aurea.

Wednesday ‘ Wednesday Addams

BITTER SOLITUDE

Wednesday has always loved being alone. She enjoyed the company of solitude and the opportunity for something haunted in the eerie silence, but somehow your presence was missing. Did she do something wrong? ( Angst, Female Reader Insert. )

DEAD OF NIGHT

In which you and Wednesday open up to each other as comfort after you woke up from a nightmare, replaying the moments in the forest when the hyde attacked you not so long ago. ( Slight Angst, Fluff, Comfort, Female Reader Insert. )

DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS — I and II

wednesday addams never cried for anyone, not until she held you fighting for your life, desperately trying to stay alive to return the whispered confession. ( heavy angst. character death. female reader insert. )

Stranger Things ‘ Henry Creel

AFFECTIONATE DISDAIN

Henry didn’t like the way you stood as if you owned the world. It was meant to be his. Not you. He hated your eyes all the way down to the tip of your toes, but as he had no choice but to put up with getting stuck with you. How was it that the way the light reflected on your angle changed? You were brighter than the daylight shine, and he was disgustingly allured by it. But no, you weren’t going to make him crumble. ( In Progress. Enemies to lovers. Partial slow-burn. Gender-Neutral Reader Insert. )

ALLURE

Who knew that you could meet your strange neighbour again? Only this time, he wasn’t so quiet nor friendly. He was older, more dangerous — and just as you were about to kill him as a mission, your wants got in the way. Both of you couldn’t resist. Maybe that’s just how alluring you were. ( Romance. Angst? SLIGHT NSFW. Gender-Neutral reader insert. )

THAT WAY

You were once prepared to throw your life away just for him to look at you the way he did another. It took him years to realise. It took him years to feel what it was that you couldn’t feel twice. He knew it was too late, but he had to tell you somehow, even without talking. ( Angst. Gender-Neutral reader insert. )

Lockwood & Co. ‘ Anthony Lockwood

DEAD WEIGHT

The reader’s skills got rusty and with anthony breathing down her neck all the time, well, things that were better off unsaid were spoken. that’s when four became three. ( Angst. Female Reader Insert. )

GHOST OF THE PAST

Perhaps it was anger? It couldn’t be.

You chose to stay, and you knew your decision was clear. You felt happy here.

Felt.

It was funny.

Now you couldn’t even feel a thing. Just that something was missing.

You knew it was wrong. You didn’t want to be ungrateful, but there’s something about a house that’s warm. A house that actually housed a family, not just standing on a plot of land.

Henry noticed your absence on the table. It alarmed him.

He bid his time. Processing. Concluding. Deciding.

Speaking.

“Would you like something different for breakfast today?”

Your actions suddenly halted and your eyes found him. For a second, you were almost ready to apologize.

“No,” you answered. “This is fine.”

Your response was too plain. Too safe.

Henry looked at you and quietly accepted the challenge of striking up a difficult conversation.

“You know,” he looked at his plate as his smile vanished, “You do this thing with your jaw when you’re annoyed at something that won’t fight back.”

You couldn’t answer. It was bait. If you said something wrong, you’d be admitting it. If you kept denying, he’d push it.

He spared you a response.

“All possibilities I’m thinking of only manifest in one thing, and it’s breakfast.”

You shook your head. “No. Breakfast is great.”

A breath escaped your lips as you turned back to your plate and continued eating.

For the first time, Henry didn’t know what to do.

He was a careful man. He watched, noticed, and planned. He was meticulous. He was sure you were slowly pulling away from his grasp. What could be wrong? Has he done something? Did you see something you shouldn’t have?

Have you realized it yet? Did you think he was too irredeemable?

For the first time, the smart and cunning man was clueless. He had too many questions. And the thought of possible answers costing you made him the most anxious.

It dug a pit deep in his stomach as days passed and you were completely absent. You were there by flesh and bones, but your mind was always elsewhere.

Your actions began to seem performative. Like you were only doing things just to show him you were preoccupied.

You talked to him like you always did but without the same depth as before. Statements would come, but the conversations would go as soon as they started.

Empty.

Too empty.

What was wrong?

Henry found himself thinking one night. The false moon that hung over the clouds observed the house quietly. The man frowned at the wall as he stood next to the fireplace in his office, leaning against  it with a hand on his back, holding the glasses he often wore to imply his intelligence. His usually done hair was in a tousled mess, vest undone, and sleeves rolled up.

He thought about an occurrence today. You were sat in the living room staring at nothing. When he tried to speak to you, you merely shrugged. You wouldn’t look at him no matter how much he tried to make you. His topics weren’t as engaging anymore. The questions were perhaps too stale.

What was wrong with him?

No.

What was wrong with you?

Was it this house? Was it this world? Was it because you couldn’t go out that much to see anything at all?

Who was he kidding? There were so many factors.

He argued. You knew those things when you found out about the truth—or half-truth if he was being honest. You wanted to stay. You wanted to feel happier. This was happier. You made peace with the fact you would never see your family again.

This house had everything.

What did it lack?

What does a house require more to have in order to make one feel happier?

He needed to do something.

Anything just to make you stay.

You can’t leave. Especially not now.

He had to admit it.

Henry was scared. He was already losing you despite being within his reach.

* * *

Meanwhile in your room, your body laid flat on the soft sheets, eyes trained on the cover of the paperback you’ve been binging on the nightstand as you ran your fingers through your hair softly. You pretended it was someone else’s.

The woman on the cover of the book had it better. How come?

You just recently discovered what was wrong.

You haven’t had a touch of affection. Not like Henry’s simple gazes or services like cooking for you. You sought something else. Something you could actually feel.

You doubted Henry.

His feelings. His sentiments. His services. His gazes.

There was a time when he pulled you back, carefully whispered to you that if he were to decide, he would want you to stay. You urged him to tell you why. You wanted him to give you a reason to grant his selfish wish.

It took him a while.

Yet he spilled his confession eventually; admitting the ache you inflict in him. He liked you. Loved you. He made you feel like the only special person in the world. Perhaps you were. In his. You took comfort in those words, assured yourself that you have found the one you truly wanted. It was a lovely memory to look back on, but it was the only reason you now clung to this world. The hanging thread that tied you to him.

Like all high, it plummeted at a disastrous speed.

Henry failed in his actions.

And it slowly affected the way he was with words as well.

You missed being loved.

Perhaps not just by him.

You missed your family. Your friends were probably wondering where you were. But it hurt more to think that maybe they have already forgotten about you. Which was possibly truer than Henry’s claims of desire for you.

If Henry loved you, why didn’t he show it?

He would have told you more than what he said one time.

He would have reminded you everyday.

He would have already touched you by now.

So why? What was wrong? Was he lying? Was he truly that lonely to lie to someone just so they would stay? Did he just use you?

You closed your eyes shut to make the thoughts disappear, but you were surprised tears escaped from doing so.

It hurt.

It hurt too much.

It was weighing on you, squeezing your chest.

You were so lonely.

So lonely in a massive house with so many bedrooms looking like it was designed for a family. The kitchen had everything but people to share the food with. It was so cold. So empty.

It was making you insane, consuming you and taking your humanity that you swore you could be descending to madness. This loneliness was making you think unpleasant things. Who even remembers you? Were they still even searching for you?

The decision to stay here was wrong. It was all wrong.

Who were you kidding? Henry didn’t like you. Much more love you.

Do you actually even matter?

You understood why he would lie. The loneliness must have felt too much, he had become desperate and unreasonable. So you became the person he locked in his house just so it wouldn’t feel too empty. Like he just picked out a partner that would warm the sheets so he wouldn’t question his life.

He used you.

You shook your head.

Your thoughts kept villainizing him. It was unreasonable of you.

Your fingers brushed against your eyes, wiping the few tears that showed. You inhaled, ignoring the runny sound in your sinus from the crying you just did. You were sure to do it quietly so he wouldn’t hear.

It was too tiring to explain to Henry.

So you never tried and chose to suffer in silence.

You were alone anyway. What was the point?

You got out of your bed and stood next to the desk across your room. You wished you had a family picture to look at while you were drowning in your sadness.

But that would have been pathetic.

Books stacked up your shelf next to the desk. They were the ones Henry patiently brought to you when he would leave before. They were more about romance than they were about anything.

He fed you with delusions about love when he handed these to you.

But that may have been your own fault for thinking too much about them.

Henry Creel couldn’t care less about you.

That thought made you sit down on the floor in front of the lit hearth. It was only just an assumption. It made sense though.

Knock. Knock.

You didn’t want to open the door. It wasn’t because you didn’t want him to come in, but you were tired. You were just. so. tired. from absolutely nothing and that nothing had beat you up too bad; it won.

The door creaked and a footstep was heard. You looked down at the carpet shamefully so he wouldn’t see the wetness of your lashes. Your head refused to turn his way.

You heard him say your name in that ridiculously low and raspy voice like he lacked sleep and was too tired. You hated yourself for secretly liking it. You disliked how it planted a swarm of butterflies in your stomach like a crushing schoolgirl.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

You got defensive.

That statement had its effects on your back tensing up, your breath hitching, and your head feeling like it was squeezing your brain.

“Whatever it is that’s making you think that way, you’re reading too much into it,” you argued.

“It doesn’t negate my concern.” Henry noticed your posture as you sat. He could tell he hit a nerve, and it was a tell-tale sign that his theories were correct. There was something wrong.

He was worried about so many things and they were all tied to you. He had to tread carefully now.

“Have you always been like this?”

He was surprised at the question.

“Alone?” he asked. He didn’t need an answer from you to know. “Not since you stayed with me.”

You didn’t reply after that. Henry tried again, “You’re thinking too hard.”

“Is it that obvious?” you asked.

Finally.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked it too quickly. He wanted to address it as soon as he could. He did not want to remain idle on the brink of losing you. He simply couldn’t.

“The noise,” you started plainly.

What about the noise? The house was peaceful. It was just the two of you. Before Henry could speak, you completed your thoughts. “I miss the noise.”

“Noise,” he repeated like it was a full statement.

“Family, friends, my sister yelling at me to stop using her stuff. Just—stupid things.” You almost cracked, but you couldn’t. That was too weak to show, and vulnerability with Henry didn’t seem like your strongest suit. You felt your emotions, but you’ve always programmed yourself to do it alone.

“You regret staying here,” he said as a revelation.

You shook your head, “No. Not like that. I just hate how quiet it could get, and I miss feeling. This house, Henry—it’s too empty. It’s just you and me in here, and at certain times, you would leave. I couldn’t even go with you.”

“It’s for your own safety. This house provides comfort and everything you need.”

“Yes, but a house is not always exactly a home, is it?” You fired back. “Not without laughter or chatter or even silly bickering. There’s no cat to pet, no friend to talk to, and absolutely no one to share thoughts with.”

“But I’m here,” he said.

“No, you’re only here when you feel like you need to.”

You were irritating him. Do you not see that he was trying his best? Did you not see that he stopped tearing the world apart just so he could keep you in this place? Away from bad people and the destruction resulted from human nature?

“What do you want? Truly?” Henry asked calmly.

You let out a sardonic chuckle. “You’re not exactly the hug-first-ask-later type.”

“I don’t touch things that don’t want to be touched,” he mumbled.

