i’m writing love poems and singing love songs to a person i’ve never met.
each poem stems from the same story, that meet cute that grew and that love that prospered.
you don’t have a face in my mind, did you know that? i know your little habits, what your favorite song to dance to is, and what color you want to dye your hair, but you have no face.
maybe i’ve met you in my dreams. i can’t recall you but surely you were there because where else would you be? my heart? surely not.
so when someone asks me who i love, how can i say you? you’re only a faceless dream. who cares if you inspire me to create and love and live?
so instead i say i love late nights and reflections of moonlight, intertwined hands and back hugs, pinky swears and smiles, unmade beds and pillow forts, flour on hands and cupcakes in ovens, shared earbuds and dancing in the kitchen
and i say i love midnights most of all because i think that is where we meet
while training at fittes, george was always a top student (disregarding his tendencies to not follow orders). of course, there’s one person that always challenged his spot of #1 — his academic rival. what happens when your bickering and competitions linger even after george’s employment at fittes is over?
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george sat at his usual table at the archives. various newspapers and reports were littered across it where he was sitting, a small stack of papers weighed down by his portable mug of tea. he had been there for only an hour, but he had worked through so much history already as he knew that time to research was precious when working at lockwood and co.
every so often his glasses would slide down his nose (they always did) and once, his tea was nearly knocked over. he didn’t care all that much, this being a routine, but surely some passersby wouldn’t appreciate tea staining all the documents.
and that exact passerby was you. every time the tea precariously wobbled, you winced. every time george’s glasses slid down you sighed. and every time he nearly caught you looking you had a mini heart attack.
ever since george had left fittes. it hadn’t been the same. your high marks were so much less satisfactory and even getting into a top team hadn’t meant as much to you as it should’ve.
fittes felt empty to you without him.
“ah-hah!” you heard from the boy in question. a breakthrough?
you glanced over at his table to find out only to find him right in front of you.
“i thought i felt some eyes on me. y/n… haven’t seen you since the last time i beat you on that assignment.”
you huffed. “come off it, you beat me by 1.5%. Professor McKinnon was a numbskull and you know it.”
“well, he was smart enough to give me the winning grade, so…”
despite your banter, or maybe because of it, you shared a little laugh.
the two of you moved over to george’s table. you cleared a little space on the surface to set down your book before turning your attention to the plethora of information laid out before you.
“what do we have here?” research was just as alluring to you as it was to george. you were an expert researcher and the positions you were able to get because of it just proved it. after all, you were the head researcher of one of the top teams at fittes.
“just some old case. reportedly, a type two haunting a theater. you know how those can get — the death is probably connected to a play showed there at some point. with all the costumes and props circulating that place it’s hard to see which one has more significance.”
you nodded, scanning the documents. “any time period theories? when the victim died?” you quickly banished a couple papers you found useless to a pile on the edge of the table.
“well… you know me. i’ve got a couple theories up my sleeve.”
the next couple hours were spent working in companionable silence, the two of you pouring over the papers together. it was nice to be researching side by side again.
despite being quite out of character for him, george had fallen asleep at the table. his tea was now gone, long since sipped away, and his glasses were now set on the table.
you sighed. of course he had fallen asleep. and right before you had cracked the case. you got up, walked across the table and were just about to wake him when you saw his face.
he was at the most relaxed state you had seen him in for a while. maybe that change of company had been good for him, taken the edge off the agent life. now that you had seen him sleeping so peacefully you couldn’t possible wake him. you took out a little notecard, scribbled a little quote, arrow, and note. you set it right on top of the paper that had helped you to the answer.
quickly and silently, you took your leave, gathering your bag and checking out your book.maybe you would see him again but for now, you were disappearing without a word.
and when george woke back up, he was pleased to see the answer waiting for him — and a little note saying “i win this one :)”
<+>
because you were quite literally paid to be around books and you preferred the archive so much more than the fittes database, you found yourself at george’s usual table more often than you’d like to admit.
half the time, george wasn’t even there. you knew that he was a field agent as well as being the primary researcher, so it’s not like it was unexpected for him to not be there as often as you. however, you couldn’t lie. every time he didn’t show up for a few days, icy fear gripped you and nightmares of agents dying on the job filled your mind.
thankfully, he came back alive and well every time, ready to dive right back into stacks of paperwork, newspaper articles, and other researchable resources.
it had been a couple months now since that first time he had caught you and brought you over to his table. you were now already there nearly every time george came in. sometimes, his coworker and friend, lucy, was there as well.
it was always a delight to have lucy around. first, it was a chance to spend some time with a girl, which seldom happened for you in your male dominated field. second, it stopped you from getting distracted by george so often, as embarrassing as that is.
this time around, lucy wasn’t there to accompany you and george. honestly, you had half a mind to get her over to the archives at once. george looked sickly pale and more exhausted than you had ever seen him.
