There are days she drifts. It's different than when she finds a dead body, but she can't help but make the comparison. Because, while Lydia doesn't discover a fresh victim of the supernatural, she continually finds new ways to feel the loss of her best friend.

She'll be going about her day, trying vainly to live normally. Something, anything, will remind her of Allison, and her death slams back into her like a mack truck. Panic seizes her heart and her stomach drops to the floor.

She always ends up at the Stilinski or McCall house, with no real recollection of the journey. The Sheriff or Melissa greets her with familiar, sympathetic smiles. Six months ago, those smiles would've sent her running in the opposite direction. Now, she thinks of them as comfort and home.

She curls into a fetal position, unmoving, staring straight ahead or sleeping until Stiles or Scott returns.

They plop down next to her, garnering her drifting attention.

Sometimes, they talk. She'll tell them what prompted her latest break down.

Other days, they lie side by side, letting the silence and proximity comfort them.

Stiles will grab her hand, intertwining their fingers. Bringing it to his lips, he presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

She turns to her side, pulling him along till he lies behind her, his body lining against hers.

She listens to and feels his breath and heartbeat, and her heart aches. She is incredibly grateful he survived, but she doesn't understand why she couldn't have both: her boyfriend and her best friend.

But, as she closes her eyes and his breathing evens out, she's thankful for at least one.

"I never got a summer with her."

Lydia turns her head, watching Scott as he talks. They lie side by side on his bed. She curls in a ball on her side, while he lays on his back, his eyes hazily focused on the ceiling.

"Last summer, I couldn't wait for her to get back. I thought of all the things I wanted to do with her."

"Like what?" her voice comes out hoarse from disuse.

"I wanted to take her to the lake. We would go swimming, and build a fire."

Silence settles over the room.

She knows how he feels. Sometimes, memories overtake her. But, other times, it's the almosts and what-could-have-beens that bring her to her knees.

Sitting up, she grabs his hand.

"Let's go." At his furrowed brow, she clarifies, "Allison wouldn't want us sitting here complaining. She'd want us to go to the lake and have fun."

An hour later, Lydia giggles as she splashes Scott and treads water.

Normally, she wouldn't dare swim in the murky lake, but given her latest circumstances, it seems the least offensive thing asked of her.

Scott turns his head, and she follows his gaze.

A moment later, Stiles' jeep parks near her car.

She smiles as he jumps out, followed by Malia and Kira.

Both girls look slightly apprehensive, which Lydia sympathizes with.

Since Allison's funeral, Lydia, Stiles, and Scott grew even closer. They find comfort in each other, but without school, they've lost contact with the rest of the world.

She knows Stiles is trying to give that back to them. While they will always have each other, they need to reach out and begin again.

Throwing off his shirt, Stiles jumps into the water, splashing her.

She laughs, shrieking as his arms wrap around her.

Lifting her, he presses a kiss to her shoulder. She laughs at his blinding grin.

Resting his forehead against hers, he asks quietly, "Rough day?"

Her heart clenches, and instead of answering, she kisses him fiercely, before diving away.

Later, Lydia watches as Kira and Scott trade sly looks and shy blushes. Malia lies on the ground, watching the stars, exuding total contentment. Lydia leans further into Stiles' embrace as he kisses her cheek.

They all shared dinner and s'mores earlier, and now enjoy the quiet night.

Lydia tilts her head back on his shoulder, angling her face towards his.

He smiles as he leans forward, pressing his lips to hers.

Sliding her hand up around his neck, she deepens the kiss, opening her mouth and sliding her tongue along his.

He murmurs as his hand tightens around her hip.

She breaks away, suddenly breathless as she meets his gaze.

His brows rise in surprise at her dark and wanting expression.

"Can we—?" she asks softly.

He nods quickly, glancing around the group as they both stand.

She immediately sets off towards his Jeep, anticipation tangling in her stomach.

Since Allison's death, she finds comfort in his arms, but rarely does it advance to anything sexual.

The morning after the funeral, she tried. Fatigue and grief still pressed down on her bones, and she wanted to forget, even if just for a moment.

But everything felt wrong. Stiles was too soft, too sweet, and when she finally did get off, she came crashing back down to reality. A reality without Allison and where she almost lost Stiles. She doesn't relish a repeat performance.

Stiles is still recovering himself. She can see the hints of regret and guilt that creep into his eyes late at night. They fight the darkness together, for themselves and each other.

She jumps as his arms wrap around her stomach, his fingers tickling her sides.

Leaning down, he presses his lips to her ear and down her neck.

She cranes her head to the side, closing her eyes as she wraps her fingers around his arms.

He turns her carefully, stepping forward till her back hits the side of the Jeep. She keeps his gaze, ignoring the tingling anticipation, and pouring herself into the heat between them.

Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulls him to her.

They giggle as they tumble into the backseat, attempting to rearrange themselves into a somewhat comfortable position.

Kissing him, she realizes this is what it is to be alive: laughing with her friends, crying at the cemetery, falling even deeper in love.

Allison, with all her reckless bravery, knew both sides, the dark and light. She died trying to save Lydia's life, and Lydia intends to live, no matter the circumstances.