Mar 29, 2024
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WILLOW STILINSKI x AUGUST DAY
Will woke with a start from the bad dreams she’d been having every night since she remembered.
It had only been a week, but it felt like ages, given the same dreams every night. Waking up in the hospital to her family’s faces, the quiet, sad voices they used to tell her about what had happened. About the choices that they had made. The choices they had made for her. She knew they’d been the right choices for them. She knew that for them, they would be losing her, a fully realised person they knew and loved for a child who may not survive anyway. A stranger. Barely even a person yet.
But for Will, she had lost everything. Nine months of feeling so alone in the world, but knowing that she had the baby. It had become, in such a short time, her and her child against the world. The daughter she’d never gotten to know.
She’d ignored her parents. She’d ignored her siblings. She didn’t want to hear their reasons. She didn’t want to see their pain. She was overcome with her own pain. Overcome with her own mortality. With the realisation, for maybe the first time ever, that she had completely lost every ounce of autonomy. She’d gone to sleep and woken up to find the choices made for her. She didn’t want to be understanding. It had been too hard to be.
When she woke up from those dreams, she woke up in a cold sweat. She woke up desperate to hug her parents. Desperate to hug her siblings. Desperate to feel her daughter kick in her stomach again.
She got none of those things.
Every morning since she’d remembered, she woke up to Jesse in bed beside her and she turned to look at him.
She’d stop and take stock. Let her eyes run over his chiseled features. The perfectly groomed facial hair he hadn’t changed since it’d grown in. His blue eyes were closed, and his long lashes fanned out over his smooth cheeks. She looked for a single physical feature she could call a flaw on his face and found none. Even the mole on his cheek only seemed to add something to his face. Character, maybe.
And Will remembered. She remembered going to school with him, remembered how he’d been tall before all the other boys, how he’d always seemed so… at ease. She remembered how they’d gone out for the first time when she was fourteen. They’d gone to the movies and Will had gone bright red in the face when Jesse took her hand. Jesse had gone red too. He was so sweet back then, so young and so fresh to the world. Naive still, just like she had been.
She remembered him asking her to be his girlfriend when they were fifteen, how it had been such a big deal around the school, because Jesse was popular and girls liked him. She supposed people had liked her too, but she never felt confident in that. She’d always been just a little bit too outspoken. Just a little bit too quick. He’d seemed to like that about her back then.
She remembered how they’d broken up at her sophomore prom, how he’d gone with another girl from school, and how they’d wound up in the parking lot, yelling at each other until they were both red in the face again. How he’d grabbed her by the shoulders. How she told herself it was romantic. How she told herself that it wasn’t scary, because it was how men acted in movies. It was how they were supposed to act.
They broke up again after Jesse injured his right leg and got kicked off the football team in junior year. He’d been so mean to her, so angry. He’d cried and begged her to take him back when she’d left. She’d sworn blind to her best friend that she wouldn’t take him back. She’d wound up kissing him behind the bleachers when he told her he had just been insecure. She’d told herself he was just sad, just hurt, that he just needed her. Maybe in some ways that was true, but it had also been an excuse.
He’d never handled stress well. She told herself that was normal too. Human beings were flawed, and maybe he got angry sometimes, but he was also still Jesse. He was still the tall, thin blonde boy who’d gone bright red when he held her hands. The anger wasn’t who he really was, it was just… it was just a feeling. And she could help him with that. She could fix that. Because it wasn’t who he really was. She knew who he really was, better than anyone. At least, that was what she told herself.
They were eighteen when Will had gotten the scholarship. They were eighteen when Jesse had dropped to one knee outside of the train station, told her not to go. Told her to marry him instead.
Not asked. Told.
But it was romantic, right? Being loved so much that someone would chase you down when you tried to leave. That was what romance was, being the subject of that kind of passion. Hadn’t she always wanted him to want her that way? To be afraid to lose her?
So she’d agreed to marry him.
She was twenty-one when he gave her the ring.
She was twenty-two when he’d set the date.
The morning of the wedding, they had been engaged for five years. He’d been so skittish about actually marrying her for so long. He’d even decided for a few months when he was twenty that he needed to date other people. To work out if he really wanted to be with her. She’d been so terrified of being left behind with nothing that she’d agreed. She’d already lost her scholarship. She’d lost the chance to study photography at the college of her dreams. She couldn’t lose him too, because then she wouldn’t have anyone left.
She still fought him. She fought tooth and nail, argued back every time, defended herself every time. But every single time she threatened to leave and then didn’t, she knew what she was doing. She was taking away her own legitimacy. When they were sixteen and she’d told him she was going to leave, he’d begged her to stay. When she’d said the same at twenty-two, he’d simply told her it was a shame, because he’d finally picked a date.
