#have you...have you heard of...g...green tea..?

The next day, you ended up staying in bed all morning with nausea and a headache. You only got up to use the bathing room and change into a soft green sweater and leggings. Near noon, you requested a servant to retrieve the Healer and have something blander brought in from the kitchens. You should have known they’d also tell your mates you weren’t well. You got back into bed, pressing your fingers to your forehead to try and will away the ache in your skull.  

You heard the knob turn and the door was thrown open. You sat up wincing to see Eris wide eyed with panic standing in the doorway. Azriel was right behind him, shadows slinking along the carpet. Eris in his more courtly blue coat and Azriel in (from what you could see) a soft black tunic. 

You huffed through your nose, wincing. “What?”

“Isabelle said you were ill and asked for a healer.” Eris’s eyes raked over you but he still didn’t approach. 

“I asked for a healer but I’m not ill. I’m fine.” Neither of them responded or moved. “I’m not contagious.”

“You don’t know that,” Azriel muttered. 

“I do know that, just go away.”

You really didn’t want to explain it to them. Nor were you in the mood for any more questions. You laid back on your pillows, head throbbing and stomach rolling again. 

“Boys. Move.” A female's stern voice came from behind your mates. 

You opened an eye and a curly red headed female was beside you. Edith was a younger healer- a few decades older than Eris, but the best in Autumn. She held up a purple vial. 

“You’ll want to drink this for the nausea.” She helped you sit up. You downed it quickly- wincing at the taste. She had handed you another vial from her white apron. “This should ease your pain for a few hours.”

“Only a few?” It was Eris who asked with a glare, based on his tone. 

Edith ignored him. The other vial tasted a little better. 

“Drink you some tea,” she added and held up two extra vials.  “I’m going to leave these here. If you still feel unwell by nightfall, take them.” 

“Thank you,” you said softly, already feeling the tension in your eyes ease. 

“You did not answer my question, Edith.” 

“You know as well as I potions only do so much. Think with your mind, not your mating bond.” She walked over to him. Even being over a head shorter, she still looked him up and down, her curly hair swaying as her head moved while she did so. “You could put those hands to use and help your mate instead of fussing at me.”

Eris and Az stepped aside and watched her leave, confusion etched in their faces. It wasn’t until a shadow swirled around Azriel’s head that his expression changed. 

“Oh.” His wings tucked in tighter. 

“Oh?” Eris turned to him. 

“It’s um,” Az peered around at you, looking for permission to continue. 

“I’m on my cycle,” you rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t going to bother you both about it.” 

“Oh.” Eris’s face scrunched up. 

You furrowed your brows. “If you both are disgusted then leave.” 

“I’m not disgusted,” Eris replied quickly, clearly offended at the implication. “I only have brothers and a male mate for a decade. I forgot it was something that happened.”

“I wish that was me,” you laughed but it sounded hollow. 

“Is it always this bad?” Az asked. 

“No,” you laid back, putting your arm over your eyes to block out the light. “Maybe? I never remember.” 

You heard soft steps on the carpet. You pulled back your arm and Eris was beside you. He’d shed his coat and was now only in his loose white shirt.  He sat on the bed beside you and brushed his fingers along your forehead. 

“Do you want me to help?”

“How?” You were getting sleepy with the pain in your head gone. 

“Warm hands.”

He put his palm against your forehead, a pleasant warmth radiating from it. You hummed and closed your eyes. After a moment he went back to rubbing his fingers above one of your brows. 

You yawned but didn’t open your eyes. “Is it strange if I ask for you to put your hand on my stomach?” 

“No. Move over for me.” 

You moved to lay on your side in the middle of the bed. You felt the covers lift and Eris curled his body against your own. You sighed once he slipped his hand under the band of your leggings and rested it on your lower stomach. 

“Why have I never thought to ask you to do this before?” You whispered. “You’re doing this every time.”

“Gladly.”

After a moment, you heard the door knob turn again. 

“Az?” You opened your eyes and sat up a little. “Az, don’t go.”

He was at the door, hand on the knob still. He tucked his wings in tight and looked back at you. 

“There isn’t much I can help you with, baby.” 

You pouted. “You can still cuddle.”

”That bed is not big enough for the three of us.”

“Please?” You felt Eris let out a soft laugh behind you. “Just for a little bit?”

Even in the dim lighting you could tell Az rolled his eyes. There was silence for a moment, and he sighed. You grinned when he let go of the door knob and walked over to you. You laid your head back down and he lifted the covers to climb into the bed. You put your arm around him when he scooted in close. 

“If my wings get a cramp I will hold you responsible,” he said with no bite in his tone. You hummed and he kissed the top of your hair. “Happy?”

”Very.”

His hair is pointing everywhere, surely from the way your stubbornness is making him tug at it like he needs the sting on his scalped to remind him to focus. It’s been almost thirty minutes of you two arguing, and this isn’t exactly the conversation you wanted to have when you first woke up that morning. In fact, you could have lived your entire life without having this conversation and you would probably have been a very, very happy woman. Alas, things never really seem to go your way even when they are going right. And right now, you are far, far away from things going right. 

“I am not going to relocate!” You say again, exasperation getting to you the more he insists. Now, your hands are flying around you and it’s like you two have switched places for a second– while he seems tense and immobile, you are gesticulating like crazy, trying to make a point with your entire body; you are not leaving. “I’m done relocating! I’m done being am active case that doesn’t move on! I’m done being thrown around like a doll! Maybe that’s her end game, Spence– have you thought of that?! That she gets some sort of… of… sadistic satisfaction from seeing me squirm away every single time!” You cry out, brows furrowed in frustration. Nothing is making sense to you, and your anger only grows. Why is he so okay with sending you away like it means nothing to you? Why is he not using that big, beautiful brain of his to find other solutions than just rid of you? “I can’t keep running! I can’t keep stopping my life anymore, Spence, I can’t! I–“ 

An odd sense of coldness comes down on you, like a wave crashing against the walls of your stomach, spreading through your veins, cooling down your stressed out brain. It takes you a little while, but you finally understand. You understand his hesitation, his silence, and you understand it as an answer. “I’ll go home,” You mumble, looking down at your hands. They laid lifeless on your lap, almost like they are now tired from all the talking through them. “Yeah, I– I think that’s the best idea. It’ll be relocating, right? I’ll g back home. You must be tired of me here, anyways, and–“

“Don’t.” 

The ice in his voice startles you enough to have you scoffing. “Excuse me?” 

“Don’t make this about something that it isn’t,” His voice is in that whisper-scream pitch that you’ve heard him using with other people. Never you, though. Spencer never got this aggravated with you before, not even when you kept leaving your tea bags inside your empty mugs until they were dry. This, the way he is talking right now, is beyond annoyance. This is anger. Spence is angry at you and that doesn’t make you feel any better. “I’m trying to keep you safe.” 

