. Occasionally he’d take a sip of the enormous iced mocha in front of him, but other than that, Lydia barely noticed he was there. She was so focused on her project that she didn’t even realize he was closing his laptop and packing up his stuff until he was sliding out of the booth, standing in front of the table.
“Well, I’m heading out,” he told her, gesturing towards the door with a jerk of his thumb. “Uh, good luck with the rest of your homework.”
“Thanks,” Lydia said, nodding politely to him. He smiled at her slightly, before turning and leaving.
Lydia pushed her textbook down, taking up all the room the table now offered. Her phone lit up with a text message from Allison— but the time blinked back at her at the top of the screen, bold white numbers reading that it was almost six o’clock. Startled, Lydia surveyed the shop— the tables were emptying, the baristas wiping down the counter after the late afternoon rush. She hadn’t even realized how much time had passed while she had been sitting here, working on homework next to the mystery boy.
Lydia worked until seven, finally satisfied with her progress on her project. Packing up her things, she grabbed her bag, surveying her table one last time before heading out of the shop.
***
Lydia was expecting to finally find her booth empty today, but she almost groaned when she realized that guy was sitting there again.
She walked up to the table anyways, prepared to remind him politely that she had asked him specifically not to sit here, especially when there were so many other empty booths, but before she could even open her mouth, he was looking up at her, an easy grin on his face. He looked less uncomfortable at her presence today, but that might have just been due to the fact that he was actually prepared for her to yell at him for once again taking her spot.
“I know what it looks like,” the guy said, already packing up his bag. “But I swear I wasn’t taking the table for me.” He paused, and Lydia narrowed her eyes, her expression skeptical.
“There was a group of high schoolers eyeing it,” he said. “And I figured I’d save it for you.”
“Oh,” Lydia said, a little taken aback. She wasn’t sure if he was lying or not, but he was packing up his bag, standing up and preparing to surrender the booth to her.
Lydia should have let him go, should have let him find some other table to work at— but the fact that he had actually saved her table for her had her intrigued. She knew she was supposed to be here to study, but… there was something about this guy that interested her. Made her want to know more. And he had done her a favor.
“You can stay,” she told him, placing her bag on the opposite bench. He looked at her, a little bewildered, his eyes growing ever-so-slightly wider.
“Are you sure?” the guy asked, hand nervously playing with the strap of his backpack. “I don’t mind moving, really.”
“No,” Lydia insisted. “I mean, if you want to stay, you can. I don’t mind.”
“Oh,” the guy said, easing his bag back onto the bench, taking a seat across from her. “Uh, okay, if you’re sure. Thanks.”
“Thank you for saving my spot,” Lydia said, shooting him a tiny grin. He froze a little, blinking in surprise at her sudden amicability, before regaining his composure and smiling back at her.
Now Lydia froze, taken aback by the look on his face. His eyes, she noticed— she’d never seen eyes like his before. They were a gorgeous mix of amber and whiskey, open and light, staring at her with something unreadable in them. Lydia looked down, reaching for her laptop, because she could feel her heart speeding up a little bit, and she had homework to focus on.
“I’m Stiles, by the way,” the guy said, and her eyes snapped back up to him, trying to see if he was joking.
“Stiles?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. He shrugged, looking back at her.
“Yeah. It’s a nickname,” he clarified. “My real name is very Polish and very unpronounceable.”
She almost laughed at that. “I’m Lydia,” she offered in return.
“Lydia,” he said, like he was trying it out. His eyes were fixed on hers again, the intensity of his gaze almost overwhelming. Lydia wasn’t used to people looking at her like that.
They both fell silent after that, turning back to their work, the only sound the scratch of Lydia’s pencil on her graph paper and the occasional clacking of Stiles’s laptop keys. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but she tried to focus on her work, only stealing occasional glances at Stiles.
At one point, she was completely engrossed in her work, sighing in relief when her calculated theoretical values matched up with the theory from a paper she was modelling. She glanced up at the sound of Stiles turning a page, and her eye caught what was lying on the table in front of him, her face probably blanching a little bit, because he was staring at close up photos of a dead body, clearly stabbed multiple times.
“Oh, shit,” Stiles said, noticing that she had seen his papers. “This is for class, I promise.” He winced apologetically, continuing. “It’s for my forensics class. I’m a criminology major. I’m not a serial killer or something, I swear.”
“You have to look at photos of dead bodies for your homework?” she asked, fixing him with a look.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “We have to analyze types of injuries, cause of death, stuff like that.”
Lydia looked at the photo primly, raising her eyebrows at Stiles. “I think it’s pretty obvious he was stabbed to death,” she told him.
He rolled his eyes. “Well, they’re not always so black and white,” he explained. He glanced at her papers, brow furrowing at the in-depth calculations. “What are you working on?”
“It’s a project for modern physics,” she said. “Utilizing Einstein’s general theory of relativity to disprove the main concepts of classical physics.”
“Jesus, that sounds impossible,” Stiles said, shaking his head.
Lydia shrugged. “It’s not that bad,” she said. “Just a lot of partial differential equations.”
Stiles shook his head. “Yeah, math was never really my strong suit,” he admitted. “What major are you?”
“Theoretical physics and applied mathematics,” she told him, a hint of pride to her voice. “I’m not sure, I still might minor in biochemistry.”
“Holy shit,” he responded, jaw dropped a little. “What school do you go to?”
“MIT.”
“Okay, so you’re a genius,” he said, as if everything had clicked into place. “That makes sense.”
Lydia nodded, not denying his statement. She did have an IQ of 170. “Where do you go to school?” she asked, interest in her homework suddenly lost.
“BU,” he responded, flailing his arm in a way that might have been him trying to point in the direction of Boston University.
“And you come all the way to Cambridge for coffee?” Lydia asked, arching an eyebrow as she took a sip of her drink. Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes.
“There is an annoying amount of Dunkin’ Donuts in this city,” he told her. “And the Starbucks on campus are insanely crowded at all times of the day.”
“I take it you’re not from the east coast, then,” she said, smiling at his jab against Dunkin’ Donuts.
“Nah, I’m from California,” he replied. He looked around the shop, taking in the cozy, comfortable atmosphere. “This place actually reminds me of a little coffee shop in my hometown.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.”
“They do have really good coffee,” she offered, grinning at him slightly. Stiles laughed, nodding his head, before turning back to his homework, the conversation between them dying as they fell back into comfortable silence.
