Chapter Text
Lucy Carlyle walked through the lush, familiar grounds of Fittes Academy on the first day of term and smiled. It was good to be back.
She’d spent the summer up North at her mum’s. More accurately, she’d spent the summer hanging out with Norrie, heading over to the White’s first thing after breakfast every morning, chilling together for half of the day, and then going to work at the movie theatre in the afternoons, selling tickets to other bored teens and sweeping up mountains of sticky popcorn after showings, giggling together all the while.
But now the summer was finally over, and Lucy was back in London for Year 12 at Fittes. If she was lucky, she would be accepted to music school in London and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to return to live at her mum’s house ever again.
She lugged her battered old suitcase and her beloved french horn along the brick paths that wound their way through campus, then up four flights of stairs to the top of Portland Hall. She had to dig her key out of the bottom of her rucksack where it had lain unused for six weeks.
Her room was just as she’d left it, clean and cosy. Holly was clearly back already, her stylish shoes arranged neatly beside the door and her leather coat hanging from the hook above them. Not a surprise, since Holly lived in London. Lucy was the only one of her friends who had to take a six hour train journey with two transfers, arriving well after lunch.
She removed her boots and got to work settling back in. She was just wondering when she might actually see some of the friends she’d made last year, when she heard voices in the hallway outside. She rushed to the door, throwing it open forcefully.
Lockwood stood just on the other side, hand poised to knock, his face frozen in a look of almost comical surprise. Then he grinned and Lucy felt a pleasant flutter in her stomach at the sparkle in his dark eyes.
“Well, well, well,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against her door frame, looking elegant as ever in his button down and slacks. “Look who it is, George.”
“Yes, who would ever have expected Lucy to answer Lucy’s door. Next you’ll be telling me Buckingham lives at Buckingham Palace.”
George’s bespeckled face and curly black hair made an appearance around Lockwood’s shoulder and Lucy smiled at him.
Lockwood, meanwhile, was frowning. “...I don’t think there is anyone called Buckingham anymore.”
“No, the title is extinct,” George agreed with a nod.
“But then doesn’t that mean…”
“Yes, yes, it was a double reverse joke. Honestly, my humour is unappreciated in its time.”
George shook his head and stepped across the hallway to unlock his and Lockwood’s door. There were only two rooms at the top of Portland Hall, numbers 34 and 35, and one small, shared bathroom for the four of them. It was warm and welcoming and more like a real home than Lucy could ever remember having.
“Want to come over for cards after supper?” Lockwood asked, turning back to her. “You can tell us all about your summer adventures.”
“I can tell you all about them right now if you have five seconds,” Lucy laughed.
“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that boring.”
“That’s because you’ve never been to the Cheviots.”
“Well then, George can tell you about all the plays we saw this summer and I can whinge about the fact that the fall play this year is Romeo & Juliet and I can’t decide if I want to audition for Romeo or Mercutio.”
“Oh yes, it’s so hard being you, isn’t it?” Lucy rolled her eyes fondly.
“It is,” Lockwood agreed, giving her his best, big brown puppy eyes—which it must be said, were very good.
Lucy had spent much of the previous year reminding herself that he was an actor, that when his smile lit up the room or his arm wound around her shoulders as they walked, that he didn’t really mean it. That was just his way, and it was silly for her to lose her head over him like half the girls in their program clearly had.
In the weeks apart she’d forgotten just how magnetic his presence was and she could feel her cheeks turning hot under the directness of his gaze.
“I, er, need to finish unpacking,” she said, turning to glance over her shoulder, hoping he hadn’t noticed her blushing.
“Oh, alright.” Lockwood gave a dramatic sigh. “See you at supper?”
“Yeah, let me know when you’re heading out.”
“Of course.”
He pushed off from the door frame, then hesitated for a fraction of a second, before stepping forward and pulling Lucy into a hug. She stiffened in surprise, caught off guard by his sudden closeness, the warmth of his body through his shirt, the clean, comforting smell of him.
Before she could figure out what to do with her arms, or where she was meant to stick her face, he released her just as suddenly and stepped back.
“It’s nice to have you back, Luce,” he said softly.
