#lmbr

Lucy was hiding something from him.

It became apparent to Alfendi first thing that morning. He favoured arriving at the office early and settling in while everything was still quiet and calm; it gave him ample time to prepare for the day before his colleagues burst in with a barrage of questions, unsolved cases, and a mishmash of other responsibilities that somehow fell under Alfendi’s authority.

The Mystery Room was tucked into a far corner of Scotland Yard, rendering the route to the dingy office long and convoluted, but Alfendi knew it like the back of his hand. Humming a tune under his breath, he relished the calm atmosphere as he made his way through the winding corridors. 

Taking a quick detour into the staff kitchen along the way, he popped the kettle on and retrieved two mugs. A teabag in each; a teaspoon of honey in his, two sugars in Lucy’s. He poured the boiling water into his mug and left the other for Lucy to fill and pick up when she was due to arrive in—Alfendi checked his tattered wristwatch—forty minutes.

He fished for his keys in his coat pocket as he turned the corner and approached the door to the Mystery Room, but stopped short of sliding the key into the lock upon hearing voices on the other side.

“No, he can’t find out. Gotta keep it all nice n’ hush-hush.” It was Lucy’s voice, clear as day—Alfendi would recognise it anywhere. She kept it a low murmur, which was just as unusual as her being in the office right then… if Alfendi knew anything about Lucy Baker, it was that she was loud, proud, and almost always running at least ten minutes late.

He checked his watch again and gently smacked it. Had he forgotten about daylight savings? Was he, in fact, the late one? No, no, that couldn’t be it; he hadn’t encountered anyone else on his way here.

“Good luck pulling that off.” The second person was even quieter and hard to make out, but the whopping sneeze they followed up their reply with tipped him off: Florence. “Al’s impossible to sneak anything by.”

Alfendi startled, grip tightening on his mug to prevent it from shattering at his feet.

‘They’re hiding something from us? What in the hell are those two going on about?’

He shook his head; it was both an answer and an attempt to deter his rousing alternate self. The other Al—or as Lucy liked to call him, Potty Prof—had begun to stir, and he brought along with him the beginnings of a headache. Alfendi scrunched his brow and pressed his ear closer to the door.

“Oh aye, but I bet we can give it a good go. I know it’s normally dead hard to hide stuff from Prof, but he’d never suspect summat like this.”

“I suppose if anyone can do it…” Florence paused to blow her nose; Alfendi waited for her to continue with bated breath. “It’s you. Al’s always been quite fond of you. He’d let you get away with murder.”

‘Fond? Hah! What a load of codswallop.’

No, he had to admit he’d become rather close with his assistant since her appointment. They were approaching one year since Lucy joined him in the Mystery Room, and now Alfendi couldn’t imagine working without her. Fond, however, was a word he would have struggled to come up with by himself.

Lucy let out a laugh. It was a sudden jump in volume from her secretive whispers and sounded much more like the Lucy he knew. “Ee, bit extreme, Flo.”

“I’m right and you know it. Anyway, he’ll be here soon. You’re never here to see it, but Al runs like clockwork in the morning. Always gets here at the same time. I’ll make myself scarce, and you ought to have a good reason for being here so early or he’ll be on your case in seconds.”

“Right you are, Florence. See you in a bit.”

Florence’s wheels creaked as she approached the door. 

Alfendi’s head whipped around in a calculating panic. With his long legs, there was a 74.3% chance he could make it around the nearest corner and be out of sight when she emerged into the hallway. If he stayed put, there was only a 47.8% chance he could provide a convincing reason as to why he was lingering by the door. Florence’s gaze had a way of unnerving him at the worst of times, making her remarkably hard to lie to.

‘Christ, you’re making this difficult. Move over.’

Lucy once asked him what it felt like to switch between Placid and Potty. It was hard to articulate, but after a long moment of thought and a few sips of tea (good for the mind, according to his father), he described their control over the body as driving a car. While one was driving, the other sat in the passenger seat, watching passively. Upon heightened emotion or stimulus, the passenger would switch their seats and take control of the car. A more recent development was the discovery they could take the wheel through sheer will and force, which led to Alfendi taking a rare week off work on account of the constant switches and never-ending migraines. In the end, Lucy was the one who helped pull them out of their cerebral war.

It felt like a dagger through his brain as Potty hauled Placid out of the driver’s seat and stomped on the accelerator. In a matter of seconds, he threw himself down the hallway and around the corner, then pressed flat against the wall as he tried to steady his shallow breath and racing heart.

Al listened to Florence roll out of the Mystery Room, close the door behind her, and head off in the opposite direction. 

He heaved a sigh and gave himself a well-deserved gulp of tea. Those sneaky pests had been talking about him. About hiding something from him.

‘It’s alarming, but I’m sure it’s nothing a bit of communication won’t fix.’

Al stared at the ceiling, listened to his calmer counterpart’s reasoning, and immediately brushed it off as the words of a hypocrite. Neither of them were capable of clear communication, it’s what got them into most of their messes.

‘You’d think we would learn a lesson from that.’

Not today. Al steeled himself, took another swig from his mug, and strode back over to the door.

‘No, no. Let me handle this.’

He rolled his eyes but grudgingly complied, handing over the reins to their shared body.

Alfendi gently opened the door.

Lucy was nowhere to be seen. He reminded himself to act naturally despite her unexpected absence—after all, he wasn’t supposed to know she was there. Still, he moved with caution as he went through the motions of settling in for the day.

He leisurely sipped at his tea as he booted up the crime scene reconstruction device and wondered just how long Lucy planned on staying hidden. Was she going to try and sneak out and waltz in through the door at her actual start time? Or—

Lucy sprang up from beneath her desk and Alfendi choked so hard on his tea he feared for his life. Placid was once again flung to the passenger seat.

“Morning, Prof!”

“Lucy!” Al spluttered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Eh-up, Potty! Good morning to you, too.” She smiled from ear to ear and adjusted her wonky cap. “I got you right good there, didn’t I?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he hissed as he made a futile effort at wiping the tea from his clothes (maybe now, he thought, he’d have a good excuse to change out of Placid’s awful attire). “Wasting company time surprising your superiors is not a good look, DC Baker.”

“Ooh, don’t DC Baker me. Besides, it’s not my working hours yet, int’ it?” Lucy gently took the mug from his hands with a grimace. “I didn’t expect you to be drinking summat, though. I’m dead sorry, Prof.”