Lydia stared at the partial differential equations on her page, finding she was less able to focus now. She glanced up at Stiles, watching his eyes as he examined another photo of a dead body, his lips pursed in concentration.
He was cute, Lydia had to admit. Not her typical type, but— ever since Jackson, she’d been a little leery of her typical type anyways. His nose turned up at the end, and he had a slight scattering of moles across his face, his jawline sharp and defined. But his eyes were what really got her— god, she had never seen eyes like his before. And it had been nice, chatting with him for those few couple minutes. He was funny, albeit a little awkward at times, with his flailing limbs and exaggerated facial expressions. But it worked for him— it was almost endearing.
Lydia decided that maybe sharing her table with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
***
The next time Lydia came into the shop, her table was noticeably empty.
Lydia tried not to be disappointed, assuring herself that it would probably be good to have the space to herself while she worked through her extensive problem set of differential equations. But there was something in the back of her mind, some tiny, nagging voice, that was sort of crestfallen at not getting to see Stiles.
Regardless, she took her table, spreading her papers out, firing up her laptop. Lydia pulled her headphones from her bag, plugging them into her phone and selecting one of her many study playlists— it was going to be a long day. Midterms may have been over, but that just meant every day was another day closer to finals, and the looming Thanksgiving break was doing nothing to deter her teachers from giving them copious amounts of homework.
An hour passed uneventfully, Lydia sipping on her coffee and working through her calculus homework, and she had almost forgotten about Stiles and his intoxicating amber eyes.
Until someone was clearing their throat, and Lydia was looking up, her line of sight locking onto those very eyes.
“Hi,” Stiles said, offering her a slight grin, his expression absurdly optimistic. “Uh, all the other tables are full,” he said, glancing around the shop. “So I was wondering if you would mind if I sat here again?”
Lydia gave the shop a quick glance, spotting at least one empty booth on the other side of the cafe, and three separate spots available at the counter. She didn’t point that out, though— condensing her notes, she just nodded, trying not to laugh as Stiles enthusiastically slid into the other end of the booth. She watched him casually as he unpacked his homework, trying to pretend like she was actually focused on her own.
“No dead bodies today?” she asked, arching a perfect brow as he dropped a heavy math textbook on the table. Stiles shook his head, regarding the textbook like it was his mortal enemy.
“Nope. Just frickin’ calculus.”
“Hey, don’t insult calculus,” Lydia reprimanded, smiling slightly. “I happen to love calculus.”
“Well, then you clearly have never experienced real pleasure in life,” Stiles retorted, but the from the tilt of his smile, Lydia could tell he was kidding.
“I am practically majoring in calculus,” she told him, unable to keep from laughing now.
“Can you do mine for me, then?” Stiles asked.
“Sure,” Lydia said, not entirely sure if he was kidding. “What kind of calc? Give it to me, I’ll help you.”
“I honestly don’t know,” Stiles said, surrendering his notebook. “Calc 2? Is that a type of calc?”
Lydia stared at his notebook, trying to decipher his messy scrawl. “This is integration by parts,” she told him, not mentioning the fact that she had mastered this freshman year of high school. She glanced across the table, meeting his eye, her differential equations long forgotten.
“Come sit here,” she said, gesturing to the empty bench next to her. “I’ll explain how to do this.”
Stiles froze a little, not sure if she was serious. But she just nodded, regarding him sincerely, until he finally stood up and slid into the seat next to her. Somehow this was different than sitting across from him, even though the distance in physical space was marginally smaller— it felt more charged to be right next to him, their legs mere inches apart, Stiles’s long fingers next to hers on the tabletop. He slid his notebook so that it was in between the two of them, and it snapped her back to focus a little bit, Stiles’s messy scrawl staring back up at her.
“So I get how to set it up,” he told her, pointing to one of the problems. “I have my u term, and my dv term, and I know how the formula works. But it’s when I get to here that it doesn’t make sense.” She followed where he was pointing, examining the new integral he’d set up. “This is just as complicated as the first one. And u-substitution still doesn’t work.”
“Well, that’s because you’re choosing your u and dv terms wrong,” she explained. “You’re taking the derivative of u to get du, right? So ideally, that should be a term that has a derivative without any variables in it.” She pointed to the problem he was working on now. “The derivative of e to the 4x is 4e to the 4x. That makes more sense as your dv term, because its derivative still has a variable in it, and when you take the antiderivative to get v, you’ll still have a variable there too, whereas the derivative of 9x is just 9. There’s no variable in that term anymore, right? Now, when you plug du into the integral in the equation, you’ll be able to just take the integral of 1/4e to the 4x times 9, because the x from your set of u terms will be gone. Now it’s a simple integral.”
“Oh,” Stiles said, comprehension dawning on his face. “See, that makes sense.”
She smirked at him. “So maybe calculus isn’t the worst.”
Stiles grimaced. “Eh, still debatable.”
Stiles turned to the rest of his problems, chewing on the end of his pencil as he read through the textbook examples. Lydia tried to focus on her own work, determined not to be distracted by his very pretty mouth. Mentally reprimanding herself, Lydia stared at the eigenvalues she’d already solved for, determined to finish out the problem set.
The problem was, Stiles was distracting in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Sitting next to him like this was somehow completely different than sitting across the table from him— she could feel his leg shaking steadily, only a few inches away from her, could see the shadows his lashes cast on his cheekbones, could trace the constellations of his moles with her eyes. Stiles drummed his fingers against the table as he wrote out the answer to another problem, and Lydia swallowed, staring at his hands. A human shouldn’t be allowed to have such nice looking hands, she reasoned, but somehow, Stiles did. She was close enough that she could smell him too, his scent a mix of laundry detergent and old books and something almost minty. Lydia rarely got distracted by boys, but somehow, sitting next to him right now— this just felt different. More charged, maybe. More intimate.
Lydia wasn’t sure what to think of that, and she refused to acknowledge the teeny butterflies in her stomach.
They fell back into comfortable silence, both of them focused intently on their work. Math, Lydia told herself. Focus on your math. Not on Stiles. This was ridiculous, anyways. She barely even knew this guy. And sure, he was cute, but there were lots of cute guys in her classes. This shouldn’t have been a problem, and Lydia was determined to make sure it wasn’t.
