UNFINISHED Stydia AU - Room Mates - Teen Wolf.

Complicated.

Friends should sleep in other beds,
And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do,
And I know there's a limit to everything,
But my friends won't love me like you.

- Friends, Ed Sheeran.

.......................................................

Stiles woke up late the next day, surrounded by the smell of Lydia's perfume, the girl herself still asleep and nestled peacefully into his chest.

He had never been in her room for such a long period of time before - they tended to stay out of each other's bedrooms as a general rule - but now, their rulebook had been tossed away, replaced by something... unexplainable.

Stiles could only see one side of the room without turning his head, which he knew would wake up Lydia. A pair of black framed glasses sat on her bedside table, alongside a small ring dish cluttered with small change and earrings. So Lydia wore glasses. Or at least, contacts. He couldn't imagine her wearing the hipster-looking frames, unless she was being ironic.

Directly across from him was a pin board clustered with clumsily taken photos of Kira, a few guys Stiles didn't know, and another girl, always wearing the same necklace with a little sparkling 'A' hanging from it... Allison. Dark hair, dimples, and a heartbreaking smile in every single photo.

There was a tattered picture from when she was younger, her arms thrown around a grinning Lydia, both of them looking like they were invincible, the immortality of youth shining through their smiles. Best friends, a blue sky above them, their eyes holding no shadows of past pain, only excitement at the years to come. It was awful to look at.

Stiles frowned at thirteen-year-old Lydia. She was so different. She smiled fully and without thinking about it, nothing like her nineteen-year-old counterpart. This happy little girl couldn't possibly be his shoot-em-up, hell-hath-no-fury, take-no-prisoners Lydia. She was too soft, too sweet, too careless. Her hair had been left in unruly tangles and she had grass stains all over her denim shorts.

Stiles couldn't decide whether or not he would like Lydia if she was still like that. He liked Lydia because she took off her mask for him; she didn't wear perfume when it was just them home alone, she would wear old knee socks and band shirts with her pajama shorts still underneath, she would blast Taylor Swift and Paramore from her little boom box in the kitchen as she baked, she never tried to lie to him about who the real Lydia truly was.

But maybe, if there was no mask at all, if everyone got to see that side of her, he wouldn't find it so cute when she acted childish or lazy. Maybe there was a part of him that wanted to keep the real Lydia for himself.

There were newer photos too, Polaroids that looked barely a month old, mostly of Kira and herself, but Lydia had managed to capture him as well, at times when he wasn't looking. She was sneaky; he had never so much as seen her holding a camera.

There was one of him and Scott playing Xbox, and one that must have been taken early in the day, of him sitting at their table in the morning light. She had taken it from her bedroom doorway, he could tell by the angle. It was obvious that he hadn't noticed her. His attention was absorbed in his phone, and he was still in his pajamas.

There was one of him sleeping, curled up on the couch after accidentally drifting off during a movie. Lydia had drawn kitten whiskers and a heart shaped nose onto the photo with a sharpie. The last one - probably the most embarrassing - was of him with headphones attached to his ears, air drumming enthusiastically in the kitchen with his eyes squeezed shut.