“You’d better be.” He yanked it from her hands, drained its measly dregs, and dropped it back on his desk. “Why are you early? What are you up to?”

“Gonna interrogate me like some crook?”

He stood up, leaning forward to emphasise the extra height he had on her. “Maybe I will, Baker.”

‘Stop antagonising her.’

Al knew Lucy could take it. She looked up at him with a defiant grin. “Do your worst.”

A twinge of pain in the back of his head signalled a switch, and Alfendi gently shook away the pain. “Enough of this. Good morning, Lucy. Could you help me wipe all this tea from my desk?”

“‘Course, Prof. I really am sorry about that.”

“Water under the bridge, Luce. Though I am curious as to why you’re here early in the first place.”

 “My desk’s been all wobbly these past few days, but I’ve had no time to get round to fixing it, you see? Thought I’d pop in a bit earlier to sort it out before getting stuck in our work.”

“Then I arrived, and you thought it a fantastic opportunity to practise the art of surprise?”

“Exactly!” Then came another one of Lucy’s big toothy grins, and Alfendi almost completely forgot about her strange, secretive behaviour.

‘I’ve taught her well. She delivered that lie with a terrifying amount of confidence.’

Of course, he couldn’t let the blatant lie slide. Despite Lucy’s charm and swift conversational skills, Alfendi was still determined to get to the bottom of her hushed exchange with Florence. He simply needed subtlety and patience—both of which Potty lacked, so it was vital to keep him chained to the passenger seat for as long as possible.

—

“Christ, Prof, this one’s hard to crack.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Alfendi reluctantly peeled himself away from the crime scene reconstruction and out of the horribly hunched position he’d been stuck in for far too long. He held back a groan as he stretched his aching back, which let out a series of satisfying pops.

‘You’re making us look like an old man. Fix your damn posture.’

Much easier said than done. When engrossed in the intricacies of methods, motives, and murder, sitting straight was hardly high up on Alfendi’s list of priorities.

Staying put in his wheeled office chair, he pushed himself back over to his desk. Just a few feet away, Lucy perched on the edge of her desk with several papers in hand, teeth worrying the chapped skin of her lips as she concentrated. While Alfendi inspected the nooks and crannies of the crime scene, she had been tasked with analysing the many disturbing letters supposedly written by one of their culprits. Alfendi knew where he currently stood with them—there were too many inconsistencies for them to be genuine, though he was yet to determine who the true writer was—but he valued Lucy’s insight, so kept quiet about his suspicions to see if she arrived at the same conclusion, or was able to point out something he’d missed.

“We’ll find a weak spot in this case somewhere, I’m sure of it. We’re a rather formidable team, if I may say so myself.”

Lucy grinned. “Right you are, Prof. Though if I go on any longer without another cuppa, I might not survive the day.” She hopped off her desk. “Want one?”

“That would be lovely, Luce. Thanks.”

The door shut behind her, rendering the room oddly quiet. He’d worked here for years before Lucy’s arrival, not just in the Mystery Room, but out on the field, across various departments, with the burning determination to make something of himself—just like his father—helping him gain experience and succeed in (almost) everything he attempted. Lucy had only been by his side for a fraction of his career, but she’d crash-landed into it and made such an impact on his entire life that her absences were now painfully noticeable. 

Alfendi filled the sudden Lucy-shaped hole with paperwork, as it was rare for the office to be quiet enough for him to concentrate on it. 

The minutes ticked by, and Potty became increasingly agitated. ‘Get back to the crime scene.’

Alfendi pointedly ignored the demand.

‘This is my body, and I refuse to let its time on this Earth be wasted looking at reports and stupid official documents. Get back to the murder—I want to take a closer look at the body’s surroundings.’

“You sound like a child on the verge of a tantrum,” Alfendi murmured, absently tapping the tip of his pen against his lower lip.

‘And you sound like a condescending knob.’

Charming.

‘At least get up to see where Baker’s gone off to. It doesn’t take fifteen minutes to make tea unless you’re brewing up for a whole bloody army. She’s up to something.’

Alfendi double-checked his watch. He made a good point. She had been gone for a while, but fifteen minutes wasn’t the end of the world.

‘It is when she’s hiding something from us, you moron. Go and find her, or I will.’

He grudgingly gave in to curiosity and obliged. 

As he headed for the door, his eye caught on the papers Lucy left on her desk. They were photocopies of the letters—the real ones were stored away somewhere, safe from the threats of spilt tea and other miscellaneous stains—with red pen scribblings in the margins. 

Where words written by Alfendi were small, spiky, and appeared to be running away from something, Lucy’s were large, rounded, and demanded attention. Admittedly, her notes were always much easier to read. He skimmed her annotations and was pleased with what he found; she’d already taken notice of the inconsistencies, and though she was yet to work out what it all meant, Alfendi was confident she wasn’t far from it. A small smile graced his face as he continued towards the door.

As Alfendi approached the kitchen and heard two distinct voices having a hushed conversation—or at least, a poor attempt at keeping it hushed—he was struck by a wave of deja vu. He pressed himself to the wall beside the doorway and caught the tail end of Lucy delivering the same rundown she’d given to Florence that morning. “…and you’ve gotta keep your lips sealed tight, yeah? Don’t want him to catch wind of what we’re doing.”

“Mum’s the word! You can count on me, Lucy.” A stomp and a whoosh of air followed—it didn’t take much to work out it was Sniffer, giving a mock salute. “The Inspector will be none the wiser.”

‘What the fuck.’

Indeed. Alfendi narrowed his eyes.

“Aye, that’s what I like to hear. While you’re here, d’you want a cuppa?”

“No thanks, caffeine sends me a tad haywire. Detective Lawson never let me— ah. Oh.” He took a deep, shaky breath, and sniffed away tears.

Potty mentally rolled his eyes so hard it almost physically hurt. ‘Not this again.’

A spoon clattered in a mug. “Ee, Sniffer, you know he’s not worth all this.”

“I know, I know, but he was my old gaffer for years. Crook or not, it’s no easy feat adjusting to working without him. You’d be the same if it happened to Inspector Layton.”

“I suppose, but… I’ve already proven Prof’s no criminal. If he left this place, it’d be on his own terms.”

“And you’d crash and burn without him.”

