Glowing In The Dark

What Could've Been

Wish I may, wish I might

Find my one true love tonight

Do you think that he

Could be you?

- Serial Killer, Lana Del Rey

--- 

One of Stiles' favorite ghost powers is the ability to play out things in his and others head. It's less like watching a movie, and more like being in a dream. He avoids doing it, he doesn't want to be one of those ghosts that live in the past, even though he kind of is. 

Though, his life, both alive and undead, has sucked so far. Stiles sighs and scratches the back of his neck as he walks. For some reason he gets the feeling that Lydia's pissed at him. She probably thinks he's ignoring her. 

Honestly, her friends are assholes. 

Stiles closes his eyes, his mind going back to his high school days, aka a bag of sweaty dicks. Maybe that would change if a certain strawberry blonde noticed him. 

Stiles sighs and fixes his glasses again. His shitty glasses are going to get him in trouble one day. He's already fallen over four times today. Sometimes he thinks it would be best if he just spent the rest of his high school existence crawling around on the floor.  

Someones shoulder bumps him and he falls down, again. Five times. Great. 

Without his glasses, Stiles assumes the person is some sort of lacrosse player that has a small penis so chooses to take his anger out on Stiles. What? He likes decoding people, its his main hobby, other than Netflix and low-key stalking Lydia Martin. 

When he feels soft, small hands pulling him up by the arms, he knows its not a random jock. Peach perfume invades his senses, and he's met with a pair of green eyes. It's almost like looking into the woods from his bedroom window.

Emerald and gold line her wide, beautiful eyes. Stiles decides that her eyes are poison ivy, they leave a mark on his skin thats going to take a lot of time and effort to get off. 

"Shit- mother of holy fu- dude are you okay?" 

Stiles blinks, his vision getting blurry. Lydia stares down at him, people already starting to crowd around them. He doesn't see what the big fuss is about, he's fallen before and no one gives a shit, a few assholes even laughed. Stiles furrows his brows. 

He raises his hand to touch his forehead, but his fingertips brush against a warm wet liquid. He does not need to look - nor does he want to - to know that he's bleeding. 

Stiles gets one more look at the strawberry blonde and someone snapping photos - newsflash, no one cares what your doing right now, random teenager - before he passes out. 

--- 

His eyes flutter open and a sigh of relief leaves her lips. Lydia is looking down at him, her head tilted slightly and her lips parted. He takes in her appearance. She seems to genuinely care about what happened to him. 

Lydia clutches her phone that has an All Time Low case in one hand. A green sweater clashes nicely with her strawberry blonde locks, and the almost-pink-but-more-a-light-shade-of-red skirt just adds to it. He blows out a long breath, feeling fingers move on his arm a little. 

And oh, she's touching him. 

Not in the way that she does in his dreams - get your head out of the gutter, pervs - but she's touching his arm. 

Holy shit human contact! From Lydia. 

He wonders to himself if this is heaven or not. He must've hit his head and died. At least he's already in the depths of hell and doesn't have to go on some horrid bus. 

No, heaven would have naked supermodels feeding him grapes. Maybe Lydia hovering over him like this is better. 

Stiles focuses his mind on other things, like the smell of hydrogen peroxide and blood. Nurses office. This day just gets worse. Whatever, Lydia Martin - Lydia freaking Martin, his crush since the third grade - makes up for it. 

Lydia's fingertips brush lightly over his jaw, making his breath hitch visibly. "You okay?" She asks quietly, raising an eyebrow. Stiles nods as if he didn't know words. "Sorry for bumping into you. I'm kind of a klutz sometimes." Lydia chuckles lightly at herself. 

"I-Its fine. I-I-I-I-I'm," That much stuttering is a new record for him, "Fine." 

Lydia runs a hand through his hair. Stiles is able to keep the dirty thoughts of her pulling his hair while doing certain 'activities' in the back of his mind. "I'm Lydia, by the way." Lydia offers him a small, perfect smile. 

In his head his chest has burst open and he's now offering his heart to her like a romantic human sacrifice. He watches too many horror movies. 

"Yeah, I know." God, could he sound anymore stalkery? "I mean, its not like I've followed you home or anything. Well, actually I have." Lydia raises both her eyebrows in questioning. Stiles realizes what he said quickly. "Not like that! I just- fuck- okay. I live in your neighborhood, so technically I have to pass you in order to get to my-" 

"Are you coming or what?" Stiles' rambling is cut off. He would be thankful for someone cutting off his rambling if that person was anyone but Jackson Whittemore. Lydia's boyfriend. Total asshole. 

Lydia frowns and takes her hand away from Stiles' hair. "I think I should stay with him." She says, biting her lip when Jackson glares at her. "He's a nerd, Lydia, come on already." Jackson makes an exasperated hand motion. 

When she doesn't move, he wraps his arm around her waist. Stiles glares down Jackson while he whispers something in her ear that makes her wince. 

Lydia smiles sadly over at Stiles. He gives her a reassuring smile, saying he'll be fine, even though he's going to start crying once she leaves. "Cya around, Stiles." Lydia gives him a half wave, letting Jackson pull her out of the room. 

He would be happy that she knew his name, but the Jackson of it all dims that. 

Stiles flips off someone that honks at him. He drifts off whenever he's in this dreamlike state, that isn't over by the way, as he can't leave Dream Stiles and Lydia like this. 

A/N

Shitty ass chapter, sorry? 

IS IT TOO LATE NOW TO SAY SORRY? CAUSE IM MISSING MORE THAN JUST YOUR VOTES! (I also live off comments *wink*)