Multi-Fandom One-Shots Part 2

Apartment 311 - Stydia (Teen Wolf)

Lydia has decided that she hates her neighbour, and she hasn't even met him yet.

But she has heard him.

"Crap," she hears him yelp just now, through the thin wall that separates their apartments. Something hits the floor and smashes presumably into a million pieces, and then Stilinski's voice raises to call through loud and clear: "Sorry, Lydia!"

Lydia simply flops over in her bed, not answering as usual. There's another resounding crash from her neighbour's apartment. She has to wonder how he even has anything left to smash. Her own conclusion had been that he must go out during the day and buy glass ornaments, then take a baseball bat to them when the clock strikes midnight. There's really no other reason that it should happen this frequently- at least once a month. And if he's not smashing things or otherwise emitting odd noises that she can't quite put her finger on, he's got his loud and raucous bunch of friends over.

Lydia's tried complaining numerous times to the landlord, Deaton. Because she's got lectures to present. Papers to write. Things to do. All that fun stuff that comes with moving to your boyfriend's city and moving your whole career over too. But after three weeks, Deaton apparently hasn't gotten around to kicking Stilinski out to the curb, and if it hasn't happened yet- after he's lived here for two years before she ever did- she doubts it ever will.

She curses herself inwardly now, as Stiles yawns loudly through the wall. She knew there had to be a reason this apartment hadn't been snatched up yet, but the price tag had distracted her from asking too many questions. She strongly regrets that now.

As she hears Stilinski finally manage to trip into his own bed and the sounds settle into quietness again, she reasons that she could just move into Jackson's place. He's got a swanky penthouse downtown, but she'd been waiting for him to invite her to do so. He never had. Perhaps the notion hadn't even occurred to him, but Lydia had far too much pride to ask. And Allison, who helped her move into this place, already has three roommates.

So now Lydia's stuck.

-

The next morning has Lydia feeling tired and bleary, something she attributes entirely to the idiot living in apartment three-eleven. She's got an early morning class, so she resigns herself to getting coffee. Not something she likes to do if she can help it, but a good jolt of caffeine appears to be a necessary evil at the moment.

Luckily, there's a coffee shop and bakery right across the street so she heads in there and orders a cappuccino.

The guy at the counter- one with friendly brown eyes and dark hair- delivers her a warm smile that immediately sets her at ease despite her grumpiness. His smile makes it apparent that his jawline is kind of uneven, which she thinks is adorable. "Name?" he asks her, fingers poised with a sharpie against her styrofoam cup.

"Lydia," she replies, and he- Scott, she reads from his name tag- scrawls it down. She casts her gaze around the place in the meantime. It's quaint and small, with squishy, worn couches and warm lighting. The bakery part is in the back, behind the counters, and while she's looking over the pastries on one of the trays debating whether to buy one, she notices one of the chefs peeking over at her.

Not fazed by being checked out, she gives him a dismissive once over in return. He's wearing an apron and is tapping a rolling pin nervously against the table he's working on. He's staring at her rather blatantly. He's cute, she supposes, with an upturned, gently sloping nose and hair that's sticking up haphazardly in every direction.

"It'll be ready in like, two minutes," says the barista, and she blinks before returning her gaze back to him. "Anything else today?"

She shakes her head and when she looks back towards the kitchens, she can't see the chef anymore.