“Absolutely not,” Lucy scoffed. “I’d do just fine without him. This gal could thrive anywhere, with anyone, thank you very much!”

It was undeniably true, but that made it no less hard to hear. Alfendi resisted the urge to put a stop to the conversation.

“Ouch! Salt straight in the wound! We don’t all have that ability, Lucy.”

Sniffer was moving back towards the subject of Lawson. Since the incident, Alfendi had learned the best tactic for dealing with Sniffer and his strong feelings towards his ex-boss was to keep him distracted. If he were in Lucy’s shoes, he would gently swerve the conversation in a different direction, wrap it up quickly, and retreat back into the office ASAP.

“Maybe not, but you do have the ability to help me with that project I mentioned.”

The execution was flawless, but the new—or rather, rehashed—choice of topic was questionable.

“Aye aye, cap’n! Just send the deets on over and it’ll be smooth sailing from here. Hopefully. Potentially.” A long, uncertain pause followed, interrupted only by the sound of Lucy stirring mugs of tea. “His shenanigan radar is hyper-sensitive. It’ll be hard to sneak all this under his nose— oh, that was a dodgy turn of phrase. I wasn’t taking the mickey, honest!”

Alfendi slowly raised a hand to the centre of his face as he heard Lucy stifle a laugh. He felt Potty reach for a snarky insult to direct at Sniffer before faltering as the pang of self-consciousness hit him too.

He found one eventually. ‘Dickhead.’

“Don’t fret, I know you meant nowt by it.”

“Oh, it’s all quite thrilling, isn’t it? Our own little espionage mission! Keeping secrets from an Inspector!”

“Eh-up, Sniffer, keep your voice down,” Lucy hissed.

“I’m sorry, Lucy, but I’m all riled up now! This’ll be one of the highlights of our career!”

‘I’m not listening to this any longer.’

Placid was shoved aside. Al waltzed into the kitchen.

Sniffer had his back to Al as he gesticulated wildly; he was none the wiser to the sudden extra company. Lucy’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Al over his shoulder.

He loomed over Detective Sergeant Hague. “Highlight of your career, you say?”

Sniffer yelped and practically shot ten feet into the air. “Inspector Layton! I didn’t hear you come in, you’re sneakier than a—”

“What were you talking about?”

‘Go easy on him, please. Whatever they’re hiding, I’m sure it’s nothing serious.’

Placid could shove his optimism. Al was—in Sniffer-speak—going to squeeze the lad until he squeaked like a mouse on helium and spewed his guts all over the floor.

‘Christ.’

“Tea’s almost ready, Prof! I’ll be back with you in a sec. Just got caught up telling Sniffer all about our tough case.”

“Oh, really?” Al cocked his head. “What does he think about the letters?”

Sniffer’s gaze darted nervously between the two of them. “The… letters?”

“Yes, the letters. A crucial piece of evidence our dear Lucy’s been poring over the past few hours. Surely she must have mentioned them? It would be difficult to thoroughly discuss the case without doing so.”

“Er, yes! Of course, the letters, the letters… They were very… suspicious?”

“Much like the man stood in front of me. What were you really talking about, Detective Sergeant?”

Sniffer blanched, and for a moment it looked like he was going to take the gut-spewing metaphor and make it disgustingly literal.

“Lucy’s the ringleader! She’s in charge, I’m merely a lackey! Have mercy, Inspector!”

Lucy guffawed. “By ‘eck, Sniffer, you made that well too easy.” Before Alfendi could rain hellfire upon the suspect, Lucy shoved a mug into his hands and steered him out of the kitchen.

The press of her hand on his back and the warmth of the mug seeping into his palms calmed him, and soon Placid had the reins again. They walked side-by-side back to the office.

“I’m terribly sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean to pry. You were gone for quite some time, so I…”

“Thought you’d have a grand ol’ time earwigging instead of working?”

“I didn’t come looking for you with the sole intent of eavesdropping, but if you heard your name in a hushed conversation, you’d be tempted to listen in, too.”

Lucy paused. “Er— yeah, alright. I’ll let you have that one.”

Alfendi gently scoffed and sipped his tea—she’d brewed it perfectly. “Am I allowed to be privy to whatever you’re masterminding?”

“I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, Prof. Me, a mastermind? Give over!”

“Sniffer distinctly referred to you as a ringleader—”

Lucy opened the office door with a flourish and bounded over to her desk. “Oh, Prof, I realised something while I were in the kitchen!” She waved the photocopied letters in the air and stabbed a finger at her scribblings. “These bits, they’re inconsistent with what we know about the victim’s death, and the handwriting doesn’t match our other samples at all. It’s a fake! A forgery! If we find out who really wrote it, I reckon this case’ll come flooding open!”

Shit. He couldn’t resist the pull of being so close to cracking a case.

‘Don’t let her gaslight us. We know now she’s definitely hiding something. It could be sinister.’

Alfendi would figure it out; he just had to play his cards wisely. 

—

While most people would rather gouge out their own eyes than continue toiling away in the office after hours, Alfendi didn’t really mind it. Late evenings in the Mystery Room weren’t dissimilar to the early mornings—quiet, peaceful, and subsequently a prime time to be productive.

Their previous case, as Lucy predicted, was relatively simple to crack once they’d figured out the person behind the forged letters. The next one to be dropped on their desks, however, was proving to be much more frustrating. They had scoured over every detail in the paperwork, every nook and cranny of the crime scene, and between them had consumed at least fourteen cups of tea, but come five p.m. their leads were close to non-existent. 

It was a Friday, which meant that any work left unfinished would plague the back of Alfendi’s mind through the whole weekend, and as such he was determined to finish the working week on, at the very least, a slightly satisfying note.

Just one lead was all they needed, then they’d be set to kick off the next week refreshed, well-rested, and with a clear thread to follow.

Finding one, however, was much, much easier said than done.

“How d’you feel about pizza, Prof?”

Alfendi looked up at her over the soft glow of the reconstructed crime scene. “In general?”

Lucy gently scoffed. “No, I mean for tonight. Can’t keep slaving away without a bit of grub for energy, eh?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Would you mind placing the order? My card is…” He faltered. “Er, I’m actually not sure.”

“I’ll hunt it down, don’t you worry! How’re things with the crime scene?”

