Our Stiles. It wasn't hard to figure out, especially not with how well they know each other. But she still isn't making sense. He still feels like he's missing something.
"He said that? He said he's never coming home? Never?" His voice breaks on the last word and instantly, there's a vice-grip-tightness in his chest and for a the smallest, fleeting moment, he can't think, can't breathe. He's drowning in ice water and the rest of the world ceases to exist. The hope he'd been clinging to like a lifeline is just-- gone now.
But it's short-lived and fleeting, because he can't do this, not yet. He has to focus on her. "Shh, hey. Lydia." his voice is soft and even, and he tilts her chin up to make her look at him. "Listen...breathe, okay?" He does a couple of deep breaths with her. "Start over. From the beginning. What happened?" He wraps his fingers around hers, a reminder he's here.