#tbiq

Whoever reached the luminescent orange buoy first was declared the winner, which inevitably turned out to be Stiles, due to his vast amount of previous experience kayaking with his father when he was a young boy.

                With aching arms due to a fierce struggle to paddle in a fast speed against the water, Lydia expected her grinning companion to demand a reward of some kind, watching in admiration as he shakes out his wet hair with a smug appreciation. After he pressed his fingers to the buoy and announced so gallantly that he was the champion, she swung her paddle against the blue ocean water and splashed it toward his kayak to soak his entire body. It only got better when his sopping shirt clung to the best parts of his chest, the only evidence that there really could be an angel looking out for Lydia Martin.

                “What now?” Lydia asked from her seat. She’d chosen the bright yellow kayak because it reminded her of the sun; it could be her beacon in the water that guided her way. Other than that half-round gorgeous moon hanging low in the sky like it was meant for only them, of course. She’d never expected the ocean to be so well lit, and had forced Stiles to bring flashlights.

Her kayak had a distinguishing chip in the rubber along the side, and when Stiles told her to choose a strong one, fit for a strong girl, she just couldn’t let it go. It was imperfect like her, and the sooner he saw that side of her the better. Even the flawed deserved to be loved in some way. How long had it been since the chipped kayak had been taken to the ocean, to serve its actual purpose in the world? Maybe she was overthinking it.

                Stiles gnaws on the corner of his bottom lip, usually caramel eyes darkened to hazelnut under the overhanging shadow of nightfall. “Just follow me,” he says finally, lifting his paddle from where it once lay across the rubber of his red kayak’s hood and plunging it back in the water.

                “The dock is that way…” The banshee points over her shoulder with a thumb.

                “No shit,” Stiles mutters. “We’re not going back yet…” and then he adds in for good measure, “You’re wearing your bathing suit right?”

                Lydia narrows suspicious eyes. “Yes… under my dress.” As she paddles close behind, she feels it’s necessary to ask, “What are you up to, Stilinski?”

                “Oh, Ms. Martin, I thought you could appreciate a good surprise!”

                “Not if you’re going to kill me and dump my body in the ocean.”

                “No way!” Stiles called backwards. “If I were going to kill you, I’d find a much more original way to do it.”

                  Within ten minutes, they’ve reached whatever it is Stiles has been looking for. A cavern in the ocean, shrouded by bedrock and cobble stone, lodged into the perfect shape of a grotto. Crystal shaped rock formations hang down from the ceiling, dripping little droplets of water into the ocean below and creating small pools of outstretched dimples on the surface.

                “Wow,” is all Lydia can say, her kayak merely floating in the direction of Stiles’ as she loses the focus to paddle, distracted by the beauty of nature holed up in this small dark arena. “This is incredible.”

                She only just notices that Stiles has gotten out of his kayak, pulling it up against the ledge of rock as he climbs out. He beckons her in his direction with gesturing hands.

                “Come on,” Stiles remarks as he  kneels onto his feet to reel in Lydia’s boat with a tug of his hands. He quickly reaches a hand forward to help her out, but instead of accepting it she hops out onto the gravelly ground without his assistance. “Okay then,” he quips as he abruptly pulls it back.

                “How did you know about this place?”

                “I did my research on the campgrounds before our trip, apparently a lot of people like to visit this area… although, we’re not allowed to get out of our boats and walk around.”

                Lydia rolls her eyes. Classically Stiles.

                “I was gonna take Malia here…She likes this kind of stuff.” Neither were prepared for the awkward silence that came next. His eyes flit over to hers regretfully, his knuckles knocking against the rock below his bent knees. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

                “Why not?” Lydia answered back with a tone she hoped indicated how little she cared, even if that weren’t necessarily true. He doesn’t answer, and that doesn’t sit well with her, so she tries again. “Why didn’t you take her here?”

                His eyes bore into hers, a flame lit with a sparking match of intensity. “Because I got to take you.”

                Lydia’s breath catches in her throat, and she splutters out a coughing fit.

                Stiles raises a heavy brow. “You alright?”

                “I,” Lydia hacks another cough. “ - swallowed wrong.” She ignores the hint of a smile on his lips and instead watches the water gently sway in front of her feet.

