𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 • anthony lockwood

ii) three weeks after.

 ii) three weeks after.

"WE'LL TAKE IT SLOW, SOPH," the boy spoke softly, opening the cab door. Sophie gave a quick nod, gripping Lockwood's arms tightly while he gently pulled the younger girl out of the car. Sophie gritted her teeth against the searing pain in her abdomen, feeling the pull of her stitches as she stood up. The taller boy closed the door before securely wrapping his arms around her for support.

Taking a hesitant step, Sophie immediately regretted it, a hiss escaping her lips. Lockwood turned his head, his lips brushing against her hair. "We can take as long as you need, love."

Nodding, Sophie took a deep breath, her dark eyes flicking to the terraced house before her, feeling the longing tug of her heart. The front door was freshly painted a pale green, and the iron fence along the side looked polished and clean. The broken iron line on the first step had even been fixed in the three weeks Sophie had been gone.

The two of them froze abruptly at the first step, as Sophie observed them dantingly. The boy beside her lowered his head, whispering, "Do you want me to carry you?"

She immediately shook her head. "No," her voice barely above a whisper. "I can do it."

"I don't doubt that you can," Lockwood replied gently. "But I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Sophie hesitated, fiddling with the long sleeve of the grey hoodie he had given her. Her gaze met his warm eyes while he patiently waited for her answer. There was a crease between his brows that hadn't left since the evening Sophie woke up in that hospital room nearly two weeks ago.

"I can do it," she repeated, more confidently this time. In response, the boy gave a small smile, tightening his hold around her, and inviting her to lean more on him.

As they slowly ascended the steps, Sophie focused on her breathing, already feeling breathless from her trip home. Her eyes stung as she glanced up at the familiar door, taking in every detail from the messy paint job to the gold doorknob reflecting the afternoon sun.

Lockwood's grip tightened as they reached the top step, his silent support grounding her in reality. She's home. She made it home. 

With a shaky breath, Sophie watched as the boy beside her fished out the house key from his pocket. The lock on the door turned easily with the key, obviously having been oiled the past few weeks. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar hallway beyond and immediately Sophie could hear a muffled argument happening down in the kitchen.

Lockwood's gentle touch guided her through the doorway, his warmth enveloping her protectively. The light was on in the entrance, illuminating the room in a warm glow. The hall itself had been completely cleared out apart from the rapier basket safely tucked away in the corner and the small table with a vase full of flowers.

Noticing her scanning the area, Lockwood spoke up. "George was terrified that you would trip over the mess, so he made a massive deal about cleaning the house."

"As if he needed an excuse to clean anyway," Sophie replied with a small smile.

"Do you want me to get them, or do you want to get some rest?" His voice was soft, his concern palpable. "They will understand if you're tired, Soph."

"I want to see them," she answered quickly but hesitated. "I'm not sure if I can..." She trailed off, gesturing to the stairs.

"That's okay," he assured, leading her slowly into the living room. The large sofa had already been set up with a few pillows and Sophie's favourite blanket folded neatly on the arm. Carefully, Sophie was eased onto the chair, her back propped against the pillows. His touch was tender as he draped a blanket over her. "Welcome home, Sophie," he whispered.