Me Too (completed)

Chapter eleven

He was released from the hospital four days later and she learned this when her phone rang at three in the morning. Lydia was half asleep with a grumble in her throat and furrowed brows when she somehow managed to reach over to her bedside table and answer her phone.

"Did you know it's almost thirty degrees out tonight?" It was Stiles with stupid intention that made her sigh and smile at the same time.
"Stiles, what are you doing right now?" She mumbled.
"What I'm really doing right now is standing outside your door. Hurry up, its fucking cold out here." He shivered for effect.

Lydia hung up yawned and stretched for a good minute before slipping out of her warm comforter. She waddled down the stairs in fluffy slippers and a white robe that practically consumed her before pulling open the front door. And he was right, it was cold, goosebumps forming on her arms despite the robe. He grinned.
"Why are you smiling, idiot?"

He shrugged. "Because you're my best friend and my neighbor and we're about to walk around the neighborhood in the middle of the night." The girl looked at him like he was crazy. But, seeing that he actually is insane, she obliged with a sigh and stepped out into the cold. Slippers and all. His smile grew wider if even possible as they walked through her yard and down the main sidewalk to the left.

For a while, neither said nothing; Lydia didn't want to bring up colleges and Stiles didn't want to bring up Malia. So they walked and took advantage of the fact that the neighborhood was asleep, counting the silent noises they could hear without the busy scramble of cars or watering lawns. Lydia shivers causing Stiles to begin to take off his jacket. She protests even though she knows that won't stop him.

"So you and Malia are back together?" Lydia asks. Stiles concluded this topic of conversation was okay seeing as she had brought it up.
"Kind of. We were getting back together when the accident happened but it's not like she'll break up with a guy who just fractured his skull."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "You had minimum damage to the head, calm down."

But Stiles was a stubborn kind of guy, he had to be right. "Hey! It may be minimum damage but I'm going to have a scar, feel." He grabbed her hand and planted it on the back of his head where the skin was healing. The problem with this is that Lydia was shorter than him so she had to extend her arm fully and even then they were close. Kissing range close. His hand was still over hers, expression soft as he watched her confused one.

She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent something that might ruin everything and slowly took her hand from his hair as another wave of chills swept over her. They continued their silent walk as Stiles ignored her protest when his jacket left his shoulders and went to hers instead. Damn he cared too much about this girl.
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She liked to watch him paint. No. She loved it. He was focused and so precise with every brush stroke, tongue peeking between his lips to wet them with brows furrowed in concentration. And he was beautiful. Not handsome, not hot; beautiful, a work of art in himself.
"Can you hand me the–" but she was already offering him a shade of pink. He smiled in thanks and took it from her lightly, turning back to the canvas. Lydia had learned at a young age never to ask what he was painting until it was done because during the process it looked a mess but the product was always stunning.

Deep lavender and different tones of blue created new freckles on his arms and a smear above his left brow. And if she didn't know any better, she would've said she loved to watch him paint more than she loved to hear his laugh. But of course, no more than in a sisterly type of way. Yeah right. Lydia sighed, stretched out amongst his bed which was littered with different brushes and tubes of paint.

And he looked back at her from the corner of his eye, the way she flipped through his art books with half interest, occasionally stopping on some pictures of forestry. She was more fond of the nature type things he did and often found herself envying the way it seemed to come natural to him the curl of a vine.
"Bored?" His voice broke her daydream and she rolled over onto her stomach.

She shrugged. "Maybe a little." He sighed, taking one last look at his painting before kneeling in front of the girl. He took her arm in his hand and delicately began to brush a deep swirl of purple near her wrist.
"What are you doing?" She questions silently, watching him work.
His tongue peaked out from the corner of his lips. "Keeping you entertained."

This boy, she smiled. He had only one flaw; caring more for others than he did himself.
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Authors note:

Filler AF but oh well!
Comment, read, enjoy!
-Chloe