                “I’m going for a swim,” Stiles declares with a flourish of his brows, stripping off his sticking wet shirt and tossing it aside before Lydia could question the decision. She hadn’t even realized he was wearing swim trunks. “Care to join me?” He’s dangling his legs over the ledge now, prepared to jump in.

                “What?” Lydia squints at him carefully. “N-No. That’s not a good idea.”

                “It’s just water, Lydia. What’s the worst that could happen?” When she remains mum, he shrugs one side of his shoulders and drops into the water with a splatter that reaches the exposed skin of Lydia’s legs. She lurches backwards against the rock wall with a shriek. “Sorry, did I getcha?” He grins, the water sloshing against his chin where he rhythmically sways the arms that keep him afloat.

                “Just barely,” she glares, dramatically swiping the liquid from her legs.

                “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Stiles leans back to allow the water to run through his spiked hair, causing it to deflate and flatten in a sloppy mess atop his head. “The waters cool.”

                The banshee eyeballs the swimming human with a great deal of cynicism, so focused on his expression that her eyelid is involuntarily twitching. She doesn’t want to scare him off, so she does the only thing she can. She grips the hem of her dress with two firm hands and pulls upward, appreciating the feel of his admiring eyes on her body and throwing it in the same spot his shirt was earlier tossed.

                “Do you like my bikini?” Lydia shakes her shoulders for emphasis, not missing the jiggle it caused in her more voluptuous areas.

                He hadn’t missed it either. “Uhhp...Mm..yep. Very nice.” He regains his confidence as swiftly as he lost it, performing a few forward strokes until he was at the ledge her feet were dangling over. He takes one more moment to savor the view. Pale but shapely flesh molded by a peach bikini top clinging so delicately to her breasts and stringy where it was tied around her neck and back, a baby blue bottom-piece eloquently matching.

                “What are you waiting for?” Lydia cocked her head to the right, a large section of strawberry hair  skirting to the other side of her neck. “Pull me in.”

                Stiles’ face freezes before understanding flickers across his wide eyes and parted mouth. Without another word, he places large hands on either side of her waist and plucks her off the ledge. She lands in the water in front of him with a plop, his arms remaining encased securely around her.

                “See? Not so bad.” His voice is low and husky, and it sends prickling needles up Lydia’s already cold arms once the brisk frozen water settles around her form.

                “S-Speak for yourself,” she shivers, only further trembling when he tightens his hold on her.

                And then Stiles is staring at her in a way she doesn’t know how to respond to, a light bulb flickering on somewhere in the center of his iris. “Can I try something?” The water is steady where it brushes flush against their bodies.

                Lydia’s heart stutters, and she could swear she almost felt it fail. With a quiver of a breath she manages a “What..?”

                He lowers his face toward hers, eyelids drifting closed and his breath brushing as a whisper against hers. This is it. He’s going to kiss her. Something she’s been waiting for since her heart first betrayed her mind. But why did she still feel so anxious? It’s because his breath smells like liquor and there’s an angry werecoyote somewhere in the woods right now cursing his name. She has to say something. She has to know if this is genuine, that he isn’t going to wake up tomorrow with regret and tell her it was a mistake. She isn’t sure she would be able to handle that. With a pulsating heart, she’s ready to find out just what is delaying her desire to let him do it.

                “Stiles -” and then his mouth was on hers.

                Lydia’s eyes didn’t slip closed, she didn’t melt into his embrace and press everything she had into his soft kiss. There wasn’t an explosion of passion and she didn’t nearly faint from the heat exhaustion that overwhelmed her. Yet her breath still caught, and her eyes were populous like a cartoon character. But that uncertainty was still there at the tip of her tongue, even as his brushed against it, warm and flavored like alcohol and cream.

                So she drew back on impulse, flailing so violently that she had to grab onto the ledge behind her. With her free hand, she defiantly shoves his shoulder “Are you completely wasted!?”

                “What?” Stiles glowers, fixating on her with shock written across stunned features and swollen lips that his tongue was still pressed between. “No!” He sucks his lip into his mouth thoughtfully. “Okay, I’m a little buzzed, but I’m not drunk. I know what I’m doing,” he argues feverishly.