“So far, uneventful. Every time I think I’ve found something of interest, it either leads to nothing or something entirely unhelpful. It’s frustrating; no killer is perfect. They must have left something.”

‘It’d be easier to solve if you’d stop gawking at this screen and view the actual crime scene. Your aversion to fieldwork is downright embarrassing.’

Alfendi wasn’t fond of acknowledging Potty as his ‘true’ self; but it was common knowledge among the veteran staff of Scotland Yard that prior to the incident, Al was a real go-getter. He had been allergic to being cooped up in an office, with an insatiable hunger to get out there and see crime scenes and victims in person. Now, with Placid in control most often… he was the complete opposite. Alfendi wasn’t sure where it came from, but he knew he now enjoyed the comfort of the Mystery Room far too much to frequently leave it.

‘It’s pathetic, really.’

Alfendi rolled his eyes; it wasn’t unusual for Potty to get rather snappy after a long bout of staying inside.

As he zoomed in on the suspiciously warped floorboard beside the body, he was hit by a sweet scent and a sudden weight at his side. Startled, he spun in his chair, only to find Lucy pressed close to him as she dug around in his lab coat pocket.

“Card’s not in your bag, or your proper coat, so…” She rummaged around some more, before moving onto the other side. “By ‘eck, Prof, you keep a right load of tat in here. It must weigh you down a ton!”

Alfendi purposefully kept his line of sight locked off to the side; Lucy was deep into his personal space, and the angle at which she leant forward screamed unprofessionalism. “Lucy,” he said slowly, “you could’ve asked me to check my pockets myself.”

“Yeah, but you were busy,” she countered. “Besides, I’ve always been curious to know what you actually keep in them— eh-up, is that a mini stapler?”

He thought her incredulity was misplaced. “It’s handy to have when dealing with paperwork.”

The office door swung open and crashed against the adjoining wall. Dustin Scowers backed into the office, rear end protruding into the room accompanied by a jaunty whistle. Along with the rest of Dustin came a cleaning cart decked with the standard supplies that allowed Scotland Yard to keep a pretence of being organised and in order. 

Alfendi caught his eye. Dustin cursed and practically shot into the air.

“Jesus, I thought everyone’d gone home! Sorry to barge in on yous—” Dustin paused. His gaze darted to where Lucy was practically bent over Alfendi’s lap, digging deep into his pockets. Alfendi became painfully aware of how awful the scene looked from Dustin’s line of sight and felt heat flood his face. 

Dustin grimaced. “Er… is it a bad time?”

Lucy shot up straight, the prized debit card held aloft with pride. “Found it! Oh, hiya, Dustin.”

Dustin’s eyes narrowed. He spoke with a hint of uncertainty. “Hiya, Lucy. Al.”

“Dustin.” Alfendi plastered on a polite smile. “Will we be in your way if we stay?”

“Nah, you’re alright. Don’t mind me.”

Lucy retreated back to her desk to order food and resume work; Alfendi missed her warmth at his side more than he cared to admit.

It was considerably harder to concentrate with the cleaner’s incessant whistling coming from the other side of the room. The promise of impending pizza, however, was helping keep Alfendi’s mood (and Potty in general) in check.

Clearly, he appeared far more engrossed in his work than he actually was; Dustin began to talk to Lucy as if Alfendi couldn’t hear him at all.

“Everything still going to plan with the— the thing?” he said conspiratorially as he wrestled an overflowing bin bag out of its container. Alfendi kept his head down and pretended to be unaware of the conversation unfolding a few feet away.

“Er…” Lucy swivelled in her chair to check that Alfendi wasn’t looking, then turned back to Dustin with a whisper. “Yeah. Keep your voice down, though.”

“Gotcha. You’re dead good at all this, Lucy. Proper little mastermind, you are.”

“Ee, don’t, it’ll go straight to my head. D’you need a hand with that?”

Dustin grunted and strained, and eventually, the bin bag came free. He tied it with practised ease. “Pro bin-emptier, me. Don’t need no help. But if you need any more help with… you know what, I’m your guy, yeah?”

“Aye. Glad I can count on you, Dusty.”

Dustin beamed. “‘Course.”

‘What the fuck.’

Indeed. Alfendi continued staring at the crime scene but was taking in none of the details; his brain had gone blank, aside from repeating the conversation he’d just overheard.

‘Do they think we’re dense? Do they genuinely think we couldn’t hear that?’

With anyone else, the notion would’ve been absurd, but with Alfendi… he’d gained his workaholic reputation long ago. If anyone were able to be so engrossed in their work to become completely deaf and blind to the obvious goings-on around them, it would be him.

Alfendi stole a glance up at Dustin, only to find that he was looking right back at him. The cleaner startled, grip tightening on his duster, and attempted a casual lean against the wall that was, by a long shot, not casual whatsoever.

Right by Dustin was the Mystery Room’s calendar, full of notes scribbled in three distinct colours: green for Lucy, blue for Placid, and red for Potty. It was the epitome of organised chaos.

Dustin nodded towards it. “Big day coming up, eh, Al?”

Lucy visibly tensed and shot him a deadly look. All that time spent working with her meant Alfendi knew she was holding back the urge to, in her words, “completely wallop the lad”, though he couldn’t ascertain what exactly had elicited that reaction from her.

Alfendi frowned. “Big day?”

Dustin gave him an incredulous look and pointed to a square in next week’s row, filled with a crudely drawn gift, balloons, and cake. It was entirely green, with not a fleck of blue or red to be found. Scribbled at the top was ‘PROF BDAY!!!!!!’.

‘Since when was that so close?’

Alfendi truly wasn’t sure.

“How’s it feel to be almost thirty?” Dustin grinned.

“Er…” He faltered, then glanced over to Lucy, who was still glaring daggers at Dustin. She must have felt his gaze on her, however, and quickly turned to grace him with a smile.

“Thirty int’ that old, Prof, don’t worry.”

‘Liar.’

“You got any plans?” Dustin asked, before giving Lucy a ridiculously conspicuous wink. With the pressure of their current case already weighing him down, Alfendi couldn’t work out what was going on between these two for the life of him. Maybe, he thought nonsensically, Dustin had inhaled one too many dust particles.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he admitted. “I’ve never been one for celebrations. Birthdays are just like any other day.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s shoulders slumped. “That’s dead sad.”

“Right?” Dustin said. “Someone oughtta do something about that.”