“The give up already,” You whisper back, slowly getting up from where you’re sitting. “Because I’m not going anywhere that is not my own apartment across the street.” 

The package is still sitting on his counter, and you hate that you can feel it burning deep in your soul. At first, he didn’t want you looking at it, trying to keep you away, but you don’t like when you Spencer keeps secrets and you just push away his hand that is reaching for you. This sounds a bit insane, now that you think back to it, but when you first see the book cover, so familiar you can quote some of its content, you laugh. It’s a daring move, but an effective one– Kill Me If You Can, by James Patterson and Marshall Karp, is all about the chase. And all about the run. “That fucking bitch,” You whisper to yourself, grabbing the book and opening it to the cover page, where her inscription would obviously be– Dear Y/N, Check-mate. What now? XOXO Cat.

You’ve never hurt a book before, but you have half a mind to rip that one to shreds with your bare hands. 

“No, no, no, you are relocating and that’s the end of it.” 

To Spencer, you are the sweetest of the sweets– sugar pours out of your lips and he had the pleasure to taste it. No way he will risk losing that now, not before he can have a chance to douse himself in them. But every time you cuss, every time you frown, he swears that sugar gets the slightest hint of bitterness, and every time he blushes because of it, every time he lets out a sharp exhale with his eyes fixated on you, he can’t help but wonder how well that bitterness would mix in with your sugar. 

Right now, though, you are about to get downright rotten. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Spencer Reid?” His full name sounds wrong when you feel this pissed off. “You’re not my dad!” 

“No, I’m not your dad, I’m your boyfriend, and I’m trying to keep you safe!” This time he screams; he truly, really screams, neck veins popping out and face reddening with the strength of his words. Spencer revels yet another side of himself to you. “I’ve lost enough, okay?! I’ve lost enough… First Maeve, then Gideon, and, a-and, and now you– I can’t lose you! You can’t die, you can’t die on me, and it’s like you keep trying to! You refuse to cooperate, you-you are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and you’ll drive me insane! So please, don’t… don’t let me lose you…” 

The way his voice dies out should’ve been enough to get you to quiet down, but tensions are high and now you feel like you’ve just been hit with a brick to the face.

“You’re my what?!” 

This is news to you, though it doesn’t seem to be news to him. You’ve been dreaming of hearing that word slipping from his mouth, you won’t lie, but not like this. Not in a fight, and your first fight at that. 

Spencer seems shocked at your surprise, and you two go quiet for the first time in what feels like hours. 

“Am… Am I not?” You are still in awe of how Spencer can go from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds. A second ago, he looked like he was about to rip his hair out of his head and now he was back tohis normal bright, wide eyes and fidgeting hands. Whiplash isn’t enough to describe how you’re feeling, staring at him with your mouth hanging open, willing for words to come out but failing every single time. “Oh god, I’m not. I’m sorry, I just assumed that after last night we–“

“Wait, stop, stop, stop!” You shriek, hands going up to cover your face. “I need a second to think!”

“No, you don’t, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just forget everything I said, I just–“

“I might not have an eidetic memory, but I don’t think I can ever forget what you just said,” You breathe out, hands shaking as you pushed your hair back and away from your face. “Spence… you thought we were dating?”

This has him paralysed. “That’s what you want to talk about? Right now? After everything I said?”

“I want to talk about everything,” You do, you really do; but you need to get this out of your chest right now. You need to start clean. “But we need to talk about this first… because I need to know how to act when we get to the rest of it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Spence, we kissed,” You whisper, hands sliding down your face with a frustrated groan. “And I thought that maybe… I don’t know, I thought we were going somewhere good, you know? Somewhere at all! But then we got to the room and you just pushed me away!” 

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything you didn’t want to!” Spencer defending himself like this feels like you’re living in an alternate reality. To be honest, even if you had had the chance to talk to him like you initially intended to, you weren’t really sure what you’d do after. It wasn’t a situation in which you could predict an outcome, not when it comes to Spencer– he is too good in hiding form the world. Too good in hiding from you. “Y/N, I swear, that’s all! I wanted more, I always want more when it comes to you but I don’t want to get greedy and scare you off.”

“What about the next morning?” If you don’t sit down, you think your legs will buckle under you. So you sink onto the couch, head on your hands trying to keep you from looking at him with hopeful eyes. Spencer doesn’t want to pressure you and you don’t want to pressure him– and just like that you two fall in a cursed, never-ending dance. In a game where both are in defence, no one wins. One of you has to either take a risk or go home crying. And you’re oh so tired of going home crying… “The next morning you didn’t kiss me or, or, or talked to me! I woke up and you weren’t even in bed!” 

“I wanted to make you breakfast in bed,” This is getting more and more ridiculous by the second. Had you really jumped the gun here? “But when I got out of the shower, you were already freaking out about Abigail!”

“What– But what about after?!”

“After we talked about Abigail, I got a call from work and you were almost pushing me out of the door yourself!” This time around, you don’t ask anymore questions, not when you can see how exasperated Spencer is getting. “You said–” 

“Now is not the time to quote me,” You say as softly as you can. Though sometimes it can sting, having your words thrown back at you, you can’t help but smile every time he does it. The secret is in knowing Spencer isn’t trying to hurt you, but simply attempting to logically solve whatever issue he has to face. What he doesn’t seem to understand though, is that sometimes, the issues of the heart, aren’t logical to begin with. 

“I’m just trying to… I don’t know what I’m trying to do, but this is all a bit misunderstanding,” He shuffles closer to you with that look in his eyes that you’ve seen before in the mirror, your own familiar desperation glaring back at you with that lost, confused glint of what will happen next? “Please, I don’t… I don’t have much experience but I– I don’t want to lose you. Y/N, please… help me.” 

“Spence, what do you mean?” 

“Help me,” He whispers again, worry sketched on his face like it belongs there. His breathing is shallow, and you notice the way his hands wrangle each other in his lap. If anything, he’s trying, and failing, to hide from you for the the first time. As gently as possible, you reach up with a small smile playing on your lips, and you press your thumb to the lines between his brows, soothing them in a back and forth motion. “Help me, I don’t know what to do.” 

The way he chuckles in that coy way he does whenever he feels like he’s out of his league is what pushes you forward, the carefulness of your actions clashing with the eagerness in your kiss. You’ve been waiting for this all day, and everything inside you melts when you feel his hands reaching up hold you close, cradling your face as if you’re the most precious thing he has ever touched. There is a slight shake to them when his lips move over yours and you can’t help but smile, laying your smaller hands over his– I got you, you want to tell him. I’ll help you. 

“Y/N…” His words hit you with a puff of air, lips brushing against each other every time he speaks. If Spencer pulls back an inch, you follow; if you try to put some distance, he follows. The wall between you two that had been shaken before was now completely shattered, bulldozed by his hands sliding down your neck, your sides, tugging on your waist until you’re as close as you can possibly be. Until you’re on his lap, surrounded his arms, overtaken by him and him only. “Don’t go home.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” You promise, laying your head on his shoulder like you’ve done many other times before. “I’m not relocating.” 

