Every morning, very carefully, she puts her make-up on.

First goes the foundation. Without it, the skin on her face will look unattractive and unhealthy. The substance feels cold and it's not pleasant, but she goes on. She's used to it.

Second goes lips. Her lips are naturally plump and red, so she only uses a lip balm. Neutral, like everything around her.

Then eye shadow. She makes her eyelid look silvery gray, like the days she's come to live with.

She covers her eyelashes with mascara, making them extremely black and long, sexy and seductive, to remind everyone what she is like.

Or used to be.

The last goes blusher and after a moment her cheekbones are slightly pink.

She looks into the mirror but doesn't even try to smile, something what she would do just a year ago.

She's tired, tired and broken and sad, she doesn't want to go anywhere, but she gets up anyway and takes her bag, heading toward front door.

Lydia takes one last look on her face as she leaves and sighs, trying to smile with an overused trick.

She curves the corners of her lips into something that reminds of a happy expression. A smile she'll welcome the day with.

She looks like a clown.


She will go through the day as she always does.

At school all of her so-called friends will laugh, joke around, throwing their litters to the ground, spoiling the earth, oh, spoiling it.

They will flock around her, all the Lydia, you're so pretty, they will giggle with shiny eyes.

She will lock her eyes with his, sometimes, on the breaks, lessons, and when she's so close to reach his hand, because his desk is next to her, she just has to move her hand, she'll snap out of it.


Every evening, just as carefully, he cleans it.

He starts with her eyes, and she closes them. She's used to it.

He does it so delicately and softly, the tip of his tongue sliding out of his out she can't fight the urge to laugh and she leans over to kiss his cheek.

Then, he wipes off her lip balm and her lip trembles a bit and it doesn't go unnoticed. It ends with his thumb running across it, trying to calm her down but one, lonely tear rolls down anyway.

Stiles kisses it, wiping it away and she hides her face in his collarbone.

He finishes, cleaning her face with a wet cosmetic tissue.

She smirks at him and quickly goes off to his tiny bathroom, to change into his sweatshirt.

He lies in his bed already, his eyes half-closed, waiting for her to join him.

She rolls her eyes as he opens his arms at the sight of her but snuggles close to him, throwing her leg over his waist, putting her arms around him.

He buries his nose into her hair, rubbing her back, amused of how electric can her warm breath on his neck be.

"Good night, Stiles."

"Night, Lydia."

She smiles a truly smile into his chest, letting the sleep take over.

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