Me Too (completed)

Chapter eight

Her hand threaded through his hair in the most delectable way, his head in her lap on the couch, eyes closed and simply listening to her talk about whatever came to mind. This didn't happen often, but the boy was in a mood. He'd almost given into temptation and called the forbidden number. Stiles wanted someone to kiss softly, he ached to text Malia simply because she was skin to hold and someone to call beautiful. Keep in mind, he was a hopeless romantic. He didn't crave his phone because he longed for a one night stand. No, he missed treating her right, the way she should be treated.

"Are you okay?" Lydia had asked. Suddenly her hand was his mother's, asking if he was okay after he'd gotten off of the bus with tears in his eyes. He'd laid on her lap for two silent hours, the woman avoiding questions but instead stroking his hair. He bit back the memory.
"Keep talking..."
She was worried and hesitated but continued on with nonsense. There was almost a pleading tone to his voice. She sighed. "By the way you didn't have to murder Drew."

"Talk about something else, please." He shifted in her lap so his gaze was to the ceiling. She looked at him for a moment as if silently telling him she was equally confused and concerned. His eyes met her lips, a comet of a thought flashing across his mind: kiss her. It was new. Never had he thought like that in situations as such. He told himself it was just because he missed Malia. He brushed the thought off more quickly than he should've.

Because Malia Tate was no Lydia Martin.

"What are you thinking about right now? Out of anything in the world." She asked in a hushed tone. Stiles sighed and reached up for one of her hands, bringing it down to rest on his chest. He almost smiled at the way she immediately began to trace soothing circles against his shirt.
"You." Was his reply.
She gave a short laugh. "Me?" Out of all the things.
"Always."

There was a bit of silence, a moment where one hand remained in his hair whilst the other was still in his grip and simultaneously on his chest. They moved positions, Lydia now laying down as well, Stiles cuddled into her side with his face against her stomach. Her hand was still in his hair and he tried to focus everything he had on that one sensation.
"Are you...okay?" Lydia said after a while.

"Been better." He answered softly.
"Stiles–"
"No, I'm fine! ...Kind of." Truth is he was struggling. There were times when he had gotten bad and couldn't breath through gasping sobs but mostly it was just the occasional memory and a test against his pillow late at night. When he was really bad, he threw things, told himself– no, shouted to himself how it was stupid to miss someone he barely even remembered. He knew his father missed her too, he knew the man had his moments.

But not like Stiles.

Stiles could range anywhere from "oh god, he's gonna smash the tv in" to "I think he may be crying but he's too quiet so I can't tell". Lydia helped a lot too. She told him things he didn't exactly remember or stuff that her mom had told the girl about his. That made it okay. And then Malia. Malia really helped. She'd been a distraction, a new woman in his life (other than Lydia but she was more of a brother). But now she was gone as well and he was stuck with what he'd had all along: just Lydia.

...Lydia

He almost said her name aloud because she was too good to be real. She had always taken care of him. The girl sighed causing his head to rise and fall with her stomach.
"You care about me, right?" She asked, only because the silence had led her to think as well. Malia came into the picture and had kind of shoved her out.
"Of course. Always have, always will...why do you bring it up?"
She was honest, as always. "Self conscious I suppose."

"Well you shouldn't be. I'll always be here just like you'll always be here." He told her and pulled her closer (if possible) with one arm. They fell asleep like that, on the couch. When Mr.Stilinski arrived home that night, he didn't even question the teens. He smiled, he liked the two, he approved of Lydia. He always had.
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Authors note:

"What were you drawn to?"
Stay tuuuuuuuuned
Comment, read, enjoy!
-Chloe