The Boy Behind The Glass • Stydia

12. i think i'm in love

Lydia remembers the first time she'd asked about Stiles being inside the mirror, on the day when she first moved in and met the small boy. She remembers when his eyes darkened, skin loosing it's colour and becoming grey. She remembers when the air around her had gone cold, goosebumps visible on her skin.

It's then that she realises Stiles looks like that all the time now. At fourteen, he's pale enough to be a ghost. His lips are colourless, cheeks gaunt. He's looking more and more like a corpse everyday.

Lydia wonders if there's an end to Stiles' cycle, and if so, what happens after that?

*

"So, what do you think?" Lydia asks, turning to face the girl on the bed.

Allison cocks her head to the side and hums. "What are you trying to go for?"

"Attractive. Mature. Dateable. I don't know! It's Jackson, I need to look hot, and I mean hot, hot, hot!" Lydia emphasises.

She's dressed in a tight black dress, short enough to probably be labelled as a long t-shirt. It barely covers her waist, gripping her in all the right places. The months of eating carefully and little has paid Lydia a small figure. She places her hands on her waist, leaning her hip to the side. She has a face full of makeup - something she's been practising over the Christmas break after she got a load for Christmas. Her hair is straight and long down her back.

"Well, I think you look very mature," Allison replies with a light shrug. 

Lydia takes it as a compliment, looking back in the mirror, tilting her head to the side as she looks over herself.

"I'm gonna go and look in my mums closet for some heels," she says, turning to the brunette on her bed. "You wanna get dressed while I'm gone?"

Allison nods, "Sure."

Lydia leaves her bedroom, going down the hall and carefully opening her mothers bedroom door, cautious not to make it creak or squeak as her mother is only downstairs. If all goes to plan, the pair of them will be able to leave without difficulty and get to Jackson's house without being caught.

She opens the doors to her mothers closet, looking to the floor where all her shoes are precisely lined up in pairs. She instantly grabs the pair of high red heels before closing the doors and leaving the room the same way she came in.

"Lydia."

She stops at the door and turns to look at the mirror above her mothers dressing table. "Yes, Stiles?"

The boy stands in the mirror, as always. Lydia's notice that as she ages, so does Stiles. He's fourteen now, just as her, and with every age he rises, he begins to look eerily and eerily more cold and pale. 

"Where are you going?" He asks.

"Jackson's," Lydia replies. "He's having a party."

"But you told your mum you're going to Allison's?"

"Yes, it was a lie," Lydia says blankly. "Problem?"

Stiles frowns but doesn't say anything else. It's then that Lydia realises she's brought her school attitude home with her. She sighs, shoulders drooping as regret filters through her.

"Sorry, Stiles," she apologises. "I didn't mean. . . y'know."

"Yeah," Stiles mumbles, but the frown stays. "Have fun at your party."

Lydia nods, flashing a small smile. "Thanks."

Back in her bedroom, Allison is dressed in a sweet purple dress, black tights and ballerina pumps. She's tying her hair in a side plait when Lydia enters the bedroom, shaking the red heels as she grins, "Found some. What'd you think?"