#becook

                     It's the morning and the sun is creeping into her bedroom window, a soft breeze kissing her skin as Effy frowns, rolling to the side and opening her eyes only when her body hits something. It's Cook. He's still asleep. Effy turns around to touch Freddie, kiss him, but he's not there. Her heart sinks in her chest and she swallows a dry lump in her throat. Something doesn't feel right, she doesn't know why, but it doesn't feel right. Effy sits up, violently jerking Cook's body. "Cook! Cook! Wake up!" He grumbles and pushes her arm away so she slaps the back of his head. "What the--What the fook was that for?" He growls but Effy is already on her feet, sliding into her jeans and throwing a leather jacket on. "Effs? What's wrong? Where's Freddie?" She ignores him for another moment, stepping into her combat boots and tossing him his shirt. "Get dressed. Freddie's gone."

                      They look for him. They look for him night and day. But he's nowhere to be found. It's been a week, Effy can no longer breathe right and Cook... He can't control himself any longer. They're losing their minds but, most of all, they're losing Freddie. It's unspoken, but they both feel it. They both know it. 

                     After tossing and turning for hours, Cook and Effy are finally asleep, their arms wrapped around each other as if that could somehow keep them from falling apart. But they feel it. They both do. Like poison running through their veins, killing them little by little as their dreams are haunted by Freddie's face. "HELP!" Cook's eyes snap open and he jumps off the bed. It was Freddie's voice. He was sure of it. He was talking in his head. He stops at the door, glancing at Effy one last time before storming out. Running, desperate, wildly until he's finally in Freddie's room, searching through his things as fast as he possibly could, clothes flying over his head until he finds it, Freddie's notebook. Cook skims through the pages, looking for a sign, looking for something. And then he sees it. Large inked words across the page; JOHN FOSTER WANTS TO HURT HER. 

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                     Blood stains his clothes and his skin, Foster's lifeless, deformed body at his feet. Cook breathes heavily, gasps for air but there is no time. He runs. He runs like his life depends on it. No. Like Freddie's life depends on it. "Freddie?" He screams, running up and down the stairs. "Freds?!" He yells again, louder this time and stops at the basement's door. His heart is beating so fast he thinks it'll rip off his chest. Raising a shaky hand, Cook turns the handle and watches the door fly open. He can't breathe and suddenly, he feels dead inside. Racing down the stairs, he stops at the bottom. There he is. Bloody and wrecked. Freddie's body on the floor like a lifeless doll. "Freds! FREDDIE!" He screams, taking Freddie's body into his arms and carrying him up the stairs. He doesn't check for a pulse. He doesn't want to. The very thought that Freddie might be dead making him sick. So he keeps running.

                     As soon as Cook walks out the front door with Freddie in his arms, he sees Effy, standing a foot away from him with parted lips and desperate tears streaming down her face. And, in that moment, Cook knows... She heard Freddie too. He falls onto his knees, an arm supporting Freddie as the other wraps around his waist and in a fraction of a second, Effy is there too. Her small, fragile frame over Freddie's body and she's sobbing, gasping for air as she screams. "No! Freddie! Freddie, NO!" She screams again. "Wake up! Wake up you fucking twat! Wake up!" Effy shakes him but nothing happened. "I couldn't---He was---I---" Cook's voice breaks and then, he's sobbing too. Both their bodies over Freddie's as they waver between life and death, every inch of them broken, shattered in a million pieces.

we do not speak of it.

I’M FUCKING CRYING homg too good