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Falling Slowly

Chapter 20: Your Voice

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Stiles + Lydia, Noah Stilinski

Summary: “I won’t. You’re safe with me. I promise,” he tells her.

And she remembers.

She remembers a night when she was lost in the woods, and Stiles helped her find her way...

It was too dark to see clearly, but she remembers a sound – a voice in the distance, one that was familiar, that had spoken to her before, risen above a flurry of music and conversation to claim her attention.

And it was speaking to her again.

“I just need you to find her. Alright? Please, just...just find her.”

Lydia instinctively sought to get closer, but the voice got farther and farther away.

She remembers her arms outstretched into dense fog. They were aimed in the direction of the voice...as though she could touch its resonating vibrations, latch onto it like a lifeline, and let it lead her to the light.

Against the roughness of dry leaves and jagged undergrowth, she struggled to walk. Her legs and feet were numb with cold, significantly hindering her movements. When she tried to hasten her steps, she tripped. She remembers the way her body tensed as she lurched forward and tumbled to the ground. She landed on her hands and knees, damp soil absorbing the brunt of the impact. A searing pain throbbed along her left side, below her ribs. Her next breaths came in abbreviated gasps as her elbows started to buckle and her body sunk nearer the earth. She was so tired, so cold, so lost. What little she could see was blurred by the anguish-induced mist in her eyes. Her lips trembled with defeat, and then suddenly, they stilled.

Something – a force she couldn’t understand – something tugged, encouraging her to press on, to find the voice. The voice of a boy that awakened hope in her heart.

Lydia stood up; her legs shaky but determined. Step by step, one sore foot in front of the other, she continued. The path was rutted and winding, and she stumbled several times, but she kept going until...

There were lights, blinding bright, and she heard him again.

“Lydia!”

She blinked, and he came into focus. Stiles.

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Falling Slowly

Chapter 21: Your Mind

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Stiles + Lydia, Allison Argent, Scott McCall

Summary: When she finishes, she instantly finds a focal point. Stiles. He is staring at her; brows arched, eyes wide, wondrous smile gracing his parted lips. She knows that she has never and will never be regarded by anyone else in a way that makes her feel this loved, nor would she want to be. She can’t wait to be held by him again, so she pushes off and skates towards him at full speed.

Just before his arms open for her, just before she lands in his welcoming embrace – she remembers.

She remembers the night during sophomore year, when everything she needed was in the palm of Stiles’s hand...

Lydia stood up and headed to the rink. Stiles was a few paces behind, but they stepped onto the ice together. She remembers the first strides she took. Although she hadn’t skated in several years, it felt almost as natural as breathing. She remembers looking to her right, where Stiles was, and he appeared to be equally at ease. She wondered how someone who tended to be unsteady with two feet on solid dry ground could also be so assertively composed on a slick plane of ice...while balancing on four-millimeter-wide steel blades. It was an impressive sight to behold.

She remembers that he allowed a fair amount of space between them. She thought it unnecessary, a bit odd in fact. But when she considered their conversation just minutes earlier, she understood why he might assume it was appropriate. The notion jabbed at her stomach with surprising intensity.

She hadn’t meant to be dismissive. It was obvious to her when Stiles said,

Okay, um...maybe orange and blue is not the best. But, you know, um...sometimes there's other things you wouldn't think would be a good combination...end up turning out to be like a perfect combination. You know? Like two people together...who nobody ever thought would be together – ever

that he had been talking about the two of them – not Scott and Allison...like she had led him to believe she assumed.

But, in the moment, she seized up, and she couldn’t curb her compulsion to deflect. She was used to dealing with boys who brazenly pursued her – eyes conspicuously ogling her body, mouths parroting stale pick-up lines and hollow compliments, all the while leaning nearer and nearer, respect for her personal space be damned. It was easy to respond to those boys because they didn’t matter to her, they didn’t make her feel things. She could prepare a clever retort before they even managed to utter a couple of disingenuous syllables.

What she was not prepared for was for Stiles to communicate with her in such a timid and subtle, yet clear manner. There had been such a hopeful expression on his face too, like he really wanted her to see his point of view. And it got to her. He got to her. More than she was able to admit. Especially on a day when the last boy she spent more than ten seconds with had scowled at her, shoved her up against a tiled wall, and forced his unkind hands on her – poking at the still very sensitive wound in her side and grabbing her wrist with the tension of a vice.

Hours later, it still hurt.