He had nice moments, too. It was nice when he made her tea in the morning before she woke up. It was nice when he changed the sheets without her commenting on them. It was nice when he did the washing up after she’d cooked. He could be nice when he kissed her forehead before he went off to bed. There was kindness in the way he squeezed her hand before they got out of a car.
And if that was all there was, then she could be sure. But it wasn’t.
Because she remembered another life too now, and another her. She remembered her parents; her distrustful, funny, loyal, inventive father. She remembered her confident, genius, badass mother who didn’t take shit from anyone except her Dad. And then, the shit was only the two of them bickering. She remembered promising herself that she wouldn’t ever marry anyone who didn’t look at her the way her Dad still looked at her Mom. The way her Mom smiled just a freckle when her father did something particularly ridiculous. The love that hadn’t ever faded or gone out of season.
There were her siblings too. Protective, assertive Noah and the way she would spit venom at anyone who even came close to her siblings. Clever, overly literal Lori, who never quite understood social cues, but who was so smart that she somehow overshadowed a family full of geniuses with her thoughts. Stiles. Shy, sweet little Stiles with his instruments and his doe eyes, who had suffered so fucking much and she hadn’t even known.
Lucy and August.
Lucy and August.
Lucy and August.
Lucy. Wild, argumentative, sarcastic, condescending, competitive Lucy. Wild-eyed Lucy with a fierce determination to be the best at all times, whilst never, ever conceding how much she cared about every single other person she’d ever met. Lucy who broke up with August because Will loved him. Lucy who went on the run with her baby brother. Lucy who sat under blanket forts and sobbed with her when August left them behind. Lucy who never, ever admit how much it all hurt her, even when everything crumbled down around her.
August. Soft-spoken, soft-hearted August. August and his siblings. August and his propensity to switch to French when he got excited. August and his dopey little face growing up. August who grew up pretty, who grew up charming, who grew into someone that left Lucy and Will behind because he’d gotten popular.
And really, what a choice Will had to make now. The boy who’d begged her to stay on his knees but left her still feeling small and tricked or the one who’d always made her feel so loved right up until he disappeared from her life? The one who’d made her wait five years to follow through on his proposal or the one trying to get her to leave him? The boy she’d thrown punches for at five years old, or the one she’d held hands with at fifteen?
She lay beside Jesse and she pictured August beside her. She pictured soft waves of black hair on the pillow instead of the straight, short blonde. She pictured dark eyelashes on cheeks instead of blonde. She pictured green eyes instead of blue.
Don’t marry him.
The words had been ringing in her head since August first said them. Since he confirmed what they meant.
You know why.
Because she remembered two lives, two men. Two people she’d loved. Two she’d pictured a life with.
It would be a crime to get married when we haven’t even kissed once.
She pictured that too. She imagined waking up beside August in that bed, hearing his early morning voice, feeling his hands on her skin. She imagined kissing him. Her heart flipped and her stomach clenched and the whole world lurched around her.
She was getting married in only a few hours and the thought of kissing August made her feel like a thirteen year old mooning over her dorky, lanky best friend.
“Do I have to be worried?” It was the first question Jesse had asked when Will had admitted everything she’d been through. Everything she now remembered. She’d just blinked at him, totally confused. Because what the hell did he mean by that question? Worried about what? Her trauma? But then he’d clarified. Expanded upon his thoughts. “Willow, was the baby his?”
Will had well and truly had all the air knocked out of her. Because there she was, admitting to her fiance everything that had happened. Explaining her almost death and greatest loss. She had told him all about how she’d isolated herself, how she’d been unable to imagine even existing without her child for a long time. And yes, she’d explained about Lucy and August too. Her best friends who’d dated when she had a crush on August. But it had been a footnote to the story. Because yes, there was trauma with August and Lucy, but nothing like what she felt about losing her child. It had been the worst thing that had ever happened to her, the hardest story she would ever have to tell.
“Why would you ask me that?” She didn’t sound angry. She didn’t sound sad. She didn’t sound… anything. She sounded totally numb, and she felt it too. She couldn’t bring herself to settle on any one emotion because she couldn’t bring herself to believe that that was really his first thought. Not a sorry. Not a sympathetic touch. Not a tear shed for the pain the supposed love of his life had endured. A question about August.
For all Jesse knew, August and Lucy were still a couple, Will hadn’t gone into the details of all of that. She explained that they broke up, but not the nuance of their fake resurrection. And still, his only concern was who had fathered her baby.
He didn’t answer her question, just waited impatiently for her to justify her loss.