She looked up at him, at the shy smile curving his lips, at the softness in his eyes, and could feel the butterflies trying to escape the confines of her stomach.
“It’s nice to be back.”
Lucy was amazed at how quickly campus life picked back up into full swing. By the second week, Director Barnes had announced the selections for their winter concert and she had won first chair in blind auditions (granted there were only three french horn players, so it wasn’t that big of an accomplishment). Her academic classes were beginning to heap more and more homework on her and she had music for orchestra, wind ensemble and university audition solos to practise. She was beginning to worry that Year 12 was going to be one neverending string of work.
To top it all off, Lockwood found her in a practice room one Sunday morning near the end of September to ask for a favour.
“What’s up?” Lucy asked as he tapped softly on the door and then stuck his charmingly dishevelled head in.
“Sorry, don’t mean to be a nuisance,” he began, which Lucy took to mean he was here precisely to bother her. “I wanted to ask you something—is now a good time?”
“You couldn’t wait fifteen minutes until lunch?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.
“I was worried you might get so into your music, you’d forget to turn up,” he said, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him.
“Nonsense. That won’t happen until midway through term, at least.” She grinned up at him and he chuckled in response.
“Actually, I wanted to catch you alone,” he said, one hand ruffling the back of his hair, making it stand on end.
“Oh, why?”
“I need to ask a favour and it’s a little…embarrassing?”
“I can’t imagine why you didn’t want to ask in front of George, then. It would be like Christmas come early.”
“Well, yes for him.”
“So what’s the favour? You need my help with your music? Or hiding a body? Or…oh no, Lockwood, tell me you don’t need to learn to do a Northern accent.”
That got a genuine laugh out of him, a vibrant, brassy sound that filled the little room.
“No, nothing so horrible as that, I hope,” he said with a grin.
“Go on, then. Out with it.”
Instead of responding, he kicked one of the chairs closer and sat facing her, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together nervously. Lucy couldn’t remember seeing him this agitated before and she wondered for a moment if he was about to tell her some dark, sinister secret from his past. He’d always been very tight-lipped on the subject.
He took a deep breath. “They just posted the cast list for the winter play and I’m Romeo.”
Lucy bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing, wondering if he was actually disappointed to have the lead. “Congratulations?”
“Oh, um, thanks. The thing is…so Kat is playing Juliet…”
“Kat Godwin? Doesn’t she hate you?”
“Yes. She’s Juliet and we have to…that is, I have to…”
His cheeks were turning an interesting shade of pink and he couldn’t seem to look Lucy in the eye for more than half a second.
“Lockwood, what?”
“I have to kiss her. Onstage. A few times, at least.”
“Oh.”
Lucy turned this piece of information over in her mind. So, he would have to kiss a girl he didn’t like onstage in front of everyone he knew. That sounded awful and if it were her, she would die of embarrassment. But there was a good reason Lockwood was an actor and she wasn’t.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said diplomatically. “Are you worried Kipps will beat you up?”
Lockwood snorted. “Try to beat me up, you mean? I expect he’s too busy now that he’s at University anyhow.”
Lucy chuckled and Lockwood cleared his throat, his expression turning more serious.
“Anyways, I was hoping you could help me with, um…my technique,” he finished, staring resolutely at the floor.
Lucy stared at him, uncomprehending. “Your technique?”
“Yes. I’ve never, er, kissed anyone. Not really.”
“What? I saw you kiss Kipps last year! And that girl who was playing Ophelia, Ginger wasn’t it?”
“Those don’t count! They weren’t real!”
“Well, neither is this.”
“No, but…” Lockwood sucked in a frustrated breath, running his hands through his hair. “Look, this isn’t just for laughs and it isn’t a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. The audience needs to believe that we are in love. That we are so far gone for each other, we are willing to risk everything to be together. And I don’t know how to do that! I’ve never…”
He trailed off, looking at her helplessly and she finally understood.
He’d never been in love.
In hindsight, that was probably something Lucy couldn’t have guessed, given how little he let anyone in. There had been rumours, of course. Countless girls and not a few guys claimed to have snogged him in the green room or while waiting in the wings or even one time in the lighting booth (Lucy knew immediately that one was a lie—George would have murdered him in his bed). She could see now that he was a little terrified of the entire concept.
