The Unfortunate Happening of Us

chapter seven.

It was three a.m. the next morning when Stiles had rang Lydia's phone. Three in the morning, and somehow he'd thought it'd been the brightest idea he'd ever had. They had school the next day, and it was probably more than likely that if Lydia were to answer her phone, it would be because he'd woken her up. And yet, still, he stood, phone pressed to his ear; his upper lip pulled between his teeth due to anxious anticipation of hearing Lydia's greeting.

The phone rang five times— five, before a click was heard, followed by muffled noises and what sounded to be a very exhausted Lydia Martin rasping out a quiet "Stiles?" To which he instantly felt horrible, and wondered why it had taken Lydia waking up for him to realize how rude this intrusion of time was.

Do you ever think?

He cleared his throat. "H— Hey! Did I wake you?" Oh my god.

There was a long pause on Lydia's end, before she responded in a tired grumble, "It's three in the morning, Stiles."

"I know, but y'know, some people are night owls. I don't know why I figured you'd be. You always sleep earlier then me, but I was just..." He was officially pacing around his room, fingers not leaving the back of his neck. "I was sitting in my room, and I was staring at that damn book you gave me, and I just— I had to call you."

"You're calling me to talk about a book?" Lydia's voice sounded surprisingly calm, yet confused all the same.

"Does he die?" Stiles blurted out, pausing mid-pace to simply stare at the blue cover before him.

"What?" He could hear Lydia sitting up, and God, if he wasn't the hugest dick in the world to be butting in on her sleep schedule of all people.

"Augustus. In the book, does he die?" Stiles restated the question, standing still for once.

"I'm not going to tell you that." Lydia yawned, and her voice was no higher than a quiet drawl.

"No, but you have to. Okay? I know it's probably like, the biggest spoiler the book has, but I need to know." He pleaded, and once more began to pace.

"Why don't you just read it?"

"Because."

Lydia sucked in a long breath, before breathing out an annoyed sigh. "...Because why, Stiles?"

"Because I don't want him to die."

"Because you don't want him to die?"

"Yes, that's what I said. Augustus is great, okay? I relate to him. He's a cool dude, and he's like, in a dramatic sense, all Hazel really has— and, I don't know, I just think it'd be really fucked up of John Green to take that away from her. Augustus is the one thing that makes her the happiest, and he just snatches him away? He just... he leaves Hazel all alone... to be depressed, and broken, a— and left behind? John Green— he's a nice guy, right? He wouldn't do that." Stiles babbled, finding his concerns and comments to be quite valid and worthy of being stated.

Lydia was breathing slowly on the other end, and Stiles wondered for a moment if he'd talked her a back to sleep.

"Hello...? Lydia?"

"Hm?" Her voice returned, and his heart regained its normal pace.

"Did you hear why I need to know?"

"I did."

"Okay, so tell me... Does he die?"

"I can't tell you."

"But I just gave a very sound argument as to why you have to." Stiles allowed himself to fall into a sitting position on his bed, his body sinking into it. 

"It was a sound argument, but it's also three in the morning. I'm too tired to even go into that explanation, and even if I wasn't, I don't spoil books."

"It's not a spoiler if I went out looking for it." Stiles attempted to argue.

"What are you talking about? Spoilers are Spoilers." Well, that was that. Stiles could hear the frown in her voice, and it made the corner of his mouth pull up into a faint smile. Though the smile quickly fell when he heard what sounded to be a pain induced noise escape her lips.

"Lydia?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" He furrowed his brow with concern.

"Yeah," A pause. "Im okay."

Stiles allowed a silence between them before deciding she was in fact okay. Running his hands through his hair he continued. "So you're really not going to tell me?" He sighed, lowering backwards until he could feel the fabric of his sheets rubbing along his back.

"I'm really not." She yawned, and he swore those things were contagious because now he was too. "Looks like you're just gonna have to keep reading."

Stiles didn't know what to say about that, because he knew there was going to be no way around it. Truth was, a major part of his fear of reading the rest of the book is because he knew for a fact one of them died. He wasn't as far under the rock as Lydia thought. He'd heard the discussion of teary eyed readers during study hall. It sounded like a shit ton of emotions. Emotions of loss, and pain. Two things Stiles did not like to face. He hadn't done those feelings since his mom died, and he did his best to avoid them since then.

Granted it was a book, and so Stiles' fears were a bit over dramatic.. But considering the book was on a topic currently too close to his current life and friendships, he had a feeling the loss of Augustus or Hazel would hit harder than considered normal. He must of gotten lost in his thoughts again, because soon Lydia was calling out to him.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Go back to sleep." She hummed tiredly, and he could feel her words beginning to slur as he assumed she began to drift off.

"Yeah," Stiles placed his hand over his face. "Yeah, okay. I guess I should."

"Mhm... I'll see you tomorrow," Another yawn escaped Lydia's mouth. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight..."

Stiles waited for the line to click off before he slipped the phone away from his ear, and stared up at the ceiling. He knew there would be no going back to sleep. Partially because he had to get up in a few hours, and partially because he knew his mind wouldn't be able to rest; not when he had a question unanswered.

He hadn't been lying to Lydia when he said that he'd called her to ask about the book... but, although it had begun as a reference to a fictitious novel, the question had ended quite differently once he'd realized what he'd really wanted to know.

Does Lydia die? Does she leave me all alone— depressed, broken and left behind?