An hour to so passed before Stiles stood up, wordlessly grabbing his empty coffee cup and heading for the counter again. Lydia looked up briefly, pausing in simplifying her eigenvectors, watching him rejoin the line to get a refill on his coffee.
Focus, she insisted again, looking back at her math.
Stiles returned a minute later, placing his new drink on the table and sliding back into the booth next to her. She glanced up, quickly, just in time to see him place a plate with two chocolate chip muffins between them. Her eyebrows raised in surprise, glancing at him.
“You hungry?” she teased, nodding towards the two muffins. He just blinked at her for a second, seemingly trying to comprehend what she’d just said.
“What?” he finally asked, brow furrowed in confusion in a manner that Lydia tried (and failed) to convince herself wasn’t adorable.
“Two muffins?” she said, eyes sliding down to the plate again. “You must be hungry.”
He blinked at her again, shaking his head. “Oh, one of them’s for you,” he said, pushing the plate a little closer to her. “I’m starving, so I figured you were too.”
“Oh,” she said, eyebrows raising. Now it was her turn to be confused. “You bought me a muffin?” she asked, meeting his eyes, breath catching a little bit at the look in them.
“You helped me with calculus,” he countered, shrugging. “Plus. The chocolate chip muffins here are to die for.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Stiles grabbed one of them, pulling off the wrapper before tearing off the top, taking a bite and sighing in contentment. Hesitantly, she tugged the plate towards her, daintily unwrapping her muffin as well.
They worked in almost silence for the rest of the afternoon, both of them focused on the work before them. Lydia finished her differential equations homework, moving onto an english writing assignment due next week, her keyboard clicking as Stiles finished working through his math problems. She didn’t even notice him packing up his bag until he was standing, hands shoved in his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet awkwardly.
“I’m taking off,” he told her. “Thanks again for the help with math. I’ll, uh, see you soon?”
He sounded so hopeful that Lydia just nodded, smiling softly at him. He grinned back, turning and heading out of the shop, the doorbell jingling behind him.
She left not long after, the table feeling a little too empty without him there.
***
They fell into a routine, after that, whoever showed up first saving the table for both of them. It began to feel natural, sharing her space with Stiles. There was something about his presence that was sort of calming, grounding. Sometimes she would help him with calculus, and sometimes he would let her just talk about her studies, completely engrossed, regardless of his level of comprehension. And anytime he got himself food, he would get Lydia a muffin, too.
She didn’t like him, though, despite what Allison insisted.
“Seriously,” Lydia told her best friend, cell phone pressed to her ear. “He’s just some guy I do homework with, Allison. He’s not anything special.”
She could feel her stomach twist a little at those words, however, because they weren’t entirely true.
“Sure,” Allison responded, her skeptical tone of voice suggesting that she did not believe Lydia in the slightest.
“Are you saying you don’t believe me?” Lydia responded, almost laughing. “Because I’ll have you know, I am offended by the mere insinuation.”
“I’m definitely saying I don’t believe you, because I don’t,” Allison replied. “You hate doing homework with other people. You barely did homework with me in high school. And all of a sudden you’re completely fine with sharing your table at the cafe with some random guy?”
“I don’t have time to talk about this,” Lydia said breezily, pulling open the door to the coffee shop, reveling in the warm air inside— it was officially freezing in Boston.
“You are not evading my questions that easily,” Allison rebutted, but Lydia had already spotted Stiles at their usual table. He waved in greeting, smile wide.
“I’ll talk to you later, Allison,” Lydia said, hanging up the phone as she dumped her bag on the bench opposite Stiles. “Hi,” she said to him in greeting, pulling off her coat and tucking her phone into her pocket.
“Hey,” Stiles said, sliding his notebooks down. Dead bodies and calculus today. “I grabbed your coffee for you,” Stiles said, pushing a cup towards her. Lydia blinked in surprise, staring at the pumpkin spiced latte she had been planning on ordering. “The line was hellishly long, and I know you always get here around noon on Saturdays.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Lydia said automatically, sitting down in the booth and pulling the coffee cup towards her.
“Well, you don’t have to help me with math, and yet here we are,” Stiles responded, his smile soft. “I didn’t mind grabbing it. I got one too.”
“Thank you,” Lydia said, regardless, because she wasn’t used to people being so selfless towards her. Thinking of her. Putting her first.
She smirked, though, continuing. “I would not have pegged you as a pumpkin spice kind of guy,” she said, raising an eyebrow. Stiles shrugged.
“Pumpkin spice season is almost over,” he said, voice defensive. “Thanksgiving is next week, and then it’ll be all gingerbread lattes and peppermint hot chocolate. I’ve gotta get my pumpkin spice fix in while I still can.”
Lydia laughed. “Are you going home next week?” she asked. Stiles nodded.
“Yeah, I’m flying out Monday night. My dad misses me.” He looked at Lydia expectantly. “What about you?”
“No, I’m not going home,” she said. “The six hour flight back to California is way too much for a weekend. I have a friend who goes to NYU, so I’m going to visit her for Thanksgiving.”
They turned back to their work after that, Lydia helping Stiles with his calculus— today it was inverse trig function substitutions in integrals— as she sipped on her latte. They spent the rest of the afternoon working in comfortable silence, though Stiles would occasionally interject with snarky comments about the dead bodies he was analyzing. Lydia laughed at him, trying to bite back her smile, and god, maybe Allison was right. She was openly laughing at someone’s jokes while she was trying to do her homework— what was happening to her?
It was almost six when they both packed up their stuff, beyond tired of studying. “Hey,” Stiles said hesitantly, and Lydia looked up from her backpack, putting away her laptop. “I was wondering,” Stiles said, and his voice sounded nervous again, all of a sudden. “I still have some calc problems to finish. Could I maybe get your phone number? So I can text you in case I have any questions?”
Lydia blinked in surprise, taken aback, but Stiles was staring at her so earnestly, so hopefully, that she found she couldn’t really say no. And there was some small part of her heart that was urging her to say yes.
“Sure,” Lydia said, holding out her hand for his phone. He fumbled for it in his pocket, only flailing a little, before producing it, pulling up a blank contact page for her to fill out. She handed it back a minute later, and she couldn’t help the way her heart sped up at Stiles’s smile.
When he texted her later that night, they talked about everything but homework.