“I…understand,” Lucy said softly. “But Lockwood, I’ve never…either. What do you want me to do?”
“Listen, I can’t practise with Kat. She’d probably say no, and even if she didn’t, what if I’m bad at it? What if she told everyone?”
Lucy snorted. Of course, that would be the worst possible outcome of all this. But he looked so earnest, leaning forward with his hands pressed between his legs, eyes wide and beseeching.
“So…will you help me?”
“I’m sorry, I’m still not sure I understand,” she said carefully. “You want me to help you practise.”
He nodded.
“But how would I help you practise kissing…?”
His cheeks were now a truly brilliant shade of fuschia. Lucy hadn’t even realised his Southern skin could turn that colour and something finally clicked in her head.
Oh.
Oh.
She felt slightly silly for being slow on the uptake, but in fairness it was a ludicrous suggestion.
“Okay, just so we’re clear, you want to practise kissing me.”
“Yes.”
“So like, one time or…?”
“Ah, well, I guess we’ll have to try it and see? If it’s too uncomfortable we can stop immediately, just say the word.”
“Uh huh.”
“Please, Luce? I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it with anyone else.”
His dark eyes shone up at her hopefully from beneath his thick lashes and Lucy could feel her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest, as if in warning. This was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea. But for the life of her, she couldn’t come up with a single concrete objection. He was her friend, wasn’t he? It wasn’t such a big favour to ask, was it?
“Okay,” she said, her voice sounding oddly like it was coming from a long way off.
“Really? You’ll do it?” He sat up, looking relieved and frighteningly eager.
“Yes, but not here.”
“No, right, this isn’t a good spot. The doors all have windows.”
“Right.”
“Maybe one of the dressing rooms over in the theatre? They have mirrors, which might be handy.”
“Sure. Er, when? Only, I have music theory reading a paper for history due this week…”
“How about right after lunch? Then we can work on that paper together if you like. I haven’t even started mine.”
“Um, sure.”
“Perfect. Thank you so much, Luce. You really are a lifesaver.”
His grin was like the sun coming out after a week of rain, yet Lucy had the odd feeling that there was another storm on the horizon. A much bigger, wetter storm. She had a funny feeling neither of them were fully prepared for what was coming.
Next time, Lucy was going to insist they not try this right after lunch—her stomach was squishing around oddly as she and Lockwood made their way to the theatre building. That was assuming there was a next time. She was still half convinced this was going to be so strange and awkward that Lockwood would give up on the idea immediately. The sensible part of her brain hoped that was the case, anyway.
As it was Sunday, there were a few students milling around in the quad, lounging on the benches or kicking a football around the grass. Nobody seemed to take note of them, or that there was anything strange about their behaviour. Yet Lucy felt like everyone must be staring at them.
“Through here,” Lockwood said, unnecessarily. She had been backstage several times, after all. Not as often as the drama kids, but she had given a couple of performances in the grand old Fittes Theatre the year before, not to mention played in the pit orchestra for the musical.
He started telling her about the building and some of the famous performances that had been given in it, then diverged into telling her about the time Kipps ripped his trousers during a quick change and the stage hands had to patch it up with gaffer tape and shove him onstage to sing his song.
Lucy listened with half an ear, feeling grateful that this early in the term no one else was rehearsing yet.
“Here, this will do.”
Lockwood opened a door with a little gold star on it and waved her inside.
The room was small, with a table running along one wall and a large mirror hanging above it. There were racks of old costumes against the back wall and a couple of stools to sit on. The room was painted a sickly olive green that did nothing at all to quell Lucy’s growing nervousness.
Which was silly, she reminded herself. She didn’t have to do this in front of a bunch of people—just Lockwood. What was she so worried about?
“So, erm, how do you want to do this?” she asked, turning to him.
Luckily, she could count on Lockwood to provide his usual calm self-assurance. He probably hadn’t had stage fright since he was four years old. Very little seemed to faze him.
“If you could stand just there,” he said, taking her by the shoulder and turning her back to the mirror. “Perfect. And I’ll stand here, so I can see how it all looks. Is this okay?”