“Y/N–” 

“Who’s Maeve?” 

His body tenses underneath you horribly, and you hate that it’s all because of you. “I–“ 

“You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to,” You say, pushing his hair away from his panicked eyes. “I just want you to know I heard you. I heard you talking about Maeve and Gideon and me, and I think if we want to start… whatever this is… we need to lay our cards down,” It’s a risky move, if anything. Not only are you asking him about his past, you will also allow him to ask about yours, and that is only fair.

“But what is this?” He asks, eyes sharp on yours while you play with his hair to try and distract yourself from the reality of it all. “What are we?” 

“I mean, you said you were my boyfriend, right?” You don’t want to be the one to make a decision this big, but then again, it shouldn’t be all him.

“Then what are you?” He mumbled, eyes threatening to shut the more your fingers run through his hair. “Are you my girl?” 

A move you don’t really expect from Spencer, but that is welcome nonetheless. The way you two look at each other, like teenagers all giggly about confessing, is equal parts pathetic and hilarious. But it’s the way you two chose to go about it and that is all that matters. Until you remember that this is reality, and you’re not a teenager anymore– there are higher stakes at play here that have to be addressed. There is heartbreak in the end. Pain. Hurt. Fear. That’s what you had before, waiting for you in the end of a very dark tunnel, and you’re scared that’s what will be waiting for you this time around, too. Not because of Spencer, but because of you.

“Joshua McMannon,” You mumble, slowly climbing out of his lap and sitting on the other side of the couch. Like a barrier, you bring your legs up, hugging your knees close to your chest in an action that Spencer will surely read right– separation, space. It happens whenever you talk about Josh, the wave of shame and embarrassment that paralyses you inside-out. The self-loathing. “He was uh, a big shot new player in the stock market, worked for some big firm I forgot the name. We met in a bar, I think. I know this sounds crazy but I blank on a lot of memories that include him, it’s– it’s hard to think back.”

“Y/N–“ 

“No Spence, I can’t ask about you your past without telling you about mine, that’s not how it works,” You say with such a tone of finality that he doesn’t even try to fight you on it. “So please, just… listen to me. The entire thing, because it makes me look dumb and foolish, I know it does, but I want to be honest with you, I don’t want this coming back later to haunt us, okay? So just… don’t judge me to harshly. Please.” 

His silence is enough to encourage you to keep on going. 

“You know a bit about it and there isn’t much more to tell, to be very honest,” There are some undertones of anxiety in your voice, and you know he hears it. You know he wants to move, pull you back to him, comfort you, anything. But he respects the shield you’ve put up and he listens, just like you asked. “He was one of those guys that love the chase, you know? Likes showing off, too, so I was always uh, well dressed and all that jazz. Josh hates when I– no. Sorry. Josh hated when I looked sloppy. He worked hard to play hard, according to him, so he wanted to show things off. Expensive restaurants every day, expensive clubs every night… expensive girlfriend all around.”

“No,” Spencer quickly blurts out one of the many words he’s surely holding in. “No, Y/N, you’re not something to show off, you’re not a thing!” 

“You’re sweet,” You chuckle. “But I was a thing to Josh. Something he owned, remember? And I fell for it, Spence. I was so, so stupid and desperate that I said nothing, I just went along and played into his fantasy until I couldn’t anymore. So I started talking back. Saying ‘no.’ You know what happens next, I guess. You know his type. I didn’t.” 

Gulping, you look down at your hands embarrassedly. Spencer would’ve clocked Josh on the dot. He would’ve known who he was and what he’d do in a second. You, on the other hand, hadn’t been so smart. Probably still aren’t. Probably never will be. It’s hard, not putting yourself down when you’re telling the smartest man you know about such idiotic mistakes.

“Y/N, don’t even think about it,” Spencer hisses and all restraint is gone. He is sliding down the couch to sit close to you, and his hands sneak under your knee and give a gentle tug. He’s trying to respect your need for your own space, but he needs to make sure you’re listening to him. “You’re not dumb. You are not stupid. You are a kind woman with a heart too big for assholes like him, and I won’t have you thinking this was your fault. Sweetheart, this is all his fault. You had nothing to do with that, you… you were just in love.” 

“I wasn’t, though,” You whisper, shaking your head slowly. “I really liked him. Like, a lot. But I didn’t love him.” 

“It doesn’t matter, sweet girl,” He gently put your legs over his, hands holding onto your calves like it’s his lifeline. “There is no scenario in which this is your fault. None. Do you hear me?” 

“I hear you,” You’re not lying– you hear him, you truly do. But believing him is a whole other thing, and you’re not sure if you’re there yet. “I’ve been hearing you, Spence. Every time you explain something new or you tell me some more fun facts, I hear you. It’s just that this time around it’s a little bit harder to process, that’s all.” 

“This is a fact like all the other facts I’ve told you,” With one more pull, you get closer and closer to his body until you can feel the press of those perfect lips against your forehead. “It’s irrefutable– none of this is your fault, angel. None of it.” 

Nodding, you relax onto his hold, head resting on his shoulder when you deliver the final blow. “Him hitting me wasn’t my fault, I know that much. I ran after that. It sounds a bit drastic, but I had never been in the position before and Josh is someone with a lot of influence back in New York. I would have never survived in there and I would’ve been scared all the time.” 

“He touched you?” The way he says it, voice sharp like a knife, makes you look up at him with squinted eyes. “Where?”

“What does it matter?”

“Where did he hurt you?” 

Chuckling, you grab his hand and lean your cheek onto it. “Right here,” You whisper, turning a little to drop a kiss on his palm.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Everything about  him screams comfort, from how his thumb gently caresses your face to the way his lips pull downwards in disscontempt. You know that by now, he’s making a mental note to run Josh’ name through Garcia, but that is something you will deal with later. Despite their good intentions, that is not a door you want to open any time soon. “I–“ 

“You will do nothing about it, Spencer Reid,” You say with as a teasing warning. You don’t know that, but Spencer wonders how can you smile while telling him about such terrible memories; how could you withstand pain so well without telling anyone about it before. “Whatever happened happened and it’s done. I just wanted to be honest and give you the full picture before… we make decisions.” 

“And what do you think this will accomplish, huh? That it will change my mind? Make me regret it?”

“I don’t know Spence,” You groan. “I’m just… trying to be honest.”

“And I appreciate that, Y/N,” This time, he kisses you on the lips, but it’s too fast and too light to satisfy the yearning inside of you. “But nothing will make me change my mind. Much less that asshole. I want you. I’ve wanted you since I met you, I–”

His pause lingers in the air with a something heavy over it. This time, you shuffle on his lap to try and get a better look of his face, legs holding you up on each side of him. It’s such an intimate position to be in, you straddling him with his hands dragging from your waist to your thighs then back up again; your hands playing with the little curls by the nape of his neck; his lips, opening and closing and opening again in what feels like failed attempt after failed attempt to tell you something. 