Your heart quickened. You were so close to saying it. If you could just set your pride aside and just blurt it out—“I want to be. Sometimes.”

Now, he understood. “Is that what’s wrong?”

Henry knew he could be lacking in those areas. His upbringing didn’t really allow him to develop a certain attachment to actions that showed affections. He avoided it. He didn’t even know how to step out of his principles to get himself to do it.

Vulnerability was the most pathetic thing every human was capable of, and it was disgusting to think about. Intimacy was an act of weakness fools seem to welcome. It was embarrassing.

The world likes to think that it ruled over all because of humans depending on each other and being slaves to feelings, a simple touch could make them reckless. He wanted to prove it wrong. So he refused.

Deep down, he was tempted to try. He was a smart man; he knew embraces, touches, kisses, and the likes, and he also knew how far things could go if you so choose. But with you, he acknowledged restraint and honor.

And also because he was too . . . prideful to ask.

Too disdainful towards the idea that it made him want to split himself into two.

You challenged his principles and threatened his philosophies.

“Don’t make it sound like that,” you complained. “I’m not that needy. I just wish you’d initiate something.”

“I wait to be asked.” He said.

You frustratedly looked up at him. “Yeah, I don’t want to keep asking.”

“You never did.”

The final straw.

“Henry, please.” You sighed defeatedly and stood from where you sat, finally facing him with the vulnerability you carried. “I know it was a long time ago when you said you loved me, but could you at least be consistent with it? I’m so lonely in this goddamn house, and I don’t know what to do with myself—I’m actually starting to think I’m going to go insane! I lost so much. I miss so many. I’m tired! I’m bored! I can’t feel anything but the emptiness in the kitchen and the lack of warmth in every room! I’m miserable, can’t you see?!”

You cracked.

This was it.

Henry’s senses were in an overdrive. He could feel something snapping in his head like a nerve just twitched out of its place. The heat in his body rose with every word from you, making him tense. He didn’t know what to say or do. He had ideas, but they were too much, he couldn’t grab one thought and put it in action.

He had to make a move or else you’d think of leaving and actually do it. Now felt like a chase. He had fallen prey to time.

Something he was supposed to control.

With that, Henry took long and swift aggressive strides towards you and pulled you by your arms to get you close to him like it was the only response his body knew what to do. He thought perhaps the closeness would suffice.

It was almost like an instinct to do it. He had no idea why or how, but he just—did it.

He was warmer than you assumed he was. Firm in areas you admit you imagined before. His chest was beating swiftly likely from his frustration with you. In his arms, your thoughts vanished like thin air. The anger didn’t even seem to exist.

“What you want is not something I grew up knowing. All I’m familiar with is isolation, and I know it well enough that it had become my norm. I cannot change, Y/N, and I apologize for lacking in areas you wanted me to excel in,” he said firmly like he was still stopping himself from being gentle.

He failed at it.

But you were more surprised by the fact that he apologized. For the first time.

“I can still learn,” he mumbled. Henry mentally winced. This was all wrong and out of place for someone like him. He wanted to break free from himself, but he couldn’t deny that it also felt refreshing somehow.

His pride was badly bruised. He felt pathetic. He had fallen. It was a good thing it was only you and him in this world. No one else could ever have the possibility of knowing.

Even if you told anyone, he would make sure they wouldn’t believe you.

You didn’t return his gesture. You just tried to feel his embrace. It wasn’t too much, but it was enough for you to see a glimpse of his thoughts he would never admit.

“Why are you holding me like you’re scared I’ll disappear?” you asked as you looked up at the eyes that looked down at your lips.

He was holding himself back again. It was difficult to do so. God, you break every single bone in his body from all the effort it takes to keep himself on the pedestal.

“I don’t like things leaving without my permission,” he admitted through gritted teeth as if he was still in denial with it.

“As if I can even go anywhere,” you commented. “I wasn’t planning to run. I guess I just wanted to feel something. Anything.”

“You sought to be wanted.”

Well, that was embarrassing to admit.

“I don’t know how to show you what you want like how you expect it from me,” he said your name like an affirmation. Although, you understood what he was saying. You have the full picture. It was enough clarity to pull you back to the ground.

“I don’t need perfection or doing it right by the book. I just want you to show me how you feel. Sometimes I need your hands to say what you won’t.”

His jaw tightened. He cursed at the stars. He let out a short breath through his nose.

“You think I don’t feel it,” he said. “I do. I just don’t let it run me.”

“I’m not asking you to lose control,” you said. “I’m asking you to choose me sometimes like you choose everything else.”

“Choice is a lie people tell themselves when they’re already trapped.”

You shifted in his arms, not pulling away. “And yet you’re still holding me.”

His fingers flexed like he hadn’t realized they were there. “I don’t hold people,” he said. “People cling. People weaken.”

“And you?”

“I observe.”

“That’s not what you’re doing right now.”

He looked down at you, eyes sharp, searching like he was trying to catch you lying. “Touch changes things. It makes people foolish.”

“Then be foolish for a second,” you said. “Just with me.”

Silence.

Then his hand moved again. Slower this time. Intentional. Resting at your back like he was testing the waters. “This is not weakness,” he said, sounding like he was reminding you but it also sounded more like a whisper to himself.

“Then what is it?”

“Control,” he said. You took the liberty to lean into his chest.

“And how does it feel losing a little of it?”

He closed his eyes for half a second.

“Uncomfortable,” he said.

You smiled faintly. “Good. Means you’re human.”

He opened his eyes to look down at you. “Don’t insult me.”

You shrugged. “Don’t pretend you’re above it.”

His arms tightened slightly.

“Stay,” he said suddenly. Not loud. Not soft. Certain.

“I am,” you said. “But don’t make me stay alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he said. “You’re just with someone who refuses to show it the way you want.”

“Then show it the way you can.” He hesitated. Then his forehead touched yours like he had been rehearsing it in his head a few seconds ago and now he made it real although brief and restrained.

“This,” he said. “Is all I have.”

Henry Creel had a small thought. A small, miniscule thought that perhaps—perhaps he could stop and want the world to stay the way it has always been.

Just so he could visit more places for you. Visit landmarks with you.

These memories . . . these places you thought were real and happy were limited. Just a space in his brain and they aren’t enough to be visited, much less to be enjoyed. He wanted to keep you in his mind. Just there where he could see you, come home to you everyday, and show up in his most handsome form so you wouldn’t despise him for the rest of your life.

Henry was already corrupted. He was a dead man in an even deader body. All vines and flesh with a brain and a heart that he didn’t think could ever feel.

You were you. Human, unbroken or perhaps insane for even embracing his ‘home’.

You believed he had good intentions. To save as many as he could.

‘He’s a saint. A god,’ you thought.

But it was Henry who would build a temple and pray on his knees for you. He almost deluded himself into asking you if you’d condemn him for being a damned man or wash the blood on his hands so he could build himself anew.

He was open for you to pass your judgment and decide what to do with his twisted soul.

Henry Creel was in trouble.

“Henry?” you called.

He was pulled away from his trance upon hearing the sound of your voice.

“Yes?” Henry said your name with a distinct softness. It could be a persona for the children now taking advantage of this house, but it was real and raw for you.

“You’re lost in thought.”

Always so observant.

“I didn’t realize,” he said as he tugged an apologetic smile, “Just thinking about how happy I am that it’s all coming together.”

“Thank you for thinking about saving them first.” You replied. The sheets rustled as you moved to check the clock on the corner of the room. “Will you be going again soon?”

For the first time, Henry wanted to slow down. To freeze time as if it were up to him if the world rotates another day. He used to be decisive about his plans. Meticulous about the usage of his precious hours.

Now he just wants to be here. In this body. Next to you. Wrapped in the same sheets that your skin touched, the same bed that you kept warm.

“I want to stay here with you.”

It was the truth. He could confess it at church and puke every word in holy water to prove its legitimacy.

He could say it again. He wanted to stay with you. Not sure how long, but he wanted it to be.

How many years have you got? 70? 80? Forever? He would follow.

If he ruined the very Earth that you walked on tomorrow, how long will he still have you for?

Was it okay to pause his plans and build a life in the world he despised before?

Henry was in a crisis.

Yet next to him, you wondered when it would be the perfect time to escape. To destroy the very monster you thought he saved you from.

Henry Creel was not a saint.

He was a cruel man and a liar.

An irredeemable soul who chose his path.

And now here you are, months later, just glancing at each other briefly, smiling at nothing like idiots when no one’s looking, and pondering over the small moments when your hands would brush slightly. Your heart would constantly ache for him. This barricade he built between the two of you made it difficult for you to see him, but your feelings kept growing.

He was so close yet so far.

All you could get ahold of him was a view. That’s all you could do after all, look at him, admire him from afar, picture how he smiles proudly and smirk so smugly in your head.

Lockwood is an entire art, you thought.

And then, there were two lovesick arts looking at each other, which are, for clarification, are the arts they were looking at.

How could both be so active with their eyes yet be so blind from the fact that they wanted each other at the same level of intensity?

Sight was Anthony’s talent, and he was damn grateful it was that it was his pair of eyes that did all the work for him. He couldn’t communicate by words to you or else someone else would hear. He couldn’t touch you because someone else might see. It might be better that he’d learn the language of looks for you, and maybe then you’d know. You’d know how his tired eyes wouldn’t let him sleep as it worked with his mind, screaming for him to wake up and convince him to be selfish for once. Selfish enough just to get you all to himself.

But he couldn’t do anything about it, he just couldn’t. He didn’t want you suffering because of him. He knew you loved the idea of romance, and he knew how avid you were to find someone who would shout his undying ardour to the ends of the Earth. He couldn’t let you suffer, only holding hands with him behind closed curtains.

Lockwood wanted you, but you were someone he couldn’t have.

“Your tea’s getting cold, Y/N.” George commented as he noticed the untouched teacup set before you. You quickly snapped out of your trance when suddenly, there was a knock on the door. In an attempt to shake off the embarrassment you just caused, you stood up from your chair and mumbled, “I’ll get it.”

Anthony let out a chuckle under his breath as he flipped the page of the newspaper, casually appearing to read when his mind had entirely lost track of the article he was supposed to be absorbed in two minutes ago when you started zoning out while looking at him.

“What are you laughing at?” George questioned. My, he seemed to be in a bad mood today. Anthony lifted his head to meet his eyes with a shrug.

“The paper’s just a little ridiculous today,” he reasoned. It was truly because he found you amusing for a little while. The boy closed the paper and set it on the table. “Where’s Lucy?”

“Upstairs. Said she needs another hour to sleep in,” Karim replied, unbothered by the previous encounter. He took a bite of the cookie and passed the platter onto Lockwood who returned it, seeing as there was only one left, and George needed it to maybe lighten up his mood.

You laughed slightly, “You really shouldn’t have. Is this your mum’s recipe? It is, isn’t it?” You frowned in confusion as you examined the pastries inside the basket. It smelled so good. Cinnamon, just like —

“Hey, L/N. Who is it?”

— Lockwood.

You quickly turned to look at him with the basket clutched in your hands, “Oh, it’s Theo. He gave us his mum’s specials. Here, have a look at it. They look delicious.”

You noticed how his eyebrows furrowed as he caught sight of the boy in the doorframe. That wasn’t a good sign. “Theo?”