                Lydia’s gaze is scrutinizing. “Do you?” She ignores the icy chill in her veins, courtesy of the dropping temperature as the hours wore on, fading into the late hours of night.

                “I kissed you,” he claims blatantly. “Did you not want that? Because either I’m seriously misreading signals here, or you’re a little bipolar.”

                “Says the guy with a girlfriend!” Lydia blurted.

                “Malia and I aren’t together, Lydia!” His eyebrows bend bitterly. “How many times do I have to tell you that before it actually sticks?” He grips onto the rocky ledge with one hand, squeezing so tightly that the tips of his fingers have gone pink.

                “If that were true, why would she jealously storm into the woods earlier tonight?”

                Stiles sighs gruffly, pinching the bridge of his nose with a dripping wet hand. “She was only mad because she thought I was lying to her about nothing going on between us.:

                Lydia wants to say this carefully, but she doesn’t bother. “Weren’t you?”

                “Well, no. I hadn’t kissed you at that point. Now I have, and when she asks, I’ll be upfront about it.”

                “No!” The first thought that comes to Lydia’s mind is Calvin. If Malia knows, it will spread throughout their pack and at some point, Calvin will learn the truth without any doubt. It was only a matter of time, and she wasn’t going to put Stiles at risk, not now. Not after everything that happened tonight. She wanted to tell him the truth so desperately, but she wasn’t sure she could anymore. Not when he was right here in front of her, putting himself out there for her without any regard for anything else. She knew now, that he wanted her… and damn if she didn’t spend the last few months shamefully wanting him, taking every little glimpse she could at the lunch table when no one was watching, turning her head away everytime he and Malia would quietly flirt, little voices and loud minds whispering to Lydia that she’d never be part of that world.

                Stiles’ immediate reaction is to frown. “Why not?”

                Lydia regards the mole-littered face of the boy she adores, a fist seizing her heart. “It would hurt her feelings,” she lies, guarded by the thin and cracking wall that hid her tragic secrets.

                “Malia understands that things between us are temporary.”

                “Keep telling yourself that,” Lydia murmurs, lowering her head to watch the shaky water caress her flat stomach with little else to say. All that was left were the broken promises of a tiny voice in her head that once told her she could give away every undisclosed horrible thing that Calvin had said and yet to do. Things she could confess to Stiles.

                Stiles leaned forward to see through the curtain of deep cherry painted hair hanging in front of her pouting face. “Why are you sad?” He exhales audibly, believing he knew the cause. “I’m sorry I kissed you, I shouldn’t have done that.”

                “You… regret it? Already?” She thought his drunk-ass would at least wait until morning before he pulled that nonsense.

                “No!” He was quick to correct her misplaced worries. “No… But you’re confusing me a little here, Lyd. Did you want to kiss me or not? Because honestly, I don’t think I can handle the back and forth as well as I used to,” he admitted, a revealing weakness cracking his words in half.

                Lydia takes one long gander at the boy before her, his heart dangling from his sleeve, something she hadn’t seen in a long time. He was so pretty, drippy and wet, shrouded by the shade of the rocky cavern walls that shadowed the side of his face, accenting the indents of his clamped jaw. Despite how much older and more defined he appeared now, as opposed to a year ago, he retained the same playful innocence, even if it was somehow tainted by the nogitsune and everything he went through these past few months. Not one of them had survived without the scars of the past marring their minds and souls.

                “I did,” she murmurs in all it’s finality. “I still do, but I’m scared.” Her heart climbs to her throat.

                Stiles is moving toward her again, scrummaging through the barrier of ocean to gather her closer, her smaller form taut against his. He doesn’t even take his time to appreciate the feel of her bare stomach against his heavily puffing one as he breathes with beautiful furor. “You have nothing to be afraid of.” A stroke of his fingers over the back of her matted wet hair soothes her.

                The statement alone makes Lydia want to cry, only she doesn’t. She wants to live in this moment for as long as she can, she doesn’t want to turn it into a fest of waterworks and comfort, because she wants them to have fun and enjoy each other’s company for as long as it lasts. They may not have much time. It’s probably past eleven now, it has to be. “Just kiss me.”

                Stiles readily obliges, reaching one hand around to cup the back of her head and heaving her forward to interlock their plump smackers, keeping a firm grip on strands of moist hair and smiling against her lips as he hears the faint traces of her humming her satisfaction under his mouth.

