𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

Cold Nights

REQUESTED BY @redstringbanshee

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The rain padded against the windows in a noisy manner as the dark abyss of the outside world worked its wonders. Booms of thunder cracked as lightning followed after, breaking the sound barrier with one magnificent jolt of electricity. Hearts thumped, thunder boomed, but to them, both sounds were equivalent in noise.

Their bodies were a tangled mess on the worn out couch in the Martin household, chatting quietly and listening to the rain that pounded just outside the walls. About an hour ago, the power had gone out and instead of sleeping away into the darkness, Lydia decided to start a fire in the huge fireplace they had in the living room.

The fireplace was open and bright yet calming. Gold linings decorated the surroundings of the marble material it was made out of, along with stone that was coated on the step in front of the flames. At first, the flame didn't ignite, and the boy had to take it into his own hands to carry more logs from the garage and place them into the fire. From then, the bright light caused his eyes to water as he kept staring at the bursts of energy that tangled with each other, which eventually turned into smoke.

As big as the house was, the couch was small. It was tight, yet comfortable. Stiles laid with his back to the couch, one arm hooked around Lydia's waist and the other coiled her strawberry blonde locks around his fingers. She was practically on top of him, tracing small shapes on his chest as she distractedly watched the fire. Their legs were entwined with each other, not really knowing how they ended up like that. But it was.

Lydia wore her pajamas, which consisted of tiny plaid shorts and a t-shirt that probably didn't belong to her. He was wearing his khakis still with a cozy crew neck that simply had Beacon Hills on the front of it. His hair was mussed from the pillow that was thrown at him about an hour before by a frustrated Lydia (it was because he kept calling her pet names and she needed to shut him up). But after that, they resolved their matters and decided to calm down on the couch.

Natalie Martin was out for the weekend. She told Lydia she was visiting some friends from high school as some sort of reunion, and could have the house for the weekend. Since her mother was gone, Lydia took it upon herself to spend the nights with Stiles. Also, since there was no adult supervision, Lydia didn't hesitate to bring out a bottle of wine from the cabinets in the basement.

As of right now, the bottle was half gone.

Slightly tipsy was the right thing to call the pair right now, but they were most certainly not drunk. They'd chat, and every once in a while giggle uncontrollably because of the little amount of alcohol running through their veins. They were both fucking lightweights and one sip could send them over the edge. Wine was better to relax with.

And now, they were here. Laying down, talking, listening not just to the rain, but to each other, and their hearts that pumped blood.

They haven't said anything in a while. Lydia laid her head on Stiles' chest as she stared at the fire and he looked up to the ceiling, contemplating everything. At one point, she looked up at him, not to get his attention, but to admire his features. She admired the way his nose dipped and how it was slightly red from the alcohol. She didn't know if it was because of the fire or not, but his cheeks were red. The moles and freckles were still visible, still painting patterns on his skin and creating constellations that she wanted to connect. His eyes were looking up, yet, she could still see the wonder they held. His pupils were dilated yet she could still see the whiskey color swirling around.

"You're staring," said Stiles, not moving.

Lydia smiled, "I'm gazing."

"It's creepy."