Something snapped within Lucy. In a split second, she crumpled the nearest piece of paper into a ball (please don’t let that be an important document, Alfendi silently pleaded) and lobbed it at Dustin’s head.

“The office looks spick n’ span now, don’t you think? You should get a move on to the rest of the building,” Lucy said to him, a not-so-innocent smile plastered on her face.

‘Oh, that was a fantastic shot. Do you see that deadly look on her face? She’s incredible.’

Lucy Baker was incredible, Alfendi had to agree, but she was also downright puzzling. What on Earth was she getting up to?

—

“A field case! Prof! We get to go outside!”

Alfendi grimaced at Lucy’s high-pitched squealing. “You were outside just ten minutes ago before you entered the building.”

“That int’ the same thing and you know it,” Lucy insisted, shoving the case-info papers into his hands. They had been hand-delivered that morning and detailed a case that was far too complex to recreate from the comfort of their office, requiring them to go and visit the crime scene in person.

“Oh, this is well exciting! It’s in a dead lovely part of the city, too—oh, we could grab lunch while we’re out! Or a coffee and fancy little pastries… Maybe we could even shop and jazz your wardrobe up a bit!”

‘Couldn’t agree more with that last part,’ Potty mentally chimed in. ‘If you wear this god-awful striped jumper one more time, I’m offing us both.’

“Lucy,” Alfendi said slowly. “A whole family was brutally murdered in their sleep.”

“Ee, yeah, my heart goes out to them. Proper sad stuff, that is. Which is why we should make sure to do some fun things while we’re out, so we don’t make ourselves dead depressed!” Lucy grinned, clearly pleased with her line of reasoning.

A half-hearted protest began to leave Alfendi’s mouth before he realised she made a good point. He skimmed the case information again, and caught a glimpse of a photo of one of the victim’s stuffed animals, covered in…

“On second thought, a pastry sounds quite nice.”

Lucy’s celebratory cheer could be heard throughout all of Scotland Yard.

After far too long a journey on the humid, overcrowded tube, followed by hours of poring over the nauseatingly disturbing crime scene, Alfendi’s brain was well and truly fried. The tragedy visibly took its toll on Lucy, too—as they left the building and stepped back out into the bustling London streets, she was uncharacteristically quiet.

“You did well in there.” He spoke softly. “You noticed some crucial details I’d completely overlooked. I’m glad to have you by my side.”

Lucy looked up at him, wide-eyed. Her mouth wobbled for a split second before it stretched into a smile. “You flatter me, Prof.”

“I mean it, Lucy. Now, shall we find a cafe?”

Seeing her face light up was the highlight of his day—no, week.

They struck gold with the first cafe they came across. Though London’s dreary weather stopped them from picking an outside table, the inside was a sight to behold. Soft instrumentals danced through the air while people stirred steaming mugs and chatted to one another surrounded by plants adorning the walls and windowsills. Normally, so many people, noises, and generally being in public would be something Alfendi avoided at all costs, but with Lucy by his side, he found he didn’t mind it one bit. She deeply inhaled the scent of baked goods and brewing tea before grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the counter.

The cashier smiled at their arrival. “My, you two certainly make a cute couple! What can I get for you both?”

‘What?!’

Alfendi blanched, subconsciously tightening his grip on her hand and praying his weren’t too clammy. Any attempts at protesting or explaining their situation were futile, because his mouth refused to work.

Lucy simply laughed. “I’ll have a breakfast tea and, ooh… there’s so much to choose from! I think I’ll go with some of that lemon drizzle, please. What about you, Prof?”

‘Why didn’t she correct the cashier? Why are we still holding her hand?’

There were too many things to think about at once, so Alfendi tried focusing on the most prominent one: placing his order. “Er, an Earl Grey and… an almond slice, please.”

‘Boring.’

While Alfendi retreated in on himself, Lucy struck up a full conversation with the cashier, who seemed more than happy to reciprocate her cheer. It suited Alfendi, who had never been one for socialising.

‘Speak for yourself.’

Soon enough, they were seated. Lucy had picked out a table tucked away in the corner, furthest away from most people. Whether she purposefully did it to suit Alfendi’s preferences, he wasn’t sure, but he appreciated it either way.

“Oh, that lemon drizzle looked so nice. I can’t wait to demolish it.”

She was back to her usual spirits, which was a comforting sight. However, Alfendi was soon distracted by the thing that had been plaguing his mind since they stepped up to the counter. “Lucy,” he said slowly. “Why didn’t you correct the—”

“Breakfast tea and an Earl Grey?” A waitress materialised beside them, carefully placing their mugs and saucers on the table. “The rest of your order will be with you shortly.”

Lucy took a sip of her scalding drink straight after thanking her. The regret was immediately visible on her face; she fanned her mouth as her eyes widened.

‘It’s incredible how someone so good at her job can have no common sense outside of it.’

Once her panic died down and she forcefully gulped down the boiling hot tea in her mouth, Alfendi tried again. “So, Lucy. About what the cashier said—”

A jaunty jingle emitted from Lucy’s pocket. She started and, upon checking the caller ID, looked puzzled.  “It’s the Commissioner...?”

Alfendi frowned. If he was calling about their current case, it would make sense for him to call Alfendi first, as he was Lucy’s superior. So why was he—?

‘Unless he’s not calling about the case, you idiot. Have you already forgotten all about Baker’s secret little escapades? What if Barton’s in on it, too?’

Now that was highly unlikely. He could easily imagine Florence, Sniffer, and Dustin following Lucy like sheep, but the Commissioner? Alfendi held back a scoff. No way in hell would he—

“Hello? Ah, yes! Er—it’s not the best time… is it urgent? Oh. Oh! Okay, one sec.” Lucy lowered the phone and muffled the speaker with her hand. “Prof, I need to take this. Be back in a jiffy, alright?”

‘She wouldn’t need to be secretive if this was a case-related call.’

Alfendi internally thanked Potty for stating the painfully obvious.

He watched her through the cafe’s front window as she took the call. Nothing else seemed amiss, until he saw her mouth distinctly move in the shape of his name.

‘They’re talking about us. Why the hell are they talking about us?’

His unique name meant when her mouth moved the same way again, there was no denying it. She was talking about him to Commissioner Barton.

Alfendi narrowed his eyes and ignored the strange look given to him by the waiter who stopped by to put their cakes on the table. Lucy became more animated as the conversation went on, saying Alfendi’s name a few more times, until—

No.