Lydia’s arms wind around his neck, tugging herself closer and lifting herself higher out of the water and into his embrace. He’s more than happy to accept her presence, laving her cold tongue with his warm one and increasing her core body temperature from chattering cold to overheated within seconds. The water sloshes around them, almost as greedy as they are, their fast and steady movements creating a ripple effect in the blue sea surrounding them.

Pressing his lips to Lydia Martin’s was the one of the most marvellous parts of Stiles Stilinski’s mortal coil, an unreal wave of emotion striking him in the most sensitive places and an electrical cord running haywire down his spine. He was feeling a lot of things; he was warm, he was happy, and he was sure as hell turned on.

Feeling a laugh crack against his mouth, Stiles realizes that she’s aware of his predicament, the fault of their tight-knit proximity and the legs he was only just realizing were wrapped around his waist. No wonder she could tell.

“You be quiet,” he murmurs jokingly, gently nibbling on her lower lip playfully and reaching under the cloak of water to squeeze her bottom.

Lydia yelps, lurching against him in astonishment. She smacks his chest. “Getting frisky!”

“So says the monkey wrapped around me,” he justifies with his usual twinge of smugness.

Her eyes dart to Stiles’ shiny moistened lips, her thighs involuntarily squeezing around his hips. As soon as the responsive groan leaves him she’s attacking his lips again with twice as much passion and vigor, running sharp nails over the back of his neck and feeling her heart lift in success when he shivers, tugging  at the short strands at the root of his dark hair.

He practically growls against her, the sound a vibrating rumble against her sucking kiss. Stiles presses a palm flat against her back, molding the pliant flesh covering her trapezius and pressing her as tightly to him as possible, like they were melting into one another.

                Lydia squeals when he roughly spins them around, a rush of cold water creasing over her folded legs, the only noise other than the sticky slide of colliding tongues and the guttural moans that both individuals were taking part in. Of course, Lydia wouldn’t be responsible for such shrill symphonies if Stiles weren’t pinching her thighs and rubbing wandering hands along her sides.

                “You totally want me,” Stiles states proudly, grinning even as he places another wet kiss on the center of her mouth.

                She avoids his lips as he moves forward for a second, putting a firm finger up to his mouth to stop him. “Excuseme? You want me so much more. And I can prove it.” Untangling herself from his grip, Lydia swims away from him with ease.

                “What are you doing?” He tries to hide his disappointment at her sudden remoteness, already missing the touch of her scraping nails and icy wet skin in his nuzzling embrace.

                “Come and get me,” Lydia teases once she’s far enough away, closer to the rock wall on the other side of the grotto.

                “Unlike you I have self-control. You’ll be back in my arms in minutes.” He was sure of himself until he saw the glint of mischief sparkling in her iris, and then he knew she was about to prove him wrong.

                Her right shoulder lifts in a nonchalant shrug, so slight that it was barely noticeable. She flutters her eyelids at him and swiftly turns so that her back is facing him. She can almost see his eyes enlarge as she reaches around her back to untie one string of her bikini top.

                Being around Stiles tonight brought back an old side of her; not the materialism she put on for show in front of the entire world, but the confidence she wore when she would target attractive men as if she were a siren, risque techniques and a straightforwardness to her flirtation that would reel them like fish into a barrel as easily and natural as breathing came to her. Reverting back to the “player” ways she used to know was accidental, and she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why she was doing it, but it kind of felt nice to be this way with someone who knew her for who she really was, and not the mask she chose to wear.

“L-Lydia?”

Her lips perk up slyly as the binding around her neck slips off, the only thing keeping her chest covered was the arm she used to hold the swimsuit lining in its place. A fresh brush of cold air whispered over her exposed neck. “Are you coming or not?” She angles her head to check behind her, gasping when she realized that his arrival was impending, the water shifting as he crowds into her personal space. Immediately, she turns her head to face forward again, finding herself unable to meet his cloudy eyes. Guessing what his expression was like was much easier than actually seeing it.

Lydia’s arms tighten around her bust at the faint sensation of Stiles tracing his fingertips along the side of her shoulder and trailing downward until he reached her wrist, circling the little blue veins there before slipping his fingers into hers, knitting their hands together. His arms travel back around her, snaking over her stomach to pull her against his heaving chest, soaked with ocean water and just a little bit of nervous perspiration.