“I– I think I’ve wanted you since Maeve died.” 

There is a lot to unpack in this sentence, but you keep your expression clean of any reaction. He doesn’t need you gasping and fawning over him… he just needs you to listen.

“And I know it sounds messed up and weird, but like, the metaphorical you, you know? The you you are but disembodied and– and now I’m not making any sense, but I mean it.” 

“I know you meant it,” You whisper, nails gently scrapping his scalp. “It’s okay, you can not make sense, I’ll figure it out. I’m good with puzzles.” 

“You are terrible with puzzles, angel,” He chuckles and your shoulders relax a little. “I’ve seen you trying to put together that Pride and Prejudice poster puzzle… I think you’re just good with me.” 

“Hm, I think so to,” You smile. “Why don’t we start from the beginning then? Tell me your story.” 

Nodding, Spencer tugged you a bit closer and you like it– this tugging habit of his, the need to have you pressed against him winning against his need to keep the germs at bay. In a very simplistic way, it makes you feel special. 

“Maeve… I loved Maeve,” He admits, eyes looking into yours with an insecurity that is misplaced– though you are not above feeling the poke of jealousy down deep in your gut, you are mature enough to know when you are being an absolute idiot, and you smile at him. “I love Maeve, but I am no longer in love with Maeve. I mean, she’s dead, so…” Spencer clears his throat for a second, and when he’s ready– only when he’s ready– he continues. 

There is real pain in his voice as he tells you the entire thing, and there is real pain in your voice as you call him name oh so carefully. The tears in his eyes are few, but they are there, and you thumb them away as gently as you can. In your hands is the shell of the man you know, his words slowing down as his brain surely relieves memories he wishes to delete. 

“Spencer,” You call, his eyes shut so tight you think he might just hurt himself if he continues like this. “Spence, I’m so sorry that happened.” 

“It was my fault,” He whispered as if he is in a confessionary. “Diane Turner. That was the name of the girl that killed her. We were trying to negotiate with her and… and I failed.” 

“Spencer, no,” Oh how the tables have turned. “The girl was going to kill Maeve no matter what, and I’m sorry that it came to this. I’m sorry–“ You can’t even say it, confused with your anger and how it makes your hands shake. 

She blindfolded him. 

She read his letters, his fears, and she made them real. 

That is enough to have you wishing you had shot her yourself. 

“Sweetheart,” He chuckles sadly, bigger hands coming to encage yours in a futile attempt to extinguish your anger. Bringing your knuckles to his lips, he kisses each and every single one of them, and for a moment you think he knows– he knows you’d be someone you’re not, for him. Someone who hurts other people. And you think he’d hate himself if that ever happened. “It was a long time ago…” 

“But it wasn’t your fault…” You move until you embrace him, body covering his like a blanket willing to keep him from the cruel, cruel world around you two. “No matter how long ago it was.”

“I guess that’s just something we both have to learn,” His voice is muffled by your sweater, and you pull back a little. When he offers you his pinky finger, you don’t need any explanation, wrapping yours around it with a giggle. “Something we’ll help each other learn.” 

“It’s a deal,” You whisper, leaning forward and dropping a slow kiss to his lips. “Sealed with a kiss.” 

“Does this mean that now you’re actually my girlfriend?” He asks after a while and you laugh, loud enough to burst the bubble you two created. 

“If you want me to be, yes.”

“I want you to be, in case you haven’t noticed by now,” God, you love when he jokes, the casual tone of his voice making you both relax. “But I also want to be your boyfriend.”

“Hm, you want an awful lot, don’t you?” Pushing his hair back, you smile impossibly wide. “Good think I want a lot, too.” The way he kisses you makes you believe that you truly are the only girl in the world, even if just his world. “Now you have to tell all the guys that hit on you that you are taken.” 

“Spence, what guys?!” You snort, eyes wide when you try to move and sit next to him. He is quick to catch you, though, and place you back on his lap. 

“Just because you don’t notice people flirting with you doesn’t mean they don’t!” 

“Okay, wait a second, I notice–“

“I’ve been flirting with you for months!” He says in that way that makes his voice go a tone higher, his smile so wide and bright that you can’t help but laugh. 

“Maybe you’re bad at flirting?” 

“Even Garcia noticed,” Spencer points out and you groan, knowing that if you admit defeat he will forever gloat. “But that’s okay. We got there in the end.”

“We did… which is why I’m not relocating.” 

“Y/N, this is for your safety.” 

“I’m safer closer to you,” You whisper. “Spence, I won’t be safe with god knows how many strangers surrounding me in a location I have no clue how to navigate. Here, I have you and I’m in a familiar place– I know the closest subway, bus stations, taxi points. I know the owner of the cafe down the street, I know your neighbours, hell, I even have Abigail! Isolating me is not safe. Please.” 

For a moment, you wait. You’re unsure if you got through to him, his eyes looking at you so intently that it’s a little embarrassing. Everyone knows his brain works differently– it works faster, better, more precisely. Whenever Spence zones out like this, it’s not because of lack of attention, but simply because he’s thinking… and what a wonderful thing it is to see him think; to see those theories taking form in his beautiful head, to see those honey coloured eyes working out probabilities that you’d never even get close to understand. He’s a special one, and you love that about him. Because you love him.

And as much as everything between you two is new, this feeling is quite old. 

This growing warmth in your chest, expanding like rivers of gold adoration through your veins. 

It’s not surprising that you love Spencer. 

It’s only natural, considering how much he loves you. 

How you know it? 

“Yeah, okay. I’d feel more comfortable with you here with me, anyways.”

Well, it’s obvious. 

“And you’re right, you know?” He continues, speeding through his words as if he’s trying to convince you and him both. “You know this area well. Cat has managed to get through us easily, and I don’t know what I’d do if she found you and I was the one to send you all alone to strange place where you can’t ask for help…”

“That won’t happen,” You promise, shaking your head at the terrifying thought. “So does that mean I’ll stay here or go home?” 

The reason you enjoy asking Spencer obvious questions is because sometimes, times like this, you get to see his personality shinning like a beacon in a dark night. His sassiness is so refreshing that you can’t help but giggle every time he lets it out. “Don’t be ridiculous,” He mumbled, rolling his eyes like the little know-it-all he is. “You’re obviously staying here. You’re my girlfriend, you’ll stay where I can protect you. Which is also something we have to talk about.” 

“Nooo,” You are so tired of talking about things at this point. “Can’t we talk about it tomorrow? Please, I just want to spend one nice evening with my boyfriend without discussing the fact that his psychopathic stalker wants to kill me.” 