“Yeah, he’s the one stuffing us up with bread and pastries for the past few weeks.”

‘So this was Theo,’ Anthony thought to himself, scanning the guy from head to toe. He frowned even more. “Theo, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m — ”

“Anthony Lockwood. It’s nice to meet you, too.” Theo shook his hand. There wasn’t an expression on Anthony’s face for a while before he caught himself and tugged a slight smile.

“Do you want a cuppa? It’s the least we can do in return,” you suddenly interjected, diminishing the tension that had been threatening to build up between the two. Oh, why did you have to be so nice all the damn time? Lockwood swore he could lose two of his toes right there and then.

You realised Anthony didn’t much meddle with the idea of Theo entering the house as he only stood there, waiting for an answer from your neighbour. Theo let out a breathy laugh constructed of fear, “Er, as much as I’d love to, I don’t think I have the time today — must go help my mum arrange the er, bakery.”

“Perfect! We’ll just deliver you a George special. Truly grateful for the gift.” Lockwood replied immediately after the end of Theo’s sentence. You didn’t even get to talk as Theo awkwardly stood.

“George special?” He asked, bewildered.

“Made by George — er, our researcher,” you answered. Lockwood flashed him a smile and held back a sigh.

“Any more questions? I think our agency’s quite busy. I can already hear the phone inside, it must be our third commission for today.”

“Okay, yes, I mean no. I — hey, I’ll just drop by tomorrow, yeah?” You could have sworn Theo gave you that look, his eyes gentle as they were fixed on you without a care for the fuming facade in Anthony’s face.

Lockwood slightly pulled you away from the doorframe.

“Thanks, mate.” Anthony found his grip on the door as he quickly shut it on the boy’s face, his hand lingering a little more while on the wood as he stared at you. You returned the gaze, arching your eyebrow. You almost said something, like why he was in a rush when she could literally hear no ringing from the phone, why he was examining Theo from head to toe, and why he shut that door on his face. But his eyes, they were staring right at your soul as if he was trying to figure out some kind of puzzle in the back of your head.

“Are we just going to stare at each other, or are we going to talk about what just hap—” You finally spoke up only to get cut off.

He quickly took a sharp inhale with a question that made his eyebrows furrow again, “Do you like him?”

“ — What?” You asked in response, your mouth ajar.

“Lockwood, Y/N! Your tea! It’s a waste of teabags, seriously!” George’s voice quickly cut the tension with his yelling, turning the atmosphere even more awkward to bear. You both turned your head to the kitchen’s direction with you recovering first when you cleared your throat. You then left without a word.

Throughout the next week, things have been like that. Theo comes knocking on the door, and you would be welcoming him, accepting his gifts . . . with Anthony closely standing a foot behind you. If it isn’t you that would answer the door, it was him, and you could ask Theo about how that went later on.

The visits have become regular and the gifts have become more in quantity and taste. There was a point that Theo got inside the flat and visited the library, much to Anthony’s dismay. He had to watch him closely tailing you in every corner of the chamber of books, his hands clasped behind his back. Anthony was reading the latest scoop, but then he had no choice but to pretend that he was occupied by it while he watched closely. Theo was making jokes, funny enough to you that it would earn a hearty laugh.

Lockwood almost rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“That’s hilarious!” You exclaimed.

‘Oh, you little liar,’ Anthony thought with a smirk. If you really found that hilarious, you would slap Theo lightly, but you weren’t. If there was something he was confident at, it was that he knew you better than anyone else.

You lightly tapped Theo’s hand as you let out yet another laugh. Anthony groaned mentally, resisting the urge to stand up and leave the room. His eyes peeked through the newspaper while listening intently.

“You mentioned before that you liked reading, so I thought maybe showing you the great Lockwood library would be enough to return the favour.”

“What favour?” Theo questioned.

Yeah. What favour? Anthony leaned in slightly.

“Delivering your gifts to the agency. The bread, pastries, and the er, . . . ”

The what?

“The flowers.”

The flowers?

He heard Theo laugh under his breath as he watched him bob his head with a gentle ‘you’re welcome.’

‘Are they quite done yet?’ Anthony thought. Theo’s eyes watched you, his eyes travelling from your eyes to your lips.

Lockwood didn’t like that. So, with much grace, he cleared his throat and closed the newspaper, finally getting the attention of the two of you from where you stood. Your breath almost hitched as you watched Lockwood walk out of the library with much haste.

You didn’t know what you did to him. You didn’t know exactly how that conversation affected him, and he wished you did. He wished you had a clue. Of course, you have. Could you? He was stupid to leave that library — what if whatever that conversation was leading to, happened? What if . . .

What if you walked out of that room completely and utterly unreachable? Your devotion truly untouchable and bound to that Theo?

No matter what had transpired, or what Lockwood thought, that seemed to be the inclusion after Theo left the house, wasn’t it? Because when the door closed and you turned back facing your team, Lucy and George looked at you quite expectantly.

Yet Anthony couldn’t meet your eyes.

No matter how much you searched for them.

You gave them a slight smile before walking past them without a word, rushing to your given room with a heavy heart weighing inside your chest.

You thought it was only you? Lockwood felt his heart shatter when he walked in that kitchen with Lucy and George indulging into the fresh biscuits Theo gave earlier that morning. They were chatting and betting away whether Theo would have probably made his move or chickened out. When they finally noticed his presence, they quickly stopped and looked at him.

“What?” Lockwood asked.

George cut off the awkward silence when he offered the boy the biscuits he shared with Lucy. When he left that library, he thought he already got away with the sight of that man who was persistent on having you, but guess he thought too early.

“Do you think Theo’s made his move yet?” Lucy questioned. It was odd, for sure. She was never the one to be so invested in something like this. That made his stomach churn. Could it be that you and Theo were both too compelling to have her trapped in this sort of spell?

“He’s a wuss. He’d probably walk out of that door with an awkward trip. I can already see it.” George, not you too.

“Do you think they’ll be together in any minute now, Lockwood?” Lucy, could you stop with these questions? It was making his tie almost choke him and take away his breathing.

“It’s obvious. Their awkwardness is not hard to miss.”

Oh, so you and Theo were obvious to Lucy and George, but when it was you and Anthony, it wasn’t? He didn’t know if he should be happy or not that no one knew. Because as much as he’d love to shout it, could he?

The sight of the goods was sickening, but he had to cover his traces desperately or things would only go downhill from here. He couldn’t have you, and that’s final. That was the very reason he lost his sense of planning, and all he had to resort to was just — be the Lockwood that’s always Lockwood.

The team before you. The agency above all else. The greater good before his feelings. The well-being of everyone in that house before him.

What’s the point? Theo had proven himself consistent — with gift-giving, he supposed. He just looks at you so perfectly, like he was taken with you. Lockwood used to look at you like that, and he still does, no matter how useless it has become. Theo’s body language didn’t display threat to you or anyone. He was just unapologetically himself, gentle and soft. You would probably want to live with someone like that.

He was your friend.

Lockwood? He was your boss.

He convinced himself that that was the only role he could play in your life as you grew further and further apart from that table. Who knew, right? That someone could be this close yet so so far.

Anthony began to take his morning tea rather faster than before and proceeded to keep himself locked in the library for the times that the team wasn’t out for ghost-hunting. He was still himself, still the same boy with witty remarks and had a subtle smugness about him. Still the same friend and boss who praised his team constantly and asked for George to make his specials just because.

Still the same old Lockwood with so many things different about him. Oh, please, spare us the irony, but goodness how much you sought for answers from his eyes that just wouldn’t stare at you for more than three seconds.

You couldn’t see him. Truly see him.

And you were sick of it. He acted so normal, like nothing happened. That he didn’t just watch everything that happened in that library, left without a word but with a sense of anger lingering, and stood with the two to ask for what happened.

There was something different about you. Your eyes stayed focused on your tea for an hour every morning, you went outside off-duty a lot, and you only spoke when you were spoken to. You smiled. Just occasionally. You opened the door to the agency’s home for Theo, but it never felt thrilling anymore ever since you found that Lockwood’s presence won’t be a foot behind you. Theo only brought bread now. No more flowers, no other gifts of romantic causes. He always put on a friendly smile like it was his favourite shoes.

And you wished you’d see that same smile but on a different face.

So, you did what you did best. Avoided Lockwood. You couldn’t afford to fall for this challenge. Every single day proved to be difficult as you saw his face. That was the reason you were out the door often. You also met up with Theo quite frequently.

There was this one time Anthony wished he never stared out the window. Just so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of your figure, your hair, your eyes that looked up at Theo as you listened to what he had to say as you slowly walked side by side.

He looked away, shutting the accounting book in his hand. He’d suddenly lost interest in sorting out the bills when he knew he couldn’t even afford something intangible. He scoffed. ‘This was different.’

Anthony stayed in the library again tonight, watching the striking dance of the flame in the hearth, nursing a book in his arms. He sighed, looking away and turning his attention to the paperback he now settled on his lap. What was wrong with him?

He already had you, and he just had to ruin it, didn’t he? He couldn’t be with you because what? Because of Lucy and George’s predictable taunting?

He was sure he had a good reason, but now? Now that he’s successfully pushed you away into the arms of another guy, he couldn’t see it as a reason.

Only as an excuse.

Just so he wouldn’t hurt you, but being involved with him already did half of that. It was just when he lost you that it must have damaged you both.

Or maybe it was just him.

“Lockwood?” He heard his name spoken by a voice ever so gentle yet thought-provoking that one would doubt it came from a human but a siren. The boy looked up from the book and turned his head to you, catching sight of you again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He looked at you for more than three seconds. You took note of that as it made you smile, yet that smile faltered when you felt your heart dropping to your stomach upon realising the reason why you knocked on the library door and faced him in your sleepwear.

“Yes, Y/N?” Your name always did sound like a melody in his voice. You almost got distracted, but took a step forward and closed the door behind you.

“I was wondering if we could speak.” That statement was firm.

It took him a while, but then, “Sure.”

“It’s about Theo.”

“And what about Theo?” He was quick to reply. You didn’t know if he wanted to talk about him or not, but you were slowly believing it was the latter when he looked away from you and stood up from his chair, putting the book aside on the table.

“I don’t think you like him very much,” you confessed. Your chest heaved up slowly as you sighed in relief of finally telling him the truth, but it wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t even just the beginning.

He paused for a while before resuming to ask gently, “Is that him saying that or is it you that wants to know?”

“Him.”

“No, Y/N. I don’t not like him.” You knew that. No, not the like part although that, you didn’t know whether to trust. You meant him not being gullible enough to believe that it wasn’t him that was asking him that question and you were only there to deliver the missive.

“Look, I only want the truth.”

Ah, so it is you asking that question.

“Why do you need this specific truth?”

Why is he asking you back? That wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t expect him to start turning the tables of who asks who. “I was just thinking, that’s all,” you replied in almost a whisper.

That’s when he crossed his arms and nodded his head, jaw clenching slightly. “We’re both not being truthful at all, are we?”

You lifted your eyebrows in return. “What?”

“It’s half the truth; What I said.” What was that supposed to mean? Your inhalation this time around was shaky. You tried not to crumble and appear as sturdy as possible, but you were close to knowing about the truth and Anthony who had been amiss for the past few weeks.