Stiles presses his cheek against hers, rubbing softly, and opens his mouth to quietly speak, “I like you Lydia.”

He knew just how to pull her heart strings, a puppeteer for her emotions. Instead of speaking, she licks her swelling lips and fights back tears that she doesn’t even understand the existence of.

Thankfully, he doesn’t expect her to talk, and continues on. “But I don’t want to be one of Lydia Martin’s conquests.” He reaches over her shoulder and collects the strings of her bathing suit to tie them back around her neck. “This isn’t about sex.”

Lydia blinks at the sudden font of confusion that overwhelms her. “I never thought it was.” She tries to angrily whip around, but the ocean turns her abrupt turn into a slow one. “What the hell are you talking about, conquests!?”

Stiles recognizes his mistake right away. “No, no I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what exactly did you mean?” She motions to poke him hard in the chest, but he captures her finger there and splays her hand across his skin. She swallows hard at the intimacy of it all.

“You’ve always been kind of a…” at her impatient demeanor that was growing to be more annoyed and reddened by the millisecond, he meekly finishes with, “a heartbreaker?”

“You meant a player,” Lydia says poignantly, fiercely yanking her hand back. “You were going to call me a player.”

Stiles runs the now-lonely hand through his sopping hair. “Well, is that the wrong terminology? You made a lot of guys feel a lot of things and then you backed off. I just don’t want to be one of those guys, especially if that’s what you’re doing with Calvin. I mean… are you ready for more than that? Have you ever been?”

Lydia laughs bitterly. “Are you forgetting Jackson… or Aiden? Two guys I gave my heart to.”

“Aiden is not a good example, Lydia. You never took him seriously.” When her disposition grew even more frightening, Stiles felt backtracking was necessary. With a hard swallow he dared ask “Can we just go back to kissing?”

x-x-x

                  “Calvin, maybe you should slow down…” When Malia had decided to take Calvin for a walk, she hadn’t realize it would turn into a babysitting job. He was knocking back drinks like it was the end of the world, a shot of tequila followed up with another plastic cup filled with rum. It all started when they returned to the campsite after taking some time to calm down. He’d been pretty good at convincing her that it wasn’t worth getting stressed over, which she found odd considering how livid he’d been with Lydia just seconds prior. She could smell it on him. When they got back and found out that Stiles and Lydia decided to kayaking by themselves, that was when the drinking started.

                “Why should I stop now when things are just starting to look a little less bleak?” Calvin swirls the dull bronze liquid in his cup, staring down at it intently while he chewed on the edge of his nail to the point where it was breaking.

                Malia carefully watches him, detecting his inner turmoil. “You smell like self-destruction.”

                Calvin laughs drunkenly, pointing a lazy finger at her. “I think that maybe you’re the one who’s had too much to drink.”

                The werecoyote inwardly rolls her eyes, wondering how she’s going to take care of this stupid human and be pissed off at Stiles at the same time. Everytime she tries to put her mind on something else, it goes right back to him and her and whatever it is that they are doing. “Do you think they’re cheating on us?” She blurts out, before she can stop herself. It’s not the best thing to ask someone who’s severely intoxicated, especially when the reason for his drunken stupor is the very thing she’s bringing up.

                Calvin’s smile vanishes, though his eyes remain glazed and unfocused. His hands flail as he replies, “They’re probably fucking right now.” He pushes himself to a sitting position. “We have to go confront them about it. We still have our own kayaks and we haven’t even used them yet.”                 Malia blankly stares at him. “Somehow, I think operating a boat would be a bad idea in your… predicament.”

                “Now you sound like Lydia,” he drawls, already pushing himself into a standing position. “Come on, we’ll find them.”

                It would be a very stupid idea if they were just two normal people searching the ocean for their betraying lovers, but Malia was capable of sniffing them out and following Stiles’ trail until it led them to wherever they were. In front of Calvin, she could just act like she was lucky enough to figure out where they were. It wasn’t like he was going to question the strangeness of it, he was too drunk. Then again, he might be too drunk to kayak as well. There was only one way to find out.