“Y/N, that is not funny!” He gasps when you chuckle. “Sweetheart, I just want you safe. I think it would be important for us to have a plan if someone ever breaks into my apartment, for example. You should know where my gun is and–“

“Woah, woah, woah, no way!” You shriek, climbing off of his lap and standing right in front of him. The though of having to use a gun makes you nauseous. “I don’t want to know where your gun is, and I don’t want to even think about the possibility of having to actually point it at someone!”

“Okay,” Spencer says softly, getting up too and coming to hug you. Despite people thinking that Spencer is not quite adept to human touch, he has gotten quite good at comforting you, knowing exactly how to hold you and how to talk you down of your rising panic. “That’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll talk about it another day, we don’t have to overwhelm you right now, it’s alright, my angel.”

For a moment, the two of you just… stand there, swaying from side to side while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. “Can we just be normal for a night and watch a movie?” You finally ask, looking up at his smile because right now, that’s the only thing that matters to you– him. 

“Yeah, let’s watch a movie.”

For a few hours, life is perfect. 

For a few hours, you get to kiss him like you’ve been meaning to. Touch him like you’ve been meaning to. You get to run your hands through his unruly hair, pushing it back and feeling its softness slip between your fingers like the finest silk that ever was. He touches you, too, albeit a bit more reservedly. His fingers find the sliver of skin on your hip, thumb caressing back and forth, sending shivers up and down your spine. His lips brushed against your cheeks, your neck, your collarbones.

For a few hours, you laugh and smile and chat. You memorise more fun facts to put on your little notebook later, now secure on the left bedside table, right next to where you lay every night. He tells you how the movie doesn’t make logical sense and how they have physics all wrong. He points at the screen and his voice gets higher and higher with his passion for correcting fiction and you can’t help but shut him up with a languid kiss. 

For a few hours, you two are just a couple. This is just a date. And this are just good.

But the higher you climb, the better it gets, the harder you’ll fall. This might just be what Cat wants– you, in perpetual anxiety, always looking over your shoulder, always scared of losing the little you were able to build in your new life. From what Spence and his team have told you about her, Cat’s main skills are all mental; manipulation, gaslighting, coercing. Is this how you’re going to end? Terrified with ever step you take, antsy at your boyfriend’s house while watching a movie, giving up on your bookshop so that strangers don’t have such an easy access to your life? 

For a few hours, you didn’t have to worry about that. 

For a few hours only… because once the second movie is done, you two are forced to pull apart thanks to the incessant knocking on Spencer’s door. “If this is Abigail again,” Spencer warns as he gets up, lips all swollen from kissing and making out. “I will arrest her.” 

“On what grounds, agent?” You hug a pillow close to you, completely ignorant to your current messy hair and blushed face. 

“Cockblocking,” It’s so rare to hear such a word coming from someone like Spence that you can’t help but burst out laughing. “JJ?”

The name has your smile slipping a little. Why is JJ here? Did something happen? The moment Spencer opens the door, she’s marching inside, her beautiful blonde hair floating in the air as if she is some sort of magical being. “Spence, what the fuck?!” She cried out, completely oblivious to your presence in the couch. “Why are you not picking up your phone? I’ve been calling– Hotch mentioned something about you not taking Y/N to a secondary location, are you insane?! You can’t take care of her all by yourself, she’ll–“

You clear your throat as loud as you can, smiling sadly at her when she turns around with a shocked expression. “Hi, JJ.”

“Y/N, I’m– I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were here…”

“She is,” Spencer suddenly sounds quiet, eyes cast down as if he’s a child who’s been caught red-handed doing something wrong. But then he raises his head, chin high and chest puffing out a little. “And she’ll stay here with me. Y/N doesn’t want to be moved to a secondary location, and considering we don’t know who Cat’s secondary is, I wouldn’t say it’s wise for us to do so. She’ll be alone in an unknown place. I… I would prefer if she’s here. With me. And officer Kaper.”

JJ’s eyes go wide and you can understand her surprise to hear her usually shy and quiet co-worker being so adamant. Hell, even you are a little bit surprised. “What you prefer?! Spence, this is not about what you prefer! This is about– oh my god, you two were making out.” 

Her observation is so dry that you almost choke on air. “What?!” His voice is a dead give away. Or maybe it’s the way you wince, looking away from her, that gives you two away. “JJ, this is none–“ 

“You are having an interpersonal relationship with a victim under our protection in an active case,” It’s the way she describes you as a victim, as if that’s the only thing you are to her, that makes you exhale harshly. “Yes, Spencer, this is my business.” 

“Uhm, technically–“

“Y/N, I’m sorry, but not now,” She speaks to you like a mother, and from what Spence has told you about her, you know that she has two wonderful boys. Two kids for her to mother. You, however, are not one of them. 

Slowly rising up from the couch, your voice is shaky when you speak, but your proud of yourself regardless– confrontation is not your best suit, some might say it’s your worst suit, but there is no escape this time around. Not if you want to stay with Spencer. “I’m sorry, JJ, but yes, now. I’m the one this is all happening to. I’m not a passive participant in all of this and I do get to make choices, even if those choices are against your recommendation. I chose to stay here. Not Spence.”

“Why here? Why not–“

“I know the area!” You basically squeak, frowning deeply at her. The JJ you know is sweet and soft-spoken. This JJ is… well, not that. This JJ is someone who gets the job done. This JJ sees you as a job. And that hurts. “Cat knows you guys, she has shown us again and again that she is one step ahead– look at what happened to Officer Kaper. He has a family! His wife and kids were there and– fuck, JJ, if something happens here, I know where to go! I know where to run to, I know the back alleys, I know the people… I can’t handle you guys taking me away from everything I know again. I can’t, I’m sorry, I just can’t, I–“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re not going anywhere,” In a second, Spencer is by your side, arms pulling you into his chest. “You’re stay here, sweetheart.” 

“Spence–“

“JJ, do you think I’m stupid?” The question shocks the words out of both of you. “I calculated the odds, okay? I know the risks. I know the pros and cons. But do you know what else I know? I know that when we thought Maeve was safe, her stalker was in her apartment. We put her under protective custody, and Diane still got to her. She could’ve been with me, I could’ve saved her!”

JJ doesn’t speak, and neither do you. You are frozen in place. Spencer had told you about Maeve just hours ago, described the entire thing, told you all the details of what happened back then… but he never touched on the now. On how he feels now. On how he remembers the whole thing now. On how it still affected him now. You can feel the anxiety on the way his breath shudders. The anger in his words, the regret, the fucking guilt As gently as you can, you circle his waist and squeeze. There is a part of you that hates doing this in front of someone else, giving them a part of this reality in which only you and Spencer exist; but he need to know you’re still here. Next to him, where he can keep you safe. “Maeve wasn’t your fault, Spencer,” JJ whispers, and you see in her a glimpse of the woman you’ve met before. “It wasn’t your fault…” 

“But this is!” He shouts back, stopping himself from lurching forward thanks to your body glued to his. Instead, he cradles your head closer, shuts his eyes tights, and let out the most pitiful exhale you’ve ever heard. “This is my fault… Y/N wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for me.” 