***
When Lydia walked into the coffee shop on December first, backpack heavy with textbooks and final projects, she had to take a minute to make sure she was actually in the right place, because the shop was almost unrecognizable.
Christmas decorations covered every surface, fake snow glittering on top of the bakery display case, icicle lights hanging from all the windows. There were pine garlands strung around the entire shop, red Christmas bows tied sporadically along the garland, and twinkling white lights wound everywhere. She noticed at least one Christmas tree, beautifully decorated with silver and gold ornaments, a coffee cup perched on top instead of a star.
The one thing that remained unchanged was the boy at the far table, hair still slightly ruffled and homework spread out in front of him.
“Do you think it’s Christmas time?” Lydia said in greeting, sliding into the seat across from him. Stiles looked up, his eyes twinkling as brightly as the lights strung above their table.
“What makes you think that?” he asked, smirking, before pushing a coffee cup towards her. “Regardless, it’s now gingerbread latte season. Enjoy.”
“How do you always know exactly what I’m going to order?” Lydia asked, before taking a sip of her drink. Literally every time she came in after Stiles, he would already have her coffee waiting for her, and it was generally the same thing she was planning on getting. “Seriously, did you put a chip in my brain or something?”
“Nah, I’m just psychic,” Stiles said, shaking his head in acceptance.
“You’re something,” Lydia teased, smirking. Stiles pulled a face, mocking outrage, but he couldn’t hide the laugh he was biting back. Lydia tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach at that look on his face, but that was getting harder and harder to do as of late.
Homework was getting harder and harder to do as of late as well. For the past couple weeks, Lydia had found herself so easily distracted from math, which was certainly a new development for her. But she couldn’t help it— talking to Stiles was irresistible; the light in his eyes or the grin on his face sent her heart into overdrive. They were friends, now, Lydia thought— they texted each other frequently, and despite his original reasoning, Stiles almost never asked about homework. Instead he would ramble on about stupid things he’d done with his best friend, complain about his professors, lament the fierce love for the Red Sox here that kept him from ever seeing his precious Mets on television. They would just talk, and Lydia loved having someone who would just listen to her— even when she went off on tangents about theoretical physics that he definitely did not understand.
Still, she wasn’t about to admit any of that to Allison, when she called later.
“You are so in denial,” Allison informed her over FaceTime, a partially-accusatory look on her face. “Lydia. Don’t argue with me, because you know I’m right.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” Lydia rebutted, making a face. “He’s just a friend, Allison.”
“Sure,” Allison said, the disbelief evident in her eyes. “A friend who you spend, like, every waking minute with. Are you ever actually in your dorm anymore? Does your roommate think you moved out?”
“I’m in my dorm right now!” Lydia defended, her eyes flitting to the top of the screen as a new snapchat notification came through. Stiles. Hurriedly, she glanced back at Allison, but judging by the other girl’s expression, she could already tell what it was.
“I’m just saying,” Allison started, voice softer. “You seem really happy when you’re talking about him. I haven’t seen you smile that much about a guy since before—”
“Please don’t bring up Jackson,” Lydia begged, trying to block the memories of her jackass ex from her mind.
“It’s just nice to see you happy like this again, Lydia,” Allison continued. “And I think you should give him a chance.”
“Who said I’m not giving him a chance?” Lydia asked. Allison rolled her eyes.
“Not what I meant. I meant you should give you a chance. To be happy with him.”
Lydia froze at that, her heartbeat speeding up.
Maybe Allison was right. Sure, she liked being Stiles’s friend, but she couldn’t help herself from wanting a little more. A picture popped into her mind, her and Stiles hand in hand, that grin on his face, small and private, his eyes shining as he looked at her— the two of them somewhere other than the confines of the table in the back of the coffee shop. And god, she hadn’t realized how much she wanted that until this very moment.
You should give you a chance. To be happy with him.
Maybe it was worth the risk.
***
“Well?” Stiles said nervously, his leg shaking, fingers drumming against the tabletop. “What do you think?”
“Shh,” Lydia instructed, eyes still focused on his laptop screen. “I’m not done reading yet.”
She read through the last few sentences, and when she finally looked over at Stiles again, sitting right next to her at the booth, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“What?” he demanded.
“You look like you’re being tortured,” Lydia told him, a grin still playing on her face.
“I am,” Stiles responded, hands flailing. “This is my final paper for my Crime and Justice class, and it needs to be good, and you won’t tell me if you liked it or not!”
“It was really good,” she assured him, putting him out of his misery. His body sagged in relief at her words, and she pushed the laptop back towards him on the table. His knee brushed up against her thigh at the movement, and Lydia tried to control the sudden acceleration of her heart, remembering exactly how close together they were sitting right now.
“Good enough for me to turn in as thirty percent of my grade?” Stiles checked. Lydia nodded, certain in her assessment.
“Yes. It was really well written. An interesting take on that case, too.”
“Okay, good,” Stiles said, grinning. He hit save on his laptop before closing it, awkwardly fist-pumping. “I am now officially done with work for the semester.”
Lydia had one more final tomorrow, but it was in chemistry, and she wasn’t necessarily worried about it. She’d been learning chemistry since she was ten, and she had yet to encounter a topic in this class she didn’t already previously know. It was sort of a letdown, honestly.
“Well, you fly home tomorrow, don’t you?” Lydia asked, ignoring the unpleasant feeling in her stomach at the thought of not seeing Stiles every day like this. He’d somehow become such an integral part of her life, and these hours they spent together in this coffee shop— they were the best part of this school year. The thought of seeing Stiles’s soft smile, her coffee order already in front of her spot, kept her going on days when she really felt like throwing in the towel.
“No, day after tomorrow,” Stiles corrected her. “Which is good. I haven’t started packing yet.”
“Stiles,” she reprimanded, fighting the grin creeping onto her face. He smiled cheekily back at her.
“It’s gonna be weird, being home again,” Stiles said. “Where am I going to get my daily coffee fix?”
“Didn’t you say there was a place like this in your hometown?” Lydia asked, raising an eyebrow. Stiles shrugged in response.
“Yeah, but they don’t make peppermint hot chocolate like this place does.”
“I bet they don’t decorate like this either,” Lydia offered, gesturing vaguely to the Christmas decorations that somehow seemed to have multiplied in the past couple weeks.