                “Promise you won’t drown.”

                Calvin sighs dramatically. “No, Malia, I will not drown myself.”

                Her eyebrows furrow at the emphasis, but she finally nods in agreement. “Good.” she glances back toward the tents, where Kira and Scott are cuddled up under some blankets doing god knows what. “But we’re not telling them.”

                “Deal.”

  x-x-x

                  “I really am sorry,” Stiles tried, sitting with bent knees on the rocky ledge. Lydia was leaning against the wall, her legs curled up to her chest and a frustrated gleam in her eyes where they were cast off in the distance, like he wasn’t there.

                They hadn’t brought towels, but had mostly air dried since their decision to get out of the water. It was freezing, especially since they’d adjusted to the temperature of the water, air brisk and shuttering around them. Stiles would have offered to trap her body heat with his, but the suggestion would probably only make her more furious with him.

                “I don’t think you’re a player, and I didn’t mean that you were just using me. I don’t think that at all, I swear.” The silence of the dewey air was almost too much to bare. He reached a hesitant hand out and brushed it delicately against her knee. “Please talk to me.”

                “I’m mad at you,” Lydia gritted out, surprised at her newfound ability to be honest with him. At this rate, if she kept it up, she’d be confessing everything to him within just a few minutes. As long as he kept trying to get her to open up, that is.

                “I know… and you should be.” his pouty face was weakening her resolve.

                “Yep.” But she was going to hold out for as long as she could.

                Stiles sighed heavily, moving to sit back against the rock beside her, almost slamming the back of his head against it as he allowed his body to lean backwards. He leans an elbow over his knee, folded into a position that looked uncomfortable. “I’m such a jerk.”

                And just like that, Lydia crumpled with guilt. “No you’re not. You’re just… Stiles.”

                “Stiles the filterless asshole with no tact,” he mutters begrudgingly.

                “Stop putting yourself down!” Lydia demands, slapping a hand on his knee chastisingly. “You just upset me, because I don’t want you to think that I would ever do that… I mean I have… but I don’t want you to think that I would ever do that to you.”

                “I was only asking because I want things to work out like they’re supposed to.” His shoulders shrug automatically, and he shakes his head to himself. “I don’t know, it’s stupid. Nevermind.”

                She wants to tell him that it’s not stupid and that she understands, but instead she just takes his hand and holds it, like they have so many times today.

                It seems to be enough, because his head slowly turns toward hers, a reassurance lighting up his eyes and flitting the slightest bit of a smile over his once dismal lips.

                They sit in perfect silence for a while after that, his thumb trailing over the back of her hand and hers squeezing his so tightly like she’s afraid it will suddenly slip away and he’ll be gone. The very thought is frightening to her, that she could be so completely terrified of losing this one boy in her life. He wasn’t her family, but more. Something else entirely, but still important like a brother might be. With different feelings, so strong that they were painful.

                The perfect vesicle of peace shatters in one instant moment. It started with a new rush of water from the opening of the cave, and when they turned curious eyes toward the new sound, two familiar faces appearing in front of the shadow of night caused two more hearts to drop.

                “Malia,” Stiles was the first to say, just as the two kayaks pulled to a stop in front of the ledge and both parties climbed out. Where Malia and Calvin moved with confidence, Stiles and Lydia cowered back uncomfortably, pulling their hands apart relatively fast and jumping to their legs.

                Stiles could smell the alcohol coming off of Calvin in waves, even before he was near them. It was strong and almost vile, his nose wrinkling at the new disturbing scent. He was never the kind of guy to get completely wasted, not after everything with his father in the past. Then he felt Lydia squishing into his side, seeking protection or comfort of some kind. That was confusing. Calvin throwing daggers at Stiles with his eyes… Now that was less confusing.

                “What are you doing here?” Malia asked bitterly, her lips inverted into a straight line and her foot tapping restlessly against rock. She admires their lack of clothing, her eyes skating over their wet bathing suits.

                “You guys were gone for a while, so we decided to go kayaking,” Stiles lacked any real poise, and it made him seem even guiltier. When he realizes they’re both staring at his swim trunks and Lydia’s bikini, he expounds upon his explanation. “ - And we went swimming.”

                “You don’t say?” Malia grits out.

