It was all Lydia could do not to scream in his face. But she realized, the fact that he knew these things about her meant something.

"Do you know everything he knows?" Lydia asked, grasping at straws, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Everything," his eyes traveled up her body. His tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips suggestively. Lydia tried not to shudder.

"Prove it," she ordered.

"How?" he asked, looking agitated, but also eager to prove himself. And that's what she was counting on. That, like her Stiles, he couldn't resist a challenge.

"Tell me something only he would know," she commanded.

"Like what?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "The kid's an open book. He doesn't keep a lot under wraps. Case in point, you already know about his pathetic crush on you."

He had her there. Stiles' openness was something that had always scared her. Being that vulnerable was not in her DNA. But she could look at Stiles and now how he felt in an instant. And then, in case other people hadn't deciphered it, he would shout it out, usually while flailing his arms. She gazed at the thing in front of her, wearing Stiles' face, but still as a statue.

"When?" she asked, trying to lean forward despite her bonds.

"Since the third grade," he scoffed. "Come on, Lydia, he only says it five times a day."

"When did he know he loved me?" she asked. "You know so much about Stiles when did he know he loved me? And really loved me? Not some stupid school boy crush."

He paused, taken aback. She kept going, tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Partially because this was a terrifying situation and partially because this was the most honest she'd every been about Stiles.

"Because they way he looks at me nowadays, it's not the same as back then. I know how he feels. You think you know everything in his head, tell me when he knew."

Her challenge hung in the air. He looked up at the ceiling, as if he was collecting his thoughts.

"At the dance," the words came out in a rush, like a dam braking. "He tried treating you like Jackson did. He thought that was what you wanted. But he wasn't any good at it and all this other stuff poured out. The things he knew about you and liked about you. And instead of turning him down, you told him you wanted to win the Field's Medal and you danced with him. And he knew it wasn't because he had acted cool or called you out, you were rewarding him for knowing you. He had recognized something about you and you had seen something in him. It wasn't just him looking at you from afar and wishing he could say the right thing. He'd done it on accident and you liked it. That's when I knew- he knew."

He looked dazed, Lydia knew this was her time to pounce.

"I didn't know then," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes snapped up to her face. He stared at her intently.

"I never know how I feel until I've already felt that way for a while," she admitted. "Over the summer, after Jackson left. I thought about how you must have felt after you hit him with his Jeep and I told him how I felt. If I were you, I would have been pissed. Jackson had been nothing but terrible to me but there I was, with him, not you."

He blinked. Lydia thought she saw something flicker across his face and she kept going, hoping against hope that she was right.

"But then I remembered your face, you were so sad. But you weren't mad at me. Not at all. You put my happiness before yours, not because you thought I would notice and feel bad for you but because you actually care about it. And it's not just me. You always look out for everyone. You notice all of us. You're never afraid to tell me what you think. I love you, Stiles."

His eyes bored into hers. She couldn't tell if he was going to scream, hit her again, kiss her, or what. She held his gaze, hoping against hope that what she had done was enough.

"Lydia?" he finally croaked after what felt like an eternity.

"Stiles?"

"Wha- where are we?" he swayed and grabbed onto her for support. "You're tied up."

"Stiles-"

"You're crying," he involuntarily reached to wipe the tears off her cheeks, that look of concern back on his face. "Lydia, what's going on?"

"It's okay," she told him. "You're okay. You didn't hurt me."

Stiles fumbled, trying to untie her bonds.

"I've been blacking out- I didn't want to freak anybody out. Did I do this?" his voice broke and Lydia used her free hand to cup his chin and tilt his head up so he was looking right at her.

"It's okay. We're going to figure this out."

Stiles brought his own hand up and held hers to his cheek and gave her a small smile. No one needed to tell Lydia who he was or how he felt.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. This turned out a lot lighter than I originally intended it. But I'm a sucker for a happy ending.