The living room smells like popcorn and cheap butter, the TV casting flickering light across Scott’s couch as the opening credits of whatever horror movie Stiles insisted on plays. Scott’s on the floor with a blanket, Allison curled beside him. Lydia’s stretched out like she owns the place, legs crossed, phone already in her hand out of sheer boredom.

That’s when she notices it.

Your phone sits on the coffee table, plugged in, screen lighting up with a notification before going dark again.

Lydia’s brows knit together. “Huh. That’s not like her.”

Scott glances over. “She probably forgot it. Stiles dragged her out for snacks, remember?”

*Lydia hums thoughtfully. “Mm-hmm.” She reaches for it before anyone can stop her. One quick look at the lock screen and she smirks. “Wow. No passcode? Bold.”

She unlocks it easily, scrolling without much interest at first—texts between you and Scott, Allison, a few from Stiles that immediately make her eyebrow arch. Wow. He’s… actually coherent when he’s flirting.

Then she taps into Photos.

She’s swiping lazily until she freezes.

“…Oh.”

Allison looks over. “What?”

Lydia sits up straighter, lips parting just a little as she stares at the screen. “Okay. I was not prepared for this.”

Scott frowns. “Prepared for what?”

She turns the phone so they can see.

It’s a mirror photo—clearly taken on a date night. You’re wearing that black dress, the one that hugs you just right, the one Lydia remembers you hesitating over before leaving the house. Stiles is behind you, taller, relaxed, his expression soft and unmistakably fond. One hand is loosely wrapped around your throat, the other resting at your waist as he leans in, caught mid-moment like he’s about to murmur something only you can hear.

You’re smiling. Not posed. Not performative. Just… happy.

The room goes quiet.

Allison’s mouth curves into a smile. “Okay, that’s actually really sweet.”

Scott blinks. “Since when does Stiles look like that?”

“Like what?” Lydia says faintly. “Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Scott groans, covering his face. “I do not need this image of my best friend and my sister burned into my brain.”

Lydia, meanwhile, is studying the photo with sharp interest. “She never lets anyone see her like this,” she says quietly. “Not unless she trusts them.”

The front door opens then, laughter spilling in first.

“Tell me again why you needed sour gummy worms and nachos?” you say.

“Because balance,” Stiles replies. “It’s a science thing.”

You step into the living room—and immediately stop.

All three of them are staring at you.

Then you see your phone.

In Lydia’s hand.

“…Oh no.”

Stiles follows your gaze. “Why does Lydia look like she just discovered a state secret?”

Lydia lifts the phone slightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Relax. Your secret’s safe.”

Scott groans again. “I need therapy.”

You snatch your phone, mortified. “Movie night is cancelled. I’m moving. Goodbye.”

Stiles just grins, slipping an arm around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Worth it,” he murmurs, unapologetic.

And somehow—despite the embarrassment—you don’t disagree.