                Lydia knew this would happen, or at least something along these lines. She knew that Malia would not take it well, and that Stiles was either lying or way god damn off when it came to his knowledge about what Malia thought was the definition of their relationship. Lydia was completely avoiding looking at Calvin, and she hated herself for it, as well as the unexplainable fear welling deep inside an ache in the center of her chest. She unconsciously moved closer to Stiles, clinging to his side as if he would offer some kind of barrier, her knees feeling vaguely like rubber. It wasn’t like he even knew what was going on between them, so how could Stiles possibly help?                 “First, let me just say,” Calvin nearly tripped over his own feet, the entire world wavy as the disoriented teenager took his first step forward, just to avoid falling into the water. “kayaking is fucking hard.”

                “You’re completely wasted,” Stiles doesn’t mean to sound like an ass, but the bitterness is detectable. “You shouldn’t be in a boat like this anyway.”

                “You shouldn’t be in a boat with my girlfriend, anyway,” the drunk teen retorted just as frustratedly.

                Stiles snorts, his tongue curling with sarcasm as he bites back sarcastically, “We were in our own boats, actually.” He holds back the part about Lydia not being his girlfriend, because there was really no point in getting a wasted teenager more pissed off than he was. It would be adding fuel to an already raging flame, and one look at Malia told him that this fire may be more out of control than he ever anticipated.

                “We were just about to leave,” Lydia chimes in lowly, hoping to put a stop to the back and forth before it gets out of hand. Feeling the attention of the cave transfer to her, she regrets the decision to speak up.

                “No you weren’t,” Calvin hacks.

                “We were just swimming,” Stiles defends with with a red face and bending brows, growing more fed up with the inebriated boy who had no right to be upset, a mere stranger amongst their group of friends. He wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip. Stiles didn’t want to be embroiled into an argument between Lydia and Calvin, especially when he had his own problems with Malia to now worry about, but this guy was getting on his last nerve and he was pretty much ready to tell him off, but Lydia’s distress was coming off her in waves and he wasn’t going to start something.

                “We just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Malia says thickly. “We should get back to the campsite, it’s late.” She grabs Stiles hand and gently pulls.

                “Uh, I don’t think Calvin should be kayaking like this. If he falls in the water I’m not saving him.”

                “Lydia can wait with him until he sobers up a bit,” Malia suggests readily, unrelenting. “Is that okay with you guys?”

                “Yeah, my Lyd-ee will take good care of me.” Calvin slurs, moving forward to wrap an arm around the banshee to avoid toppling over. He lightly pinches her shoulder to hug her closer to his side, completely separating her from Stiles and Malia.

                “I don’t know,” Stiles rubs the back of his neck haphazardly. “Might be too much of a handful for her, taking care of a wasted teenager.” his eyes focus attentively on Lydia, waiting for her to make contact of some kind, but she refuses to look up from the gravel where she’s kicking her feet so he continues on. “I can hang back with Calvin while you girls go back.. if you want?” He wants to help her out, but she isn’t giving him much to work with. Hell, he doesn’t even know what she’d like to do here.

                “Just go!” Calvin cuts in, much to Stiles’ chagrin. “We can sit and admire this pretty little cave thing you found until it’s safe for someone in my condition to be out in troubled waters.”

                At first, Stiles feels the stirrings of paranoia telling him that Calvin is acting more drunk than he actually is, but he dismisses the thought as soon as it strikes him. It made no sense. “If that’s okay with Lydia,” he firmly tells Calvin, implying that he should shut his mouth about it being okay and let the girl decide for herself.

                Lydia hangs her head low as the attention once again returns to her. “I’ll stay.” She isn’t even sure how she got the words out, shoulders slumping in compliance as she gives up, allowing Calvin to remain holding onto her. She hated the way he smelled right now, and up close was even worse.

                “Are you sure?” Stiles feels that the entire situation is on unsteady ground, only further evident by Lydia’s avoiding gaze and nervous stature. Maybe she didn’t want to have this conversation with Calvin yet.. telling him that she wasn’t serious about him like he was about her. That she liked Stiles. Doubt clouded Stiles’ thoughts once more as he considered the possibility that Lydia wasn’t going to tell him about their...whatever they were and might become. He wasn’t going to say anything about it to Malia until he discussed it with the banshee first.

