𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚢 (𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚍 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

02

Sweeney POV:

You looked so much like her... it was almost uncanny. Every nuance, every detail, mirrored her presence in ways that sent chills down Sweeney’s spine. The way your hair fell across your forehead, slightly disheveled yet perfectly framing your face—just as hers used to. And your eyes, sharp and intense, seemed to glint with the same mischievous spark that he remembered. Even your voice, low and resonant, echoed with a tone that felt hauntingly familiar. It was as if he was seeing her, as if somehow she had come back in this stranger’s form. As if you were his Lucy...

The resemblance was strange. Beyond strange. Sweeney had never been drawn to a man before, never found himself noticing the way someone looked or moved in quite this way. And yet, here he stood, frozen in the realization that he was inexplicably captivated, almost spellbound, by the stranger in front of him. The familiarity was intoxicating, yet terrifying. He clenched his fists, grounding himself as his mind raced.

No. He couldn’t allow this. He couldn’t allow himself to feel this way, not when his heart was still buried in the ruins of his lost past.

The stranger’s brow furrowed slightly, your lips parting as if struggling to find the right words. Your voice, soft and tentative, broke the silence.

“...Benjamin...?” you murmured, your tone laced with confusion and perhaps even a hint of recognition.

Sweeney felt the old name claw at him, a ghostly whisper of his former self trying to surface. He forced it down, locking it away as he had done so many times before, and replied, his voice edged with a harsh resolve.

“It’s Sweeney now,” he said, the words sharp and deliberate. “Sweeney Todd.” He paused, his gaze narrowing as he examined the man more closely, searching for any sign that he was truly who he appeared to be. “I presume you are (Y/N) (L/N)?”

He kept his tone detached, but there was an undeniable tremor in the air between them—an unspoken understanding, a shared darkness that neither could deny.

You nodded slowly, your gaze fixed on Sweeney with a mix of caution and curiosity. “How did you escape?” you asked, voice low and barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the ghosts that seemed to linger between them. “Why did you come back?”

Sweeney’s response was slow and deliberate, each word carrying a weight that seemed to thicken the air. “It doesn’t matter how I did it,” he replied, his eyes darkening with a simmering intensity. “I’m here because I want revenge.”

“Revenge...” You echoed, almost as if tasting the word, rolling it around in his mind. You lowered your voice, stepping closer, your face inches from Sweeney's, his breath catching in a strange, almost thrilling anticipation. “That sounds nice... Let me help you. We can find Johanna. We can make the judge pay. Perhaps we could expose his crimes, get the peelers to see the truth, and finally have him dragged away in chains. There must be a way to get him arrested...”

“No.” Sweeney’s response was quick, nearly a snarl. His hand clenched reflexively, and he took a step back, distancing himself from you. His gaze darted away momentarily, as if looking anywhere else might break the allure. This was dangerous—too dangerous. He had only just met him, but (Y/N). had already unsettled something in him, stirred something that felt far too close to vulnerability. Sweeney didn’t want you involved, didn’t want this ghost of Lucy distracting him. He knew you weren’t like him—you didn’t have the stomach for blood, for the finality that revenge required.

“Please.” your voice softened, tinged with desperation as you took a step closer, your fingers hovering over Sweeney's sleeve, as if you wanted to reach out but were too afraid. “I can pay rent. I can do work. Just... let me stay, just until I can get back on my feet. Please, Benja-” you caught yourself, “Sweeney.” your eyes, deep and pleading, bore into Sweeney’s with a kind of longing that was unmistakable, stirring memories Sweeney had fought to bury.

Sweeney swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. The pull of your's gaze was undeniable, an almost magnetic pull that made him feel as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice. You were Lucy’s brother, the only connection he had left to her, to the life that had been so ruthlessly stolen from him. He felt himself weakening, his resolve fraying at the edges as he stared into your eyes.

Perhaps he could manage this—perhaps he could let you stay, as long as he kept his mission in the shadows. He would carry out his revenge with precision, with stealth. You didn’t have to know, didn’t have to be tainted by the bloodshed that would follow. He would protect him, preserve this last piece of her, and take whatever connection he could find in him.

“Very well,” Sweeney murmured, almost against his own will. He inclined his head towards the darkened hallway. “There’s a room down the hall.”

A flicker of relief and something deeper—gratitude, perhaps—crossed your face. You moved past Sweeney slowly, almost reverently, your shoulder brushing against Sweeney’s in a way that sent a spark through him. Sweeney forced himself to remain still, swallowing down the unwelcome sensation. As you disappeared down the hall, Sweeney felt a strange hollowness settle within him, mingling with the anger that fueled him.

In that moment, he knew he had let something slip.