“Spence–“ You can’t even deny it. Logically, it is his fault this is happening– Cat is after you simply because she’s after him. That is undeniable, and you lose yourself in the endless search of what to tell him, how to comfort him. This is your Spence. Your boyfriend. And you don’t want this type of phantasmagoric guilt hovering over his head over the course of your relationship. This is how things end before they begin. 

“I won’t let her take Y/N away from me,” When he looks at JJ again, you gasp. His eyes shine with a determination you’ve never seen before, jaw tense and hands holding you to him like he means in. This time around, you know he means is. “Not now, not ever.” 

---------------------------------------

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“Yes, ma’am. A dark wizard cursed a b-book that I happened upon,” he answered slowly. “I unbound the curse.”

“Aye, that was a bad one,” she agreed. “And Dumbledore left you to it, did he?”

“He didn't know,” Quirinus replied. “My own fault, really. I thought I could handle it.”

The old woman laughed and reached over the table to pat Quirinus’s unmarred cheek.

“Ah, the fatal flaw. Keep at it, and you too can live alone in your old age,” she said.

Gilderoy walked back in front of her and smiled.

“The pretty one,” she said. “I wondered where you'd gone. Let dear old Cora have a look at you.”

“I was admiring your collection," Gilderoy said, presenting his best angle. “What a marvellous library you have. I've never seen so many titles on gorgons in my life.”

“It's my speciality,” Mrs. Cromwell said. “Why you're here, no doubt, Mr. Lockhart.”

Gilderoy brightened at being recognised.

“Indeed, it is. Professor Quirrell encountered your gorgon colony during his research. Of course we had to locate you right away. That's a tremendous feat.”

The kettle began to boil, and the witch crossed the tiny kitchen to fetch it. Gilderoy heard her knees pop as she stood.

“I like to think so,” Mrs. Cromwell said. She returned with a ceramic pot, tea steeping inside. “And what is it you want to know, Mr. Lockhart?”

“Why, simply everything,” Gilderoy said. “Spare us no detail. It's incredible what you’ve accomplished.”

He would be doing her a favour, really. Shrivelled old woman, out in the middle of nowhere, no one to hear her tale. But at last, the world would know.

“Do you mind if I take notes?” Quirinus asked.

“Scholar are you, dear?”

Don't hesitate, Gilderoy thought at him as hard as he could. She's too clever. Don't…

Quirinus hesitated, head cocked. Then he found a faint smile, and Gilderoy relaxed.

“I'm afraid so. Magizoology. I'm always looking for a new angle. Academia is a bit cutthroat these days,” Quirinus said. “That's how I came to be Mr. Lockhart's research assistant, in fact.”

“Better than teaching,” she agreed.

“Yes, ma’am.” The smile appeared again, which she returned.

Quirinus was a natural. So polite. Almost boyish. A promising venture, indeed.

“Please, Mrs. Cromwell, start at the beginning and omit nothing,” Gilderoy said. “We're positively riveted.”

She looked up at Gilderoy, one eye green like a cat's, the other milky. He smiled at her again.

Mrs. Cromwell returned it, then began to speak.

It took three hours to explain the background and creation of the gorgon colony. Swift compared to other interviewees.

“Were you in academia as well, Mrs. Cromwell?” Quirinus asked once she concluded and took a drink of her latest tea.

“I was. The world grew tired of my barmy hypotheses on breeding gorgons. So I left and came here to practise it instead of hypothesising.”

“Breed?” Gilderoy turned around from another shelf of her belongings and tilted his head. “Aren't they all female?”

Mrs. Cromwell shifted her eyes to Quirinus. "Professor Quirrell, my Magizoology friend, do you care to answer."

Another test.

Gilderoy grew more impressed by the hour. Lucky stroke he’d not tried this one alone.

“Sex reversal,” Quirinus said. “Hagrid has a text on it in his hut from when he was a student.” He glanced at the old woman. “Professor Cromwell's hypothesis was that increasing the habitat temperature might eventually cause at least one gorgon to change sex for reproductive purposes.”

“But that would take a lifetime,” Gilderoy said.

“It did,” she said. “But it worked.”

“Do you have any other petrifying creatures you've worked with?” he asked.

“Cockatrices. They breed faster than gorgons or basilisks, and they're smaller too. Easier to handle.”

Gilderoy nodded and walked behind Quirinus to read over his shoulder, but couldn't make out anything.

Muggle shorthand. The nerve.

Quirinus started to ask her another question, and Gilderoy drew his wand.

“How many gen—” Quirinus began.

Gilderoy raised his wand over his head.

“Obliviate!”

There was a crackling sound, and Mrs. Cromwell froze in place, blinking. Gilderoy held the thread of it: the colony, the cockatrices.

Quirinus froze as well, spine straighter than a rail spike.

Gilderoy kept his wand aloft, breathing fast. He had told Quirinus nothing beforehand. If he objected now, there would be no second chance.

Quirinus made no move for his wand, instead slowly turning around in his chair to face Gilderoy, both hands kept in sight.

He said nothing for a moment, then nodded at Gilderoy’s arm.

“Your wand is still raised,” he noted quietly.

“I know.”

“Well.” Quirinus sighed. “What are you going to do? You could've done the same to me already, and you haven't.”

Gilderoy got his breath under control.

“I'm waiting,” he said. “I must know I can trust you first, Quirinus.”

Quirinus took longer than Gilderoy liked. It didn't encourage him to let down his wand.

“You told me nothing of this in advance, gave yourself the element of surprise, had a wand at my back, and you want me to trust you?” Quirinus said, one eyebrow raised.

It was Gilderoy's turn to sigh and he lowered his wand this time. The window of time to adjust Mrs. Cromwell’s memories was closing rapidly, and Quirinus posed the smaller risk for now.

He sat down across from Mrs. Cromwell, leaving his back open to Quirinus for several seconds.

Gilderoy brandished his wand a second time and leant across the table.

"You know you have a fridge and pantry and counter full of sweets and pastries and breads, right, Buck?" Eddie says, calling Buck on her shit lovingly.

"I'm aware!" She calls, finally getting to a stopping point.

She plops the dough into a free bowl and covers it with a damp cloth before fighting a little for space in the fridge.

"Promise I'll have you have back in time to bake it, okay?" Eddie assures.

"Okay, babe," Buck says, using the term in the friend way she does some time.

Eddie's eyes are sparkling.

Buck takes her apron off and tosses it onto the still-messy counter. That's a future Buck problem. "Wait here," she instructs, already heading toward the loft stairs. "Where's Chris by the way?" She calls, taking the steps two at a time and barely even getting winded.

