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"Breathe. Relax. You're safe with me."
He hugged her tighter, and the closer she got to him, the more maintained her breathing became.
Anxiety still swarmed her small frame, because her vision was fading in and out. It seems that he sensed it though, because he ran his hand slowly over her back.
"I thought you broke up with him." His anger sounded held back, but his body was calm and comforting.
"I tried." It was all she could say before her breathing quickened again. Her knees began to shake and her fingers gripped his jacket tighter. "I really did."
"I know." He regretted his anger, but he couldn't hide it. Here she was, probably bleeding under her clothes, and all he wanted to do was beat the shit out of the low life that hurt her.
She mummbled into his chest. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For not being strong enough."
"Stop." He clutched her proactively and loosened only when she stopped shaking.
He couldn't help but steal a glance at her as she removed her shirt. His hands visibly balled into fists at the various shades of purple across her body. The bruising looked like splotchy paint.
"Is it that bad?" She sounded scared.
She moved her red hair aside, revealing a cut on the back of her neck and after seeing that, he felt slightly sick.
"There is a lot of blood, but it's okay."
She winced. "That explains the stinging."
Her discarded paisley shirt was stained with blood, mostly from her neck. The rest of the blood was caused by the thin slashes across her front.
"Those are cuts?" The fire returned to his voice as he closed the space between them. He wanted to touch her again, to hold her trembling body against his, but seeing the blood made him hesitate.
"Scratches." Just saying it made her eyes twitch, reliving the moment. She circled her arms around herself, trying to find a since of security.
Even if her arms blocked him out, he embraced her anyway. He could feel her heart beating faster.
"I don't know where he is now. I threw a plate at him before I ran out."
"That doesn't matter," he reassured her. "He can't hurt you any more."
When she pulled away from him, the dried blood made it resistant. His white shirt had small lines of red across the shoulders and chest.
The edges of her white bra were also slightly red from the blood.
She blushed suddenly, realizing that she was standing before Stiles with no shirt.
"Shit, hey. Do you have a shirt I can wear?"
He smiled softly. "You act like I haven't seen you in your bra before, Lyds."
She gasped. "You have not!"
"Bathing suit," he smirked. "Whatever."
She had finally settled on his bed, a pair of his oversized pajama pants on, and a snug All Time Low tour shirt covering the bandaged scratches.
"I appreciate it," she told him softly as he wrapped a blanket around her. "I don't know what else to do."
He shrugged. "You're my best friend, Lydia. Of course you're moving in with me."
"What?"
"Come on," he smiled. "You aren't living with him. We can go get your things tomorrow. My apartment is big enough for you too."
For a moment, she looked like she wanted to protest, but did not and silently took his hand in hers.
"Thank you, Stiles."
He pulled her towards him and kissed her cheek. "Anything for you, Lydia."
