After All This Time

Kiss Me

Stiles clicked his seatbelt into place, waiting for the windows in the jeep to defrost. He didn't have anywhere to go, but he was so used to driving in circles trying to untangle the knots and twists his mind decided to take. And on every turn there was Lydia.

He didn't know how, but she always seemed to wedge herself into every single one of his thoughts. It's not that he didn't like thinking about her, he didn't like thinking about her and not knowing how to feel. It was like she made him feel the best he'd ever felt, and the worse. Maybe that was love, maybe it was lust. He wish he knew.

It was different then before for one sole reason; he wasn't the only one who sees who she really is anymore, and it makes him wonder if he ever really knew her at all. Or if maybe he made her see that who she is is okay, perfect actually. He didn't know if she felt the same as she did before about him, if she would still remember when they kissed as clearly as he did. If she would feel like she did back then. Before she left.

He missed her regardless. He missed her strawberry blond hair. He missed the way she smelt, traces of the same scent that were constantly changing with her mood and her activity. He missed the smile she got on her face when a Snow Patrol or Green Day song came on the radio when they would drive around in the jeep. He missed the way sleep stuck to her eyes and her voice for hours after she woke, reminding him of the moments they would wake up together whenever he saw her. He missed the sarcasm, the bickering. And he missed the sincerity in her voice when she would change how he thought about everything with some undeniable realization.

He missed her eyes, a shade of green that would send goosebumps up and down his body. He missed the way she took deep breaths whenever she walked into a room. He missed her brain. Seeing her thought process. But most of all he missed the way her hand slipped into his exactly when he needed it to, like she could read his mind. It was an innocent action that she understood perfectly. And he loved that when her hand was in his he felt an undeniable weakness, and a fierce strength that sent electricity to his bones. It's what got him out of bed in the morning, that feeling. She was the reason, even when she was gone that he had hope. And she didn't have a clue how vital her life was to his.

Every breath she took made his easier to take, every step she took he wasn't afraid to take with her. And every tear she shed set a fire deep in his lungs, burning as much as the pain she felt.

Her beauty helped him see all the world had to offer. And he knew that no camera or video would ever capture her beauty, completely and truly. He made it a point to memorize her ups and downs and in betweens. The dip from her neck to her collarbone, the scares she had on her hips from Peter attacking her on the football field sophomore year, Sometimes her shirt would slip up just enough at the hem to see them. The way her eye twitched when she was tired and the way her hair fell over her shoulders in perfect strands of silky fire. The way her body shakes when she's scared, demanding and uncontrollably fast.

And he thought to himself, he couldn't know someone like this and adore them so much, and not be in love. And yes, she knew how to push every button, but he knew how to do the same for her. He didn't always like her. But he always loved her. He never stopped, and he had a feeling he never will.

Stiles found himself pulling up to an apartment building just outside of town. He's only known a few people who would know what to do in this kind of situation, his father, Melissa, maybe even Lydia, but especially Allison, and Scott. He walked up the flights of stairs, knocking when he reached 411.

"Hey man." Scott said as he opened the door, moving for Stiles to walk in, "what's up?"

Allison walked into the room in an old tshirt, probably one of Scott's and pajama bottoms. Her hair was up and she didn't have makeup on. It was like old times.