“Do you want to know the full truth, Y/N?” Lockwood questioned. His voice seemed to be coaxing you out of your trance, like he was taunting you, luring you in with that tone in his voice, but there was a different flavour to it.

Like it was soft, gentle, almost as if he was making it sound childishly alluring enough to show you innocence in which it is bliss in all its glory of the truth. Lockwood here before your presence was willing to be completely honest, and he was making your heart flutter with hope.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he mumbled quietly, eyes glued to yours as you scanned his face for a sign whether he was cracking a joke. There wasn’t any readable hint at all, and you knew just how to handle a situation like that.

Play dumb. You painted a face of confusion, slowly settling your hands to your side after they went numb from clutching your hips. You replied, dragging the emphasis of the question along, “Looks at me like what?”

He took a deep breath and averted his gaze, buying his merry time as he appeared to be lost in thought, mesmerised by how utterly stupid he was starting to feel. This time, it was him that placed his hand on his hip, his other firmly placed on the table next to the chair he warmed with his presence earlier but completely ghosted as he stood. He lifted that hand and rubbed the nape of his neck. He shouldn’t be saying it. He shouldn’t even think it!

But by God, you were driving him mad!

“Like how I’m supposed to look at you.” He could have sworn his hand twitched in response to the urge to slap himself, but he had to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He had to appear better than the guy who had been the object of your attention this past week. Anthony mentally cringed — Why did he say that? He messed up, didn’t he? Ridiculously so!

“Lockwood,” you whispered.

His eyes furrowed, watchful gaze softening at you as if he was going to lose you forever and he was a dead man destined to just watch and watch until his time runs out.

“Anthony,” you corrected yourself. That gave him hope, but he wasn’t just about to rejoice either. You were, after all, Theo’s. Not his.

“But he’s doing it wrong.” Anthony continued without a care in the world. He just wanted this, if it’s the only thing he gets.

He was exhausted from just staring at you from afar, and what’s worse, having another guy in the picture doing all that wondrous romantic work for him.

He’s selfish, fine, but he once had everything when he communicated with your soul and now he had nothing.

Just fleeting hope.

“He’s supposed to see your soul in your eyes, not just his reflection in them. He’s supposed to notice every detail, the colour, the shape — and he’s supposed to remember it for when he thinks of it in sleepless nights.” He took short strides forward to meet you this close as he lifted his hand and brushed the loose strands off your face and tucked them behind your ears. “He’s supposed to tuck your hair like this when it gets in the way or else the message he’s trying to tell you won’t end up being clear.”

“But maybe he should have messages to give you before he looks at you like this at all,” he mumbled. “He should have learned the language of looks. You don’t just deserve words, you deserve the truth, the full picture, every inch of a canvas painted. The Devil knows just how much you like to watch yourself in someone’s eyes, how they perceive you, and you in mine, you’re perfect in every way. Does Theo know that? Is he aware? Do you like how he looks at you?”

You couldn’t talk. You were malfunctioning upon hearing his words. They were all being processed in your head but your understanding also kept shattering.

You felt like a girl again. Not like Theo never treated you like one, it’s just that only Anthony managed to make you feel this way.

“You said it before, Anthony; We can’t happen. We could never, because — ”

“Because I was a coward.”

“Because you had a duty to this agency, and you were thinking of everyone. I agreed on the matter with you.”

“And I had a duty to you.” Your world stopped. Is this the same Anthony? What was he doing being this close to you? Why did you like it?  Was he taking his words back from before? Could you possibly happen now? You didn’t know the answer to your own questions. You were in a haze and flurry of questions, but when you searched his eyes now, they were true, deep, lovesick and drunk at the sight of you.

“Theo and I aren’t together, Anthony.” You mumbled without blinking.

You just wanted his breath on your skin, his touch on your cheeks, his eyes all over you and his lips meeting yours. “So what’s holding you back now?” you whispered again, your hand leisurely finding its way on his chest.

His skin was hot underneath his shirt, but you could also feel the fast thumping in his chest. His smile before that didn’t quite reach his eyes now reached the sky and his eyes became starry with the news. For weeks, he thought he’d lost you, and what a fool he was to only know it now that you were there just waiting for him. How could he think that?

“Kiss me.”

You closed your eyes as you closed the vexing gap. Your hand roamed from his chest to his shoulders, looping your arms to hold him close. His hands made their way down to your waist, the other trailing your back and settling on the nape of your neck. His fingers were feather-light on your skin, making the hairs on your neck shiver to the touch.

You never thought you’d feel something like this. You thought it was just the books you read and the films you watched. Now, the boy you thought was a tense duty-first guarded eighteen-year-old was kissing you until the oxygen his body possessed gave out.

How relieved he felt, how soft you were under his touch. He thought of this a million times over when he couldn’t even look at you before, holding you close like this, having your lips on his like this.

He had to firmly shut his already closed eyes again just to make sure it wasn’t a dream, but no, he wasn’t in the midnight voyage of slumber. He was there in his library filled with books and the scent of you that lingered. Sweet and you. You always loved that room and so you’d linger every single day.

He thought it was the books you liked so much. It was, but the best part of it was Anthony Lockwood himself, and he can’t quite complain now, can he?

Meanwhile, Lucy was getting rich with George’s money, but who cares, right? Who knew you and Anthony thrived on angst and it took Theo the bread guy to bring you two together?

Oh, you thought no one knew? Even a kindergartner would know in five minutes.

END NOTE. This is a repost because the original one was butchered by Tumblr's read more link bug that made the paragraphs of the fic disappear and get jumbled.

Knowing the vulnerability of the situation, Lucy decided to leave the library without a word, just a lump on her throat as she composed herself, trying to recover from the atmosphere in the room. The giver of those gifts was once her companion, and it pained her that it was only years later that they were able to look at her belongings without feeling the need to cry instantly.

Lockwood unwrapped the presents slowly and carefully, not wanting to be careless with the items that were the only closure he had to her. As the parchment slowly revealed the silver metal underneath, there it was, the letters that made up her name engraved as she was in his mind on the back of the mirror.

“Y/N.”

He couldn’t touch it. God, how could he? Anthony looked away, his breath shaky as he looked up at the ceiling, gathering all the composure he could muster with his eyes closed.

‘Just touch it.’ He thought to himself over and over again. His trembling fingers finally closed the gap between the object and his hand. Anthony opened his eyes and took the mirror, completely removing it from the parchment wrap. He then, carefully traced the embellisments on the back of the mirror.

Y/N loved the loops and details.

It took his every bit of energy and will to turn the mirror and see himself in it. It looked exactly like her when he would stare. He always saw himself in the reflection in her eyes, and the mirror was the vivid reminder of her.

She loved that mirror. She treasured it more than she treasured her life. It was her very own object. The thing that only she could possess while many people in the world owned the exact same thing for the sight of it will only remind him of her.

Anthony recalled. He laughed humourlessly. Of course, he recalled. It was the moment his life started. The moment where he realised he was an actual living human being. That he was a person with a purpose and freedom to love and admire. To cherish and to hold.

It was the night of the Fittes’ Annual Valentine’s Ball four years ago. The London air was cold even despite his coat already being thicker than it usually was. Lucy and George had gone to the library in search of any clue for the Fittes’ dirt. He was there to appear as smug and confident as he was to be recognised by such an elite agency.

But then,

Oh, but then,

All regrets of attending the party had done nothing but dissipated. Anthony Lockwood, for the first time, felt the core of his palms hurt in an intoxicating manner that sent electric waves through his veins that he himself couldn’t explain the phenomenon when he saw the one and only Y/N L/N amongst the crowd.

He didn’t know how or why, but God, he knew what. He was aware it was her eyes, the way they glinted under the stars when she stepped outside with him in the streets of London. They shone under the silver streaks of the moon. They said someone’s eyes were the windows of their soul, and he didn’t know what they meant.

Not until he got a glimpse and was trapped under some type of spell that when he looked, Lockwood witnessed the universe being painted around him, flushing colours in the void of his existence, and putting stars to keep him away from the dark.

So smitten he was that he forgot to check the placements of the stars. If they were aligned closely . . . or if they were aligned at all.

They weren’t.

Anthony was pulled back from his memories, turning the mirror away from his face as he put it back down to the wrappers. He couldn’t stop recalling now. Her eyes, her hair, her smile, her skin — Just — Just everything about her, he could all remember it so vividly that it was hurting every bone in his body, making every inch of his skin scream for her.

“Why now?” He whispered, putting his hand on his face to cover it frustratedly.

“Why not?” She whispered in his ear. It was the ghost of the past. It was yet another vision of her, a memory that he wished to relive. It was still four years ago, just two months after he met her. Her breath was hot on his skin as she stifled a laugh. “Be a dear, Lockwood, and help me put this on, will you please?” she asked in a mocking tone. How could he say no? It was a silver necklace. One he gifted for her.

“You’re not ashamed?”

“Of a good man?”

“Of me being in an agency below Fittes. It’s your domain, after all.”

“Anthony Lockwood, is this truly you? You’re- insecure? Your agency is the most prestigious agency in all of London, and you’re underestimating yourself? Besides, Fittes is . . . complicated. It’s bad business, and I would much rather trust the world in your hands.”

But the world in his hands were filled with her name. There was no corner that was safe from her essence. Every bits and pieces of the soil in his world contained his concern for her and her well-being.

“It looks lovely,” she mumbled, looking at the gift around her neck through the silver mirror with her name. “Thank you, Anthony.”

And again, he was pulled in another memory.

“I want to travel the world without everything we have now except for each other. We will move somewhere peaceful and quiet, and we’ll be sitting in front of a fire for comfort forever until we get sick of each other’s company. I want to go somewhere with you, anywhere but here.” She wanted him to run with her, but where? Every corner of the world was detectable to such an agency as Fittes’. She was the agency’s prodigy.

“You can’t throw all that away for me, Y/N. How could we live in hiding forever? What about George? Lucy?”

“I can’t accept his proposal. If I stay at Fittes, I’ll be stuck there forever.”

“Y/N,” it was an opportunity of a lifetime, but he couldn’t bear being the reason she’d throw away a life she’d been building since she was a child. Maybe it was wrong that she met him in the first place! Anthony was a mistake, or so he believed he was to her. She can’t just make a decision that will last a lifetime! What if she gets bored? What if she gets tired of him, and then regret it all? What if he couldn’t provide her everything she needed? She was used to a lavish life, and he lived in the same home he’s always lived in. “I can’t.”

Once he was back to reality, snapping out of his trance, Anthony noticed the envelope on the desk. He took it next and exhaled sharply, the butterflies locked in the cage of his chest and the wild heart of his swarmed around the organ as it pounded and raced into a fast rhythm that made the blood in his veins creep up to every parts of his body, making him feel more anxious than he should be.

The envelope opened, his eyes almost failing him before he could even read. But, he remembered his name, yet faltered once again when he caught sight of the handwriting he knew all too well.

“Anthony,

It must have come as a surprise for you that I still managed to pull something like this after years of my own possible demise—” No! He couldn’t read it. Anthony looked away, taking a sharp inhale to restrain the heartache he felt when he finally gathered the fact that Y/N knew about what was coming for her.

