482 days.

It had been 482 days since Lydia had seen Stiles in person. 482 days she's spent going to sleep with tears in her eyes. 482 days of her wondering when she'd ever see him again, or if she'd ever see him again. 482 days she had felt torn in half.

482 days since Stiles enlisted in the military.

It was a shock to a lot of people, when Stiles made the announcement before graduation. It was long since chaos had stirred in Beacon Hills, but it still felt like a pull to the group. It was coming the time that the group had to decide on their future.

He didn't really explain his sudden interest in the army to the pack, which left Lydia is a bit of a haze as she went home that night. Ever since she lost Allison, she had realized just how much Stiles meant to her. It took time and patience for her to admit that to Stiles, but he was entirely content. Even more so the day she finally mustered the courage to explain (or, try to, at least) her feelings. And he was understanding. Ever since then, they became incredibly more close. They spent long nights in each others arms when they needed comfort, to even just watching a movie on the couch together. They liked what they had, and it made them happy.

So, when Stiles showed up to her house later the night he announced his enlistment, Lydia didn't even try and hide her tears the minute she saw him in the threshold of her bedroom. Of course, Stiles took that as a cue to rush to her side, putting a protective arm around her and letting her rest her head on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay." he said in a hushed tone, rubbing the small of her back.

"Why?" she mumbled through her sobs, and brought her head up to look at him. "Why are you leaving?"

Stiles hands fumbled at the buttons on his flannel, averting his gaze from her vibrant green eyes, glazed from tears. Tears he was causing.

"I spent a long time feeling broken. I watched a lot of lives being taken, people that didn't deserve it." he started, and Lydia didn't need a genius to know that despite the numerous deaths they'd encountered through the supernatural, Stiles meant his mother.

"And yet, I'm still alive. You could call it luck, but I survived so much shit. I saved lives, and it made me feel, I don't know, less broken." he admitted, By then, he had finally looked at Lydia, and it was like he was in love all over again.

"I want to keep doing that. I want to have that structure and guidance. I want to be able to prove my worth and serve for the greater good." Even though he was speaking the truth, Lydia couldn't help but see the guilt in his eyes. He knew what he was giving up. "I need to do this." She just nodded, feeling another round of tears start to swell in her eyes. And she leaned her head to press her lips to his softly, a quick kiss, and Stiles didn't even flinch. They'd kissed before, in times like these; where they were vulnerable and together. They had no idea what they were to each other. They felt like "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" weren't nearly as close descriptors to label what they had, what they were. It was as if one couldn't live without the other. Stiles and Lydia had been through hell and back at such a young age, saved each other's lives. And when the memories flooded back in or if they felt alone, they found solace in each other, comfort they couldn't get anywhere else.

Lydia parted their lips and let her head rest back on her shoulder, his grip tightening around her. "Stay tonight." she asked, her voice cracking.

"Yeah, of course."

The pack had watched the day he left, waving their goodbyes. Scott, with his puppy eyes and humor as he said goodbye to his best friend. Erica and Boyd, who ruffled his hair and told him to be safe. Isaac, who actually smiled and patted his back. Derek, who of course, gave him last minute brutality tips, causing Stiles to roll his eyes. His dad, beaming and proud with wet eyes as he hugged his son for dear life, telling him to make sure he came back home.

Lydia had thought up of hundreds of last things to say to him as they said their goodbyes, but when he stood in front of her, her mind went blank, and all she could do was throw herself into him, causing him to stumble back and her arms wrapped around his torso. She wasn't going to cry, she wasn't. But when he dropped his backpack and wrapped his arms around her, she felt stings in her eyes. She wanted to remember this, the feel of his arms around her, the forest-y smell of spring she always got when around him.

"I love you." she said, low enough for only him to hear, because she had never had the courage to say it to him before, but she had to say it now. And as he squeezed her once more and moved his lips across the top of her head, she felt a tear roll down her cheek.

"I love you, too."

482 days.

Lydia had stayed close to Beacon Hills, got an apartment by herself near the university. It was a hard decision, but she couldn't leave her home, even when universities and institutes around the globe pushed her to bring her genius brain to them.

It was almost winter break of her sophomore year, and the stress of final exams was getting to her. She was feeling more exhausted and alone than usual lately, and it was showing. Not to mention the counting of days that got larger every day in her mind.

It was crazy of her really, but she counted the days Stiles was gone. He was the first thing she thought of in the morning, and the last thing she thought of going to sleep. It felt like there was a hole where her heart was, getting bigger and bigger each day. Then there would be the days of pure joy; the days she'd get a letter in the mail from Stiles. He was stationed in Italy, but it was hard for him to be able to send letters all the time. But when she would check the post and see his chicken scratch of penmanship, spelling out "Stiles Stilinski" on the letter front, she practically melted.

The letters were different all the time; they talked about what it was like, the people he met. He spoke of his heroic actions, and of the people he'd lost. And at the end of every letter he signed it accordingly:

I love you, and I'm coming home,

Stiles

Lydia hadn't gotten a letter in almost 6 months, the longest she'd ever waited, so you can imagine her torment. There was always that nagging feeling that Stiles might not actually come home. Which added on to her list of things to worry about.

It was the day before her last exam before she'd go back to her mother for Christmas, and possibly visit Sheriff Stilinski. She went back to see him from time to time, and managed to sit in Stiles' bedroom for a few minutes, taking in that forest-y fragrance.

