One Day Later: 9:18 a.m.

Lydia opens her eyes to the sound of her mother's voice and a knock at her door. Her bedroom is bathed in the glow of morning sunlight, and the fragrance of lilac-scented detergent drifts from her pillowcase. Both coax her senses awake as she turns over, rubbing her tired eyes to clear them. But then, drowsiness is replaced with alarm as she realizes that the break from their normal Saturday routine might mean something is wrong.

In truth, her mother hardly ever wakes her. Beyond the fact that Lydia is not a morning person, Natalie is aware of how poorly her daughter has been sleeping of late and generally doesn't prevent her from getting a few extra hours whenever possible. Before Lydia can ask what happened, she hears her mother's voice a second time.

"Sweetheart… Are you up?"

Alarm is quickly exchanged for irritation as she processes that her mother's voice is calm. She attempts to speculate why her mother would feel it was necessary to prematurely tear her from the first good dream she had in months.

"What the hell…" she grumbles, looking over at Prada, who sits at the foot of the bed with her head sympathetically cocked to one side and her ears perked attentively.

"Lydia… Stiles is here to see you."

Her eyes widen. Those few words immediately snap her from the unpleasant mood that was developing. She sits up, combing her hair with her fingers and kicking the covers aside.

"Stiles, come in," she calls, with a much-improved tone in her voice.

The door opens slowly.

"Hi," he greets shyly, still loitering in the threshold.

At the sound of Stiles's voice, Prada leaps from the bed and bounds over to greet him. She stands on her hind legs, tapping on his knee with her front paws and softly barking until he picks her up and gives her a cuddle.

"Aww… Hi sweet girl. Did you miss me?"

The pup nuzzles his neck contentedly, and Lydia watches the scene with a smile.

Well, she thinks, at least one of us is capable of expressing how she feels about him.

"She doesn't do that with just anyone, you know. She must really adore you."

"A lot more than you probably do right now. I'm sorry to wake you. I know you hate it when—"

She has to bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling too broadly as the fluttering in her stomach flares. Of course he knows that about me. He remembers everything.

"I don't mind," she says, and as the words leave her mouth, Lydia realizes that she really doesn't mind at all. In fact, she wouldn't mind seeing Stiles first thing every morning.

"You don't?" he replies, scrunching up his face in doubt.

She loves it when he does that.

"In that case, what are you still doing in bed? The rest of the world has been up for hours," he teases as he massages Prada's ears.

"I think you'll find that the rest of the world has not been up for hours because in Australia it is just after two a.m. – tomorrow of course, and in Hawaii it is only around six," she counters, matter-of-factly.

He sets a squirming Prada down and smirks. "I stand corrected."

"Anyway, I don't mind…as long as it's you who is waking me up. How are you?"

He blinks a few times, looking skeptical, then shrugs and walks towards the bed. "I'm alright…considering it's been an especially crazy few weeks…you know, compared to the terrifying, gut-wrenching, baseline of crazy we normally deal with."

"To say the least…" she remarks with a sigh.

"How about you? Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah, better than I have in a while." Almost as well as I did with your arms around me, she recalls, patting the bed inviting him to sit down next to her. "What brings you by?"

"Well…I missed you," he answers, running a hand through his hair.

"You did?"

"Yeah. How long has it been? A week? A month?"

She purses her lips. "Closer to thirty hours…but who's counting? I missed you too." She notices how easily the words skid across her lips, and it's liberating. "What's that?" she inquires, sparkling green eyes peering into the large gift bag he is carrying.

He takes his place next to her, ducking in to press a kiss to her cheek that makes her heart skip a few beats. It appears to happen quite naturally but, at the same time, Stiles looks as though he surprises himself when he does it.

Nervously he clears his throat. "I…uh…brought you a couple of things."

"Really? Can I see?" She lights up like a firefly, not bothering to disguise her excitement, mainly because she loves opening gifts from Stiles. They are, by far, the most thoughtful and meaningful.

"Okay, well the first one isn't wrapped but…" he begins, lifting a bundle from the bag.

"It's your hoodie?" she says curiously.

"Yeah, but it's not only that. I know we talked about it the other night, but I'm serious about spending more time together, and I want you to keep it as a reminder."

"Stiles…thank you," she smiles, eyes already shimmering with tears as she accepts the hoodie and hugs it to her chest.