Stiles grinned, shaking his head, and something… something inside Lydia just snapped. She couldn’t take it anymore, this distance between them, and all she could focus on was Stiles: his eyes, his hands, his smile. That soft look on his face, his lips tugged up to the side in a little smirk, that affectionate shine to his eyes, gold flecks sparkling in his amber irises.
You should give you a chance. To be happy with him.
Before she could stop herself, before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned into him, pressing her lips to his.
Stiles froze, completely unmoving, and Lydia immediately pulled back, her eyes wide. Oh, god. What was she thinking? What had she done?
“I’m sorry,” Lydia said, heart pounding, her mind panicked. “I shouldn’t have— let’s forget that I just did that—” she said, but Stiles was laughing, and before she could get out the rest of her sentence, his hand was on the back of her head, fingers weaving through her hair as he tugged her into him, kissing her again. She sighed against his lips, smiling into the kiss as her hands snaked around him, his palm warm and steady on the back of her head. He tasted like coffee, the faint hint of peppermint hot chocolate still on his tongue, and Lydia’s heart fluttered, because this felt so right.
“I would sort of prefer we didn’t forget you just did that,” he confessed when they pulled away, their foreheads still pressed together, noses brushing. Lydia grinned, biting her lip.
“I thought I’d misinterpreted the situation,” she replied. “That I was reading into things.”
“Wait, you thought I didn’t like you?” Stiles asked, pulling away, his expression bemused. “Really?”
“Believe it or not, I am not always right,” Lydia confessed.
“Oh, that is absolute bullshit,” Stiles said, grinning. “Also. I take the T twenty five minutes to Cambridge every single day when there are plenty of coffee shops literally on my campus, just to see you. I’m pretty sure if you looked up “hopelessly lovesick” in the dictionary, there would be a picture of me.”
Lydia just smiled, watching as he took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. Stiles’s palm was so big in hers, his fingers sending shivers down her arm as they wove between hers.
Lydia’s eyes caught on something above them, hanging with the other Christmas decorations on the window. A tiny bunch of a little green plant, white berries dotted between the shiny leaves, tied off with a red ribbon. She bit back a laugh, and Stiles followed her eyes.
“What?” he asked, brow furrowed, fingers still intertwined with hers.
“Mistletoe,” Lydia said, smiling softly, nodding towards the plant. “That definitely wasn’t here last time.”
“Well, that’s appropriate,” Stiles said, eyes turning back to hers, shining with fondness.
“Mm,” Lydia hummed, licking her lips slightly, not missing when Stiles’s eyes darted down to them.
“So, uh,” Stiles said, nose nudging hers. “Can I kiss you again?”
“Definitely,” she whispered, smiling as he leaned in, closing the small distance between them and capturing her lips with his once more.
They broke away a minute later, remembering they were still in public, but Lydia’s heart was beating so fast that she thought it might actually escape her chest. Her stomach was full of butterflies in a way that should have felt ridiculous, like she was a seventh grader with a crush again, but somehow— somehow, this just felt right, and so, so perfect.
“So,” Stiles said, hand still holding hers. “When we get back from break— what do you think about maybe going on a date? Seeing each other somewhere that’s not this coffee shop?”
Lydia grinned, her heart thumping, her smile radiant.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
***
Across the cafe, behind the counter, the barista sighed in relief at the sight of that guy and the little redhead tangled up together in the end booth, homework on their table completely abandoned.
The whole staff had been betting on when they would get together for weeks, and she had put money on today. And sure, maybe hanging mistletoe in their booth was cheating, but the betting pool was almost up to two hundred dollars at this point. She had her eye on a new cashmere sweater that she knew no one would buy her for Christmas, and she deserved this, after watching these two flirt with each other without doing anything about it for the past two months.
She glanced down at the counter again, wiping up coffee spills from a long day of customers, before looking back across the almost-empty cafe, eyes falling on the couple again. The girl had her back towards the counter, but the guy she could see, his hands woven into the girl’s curls. The expression on his face, too— god, his eyes were shining, his smile so soft, and it was clear just from the way they were looking at each other, gravitating towards each other, that they were both head over heels.
The barista looked away, focusing on the counter again. But she couldn’t help smiling privately to herself, just thinking of those two, finally together.
I honestly think that Kalagang's lil girl would aesthetically resemble Kala, you know, with her brown curly hair and her skin tone, but she would actually be just like him. Bold, brave, fearless but also kind and shy in her own way. And I can also picture Wolfie being so tender, like spoiling her even when her mom says "no", however he knows it's wrong and can't help but accommodate his daughter everytime he has the chance
this is perfect, honestly. You’ve described her so well and it’s exactly how I picture their child. A perfect mix of the two, you know? I think she would represents their better selves and the purity of their love
Description: Lydia and Stiles go to Colleges not far from each other, for Christmas the pack decided to meet up in Beacon Hills to play Secret Santa.
Merry Christmas, Martina! @herostairss
Genre: CollegeAU, jealous!Lydia, Fluff, Romance
Rating: T
Lydia was in her apartment baking one of her own recipes. Every since she had left Beacon Hills she had accustomed a liking towards it. It sort of was a science in itself, so Lydia found herself adding some ingredients here and there, soon writing down her own baking creations in an effort not to forget them. She was currently trying a new version of a hazelnut-chocolate-tart. Baking always made her feel a little bit more at home and it made the apartment smell nice, so whenever she didn’t know what to do because she was alone and all done with her work and extra work, she baked.
Technically she lived alone, but well not really. The pack diverted half a year back in July after their finals and graduation. Scott and Allison went off to a college together, that was a little bit further away, but which was offering a great veterinarian program. Stiles and Lydia however chose colleges not far from each other. Their schedules mostly matched, so at some point during the day Lydia would hear Stiles knock at the door and then he’d stay all day until he went back to his dorm solely for sleeping reasons.
Nowadays Stiles didn’t even need to knock anymore since he insisted to get a key about three months after they moved. It had happened on multiple occasions that Stiles had found himself camping on Lydia’s porch for hours because she was out. After a heated discussion that led into the question, why he then didn’t just move in, he said that he couldn’t afford it and after Lydia offered to pay full price, he said it would degrade him of manhood if he let her pay the whole rent. Lydia simply sighed at that and agreed to a key.
Ever since the key, he was there basically all day, apart from lessons and night. He even cooked and cleaned the apartment, he just didn’t sleep there. So basically, he lived there. Lydia was about to take her tart out of the oven when she heard the key turn in the lock. Stiles came in panting. He was covered in snow and his nose looked completely frozen.
