[Beacon Hills Hospital]
Lydia spent the morning acquiring the most adorable Coach booties, which were on her feet when she walked into Beacon Hills Hospital. Okay, so maybe it was frivolous, but she felt better listening to them click on the floor. Because Allison wasn't here, and she couldn't even find Aiden for distraction. She wasn't seeing him these days, but she didn't like making him try. The truth was, simply, that she didn't trust him. But she'd take him over nobody, and right now there was nobody.
Scott was somebody, but he was Stile's somebody; everybody knew that.
She'd already called for the room number, so there was no excuse to stop at the hospital's front desk. There was no need to stall for time. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Stiles; she wanted to see Stiles. But he was just another thing that was too strange to be real, and she was starting to wonder if she was asleep. Or if something even worse was going on than her recently disturbing tendency to be a compass for corpses. At least the buzzing was quieter than it had been in days.
She was dressed in ecru - not cream, not off-white, not linen, ecru. Her dress swished against her upper thigh nicely, and her hair was a nice contrast to the sedate color. She thought those things to herself as she stepped off the elevator onto Stiles' floor. Maybe she felt a little better for having thought it.
There were flowers in her hand when she rounded into his room. Manly browns and yellows, and maybe she'd stalled by picking each one herself, but you couldn't underestimate the effect of flowers on a sick person. Balloons on a string (neutral colors, so they wouldn't clash with the flowers), and dimples in her cheeks. She didn't immediately ask what the heck had happened at the school, because she didn't want to know. Smile and pretend, and that vacuous smile she'd worn for her entire relationship with Jackson. The smile was rusty, but well-worn from extensive mileage.
She pointed at his hospital gown. "That is so not designer."