I will love you in memories to be made, and thus far. I will love you in memories, and the memories will be many. – Tyler Knott Gregson

Lydia presses her palms against the cold metal of the door handle. She uses her forward momentum to push down as she steps out of the fluorescence of the school hallway and into the vibrant golden sunlight of mid-afternoon.

It's a clear day towards the end of May, not a single cloud in the sky. A transient breeze gusts through towering oak trees that are bursting with new leaves, casually swishing the hem of Lydia's floral mini skirt against her thighs as it passes. The air, warm and fragrant, offers the promise that summer is just around the corner.

Summer. There is an entire summer with Stiles to look forward to – Lydia can picture it. Lazy days, basking in the warmth of the sun. Toes tickled by grass, dotted with dew and fragrant wildflowers. Feet impressing upon powdery grains, making memories in the sand. Ankles submerged in clear ocean waves, nothing on the horizon but endless sky and limitless love. Bare skin and damp hair. Sharing ice cream, and laughter, and kisses long and slow. Tender touches, lingering glances, and secrets deep and dark; hand in hand with the boy who captured her heart. Still nights, walking under distant stars that light the way to creaking screen doors, silent hallways, and cozy bedrooms with open windows, crisp sheets, and fluffy pillows. Wind-dried tresses tickling exposed skin and sand-polished fingers exploring under clothing. Sharing chocolate peanut butter cups and long-held hopes through whispered tones, laced with delicate caresses and emblazoned with emotion. Cheeks blushing to pink, breaths synchronizing, hearts pounding, lips connecting with the young man she loves.

She shakes her head at the lighthearted train of thought that has overtaken her mind and approaches the parking lot. Wandering thoughts, such as these would make Lydia feel giddy…if she were foolish enough to be in touch with such a silly emotion. She tells herself that she is not. But then, her eyes shift upwards and she pauses at the sight of him – suddenly reminded that she is capable of feeling giddy, and if she is honest with herself, she might even like it too…and it's all because of Stiles. He did this to her – he softened the edges, detected more than an image, coaxed her from detachment, left imprints on her heart…and she loves him for it. She loves Stiles. She and Stiles are together. He is her…boyfriend?

Boyfriend. That word does him no justice. Humankind has not come up with a word that encompasses what Stiles is to her…at least not in any language she knows. He is the person who knows her better than anyone, who doesn't refrain from telling her how he feels about her. The one who believes in her, the one whom she relies on, the one who finishes her sentences. The one who makes her laugh, who holds her when dreams turn into nightmares, who dries and kisses away her tears, who calls her smart and beautiful, but also calls her out when she is being less than forthcoming…and always listens, and never judges. The one whom she is terrified of losing, but who also offers her hope and fills her with a joy so expansive and so overwhelming that she can hardly describe it.

For the first time, Lydia feels genuinely happy and complete. Nothing like three months ago.

Three months. Three months without the sound of his voice or its many shades, ranging from sweetness to sarcasm. Three months without the touch of his gentle hands, the brilliant gold light in his eyes, shy crooked grin, strong arms, and tethering presence. Three months of too much quiet and too much stillness. Three months without the comforting noise of his incessant finger tapping, pacing, fidgeting, and humming. Three months without once seeing that look – the one he is giving her right now. The one that fills her with warmth on even the coldest night. The one that makes her entire body tense and soften at the same time. The one that makes her excited and a little bit scared. The one that brings the butterflies and tugs at her heart like a magnet. The one that parts the clouds, reveals the sun, pulls the moon a little lower, and makes the stars shine a great deal brighter. The one that silently shouts I love you across any distance, great or small. Three months without any of it. Three months…when he was gone.

Stiles was gone. Not from her heart – because she knew he was real – but out of her grasp, stripped from her mind, peeled back like wallpaper over blank spaces. Her Stiles – reduced to a lingering thought she couldn't reach, a glimmer of possibility that has been silently shaping her dreams. Gone, until she got it all back…got him back. One week ago, Stiles found his way back to her.

One week. One week since he said she didn't have to. One week since their entire bodies collided in the most passionate kiss she had ever experienced; when she willingly gave her breath to him, and Stiles expanded her lungs and her life with his own. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, and his hands were everywhere – drawing her nearer and nearer until their bodies were one. All the feelings were there – overflowing, and spreading, and mingling together…like he was never gone. One week, and she hasn't once withheld the dimple-framed smile that takes shape on her face every time she sees him. She can't help it. Why should she even try? After months of emptiness, Stiles cast away the hollow void, when he told her it was her voice that beckoned him home.