‘No, read.’ He had to be strong. It’s been years and there was no time for him to cower like a brutally tormented dog under a table. He shut his eyes, sparing himself a few more seconds before he turned his attention back to the paper.

“You’ve probably even solved the mystery by now. I knew you knew about the secrets of Fittes, and I was supposed to lure you in to keep track of you, but I couldn’t. Especially when I finally met you. You were nothing like they said. You weren’t arrogant or condescending. You were lovely, gentle, considerate, and smart. It was difficult to be anything but kind to you, Lockwood. The greatest mystery of my case is how I met someone like you.”

Lockwod shook his head. He is arrogant and condescending, but all of those traits of his would fade whenever he was around her. She calmed every nerve jilting him awake every single day. She’d always been the genius cure to the adrenaline rush that felt roo excessive he swore he could almost see the core of the Earth.

“I will wear your ring on my finger, forever until I rot and I will never take it off even if it’s the source you’ll find of me. I will forever march the world, waiting for you. I will be the fire on your hearth wherever you go, signalling that you’re always home, safe and sound as I defend you from anything who wants to destroy your peace. I will be the cold September air to accompany you during your dark cold days. I will be the sun that will peak through the clouds, watching as you smile and enjoy the warmth on your skin.”

A tear escaped his eye. One after the other, he sniffled and wuickly wiped them away to not leave a trace of his vulnerability to the only person that made him feel strong yet also weak in a way that he’d crumble down for her, and far better, kneel before her.

“As long as you walk the Earth for me, live your life for me, breathe the summer air for me. I will be there in every step of the way when you need me, and this mirror will always be a reminder of how I once saw you the night we met, how I’ll always see you — forever charming and gentle as you are, my intellectual bloody pain in the arse. Witness the moon in all its phases, feel the sun on your face, and touch the breeze that will creep up your bones. I will see to it that you will grow old with memories and the life you’re supposed to live.”

He took a shaky inhale and quickly covered his nose, resting the elbow of his hand that held the missive up for himself to read, on the desk.

“Find someone, Lockwood. Find someone who will make you happy, someone willing to spend their entire life with you with regards to your well-being, dreams, and feelings. You deserve someone who cares for you deeply. Put your arms around her waist delicately like you did mine, spin her around ever so gracefully like we once both have done. Dance in front of the hearth to your hearts’ desire. I will watch, and watch, and watch as I’ll sit and wait for you to come back to me when the time comes.

You, Anthony Lockwood, have become my reason to live, but now I must say goodbye. My farewell is dedicated to you and both Lucy and George. You have been a great family. My only treasure that I’m willing to die for.

It is not your fault though. It never was.

You have my ceaseless affections, Anthony. Always.

Yours,

Y/N L/N.”

A sound emitted from his lips as the letter ended that he felt like he needed to read more. Come on, there has to be more! This couldn’t be it! This couldn’t be the end of her moment where he felt like she was alive again! Just as she was starting to feel more real and closer, that’s when the letters had to end!

He put the letter down and ran his fingers through his hair, letting them settle on his dark locks and pulling them to create a pressure that will ease the starting headache. Lockwood couldn’t keep himself together anymore.

No matter how hard he tried.

The thoughts of her gone have always created such a tarnish on the crimsons of his heart. How could she just leave like that and never return? How could she leave him to his feelings? How could she claim he had her ceaseless affections if she left to too early?

Anthony Lockwood cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And cried once more.

She was gone forever, and the letters in ink on the parchment were the ghosts of the past. He still couldn’t accept it until now. No, Anthony will never find anyone like her. He’d already loved her completely and utterly that his heart has given out all the ardour it had, only for her. The ring she wore six feet under was the solid silver proof of his devotion.

But now, the words he uttered to her the night he held her in his arms could only be heard by the fading wind outside the windows of the library.

Y/N L/N was a bright ember that entered his life and warmed his heart during the cold February air at the Fittes ball. She was fierce and hot, brazen and red.

And oh, how she burned.

She was his dream.

His walking desire.

His waking moment.

His other half.

And what was once such a bright dancing little fiend was now the flame in the library hearth, keeping him steady as he lost himself to the messy art of creating rivers with his tears.

Anthony Lockwood had lost his person.

However, just now . . . she felt as though it wasn’t just her presence that graced the room. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. There was no one, nothing. Why was it getting harder to breathe? The ringing, they were back again, but this time, it was higher in pitch and volume. She put both palms on her ears in order to block the noises, but it was too loud!

That was until she heard the knock on the door followed by the voice of someone more human, natural in his voice, “Prepare quickly, Y/N. We’re moving swiftly tonight, we have two missions!”

She didn’t respond. It didn’t seem like it mattered when his footsteps were already fading. The girl slowly ran her fingers through her damp hair, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. It was just her imagination — that ringing. But there was a protruding thought that maybe, there was something wrong with her, and she couldn’t place whatever it was.

Although, there was something far more important than that. She needed to be present for this other case. Y/N had been lacking for the past few days, and she was under the pressure of redeeming herself to prove something to Lockwood.

And she was going to prove it well.

THAT HURT! God, it hurt so much! There was no other thing in her mind than how much it felt, causing electric shock through her body, wanting to rip her ears out to just. get it. to stop!

“Fuck!” Y/N exclaimed, losing her grip on her rapier therefore also failing to protect Lucy from the ghost that hovered before them. The clang of the blade on the floor only triggered a louder sound in her ears, putting her mind into shambles as she scrambled to the floor to regain possession of her weapon.

Before she could, however, Lockwood had already slain the ghost himself, buying them more time to pull themselves together. “Lucy!” Lockwood hurriedly rushed to her aid as she panted, refusing the help Anthony was offering.

“Y/N?” Lucy called, her voice combined with worry over the girl’s well-being. “Are you okay?”

It didn’t look like she was, but it was certainly better than before. The ringing had stopped, and what was left was an overcoming fear of when it will occur again. Her forehead was covere din beads of sweat, her mouth gasping for air, and clammy hands clutching the handle of her sword.

She had, in fact, once again failed to redeem herself. And what had she done? Make a complete fool out of herself to Lockwood who only looked at her with disappointment painted oh-so-vibrantly all over his face.

“I covered the source with the net!” George excitedly announced as he made his way into the bedroom where everyone was. It had been a rare occurence before that Lockwood allowed George to do this type of work, but since he’s proven himself to be the hero in most scenarios, he trusted him.

Y/N glanced up at George. She wasn’t mad at him. As a matter of fact, she was grateful for him, not just for containing the source, but also putting an end to the tension in the room. “Are you guys okay?” he proceeded to question.

She stood up from the floor and lowered her head before mumbling, “We’re fine.” She then walked past him swiftly and out of the room with shame as her feet led her to the gardens of the home.

“She’s definitely not fine,” George breathed out. Both of his companions looked at him in a questioning manner. He shrugged, “She’s been acting odd for the past few weeks - months, even. Am I the only one who noticed?”

“You’re always the one to notice something, George.” Lucy commented with a smile. Anthony did not appreciate the conversation, no matter how little. He’d much rather they didn’t talk at all.

“Stay here. I’ll talk to her,” Lockwood ordered. George and Lucy nodded followed by exchanged glances with subtle wide eyes. They knew it was not a good idea Lockwood would follow her, but what could be done? They just hoped he wouldn’t make an arrogant fool of himself again.

“WHAT WAS that?” Y/N’s ears suddenly perked up from the voice. She plastered a sarcastic smile as she replied, “You found me, then.”

“This is no time for foolish remarks, Y/N. What was that all about? You had it. Lucy could have been hurt! You could have gotten hurt! Do you realise what you’ve just done?” Anthony exclaimed. The leaves crunched from under his feet as he marched his way forward to the girl.

“You’re saying that as if I’ve done it intentionally. Is that what you think I do? Sabotage the team?”

“I’m not saying that,” he frustratedly protested, facepalming before placing his hands on his hips, his coat pushed back. “What I’m saying is for you to pull yourself together. Where are you, really? This, this state of yours is going to get us all killed!”

“Lucy’s fine! I’m fine!”

“You both wouldn’t be if I hadn’t stepped in and you had made an absolute mockery of yourself in the situation! You were flailing! Can I even trust you with simple tasks?”

“You call fighting off a type two, simple?” She fired back, trying her best to hold back her anger when she knew she had fucked up.

“We’ve done it before! We’ve dealt with harder cases. What’s going so wrong now?”

“Of course you’d say that! Everything’s easy for you, right?” Lockwood was taken aback by her words, yet instead of processing her words and taking it as a reminder of his past conflicts, he took offence of it, triggering his sense of authority and anger. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you just work with yourself? If you’re so obsessed with perfection, why don’t you eliminate mistakes and put down the team? Because that’s you, right? You’re the one who’s always so bloody perfect at everything!”

His eyebrow twitched as he blinked at her, his face getting softer, yet still inconsiderate as he lifted his head to the side and clenched his jaw. Anthony momentarily fixed his gaze on the floor before placing it back to her. His voice had become monotonous. Cold.

“If you hate me so much, why don’t you just leave the team?”

There was a moment of silence. If the rapier didn’t pierce her heart before, it definitely has now, but it wasn’t the steel sword that did its damage. It was those exact words he had uttered so confidently in her face. There was no hint of regret there when she searched his eyes. There was absolute nothingness.

Suddenly, the coldness of the wind got into her eyes — did it really? Or was she just finding an excuse to mask the reason behind her slightly blurry eyes. Y/N blinked and swallowed her spit in order to remove the lump in her throat. It was useless. She nodded slightly, her face stiff as she tried to muster up her thoughts to create a better expression.

But there was no better reaction.

“What?” she asked for confirmation. Lockwood slightly shifted in his position, standing upright. He looked at her eyes and down to her shoes slightly, taking the sight of the disappointed girl. He swallowed his spit, licking his lips.

“You heard me.”

“So, that’s it then?” she mumbled, trying her best to disguise the betrayal in her voice.

“That’s it.” Anthony replied in a stern tone, not leaving her eyes. “Don’t be so surprised now, Y/N. If it helps you feel any better, maybe you could still start somewhere — just not here.”

“You’re a fucking dickwad, do you know that?!” She yelled.

“I’m doing this for the team.”

“Like shit you are!” She exasperatedly gesticulated her hands in the open air and continued, “You think George and Lucy would fucking applaud you after they find out? I thought we were family! What now? I fuck up, and suddenly I’m gone for good?”

“You could just say n—”

“No, because that’s not it, isn’t it?” She bitterly interjected and combed her fingers through her hair irately. “You’ve hated me from the start! You ignore me every chance you get, but when you’re not, you berate me! You look at me as if I’m about to fail, and you undermine me every single time!”

“I don’t undermine you. I look at you, and I see transitions of how things start and how things end,” he started, chest heaving up and down from his bottled feelings of anguish and rage, not to her but to himself. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me doubt whatever it is I doubt. You were good at what you do, but you’ve been lost for the past few months. We don’t have a hold of you now, and you’re not telling us anything. To be completely blunt and forward, Y/N: Whenever you’re present in a case, something goes wrong.”

Even to herself, she could admit that he had a point. Every mission that she had with her friends, everything ends up a little bit too complicated than it should. She did feel like she was the cause for the performance of the agency lately. That information itself made her heart sink at the bottom of the pit, pushing her to another depth as he spoke once again.