It couldn’t be.

Lucy grinned, then said it once more. Again, there truly was no denying it.

Hershel.

Not only were they talking about him, they were also talking about his father.

By the time Lucy had returned, Alfendi’s tea was untouched and lukewarm. Lucy was still jovial as ever, chatting on as if nothing was wrong.

Along with his almond slice, the odd exchange with the cashier was forgotten in favour of once again dwelling on what on earth Lucy Baker could be hiding from him.

‘We need to get to the bloody bottom of this, or I swear—’

Alfendi cleared his throat to cut off Potty’s passionate ranting before plastering a smile on his face for Lucy—she couldn’t discover his suspicions, or it would hinder everything.

—

Lucy failed to stifle a yawn while tugging on her coat. As she wormed an arm into a sleeve she almost knocked over her empty, forgotten mug on her desk—after this particularly long day, neither she nor Alfendi could be particularly bothered to go and do the washing up, so that duty was delegated to their tomorrow-morning selves.

“Took us a while, but we’re starting to get somewhere with this case, eh, Prof?”

Alfendi stood and stretched his aching back. “Indeed. I’m sure everything will be smooth sailing from here on.”

Lucy unhooked Alfendi’s coat from the wall and threw it at him; he only just managed to catch it in time. He slowly put it on and made a show of powering down the crime scene reconstruction device before switching off the office lights and following Lucy out the door.

The cool evening breeze greeted them as they left Scotland Yard together.

“Have a nice evening, Prof.” Backlit by a nearby street lamp, Lucy turned to him with a smile. Alfendi found he couldn’t look away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You too, Lucy. You did well today.”

Her smile grew into a bold grin before she set off down the street, waving goodbye. Alfendi waved back as he headed in the opposite direction. 

As soon as he saw Lucy turn a corner, Alfendi spun on his heels and hightailed it back to Scotland Yard. His day was far from over; he still had a case to crack.

He sped through the winding corridors, frantically unlocked the door to the Mystery Room, then rushed inside, throwing it shut behind him as he wrestled off his coat. He got going immediately, shoving off all official work-related papers from his desk, stripping their shared pinboard bare, and hauling out an obscene amount of flashcards and red string from the depths of a drawer. Lucy had once bought it for him as a joke—“All the best detectives use this in the films, Prof, I swear!”—assuming it would never seriously get used, but Alfendi was not about to let it go to waste.

‘Red string. Red fucking string. This is so painfully cliché. Are you aware I despise you?’

Alfendi ignored Potty’s whinging and began to set everything up.

Florence. Sniffer. Dustin. Barton. Even Hilda. Alfendi had caught her in cahoots with Lucy earlier that day, which had well and truly tipped him over the edge. Each associated party received their own card containing everything Alfendi knew about their involvement, with red string connecting those he’d seen conspiring together. At the centre of it all: Lucy Baker. 

His colleagues were up to no good. They could exclude him all they wanted, but Alfendi was going to get to the damn bottom of it.

‘I can’t remember the last time you were this riled up, actually. It’s almost exciting.’

Next to each individual were as many important quotes Alfendi was able to recall them saying recently. He scanned each and every one of them for possible common threads.

“Al’s always been quite fond of you. He’d let you get away with murder,” Florence had said, while Sniffer had declared it an “espionage mission”, a “highlight” of their careers for which Lucy was the “ringleader”—or, in Dustin’s terms, the “mastermind”. The conversation with Barton had brought up Alfendi’s father, while what he overheard with Hilda that morning involved discussions of Forbodium and Alfendi’s old self—stumbling upon that conversation had struck him with overwhelming nausea as the memories, mistakes, and regrets all flooded back. When Lucy found him later, he was lying bleary-eyed on their office couch.

Alfendi took a step back and squinted at his red-stringed concoction. Time was ticking. He’d noticed Lucy becoming more restless by the day, and he needed to solve this before whatever she was planning unfolded and caused a disaster.

‘For all we know, she could be plotting a murder.’

Hah! The thought was laughable. Lucy Baker, masterminding a murder? That was about as likely as—

Hold on.

He scanned all the information laid out in front of him once more. Her disposition screamed nothing but innocence, but surely that made her the perfect criminal. Undetectable, unsuspectable—

‘That isn’t even a word, you utter ninny—’

With her knowledge and experience stemming from her time working alongside him in the Mystery Room, she was a flawless culprit.

Almost.

Her decision to employ their colleagues was her greatest shortcoming; whilst Lucy was more than capable of sneaking something like this under Alfendi’s nose (‘Stop using that fucking turn of phrase,’ cried Potty) on her own, the rest of Scotland Yard’s staff weren’t so capable. Florence was restless, Sniffer was obnoxiously oblivious, and Dustin was the complete opposite of inconspicuous. Barton was still far too awkward and uncertain around Alfendi, terrified to accidentally push the wrong button, and Hilda still clung to resentment for what Forbodium cost her—all of them, flawed and imperfect, had let slip far too much information around Alfendi. Individually, each detail was useless, but when pieced together they painted a bigger, more sinister picture. As of now, he was still missing many pieces, but from what he already had he could still garner something…

Slowly, Alfendi added another card to the pinboard. 

‘MURDER?’

Potty was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. ‘We need a victim, method, motive, location, time. Treat this like any other case.’

Was he truly suspecting his colleagues of plotting something so dire? Was there no better explanation for their conspiratorial whispers, sneaking around, discussing his family and dark past, distancing themselves from and avoiding him, Lucy insisting she’d be perfectly fine without him…

Alfendi huffed a small, disbelieving laugh.

He had been so terribly, utterly blind.

He pulled the MURDER? card from its pin, wrote on its other side, and stuck it back up by Lucy’s card.

LEAVING?

Potty wrestled Placid out of the driver’s seat. Al yanked the new card back off the pinboard, brows scrunched so tightly it almost hurt, before crumpling it and throwing it across the room in the general direction of the waste bin.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Al hissed to his calmer counterpart, who had already thrown the towel in and accepted miserable defeat. “Why would she be leaving? Why would that spark a mass conspiracy among all our colleagues behind our back?”

‘Look in the mirror. See how you just reacted at the prospect of her leaving? So volatile. There is your answer.’

Al faltered. 

