ROAD TO SERENITY | stydia [✔️]

67 // come on eileen - dexys midnight runners

Seven. Seven p.m.. That's what he kept repeating to himself the entire day, constantly and constantly even though he was starting to hate the number.

Seven. Why did it have to be seven? He chose it, of course, he still hated it. Well, not really. He didn't hate it. He couldn't wait for it to come, maybe that was the case. The clock was ticking at the little arrow was turning clockwise slowly, slowly, and he kept staring at it and whispering the two words.

He wasn't obsessed. The number didn't mean shit to him. But seven p.m. was when he'd get her and the party would begin and she would feel happy and he wanted it to be good. But the fucking arrow that pointed at minutes wouldn't turn to twelve.

"You're going to make a hole in the clock," said someone behind him.

"No." His fingers were fidgeting so he put them in pockets, making grimaces whilst jumping on his toes. "I don't have laser eyes."

"Good for my grandmother's clock, then."

Stiles turned to the man, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. "You actually had a grandmother? Like, someone who actually liked you enough to give you something?"

"Ah, no," laughed Peter Hale. "I bought it at some garage sale. It looks pretty good, though."

"It looks shit. You're going for the modern style of the hotel."

Peter nodded. He crossed arms on his chest and frowned, eyeing the clock. "You're right. But every hotel needs to have a dash of the Grand Budapest spirit."

The two stood like that for a couple moments more. Stiles was still jumping in place, waiting for the clock to strike seven. It was any moment now – or, minute, anyway. He was just going to wait until it was seven. End of the deal. A minute or two more weren't much, anyway.

Yeah, right.

A hand touched his left shoulder. "You know you can get her before seven, right?" asked Peter. "It's not set in stone."

He snorted. "It's not fun."

"Young love. What do I know?"

"Nothing," said Stiles. "That's an encyclopedic fact."

The hotel manager laughed and gave him few words of encouragement, before leaving. As soon as his footsteps died out in the hallway, the long arrow reached twelve and the clock struck. Stiles jumped and bolted to Lydia's bedroom, nearly falling to his death more than once, but when he knocked on the door and it took Lydia more than four seconds to answer, he was ready to call off absolutely everything.

But she opened the door in fifth and all was well.

"Hi! What's up?"

Stiles blinked. He knew what he had to say, but he forgot. Absolutely everything. "Hi. We need you downstairs."

"We?"

"I. I need you downstairs."

"Why, can't you just tell me here?" Lydia turned her head towards the room, biting her lip. Her strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her back in waves and glimmered on this light, or at least that's how Stiles saw it. She looked at him with guilt. "I'm in the middle of something, actually."

Fuck. He wasn't prepared for this.

"Your parents?" he asked, but before she could answer, he added, "If it's your parents, say goodbye and that you'll talk to them tomorrow. If not, abort mission and come with me. You'll do it tomorrow. And no," he said when she opened her mouth, "I actually, for once, don't care. You're going with me. And wear something cute. Or, actually, you look great already."