                “Yeah,” Her eyes are guilty as they meet his, and it does nothing to make his worry recede. “I’ll see you later, Stiles…” It almost sounds like she doesn’t really mean it, and he tries not to read too much into the context there.

                “Okay..” And he’s angry with himself for listening, he’s angry with himself as he gets back in his kayak and rows beside Malia back to the shore. He’s angry when he mutters an apology to her for their earlier argument, and even when he climbs under his blankets beside an already sleeping Scott.

  When dawn breaks, Lydia still hasn’t returned.

  x-x-x

                  Calvin was beyond enraged, Lydia could see that before he ever spoke a word, before his accusing eyes were on hers, filled with animosity and loathing. She folded into a shell of who she used to be, backing herself into the furthest corner of the ledge and hugging herself, desperate for solace. His alcohol level was only going to make him worse than he would be if he’d skipped the last few rounds available to him.

                When Stiles and Malia disappeared around the bend, vanishing out of the cave’s entrance, Lydia waited for Calvin to blow up at her. Several seconds ticked by, and with each passing one, her anxiety grew a little less steady, less maintainable. If he didn’t burst, she was going to. Gulping down a wave of panic, Lydia dug her nails into the skin of her upper arm.

                Calvin sniffed the air like he was admiring the tension. “I love the smell of the sea, it’s like salt.” Finally acknowledging her puffs of uneasy breath, he tilts a clenched jaw in her direction. “Why are you so far away?”

                “You smell like liquor.”

                He laughs gutturally. “I didn’t realize smart girls stated the obvious.” Stumbling toward her, the edge of his shoe catches on a jutting rock, but he stops himself from landing hard by placing a firm hand on the wall. “You’re so sneaky… Waiting until I’m gone and taking Stiles to this little romantic spot. How cute of you.” His bitterness can’t be mistaken.

                “He took me here.”

                “And you let him,” Calvin barks, leaning just a little bit closer, enough to intimidate as he so purposely does. “What else did you let him do?” he snakes a finger over her shoulder, pushing delicately against the strap of her bikini to let it fall around her arm. “Did you let him touch you?”

                Lydia immediately pulls it back to its rightful position. “What? No!” Hives appear on her chest, red and splotchy, caused only by her apprehension and fear. “You’re being unreasonable. We were just kayaking.”

                “Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot.”

                It isn’t long before his hands are on her arms again, tight and threatening. “Get your hands off me.”

                “When did you grow a backbone, Lydia? What makes you think you can tell me what to do?” Calvin has gone red in the face, eyes darkened and squinting with a stillness of his posture that suggests self-assurance.

                “When I realized you’re just a freak with empty threats! Stay away from me, and stay away from my friends,” Lydia shoots back bravely, ignoring the overhanging feeling of dread creeping deep into her stomach and twisting painfully.

                “Oh, I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget. Then we’ll see what you have to say about empty threats.”

                The world spins when he clenches down on her shoulders and swings them around, using the momentum to shove her off of the ledge and land against the side of her kayak, splashing into the water as she cracks her head against the rubber exterior. The force unhooked her boat from the rock, sending it floating away from them with ease, her bright yellow guiding light moving into the same far away space that Stiles had occupied, dissolving as he had.

                Before Lydia understands what is actually happening, Calvin has grabbed her by the root of her hair, leaned over the edge of the gravel and forcing her head beneath the surface. A scream burbles out, but it is lost under the water, so blue and so cold. Where she feels it like ice against her face, it burns her and tightens her chest, the ability to breathe becoming more constricting and impossible.

                With pure willpower and strength, Lydia uses her flailing arms to make it back to the surface and suck in a quick breath, but he’s pushing down again, and the blurry blue ocean is all she sees. Bubbles form in the water in front of her from her desperate attempts at breathing, if only she were Ariel, if only she were a mermaid with the gift of taking water into her lungs and using it to survive. Instead it’s killing her, burning her from the inside.

                The amount of water she was drinking in, it was suffocating. It was filling her, the taste of salt tickling her tastebuds and sliding forcibly down her throat, never meant to take in this much at one time. Her arms are hurting, sore muscles like she’d been lifting weights for hour She never knew drowning would feel like this.