Costumes and What's BeneathThem

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"Alright, Isaac," I tell my friend, "how do you want to do this?" I tug him to my bed, crossing my legs and watching him expectantly.

"What…do you mean?" He asks, genuinely confused.

"You…still want to take the photos for the painting today, right?" He nods firmly, and I grin. "Okay, well since it's your painting, tell me what you want. You can choose everything, the clothes, hair, make up, concept."

"Really?" He asks, sounding hopeful.

"Of course! Go on!" I nudge him towards the closet as I look for makeup and jewelry and whatever else he might want. I'm trying to give him as much control and options as he wants because I know he gets to exert so little of it normally. Hopefully, it will help him feel better, or take his mind off whatever he went through that had him waiting dead eyed and bloody on my doorstep.

"Hey Layla? Would-would you mind wearing this?" I glance up, a bit surprised, but somewhat pleased.

"Not at all. That's a traditional Indian dress worn to weddings. If that's what you want, I'd be more then happy. There are some bangles and jewelry here that might match…" Isaac grins, genuine excitement bubbling up as he slips past, carefully examining everything I've piled on the bed. He's particularly fascinated by the traditional stuff, and at his shy suggestion I end up with gold and silver bangles layered almost to elbows to match the accents on the dark blue dress.

After that, he chooses some big ass earrings, some hair accessories, and a matching necklace. Isaac decides to add my flower crown, and I adjust the flowers to match the rest. With that done, I look to a gleeful Isaac, who seems to have bounced back remarkably. That honestly makes me feel worse because that just indicates he has extensive experience ignoring the bad shit that happens to him. "Right. How do you feel about make up?"

He stares, "I know absolutely nothing."

"Fantastic. Now, I think, considering my marks," I flash them for emphasis, "I say we just do eyes and lips. I'm assuming you won't do me dirty and paint my shitty skin in?" He laughs, shaking his head. "Great. Ok, you pick the colors, and I'll put them on, and you let me know if something looks fucked up,"

He picks out silver and gold shimmers with some blue. I play some music as I work on my eyes with a magnifying mirror. He watches intently like he's trying to learn everything. "I hadn't realized you wore make up."

"I don't, normally. I don't like wearing it unless I have someone to check it before I go out. Sunya usually helps me find the hues I need because my color blind ass can confuse almost anything. Stiles has gotten remarkably good at doing eyeliner for me. They also let me know if something isn't blended properly, or if my foundation looks fucked up. Speaking of which, what do you think?" I show him, and he directs me to a few problem areas that need more blending or shaping. I clean it up, add eyeliner and mascara, and finish my lips. "Okay! Any requests for hair?"

"I like it long and wavy, you don't need to do anything to it." With his help, we add all the ornaments and finishing touches.

"Done! Go down stairs and figure out where you wanna do this. I'll get dressed and follow you."

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I take a final look at myself, noting the traditional cropped blouse and high waisted skirt that shows most of my stomach, both themed like a starry sky to match my rune accents. Gold, blue, and silver shimmer around my eyes and over my skin. Silver waves flow past my butt and over my arms and shoulders, decorated with little ornaments and jewelry. A long rectangular scarf is pinned to the top of my head, the flower crown with silver and gold jasmine flowers, helping to hold it in place. The edges of the scarf attached to my wrists. On one hand, it's a lot, and I feel vaguely like an expensive, exotic Barbie doll. On the other, something about the shining markings curling over my skin, and the glowing eyes and hair, makes me look inhuman, but damn, I look good. I smirk. Yeah, playing dress up with Isaac was pretty fun. This is gonna be kinda awesome.

Beaming, I bounce down the stairs, enjoying the familiar jingle of my bangles and jewelry. I haven't been able to wear stuff like this as often after my dad died, only a few times a year. It makes me a little giddy from the nostalgia.

"Heya!" I cheer, sliding into the kitchen. I resist thre urge to preen under the sudden spike of attraction my appearance inspires. I do a twirl, and dart over to Stiles, who is sitting a little too still at the table. I wrap my arms around his neck, beaming and batting my eyelashes. "Well?"

Stiles huffs, shaking his head, but tilting my head this way and that. "It looks perfect. You look like a real Midnight Queen. Stunning, beautiful, a goddess." I smack a kiss on his cheek appreciating the endless support.

I bounce over to Scott, who hugs me back. "You look hot as hell." I cackle, squeezing him.

Sunya bounces over to check my bangles and marks. I turn to Isaac who is standing next to Derek, who seems pretty embarrassed by his own reaction, but I'm not gonna make him uncomfortable about something he couldn't help. I'm rather flattered actually.