‘You—we—are often unpredictable. As much as both of us hate to admit it, we’ve become rather attached to Lucy Baker. If she announced her genuine departure, neither of us would handle it in the best manner. Hence the secrecy. I’m 98.6% certain this is the true explanation for everyone’s recent strange behaviour.’

“But—” Al ran a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. “Why would she—”

‘Similar reasons. Look at us; I can’t imagine it’s particularly pleasant, working with someone who switches so rapidly from one extreme to the other. We become far too engrossed in our work, avoid socialising or venturing outside—‘

“That is entirely your fault—”

‘—but my point still stands. You are me as much as I am you. For someone like Lucy, so amicable, sociable, lively and full of unbridled passion, our presence must be a terrible damper on her spirits. If she wanted to leave the suffocating confines of the Mystery Room—of us—I would not blame her one bit. Even if it well and truly devastated me.’

Al silently stood in the middle of the office, surrounded by red string, discarded cards, and the shattered pieces of his heart.

After what felt like a lifetime, he took a breath, steeled himself, and did what his father would do: he made a cup of tea.

Going through the motions of putting the kettle on, prepping the mug, and letting the tea brew was quite meditational; he’d done it so many times in his almost-thirty years he could do it upside-down and blindfolded. 

Scotland Yard was dead. This late at night, Al was the only living soul wandering its corridors. The silence was both comforting and disconcerting—it gave him time alone with his thoughts, something which, after Lucy’s departure, he would have in excess.

“Would Barton find a replacement?” Al murmured before taking a sip. He recalled how Lucy had flailed at the cafe after gulping scalding tea and laughed into his mug.

‘A genuine smile. I was unaware you were capable of those.’

“Oh, sod off.”

‘It’s hard to discern how Barton would handle it. On one hand, though we used to be capable of working on our own, we’ve become so accustomed to Lucy’s help we may drown without some kind of assistance, but on the other…’

“He’d have a damned hard time finding someone willing to squeeze into a tiny box office with a psychopath.”

‘Not the word I’d have personally chosen, but yes, that was my gist.’

Al eyed up Lucy’s mug by the sink; he’d brought it to the kitchen to give his hands something else to do. Once his tea was drained he busied himself with scrubbing away the tea stains, wrists caked in suds. As he caught a glimpse of the writing on Lucy’s mug—WORLD’S BEST DC—the reality began to truly sink in, and Placid sombrely took the reins once more.

“Wherever she ends up will be lucky to have her. It’s the right thing to do—it would be selfish to keep her cooped up forever.”

‘And if I want to be selfish?’

“We’d be delegating her to a life of misery. We want her to be happy, yes?”

‘You talk about her in such a sappy way. At this rate, anyone would think you’re in l—’ Potty stopped short, startled into silence for a long moment before simply saying, ‘Oh.’

Alfendi gently placed Lucy’s mug on the draining board, gripped the edge of the counter, and murmured, “Oh.”

‘What kind of inspector are we? It took us far too bloody long to figure that out.’

“It did indeed,” Alfendi said softly. “I can’t decide whether to be relieved or remorseful that this revelation changes absolutely nothing.”

In the dim kitchen, Alfendi came to terms with this realisation in the state he had been for so long, and after Lucy’s departure, he would return to: completely and utterly alone.

—

Friday had finally rolled around again. For the last hour or so of the working day, Alfendi hunched over his desk, burying his head in paperwork to distract himself from the Mystery Room’s silence. Lucy had left early with a terribly flimsy excuse. Alfendi saw right through it, knowing she wanted to get away from him and the office and start her weekend early, and simply let her go. After all, the last thing he wanted to do was to hold her back or push her further away.

‘Has that watch always ticked so loudly? It’s driving me mad.’

Alfendi ignored Potty’s whinging and continued with his work.

‘Stop bouncing your leg. It’s irritating as hell.’

A sharp exhale left Alfendi’s lips as he tightened his grip on the pen.

‘She left her coat.’

That startled Alfendi enough to make him look away from his paperwork. “What?”

‘Lucy’s coat,’ Potty said, ‘it’s still on the back of her chair.’

“So it is,” Alfendi replied slowly, eyes narrowing. 

Off to the side was their shared pinboard, painstakingly put back together after his late-night crisis. The red string and cards had been shamefully hidden away, shoved to the back of one of his drawers. He shook away the thought of them, checked his watch, and found it was almost the end of the working day. Lucy would be long gone. But why on earth would she have forgotten her—

The door burst open and slammed against the adjacent wall. “Prof!” 

Alfendi didn’t need to see her to know who it was. He was on his feet in an instant. “Lucy?”

“There’s an emergency!” she cried, hands gripping her knees as her chest heaved.

Alfendi’s eyes widened as he left his desk. “What? What’s happened?”

Lucy shook her head. “I can’t— You need to come and see. Please.”

In the blink of an eye, Lucy grabbed his hand and tugged with alarming force, sending Alfendi stumbling behind her as she sped out of the office and darted down the winding corridors. Her other hand held steadfast to her cap, stopping it from flying off behind them. It all happened so fast that Alfendi barely had any time to process it, but—

‘She’s holding our hand again. She needs us for something.’

—there were a few small details he was able to make note of.

Countless times he almost flew straight into a wall as Lucy rounded a corner with more dexterity than he could muster, but eventually, she screeched to a halt outside a door. It took a moment for Alfendi to work out where in the building they were relative to the Mystery Room, but once he did he deduced this was the door to an old meeting room; Lawson had used it most, but since his departure, most employees had forgotten about its existence.

Until now, apparently.

“Lucy,” Alfendi panted. “What’s going on?”

Not saying a word, Lucy dropped his hand (noticing the devastating loss of her warmth in his palm, Alfendi desperately ignored the urge to grab it again) and reached for the handle. It creaked as she slowly pressed down, before squealing as she pushed it open, and…

“I can’t see anything, Lucy. It’s pitch black in there.”

Glancing back at him(‘Wait,’ Potty cried out, ‘is she smiling?!’), Lucy reached for the light switch, and—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” yelled a crowd, followed by a much quieter, “for tomorrow!”

Alfendi’s head almost hit the ceiling; he startled so violently he was sure he’d pulled half the muscles in his body.

“Surprise!” Lucy turned to him with the brightest grin. “You didn’t think we’d forget it’s your thirtieth tomorrow, did you?”

