Chapter Text
“What’s wrong with you?”
Lockwood had just clumsily stumbled into the kitchen late one night (or early one morning, depending on your definition) and draped himself over a chair. George noticed his face was bright red as his head fell over the back of the chair, facing the ceiling. His eyes were closed and he had a lazy smile on his face, as he breathed shallowly in short huffs of what George could only describe as giggles.
“Are you drunk?”
Lockwood’s eyes opened slowly, as if they were made of lead, only opening halfway. His eyes were glazed over, unseeing, and George presumed his ears were equally as useless. His eyes closed again, and his breathing slowly evened out, so it almost looked like he’d fallen asleep. George could have believed it if Lockwood’s racing heartbeat hadn’t been visible through his shirt.
“Hello? Lockwood?”
One eye opened and he finally registered George.
“Oh,” he breathed, unfazed. “Hello, George.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you, or are you leaving it to me to figure it out on my own? If the latter, it would be nice to have a clue.”
Lockwood’s eye closed, and his smile grew wider. “Nothing happened,” he murmured.
George raised an eyebrow. “Riiiight. So you’re always like this after a, I assume, successful ghost hunt?”
“Well,” Lockwood breathed. “No.” His lazy grin didn’t waver.
“Nice to know I haven’t just been hallucinating the times I’ve gone with you.”
Lockwood just hummed. George sighed and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as if the answer to why Lockwood was acting like a buzzed up brick wall was written up there. Not finding any hidden writing in the plaster he lowered his gaze back to Lockwood.
“Soooo…” George prompted. When Lockwood ignored him again, he continued. “You were given copious amounts of alcohol as payment?”
Lockwood’s eyelids lifted marginally to give George a look, the effect possibly dimmed by his increasingly infuriating smile. “I would never do that, George,” he mumbled. “And ‘m not drunk.”
“No offence, but I don’t believe you.”
Lockwood just shrugged and returned to his best imitation of a blissful tablecloth.
“For the love of all that is holy…” George muttered.
“Bit warm in here,” Lockwood said, finally moving his arms to pull at his collar. George was just starting to think that Lockwood had lost control of his muscles.
“It’s normal in here.”
“You sure?” He attempted to unbutton his shirt, with little success.
“Please leave your shirt on.”
“But it’s so hot.”
“It’s really not.” To prove his point, George wrapped his arms around himself, drawing in the warmth of his jumper.
Lockwood gave up on undoing his buttons and sprawled out again, his long limbs hanging at strange angles.
Getting back to the task at hand, George continued his interrogation. “So, since you insist there was no alcohol involved - which I’m still not convinced of, by the way - have you been…possessed? Should I go grab some chains?”
“No, of course not.” It was the most forceful thing that had come out of Lockwood’s upturned lips that night, as if Lockwood thought the idea was preposterous. George leant his face in his hands and groaned.
“You are insufferable. I’m going to ask Lucy how this happened, and tell her to never let you out of her sight again.”
Lockwood’s face grew impossibly redder, and his smile widened again. “Lucy…” he sighed. He started to giggle slightly again.
Realisation crashed over George like he was on the receiving end of a whack-a-mole hammer.
“Has this got something to do with your hopeless crush on Lucy?”
Lockwood’s fingers touched his lips. “She kissed me…”
George stared, mouth agape, at his friend. His friend, usually so good at holding himself together, reduced to a mumbling mess around the girl he had been pretending (or George assumed he had been at least trying to pretend - it was hard to tell with Lockwood’s blatant heart eyes) not to pine after for months. No wonder he hadn’t been able to hold himself upright when he’d entered the kitchen.
“She…kissed you?”
George knew that the feelings were mutual, but he hadn’t expected either of them to act without intervention. In fact, he’d been planning to lock them in a room until they sorted it out someday soon. He was relieved, and slightly disappointed, that he hadn’t had to resort to that. Though now, he supposed, they were both going to get more crazy. He’d have to suffer through their honeymoon phase. He groaned inwardly, and hoped that it wouldn’t last too long. A part of him knew that it was a vain hope. He resolutely ignored that part.
“Mm-hmm,” Lockwood hummed. His lips twitched, as if he was replaying the moment in his head. Which, George realised, he’d probably been doing the whole time. He shuddered.
“Okay,” George said. “That’s enough of that. I cannot believe I suffered through all of that for that.”
He opened the freezer, plucked out an ice pack and dropped it right on Lockwood’s face as he left the room, causing Lockwood to yelp.
“I’m going to complain at Lucy for a bit, and then I’m making an HR department, effective tomorrow.”
He closed the door behind him, then opened it again, poking his head around the door.
“I expect a raise.”