"Wait…no tears yet – or you won't be able to see the second one."

"Okay, I'll wait," she laughs, dabbing at the corners of her eyes and setting the gift next to her on the bed. Prada takes advantage of the opportunity and quickly curls up on the soft pile of fabric. "There's no way you're ever getting that back now," Lydia points out.

"That works for me." He grins, reaching back into the gift bag to reveal a cube-shaped box.

"Oohh…it's heavy. What is it?" she asks as he hands it to her.

"Just a little something I saw yesterday. I was driving past the bluff, and when I stopped for some coffee…I passed this shop. There it was in the window. It made me think of—well, you'll see. Go ahead and open it."

Lydia starts to methodically loosen the ruby red bow and floral embossed wrapping paper from the box, stopping to lift her head only when the bed starts shaking, as Stiles quakes with laughter.

Her eyebrows furrow with confusion. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Stiles! What?" she insists, pouting and poking his arm with her thumb.

"Ouch!" he exclaims, still chuckling. "Okay, it's just…I've never seen anyone open a gift as slowly as you do. It's infuriating—"

She opens her mouth to protest, "I don't want to ruin the paper. It's pretty."

"I wasn't finished. It's also one of the most adorable sights on the planet."

She flashes a flattered look his way and continues with her work, finally uncovering the box and opening the lid. When Lydia sees what is inside, her heart stills. It's a gorgeous snow globe that depicts Crescent Bluff in the springtime, complete with blossoming cherry trees and Beacon Hills in the forefront. As she whirls the globe in her hands, tiny petals swirl and scatter around, just as they had a few weeks ago.

Stunned, she puts her fingers to her lips, mist accumulating in her eyes once again.

"You don't like it," he worries aloud, voice and face riddled with disappointment.

"What? No, I love it," she breathlessly amends, placing a hand on his leg.

"You do?"

She moves her hand to his hair, adjusting a few strands that have gone astray, then she repositions her palm over his heart. The immediate rapid thumping beneath his ribs gives her the assurance she needs to voice her truth.

"Yeah, I do. It's the best gift I've ever received…aside from having you in my life."

"Lydia, you mean that."

It isn't a question, but she nods to confirm anyway. Then she carefully places the snow globe on the night stand next to her crystal lamp and turns back to him.

"That night, the entire day really, was one of the best I can remember. When we were dancing, I wished I could capture that moment, so I would have it with me…always. Stiles, I'm not sure how you do it, but you always seem to know exactly what I need."

She leans in to hug him, cramming every bit of love she has inside. When he returns the embrace, she feels the tether not only tightening, but shifting and realigning everything back into place.

"It was one of my best days too." He agrees, pulling her into his chest and tucking his face into her neck.

For a few moments neither of them moves.

"Lydia…this feels so good," Stiles sighs. "There was a time when I didn't think it was possible for us to be close like this."

The guilt that strikes her in that moment is immeasurable. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of the photo of Stiles and herself that Allison had given her. She can practically hear her dear friend's sweet voice encouraging her to speak up.

"That's my fault," she confesses, pulling back to look at Stiles.

"That's not what I—" he starts to explain, but Lydia puts her index finger to his lips to silence him.

"I know, but I need to say this. It's long overdue." She lets her fingers drop from his face and holds his hands. "Stiles, I need you to know how important you are to me. I'm not used to people being there for me…at least, not without them wanting something in return, and certainly not without them leaving or blaming me when things are anything less than easy. For a long time, I thought – this is how it is, people let you down, you can't rely on anyone but yourself. Then, there you were…every single time I needed someone. You listened to me, saw things in me that no one else has even cared to look for, and it made me less afraid to be myself. I never knew it could be like that."

She pauses, watching as is eyes search her face.

"Lydia—"

"Please, let me finish," she implores, strengthening her grip on his hands.

"Okay, go ahead..." he nods.

"Even when I saw how different you are…I wouldn't let myself trust it. You're like this miracle to me... You seemed too good to be true. So, I kept distance between us. I thought I needed to protect myself...but all I did was hurt us both, and I'm so incredibly sorry. Can you ever forgive me?" She holds her breath waiting for his response.

He closes his eyes for a second and when he reopens them, the gold flecks Lydia loves so much are instantly brighter.

