[ No, it's good there are no words, because they would only ruin the moment she's allowed him to perpetuate by grasping her fingers. They're limp this time; she's done saying "thank you", and allows this intimate (overly so) moment to serves as him saying "you're welcome", so there's nothing selfish about it, only polite. ]
[ But that doesn't mean they really should be holding hands. They're single handedly (well, double handedly, as they've each a hand in this) undoing all the years of dutiful deterrence she'd directed towards Stiles - she's not supposed to be nice to him, not supposed to encourage him, and while that's not what she means to do, the boy's adept at reading between the lines and she doesn't even know what's written there. ]
[ So Lydia allows the moment to continue until she just can't stand it anymore, and pulls her hand from his to wipe on the leg of her pants. She has a ready-made excuse, too, and turns up her nose as her palm smears across her thigh. ]
no subject
[ But that doesn't mean they really should be holding hands. They're single handedly (well, double handedly, as they've each a hand in this) undoing all the years of dutiful deterrence she'd directed towards Stiles - she's not supposed to be nice to him, not supposed to encourage him, and while that's not what she means to do, the boy's adept at reading between the lines and she doesn't even know what's written there. ]
[ So Lydia allows the moment to continue until she just can't stand it anymore, and pulls her hand from his to wipe on the leg of her pants. She has a ready-made excuse, too, and turns up her nose as her palm smears across her thigh. ]
Gross, you've got sweaty hands.