Complex » Stydia

4.

It had been minutes since Kira broke the news that her ex-lover would be coming and Lydia was not handling it well.

"Oh my God, I need to leave," She mumbled while striding back and forth, her finger combing her red hair, "holy shit, I need to get out of here right now."

Sighing, Scott rubbed his hand over his face before shaking his head. To him it didn't seem like much of a big deal--in fact, he was overjoyed that Stiles would be visiting. It had been a while since he last saw his best friend, yet alone Lydia, who he hadn't seen in several years.

"Lydia, please calm down," Scott begged for the tenth time. Kira, not knowing how to handle other people's anxiety without freaking out herself, stood in the corner of the kitchen biting her lip.

But the strawberry-blonde couldn't seem to calm her nerves. She was wiped with memories of the two of them holding hands while they walked down the street, how she would plant a kiss on his cheek before she walked into her house.

After years and years and more fucking years of dreaming about his return--also how she would kill him if he came back--it was finally happening. Some part of her was praying that Kira was just joking around and that Stiles was still wherever the hell he was.

"Maybe it'll help if you tell us what it is about him that makes you. . . . like this," Isaac said while tossing his hands in the air, trying to get Lydia to co-operate.

"It's complicated!" She shrieked in fear, a dash of excitement too. No matter how much she tried to consume everything and become complacent, Lydia didn't know how to handle it. Nothing was working.

There was water burning behind her eyelids and Lydia clenched her fists whenever she thought tears were about to fall. Now was not the time for weakness. Sometime that night Stiles would knock on the door and she would be faced with him unless she could hide in the bathroom.

Lydia decided that she should instead make a plan to fight back.

She needed to show Stiles that she was over him, that she's a badass fighter. Not somebody who cries over their ex from ten years ago.

That's not Lydia.

Not anymore.

"O-okay, I think I'm going to--fuck, did Stiles just ring the doorbell?"

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Scott opened the door, a smile spreading so wide on his face that he thought it might break. Standing with the same exuberant smile was Stiles Stilinski, eyes brighter than honey and teeth whiter than snow. Although Scott didn't want to admit it, he knew that he was close to tears.

"S-Scott?"

Wearing a black dress shirt tucked into dark jeans, Stiles bit his lip while admiring his best friend. God, he missed him. All those nights sleeping in a treehouse while snacking on buttery popcorn were just hazy memories. Or the time that they would spend countless hours talking about girls and their plans for the future, not to mention that one day where Stiles walked in on his best friend making out with Allison.

Golden eyes that dripped with honey, eyelashes that touched the root of his eyebrow--every part of him was effortlessly perfect.

"Stiles!" Scott beamed, a grin involuntarily blowing up on his face, "it's so good to see you, man." Smiling, he threw his arms around the spaz, shutting his eyes for a few moments. He missed Stiles so much.

As they pulled away, Stiles rocked back and forth on his heels nervously. "Am I too early?" He asked with wide eyes, peering subtly behind Scott's shoulder to see if anyone else was there yet. But his friend's shoulders were too broad to make out anybody's figure.