the case the night before must’ve been especially tough. an agent’s life was filled with injury. or maybe he was coming down with something. or even both. you never could know for sure what was going on with george.
when he finally sat down in his regular chair, his head immediately lolled to the side before catching itself. “…afternoon, y/n”
“it’s really evening by now. are you feeling alright?” you scooted your chair closer than his and placed a head on his forehead. “are you coming down with something or was there a hard job last night?”
his head went down to lay aginst the table and his voice floated into the air, saying, “no, i’m alright. nothing in particular happened.” with the way he was acting, there was absolutely no way that you could believe him. “anyway, i need some records from the late 1800s about asian immigration. would you mind?”
there really was no way that you could say no to him so you went around and gathered the appropriate documents. you set a stack of various papers on the table and then, without even glancing at george, you took your leave.
you were going to come back, though, and soon. you were only going out to grab some donuts or a little snack and some tea for george, who was missing his portable mug today. in his state, he was clearly in need of sustenance.
plus, he was one of the archive’s most loyal borrowers. you didn’t think any of the librarians would be too miffed about him breaking the no food rule and continuing to break the no drinks rule, especially when he looked like he was on death’s door.
when you came back, george was taking a nap. his arms had come up to cushion his head against the table’s hard surface and the papers you had brought him were still balancing precariously at the edge of the table.
you smiled at the sight. despite his clear unwellness, he looked so peaceful in his sleep. his dark curls fell slightly toward his forehead and his glasses were, for once, lying on the table and not on his face. it was certainly a sight to behold.
you set down the box of a half dozen donuts that you had bought (unfortunately not from arif’s although you knew george had an attachment to that shop). the tea that you had bought for george might just have to be yours now. it would get cold and unpleasant if he slept much longer.
while george caught up on some much needed sleep, you started the research.
to be honest, you didn’t really know what he was looking for in particular, so you noted down anything that had even a miniscule chance of being important on a pad of paper. you went through them, annotating and transcribing until the once large pile of work to do dwindled to nothing.
by now, it was probably much past curfew and you had no idea why the staff hadn’t kicked you out yet. surely their shifts were over and the archives were closed.
a clock on the wall told you it was 10:37pm and you knew that george and you had to go home. george had been sleeping soundly for nearly four hours now and it was time to get him into an actual bed that he could sleep in.
giving him a couple more minutes, you quickly sorted and put away the papers you had used and then stuck the pad of paper with your notes into george’s bag.
now, all there was left to do was wake him. if you had learned anything during your time or training together, pretty much nothing woke him. once, you had tried to wake him to compare exam results and he didn’t wake up until the third cup of water splashed on his face.
for a moment, you just sat beside him. it was a shame that you hadn’t talked much today. to be honest, at first it was just nice to catch up with an old friend but now it was delightful to hear about his life in real time. he was so much more free at lockwood and co.
“hey george?” you started gently. “come on, wake up now. we’ve got to go.” every word that spilled from your mouth was sugary sweet and you hoped that they wouldn’t have to turn ugly in order to wake him.
a couple more shakes and you were quickly losing patience. “george. it’s nearly 11:00. we’re gonna get accosted by ghosts so we might as well leave now and have more time to recover,” you said. although this was far gentler than what used to be required to wake him, you hoped it would be enough.
except for it wasn’t enough. of course it wasn’t. “i guess we’re doing this the hard way.”
you picked up the bag that was still slung across his shoulder and safely planted it on the table before grabbing him by the shoulders. you shook him agressively, whisper yelling. “george! george karim! wake up right now or i will tale back the notes i took and leave you here to rot!”
slowly, his eyes open and his hand comes up to ruffle his own hair. “y/n…? oh! y/n. sorry for falling asleep. did you bring the papers?” he stuck his glasses back onto his face and realized that you were just standing and staring at him.
“what? i’ve got things to do, come on now. where’s the papers?”
“it’s almost 11:00. it’s long past curfew now. i’ve got to get you home.” george’s eyes widened.
“but i didn’t even get to do my research! lockwood nearly never lets me fully research and now i’ve wasted all this time! at least let me gather some stuff to check out.” you were already pulling him out of the chair and towards the exit. he trailed after you but resisted slightly.
“it’s fine. just check your bag when you get home. i think another point goes to me, but other than that you should be all set.” george was then pushed out of the archives and into the street. for good measure, you handed him back his bag and settled one hand onto your rapier.
you undid the buckle on your salt bombs, too. you could never be too careful out after dark. “35 portland row, right? i’ll walk you home.”
flashing back to his state at the beginning of the evening, you couldn’t, in good conscience, let him go by himself. he still looked pale and half dead and you couldn’t have his death on your hands.
so, the two of you started to walk back to george’s home on portland row together. goerge leaned against you to hold himself up on particularly tough stretches of your walk, but all was well for the most part. all you had to do was get him home.
surely, his own bed is more comfortable than an archive chair.
a/n: i really wanted to get this out, but a part two will come at some point in the very near future! bye <3
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