Fairbanks. November 1989.
The only sound for miles was the rain and the radio in Stiles' jeep blasting Siouxsie and the Banshees' latest album. Bloody tears ran down his cheeks as Stiles sang off key. He reached for the cigarette pack on the dashboard and lit one up using his mind, his eyes flashing orange for the briefest of moments.
The nights in the outskirts of Fairbanks were cold and dark, but changing cities would not warm him up. Everything that was bright and warm and beautiful about the world died the moment he left his coven in New York. If Stiles wanted to keep them safe, then he needed to let them go. Walking away from Lydia and Kira hurt more than anything he'd ever felt, but every second he spent with them put them in danger. As long as Aya lived, Stiles was doomed to walk this world alone.
He turned left onto the road that lead to his house, taking a last drag from his cigarette before throwing it out the window. If he let himself dream for a moment, he could see a light in his house where his girls would be waiting for him. Stiles shook his head and parked the car in front of his house. Stiles cleaned his face with the back of his hand and went inside.
Kira's voice drifted from the second floor, a song about seeing your loved ones again that was mildly distorted by the sound of the shower.
"Great," he mumbled, taking his coat off. His hallucinations were getting vivid enough to scare him, frequent enough that he didn't question them anymore. "I guess I truly lost it now."
Somewhere at his back, Lydia's voice came clear as day. "A part of me wanted you to be dead."
Stiles turned around and did a double take. Lydia looked as beautiful as ever, but something was different: she looked sad. For three years, Lydia had only been furious in his mind: because he abandoned her after he promised her forever, because he wouldn't even call, because he left Kira grieving as well.
"Lydia?" he asked, careful not to sound too hopeful.
"If you were dead, this distance would be reasonable." She sniffed, putting her hand to her face to hide the bloody tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. With a watery smile, she said "but you're here. You're here, you bastard—"
Before she could continue, Stiles was by her side, wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug. Lydia weakly tried to hit his chest, a sob caught in her throat, but ended up grabbing fistfuls of his jacket and holding on for dear life.
In the background, the shower stopped and just a moment later, Kira's arms wrapped around him from behind, holding both Stiles and Lydia close. Stiles kissed the top of Lydia's head repeatedly, mumbling sweet nothings that got lost between their sobs. Slowly, Stiles half-turned to include Kira in their hug, kissing the side of her face, tasting the blood in her tears.
They held each other for a long time, unconcerned by the time passing around them, savoring the sweetness of their reunion until Aya's malicious smile crossed Stiles' mind and he pulled away slightly.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, clearing his throat to speak above a whisper. "You have to go. She could be watching us."
"No one's watching us, dumbass," Kira replied. "Do you think we would expose you like that? We would never bring any danger to your door."
"I don't care about me. I care about you. I need you to be safe," Stiles insisted. "Please go. I can find her and kill her, I'll find you then."
Stiles knew it was a lie. The chances of him surviving Aya were slim, but he had to protect Kira and Lydia. As long as they were safe, Stiles could die peacefully.
Lydia pulled back and cleaned her face with the back of her hand, furious. "We know what we're doing. Don't you trust us?"
"With my life," he said, firmly.
Softer, she added, "then don't push us away. You promised us forever, we'll be with you however long that forever turns out to be."
For a moment, Stiles looked at them taken aback by their misplaced loyalty. Looking at them, however, made it clear that it was not the blind loyalty some vampires had towards their sire, all he saw was the love that had grown between them for the last four decades together as a coven —nine decades of companionship in Lydia's case.
"I don't deserve you. Either of you," Stiles said.
Lydia's face softened. "Oh, Stiles."
She put a hand on his cheek, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her lips were warm and firm against his and for the first time in what felt like ages, Stiles felt like he could breathe. Once they came apart, Kira turned Stiles' face towards her and kissed him as well, and the last piece of the puzzle clicked in place.
When Kira pulled back, she tilted her head towards the sofa and Stiles finally noticed her naked body was still wet from the shower. "If you were human, you'd be dying of hypothermia," he teased.
Kira smiled. "Good thing I'm not." She took his hand and pulled him towards the sofa. "Come. Three years is a long time to go without kissing."
"I'm pretty sure you two didn't spend three years without kissing," Stiles quipped, but he followed, taking Lydia's hand so she would come with them as well.
They ended up kissing for a long time, lazily lounging on the sofa, until their lips were raw, and when their clothes came off, Stiles let himself get lost in their embrace.
Later that night —or earlier that morning— as they lounged on the floor, amongst the sofa cushions and their discarded clothes, Stiles said "you know, I thought you two would hate me for putting you in danger."
Kira yawned and said, "we've known it would be dangerous from the start. We chose you anyway."
Stiles' chest tightened and he reached for Kira's hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly. "Thank you."
Outside, the wind and rain picked up, loud enough that it rattled the windows, but Stiles couldn't care less, not when his girls, his coven, were with him again. The world felt warmer than it had felt in years.