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Lockwood always knew his looks were nothing to write home about. In a crowd he might be spotted because of his height, but his lanky limbs made it more likely he’d trip over his own feet and draw attention to himself rather than any dashing looks. The same features were on hundreds of other agents across London. He made up for this in being good at what he did. Despite his usual lack of grace, the long lines of his rapier brought balance that made him much more graceful than he'd usually be, but there were hundreds of agents who might say the same.
Even if he wasn’t all that special, he knew what beauty looked like. Lucy was the pillar of all things beautiful. While his confidence was normally a mask, placed strategically, Lucy exuded it like the most natural thing in the world. When she entered a room, there was no changing who she was to fit in. She knew herself and made damn well sure everyone else understood.
Her confidence wasn’t the only thing attractive about her – not in the slightest. If anything, it just heightened the rest. Her hair practically floated around her when she fought Visitors like some halo on an avenging angel. Her body was both lithe and an immovable force. Whenever she made her way into a room, he felt drawn to her, as if she’d placed him in Ghost Lock or some form of hypnosis.
Lucy Carlyle was everything , and all of London knew it, too.
And him? Well, he was just Lockwood.
So, maybe he wasn't anything particularly special, but there was someone who always looked at him like there was no one more beautiful, or awe inspiring, and if he looked at her the same? He could live with that.