Months of emptiness purged by a downpour of reclaimed memories; saturating her mind, flooding her body, submerging her soul – in Stiles. Memories of him and of them together that washed away the longing, and the wondering, and the vast aching pain in her chest. Giving her back the spark, the reason, the love she never knew she could have. Reminding her with a sharp twinge of regret, of the many times all she had to do was reach out – he was there, and he could have been hers, if she let him. He could have been hers, he should have been hers…after all that time, she was his.

Memories of his name ringing in her ears. What the hell is a Stiles? Memories of when he said dance with me, called her smart, told her to scream if that's what would help. Reminding her that she is something, not just a girl. Pleading with her to focus on his voice, and selflessly confronting a maniacal threat, shouting TURN IT OFF…so she wouldn't lose her way. The awakening bliss of their first kiss, pure and bright, on a dirty locker room floor. The one that steadied his breaths and rattled hers. The one that made it all make sense, helped her figure it out – that the stirring she felt beneath her ribs had a name…and that name was Stiles. Memories that tell her don't go doubting yourself and of burning desire tied up in red string. Memories of his arms around her in the darkness, how he saved her life, and when he told her he loved her…but she didn't say it back.

But the passing of that first tempest rain didn't fill the reserve. Apprehensive clouds withheld a select few. There were still intensely vivid memories, sculpted in quiet moments; the calms before and after the storm. Moments when she could literally feel herself falling, and his arms were always there to catch her.

Those subtle, yet profoundly ingrained moments of unexpected significance, seem to want to reveal themselves slowly, deliberately, carefully in time.

Lydia is learning each day. Remembering each day. Reason after reason. Experience after experience. Another insight into the how, and the why, and the when she fell in love with Stiles. She relives these moments – falling deeper and deeper…all over again.

Each day, some seemingly unimportant stimulus triggers a memory that knocks her back on her heels and sends the blood coursing through her veins at warped speed.

Just like that, startling bursts appear out of the blue; a sun shower. It warms the air, makes it heavy with emotion, and refracts light from within every droplet that cascades around her, drenching her soul in a love so real, so pure, so perfect, that she wants to dance in it for as long as she lives. Inevitably, it passes…drifts across the atmosphere, leaving rainbows in its wake with the promise of more to come…and she wonders…and she longs…and she waits for the next.

It's been one week since he came back to her, and the memories are still blossoming, with no end sign in sight.

At first, she didn't tell Stiles. She couldn't. It was awful enough that she forgot in the first place; she let the most important person in her life be taken from her. Admitting that she was left with blank spaces and that she didn't even know how many more existed seemed even worse.

When the memories appear, she gets a far-off look in her eyes. Stiles notices. Of course he does, and he reaches out, like always…

…and Lydia withholds, like always. "It's nothing, I'm fine," she replies each time, before the question even forms in his mouth.

Her words are immediately followed by the sharp flicker of hurt in his eyes, which he so diligently tries to hide. Hurt…because he knows she is keeping something from him, holding him at a distance when there has already been too much of it, refusing to let him in when all he wants to do is help, to be there for her, to love her. Maybe even some of the hurt because he thinks she can't fully trust him.

On day four, she gave in; she couldn't be the one to cause him more pain. So, she took his hand when he reached out, let go of the fear, and the words fell from her lips…and it was surprisingly easy, and Stiles understood. Of course he did. He is Stiles, after all.

"How could anyone expect you to get back years of memories in one night?" he said. "It's going to take time, Lydia. It's okay…you'll remember…and in the meantime, we can make new ones."

Regardless of the fact that she felt unworthy to ask for it, Stiles held her – just like she wanted him to…because he knew it was what she needed. Stiles always knows. His lips pressed against her forehead, arms surrounded her, hands tangled into her hair, broad chest motionless against her. Being so close made her tingle all over; reminded her that Stiles is with her because he wants to be, because he loves her – he really does, and he always has…and it eases the pain of forgetting and replaces it with something warm, substantial, solid – HIM.

As Lydia crosses the parking lot, another memory materializes…and today, she is not holding back. She walks over to Stiles and kisses him with every ounce of love in her possession. Despite the fact that he waited for her for years, and despite the fact that they have only been together for one week, he doesn't seem surprised at all by the affection. He is right there with her, passion matched for passion as he grips her waist, his fingers dipping into the curve of her spine as she presses up against him. He relaxes into her mouth, muffled moan vibrating against her tongue. He kisses her, and he kisses her…until she is dizzy and breathless, clinging for balance with one hand at the nape of his neck and the other gripping soft cotton plaid.

When their lips part, a new memory has been made and another is fully restored…leaving her smiling…and hoping…and waiting for more.