"Got a location?" I ask my photographer.

"The backyard honestly looks really cool. I think I'll take the pictures and just pain anything missing in."

"Cool." We head out, and I essentially let Isaac treat me like a doll, putting me into whatever pose he wants. I don't mind, I don't know the first thing about modeling and will probably never do it for anyone else, but… It's Isaac.

We finish, and Isaac wants to keep it a surprise, so we spend the next few hours watching movies in the den as Isaac does sketches, honestly more elated then I've ever felt him. Definitely worth it.

It's later on that day that the doorbell rings. Checking the vibes, I head upstairs alone, through my fucking spotless house, and find the literal last person I expected on my doorstep. There behind my door, is Lydia Martian.

Now, I hadn't really spoken to Lydia since before my little vacation in dream land. She hasn't made any indication she wanted to speak, and I'm not so desperate that I wanted to chase her down. I had friends, I had pack. Why would I invest my time in someone who wouldn't reciprocate? It did hurt a bit, though, and I missed her.

But she felt so sad, scared, and alone. I groan, cursing my bleeding heart, and the empathy that made it impossible for me to ignore.

"Please. I know I'm a shitty friend, but I fucked up with Alison, and there is litterally no one else. Please." Her voice cracks, and the scene in front of me is so incredibly not normal for Lydia Martian, that my heart softens without my permission.

"Come on, you idiot, I'll get the comfort food."

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I don't really know what to say when Layla hands me a tub of ice cream, clibing up next to me. She's in pajamas and a fuzzy blanket, but she still has on makeup from whatever she must have done this morning. Her eyes are mesmerizing, and I'm suddenly reminded of how pretty she is.

I watch her settle on her pillows, taking in her piercing eyes, and casual flopping posture, and I can't help the rush of envy. It isn't because she's beautiful, it's because she is also so much more than that. Layla is happy, and she didn't bury who she is to become that way. I, on the otherhand, built myself a whole personality in hopes that I'd find what I wanted. Love from my parents, friends, a boyfriend. I learned how to be cruel and vicious so no one would hurt or take from me. I pretend to be what they want, a shallow, pretty idiot, so that they can't complain. And in the end, I'm still abandoned without anyone around to give a shit

Layla is the complete opposite. She only had Scott and Stiles, the bottom of the high school pyramid, but that's all she really wanted. She dresses well, but she couldn't give less fucks what other people think about her, and if she wants to wear a hoodie, she will. She is always so calm and unfazed, so comfortable in her own skin, so effortlessly kind in a way I can't afford to be. I forgot who I was a long time ago. And now I'm losing sight of who I'm supposed to be.

She watches me and even though she should be angry or judging me I can't see it in her face. I still somehow feel like I'm a peasant about to be sentenced to death by a queen, albeit one with fluffy socks. I shake the thought away from my mind, "I'm sorry I didn't try to contact you. I…knew you would side with Stiles and Scott, and Alison and Jackson…well, I thought I had to support my friends, too."

She sighs, her head tilting and her hair falling over shoulder. Does she think about how that makes her look? Is it deliberate? Or am I the only one who has to calculate my every move? She glances up at me, "it's fine. I get it."

"I'm sorry," I tell her, and it's the truest thing I've said in a long time. Her face softens, and that distant coldness, fades a bit.

"I forgive you. I…heard Jackson dumped you," I can't stop the flinch, but I nod, jaw clenched. "Do you want a hug?" I stare. When was the last time someone wanted to touch me for something other than sex? The last time someone cared how I felt. The mask of ice I'm so proud of, the one that I've perfected for years, shatters.

Layla opens her arms, and pulls me close, and can't stop the tears. I fucked up my friendships, the boy I love, that I devoted myself to, thinks I'm useless, and my family is falling apart. I'm lost. But right here and now, it feels like someone knows me, and for once they care. I cry, and it hurts, but it's also the freest I've ever felt. Maybe it's time to stop pretending.

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I rub Lydia's back and head like I would Sunny, or even the way I did Isaac only hours ago. If someone had told me I would be comforting

Lydia fucking Martain as she cried, I would have checked them for brain injury. But, here she is, shaking, and sobbing and the most human I've ever seen, and I feel genuine pity because I can tell that there was no one to ever do this for her.

I pull her closer, rocking us gently. After a while, she seems to be over being emotional, so she pulls away, and I hand her some wipes, tissues, and the hand held mirror when she asks.

She sniffs delicately, dabbing her eyes and cleaning herself up with all the dignity she just lowkey snotted on me. I grin. That's Lydia for you. "So, tell me what happened with Jackson."