She came back from her classes late that Thursday, dark circles around her eyes as she stepped into the apartment, when her nose perked up. Something smelled different, familiar. Her brows knit in confusion as she bared her keys in her hand. It felt like she wasn't alone. And if there was a burglar in her apartment, they shouldn't have messed with a banshee. She took quiet steps past the kitchen and into the small hallway, her bedroom door wide open. Didn't she close it before she left? But as she stepped through the door, her keys dropped to the floor and the breathe was stolen from her lungs.

He sat at the foot of her bed, wearing his camouflage uniform pants and a grey fitted cotton shirt and beige combat boots. His hair looked as if it was cut into a buzz not too long ago, but was starting to grow back. He was bigger than she remembered; his arms wore more muscled and toned, and he had a small amount of stubble around his chin. But Lydia didn't care. She didn't care how he looked or what he sounded like: Stiles was here.

She couldn't hold back the choked sobs that escaped her mouth as she stood there, the tears running fast and hot down her cheek, taking in the overwhelming sight that was the man she loved. The man she always loved. So when he stood up from her bed and gave her a stupidly-goofy smile with glazed, amber eyes, she didn't hesitate running into his arms, burying her face into his chest, clinging to him like no other.

"It's real, you're real," she managed to muster through her sobs, and astounded laugh coming out of her. "I missed you. I missed you and I love you. I love you, Stiles." she went off, a jabber of words coming out. Stiles chuckled softly, but by the sniff from his nose, she could tell he was crying, too. "And I thought I was a babbling mess." he said, and he could feel Lydia smile just the slightest. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he got the lightest whiff of roses and vanilla.

"I told you I was coming home."

He pulled from her just enough so she would look up at him, her wet blotchy face that she would call atrocious, but Stiles would believe was nothing but beautiful. She was much different than the girl he had a crush on in high school, who ignored him and called him out on his childish antics. This girl, Lydia Martin, was the girl that kept him alive the last 482 days. The one he fought to come home to. The girl he loved.

When he leaned down to kiss her, it was different than anything they'd both done. It wasn't out of pity, wasn't playful or calming. It was desperate and careful, like it was the last kiss they'd ever share. His lips were soft and thin, but as they pressed against hers, she felt like it was the only thing that mattered. His hands moved to cup her face, his thumb brushing the tears away under her eyes and he continued to kiss her, and her hands clutched his shirt, holding him and never wanting him to let go. But, after a long while, he did, and they just looked at each other.

That, of course, caused another round of sobs from Lydia, overwhelmed with emotions, and she felt her legs tremble, no long able to hold her up. And Stiles, with this newfound strength, bridal-carried her in his arms to the sofa in her living room.

They spent the remainder of the night in each other's arms; Stiles, laying on his back, spread on the sofa, and Lydia curled up on his side, her hand and chin resting on his chest, and his hand rubbing her back. Stiles told her stories about the past year and a half, telling her what Sicily was like, his training, the bombings, and the friends he'd lost. Lydia told him of what had happened since he left, what the pack was doing, and how she was. They shared longing looks and chaste kisses, and Lydia couldn't even begin to explain how much she wanted this. To be back with him.

"482 days." she said during a long while of silence, simply enjoying being with each other.

"Huh?" he asked.

"You were gone 482 days." she said again, propping her head up on his chest.

A wide, cheesy grin covered his face. "You kept count?"

"It was the only thing that kept me from going crazy."

Stiles was speechless for a second, but used his free hand to reach inside his shirt to pull out a chain that was wrapped around his neck, a silver plate hanging from it.

"A dog tag?" she asked.

He held it in his hand for her to take, and so she held it between her delicate fingers, turning it in them. It had his name, his quadrant number, address. But it was the last line of the dog tag that stilled her hands. Engraved, it read Lydia Genevieve Martin.

She looked up at him with astonished eyes, and he already knew what she was going to ask.

"It was the only thing that kept me from going crazy."

Lydia, all out of tears for the night, pulled herself up just enough to kiss him momentarily, trying to remember the curve of his lips and the taste of his mouth. She couldn't help the flutter in her heart when she laid her head back on her chest, and instead focused on the sound of his heart, and the rise and fall of his chest, letting all the exhaustion and remorse wash away.

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but she knew she had when she felt her mattress under her, and a blanket over her. More importantly, she remembered laying on top of Stiles. A moment of panic washed over her; this wouldn't have been the first time she'd dreamnt of Stiles being with her, kissing her, hugging her, coming home. And she'd wake up and realize it was just a dream. She opened her eyes to reveal darkness and fidgeted in her bed, feeling a lump form in her throat, when an arm wrapped around her waist, causing her to freeze.,

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here." Stiles said in a hushed tone, moving her waist so that she would turn her body to face him as she lay on her side. Her breathing slowed down, and she could see the concerned look Stiles was giving her, even in the pitch black of her room.

"Have you been having nightmares a lot?" he asked, her fingers rubbing circles at her sides, a touch she's associated with comfort from him.

"Not nightmares, really. Dreams. Of you. Being here." she started, and realized it sounded utterly childish out loud. "The nightmare was waking up and realizing it wasn't real."

"C'mere." he said, and pulled her so that she was flush against him, and she gratefully went into his arms, letting them wrap around her in protection as she tangled their legs together, her head fitting in the space between his shoulder and neck as if it were made for her.

"I'm not going anywhere, okay Lyd? I'm going to be by your side forever and bug the crap out of you, and you're going to have to deal with it."

Lydia felt a small smile form across her face as she could feel her mind tugging her back towards sleep. "Promise?" she said groggily.

And as the smell of mountains and pine trees drifted her towards sleep, she felt the lightest touch of lips to her temple.

"I promise."