"There's nothing to forgive. Trust isn't something that comes easily to me either. I know how badly you've been treated… Hell, I saw some of it, first-hand. I hate that it happened to you...and it means the world to me that despite all of it, you let me in. I didn't mind waiting. I didn't because...you are worth every second of it." He lifts her hands to his lips, kissing them one at a time. "Look, we ended up here anyway, and...Lydia, here is really good. My life is so much better because of you... I promise I'm going to make sure you never doubt that."

"Speaking of promises…" Lydia tells him. "I have one more to make." A sudden flush of nervousness sweeps over, making her heart stutter and sending tremors throughout her small frame. Regardless of the way her body is reacting, somehow it still feels right. She ignores the urge to look away and steadies her shaking hands on his strong shoulders.

"What is it?" he replies, automatically picking up on her tension and rubbing her lower back to soothe her.

"I promise I will always remind you how much you mean to me…because Stiles, you do…so much, and I do a terrible job of showing it, but please…tell me you understand that."

Stiles moves his hands to the sides of her face, wiping fresh tears from her pink cheeks. "I do. I think I really do now." He touches his forehead to hers. "That morning in my room, after…what happened at school, I felt it. There were other times, before that too. We'd be alone…and you'd say something or look at me a certain way... Part of me always thought I was looking too hard, or seeing what I wanted to see… It was all real though, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it's real. We are real," she says, rising to her knees, clutching his shirt in her fists, and watching his expression color to one of hopeful curiosity.

"Was it real too, when you told me you love me?"

Her eyes widen in shock.

"That day you came to me, I heard you but…I thought I was dreaming."

If denial is an option, she wants nothing to do with it. Lydia has waited and now Stiles is ready.

"You weren't dreaming. I said it, and I do. Stiles, I love you… I'm completely in love with you…everything about you."

"You love me?"

"So much…and I wanted to tell you so many times, but I was stupid and scared, and then I thought you didn't want to hear it."

"You love me," he repeats.

"Yes."

Time stops. Lydia's stills. Stiles is staring at her; awestruck and blinking away tears. Then he lights the match and sets her heart on fire. She can scarcely count to three before his head tilts and his lips are against hers, both stealing and giving her breath.

And it is perfect – slow at first, then quickly intensifying. His lips are even softer, and he tastes even better than she remembers. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces. Together at last. There is no shock, no hesitation, no confusion; only trust, and need, and pure love.

His hands travel. One at her waist, towing her even closer. The other massaging the nape of her neck, fingers winding into her hair. Lydia relaxes into him, palms sliding down his chest and abs, wandering underneath faded cotton in search of his smooth warm skin. Stiles groans into her mouth, dragging her into his lap, and pressing her body to his, until she can hardly tell where he ends and she begins, and still she wants to be closer.

Miraculously, his kiss, his touch, his warmth unburdens her, making her lighter than air. If his gravity weren't anchoring her so securely, Lydia thinks she might float away and spend the rest of the day lost amongst the clouds, aching to get back to him. Her head is spinning, and she is sozzled with unequivocal love for him in the best imaginable way.

They reluctantly part, foreheads touching, each struggling to catch their breath and regain composure. Lydia slowly opens her eyes to find that Stiles is already gazing at her with the same smoldering desire he had weeks ago, when they were tangled up in her bed, fighting over her comforter.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, Lydia?"

"Wow."

"Yeah," he replies, swallowing with difficulty.

It gets quiet, and he starts tapping his fingers on her back.

"Are you okay?"

"Just trying to figure out if I'm awake or not."

"You're awake. I promise," she assures him with a muted chuckle before caressing his face with her fingertips.

"In that case, I'm never going to sleep again."

He gives her a chaste kiss, then nudges the tip of her nose with his own.

"Stiles?"

"Hmm," he answers with a smile, leaning in for two more kisses on the lips, another on her cheek, and several on her neck that make her limbs go weak.

Lydia's heart soars with more love for him as she notes that each of his tender kisses are strategically placed over the myriad of bruises on her throat; bruises that have altered in shade from crimson to indigo since the last time they were together. She closes her eyes, so she can focus more intently on the feeling of his lips on her skin.

"Never mind. Just keep doing that."

He lets out a breathy laugh, breeze cooling the damp skin of her neck where his lips had been. "Tell me," he requests softly.