Her shoulders slump a little, but I admire how she's keeps her chin up anyway. "He said he wanted to shed dead weight. He made me out to be some kind of burden, something about how much better he's about to be when he gets whatever Scott got."

I snort, my eyes narrowing at the thought, "Yeah, Scott isn't on drugs. He's going through some shit for sure, but this is much bigger than fucking high school." I can't help the sneer on my lips.

Lydia glances at me. "You…you know everything that's going on, don't you? That night, the murders, everything." I nod. "D-do I want to know."

I tilt my head, waiting for some kind of feeling, but I …don't get one. Odd.

"I… don't know, Lydia. It wasn't anything we did, but now, anyone who knows can be in danger. Some bad shit happened to us, and now… we're fighting for our lives, Lydia."

She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes studying me intensely, like she's waiting for me to laugh and say it's a joke, but I can't do that. I won't. She glances away, shifting, and a bit nervous. Gathering her courage, she decides, "I think I want to stay out of it for now. But, if later, I want to know-"

"I'll tell you," I agree immediately. She relaxes, and I pull her down next to me, and for the next several hours, we just talk. Normal girl shit, nothing weird, or scary. Just things I can't talk to Scott or Stiles or Derek about, or things Sunny is too young to know about. And it's really nice.

"You know, you're pretty awesome. You, this nice, funny, smart chick, not the bimbo costume you put on. Jackson is an actual idiot. I don't understand why you dated him. He was technically the most popular, although I think infamous is the better word, but let's not pretend part of that wasn't because you were together. Lacrosse is big here, but the basketball players are up there too. You could have gotten someone who worships you, Lydia." I tell her, rolling on my side to see her, and propping my head up on my hand.

Lydia is curled up on her side next to me, wearing some of my comfiest, fluffiest pajamas. Her make up is gone, and her hair is up in a messy bu, and she looks so fragile, so unlike the the larger than life spitfire I've come to know her as. She just seems…real. It's true that I had gotten a peak of this Lydia when I hung out with her and Allison, the few times I had, butthis level of vulnerability was unprecedented. "In the beginning, he wasn't like that. Our parents are old friends, and we've known each other since diapers. After he, and basically the whole town, found out he was adopted, he just…spiraled. He kept getting worse and worse as we got older, and by the end of middle school, everyone just assumed we were getting together. And…we did."

"But, you really did love him?" I question.

"I did. We thought the admiration an-and the popularity would… I don't know. By the time we got to freshman year, we were just… bitter. Jackson stopped talking to me, not totally, just about anything real, I mean. We started having sex, thinking it was proof of love, but maybe we were trying to just feel something. My family basically imploded, and things got hard. Jackson just stopped caring, I guess. We started taking things out on each other. I won't say I never tried to hurt him, but he definitely gave as good as he got. He knew I was faking a whole personality, he knew me. But, all he ever said was that he liked the way I was now. After a while, it was just a contest to see who could hurt the other more."

I hum, "That's what kissing Scott was about."

"It was so stupid. He didn't give a shit, not in the slightest, and all it did was hurt Alison. I'm just…tired." Her voice cracks, and I pretend not to notice.

I roll to look at the ceiling, reaching out to grab her hand. "I can't tell you what to do. Hell, I won't even tell you something corny like to be yourself, or be real, or anything like that. I use a facade here and there myself, but there are places for me to be whatever I want. My friends and family are that for me. Lydia, you deserve that, too." She stays silent, but her grip tightens on my hand.

After a while, I stick Sunya with Lydia, who is completely unprepared for the absolute power of an experienced emotional support sibling. I head downstairs to find Stiles and Derek already trying to start on dinner. Stiles can cook, but Derek can burn fucking water and only knows how to work a toaster, a microwave, and a coffe machine. Currently, Stiles is trying to convince him that, no, he can't peel potatoes with his claws. I can't hold back the silly smile as I dart over, hip bumping them as I go past.

"You're in a good mood," Stiles snickers, handing me the bowl of meat that's going to be fried. I sniff it before dumbing some more seasoning on it.

"I got a friend back. Feels good!" I sing, dancing around him to find a spatula. Both pack members just laugh, "Where are Isaac and Scott?"

"Downstairs, with Boyd; He got here just a bit ago."

Soon enough, dinner is ready, and we set it up down in the den. We watch a movie and eat juicy burgers together, and even Lydia seems to enjoy herself, digging in to her burger without a flying fuck, and it's refreshing. After cleaning up, and leaving leftovers for tomorrow's lunch, and the parents, we put on another movie.