"He's too cool for his mom," Eddie calls up as Buck goes to his closet, rifling through the barely-worn items she stored in the back. "Dropped him off at a friend's house on the way over. Figured I'd swing by since I was already out."

"Where are we going?" She calls as she finally pulls out a black sundress with little yellow sunflowers on it that used to belong to Maddie when she was a bit heavier. It only fits Buck's wide shoulders because the straps are adjustable.

She strips out of her ratty t-shirt and sweatpants she was baking in to switch into the dress. Checking herself in the mirror leads her to resolve to throw a cardigan on to hide her shoulders. She rifles through her usual suspects and pulls out a cream one with some cabling on the front panel she's pretty fond of before returning to the main floor. She gets a chance to examine Eddie and her outfit before the other woman glances up from her phone. Eddie's in a forest green dress and a leather jacket Buck's pretty sure she's never seen before. It looks good—maybe unfairly good—on her best friend. Her ogling is cut short when Eddie's clever eyes meet hers.

"Oh," Eddie says, an indecipherable look on her gorgeous face. "I've never seen this before." Her hand reaches out and snatches up a little of the fabric in her left hand.

"Good?" Buck asks, suddenly insecure.

"It's beautiful," Eddie confirms, sounding almost…breathless?

"Is it appropriate for wherever we're going?"

"It's perfect," Eddie confirms. "Now, hurry up. I'm driving."

…

The restaurant is nice, through not so nice it needs a reservation. It's Greek, which Buck loves, and Eddie immediately orders a nice bottle of white wine for the table. The waiter offers to pour it for them, but Eddie politely declines, opting instead to pour them two generous glasses herself.

"To us," she says, holding her glass aloft.

Buck can't resist but return the gesture, tapping her own glass to Eddie's. "To us," she agrees.

The restaurant is intimate, low lights, a comfortable but small booth with a tea light candle on the table. They split appetizers—grape leaves and spanikopita—and drink wine and order the lamb—even if Eddie grimaces just a little at the price—to be indulgent. It's good food and good company, maybe it's the best Buck has felt since her breakup with Tammy.

"You know, if I didn't know any better," Buck snorts, as she's forking in the last few bites of her lamb before she's too full, "I'd say you're trying to wine and dine me!"

Eddie falls silent, her face carefully neutral as she pushes some rice around on her own plate with her fork. "What if I am?"

Buck freezes. "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, Eds," she tries, casting out for some reason to make this make sense. "but I'll be fine. No need to…do any of this."

A determination sets over Eddie's features, her jaw straining and ticking where her short, dark hair hits it. "What if it isn't just for you? What if it's for me, too?"

"I'm sure it's no hardship to have a nice meal with your best friend…" Buck tries to joke but is promptly cut off by Eddie.

"No, Buck. This isn't…" she's getting frustrated. "This isn't trying to cheer you up. I'm trying to woo you."

Buck blinks and blinks, pushing her curly hair out of her eyes to make sure she's seeing Eddie clearly, her face flushed pink at the confession.

"Woo me?" Buck repeats.

"Yes, Buck. I'm trying to do…romantic stuff. So that you'll fall in love with me instead."

"Oh, Eddie," Buck reaches a hand across the table to still where Eddie's fork is still scraping across the plate. It makes Eddie look up at her, beautiful honey brown eyes catching the flickering light of the candle and Buck's breath catches. "I'm already in love with you."

It's Eddie's turn for her breath to catch and Buck can't help the small sneak she takes at Eddie's cleavage she'd been trying not to stare at all night. But now that she knows it's for her, well. All bets are off.

"Can we," Eddie starts, soft and tentative, "can we get the check so we can get out of here? And I'm paying by the way. don't try to fight me on this one."

Buck puts her hands up in supplication. "Whatever gets us out of here the fastest. I have a girl I really need to kiss."

Lucy awoke not to birds chirping, nor an alarm beeping, but a single cat screaming so loud she feared for the window panes.

As Skull paused to catch his breath, Lucy closed her eyes in relief, but the sudden, sharp noise of something clattering to the floor had her shooting out from under the covers. She cautiously peered over the back of the sofa—it was pulled out into a bed, which wasn’t the comfiest, but it was preferable to sleeping in George’s—to inspect the damage.

A picture frame lay face down on the floor. Skull looked down on it from his vantage point on the cabinet.

Lucy’s silently repeated mantra of please don’t be shattered, please don’t be shattered must have been heard by some higher entity, because when she slowly picked the frame up she found it still intact, glass and all. The picture within was of two teenage boys grinning with their arms around each other. They wore matching white polo shirts graffitied with messages and doodles in a rainbow of colours, the school leavers' tradition, and Lucy promptly realised what the thinking cloth reminded her of. One of the boys was clearly George, with a rounder face and wider eyes, but the other boy, dark-haired with a dazzlingly bright smile, Lucy didn’t know.

“He’s bloody lanky,” she murmured as she carefully put the frame back in its place. She shoo-ed Skull off the cabinet and coaxed him towards the sofa bed, hoping to distract him with the plush, kneadable duvet. He fell right into her trap, leaving Lucy feeling rather proud of herself and free to enter the kitchen without the possibility of Skull destroying everything.

Lucy popped the kettle on and peered in every cupboard in search of the tea, then stumbled upon a treasure trove—English breakfast, Earl Grey, Green, oolong, matcha, chai, chamomile, Darjeeling, ginger, stacks upon stacks of colourful boxes, some describing flavours she’d never heard of in her life, in flat bags, pyramid bags, loose leaf, sachets…

The kettle pinged to signify it was ready. Overwhelmed by choice and reminding herself she had a whole week to be adventurous, Lucy plucked a bog-standard English breakfast bag from a box and plonked it into a mug adorned with He-Man’s face, accompanied by the caption ‘A good cup of tea is the colour of He-Man’.

As she reached for the kettle, the unmistakable sound of the front door’s handle rattling echoed through the flat.

The door creaked open.

Skull scuttled into the kitchen, wide-eyed and fur stood on end, and she picked him up to soothe him. She crept across the room, every step increasing her heart rate, then froze when she heard footfall heading her way.

Someone turned the corner and entered the kitchen.

It all happened rather quickly, really—Lucy had no choice but to act on instinct.

Skull screamed. Lucy held him out in front of her. Whatever words were about to come out of the intruder’s mouth were cut remarkably short as a flurry of paws and claws descended upon their face and torso.

The person stumbled backwards, pressing themself against the far wall, and when Lucy realised he looked oddly familiar she lowered the deadly feline in her hands.

“Oh my G—” He heaved, hand braced against his chest as he came down from his panic. “Christ. I think I almost had a heart attack.”

“Who are you?” Lucy demanded, raising Skull back up in the air between them, an unspoken but certain threat.

“Who are you?” the man replied, incredulous. “Where’s George?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. The man straightened and pushed away from the wall. Upon seeing his height and long limbs to their full extent, Lucy realised where she knew him from. “Are you his friend?”