“The streets are absolutely frozen, I thought Roscoe and I had to meet our early end out there.” He said dramatically, taking off his jacket and beanie. He went over to the couch where he took his usual position.
“You live five minutes away.” Lydia retorted. A comment Stiles deliberately ignored.
She took the tart out of the oven, making Stiles jump up and run over. He loved her baking creations.
“Is that the chocolate tart?”. He asked enthusiastically trying to snatch some crumbs. Lydia slapped his hand. “Hazelnut-chocolate, yes. And it’s too hot now, you are going to burn yourself. You can have some later.” Stiles huffed disappointed slumping back to the sofa.
He took out his paper on forensic analysis, which he hadn’t finished yet. Lydia was obviously all done for her term already, but Stiles liked to postpone his work further and further until he had to finish it, in this case, four days before Christmas. Lydia in the meantime took out her cookbook again and flipped through the pages. They were going back to Beacon Hills for the holidays and had decided to all meet up on the 21st to exchange their Secret Santa presents. It had been Scotts idea, he thought it would bring them closer together again and obviously no one objected to that. Apart from Malia maybe, who complained that she now had to spend extra money this Christmas season, but after an exasperated eye roll from Kira, she gave in. The two of them attended a college near Scott and Allison’s, where they shared a dorm.
“What else should I bake? Gingerbread cookies or butterscotch scones?” Lydia questioned Stiles who was currently biting his pencil, something he always did when he was concentrated. “Is that a serious question? Butterscotch, obviously.” He answered without even looking up. Butterscotch it was, Lydia decided, taking out all the ingredients. They often spend some hours in silence, when both of them were working, or doing different things. But it was never uncomfortable, it was quite the opposite. They simply enjoyed each others company. Sure, Stiles could have written his paper in his dorm, but he chose to spend his time with Lydia, even if spending time simply meant sitting next to each other in silence, working.
After an hour or so, Stiles sighed exhausted and closed his books ceremonially. “Done. Finally.” He declared walking over to the breakfast bar. Lydia had already placed a plate with a piece of the tart there. “Exactly what I need right now.” Lydia finished cleaning up, her scones still in the oven. Stiles had gone to basically shoving the whole piece into his mouth. He moaned approval to it’s taste. Lydia just shook her head.
“How can you eat it that fast. You can’t even take in all the flavour if you shove it down your throat like that.” She shook her head in disbelief. Stiles said something indistinguishable, which simply made her laugh, because he looked like a ten year old boy.
“When should we leave tomorrow? I’d say quite early, so the streets aren’t too packed.” Stiles swallowed the last bit of tart and nodded. “Yeah, probably a good idea. Should I pick you up, at like eight?” Lydia considered it for a bit. “Wouldn’t it be better if you just crashed here? Get your stuff now, so we’re all done for tomorrow?” Stiles flexed his fingers and relaxed them again. He was a bit nervous. Even though he was there all the time, he had never spent the night, not intendedly at least. It just happened once that he was too drunk to get to his dorm, so he passed out on the couch, but that was different. Now she had asked him. That made it different. The not-sleeping in her apartment seemed like an unwritten rule he didn’t dare cross, but now she had proposed it, thus breaking the rule.
“Yeah ok.” He said in a slightly unsteady voice, his cheeks going red. Lydia noticed but didn’t say anything. “Perfect”.
Stiles left to get all his stuff and returned an hour later with an exasperated look on his face. “Weller is seriously such an ass.” He cursed as he heaved his suitcase into the living room. Kyle Weller, Stiles’ roommate. He hated him. Lydia had never met him, but she had heard tons of stories. It seemed that he was kind of a jerk, towards women and every breathing and moving thing in general, as it appeared. Lydia didn’t even ask what had happened this time, Stiles was going to tell her anyway, so she put the book down she was analysing for the second time and prepared herself for a rant.
“So I like get there, full of snow, frozen to the core. And I was just trying to get some stuff. He was, obviously, lying in his bed, naked again. And he was throwing this stupid ball to the ceiling, you know how much I hate it when he does that. So I ask who’s in the shower, because the door is locked and I wanted to get my stuff and he says he doesn’t know her name, Nancy or Nelly or something. Complete douche. So I ask how long she’s going to take and he brags about how often they had done it that night and that it could take long and whatever. So I’m already done with him two minutes in and then he starts talking about you.” - “Me?” Lydia interrupted.
“Yeah you.” Stiles went on, having already taken off his coat, now sitting on the couch facing her. “So he sits up and starts asking about you. Because he concluded that I’m seeing someone since I’m never in our dorm. He’s had that theory forever. And he totally objectifies you and asks if we’re just fucking, that’s the term he used, so I tell him we are not and you are not an object and-”
Lydia zoned out. She simply smiled because he had defended her even if he didn’t have to. Stiles kept telling his story in vivd detail until he finished his rant, ten minutes later, now out of breath. “And now I need a scone.” He declared standing up snatching a couple from the plate on the counter.
“Don’t eat too many, they are for tomorrow.” Lydia threw in, but Stiles was already balancing seven or so in his hands, one of them in his mouth. Lydia just rolled her eyes shaking her head.
Stiles cooked dinner whilst Lydia packed her bags for the next morning. They had even decided to leave at seven since Stiles was now staying over. They spent the rest of the night talking about the pack and Christmas. They watched “Love Actually” and fell asleep next to each other unintentionally. It was about seven when Lydia woke up.
She opened her eyes sleepily. She had rested her head on Stiles’ chest and he had an arm around her waist. At first she felt completely at peace, smiling to herself. She breathed him in, the smell of his shirt, his warmth. But with a sudden realization she shot up. Stiles woke up with a start.
“Stiles we fell asleep.” Lydia turned to look at the watch in the kitchen. “Damnit. It’s already past seven. Come on, we have to get going, or we’ll be stuck in traffic forever.” Stiles groaned in response. Lydia had already jumped up and ran to her room to collect everything. When she came back to the living room with all her bags, Stiles had fallen asleep again. She threw one of her bags into his lap and he woke up, groaning again. “Come on!” She pressed. Lydia took him by the hand and yanked him up. She gently slapped him on the cheek. “Ow. Okay, okay.” Stiles said fetching all his stuff.
