(Lydia's POV)

A folded up piece of paper flitters down onto my desk. I hesitate, grabbing it with a few careful fingers and flick my eyes to the right and then the left. I see him then; shy smile, fiddling his pen with clumsy fingers, sun turning the tips of his fluffy hair chocolate brown. His turn-up nose wiggles like a bunny's when he looks down, still smirking. His hands nervously touch his face. I breathe out, having stared at him a bit too long to convince the teacher that I was paying attention. I gaze at the blackboard as long as I can before I can't stand the suspense anymore.

I flip open the first corner of the paper, careful not to make too much noise. When it's fully open, only one small sentence is revealed in the middle of the page. It was just enough. Your place or mine?

I tear off a blank piece of the paper so I can keep the note and write my reply. Mine. I deliver the note personally, putting the teacher in the back of my mind, choosing my priorities. I lean myself towards Stiles' desk, slipping the folded paper between his long fingers. When I look to the front of the room, Mrs. Trainor's eyes are on me but she leaves it at that.

Last time Stiles and I had passed notes, they were too sexy for class, especially when they landed in the wrong lap. Poor Scott. He'd replied politely though. Sorry, Stiles. I think you're handsome, but we should stay best friends. And, well, I don't think that's physically possible, but I'm glad you like to try new things. Have a good next class, buddy. -Scott. Last time they'd all been arranged for his house. Stiles tilts his head to me,wondering but pleased. "Really?" He mouths at me. I don't even reconsider. I want him there, in the safe space of my room, finally. I smile at him sweetly and nod. Then I gesture to the front, telling him to pay attention since he needs notes on this class much more than myself.

After the bell rings, I sling my purse over my shoulder and gather my books, stumbling back into Stiles. He was standing perfectly close. Something about it felt reminiscent to when he had an innocent crush on me. I'd thought it entertaining then. Now I returned the fumbling, gentle but furious, wonderfully teenage feelings for him. He was still goofy about it, and I'd been flattered by that then, too. "Hey..." He stood tall before me, looking down with a crooked smile, cheeks pushed up into his eyes. I felt mine do the same. "What time do you want me to come over?" He swallows a detectable nervousness. I play with it. Crawling a few fingers up his wrist resting on the desk top, I look to the ceiling to ponder the time. "Lydia..." He chuckles.

"After dinner at Scott's." Always food first. "We can carpool..." I breathe lightly when I realize that, while I was talking, he's moved closer to me. His forehead was almost touching mine, our lips parted, nearly grazing. I give him one soft kiss. The next one lingers and I taste him. It's nothing like kisses you see in movies. It's incredibly vivid. Slightly salty, damp, and whispered. I inhale, noting his soapy smell. Light cologne in his hair, toothpaste, shirt left in the dryer too long.

The last kiss brings my hands to the sides of his neck, his exposed collarbone. Our noses brush together, his cold and mine warm. I dare to step a little closer. He's at least a foot taller than me with my short heels so I stand on my toes. Stiles cranes and curls to kiss me, almost wrapping me up just to have this function. I'd never lived in a moment the way I lived in the feeling of kissing Stiles. His sure grip on my hips, long fingers nearly touching across my lower back.

We don't separate even when we end our kiss. "Dammit," I say and close my eyes tight.

"What?" He laughs. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No! No..." I smile at him. "I just...I drove here..." The fact that I had to be alone, away from him, in my car for the fifteen minutes to Scott's house was irritating on a new level.

"I'll meet you there." Stiles pecks my cheek, a strand of my hair getting stuck on his lip and infinitely in his mouth. It tugs on my head when he notices the hair caught. "Blah gah...ahh...gaahh!" His tongue lulls out over and over as he picks at it desperately trying to free himself. "Aha!" Stiles holds the wet strand up with victory and lets it drop back down on my shoulder.