As Lydia discreetly rubbed her sore wrist, her thoughts wandered down a dark path that took her to an even darker place. A place where phrases from the not-so-distant past like “dead weight” and “don’t expect me to come running” were being hurled at her on a daily basis. A place where recent accusations of having a “soul-killing substance” coursing through her veins were compounded by a harshly shouted “You ruin EVERYTHING!”. All of it echoing in a hateful and demeaning tone which assaulted her consciousness until the noise culminated in a cacophony of bitterness and doubt. It was so loud that it made her want to scream.

But then, a soft and forgiving tenor broke her from the intrusive discord.

“Didn’t you say that you hadn’t skated in a while and that you were out of practice?” Stiles asked.

His words weren’t extraordinary, but they seemed like an oasis of kindness in the middle of a brutal desert.

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Falling Slowly

Chapter 12: Too Much Perfection

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Stiles + Lydia, Prada too

Summary: As she nears the front entrance, an intense warmth flows through her – the kind that emanates from one specific source, the kind she can’t live without. Lydia swings open the front door and her entire body jolts.

Stiles is standing on the other side, one hand hovering over the doorbell, the other behind his back...and she remembers.

She remembers one night, during sophomore year, when Stiles appeared at her door...

It was another one of those nights – the kind she had been experiencing more frequently than not. Lydia remembers that she was already ahead with her assignments for all of her classes. She had given herself a much-needed manicure, selected an outfit to wear to school the next day, and even reorganized her jewelry box, but she was still restless to the point of vexation.

She remembers looking at Prada, who was asleep beside her. A pang of envy worked its way through her as she contemplated her pup’s ability to rest so peacefully. Lydia hadn’t slept peacefully in months. She huffed out a sigh and gave the black and white Papillon a kiss before getting up from the bed. Sitting at her vanity, she put on a pair of ankle boots and checked her reflection in the mirror, meticulously swiping at some mascara that had strayed below her lash line.

On the way out of her bedroom, Lydia grabbed her phone and keys, stuffing both into the pockets of her cream-colored sweater. Just as she was about to let her mother know she was going for a walk, Lydia realized that Natalie was out for the evening…again. She rolled her eyes and descended the steps, her heels echoing atop hardwood the entire way.

As she approached the front of the house, a strange yet familiar sensation struck her – a heady kind of warmth that she only ever felt in the presence of one person. It made her hesitate briefly, but she tried to shrug it off. She opened the door...and found Stiles standing on the other side, one hand hovering over the doorbell, the other behind his back.

A gust of cool air breezed past her, and she froze in place as his expressive brown eyes first widened, then blinked with surprise.

“Uh…hey, Lydia.”

His unexpected visit had her on the verge of a smile, but then she remembered that she was mad at him, so she pursed her lips instead.

Glaring at him suspiciously, she asked, “Stiles, what are you doing here?”

The question was articulated far more harshly than she intended, but he had startled her…and she had a miserable day…and her stomach was already beginning to do that thing it did whenever he was around. That rapid fluttery thing that made her feel like someone was pulling the ground out from beneath her feet.

“I was hoping I could talk to you.”

“About what?”

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Falling Slowly

Chapter 7: A Spark

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Stiles + Lydia, The Jeep

Summary: His eyes are soft but pensive. “I know a few tricks for getting these out,” Stiles tells her. Then he takes her hand, his touch gentle and his tone low when he continues, “I got my fair share of splinters, sophomore year…sitting on the bench during lacrosse games,” he explains.

And Lydia remembers.

She remembers the day before the championship game…

She was in the hallway outside Marin Morrell’s office, wondering why she had arrived fifteen minutes early for another useless appointment with the guidance counselor. As Lydia leaned against the wall with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, she observed the stream of sunlight coming through the windows. It highlighted the row of empty chairs which lined the corridor, emphasizing their drab pea-green color as well as the darkness of the shadows they cast on the floor. She remembers that she was checking her watch for the second time in less than one minute, when Morrell’s door opened and a familiar figure stepped through it, closing the door behind him.

His head was ducked, dark brown hair closely cropped, fair-skinned cheeks and jawline dotted with moles. He wore a grey henley, jeans, and sneakers. A large duffel bag, tagged with the number 24, was slung over one shoulder. He carried a lacrosse stick and a worried expression. Stiles.

She remembers that he almost walked past her, but that before she could lift her voice to call his name, a pair of warm brown eyes met hers, lashes quickly fluttering in surprise.

“Hey… Lydia,” he greeted her.

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