Spending time together in Stiles' room had become fairly routine. Whether they were researching whatever supernatural hellion was terrorizing Beacon Hills, studying for school, or just hanging out, Lydia had to admit she loved spending time with him. He was one of the few people she'd ever met who could even hope to equal her intellectually. Plus, there was the not so small fact that he made her stomach flip whenever their eyes met. A lot of things about this stupid dork made her stomach flip.

But she wasn't - she wasn't ready. She knew that a relationship with Stiles would be real, more so than any other she'd ever had. Once they got started, they wouldn't stop.

So she put it off, put off admitting her feelings for him. She was getting increasingly dubious about this course of action, however, especially since Stiles seemed to be garnering an increased amount of attention from other girls. He still seemed very much focused on her, but she honestly couldn't tell if that was because he was in love with her or because she'd really become his best friend after Scott - something he'd told her point-blank, and made her stammer like she pretty much never did.

Lydia hadn't brought herself to take the leap yet, however. The two of them were together in his bedroom now as just friends and studying partners. Both were splayed across his bed. She had her shoes off like she'd become comfortable doing, lying on her stomach, feet in the air, reading through her economics book. Stiles was sitting up against the headboard, one socked foot right by her shoulder. This level of relaxation in a guy's presence, romantically involved or not, was unheard of in Lydia's life. It was both quite strange and also one of the best things she'd ever felt. She was even closer to Allison - when Stiles had told her she was his best friend, she'd told him the same, after Allison instead of Scott - and the two girls often basically cuddled while they studied or talked or did whatever girly crap they could squeeze in between fighting for their lives and trying to pass their midterms (well, Lydia hardly had to try.) She hadn't experienced that with any other girl friends, either. Even with all the rather unbelievably awful crap she and the rest of them had been forced to deal with since Scott got bitten, she also had to admit that in some ways it was the best thing that had ever happened her. It had finally gotten her to be her true self, it had made her and Allison closer than she'd ever dreamed of, it had brought her so much more than she'd ever had as princess of Beacon Hills.

It had brought her Stiles.

Well, it had allowed her to accept him. As he had told her on more than one occasion, he'd been hers for the taking (so to speak) for quite a long time before all the horrors, if only she hadn't let herself be continually blinded by belief in the nonexistent virtues of superficiality. Sorry, I don't date losers. The words rang in her ears, tinny and dissonant and just so, so stupid and shallow and basically everything the stereotypical high school mean girl was supposed to be. She might as well have taken Rachel McAdams' role in the titular movie. Her own strawberry blonde hair was pretty big, and certainly full of secrets - they just happened to be more of the paranormal kind rather than gossip.

Stiles' iPod was playing through the speakers on his small white docking station, and so far it had been a mix of the random music he listened to that she was largely unfamiliar with. She liked his taste, it was eclectic, and he'd introduced her to some bands that had become her favorites. Every once in a while, though, "shuffle" would hit upon something that she already knew, and loved. This was one of those times.

If she were an animal, her ears would have perked up. "You like the Arctic Monkeys?" she asked happily. "Mad Sounds" had started filtering through the speakers.

"Yeah, I do." Stiles grinned at her.

"This is one of my favorite songs," Lydia told him with a small answering smile. "It's different than their others. Better for dancing, maybe."

"Oh really?" His eyebrows quirked, and he rolled off the bed and stood up. She regarded him curiously.

He thrust out a hand to her, palm open. "Dance with me," he said.

Lydia's mind was suddenly flooded with memories of the winter formal last year. Lydia, get off your cute little ass and dance with me, now. "What, no compliments on a certain part of my anatomy this time?"

His smile softened and his eyes warmed. "I was hoping it wouldn't be necessary, but I've got a few prepped and ready if you'd like to hear them."

She made a small moue at him, but it disappeared immediately, and she reached out and took his hand, standing up. Barefoot, without her heels (though she'd been wearing flat shoes far more often lately anyway, since her customary three inches weren't really conducive to running for your life), Stiles towered over her quite a bit. He'd grown since the previous year. Lydia was normally annoyed by her shortness, but couldn't quite bring herself to mind this time. Something about his height was comforting, made her feel safe and protected.

Plus, it didn't help her increasingly powerful attraction to him.

Stiles lightly rested his hands on her waist and she, with only slightly less shyness, wrapped her arms around his neck. They swayed to the mellow sounds of the song, Lydia listening to the familiar lyrics. She hadn't had an actual boyfriend since quite long before the album came out, so she had never applied the lyrics to her own life. But now, dancing to it with Stiles Stilinski, the words - started making a rather perturbing amount of sense.

Mad sounds in your ears, they make you feel alright. She always felt good when she was with Stiles, safer with the simple human than anyone else, even the wolves or Allison, her best friend the huntress. They bring you back to life. Her heart had been so thoroughly hardened by Jackson's abrupt departure, and yet this boy had softened it so slowly she'd never noticed. Mad sounds in your ears, they make you get up and dance. Like right now. Hell, even way back in sophomore year.

Unconsciously, the two of them had gotten steadily closer, their fronts touching, his arms wrapped fully around her waist and hers tighter around his neck.

Love buckles under the strain of those wild nights, run but you cannot hide. Alex Turner, you don't know from wild nights. And their love hadn't buckled under the terror and the strain, it had waxed and grown stronger than anything. Wait - their love? Crap, crap, crap. Then out of nowhere somebody comes -

Their foreheads were touching now. Lydia's eyes were open, but Stiles' had closed. His face was still, something that was so unusual for him. She'd noticed that, in those rare times of peace, it really only happened around her. She realized he was barely breathing. Her own chest got a little tighter, and the only thing she could think to do was press her body and her forehead harder against his, and close her own eyes. And hits you with an -

This - this embrace, it was intimate, it was quiet, despite the sounds of British alt rock in the background. Something about them was quiet, long looks and touching hands and faith and a deep, deep bond they couldn't even hope to explain or fathom.

Stiles exhaled then, his breath fanning across her skin. She balled the collar of his ever-present plaid shirt in her fist to prevent a shiver. Ooh la la la, ooh la la la.

The song had wound down, was almost over. Lydia reluctantly opened her eyes again, to find him staring back at her, half-lidded. They only just barely started leaning in - her breath caught in her throat, imagining how soft his lips would feel.

And then some random electro-pop song started blaring, quite effectively shattering the mood no matter how much Lydia wished it wouldn't. The two of them jumped apart reflexively, and she missed him immediately, wanted to move close to him again, but her feet refused. She stared at him with wide eyes for a moment. He was looking down, bashful, one hand on the back of his neck right where hers had been only just before. She quickly followed suit and stared at her bare feet.

"You remember when we danced at the winter formal?" Stiles blurted out suddenly.

She looked up, eyes wide. "Of course I do." It would make sense if she didn't, that night had turned into such a terrifying turning point of her life, but somehow it stuck out in her mind, dancing with him even if it was while she still had Jackson on the brain.

"I remember the song we danced to," he said quietly. "I'll remember this one too."

Lydia's cheeks flamed red and her heart squeezed like he'd physically reached in and grabbed it. Maybe he had, somehow. "I - ," she began. Their eyes met, his honey-brown ones burning into her own. "I'd like to dance with you again someday," she continued in a near whisper.

"Yeah?" he asked hoarsely, just a thin ribbon of hope running through the single word.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Someday . . . someday soon, I think."

His face broke into a sudden wide, sunny smile. She couldn't help returning it. This boy was going to drive her insane. Drive her mad.

They make you get up . . .