“You’re a dead weight.”

That statement felt a little hypnotic that it proceeded to ring in her head. Now that was it, why did she feel defeated now? She felt as if he just called her useless. Huh, maybe that’s what she was. Completely and utterly useless for the best agency London has ever seen. She was the dead weight in their group, the failure.

“I just haven’t been myself. I—” Then, there was a silver streak of water that cascaded down her face. She cleared her throat and looked away, wiping the tear with the back of her hand as she sniffled and blinked away the glinting waterfall threatening to spill. “I’m sorry.”

Anthony’s chest felt different with that statement. His eyes that showed no remorse softened at this current sight of her, but there was something at that moment that told him to resist it. He had to stand firm, and he knew to himself he’d do just about anything for the sake of the team, even if it had to be removing Y/N from it.

The thought of questioning whether this decision was right began to rebuke him.

“Y/N, I’m only doing this for the best of everyone’s well-being.”

“You already said that,” she replied and took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with him. Then, she shrugged her shoulders and laughed to herself in bitter humour. She unsheathed the rapier from her side and took a few steps forward to the boy who gave her a puzzled look.

She took his hand and offered the handle of her blade, closing his palm with hers. Y/N forced a smile on her lips, looking up to meet his eyes. They were close.

Just. This. Close.

Y/N had seen his eyes numerous times before, but under whatever spell, she never got tired of it even despite the sharp daggers it threw at her. Her heart shattered once more, this soft gaze she’d sometimes thought was an illusion made the broken shards leap hopelessly that it left her dizzy for another minute or so.

The wind in the garden gently whispered.

Anthony felt this feeling before, but he dismissed it just like he’d always done. It was something that he believed to be unworthy of his attention. If he looked the other way, what of the path that he worked so hard for?

“Y/N, I—”

“I’ll be gone by morning. Don’t tell the others . . . for me please, would you, Lockwood?” She whispered. Goddamn it, she was going to go! Anthony couldn’t do anything. His body and soul were both locked in the position of looking at her, paralysed as he tried his best to catch his breath. His eyes quickly paid a glance to her lips before switching back to her eyes.

He hummed in response.

There was a palpable tension in such an open space. The girl decided to have had enough of it, leisurely stepped away without breaking eye contact, and walked off with his head turned to watch her figure fade away with the distance.

SHE SAID SHE’D be gone by morning. It was 3 AM, and he wasn’t sure what morning she was referring to, but surely she’d use more time for rest and packing her things. It wouldn’t be so early. He paced back and forth, almost creating a six feet deep grave of his own in front of her door, his hands secured in his pockets. His furrowed eyebrows almost reached each other to knit a whole line on his face, but he soon stopped with a sharp exhale.

Anthony realised how wrong he might have been. The fact that both Lucy and George don't know anything made him feel even more guilty knowing damn well they would have his head and ego once they learn of what he did. Not only that, he felt incessantly bad for being cruel with his choice of words without consideration to what Y/N’s explanation could offer. To be completely honest, he wasn’t even thinking straight! He had no clue where the idea of eliminating her from the team came from.

His mind hadn't been at peace nor was it sober in his library when they got back home. Y/N shut herself in her room after an awkward dinner in which they both pretended everything went well. Lucy and George, bless their poor naive innocent souls, seemed to buy it with Lucy feeling a little bit hesitant.

It was 3 AM, and he was at her door.

At her door.

His hand slightly lifted to knock her door, but it stopped mid-air. Lockwood sighed, pulling his hand back in his pocket with a shake of the head. He’d been horrible, and disturbing Y/N’s peace no matter how fleeting, would be more displeasing.

Anthony’s footsteps faded with Y/N listening intently behind the door, wiping her silent tears. He was outside her door for half an hour during her moment where she wrote her letters individually to the members of the team. She didn’t want to open the door, but her desire to speak to him drove her to a decision that if he knocked, she would let him in. If he asked that she returned, she would.

But alas, he didn’t do any of those, leaving her to conclude that his decision was final, and his words were deeply meant and intended. It was her fault, after all.

And maybe the agency would be better off without a dead weight.

WHEN MORNING CAME, Anthony was jolted awake when George shook him back to consciousness in the library lit with the sunshine pouring through the window. As soon as he fluttered his eyes open and saw the light with George’s frantic silhouette, it had been a clear indication that he was too late.

“Y/N’s gone!”

There was an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, bad butterflies taking control over his system. He quickly sat up and ignored the pounding headache he gained overnight. Anthony turned to George, “Since when?”

“I don’t know. Lucy called her for breakfast but she didn’t answer. She never didn’t answer! So we went up there to check, but all her things were gone.”

He got to his feet and went straight to Y/N’s provided room where all traces of her existence were never found, except for the envelopes clutched in Lucy’s trembling hands. Her face wasn’t warm and welcoming at all as she furiously questioned, “What did you do?!”

“She’s left the agency!” Lucy exclaimed.

“Why?” George asked in response.

“Ask Lockwood. Apparently, he’s the one who talked to her last night after the mission.”

“What are those?” Karim gestured towards the envelopes Lucy had. She raised the letters with their names engraved in jet black ink.

“See for yourself,” she answered and shoved each of the letters to the designated receivers. The girl then furiously marched out of the room, leaving behind both George and Anthony to themselves. Karim opened the correspondence and trailed his eyes along the letters scribbled on the tear stained paper, his face growing bitter word for word as he finished.

The boy turned to his companion, “You’re unbelievable.”

Lockwood wore the same frown he wore in front of her door a couple of hours ago. George left him in the room to self-reflect between the four walls of nothingness but the lingering memories of who used to occupy it.

He looked at the letter, opening it as he scanned the wirds carefully written yet stained with tears that dried on the ink that spread on the fibres of the paper.

“Anthony,

I didn’t tell them, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I’m not sure if my explanations will suffice. I know Lucy and George are smarter than you give them credit for. Whatever happens, I want you to continue the agency with them. They’re your only family left.

I loved the memories with you and the others and I will continue to treasure them until it’s my prized possession that you will have to seek one day. I hated you for a while, and maybe I hate you now, but there’s nothing but the truth that you make a great leader, and I hope your passion will lead them to the path they want, and their loyalty will not banish even after eternity.

For a while, Lockwood, your home had been my home. Our home, but after tonight, it seems as though you gave the key to the wrong person. I hope you will find a better one worthy of the team.

Do not look for me. I will find a good place to find myself and start again and recover. And once I recover, I swear to George and Lucy, I will write. Take care of them.

I’m sorry,

Y/N.”

He wanted to crumple that letter, but that’s all he had of her. Each passing second that he stared at the empty room made him feel guiltier and guiltier. The blood in his veins rushed as he turned crimson with rage. Anthony had never been one to lose composure of himself, especially when he was angry, but it was different this time.

He knew to himself that he blew it. He had fucked up and now he was not the only one that was paying. Because of his arrogance, the house lacked Y/N’s annoying laughter, her awkward morning small talks and idle chatter, the familiar creaks on the wooden stairs because of how loud her feet become when she’s excited for a new case.

Her seat remained empty, devoid of the girl's presence. Her favourite cup had been set before the chair without any mark or stain of the hues she usually wore on her lips. The smell of coffee George brewed earlier for her wafted in a room, serving as an object to rub it in their nose of the bitter tension she’d left behind in that very room.

Lockwood cleared his throat, “Our next mission, er.”

Lucy’s scoff caught his eye, “Give us a break, Lockwood.” She put her mug down, her eyes piercing through his, speaking, “When will you ever learn to not only care about yourself?”

“Lucy, not now.”

“Yes, now.” George intervened. “No one knows why Y/N left, except you. Her family wouldn’t want her back even if she writes that on her Christmas list. You know it to yourself too, that’s a dumb excuse.”

“She left the agency because she made her choice,” Anthony monotonously replied, and quickly regretted it as he sighed and spoke again in a much gentler, more emotion-filled voice, “It was the best for us all.”

“Did she make that choice, or did you? No wonder she left.” Lucy mumbled as she was not having any of it. She slammed her feet on the floor and stood up to leave the kitchen with George leisurely following behind.

Y/N TOOK IN THE rotten interior of the home. Everything was mouldy and abandoned. It was an odd thing, for sure. The house was supposed to be sold months ago! Why was it deprived of human presence? Something was not right, especially with that voice slowly creeping in her ears again.

She wasn’t alone in that place.

“Help me,” she heard. There was a guess there. A guess she’d been doubting for weeks but knew to be believed by her subconsciousness. The girl grabbed the pen from her pocket and sighed, closing her eyes to allow itself to commune with her.

“What do you want me to do?” She questioned.

It was a bad idea, but it was daylight. The power of this type of entity, whatever it is, should be weak by now. Y/N felt herself being pulled in a deep void, forcing all her energy to go down with the force. It was her mind that felt lightweight and then her body with static. All sounds from her surroundings started to become collectively like the sound of electric waves until it was an absolute nothingness.

Just then, an ornate box appeared among the fog, its gold embellishments covered in crimson hues, dripping on the now visible desk. The event happened so fast, and what was once a flurry of foggy mess was now a warm room lit with glinting candle lights from above the ceiling before it turned into a ghost of the olden times. The doors were being pounded from the other side, followed by voices who furiously shouted a name.The girl looked around to see a cadaver on the floor, severely tortured and bloodied. Then, she looked at herself, taking note of how her hands were covered in the same liquid as on the floor.

“What happened here?” she whispered to herself in a frantic tremble.

“Give us the box!”

She looked at the object now in her hands. Every inch of her appearance had changed into someone else, feeling their sense of determination to hide and clutch the treasure in her possession. She turned frantically to look for a way out, but just as she was about to run for it, the door burst open and there came three men, one with a pen in his hand.

“You’ve signed the agreement my father’s given you!” She didn’t know why or how, but it must have been the ghost that kept haunting her that said it.

“Will it matter any longer?”

Just as she screamed, the world had turned into a fading vision. Y/N woke up with a gasp, finding herself on the floor with the piles of stones and rubbles, debris from the structure of what once was a home of an aristocrat. There it was again, that ringing. The girl groaned from the consistent hearing disturbance.

She stood up, only to find herself in an entirely different room. Her eyes made a quick scan of the structure. That was when she found an unusual glint inside the crack on the floor. “So that’s why.”

The death glows would have been seen by Lockwood before, but he didn’t, only because the home had been renovated long before it got destroyed again. The floor had been covered by another layer of floor.

Then, a glint caught her eye, the moonshine had reflected its light where she saw the intricate box. Quickly, she crawled over to it and pulled it out of the crack with force. The box was the same as before, only old and rusty. The surface was covered in dust and old traces of blood.

The ringing stopped, replaced by a series of the hushed voices of a woman. Y/N flailed side by side, falling on her knees as she crawled to grab ahold of the intricate box covered in dust and other filthy muck. “What is this for? What should I do?”

That’s when she realised the sun had finally set and she was in deeper trouble than she was. A glowing light appeared behind the door frame as it continued to hide. Her breath hitched, grabbing ahold of the rapier she managed to steal from Anthony’s library.

“I will help you! You’ve tormented me enough,” she mumbled, holding the rapier up as a barricade between her and the ghost.

