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Lucy has given Tim a lot of things over the years.
Hand-curated food baskets. Personally narrated audio recordings of out-of-print books. Headaches. Kojo. A signed copy of the book that saved him as a child. The belief that things could be different. A sun to orbit. A new perspective.
The last one took him a while to clock.
It’s been a slow process, coming to the realisation that the world feels different now, that even the smallest things have taken on a brighter hue beneath Lucy’s touch.
Tim doesn’t know how it took him so long to catch on—these days, he swears it’s impossible to miss the effect she’s had on him. He notices it everywhere, in everything, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He used to be content with silence, everywhere, all the time. He sought it out, in fact.
His home was quiet. Kojo’s footsteps would pad across the hardwood, and sometimes Tim would put a game on the TV for background noise, but otherwise it was a vacuum, hollow and silent. He didn’t think he minded it.
But now that Lucy has moved in, every corner of their home is filled with vibrancy and life, and Tim doesn’t know how he ever lived here without her. Whenever she’s away, the silence feels so foreign and wrong and echoing that even Kojo hates it, coming to lay his head in Tim’s lap with a small frown.
It’s not just in the house, either. Tim’s drives to work are no longer just him, his thoughts, and the traffic—an uninteresting yet necessary part of getting to work. Now, the droning rumble of the engine is interwoven with Lucy’s voice, singing along to the radio or talking about work or Kojo or the neighbourhood gossip or whatever else might be on her mind. The chatter might have been an… adjustment when she first became his rookie, but it was all too easy for Tim to grow used to it, and to miss it when she wasn’t by his side.
Even something as simple as food is different, these days.
Their sit-down breakfasts had been Lucy’s idea—a moment of stillness in the morning, serenity amidst the bustle of their routine, guaranteed time they share before the stress of their jobs steals their focus for the day. Tim used to grab a protein shake and maybe a banana before heading out on a run, but now he and Lucy take turns cooking scrambled eggs and bacon—or ‘facon’—, placing cutlery onto serviettes at their dining table. A lot of the time, it’s the highlight of his day.
“When you think about it, this is like a little breakfast date,” Lucy had smiled one morning, spearing a strawberry with her fork.
She was right. Every morning, Tim wakes up and gets to go on a date with the love of his life, each shared moment as precious as the last. It’s never gotten old, and it’s never going to.
He’s always loved making breakfast for Lucy—even back in her old apartment, he’d rotate between pancakes and omelettes and bacon when he stayed over.
He’s always loved cooking, period, in fact, learning as a kid so he could take some of the burden from his mom. But when he started living on his own, he never felt the need to make himself anything beyond the basics; meat, vegetables, maybe some rice or potatoes. Food was more about survival and macros rather than the flavours or love of the craft.
The first time Lucy came over for a date, however, Tim had researched and planned out the perfect meal—seabass, one of her favourites, with carefully selected side dishes that he knew she’d love. It was the first time he’d put effort into his cooking in a long while. He’d wanted to impress her, wanted to try and communicate the depths of his feelings in a way he’d never had the words for. She’d loved it then, and she loves it now, loves everything he cooks, loves him all the more for the effort he puts in.
Lucy shows an enthusiasm and a love for his cooking that no one else ever has. She’ll sit on the counter or watch over his shoulder, eyeing every ingredient and dutifully taste-testing anything he asks her to. She makes the whole activity enjoyable, rather than an obligation. And whenever she interrupts him, distracting him with light touches and hands around his waist and the occasional make-out session against the countertop, it just makes the experience that much better.
A consequence of Tim knowing how to cook is that going out to eat isn’t something he’d ever seen the appeal of. Sure, he’d take a girl out for dinner a few times when they were first getting to know each other, and on special occasions, but for the most part he was perfectly happy cooking for his partners. He’d never been enamoured by the idea of spending exorbitant amounts of money to sit in a stuffy restaurant and choose from a selection of foods he’s never heard of, being much more receptive to his creature comforts.
But, as with many other things, Lucy had driven him to change. With her enthusiasm and fascination for different cuisines and restaurants and her love of trying new things, Tim has always found himself wanting to take her everywhere. He wants to sit across from her in restaurants she’s been pining after, dressed in nice clothes, watching her eyes light up as lavish plates of food are set in front of them. And he wants to make a habit of it, too—rather than waiting for birthdays or anniversaries, he wants to see that specific kind of joy in her expression whenever he can.
