Not crazy

I know the risk

     “Tell me about it …. but , it’s true. Trust me , my — my friend is one. I definitely have my fair share of doppelganger action.”

      "And I thought finding out about werewolves was freaky..."

    “Lydia.” Stiles says, and his voice is still fond, but a little heavy, the weight of something he feels he knows bearing down on his words. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I know—I know it isn’t really like that any more, I know you know who I am now. But I’ve never been the idiot I look like I am, not really. I know that for the last…God knows how many years…you haven’t been looking at me. I didn’t even have a shot until Jackson left for England. I know that. It’s…it’s okay. I don’t have to be the first round draft pick. You’re here now, that’s—that’s the important thing.” His face is immediately making some kind of contorted expression, and he shakes his head, laughing. “Ugh, no, kale? Really? No. Greek yogurt, sure, but not kale, kale is an unkindness I wouldn’t inflict on my worst enemy. But, you know, you should come by, every second Sunday of the month we have Ice Cream Sundays. Even if sometimes it’s frozen yogurt now, it’s okay, there’s some great frozen yogurts out there. That’s how I got Dad to agree to the meal plan at all.”

             The girl laughed at his next words, giving a small shake of her head. "It's not that bad...-actually, no, kale is disgusting. It's like eating grass." She scrunched her nose up in disgust. "That sounds amazing, actually. Frozen yogurt and Stilinski men? My ideal weekend."

     “So , I — ..I guess that crosses the option of us being twins out of the equation. Leaving the ’ doppelganger ’ option wide open.’

          "Doppelgangers? Seriously? Next you're going to tell me that fairies are real too. Though at this point, that really wouldn't surprise me."

                                                “When .. —when were you born?”

     "...-I'm seventeen. How old are you?"

          “Well, technically I should check both hands—all four hands?—to be especially sure, but it’s okay.” Stiles looks up from their joined hands to Lydia’s face, echoing her reassuring smile with one of his own. “I’m pretty sure I’m awake right now.” He also mirrors the tightening of her grip, giving a little huff of sound that’s almost a laugh when he does.          Stiles swallows hard enough that it’s an obvious motion, and looks at nothing special on the floor. “Who would have thought it’d basically take me not being me to get your attention?”          His free hand dismisses that morbid line of thought before it can go much further than it’s already gone. Instead, he lets another weak chuckle bubble up out of his chest. “Didn’t hit me at all. He wasn’t really trying to hit me, my Dad’s got good aim. He was just annoyed. He knows I’m doing it ‘cause I care. Plus I pretended not to notice the thing of ice cream he hid behind the ice maker.”

        "Your house sounds much more exciting than mine. We don't even have ice cream; my mom only buys kale and this really nasty yogurt."

                                                   “Yeah .. yeah i’m fine. You?”

        "-Okay, no, I'm honestly weirded out by this. You have my face."

           Stiles smiles, faintly, and moves his thumb briefly over the backs of Lydia’s fingers, watching the motion, as if he’s fascinated by it, or the idea that it’s possible. It distracts him for a few seconds, before looking up to Lydia’s face when she prompts him.            He gives a quiet laugh, stretching his fingers out so that they make a contrast between his long, knobby, knuckily digits and Lydia’s softer, shorter folded ones. “There’s a couple of ways you can tell you’re dreaming, if you think you’re in a lucid dream. You can’t read, for one thing, and…you don’t have the right number of fingers. So, sometimes…” Now Stiles uses his other hand, quietly counting off first the five fingers of his own hand, and the five fingers of Lydia’s. “…I have to make sure.”          ”I did,” Stiles’ smile and laughter grow stronger now, more honest. “I want him to watch his cholesterol, you know? He works himself so hard—he should eat right. Pringles isn’t eating right. He threw one of the bags at my head, though, it was great.”

               "He threw the bag at you?" Lydia could only imagine Stiles ducking as his father chucked a bunch of rice cakes at him. The thought made her giggle, a soft, genuine laugh. "I hope it didn't hit you too hard."

       ”Same thing,” Jackson joked with a little smile, leaning against the headboard and propping his feet up on the familiar bed. “Yeah, well… all was going great there until I took a jog about two weeks into my stay,” he explained, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “You’d never see the sun, there, and there wasn’t any lacrosse team for the school I went to, either. It wasn’t really fun for me. I mean, you might like it, but I’m not going back to London any time soon.”

       Lydia nodded in response, a small smile spreading across her lips. As he spoke, a twinge of sympathy knotted in her stomach, though it was short lived. While she was upset he didn't enjoy himself in Europe, having him back...well, it made things much more complicated. "Oh, I'm definitely going there someday. I'll just have someone else take me if you don't want to go back." She retorted, quirking a challenging brow.