With Placid scared into the passenger seat, Potty had taken the wheel. “What the hell is this?”

As he recalled tomorrow’s green-covered square on their shared calendar, Al realised every single one of his colleagues was present. Florence, Sniffer, Dustin, Barton, even Hilda, and many other familiar faces were crammed into the meeting room, which had been spruced up with banners and bunting. Alfendi’s favourite music played in the background, while a table positioned against the furthest wall contained a large array of food, all clearly homemade with care. 

And standing amongst it all was— ‘No,’ Placid said softly. ‘It can’t be.’

“Alfendi, my boy,” Hershel Layton said with a smile. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“We brought gifts!” cried Flora, who, with the help of Luke and Kat, held a teetering tower of presents.

“What—? How—?” Al blinked, slack-jawed, as a sea of faces he knew and cared for smiled back at him.

“Took quite a bit of planning, it did,” Lucy said, somewhat sheepishly. “You’re well hard to keep a secret from, Prof. But if anyone deserves a birthday celebration, it’s you! This place’d crumble without your help.”

“This is what you’ve been hiding from me?” Al said, incredulous.

“Aye! Had a few close calls”—she cast sharp glances at a certain few people—“but you didn’t suspect a thing, eh?” She gently nudged him with a wink.

‘Not quite.’

Once the initial shock and confusion subsided, the meeting room truly transformed into a social hub as food was passed around, music was sung along to, and everyone who had left a mark on Alfendi’s life over the years mingled and had fun. 

After Potty subsided and Placid returned, Alfendi did the rounds greeting and thanking everyone before retreating to a corner to observe from a safe distance. He eyed his father, who was engaged in an intense discussion with Barton, and made a mental note to properly talk with him later when there were fewer people around. 

Gently shaking his head, he internally chastised himself. He still couldn’t quite believe this was Lucy’s secret plan, and, despite the overwhelming amount of obvious clues before him, he had failed to figure it out. How had he gotten so caught up in ridiculous theories, when the truth was right in front of him? What could possibly have clouded his thinking enough to hinder him at what was practically his job?

Lucy meandered over to him with a plate of cake and icing in the corner of her mouth. As she grinned, the pieces suddenly fell into place. Lucy Baker. If anyone was capable of masterminding a secret plan right underneath his nose (‘Ha, ha.’), it was her. It was always her. Perhaps he’d even let her get away with murder. 

An easy smile spread across his lips as she approached, pressing the plate into his hands.

“Sniffer made it,” she said, gesturing to the red velvet slice. “He made everything, actually. Who knew he had as good a nose for food as he does clues? And Flo’s in charge of the music, of course, she’s the only one who shares your weird music taste. Dustin did all the deccies, too. Maybe we should quit all this crime-solving malarkey n’ set up a party business, eh?”

“If anyone can do it, you can,” Alfendi said. He took a bite of the cake and had to suppress an obscene noise upon realising how good it tasted. 

“You know it!” Lucy puffed her chest out with pride.

‘That icing looks ridiculous.’

“You have a little—” Alfendi gestured to the corner of her mouth, where the icing still sat. 

“Oh, do I?” She wiped a hand on the wrong corner, missing it completely.

“No, the other side.”

Another complete miss.

“No, er— Sorry. May I?”

Lucy nodded, and Alfendi carefully brushed away the icing with the pad of his thumb. She went visibly still.

“Oh!” She quickly snapped out of it, leaving Alfendi to wonder whether he’d completely imagined that odd moment. “I almost forgot, I have one last surprise for you, Prof.”

Alfendi’s eyebrows shot up. “Another? You’ve already outdone yourself, Lucy.”

“Oh aye, I know. But an extra little something can’t hurt, eh? Come on, follow me.”

His weak protest died in his throat as she grabbed his hand once again (she’d been doing that a lot lately, though Alfendi wasn’t going to complain), leading him back out into the corridor and away from the hubbub of the packed room. Once the door shut behind them the noise was muffled incredibly well—Lawson had always been a fan of good soundproofing—giving the illusion they were completely alone.

“You know, I did actually attempt to uncover what you were hiding,” Alfendi admitted.

Lucy nodded slowly. “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, Prof. What was your top theory?”

“Well—” Alfendi coughed, suddenly feeling awkward. “I may have entertained the thought of you plotting a murder.”

“What?!” Lucy cried out, before bursting into laughter. “A killer? Me? As if I’d rope all our colleagues into seeing someone off!”

“Yes, yes, I know. It was rather ridiculous, in retrospect. But I soon moved on to a more sensible theory.”

“Go on,” Lucy said, eyes wide with curiosity.

‘Don’t say a word. Don’t—!’

“Ah, well. I… I thought you might be leaving. The Mystery Room. …Me.”

Lucy’s silence made his stomach feel nauseatingly heavy.

“I presumed you wouldn’t want to tell me due to how I may react, so everyone was keeping quiet about it. A rather silly theory, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, Prof…” Lucy sighed. “You really thought that?”

Alfendi looked away.

‘Stop that. This is bloody embarrassing.’

“How would you react?” Lucy cocked her head. “Hypothetically.”

He steeled himself and caught her eye. If there was ever a time to be honest, it was now. “Truth be told, Lucy, I’d be devastated. You claimed this place would crumble without me, but it would implode without you. I’m unsure how I ever managed before you arrived.”

The fondness in her smile made his heart stutter. “You flatter me, Prof, though I’d sooner keel over than leave this place. You’re stuck with me for a good while, I swear!”

Alfendi attempted a nonchalant shrug, as though the relief of that statement didn’t make him want to sink to his knees. “Anyway, what was this extra surprise you mentioned?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “What, you haven’t figured it out yet?”

“I trust you. I decided to not treat this one like a puzzle. So, go on. What have you got left up your sleeve?”

‘Is she moving closer?’

“Oh, just this.” Lucy firmly gripped the collar of his white overcoat and pulled until their faces were level. She kissed him the same way she did everything: with unwavering energy and passion. After an initial moment of shock, Alfendi sunk into the kiss, cupping her face and matching her feverish pace.

When they broke apart to catch their breath and slow their spinning, woozy heads, Lucy pressed her forehead against his.

“Happy birthday, Alfendi,” she murmured. 

The smile on his face made his cheeks ache. 

Perhaps his thirties wouldn’t be so bad after all.