Poptarts and Vodka Shots

The day started off stranger than usual. Lydia wasn’t usually this clumsy, first she managed to spill water on herself and now here she was falling, slipping on the not so dry floor. Why didn’t she listen to Erica and watch movies with her all day? But no, instead she insisted on buying lunch and groceries for the two because living off donuts and pretzel sticks was obviously not good for their healths. The impact of her back smacking the floor wasn’t as painful as she expected, thank god she didn’t smack her head.

“Are you okay?” A voice asked.

“Do I look okay?” Lydia growled, she never understood why people insisted on asking obvious questions like: Did you cut your hair? Is that a new shirt? Did you steal my fries? What’s that on your face? Did you just kiss my husband?

“Not at all.” The voice sniggered, helping her to her feet.

“Jesus! Why are you so mean to me?” Lydia asked, noticing that the owner of the voice was none other than Stiles Stilinski.

“Stiles, not Jesus.” Stiles smirked, his oh so douche-y smile, “So Lyds, what brings you round this part of town? We were told to avoid your apartment like the plague so you two could have your “special” time.”