"Thank you...so much." Stiles cringes when I glare at him, a hint of a smile on both of our mouths. I spin on my heals and let him watch me walk away. Even at my l0cker I hear the squeaky sound of his sneakers running awkwardly down the hallway to his.

"No meat. No mushrooms. Extra cheese. Extra mushrooms." Scott pulls mini pizza bagels out of the oven. He winces when the heat of the trays leak through his mitt.

"Wow Scott...thanks for cooking!" Kira encourages, pressuring Stiles and I to go along with it out of Scott's sight.

"Yeah! Mmm! Thanks!" We nod along, too enthusiastic, but Scott is convinced. He'd just customized the frozen bagels by either removing toppings or adding canned ones, but that was Scott's best. He dumps them all onto a serving plate too big for the occasion.

"I know it's not a four course meal, but it's what we had in the fridge...I don't really do the grocery shopping. My mom knows how to get all the deals." Melissa's cooking skills were just as good as her son's. Scott scoots into his chair next to Kira. He pecks her on the cheek like they're a secret.

"It's great, Scott. The perfect after school snack. Don't they say that on the commercial?" I pluck one of each from the tray.

"Lydia, can I borrow your notes? From Trainor's class?" Kira peeks into my bag. I dig my hand in, the other hand occupied with a pizza bagel. I splay the notes on the table in front of us to let her choose which set she'd like. Some were general, others had my thoughts in the margins about the subject, but I hid the copy with Stiles' name written along the border. "Yes. Yes to all." Kira scoops them up, obviously grateful. She'd missed a few of Trainor's classes this week, and so had Scott. I remember when I see him flitting his eyes to the notes. From the notes to Kira to the notes. They were...studying. And I suspect they'll be doing more of that when we leave.

"You can just keep them. I have another copy." Kira smiles at me with gorgeous bright eyes. So much different than Allison's smile. But I was glad I'd been a source of both.

My hand moves down my lap and across to Stiles'. I wrap my pointer finger around his pinkie and drag his palm to my exposed leg. His fingertips creep under the hem of my skirt, brushing slowly up and down at the top of my thigh. It was more sensual than sexual, though. Gentle and comforting. I rest my head on his shoulder. With my head tilted and eyes glazed over, I catch Scott looking at us. It's curiosity but also wonder. Happiness and pride. He nods once at me, approving and full of love. A noble alpha giving a blessing.

We finish eating and Scott and Stiles move to the living room to spread across both couches. Kira and I stick to the kitchen, making coffee and cleaning up. We knew the boys would just toss the dishes into the sink and call it clean, so for Melissa's sake, we'd made some soapy water in the sink and began to wash. "So Scott and I...we're," Kira giggles to herself before continuing, "we've been like bunnies." She whispers the end, completely entertained by herself. "I just...I don't want to stop!" Kira brushes loose pieces of hair behind her ears with dripping fingers.

"I know what you mean. I really know what you mean." My smile flirts with my own thoughts. "Scott really loves you." I say softly, looking at her directly, lazily wiping the washrag over a plate.

"Yeah..." She blushes. "I really love him too. You know, I didn't know if..." Kira pauses as if she's surveying what reaction I'd have to her sentence. "I didn't know if he'd feel the way he did with Allison, with me." Kira's eyes panic a little and she backtracks. "I mean I know it's not the same, like I'm not trying to replace her, I just-"

"Kira!" I laugh and pat her arm. "I understand. When Scott loves, Scott loves. Allison, you, all of us. It's the same." I flick water at her to dispel her nervousness and it seems to work.

"Did you know that if I used my power right now you'd be fried like a chip." She looks at both of our hands submerged in the water.

"Kira, these are the things we need to talk about. You can't just say something like that."

Stiles and I venture outside when Kira and Scott showed signs of restlessness and glances to the staircase. We had similar thoughts on our mind. Stiles couldn't resist asking, "hey, you wanna, I don't know...get out of here?" He winks to accompany the cheesiness.

