"You don't like me, do you?"
"Wow. Nothing gets past you, Sherlock. Do you keep one of those magnifying glasses tucked away in that little vest of yours?"
•••
Lydia Beowulf works for the Hostage Response T...
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When Lydia stepped back into Spencer's apartment, she leaned against his door. White as a ghost as she held the two coffees in each hand.
"Hey you," Spencer called as he entered the living room, rubbing his wet hair with a bath towel. The sound of a record playing music softly on the turn style. When he noticed her paleness, his expression grew concerned. "Lyl, what's wrong?"
"I—uh—I saw Anna, while I was out." She stammered, looking down at her feet as he approached her. He was hesitant of the urge to reach out to comfort her with his touch.
His lips slowly rested into a flat line and a notch formed between his brows. "Are you okay?"
The floodgates opened, and she couldn't control the words flowing from her mouth. "She seemed fine. I mean, really fine. She was with this guy, but it seemed like she wasn't mad anymore? And like—I'm not mad either. We don't usually fight over things like this, you know? I just—"
"Lyl—Lyl, slow down. Take a deep breath." He stopped her rambling and placed his hands on her shoulders. She mimicked his breathing and closed her eyes.
"Are you okay?" He asked again, concern still apparent on his face.
"Yes." She breathed out. Still a little distraught over the chain of events unfolding. She opened her eyes and handed him his coffee. He let go of her shoulders and grabbed the cup from her, letting her walk past him further into his apartment.
She settled on his leather couch, the one that held bliss from only hours before. He hesitantly sat next to her, him pivoting to face her with one leg crunched under him.
"You know, Anna used to live in one of those old houses from the 1800's? Down in Texas, it was rare to see one in that good of shape. It had a huge attic, Im talking the length of the entire house. Anyway, I was still...adjusting to the foster care system when I met Anna. We were the two most stubborn kids in the class and we butted heads all the time. Until we joined forces and realized we were pretty similar. I didn't let anyone in because of my parents, and she was raised up in loud house with two older brothers. Almost every day, we would go to her house after school and run up to attic, convinced it was haunted. Hours were spent up there playing board games and avoiding doing our homework.
"One day I didn't talk to her the entire day I sort of just...shut down. It's a habit that I still have, as we both know. Earlier that day a bunch of kids huddled around me in the hallway. Told me how much of a loser I was for wearing ratted clothes. That I was a crybaby because I was still accepting that my dad was dead. They chanted, 'Wolfie! Wolfie! Wolfie!' Because I would howl all the time about it. I was so embarrassed."