"I really hate to bring this up, especially right now because..."

Stiles is peppering kisses all over her collarbone.

"...because right now is completely amazing, and I don't want to ruin it."

Tilting back to meet her verdant eyes, he reminds her, "Lydia, you can ask me anything."

"What about…you and… I mean, I know you wouldn't be kissing me if…but you never said…"

His face grows solemn as he realizes what she is grasping to verbalize. "You're right. I should have told you. I don't know why I didn't. That's over – has been for a while. I tried to make it work, but it never felt right with her. I thought it was what I should want…that I could be satisfied being your friend, but I got so tired of pretending. It went against every instinct I have. Nothing made that clearer than almost dying. I spent what could have been my last moments thinking of you, and it told me everything I needed to know. Whatever distance was between us, I could never let go of you…of hoping we could be together."

"Didn't you ever want to give up on me?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Why?"

"Because no one has ever made me feel the way you do – so alive because of you…so aware that loving you is the main reason I get out of bed in the morning, and when you find what we have, nothing else will do."

He punctuates each statement with a kiss, the last one placed at the corner of her mouth, just below her bottom lip, lingering in a way that underscores every word he said. It evokes the most intense feelings she has ever experienced.

He moves close enough to whisper in her ear, "And because it's you, Lydia. It's always been you."

Unable to find words, she drops her head, smiling into his shoulder. They hold tightly to each other for a while before lying down together; her head against his chest, his cheek against her forehead, their limbs tangled together.

As Stiles runs his hands through her long satiny tresses, Lydia knows she has never been happier. She watches as sunlight illuminates the water in her snow globe and remembers what it was like to dance with her best friend, her love, her Stiles – moon and stars above, glowing lights beneath, petals swirling, and his comforting warmth surrounding her, just as it is now.

"What do you want to do today?" he asks after a while.

"That depends…on you," she replies, tilting her head up to kiss him.

She can do that now. Whenever she wants.

"Yeah? Then, I think today is the perfect day to make good on some promises. How about we spend it together? Just us."

She beams, dimples impressed into each side of her peaches and cream complexion. "What should we do first?" she asks.

His eyes ignite to amber as he tenderly sweeps her hair behind her shoulder. "Anything, nothing, everything…but let's just be still for a bit longer."

"Mieczyslaw Stilinski wants to be still?" she questions dramatically.

"That's your influence on me. With you in my arms, I can be…for a while anyway."

"Then that sounds perfect."

They stay in their comfortable silence. Lydia leans into Stiles, nuzzling his neck with her freckled nose and weaving her dainty hands into the front of his shirt. She inhales deeply, fully, completely – filling her lungs with him and letting his essence infuse into every part of her, making her more certain of their love by the second.

As Stiles holds her, she listens to her favorite melody – the sound of his heart. Every beat carrying a memory...of glances and stares, of touches both feathery soft and penetratingly deep, of faint murmurs and unbridled declarations, of heartbeats stopping and starting, of breaths and breathlessness, of tears withheld and set free, of secret smiles and uncontrollable laughter, of searching and finding, of closing the distance and figuring it all out. She pictures it; a symphony of white petals fluttering and falling slowly into place.

"So beautiful," he tells her, catching a stray tear with his index finger and kissing the stain it leaves on the apple of her cheek. "Those are happy tears…right?"

"The happiest."

"What are you thinking about?"

"I don't know. I love you… I forget the rest."

He smiles that gorgeous astonished smile of his. Then, he hugs more warmth into her and kisses the rest of her tears away, sound of his I love you too rising softly from his lips...and landing as an unforgettable whisper against her ear.

Being with Stiles brings Lydia a peace she hasn't known in her life. At last, she is back in the nook – and it's like coming home.

She knows that they are always better together. Her love for him makes her vulnerable yet strong, afraid yet fearless, and it grounds her while still offering her freedom. Her love for him gives her the courage to open doors, lifts the fog to enhance her senses, and extinguishes her doubts to awaken hope.

People may be flawed. They might inevitably let her down, hurt her, abandon her – but not Stiles. He is the exception to every rule she thought existed. She never imagined being able to rely on, to connect with, or to want someone so profoundly – but she does. She never meant to let anyone become this important to her – but he has.

Stiles has the ability to take Lydia's heart places she never dreamed she wanted to go, and he makes her want to stay there forever.