The ghost let out a deafening shriek as it frowned at her, hovering through the air before her eyes.

“I promise!” Y/N exclaimed. “Just let me help you!”

However, it was not easy making deals with a dead-undead visitor made up of ectoplasm and substantial despair and anger toward the living. The ghost charged forward, making her lucky enough to move out of the way. She yielded the sword, and the luck of the draw struck again when she managed to hit the visitor with her iron blade, buying her more time.

The girl opened the box, revealing a pile of papers and an old silver pocket watch eaten away by old age and exposure to oxygen and insects that created their own home within the chest. The cobwebs were occupied by several tiny eight-legged creatures causing her to cringe as she dropped the box and shook the spiders off.

Upon the contact of the crate with the floor, a glowing spot appeared.

She looked at the ghost of the woman that haunted her. It stopped mid-air for a while before continuing with her new entertainment of tormenting the girl more. Y/N’s eyes widened at a sudden realisation.

That was it!

For the first time in a long time, she finally felt like she wasn’t being an absolutely bloody idiot. “I have to destroy it, don’t I? For you to find your peace, is that it?”

That was when she frowned and muttered under her breath, “But that’s not your source.”

Then, her ego was kicked off the curb with her guts. A hand reached out from the glowing spot on the floor. “That’s someone else’s source!” She raised her rapier and quickly wielded it to hit the box, preventing the ghost from coming out of it.

The first visitor shrieked again and charged forward as Y/N fumbled on the floor, miserably looking for the pen. Her breathing was audibly fast, waving her sword desperately through the air to ward off the ghost that had been restless in chasing after her.

She scanned the cracks, there was nothing. Then, under the desk, nothing. That’s when she noticed the object she sought right next to an empty cobwebbed shelf on the floor next to a book.

Y/N removed her sword out of the way, darting towards the pen to grab ahold of it, quickly swerving to get rid of the visitor. After that, she hit the box again and once the glow disappeared, her fingers found themselves holding onto the chest for dear life. She put the smaller object in it, and placed it between her side and arm, her other lifting the rapier up.

Dumb! Literally dumb!

Her foot got caught in a lifted crack on the floor, causing her to plant herself on the floor. A groan emitted from her lips as she tried to ease the pain on her chest. Upon realisation, she swiftly turned and held her sword up, fighting the phantom.

“My ears hurt from your constant shrieking!” she yelled.

Due to the movement of her arms, the box had slightly drifted away from her clutch as she busied herself warding away her enemy. “I even wonder why it isn’t Lockwood that you could have bothered! You would have been at peace by now, but no. You chose the weakest link! I’m practically useless, and I might possibly be losing my talent! Now you’re the one who’s mad? I didn’t choose me! You’re the one who screwed up!”

Maybe she was the mad one, in different terms. She was talking to a ghost, for Chrysler’s sake! Even worse, having a verbal feud with it!

If only Lockwood could see her now.

That was until the ghost disappeared after a swift, almost invisible lightning speed strike. She gasped for air and turned around to see what the cause of it was, but no. What’s better is to destroy the sources and get peace once and for all. She sat up and crawled over to the object, grabbing a nearby rock and destroying it for good. The pained wailing finally died down as she loudly caught her breath, exhaustedly falling on her back with her sword clattering on the ground.

“L/N!”

That voice. That god-awful voice. She closed her eyes shut, unable to open them for a second due to her strong will to rest and recover. Look, now she was even hallucinating Lockwood calling her by her last name. It was impossible that he was there, and even if he was — she laughed slightly. He couldn’t be. If he was, she would tear the world apart just to get away from him. She wanted to be millions of miles away from him, avoiding his gaze, getting rid of his smell, and that stupid voice with that arrogant tone of his. He had crushed her dreams and hope like it was nothing, even with just a brief conversation, everything that she clung to in that agency faded in one statement that she wished she never heard from him.

But good riddance, right? At least now she knew it was the wrong agency for her. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of work.

“L/N.”

“Can voices just stop — ” she angrily mumbled, almost in a slur of words, “ — pestering me all the time? Can I just have peace for once? Is that too much to ask for?”

“If they stopped now, you wouldn’t hear what I have to say now, would you?” Now that was it. The girl’s peace had been completely shattered once and for all with that single question built in a rhetorical structure. Her eyebrows now knitted together — an exaggeration, but they almost did. Just a little smidge and they’d be meeting. It couldn’t possibly be him, could it? Her heart fluttered both bitterly and in a way that she hoped that there was hope, but knowing Anthony, he was only here as a figment of her hostile imagination. He wasn’t truly here. That would be asking for too much — only she didn’t ask anything to send him here.

“I’m sleep-deprived,” she muttered under her breath.

It took Lockwood his whole body and soul to stop himself from smiling. He thought he wouldn’t see her here, that she would be off somewhere else, and not the usual destination she would go to whenever she was upset.

A hallucination: that’s what he was to her as of this moment. She still had her eyes closed, refusing to open her eyes, and what was worse was the constant question whether she refused to see the disappointment of a world with Lockwood there or the opposite.

Then, that’s when she felt a gentle contact at the back of her neck, slowly lifting her from the ground. Panic covered her bones and took over the nerves to her brain as she mentally screamed repetitively.

She quickly opened her eyes to see him kneeling just before her, holding her as if she was a fragile glass compared to all that he's seen in his entire life in his basement.

He was there.

He was real.

He was touching her.

And he was — "Your hands are cold."

"I don't care, L/N."

There was something different. All the passionate hatred she had for him was slowly starting to well up in her chest, but being swallowed by a big flurry of adrenaline that made her blood flush in her veins faster.

It was his gaze. They'd changed into something atypical. Too . . . soft, and upon realisation, the double volume of her disdain started knocking her off again.

"No," she mumbled and quickly sat up, pushing him away from her as she scrambled to get her rapier and stand up. "You can't just come here and play the hero, and look at me like that! No!"

Confusion changed his expression, "I just helped you."

"Why do you do this to me?" Her voice has all but given up standing sturdy. She trembled both in excessive fatigue and strong emotions. "You can't just — just look at me like that after you made me feel like shit! And then what? You pity me, and you say sorry and things will go back to being shit again and the cycle continues? What do you think I am?"

"I—"

"You what? You're sorry? Why did you come here? To tell me worse things, that I'm hopeless or that maybe you're so noble that you just felt the need to help me get started with my life?"

Lockwood understood every bit of what she was saying. Her absence in that home has made him realise just how much of a cowardly bastard he was. How undeniably much of an asshole he had been to her and how much hell he'd pay. Her wrath was just the start of it.

But his understanding was growing weary. He knew in a way that Y/N had her wrongs too, "You never told us about the voices."

She halted. She really didn't have any other reason than she didn't want to appear weak and bother anyone. Besides, she doubted the existence of the voice. But there was no excuse.

"I wanted to figure things out on my own," she stated before turning to leave. Before she did though, he spoke.

"I look at you," he started as she stopped and slightly turned to her side but not completely enough to meet his eyes, "like this, not because I pity you, Y/N."

That was her name. Her first name.

"I look at you because I've been. Whenever you were unaware that I was looking. I've always seen you from the start, hence why when I said you reminded me of how things begin and end, it was because you were the first person to make me get up from my bed and the only person I want to see when the day ends. When I'm tired and weary." He then averted his gaze to the ground, "I looked at you like that earlier because I couldn't bear to look at anything else or see you in another state."

"I regret everything that I said, and I wanted you to know how hard it's been to look at your door and think that in the next few days, someone else or no one will occupy that room knowing that there were traces of you — any traces, just anything but physical. It's been torture, not just for me, but for both Lucy and George. So, I thought maybe you'd gone to the place you've been going to peculiarly for the past few months," he continued.

Indeed, he knew her, watched her, examined her.

Possibly even admired her. From afar. But he looked the other way, believed the other way because how could he afford that? How could he afford these feelings knowing he had nothing? He had himself, but he did not have anything stable that he could give her. Will that make her happy? Not at all.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out. "I know it's not enough, but I'm willing to prove to you how sorry I am. Just — I want you to know that I never intended things to be so bad and out of control, and I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but this isn't an excuse. I just want you to know that I regret everything."

"You are not a dead weight, Y/N. If anything, you're a breath of fresh air, and you make things easier every time one of us feels down. You make the mornings lighter, the end of every exhausting day a moment of opportunity to think about how thrilling life can be. You make the next days, weeks, months, and years something to look forward to. When you left, thinking about those future moments without you with us, it feels empty and terrible. A few hours without you had turned us into malfunctioning lunatics. We're in shambles — I'm in shambles. What more with days? The truth is, it's not you that's the problem. I keep causing you pain, and I'm trying to be better, because I want to be better for you. When the time comes that I do, I will try to be the best. You deserve that. It will take time, and that is why I'll understand if you don't want to return to the agency with me."

Come to think of it, as she observed his state, his Lockwood hair wasn't in its best today. His eyes looked tired and bloodshot. His always tidy flat clothes were wrinkly and his tie was out of place. He looked like he'd been through hell, and his next elaboration explained why.

"Thinking about you every now and then, especially now, I've always shifted in my seat, trying to decipher just how you affect me this much. When I found the possibility of how, I felt the sense to hide it. Every smile that you caused, I hid it all, because secretly I love bickering with you every chance we get, because I get to see the thrill in your eyes and the fire that you hide. I thought that maybe if I hated you, I would selfishly gain more feelings and learn to embrace the things I might possibly find distasteful if my feelings started the other way. And I did, I managed to admire everything you hated about yourself. You've made me feel things strong enough that whenever I run away, I still end up going back to you."

"Lockwood," she finally spoke and swivelled to face him completely. "Anthony."

"Yes?" He eagerly lifted his head to wait for her response.

She chuckled, "I thought you were about to recite Mr. Knightley when he was confessing to Emma."

That's when he laughed and nodded, accepting the fact that maybe he said too much that all she could reply was Jane Austen’s Emma joke, "Well, I have been told that I have a knack for paraphrasing."

"Do you mean all that?"

"The bickering part, most especially."

"Do you want us to bicker now?"

"I think we're already starting," he commented, which made them snicker.

"I'm sorry," she stated. Lockwood thought that was her way of telling him that it was too late. His heart was pierced by a shard of mirror which he failed to use earlier for self-reflection. That was when she smiled, "I just don't know what to say."

"You can start by accepting our job offer. We, er, have an open position looking for someone with a talent like yours," Anthony cheekily replied with a playful smile. "Our agency is one of the most prestigious agencies in London, and we ensure the safety and warm welcome — new addition, of our team, old and new. Do you accept, Y/N L/N?"

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I think I’m losing my talent.”

“And you still managed to beat a type two with a frenemy in one night with a rapier, a pen, and a box?”

"You're a bloody idiot." She defeatedly let out a breath of joy and relief.

"I'm taking that as a yes. Come on, if you say yes, we'll bicker nonstop and you’ll get endless coffee privileges."

"You're a bloody idiot." She defeatedly let out a breath of joy and relief.

“Just so we could hate each other again, and be able to speak about our fondness more.” offered his hand for her to take. She leisurely took it, trying to ignore the warmth her hand provided to his cold one. He was holding her. Touching her, when a few hours ago, he couldn’t even as much as lay a finger on her.