Lucy nodded dumbly. He was right in front of her, her eyes level with his chin. They’d been this close together many times, but somehow she’d never been so aware of how tall he was, how broad his shoulders or how smooth the line of his jaw.
“Luce?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you sure you’re okay with this? If not, I’ll figure something else out, I just—”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, straightening her back and lifting her chin. “We’re here anyways. Might as well give it a try?”
“Right. Let’s try then, shall we?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
He stood there, looking at her a moment longer, his eyes seemingly fixed on her mouth.
“Lockwood?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you want me to say a line or something?”
“What? Oh, no. Let’s start really basic.”
“Sure, yes. That makes sense.”
“I’ll just lean in and kiss you.”
“Okay.”
“Right then…”
There was another pause and Lucy could feel her nerve beginning to sag under the weight of expectation. She was just considering whether she ought to say she needed the loo, or that she’d forgotten her sheet music, or the building was on fire, when Lockwood—with a muttered oath under his breath—suddenly leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.
Lucy held her breath for one heartbeat, two. The pressure on her mouth was odd. Not unpleasant, but certainly nothing to write home about.
Lockwood pulled back, a slight crease between his eyebrows.
“How…how was that?” he asked.
“Oh, um, fine I guess?”
He wrinkled his nose. “It wasn’t great, was it?”
Lucy huffed out a small laugh. “No, it wasn’t the best,” she agreed. “But that’s why we’re here–-to practise, right?”
“Right.” He seemed to pull himself together. “Okay if we try again?”
Lucy nodded, bracing herself.
The second attempt went about the same as the first. Lucy closed her eyes, holding her breath and trying not to fidget with the sleeves of her jumper.
“Any better?” he asked.
“Um, not really, no.”
Lockwood put his hands on his hips.
“I keep thinking I should go slower, but it already feels awkward to hold it that long.”
“Maybe you could go slower on the approach?” Lucy suggested.
“Oh, yeah, I could try that. Would it be okay if I…?”
He reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. She tried not to laugh at how even such a simple touch had suddenly become the most awkward thing in the world.
“Sure,” she said, giving a half shrug with her free shoulder. “Whatever you like.”
“Thanks, Luce. You’re a star.”
He smiled down at her, and something in the air seemed to change. Maybe it was the warm weight of his hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was the way his smile burned brighter than a spotlight, or the way his eyes made the space between them seem to sparkle. Lucy’s breath caught in her lungs, her heart beating like the wings of a bird trying to burst from her chest and take flight.
Lockwood took a half step closer and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His cheek brushed against hers, velvety smooth, and she felt pulled in by his gravity, her lips rising to meet his, so soft and warm. She could feel his breath against her skin and breathed in, filling her lungs with him. He smelled like tea and soap and whatever it was he sprayed on his hair every morning.
She felt as though she were filling up with light, like at any moment she might float away, or burst with the heat of it.
Luckily, he chose that moment to pull back once more, his lips leaving one last puff of breath on hers. The light inside her dimmed and went out. She was left in the cool shade once more.
“That was…better,” she whispered a little hoarsely, opening her eyes.
Lockwood looked down at her for a moment, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. “Good,” he said softly. Then, clearing his throat and stepping back, “Excellent. Well, I think that’s enough for right now. I realised I can’t actually see anything at all in the mirror. I’ll think of something better for next time. Maybe George can—”
“What? No! You can’t tell George!” Lucy said, aghast.
“No, you’re right, of course,” he said hastily. “Sorry. I’ll think of something.”
“Okay, good.”
“I, um, need to grab some things from another room, see you back at the hall?”
“Sure.”
With that Lockwood departed. Lucy turned, seeing herself in the mirror. She was pale, eyes dazed, but her lips were a bright pink. She stared for a long moment, before giving herself a mental shake and making her way out of the theatre and back to Portland Hall.
She only remembered they were meant to do history together when she got back and found her book open on her bed. Just as well, she thought. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to concentrate with Lockwood hovering nearby after that. It would be fine though, she reasoned. She just needed to adjust to this new experience. It didn’t need to change anything about their friendship. That settled, she began to read.