It's Senior Year, and Stiles Stilinski has a plan:
1. Apply and Get-In to BSU early admissions
2. Continue to stay off everyone else's radar
3. Graduate
There. An easy plan to survive the 195 days left before he graduates, and can thereby ridden hi...
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Things were different after the day in Stiles' room.
Nobody could really pin point it, but there was just an overall shift in the air around them. As though they carried around something that nobody else knew about, and therefore they were connected in that sense. Because they had, experienced something neither of them had shared with anyone else. It was theirs. And it reflected in the longing stares across rooms, and dinner tables. The brushing of their fingers, when Stiles passed her his sketch book. The numbing feeling that coiled over their bodies, the nights that Lydia would 'accidentally' let her head rest on Stiles' shoulder, and Stiles would pretend not to notice. It was there.
There was no discussion of it. Absolutely no need for it. They just understood that something had changed, and if either of them were being honest, they weren't really minding it. Especially not Stiles, who had decided a long time ago that he wasn't looking forward to letting her go. Now, it was just sort of heightened. Now, Stiles had decided that Lydia Martin absolutely wasn't going to die.
Here is his theory:
1) She's still doing all of her Chemo treatment. And that sucks, but she's still doing it. Yay consistency. 2) She doesn't seem sick when he's with her. 3) Clearly they were meant to be friends, and you can't be friends with a ghost. So why would fate even put her in his life, if it didn't want to keep her around for their awesome friendship? 4) She was strong. (Not just mentally but also physically because she definitely held him up the other night. - it was impressive.)
And that was it. Granted it wasn't the most logical list. If someone found it lying on the street they would think it would be written by someone who had no clue whatsoever how cancer works. But every time she looked at him from across the room, he felt a little more as though he had valid points. One look from Lydia, and he just knew everything would be okay. She was meant to be there, with him. With everyone. She was meant to live. All bets in.
It was nearing the end of November, and everyone was sitting in the Martin's living room, eyes glued to the large flat screen TV installed above the stone fireplace. Lydia and Stiles had been discussing movies earlier in the day, and Stiles had mentioned how John Hughes was one of the greatest directors of all time. Lydia had admitted to not seeing St. Elmo's Fire, and Stiles had just about lost all of his mind. So, long story short, he'd suggested that everyone be educated on, in his opinion, one of the most under appreciated brat pack film of the 80s.
