Lydia's Shy (completed)

9. Clinomania and the Day of Many Words

A sudden shaking woke him from his sleep. It wasn't much but it was definitely enough to end Stiles' dreams. He groans, switching from his side to his back as he struggles to get his eyes open. He barely catches a dull glimpse of strawberry blonde before closing his eyes again.
"What is it?" He grumbles as politely as one could at three in the morning.

"Why did you give me your moms book?" She whispers. The question immediately made him wake. Stiles sits up, his face almost bumping with Lydia's but she scoots back a bit with her legs tucked underneath her.
"What?" He asks, voice still laced with sleep.
"Why?" She repeats. A sigh escapes him and he brings a hand to rub down his face. The moon shines through his window and onto her hair making the girl look more like a fantasy rather than a reality. She looked just as tired as him, but her eyes held a purpose.

"I don't know, you looked like you needed something to hold on to." Stiles brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms loosely around his legs. Lydia stares at him for another moment before crawling off the bed and leaving the room. A minute or two passes by as he tries to get his thoughts around the lingering strawberry scented air. Eventually he falls back against his pillow, exhaustion over taking him.
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As the sun filtered in through his window, Stiles immediately felt the need to scold Lydia for waking him last night. Pushing the feeling aside, he grabs his phone off the nightside table and checks the time. 8:00. The air was warm and held the promise of nice weather  which meant no laying around all day. No naps, no sleep. Everyday there was something out of place. Today it was the fact that there was no scent of coffee. Stiles' mouth felt dry as his eyes met the ceiling that seemed to crack and brittle under his gaze because he knew he had to get up. But he didn't want to.

"Clinomania." The boy sighs, sitting up while shaking his hands through his hair. The wood flooring was cool under his feet, sweatpants low on his hips and he didn't even bother with a shirt. Lydia's door was closed and his fathers squad car wasn't in the driveway which automatically explained why the air wasn't streaming with caffeine. Off to the left, a stair creaked and Stiles stopped his search for food briefly. He hadn't even heard her descend the other steps. Snatching a bag of pretzels from a bottom shelf of the pantry, he closes the door to reveal the tiny girl he'd seen only five hours earlier.

"I assume you finished it?" Stiles shoves a handful of pretzels in his mouth. Lydia stares wide eyed at him, giving a nod before averting her eyes. It takes him a minute to decipher her actions before a stuttered string of "oh's" and "uhm's" leaves his mouth and he sets down his bag of pretzels to grab a shirt off the back of a dining room chair. Shrugging the material on, he chuckles and returns to eating while Lydia climbs up on the kitchen counter.

She crosses her legs as Stiles leans against the counter opposite of her. They exchange their fair share of stares, looking the other up and down.
"Clinomania." Stiles breathes. "The excessive desire to stay in bed. Today I am-"
"Do you have anymore books?" Lydia interrupts. There's a brief pause.
"You read all of yours?" He asks. Impossible. There had to be at least twenty.
"Seventeen." She nods. Three books off. But still, the girl had only been here for about two and a half weeks and she's finished seventeen books. Granted they weren't very big but they weren't preschool level reading either.

More books? Of course they had more books, there was a room full of them upstairs. But....they were his mother's of course. In literature, this is what we would call Stiles' internal conflict. Should he give her another of his mother's books or just claim that there were no more?
"Yeah. Follow me." He smiles, brushing past her before going upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. The forbidden room. There seemed to be an invisible sign on the door that warned other to keep out but now, Stiles was about to take it down. Clearing his throat he enters , stepping (and occasionally stumbling) over boxes in order to get to a bookcase.

Lydia stands politely at the doorway as he begins to scan the books, fingertips running over the dusty spines. Mutters of titles of thin and thick novels spew out of his mouth that she can't really hear but suddenly he stops. He turns slightly. She seemed to know it was a sacred place, standing in the doorway as if she wasn't allowed in the room. And she wasn't but....maybe there was an exception.
"Why don't you pick one." Stiles steps back slightly as if to suggest she should come inside. "After all, you'll be the one reading it and I don't want to pick something you don't like."

Lydia shrugs, beginning to come in. "I like everything." She mumbles, tripping over a box but Stiles quickly leans over to break her fall. He helps her stand up straight before she begins to look at the books with interest. Emerald eyes glisten in fascination, barely noticing the boy next to her. He watches, just as appalled as her because today had been the day she'd spoken to him the most. It was the day of many words.

Lydia stands on her toes in an attempt to reach a novel on the top shelf and Stiles chuckles before getting it down for her.
"Stephen King's 'It'." He chuckles. Another Stephen King. It was a sizable book, one that would surely hold her over for a while and it looked enormous in her tiny arms. She sighs, looking up from the ancient pages to Stiles who was staring down at her. Tucking her lips into her mouth, she makes her way back over to the doorway.
"Lydia," he calls and she stops, turning just outside of her door as Stiles still stood by the bookshelf. "you read a lot." He didn't know where he was going with the conversation when he called her name. The bandage around her hand caught his eye as she fiddles with the hem of her shirt.

"I like to read because it's not here." She smiles, disappearing into her room. Because it's not here. The girl almost always left him wondering.
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Authors note:

Blair Waldorf is a raging bitch. Just saying.
Comment, read, enjoy!
-Chloe