Isaac has draped himself onto my lap, albeit hesitantly, and I accept it gleefully because I get to play with his fluffy blond curls. I'm leaning back against Boyd's legs. Sunny is braiding Lydia's hair, and I snap that picture for posterity. I also take a picture of Derek leaning on Stiles, who is leaning on a sleeping Scott. Everyone is fucking adorable.

I comb my fingers through Isaac's hair, letting my own fall like a curtain over us as I bend down whispering to him. "Hey, can we keep you tonight?" He peeks up, beneath his eyelashes, and bites his lip, brows furrowed. Then he's getting up and grasping my hand, tugging me upstairs. I feel Derek's worry, even as he doesn't move.

Isaac pulls me out to the back porch and guides me to sit on the top step. When he settles on the step below me, I wrap my arms around his shoulders carefully, setting my chin on his head. I watch the sky, waiting for him to speak on his own.

"I- I don't want to go back. Layla, I don't want to do this anymore." I hug him tighter like I'm trying to squeeze the sadness from him.

"You want me to break you out? Say the word and it's done. This can end tomorrow morning. It won't be pretty, it might not be the closure you want, but you will have a place to be safe and happy, and not in foster care."

"Where? Who would want me, let alone keep me?" He mutters bitterly.

I blink. "Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something. You can live here, I thought that was obvious." Isaac whirls to look at me so fast I here his neck crack, his eyes huge, "Oh, come on, dude, I'm not exactly discreet." I getsure to my current position practically cradling him. "I'm not gonna just abandon you. If your done, your done. I'll get you out tomorrow."

"Really?" He whispers, breath hitching. I nod, squeezing him as he buries his face in my shoulder. I rock him as he tries to get a hold of himself, and I'm starting to wonder why all the emotions are flying today. I'm just out here bathing in tears.

I'm fairly certain the only reason I haven't started balling is the flower crown still on my head. Suhel really came through. I push some gratitude towards my partner through the bond, feeling affection come back immediately.

The painting of the sea flickers back and forth, the canvas seeming to tear itself apart and then peeve itself back together. Paint splatters and then dissipates. I pull him closer, unable to do anything but watch as he flickers between grief and pain and rage and fear and hope and worry and on and on. Nudging him, I lift his chin until I can see his eyes. I head bump him. "It's ok. You deserve to me happy. And….it's not your responsibility to …fix him, or protect him at the cost of yourself. I want you to a part of our family, whatever you decide."

His face pinches, and he drops his head down again, before he inhales and looks me in my eyes. "Please. I-I don't want to live like this anymore. Help me."

"It's done. We are heading to your sperm donor's tomorrow morning, first thing. We'll get your shit and you never have to go back if that's what you want. I already have your room ready, it's on the ground floor across the office."

"Did you See this coming?" He curls his fingers in the bottom of my hair, fidgeting.

"Nah, I was just taking precautions. I knew you'd probably end up here or at Stiles's house, though.

"What about your parents?" What parents? I don't know if I have those.

"It's fine. Go on in, I'll join you in a minute. You can see your room, if you want." He nods, hugging me tightly for a minute, a bit overwhelmed, before disappearing inside. I fill my lungs with the fresh night air, feeling rather exhausted. "Lurking is impolite, NoseyWolf, come sit with me."

Derek appears next to me, settling himself beside me. He tucks his head against my neck for a moment, his warm breath making me quirk, before he rests his chin on my shoulder, arm curling around me. "You're gonna do something reckless."

I frown, "What gave you that idea?"

"It's that look in your eyes that says your getting ready for war, to defend and destroy. It's like your daring someone to touch your people, or get in your way, it's the same look you got before you bashed Kate's face in."

"Good times." I murmur wistfully. "We should make a point to do it again." He chuckles, low and warm, and the sound vibrates through me, easing some of the stress I gathered on my shoulders today.

"The point is," he says, gently pinching my side, and ignoring my squeak at the ticklish feeling, "you're going to get yourself in trouble. And I want in."

I raise my eyebrows, turning to look at him, "You want to come?"

He nods, patting my head. "We're pack. I want to help you, I don't know exactly what's going on, but I can guess. I wasn't trying to listen in," he adds hastily, "but this doesn't seem like something you should be soloing."

I reach for my magic, and my intuition flares, letting me know that the results of taking Derek will be overwhelmingly positive. "Yeah, okay. I could use some scary muscle, if you don't mind."

He shakes his head, the corners of his lips curled up. Standing up, he pulls me up with him, and we head back to the den, past our outrageously clean kitchen and foyer. Fuck it, that's tomorrow's problem.

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