It had snowed a lot over night. They decided to take Lydia’s car, because it would be more comfortable. Even though Stiles complained at first, he soon realized that a two hour drive wouldn’t be too much fun in old Roscoe. To make her car visible again took about ten minutes. Stiles had insisted that Lydia waited in the car, which she obviously didn’t object to. It was a two hour drive without traffic. Since they didn’t have time for breakfast they ate some scones and pulled in to the first rest stop to get some coffee. They got caught up in traffic for half an hour, but it could have been worse. Lydia was asleep most of the time and the rest of the time they listened to Christmas music and kept rethinking if they had forgotten something. Stiles would wake her every half hour to ask if she packed this or that. Lydia always answered with a grumpy “Yes.” thinking that they were acting like an old married couple.
They arrived in Beacon Hills at 10:12. Since Lydia’s mom was out of town until the 23rd, the Sheriff suggested that she should spend the day with them, so when they arrived at Stiles’ instead of driving home, Lydia stayed over. Stiles hugged his father. They hadn’t seen each other in a month. The first thing Stiles did was to call Scott. He wanted to know if they had already arrived, but apparently they’d only make it to Beacon Hills at about two pm. Traffic seemed to have gotten worse.
Stiles and Lydia spent the morning in his room, talking. “You know, Henna. The girl I’ve told you about?” Lydia knew exactly what girl. The smile that had previously been on her lips vanished. She was lying on his bed, with her belly down. She didn’t want Stiles to see her face, so she turned and stared at the ceiling. “What about her?” She asked in the sweetest voice she could muster. Henna. She hated her. Well, she didn’t even know her, but from what Stiles had told her, it was obvious that she had a crush on him. Obvious to everyone but Stiles. She was a girl in his semester. They were in the same lab group. She always sat next to him and kept proposing to go grab a bite after, but he always declined because he was meeting Lydia. The only good thing about this situation. He hadn’t actually said yes yet. But even the thought of Henna and Stiles going out for dinner, made her stomach turn.
Why Stiles and Lydia hadn’t gotten together during their senior year was actually an unsolved mystery. Well to everybody apart from Stiles and Lydia. Allison had kept asking her friend why she didn’t just go for it, tell him how she felt. But Lydia insisted that he didn’t feel like that. It was different now. She had missed her chance, he was over her. And she actually believed that. So every time Stiles mentioned Henna, she got incredibly jealous. In her head Henna was a thin, beautiful girl that looked like a bikini model. It was just a matter of time until Stiles would fall for her, an Lydia couldn’t bear that thought.
“She actually lives quite nearby. Two towns from here. Funny right? She wanted to meet up, but I said I had plans. Which I have, with the pack and you and everything. I just thought it was really funny. It’s such a coincidence.” He concluded spinning in his chair. “Mmmh.” Lydia gave as a response. She turned to her stomach again. “Let’s go help your dad with lunch.” Lydia proposed to stop talking about Henna. She didn’t want to think about her right now. Not at Christmas. She spent a ridiculous amount imagining them together anyway. She didn’t need that right now. Now she just wanted to spend time with Stiles and the Sheriff, enjoying Christmas in the company of loved ones.
They prepared lunch and helped the Sheriff cook. The Stilinski house wasn’t decorated very much, but a few nice touches here and there, made the house feel warm. Lydia decorated the table with everything she found. Baubles, twigs from outside, nuts and so on. She was actually quite happy with how it turned out. Especially the Sheriff saying that he liked it so much he was going to keep it for their actual Christmas dinner made Lydia’s heart light up. That’s what Lydia loved about Christmas. Everyone getting together, for once in the year without, or mostly without, conflict. Everyone telling each other how much they loved each other. Lydia liked the season especially because even her mom and dad stopped fighting. Once a year everything was just calm and nice.
Stiles jumped up from the sofa when he got a text from Scott, saying they arrived. Stiles was all over the place, for a short moment Lydia even thought he was going to cry, but he just grinned instead running up an down. He was already dressed when Lydia got down. He looked immensely impatient. “Hurry up a bit. This is important.” Stiles pressed. Lydia rolled her eyes, shaking her head laughing. She was excited to see her friends as well, after all she hadn’t seen Allison in a month or so herself, but Stiles’ excitement was a whole new level. He had already snatched her keys and seated himself in the drivers seat. He just assumed he was driving.
It was just about a ten minute drive and with Stiles recklessness it might have even been seven. Their reunion was really beautiful to watch. Scott was already waiting outside when they arrived. Stiles didn’t get the car to halt very gracefully, he just jumped out of the car, running for the brown haired boy. They hugged and even though they didn’t cry, you were able to tell the strong bond they had, just from looking at their never ending embrace. “I’ve missed you buddy.” Stiles said. “I missed you too.” And with that it was done. Stiles bent down grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it into the wolf’s face. They ran over the lawn pushing each other, making them both fall into the fresh snow. Whilst the boys were rolling around in the cold, Lydia entered the house and greeted Melissa and Allison. The girls hugged and kissed each other on the cheeks. No snowball fight.
The rest of the pack arrived in the next half hour. Kira and Malia first and then Hayden, Liam and Mason. It was nice to catch up und find out how Beacon Hills was keeping up without it’s Alpha Scott. Since Liam and Hayden were officially pack-less they have had a bit of a hard time. Liam told them about a new pack that had settled in the area around Beacon Hills. They met up once, but it seemed that they didn’t want to fight. They agreed to friendly coexist. They were mostly able to keep out of trouble but here and there their advice was needed. Only the full moons were a bit worse after Scott had left. Simply because they didn’t have an Alpha to ground them. Apart from that everyone was alive and not knee deep in life threatening trouble, which was really good to hear.
Melissa made hot cocoa for everyone and Lydia helped her arrange plates with Melissa’s and her cookies. Once they had all settled down again, the sun had already set and the fairy lights in the McCall living room had been turned on. When conversation died down a bit, Lydia took the chance to talk. “Shall we exchange our Secret Santa gifts now?” Nobody objected, so everyone got their present and placed it on the coffee table. They took it in turns. After one another each one took their present opened it and guessed who it was from, then the person who actually got the present for them confirmed their guess or corrected them.
