#janeharvard

janeharvard started following you

Tears threatened to fall as his eyes glistened, wet from the hatred Mother's previous ranting held. Norman bit his lip, trying his hardest to keep the quiver of his shoulders under check. 

His facade faltered as the office door opened revealing yet another customer, forced to take shelter from the dark night. The grin he tried to wear twitched at the corners of his lips before falling into a pitiful grimace. 

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Will was just leaving his classroom, eyes aching from lack of sleep, when he nearly collided with someone turning a corner. He backed out of the way just quickly enough to avoid a collision, and immediately apologized. "Sorry, I uh," he began, "I should have looked. Did you need help with something?"

Cold. Dark. Quiet.

Silent footsteps made their way down the street, slowly, carefully, as if trying to escape a predator without alerting it of their presence. The only sound was the wind, and the only soul awake in the neighbourhood was Will. 

And he was being followed. By the stag. The cruel, sinister stag that persists in haunting his nightmares - and more recently, his daydreams. It's everywhere he goes. And it lumbered slowly behind him, hooves not making a single sound as they hit the gravel. And Will couldn't take it, because he could feel it getting closer and closer, and in only a matter a matter of seconds, he felt the rough texture of it's antlers brushing against his back.

That was when he was jerked awake by the sound of a voice. An unfamiliar, yet concerned tone of a woman. And, God, the only thing he was wearing as a vest and his boxers!

It was four o'clock in the evening on a Thursday, and Cal Lightman was late. Very, very late. Wasn't his fault though, he didn't know his mobile was about to run out. Plus he hadn't actually worn a watch that day. Because who needs a watch when you've got a mobile phone, really?

Of course, none of the above was actually true. He wasn't late, he was aware of the time, and his real mobile phone was on silent. Regardless, he fumbled with the dead phone and kept pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose, usually with his forearm. Cal didn't need them, actually. Not for walking down the street. They were reading glasses. Why craft an elaborate lie? Well, when you studied deception for a living, why not?

I think we got off on the wrong foot.

Sorry. I have that effect on people.