"Put your seatbelt on, Casanova." I abstain from him for the duration of the ride to my house. I'd build it up, each need to touch, to stare, to even just glimpse the vein in his neck. His skin must be so warm underneath his shirt... "I forget if my room is cleaned up or not." I twist the ends of my hair, suddenly nervous and trying to make small talk.

"Lyds, when has my room ever been clean when you came over?" Stiles grabs my hand and pulls it to his side. My palms are clammy I'm sure but he just rubs his thumb back and forth on my knuckles. "I'm...I'm really happy you invited me." He glances over, eyes innocent. We pull into the driveway, bouncing along in his jeep with every bump. The cab of the car is so silent. Every brush of our clothes against the seats or breaths in and out are amplified, explicit. I slide over, shoes getting caught on the pulled up carpet of the floor, and awkwardly lean into to him. Stiles holds my eyes, the amber of his iris' glassy, lashes low. His lips curve up, a suggestion of a smile. Stiles himself was a suggestion of a lot of things.

I press a cautious kiss on the side of his mouth, his lips gently and barely offering themselves. One of his hands moves up my arm and through my hair hanging down between us. The skin of my chest seems to tighten with goosebumps when his fingers reach my jaw line, asking to touch, asking to caress my face. I tilt my head into his hand and let him pull my mouth to his. The kiss is full. Filling, satisfying, fire starting. Stiles pulls his lips away, the tip of my tongue savoring his. Our faces nuzzle together for a long second but when that fraction of time ends, we force ourselves to get out of opposite doors.

When I unlock the front door, Stiles walks close to me in the dark. I lead him upstairs and around the corner to my room. "It's nice and warm up here!" He's chipper and normal and I love him for it. "Where's your light switch? Ah!" It flicks on beside my ear and we're flooded with soft white light. I leave him for a second to turn on the bedside lamps and return, flicking off the ceiling light. "Mood lighting? Lydia Martin..."

"Shut up, Stiles." I flick his arm and gesture for him to come into the room further. He remains in the doorway for another moment before taking a few small strides my way. I sit on my bed to keep myself still and stick with my invitation for him to invade the room. To touch things, to have opinions on them, to bring his energy into the room. He doesn't pluck any strings and my shoulders relax.

"Wow...I've never seen this picture." Stiles picks up a framed photo of Allison and I, arms draped over each other, blowing kisses at the camera. I was different then. Allison was safe and I was naïve. Her hair had been long and curly when the photo was taken, and I had still worn bubblegum pink lip gloss. Jackson had liked how it made my lips look.

"I think Scott has a copy somewhere." I pipe up from my spot on the bed. Stiles puts the frame down carefully. He moves around the room, taking in the elements of it. Smiling at some things and being puzzled by others.

I'm suddenly very aware of him. His tallness, his energy, the way he took air from the room. He was multidimensional.

There was a boy in my room. A Stiles.

"Hey you." He takes a step my way, shy. Stiles reaches an arm out and I take his hand. I encourage him to come my way, to sit with me. And when he does I migrate to his lap. I fit against him. Stiles wraps his hands around my back like he had in the classroom.

"Stiles..." I press into him, pining for him, needy and light.

"I love you too."

We nurture each other in the darkness. Holding and giving and taking. The intensity transforms into sleepiness. Lazy rocking, attentive kisses, asking and answering. I'm safe beneath him. I whisper to him, hoping to reach places my hands cannot. "I'm so happy you're here." My fingers tremble slightly between the hairs at the back of his head, all of my skin ultra-sensitive. "Stiles..." My words turn to heartbreaking and lovely gasping breaths.

The silhouette of the curve of Stiles' back is soft like the light. I wish to paint him into a picture, write a song about it, to keep him. So I trail my fingers along his face, into his hair, and press my dampened lips to his. I memorize the warmth and swell of it all. The buzzing. A new frequency. And I add Stiles to my safe space.