“I like to think so,” he said, with a smile Lucy assumed was supposed to be charming. “Again, apologies if I’m being rude, but who are you? Why are you in George’s flat?”

She gently wobbled Skull in the air, as if to prove her point. “I’m cat-sitting.”

The man’s face was blank for a moment, before lighting up in realisation. “Ahh, I see. I could’ve sworn his trip was next week… Though I’ve never been one for calendars and keeping on top of schedules. That’s George’s thing. I’m Lockwood,” he added, holding out a hand.

“Lucy.” Both of her hands were full of Skull, so she resorted to manoeuvring him to gently tap Lockwood’s hand with a paw.

Lockwood flinched away. “Please don’t. He hates me.”

“Sorry.” She gently lowered Skull to the floor with a frown. He had gone oddly quiet. “Is that why you couldn’t look after him, then?”

“Indeed it is. He’d claw my eyes out in my sleep, or piss in my shoes, or carry out some other dastardly act of torture,” he said, cautiously eyeing the mass circling Lucy’s legs. “This is George’s first trip away since taking him in. Skull can be a bit…” he gestured vaguely. “So he was a little concerned about finding the right person.”

Skull began to nibble on the hem of her sock. “I reckon I’ll be alright.”

“What a strange little creature,” Lockwood mused. He raised his eyebrows. “Well, sorry for disturbing you. And startling you.”

“Sorry for shoving an angry cat in your face,” Lucy added sheepishly.

“Water under the bridge, Lucy.” Lockwood smiled again, and this time, Lucy was unnerved to realise she did find it rather charming. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

He turned to head for the door.

Lucy's mouth opened before she could process her thoughts. “I just popped the kettle on, so you’re welcome to stay,” she called after him. “If you want.” There was also the matter of the Swiss roll, which she really didn’t want to go to waste. Ten in the morning was a reasonable time for cake, right?

Lockwood turned back around, smile widening.

–––

After the sofa had been restored to its original form, and the small coffee table was relocated in front of it to store their tea and cake, Lockwood fished the TV remote from the depths of the cushions (so that’s where it was hiding) in an act of familiarity that told Lucy he spent a lot of time here. He turned the TV on, then paused. It had been left on a documentary channel.

“Do you mind if we keep this on? I’m quite fond of whales.”

Lucy huffed a laugh into her mug. “Go for it.”

Lockwood inhaled the steam from his tea—he’d gone for the Earl Grey—and sank back into the cushions.

Skull jumped up into the space between them. In the blink of an eye, he aggressively batted Lockwood with a paw before hopping over Lucy’s lap and wedging himself in the small space between her thigh and the arm of the sofa.

“I’ve never done anything to hurt him, honest,” Lockwood insisted. “He knows I’m friends with George, and I’m here more often than my own home, yet he still treats me like I’m some…” he sipped his tea while he reached for a word. “Fiend.”

“You know George from school, then?” She took a bite of Swiss roll and almost failed to hold back a mortifying groan of pleasure; it was dangerously delicious.

Lockwood frowned, and Lucy nodded to the picture frame. He smiled in recognition. “Ah. Yes, I do. He got the highest grades in our year group. I managed to beat him in history, though.”

“You like history?”

“My parents did. I listened to enough of their passionate ramblings to give me a partial PhD.”

The past tense didn’t escape her notice; she quickly thought of something to back out of that line of conversation. “Do you know Holly, then? Holly Munro?”

Lockwood nodded as he balanced the plate of cake in his lap. He began to methodically unroll it, transforming the Swiss roll into a long Swiss snake, before ripping bites off bit by bit. “I do. Incredibly lovely woman. How do you know her?”

“She’s my flatmate,” Lucy said as she watched Lockwood rip off a small chunk of his cake snake and daintily pop it in his mouth. She wearily eyed her own slice and the giant bite taken out of it.

“I see. What’s she up to nowadays?”

“She writes for a fashion magazine.” The name escaped her, which came as no surprise. She had never considered spending her hard-earned money on a magazine that would try to tell her she couldn’t wear Converse with every single outfit (Holly did that more than enough). “She’s hoping to break into the design side of the industry, though. I don’t know much about fashion, but she seems to have a good eye for it.”

“Good for her,” Lockwood said fondly. It surprised her to hear how sincerely he said it; she hid her expression by taking another bite of cake. “What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Lucy hesitated. As nice as he seemed, Lockwood was still from Holly’s hoity-toity southern school. The chances of him not taking her career seriously was worryingly high—but damn it, for all intents and purposes, this was technically her flat for the week. She could chase him out with Skull if he turned out to be an arse.

She ran a reassuring hand through Skull’s fur as she responded. “I work part-time in a cafe to pay the bills, but I do art on the side. Hoping to eventually make that my full-time gig.”

“Really?” Lockwood’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and Lucy steeled herself for the incoming ridicule. “What kind of art do you make?”

Lucy’s hand stilled on Skull’s head. Here, she could feel the gentle rumbling of his quiet purrs. “I mostly work with acrylic paint. On canvas, usually. That’s what all my commissions are in, anyway. I sketch all the time, though. Helps clear my head.”

Lockwood’s eating slowed. “You take commissions?”

She nodded, feeling the beginnings of heat in her face. “I’m working on one now, actually, for a friend of Holly’s. I booked the week off to work on it while I’m here. George is letting me use his room as a makeshift studio.”

Lockwood’s gaze darted to the bedroom door.

“No,” Lucy said immediately. Startled by her own sudden brashness, she sank further into the sofa. “I don’t like people seeing my works-in-progress, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Lockwood said with a smile. “Though I am curious, what’s the subject?”

“A really flashy portrait. I get the impression he’s a bit of a snob, so—”

“Wait.” Lockwood paused. “Don’t tell me his name is Kipps.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes and ate the last of her slice. “How the hell did you figure that out?”

“He also went to the same school as us. A couple of year groups above, in the same one as Holly. We both went to fencing club, and my God, did he hold a grudge against me. You jokingly prod a man in the backside once…”

Lucy snorted, startling Skull and sending him racing into the kitchen.

“Shit,” she hissed, chasing after him. “Sorry, he just— he can’t go in— oh my God, stop squirming away!”

“It’s alright,” Lockwood called as she wrestled to keep Skull in her grasp. “I ought to get going now, anyway.”

When she finally succeeded in ushering Skull out of the kitchen, Lockwood was by the door, tugging on his long coat. “It was lovely meeting you, Lucy. Sorry again for the intrusion.”

“No worries, honestly.”

His slim fingers toyed with the hem of his coat. “Are you up to much this week?”

“Not really. Working on the commission, keeping this little menace in check…" She shrugged nonchalantly. "You’re welcome to swing by and watch whale documentaries any time.”

Skull watched the swaying coat with sharp slit pupils. Lockwood eyed him cautiously. “Something tells me he wouldn’t be very happy about that.”