ROAD TO SERENITY | stydia [✔️]

60 // awkward - fidlar

Stiles . . . messed up. More than once.

First time, when the sun was nearly set and he just had to run back to the Jeep and go back just to take a picture of Lydia. But he fell on the way and hurt his right elbow and both knees and when he came to Lydia, bleeding, the moment was over.

Second time, when Lydia had to go to Jeep to get bandages but he insisted he'd just wash the blood off in the sea. He did and it hurt like hell and Lydia took several pictures of him running out of the sea and falling once more. It was hilarious and miserable.

Third time, when he nearly held her hand. He reached out to catch hers as they were walking but in the same moment she saw something she wanted to take a picture of and she raised her hands and his hand ended up awkwardly swinging into her hip.

Fourth time, when he'd almost kissed her without even realizing. That was the one he didn't even want to think about.

The two of them were still sitting on the beach, now accompanied by a small portable solar lamp. It was green and red and Lydia kept complaining about it not being aesthetically pleasing. She seemed genuinely passionate about it while Stiles just enjoyed watching her rant about aesthetically pleasing things.

He felt weird. He didn't have butterflies or anything people claim to have when they're in love, but he felt like he was bound to the ground – or, more so, the ground she walked on. He didn't worship it or anything like that, he just felt like he wanted to hold her. He wanted to hold her hand and not make it awkward, which was something he excelled at.

"Lydia, stop talking," he told her gently, offering a small smile.

"Ugh, whatever." She smiled back.

He pushed the lamp towards her and took out his camera, pointing it at her. She raised her eyebrows at him, but said nothing. He took a picture of her and he knew that was the one he wasn't letting go of. It was blurry and dark but she was smiling and she seemed happy and that was how he wanted to have her imprinted in his memory, once she leaves.

Because she was going to leave.

"Let me see it," Lydia said.

He handed her the camera and she groaned, obviously not satisfied with the photograph.

"You're not deleting it," Stiles told her. There was no way in hell he was going to let her delete this one.

"I look weird!"

Stiles swallowed a lump in his throat. "You look beautiful."

The silence that ensued was not just awkward – it was on the edge of bearable. He was watching her, her every little move, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. She was no longer the confident, sweet and loud Lydia he'd gotten so used to in the past two days. She was quiet and she was looking at him, with something in her eyes that he didn't recognize.

He wondered if this was the first time someone had called her beautiful – or just genuinely meant it.

She looks so small, so fragile – and no, beautiful wasn't the word for it. Lydia wasn't beautiful. She was pretty but on the outside, she wasn't conventionally beautiful. She had freckles and her hair looked less like from a magazine and more like a frizzy mess, and she wore contacts because she was too embarrassed to wear glasses. She wasn't exactly thin and she wasn't tall, and sometimes she let it get to her.

But with everything combined, Lydia was more than beautiful. She was a whole new world to herself and she didn't even see it – the most, Stiles thought, would be seeing her as pretty. That was fine with him, because he knew she could never see herself the way he sees.

Not like a goddess. Not like the sun. Not like the embodiment of his deepest desires. Like a simple girl who's so enchanted by the beauty that other things—small things most people only care about—they don't matter.

He was in love with the way she saw the world, and he wished she could know that.

Lydia didn't reply. Stiles thought it was probably because she didn't know how to – in the few months he'd known her, it seemed like something that would happen to her.

He didn't know what to say, either, but that seemed the right thing to place his palm on the top of her hand, so he did. And when Lydia looked away, a small smile forming in the corner of her lips, he smiled widely.

It just felt right.

"It's weird that in just a few days, it'll all be over," said Lydia.

Stiles was still getting used to the warmth of her hand in his. "It doesn't have to be."

"I'm going back to Canada," she spoke softly and Stiles could hear the sadness in her voice. "We'll be back to texting."

"And Skyping," Stiles added quickly. "We forgot to Skype."

Lydia looked at him and laughed. "Do I or do I not bring up your username?"

"No. Don't."

"I mean . . . it's . . . um, really, it's actually really creative."

"No, Lydia, we don't bring that up. That's the dark part of me."

"Fine." But he knew it wasn't fine when he looked at him with a wicked grin. "Werewolfinski."

"Okay, that's it!"

Stiles rolled over and pulled Lydia down by her shoulders, tackling her to the ground. He was atop of her, though she didn't give up easily – she pushed him backwards and he grabbed her wrists, both of them laughing. She then used—probably all of her—force to actually push him to the side, now being on top. Stiles still had a hold of her wrists, though he didn't squeeze them much. Mainly, he was busy trying to blow her hair out of his mouth.

That was it. That was the kind of moments Stiles wanted to spend the rest of his life living. Lydia was laughing and he was laughing and it was just so normal and so carefree it was almost unbelievable.

Almost like writing a song at four a.m., with Lydia in his mind yet knowing it would never get to her.

He almost didn't notice when Lydia took a picture of him. But he did, so he said, "I'm throwing you into the ocean", picked her up bridal style and started walking towards the water. Lydia was half screaming half laughing and he was nearly tripping because he was laughing himself.

"You're a dick," Lydia said.

It felt oddly comfortable having her hands wrapped around his neck.

"You're a dick," Stiles replied.

"I'm not sure girls can be dicks."

"Who says you're a girl?"

"Stiles! I swear to god I'm throwing you into that goddamned ocean—"

He almost did it – he almost kissed her. He was so close, their faces were bare millimeters apart and she shut up when she noticed it, and his eyes flickered to her lips – God, they're so beautiful – but he couldn't do it. He wasn't ready for that. He was too scared, too cowardly to do it.

So he put her down and smiled at her, starting a conversation about something else while trying hard to get the near-kiss out of his mind.

But he couldn't do it. Just like he couldn't kiss her.

[the chapters just keep getting shorter and i'm really sorry for that but i just feel like the length fits this story idek]