. DESPITE IT BEING the beginning of the semseter, Anthony Lockwood already had more than his fair share of work to be done. Deft hands currently found themselves dusted and covered in charcoal as he tried to make it way through the first assignment due as this school year began. His business course didn't have an assignment until the beginning of next week, but one of his drawing courses had a due date of just two days hence. As his third year began, it had already become clear that his curriculum would be more demanding than ever, and that wasn't even taking into account the demands of the fencing team — whose scholarship he depended on entirely to remain at the university — and another year as the landlord of his family home.
35 Portland Row wasn't exactly directly near the campus of the university, but being nestled in the northwest corner of London meant that Lockwood and his flatmates only needed to take the bus a short way in order to arrive at their classes. An old but reliable car took up space in the garage, and could be used either to head to the grocer or if any of them needed to haul gear to and fro, but Lockwood wasn't in the habit of taking it to campus frequently, save for the early-morning fencing workouts in which he could have the car back in the garage before the first class period of the university even began.
There were some perks, he decided, of being a bit of an insomniac. Early morning workouts were never too much of a hassle, and being able to drive only when the world was still waking up meant he rarely dealt with traffic.
This year was going well, he decided, adding a bit more shading to the assignment. His dusty hand masterfully swiped at the shading to diffuse the color, and Lockwood smiled a bit at the work. He couldn't help it: things were working out, and that made his frequent smile and even more common visitor to his features. George had finally been convinced of a third flatmate, and Lucy had even passed the last test of refusing a drink that had been set out prior to her arrival, innocuous as it looked. With George leaving his science projects out and about and Lockwood having various liquids of his own out — paint water, or resin, or other such materials — it was imperative that whoever came into the house already be predisposed of the habit of not taking any cup for granted. His lips quirked of their own accord at the thought of her, upstairs in the attic, unpacking even more and settling into the house.
The thought was cut short by a decidednly un-George shriek, and Lockwood shot to his feet, the sketchpad he'd been working in sliding onto the floor, the charcoal smudging into an indiscernible mess ( though he couldn't care less in that moment ). Lockwood ran out of the living room, meeting George in the hallway as they both stared at each other, stock still, until they heard her voice again.
Lockwood took the stairs four at a time, his long limbs looking almost as though he were falling up the staircase, stilling only when he made his way to the landing where Lucy ws crumpled onto the floor. George screeched to a stop behind him, his body running into Lockwood's back, though he didn't need to ask any questions. A moment's look around Lockwood had George saying he would call 9-9-9 himself, and Lockwood, frantically wiping his hands on his trousers to try to keep some of the charcoal off of Lucy, knelt next to her, gently gently trying to move her into his arms.
"We're getting you help, Luce," he said. "Just hold on." He didn't know what was happening, he didn't know what was happening. Lockwood, who was always supremely apprised of the tools needed to appear as though he always knew what he was doing, didn't know what to do. Lucy had semed fine, the last time he'd seen her. Granted, that had been before classes earlier, but she seemed fine? He'd only known her the better part of a school week, but that shouldn't have mattered, should it? She had fit right into Portland Row. Not now, not now... not like this. This house had already had too much death touched on it. Lockwood put the back of his hand to Lucy's temple, swallowing hard when he realized she was fevered fairly severely. "Just hold on, alright?"
