Gold ➳ Lydia Martin

15; Miles Argent's Day Off

And she really wasn't in a position where she wanted to be on Miles bad side. Or was she already on Miles' bad side? Allison honestly had no clue. With that final thought, she tiptoed back out.

Throughout the day, Miles had been in and out of sleep. He'd only left his room twice; earlier to go downstairs to train (which had led to Miles' already aching body to feel like it was on fire) and now so that he could shower. Miles had mastered the art of four minute showers and had quickly gotten back to his room before he had to have any type of social interaction.

Or so he thought.

When Miles got back to his room, he opened the door with a frown as he realized that the lights were on when he was absolutely positive he had turned him off. Miles quickly figured out why they were on, though, when his eyes landed Lydia Martin, who was sitting at the foot of his bed next to a small pile of papers.

Miles sighed as he eyed the papers. "Tell me those aren't what I think they are," He grumbled.

Lydia didn't answer him immediately. Instead, The strawberry blonde gave him a curious look, eyeing him up and down and leaving Miles a little too aware of the fact that he was only half dressed. Clearing his throat in hopes of masking his discomfort, Miles ran a hand through his hair, hoping to free the dark strands from the remaining water droplets. Lydia pursed her lips, but didn't even attempt to look away from the freshly-showered hunter.

"As your tutor, I wasn't going to let you miss school and then not do your makeup work," Lydia finally stated.

Miles saw her point, but he also absolutely hated it.

Instead of responding, the boy turned to his closet, rifling through it until he found a jacket he could slip on. When he turned back to Lydia, he was greeted by her green eyes, watching him carefully as he zipped up his jacket. There were about two dozen scars on his body that he didn't know how to explain, not to mention the ugly bruise that covered most of his back and painted most of his left side hideous shades of blue and purple.

Once Miles half-zipped the jacket, he shoved his hands in it's pockets and awaited the girls questions as he began preparing a few of his own.

"You have tattoos," Lydia noted. Now that wasn't what he was expecting her to focus on. He hardly gave the tattoos that scattered across his body any thought. "What do they mean?" Lydia asked.

Miles followed her gave to a particular strand of black ink that peek out on his chest from under the jacket. He shrugged. "They mean I was bored and alone. So, tattoos."

Lydia frowned, apparently not impressed with his answer.

"I haven't seen Allison come home yet, so if you're looking to hang out with her you're out of luck," Miles told Lydia. He was ready for the subject to change, because in all honesty he really didn't have any better explanation for the black ink that was sprawled across his skin.

"I'm not here to hang out," Lydia snapped, her voice shockingly sharp. It seemed as though her words were supposed to ensnare Miles' attention, as if it were possible for him not to have had his full attention on her already. Lydia's eyes finally fell away from Miles, who realized how tender her expression had gotten. Lydia's lips formed a tight line as she continued, "I'm here to talk to someone, because I'm tired of no one talking to me about what the hell is going on."

Miles stepped forward. He was at a loss for words, but desperately wanted to offer her some semblance of comfort.

"Lyd-"

Before he could even finish saying her name, Lydia shook her head to cut him off. "If you're going to feed me some vague truth like Allison, then save it. I'd rather be home alone then treated like a dumb damsel in distress."