Her voice sounded broken when she answered. “His name was Elliot.” She said softly, “He was a fling. He skipped town when he found out about the baby, told me it wasn’t his problem. I’ve never even… I can’t believe you’d…” She shook her head, her eyes glassy. “I already told you I’ve never been with August.”
Jesse didn’t believe her. It was so obvious he didn’t believe her. He’d wanted to see her phone. To go through all her messages.
When Will had started hysterically sobbing, he’d backed off on that point. He’d moved closer, hugged her, hushed her, comforted her. For a few minutes, she’d started to feel better. It was a bad reaction, but he wasn’t a bad man. He was just… wrong, that’s all. He’d just overreacted, she told herself. Sometimes he was irrational, but he was good, and wasn’t that what mattered? At least, that was what she thought…
“Maybe it’s for the best, huh, babe?” He told her, kissing her head as he got up to go shower. “I mean, this way we can have our own kids and I don’t have to raise one that doesn’t belong to me.”
He left the room just like that.
Just like that.
The next day was her rehearsal dinner.
Do you love him?
Yes.
The way you love me?
The easy answer was no. She didn’t love Jesse the way she loved August, because they were such different relationships. Her relationship with Jesse was… messy and complicated, but it was a relationship. It was years of kissing and fighting and sex and breakups and makeups and… it was imperfect, but a future with him was a known quantity. It was… imperfect, but understood. She knew who he was, and she knew what their life together was, for all the imperfection of it.
But August… August was an unknown. A great, big, giant question mark looming in the future. Will fucking adored August.
Will had been willing to fight anyone in the world for August since the day they’d met. She’d been a tangle-haired, loud-mouthed little brat. He’d been a shy, wide-eyed child with features he hadn’t grown into yet and the distinct air of someone who had no idea how to talk to a girl. Or anyone, for that matter.
August wasn’t fighting and sex and fear, August was… warmer and safer and home. At least, he had been… before everything had changed. Before he’d left. Before her life with Jesse.
The scary truth was that. If August hadn’t picked Lucy first, if he hadn’t picked Birdie over them both, there wouldn’t be a choice at all. And it wasn’t his fault, of course. He was young and clueless and he hadn’t seen her like that. But it had left Will to question things. How he could leave both of them, for a start.
It meant he hadn’t been there when she was pregnant. When she lost her daughter. When she shut the entire world out and refused to see or acknowledge anyone.
Until August and Lucy, August was the forever choice. Until then, Will had truly, fully, wholeheartedly believed she was incapable of loving anyone how she loved him.
And in some ways, it held true. She loved Jesse, but not the way she loved August. Where did that leave her though?
It left her on the morning of her wedding, waking up in a white silk nightie with red-rimmed eyed from crying in her sleep and tangled hair from tossing and turning. It left her alone in a hotel bed, wondering how in the world she had so much family and yet felt so… alone. No one could make this choice for her. No one could truly stand with her in that moment.
Maybe the Will of August and Lucy’s life was decisive and bold, but the one of Jesse’s life was not. It was like trying to fit two different timelines into one. Two different Will’s. But not making a decision was making a decision, and Will had to make one today.
Could she say yes to Jesse? Could she abandon everything for August?
“Hi, sweetheart…”
Her mother’s voice was a welcome shift in the room, a ripple in the waves of her thoughts. Thank god.
“Mom…” Lydia didn’t know her. Didn’t remember her. She knew that. Logically she knew that. She held her hands out to her Mom and Lydia moved dutifully to sit beside Will on the bed, immediately enveloping Will in a warm hug she had needed so badly it had burned within her without her even noticing.
But Lydia stroked Will’s messy hair back with soft, measured movements, humming comfortingly as Will immediately began to cry. She half expected her mother to tell her it wasn’t a good sign for her to be sobbing the morning of her wedding, but Lydia didn’t. She didn’t make any comments, didn’t criticise Will, just held her tightly.
When Will’s sobs finally subsided, Lydia kissed her head warmly. “Did I ever tell you I always wanted a sister?”
Will let out a wet laugh. Because despite being Lydia’s biological daughter, Will was more sibling age for her. And she was so grateful for the lack of judgement. The lack of questions. The soft, unrelated joke. She was so happy to have her Mom there.
Will shifted her head into Lydia’s lap and Lydia kept stroking her hair.
Finally, after what felt like an hour at least, Will whispered a quiet explanation.
“I don’t know if I can marry Jesse.”
Lydia was quiet for a long moment, and Will half expected judgement. She half expected annoyance. Because she knew she was being annoying. They’d all done so much to prepare so quickly to come. The dresses and the suits and the hair and makeup and all the rest of it.
Instead, Lydia hummed thoughtfully. “Did I ever tell you about my ex boyfriends?”