Of all the places he’s been with Lucy, one of the ones that’s surprised him most has been her favourite sushi place.
Tim had never liked the idea of sushi, finding nothing appetising about eating raw fish. But early on in their relationship, Lucy had insisted he try it, dragging him to a sushi bar and not even handing him a menu.
“I’ve spent the last two years watching you scrunch your nose at the mere thought of this stuff,” she’d said, pulling the menu to her chest so he couldn’t read it. “I’m just going to order for you.”
Tim had realised it was probably best he didn’t know the specifics of what he was about to eat, so he didn’t argue. He did get hung up on something else Lucy had said, though.
“I don’t scrunch my nose.”
“Uh, you so do,” she’d countered. “It’s one of your most quintessential Tim Bradford traits.”
She’d then proceeded to order a selection of things she thought he’d like, telling him to trust her.
Even if he’d narrowed his eyes at the plates laid in front of them, obviously, Lucy was right. Every bite was an experience Tim had never had, fresh and light and made even better by the glowing smile of the woman next to him as they’d shared the plates.
Ever since that date, sushi has been one of their favourite things to order, spreads of maki and sashimi and handrolls laid out on their coffee table as they watch Top Chef on balmy summer nights. Sometimes, they’ll even take it on picnics to the beach—a double bill of things Tim would never have imagined himself doing before Lucy.
He’s always despised the beach, for listless reasons. He’s still not sold on the sea, with its infinite unknowns lurking in the depths, nor is he the biggest fan of sand. But even if he hates the way he can feel the grains settling inside his shoes, he’ll happily stand there and listen to Lucy talk about the view, watching the awe on her face glow as vibrant and soft as the sunset.
He loves getting to understand the world through her eyes, continuously gaining insight into why Lucy is so Lucy, even after all these years of knowing her. In her eyes, everything is wrapped in such beauty and marvel and wonder, down to the most mundane of things. She says that the vastness of the ocean spanning over the edge of the horizon, leading up to the waves crashing against the shore beneath their feet, reminds her how everyone on the planet is connected. She gazes at the birds soaring into silhouettes, points at the sunset painting the sky in her favourite shades of orange, before fading into the dark blues Tim knows so well.
It’s crazy—he could swear even colours look different now.
Maybe it’s the yellow that he’s drawn to. Her favourite colour. Ever since he found out, he’s started finding it everywhere, in everything. Little glimpses of the love of his life scattered in his surroundings. And every time he sees it, he gets to think of her.
Lucy’s hiding in daffodils and tulips and lemonade and in the sunrise and in every yellow car that drives past, or the yellow crayon Jack uses whenever they babysit.
Tim grew up only seeing the worlds in dark, intense shades. The red of anger and blood; the blue of bruises and utter devastation. But these days, he finds shades of yellow in everything, and the world seems brighter in every single way, tinged with metaphorical sunlight, bright and beautiful and worth every second of pain.
Since he met her, Lucy has made everything better. Especially him.
She’s taught him unwavering kindness, what it means for love to be purely unconditional, showing him mercy he’d never been afforded or tried to show himself. And over the years, Tim has learned to see himself differently, has learned to see himself through her eyes. He’s a human being before all else, one who deserves love and care and protection. He’s not just a machine, a hollowed out shell going through the motions—work, gym, dinner, rinse, wash, repeat.
He used to put himself in the line of fire if it meant getting the job done, seeing his own life as a means to an end. But Lucy showed him he has value, on the day she put herself at risk to pull him out of the line of fire when he was still just an asshole stranger, and every day since.
And on the days that he might lose sight of that value, she’s given him something to make it home to, something to fight for.
On top of everything else she’s given him, she makes him a better cop, a better person.
Lucy has weaved her way into every aspect of Tim’s life, a shining yellow thread running through everything, keeping everything together in the most vibrant way. Tim loves it, loves her. He’s whole, now—he’d never let himself dwell on it long enough before to realise he hadn’t been. But the empty space in his life that had felt agonisingly permanent is now filled with sunlight and relentless joy.
He knows Lucy Chen is it for him. She’s his forever, and his everything, and every piece of who she is—her interests, and quirks, and light, and love—have irrevocably changed him for the better.