She wanted to do something. Wednesday clutched your uniform, tighter and tighter to the point that her nails almost dug through the fabric and cut her palm. This rage, it was something new. She wanted you. The tension that even the knives hidden under your bed couldn’t cut always screamed something like this. Like you were the most foul creature to ever walk the Earth. Like you were the tiniest little speck of dust on her shoe. Like you were the colour in her void making her want to scratch her eyes out.

Like you were — Like you’d be the reason she’d tear the world apart.

Wednesday wanted to deny it, but the thought made her notice a strange sensation again. She knew her disdain wasn’t truly disdain solely because of you, but it was scarier to admit now. She had lost her chance, her sanity, her will — Would you just wake up? She was tired of screaming at herself internally. She wanted to rest.

The damage the arrow had left her earlier was starting to take a toll on her, making her slowly and dubiously lay her head on your chest. She was tired. She wanted to lay down, and you couldn’t be the only one to enjoy peace, could you?

No. She couldn’t stand idly by as you enjoyed the tranquillity of what came after life and death. Wednesday could not bear it. She refused to, and she always will.

That’s when her ear touched the centre of your chest, and — Thump! Thump!

Her eyes widened at the sound. She frowned and fixed her position, shifting so she could still get a good grip of you and hold herself in place on the spot where she heard something she never thought she could again.

And there it was! A beat of your heart. Two, three. She didn’t hesitate once she heard it. Your heartbeats were faint, but she trusted whatever it was that existed that you had a chance.

She had a chance.

Wednesday quickly sat up and fixed herself alongside you, removing her jacket as she rolled her sleeves up in haste, positioning her hands in a way that she believed she’d never seen coming in her entire life. Years of believing she only cut the head of those unwilling to live a life. Years of torment as her favourite pastime, and now she had her hands fixed in a CPR position to revive a life she had long-resided to be unworthy and irritating.

She did not care. She wanted you alive so she could kill you herself.

The round of the first pumps and she already felt as though she was going to replace herself in your position due to her desperation.

“You're not going to die on me, I dare you.” She mumbled and resumed.

Once you’ve gotten yourself involved with Wednesday, she was sure that you’d never find a way out to escape her grip. She had poured whatever she had outside the lines of the usual her — the real her. She had run around frantically for you, had her mind run a million miles just to think about anything that correlated to you. She feared. She’d never been scared. Only for you.

Once she got to the third round of the CPR, Wednesday had gone back to zero, thinking you weren’t going to wake up again, but she was more stubborn than that.

You weren’t dead, you were just sleeping. That’s what she hopelessly believed. She lived in-denial. Breathed in denial as long as she was around you.

“If you don’t wake up, I’ll set this school on fire. Wake up, Y/N!”

Again.

You will die with her, but not now. At this point, Wednesday was aware of herself. Why she hated you, why she thought about you, why she wondered about your lips, why she looked at you up and down so hesitantly when you taunted her about the person she tolerated the most. It was ironic seeing you in a burning light but never truly wanting to set you on fire. In fact, she’d watch the world be set on fire by her own doing.

As long as she was watching it in your eyes.

Wednesday faintly grunted. “We’ll fight everyday, if that’s what you want. We have a deal, but I want the end of your bargain. Wake up. Do you hear me, L/N?”

“We’ll stab each other until we don’t see another spot in our bodies in which we could occupy with wounds. Just — ” The young Addams tried to stop herself from saying it. How she hated herself. Hated you for making her this way.

You were a crime, yet she didn’t mind committing it again and again.

“Wake up.”

Her braids were swinging back and forth with beads of sweat scattered on her forehead. “I look so utterly stupid because of you.”

“You will wake up, do you understand me?”

She didn’t know how long she’ll have to keep doing it, but it was a great relief when the door to the courtyard had been busted open and more people than she needed rushed to the courtyard, pointing their flashlights to the girl who never stopped doing the CPR on the unconscious you.

Everything seemed slower. Wednesday couldn’t hear anyone. She felt as if it was finally maybe alright if she let go of her composure when her relief washed over her that the help that she wanted was finally sprinting over to you.

Every movement, she felt like the time slowed on purpose, because once she looked at you once again, she felt her heart break once more when she spotted the man who checked your pulse shake his head solemnly.

Fuck, were you gone?

“No,” she absent-mindedly whispered, breaking from the gasp of the people taking her away from you. “No, she’s not dead!”

The man couldn’t look at her, sparking the vexation in Wednesday. She briskly grabbed him by the collar as her breath hitched, “She’s alive. I heard her heartbeat. You better do your job and start reviving her or I will put an end to this whole school with all of you in it.”

The others looked at each other, frightened by a threat made by a delinquent Nevermore kid before nodding. Another chance, and maybe you’d open those eyes again.

Another chance, and maybe this time, she’d tell you for sure just what it is that you do to her.

* * *

Static! Blood! Knife!

Those three words kept replaying like a broken record. The metallic smell of your blood had become so vivid you feared it would latch onto you forever. You were cold. Too cold you felt like you were dead.

Maybe you were.

You remembered the suffocating feeling. You recalled not being able to breathe, but what was it that you felt now? Nothing.

Nothing?

You winced. Oh, that’s what you felt now. That’s when your senses came back but almost too tired to fully function. You could still feel the familiar object buried deep in your abdomen, and fuck, how much it hurt!

“Wednesday saved her life.” Bianca? Was that her? You couldn’t open your eyes fully, but once it was half-up, the only things you saw were blue and red, blurry lights and blurry heads.

You wanted to fall asleep.

“If — girl hadn’t — CPR — hopeless.”

You didn’t care whatever the full sentence was. All you knew was you were about to slip back into your peaceful slumber, not knowing what had been happening the moment you woke up again.

Yet before you embraced the warmth of slumber, you saw the figure you hated on your side, staring at you so emotionless, making you ponder whether you were cared about or perceived to be stupid.

Maybe this was the last time you’d ever see those braids again, but it was okay to smile passive-aggressively, right?

You believed it to be a great way to die.

* * *

The knife plunging into you with the face of the evil staring tight at you in the face inflicted the pain of acid burning your insides. You couldn’t erase that.

The object kept appearing. Your blood kept flowing. Your gasps kept continuing to emit from your lips.

It kept repeating. Again and again and again.

You wanted it to end. You desired to scream. The fire that accompanied the scene in the courtyard danced around you, glad that you were meeting your end. Your family stood before you when you turned around, each one chanting the same thing, telling you never to return home again. Your past lover wishing they’d never met you joined in on the fun of tormenting you. Saying that you were their greatest regret and shame.

A storm soon started, and the pain was felt all over again. All you could see was the fire, the faces, the drops of the sky, and your blood everywhere. You spun around to look for a way out.

God, you wanted to live!

You didn’t want to die!

You wanted to breathe!

You wanted to feel!

You wanted to make more memories!

You wanted to dance under the rain!

You wanted to steal the English crown!

Your subconsciousness kept craving for more to life than walking around at the school, staring at people without another thought. Just that you were absolutely jealous that they had what you wanted.

Genuine love.

The moment your eyes met a certain pair peeking through her long lifted eyelashes, you almost believed in the thing called attraction. You resided in the faith that the attraction was because you were polar opposites and she kept standing out because she made you feel so irritated.

Yet you had the urge to touch her, feel her hands and touch her pale cold cheeks.

You wanted so many things, and why couldn’t you have that now?

You saw a blinding white light, a place in which you were unaware. There were things you were familiar with yet never familiarised yourself with before at the same time. You scanned your surroundings, the flash of colours now starting to appear. The blue, the green, the spectrum of refracted lights. You kept seeing the cursed smile, the blood on your hands, and the dagger in your flesh. You wanted to scream.

And then — and then there was Wednesday.

The Wednesday who sat beside the bed patiently, careful not to let the support of the chair touch her back. Her who pursed her lips without yet again any emotions peeking through her dead eyes. Her who stared at nothing. The Wednesday who swore to bring you down one day, and now holding your hand on the bed. You thought this was impossible. This was a hallucination for sure.

Her face was etched with fear and worry.

Wednesday never looked like that.

What was she doing following you in the afterlife? Didn't she have any better plans of holidays, dancing on top of graves somewhere?

You didn't believe it and almost laughed, "Wednesday Addams, as I live and breathe! You know you look terrifying when you zone — "

That’s when you realised it was all real. When the girl’s eyes gaped at you and her clutch tightened more that made you feel the full living of her you had hatefully adored. “You’re actually awake.”

“I am?”

“You will never do that to me again.”

“Do what again?” You playfully asked, playing the clueless card as if you weren’t just stabbed.

“Make horrible puns.”

“You missed me.”

“Barely.”

“I heard you saved my life.”

“I did not. I left you at the courtyard to bleed out to death.”

How come you even had the audacity to smirk at her right now after the heart attack she’d been experiencing since you were shown around with a knife to your abdomen?

“When can we throw knives at each other until there’s no spot in our bodies to torment again?”

“I won’t let you do that.”

“Wednesday!”

She emotionlessly looked at you before looking at the bunch of roses without the petals yet adored with thorns on the bedside. “You’re the most idiotic person I know.”

“I’m aware,” those roses. You knew those were her mother’s favourite. You almost diverted your gaze to shy away the smile that was twitching to form on your face, but instead, you returned the gesture of holding her hand. “But I’d do anything for you, Wednesday.” You looked away from the sudden confession.

A sigh. There it was. Were your feelings unreciprocated? Did you misunderstand her cues? You couldn’t understand.

But that was when she mumbled, unwavering like sturdy tree in the eye of a storm.

Wednesday gazed down at your hands, joined together without dirt and blood.

For a moment, she thought she’d never see that sight again. That she won’t ever lay her eyes upon the lively annoyingly missed you.

For a month she suffered silently, dismissing her writing hours in lieu of thinking about how you were and what had happened.

But you were here now. You were awake on the bed you’ve been sleeping in without wake, holding her pale hands with her painted fingers gripping yours desperately trying to remember the feeling for the later eternities to come. You were warm and alive.

Breathing and well, making her slightly pull her lips upwards. It was a good feeling. The poison in her veins she knew were spiked by everything about you.

You were stuck with her now. Forever is a really long time. Will you comit when she finally said it?

“I almost burnt the whole school for you.”

TAGS. @blazemaster4014 @n0p35 @elduster @niekapral @iquit-28 @vlkyriesverse @anidiotwhoreads @emscave @belltako @ryver19 @daddy-jareau @zoophobictiktok @justarandomweeblol @justtiasblog @angel-luv-04 @sunasami @kyday @llcursed-imagell @IIcursed-imageII @alexkolax @anouknagel @leathesimp @manu-007s-world @liliesandrosies @dandelions4us @pennybutwise @ilacknames @eclipsesmoonshine14 @wizardofstories @jas-the-shrimp @director-raven @simpform1lfs @dreifhraniquo29

NOTE TO TAGS. thank you all so fucking much for supporting and leaving notes to the fic that i have created! i am so thrilled that you’re willing to wait this far just to get a part two of the wednesday addams fic! you don’t know how happy i am that you have given appreciation to what i created, and how it motivates me to keep moving forward with this account and my writing overall. wednesday addams christmas special will surely be a thing this month! advanced happy christmas to each and every single one of you! <3