South London Forever // George Karim

-midnights and bad blood-

there's a reference for you swifties <3 and here's a ✨low level gore warning bcs Freddie can't actually see it lol✨ 

"Is music necessary for this?"

Freddie looked up from where she was tracing the tape on her record covers. She had poked holes in Braille onto the masking tape for each album so she could tell them apart. The record player was balanced precariously on the small bathroom bench, the shower curtain hiding the small ensuite from the rest of the attic pulled back.

She glared in Lockwood's general direction, scrunching up her nose at him and holding the glass lid up on the record player, rifling through the stack of records in her arms.

Lockwood sighed, but it could've been because of the heavy wooden stool he was carrying up the cramped stairs. It had originally been a side table in the library decorated by stacks of books, but they had moved the entirety of the Harry Potter series to the empty space in the fridge, and now it was a bedside table.

"Fine, but no Florence, please Freddie, I've Moderation stuck in my head all day."

The flimsy paper was slipped off the record, and Freddie clicked it onto the turntable, moving the needle and the arm into place. "Fine, but you asked for this."

"What do you-"

Summer went away

Freddie stuck her tongue out at Lockwood and left the little bathroom, notes of the song following her through the dim attic. She could feel the weight of darkness and mildew on her skin, and pulled open the curtains, finding the handles on the window frame and letting in the crisp afternoon air.

Still, the yearning stays

Lockwoods reaction to her song of choice was cut off by a loud thump and a few swear words, meaning he had most likely dropped the bedside table on his toe. Freddie traced her finger through the layer of dust on the windowsill. "Should I find an icepack?"

I play it cool with the best of them

"No actually, the window you just opened will freeze me enough," Lockwood shot back bitterly, and there was a muffled grunt as he pushed the relatively small piece of furniture across the floorboards. It shrieked like nails on a chalkboard and was definitely leaving marks.

I wait patiently

Freddie rolled her eyes at his childish sarcasm and moved around him to make her way down the stairs, stepping over the fourth from the bottom. There was a broom in the hallway she had to duck, and she forgot about the metal bedframe in the doorway of the library which resulted in a newly formed bruise on her shin, but she made it to the kitchen.

Taylor Swifts voice had faded by then, and Freddie wouldn't be surprised if Lockwood had changed the record as soon as she left.

"Do you two need any help with the bed?"

Freddie jumped when she realised George was standing by the stove, but it did explain the smell of pumpkin soup. She was still getting used to having another person in the house. She didn't know why, but it had helped, more then she had thought it would.

Not in the 'more jobs to share around and a bigger chance of becoming a registered agency' way, but in the 'there was humming in the kitchen and light pouring from the windows that were usually drawn shut, conversations rarely broaching the subject of bills and visits to the doctor' kind of way.

She supposed that maybe it wasn't just because they had someone else, but because that someone else was George.

When the wooden spoon scraped against the bottom of the pot bubbling on the stove top, Freddie broke from her thoughts, hoping her cheeks weren't stained pink. Whatever the colour had to do with getting hot in the face, Freddie didn't know. "Uhm, no, I reckon we can manage it. Thanks though."