Malia started. She ripped the wrapping paper off in one bit, revealing a “Handbook to appropriate behavior in social situations”. Her smile vanished and she glared angry through the round. Everyone was laughing apart from Liam. Malia’s gaze fixed upon him. She threw the book directly at Liam, who caught it due to his wolf senses. “I want to switch. I want another Secret Santa.”, she growled. “You haven’t even guessed who your Secret Santa is.”, Kira threw in still laughing. Malia cast her a loathing look, then stared at Liam, her eyes flashing blue. “Liam.” She spit out. Who covered himself behind Hayden. “It was just a joke.” He said in a small voice.
Next was Kira, who’s necklace with a silver fox pendant, was from Lydia. Then it was Scott’s turn, then Allison’s, Stiles’ and then Lydia’s. Her present was messily wrapped, the gold shiny wrapping paper was a bit crinkled and the edges weren’t very neat. There was a letter on top as well. She unwrapped the present first, revealing “The universe in a nutshell” from Steven Hawking. A book she had been talking about restlessly for the last three months. For some reason though, she had never gotten around to buying it. Lydia had a pretty good idea by now as to whom her Secret Santa was, but she wanted to read the letter first. She recognised Stiles’ messy handwriting in an instant.
Dear Lydia,
you will have guessed by now that I, Stiles, am your Secret Santa. And if my handwriting didn’t give it away, you have just been spoiled by me. Sorry. I wanted to write a letter, because it’s personal and a Christmas present should be personal. There are so many things I’d like to say, but possibly can’t fit into one letter, so I’ll narrow it down.
You are one of my best friends and I honestly still can’t believe it sometimes. Freshmen year Stiles would freak out if he knew. But I’m not Freshmen year Stiles and you are not Freshmen year Lydia. We are in College and so much has happened, bringing us closer together as friends.
I’m sure you’ll remember the crush I had on you, Freshmen year, Sophomore year, Junior year. You get the point I’m trying to make. I’ve had a crush on you for as long as I can remember. And I’m well aware that you never looked at me that way. Simply because I’m Stiles and you are Lydia Martin. But you are also my best friend and you have a right to know how I feel. It’s Christmas after all. The time you tell your loved ones just how much they mean to you. And I have never stopped loving you. Not after Malia, not after High School. I don’t want this to change things between us, since I know we are friends and that’s absolutely fine, but I wanted you to know that you will always have a very special place in my heart.
Merry Christmas Lyds,
Yours Stiles
Lydia had started crying halfway through the letter. She cleared her throat and stood up, folding the letter and leaving the room quickly. She went outside, to the back porch. She didn’t want the others to see her cry. Stiles jumped up in alert and followed her.
“I really didn’t want to make you cry, Lyds. I’m sorry.” Stiles began awkwardly. She was standing with her back to him. Lydia wiped her tears away. “You are such an idiot.” She said silently exhaling, her breath forming a cloud in the cold winters air. “What?” Stiles asked confused, not sure what was going on. Lydia turned around and all Stiles could think, was that she still looked marvelous, even after she had cried. Lydia walked over to him, but she didn’t stop at a reasonable distance, no she kept walking, now standing an inch away from him. “You are a complete idiot, Stiles Stilinski.” She said again. But before he could even try figuring out what he had possibly done wrong, he was surprised by her sweet lips on his. His eyes fluttered closed. It took him a second to realize what was going on, but as he did, he buried his hands in her hair, pulling her closer. Lydia pushed Stiles into the wall behind, kissing him even more intensely than before. When they broke apart Lydia smiled because Stiles expression resembled awe and utter confusion in same amounts.
“I, ah .. what?” Was the first thing he stuttered. “Why?” Was the next. Lydia sighed. “I’ve been in love with you since Junior year, but it took me forever to realize. And then we went off to College and you kept talking about Henna, so I figured you didn’t like me that way anymore.” Stiles laughed at that a bit. “Henna? Clingy, weird, obnoxiously obsessive Henna?” He blurted out. “You must be crazy. She doesn’t even come close to you. You two are not even on the same scale.” Stiles clarified chuckling. Lydia giggled a bit, eyes suddenly misty again. This time Stiles stepped forward, lifting her head and kissing her. Slowly and carefully, really taking in every part of this moment, hoping it would never end, hoping that it would live forever in his memory.
When they broke apart again they just looked at each other. Really looking. All their emotions pouring out of their eyes. They just smiled. Lydia gave him a quick kiss again. “Should we go back inside? It’s really cold.”, Lydia asked. Stiles nodded and led her inside. When they came back into the living room, everyone looked the other way pretending to investigate the ceiling and walls and floor. “You guys have been listening, haven’t you.” Stiles asked, his hand still firm on Lydia’s back. Kira coughed, but Allison couldn’t stop staring at her friend grinning stupidly. “Yeah we have.”, Liam blurted out, not being able to lie. Stiles rolled his eyes. “You are unbelievable. Never heard the word privacy before?” He asked, but Lydia didn’t care. Even though everyone else had heard what she had said to the whisky eyed boy, she really didn’t care, because for the first and definitely not last time, Stiles had heard it as well.
can you tell me some good books to read during christmas break? i love ur blog
Thank you so much! <3
If you want something very Christmasy then Jay Asher has a new book called ‘What Light’. I made it into an interactive book for a friends Christmas present and it made me feel SO Christmasy!
I’m guessing as a fan of Rainbow you’ve read Landline and Midnights but they’re really nice to re-read over Christmas. I listened to the audiobook over the last couple of days before Christmas and it really read as a lovely Christmas rom-com. Actually you could read select Chapters from all of Rainbow’s books over the holidays. Basically the only thing that Rainbow has written that doesn’t feature the holidays was Kindred Spirits - have you had a chance to read that?
Okay and now this is my go to list of book/graphic novels recs:
The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl
Ms Marvel (you can buy compilations of this and TUSG)
Hero by Perry Moore
Beauty Queens by Libba Bray
Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Abertelli (this is lovely and fluffy and Christmasy, plus they’re turning it into a movie and GREG BERLANTI is directing it!!)
Dumplin’ by Julie Murphy
Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins
The Name of the Star by Maureen Johnson
Let It Snow (even if you’ve read this I think a Christmas-time reread would be fun)
do you think Stiles and Lydia are already dating at the beginning of season six?
Yeah I do. I think its either that or they will canon very early in the episode. But my initial thought is yes they are dating, and they’re gonna show us when they got together as Lydia remembers Stiles