Will sniffed, “I’ve heard a little bit about Jackson because of the twins.” She said slowly, confused as to where Lydia was going with this.
“Mm,” She nodded. “It wasn’t always your Dad for me. He was… such a dork. Obsessive and over the top. So sarcastic. Such a know-it-all. None of those were the qualities that kept me away from him though. Your Dad scared the hell out of me because he saw me. In a way no one else did. In a way I was scared to be seen. He saw the imperfections. He saw the annoyances, the smugness, the meanness, the competitiveness. It terrified me, because I didn’t like the real me. I was convinced no one else would either. The other boys… there were other issues, but the truth is, settling for any of them would’ve always ended in just one way. Just one category every other man would fall into. Not Stiles. Even when we broke up, every man, no matter how tall or smart or hot was Not Stiles. He left an unmistakable tether on me, because we understood each other. Even before I knew it, we saw each other.”
Will listened, her eyes big. She didn’t quite understand where her mother was going with this, but it was nice to hear about them. It was nice to hear about that kind of love, to believe she might have it one day.
“So, my love, the question is simple. Is it Not Jesse or Not August? And if it’s not either, then maybe the answer is Not Will, babe. Maybe the answer is to be your own best friend for a while. But… If you know any other man would be Not Jesse, then I think you should marry him. But if it’s August… if Jesse isn’t August for you, my love… Don’t do it. Don’t waste your one wild and precious life being less happy than you could be for pride.” She paused, “Or worse, for protection. Don’t be afraid of being seen and loved. Don’t be afraid of real love.”
Will was crying again. “How do I know? How do I know who’s the… not one or whatever?”
Lydia smiled a little, sad. “That’s a question only you can answer. I mean, I can give you things to think about, but I… well, forgive me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but I think you already know. I don’t think you’d be crying like this if you didn’t already know. It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to be overwhelmed. It’s okay to not be sure. But if you’re not sure, don’t punish yourself by committing to someone who can’t fulfil you.”
“What if I take a risk and then I get left?”
Lydia sighed, “Then your father will build you a blanket fort where we can all go and eat ice cream and cry together.” She offered.
“Do you like him?” Will asked softly.
“He’s… a very polite young man. He doesn’t always give me the best… read. He does, however, remind me of the kind of person I would have dated back in the day…” Will took the implication. He was like someone she regretted. A Not Stiles.
“I… I meant August.” Will whispered, and Lydia smiled knowingly.
“How do you know I meant Jesse?”
It was a fair question. She hadn’t said his name. She hadn’t said anyone’s name, but Will still knew. Not August.
“I do like him.” Lydia said finally, “I think it took guts for him to turn up to that rehearsal dinner, even if he didn’t handle it fabulously. Then again, I’m sure your Dad would have been equally dramatic were roles reversed. But what I like about him is how you seem… more content around him. I did see you together last night. Even despite all the stress, the two of you seemed… different.” She explained softly, before adding. “But Will, it doesn’t matter what we think of him. It doesn’t matter what we think of either of them. You shouldn’t love them for what people will think. We’ll be here for you whether you marry Jesse today or not. We’ll love you whether you go through with it or not.”
And yeah, Will had needed to hear that.
“I just need someone to tell me what the right thing to do is.” She whispered, her eyes glassy as she looked up at her mother.
“Nobody can, Willow. This is your moment to decide what’s right for you. There’s no objective answer, and no one who loves you would want you to make a decision based on their feelings. This is about you. This is about what’s best for you.”
“But I don’t know…”
“And that’s okay too, Will. It’s okay to not know. But don’t push yourself into something you’re not ready for just because you don’t want to let anyone down.”
“You don’t think I should marry him.” Will surmised.
“Stop trying to take your cues from me, Will. I barely know Jesse or August. And I certainly don’t know how you feel about them. All I can tell you is that I want you to be sure about whatever choice you make.”
Will took a few long deep breaths. The next question felt obvious. “What if I don’t know what I feel?”
“Then you decide when you decide.” She said softly, “You’ll know what to do. When you get to the front of that altar and you’re looking at him, you’ll know. Either he’s your person or he’s not. And if he’s not, I trust that you’re smart enough and brave enough to make the correct choice.”
Not that WIll had any idea if she was. Or what it meant to be.
But it was the best advice she’d received, and so it was what she decided to do. Finish getting ready, go up there and see what happened. See how she felt.
She didn’t acknowledge, not even to herself, the tiny inkling of hope that she felt. The tiny inkling of hope that August would show up. That maybe if she did, maybe if he was there, she would know. She would be standing between them and she would know.
Jesse or August.
Known or unknown.
Yes or no.