Colab imagine with Sierra_AtTheDisco fam, we did amazing! (I finished it though! Mwahahaha)

The music was your partner at the moment. Drawing in and conducting your every move. You sang your parts perfectly with the recorded voice, continuing the movements as if your partner, William had been there. You placed a hand on the shoulder of the nonexistent man, and lifted your hand as if it were in his. It didn't take long for your fantasies to take hold of reality, as soon it wasn't your co-star, but your older brother's boss, the man who owned the house you were currently residing, the most dangerous man on the planet. Those devilish eyes burned into your own, as he whisked you around the room, stopping suddenly, about to have that magical moment for Christine and the phantom. The day-dream was shattered by the clicking of Italian leather on the marble hallway floors. Moriarty. You lunged for your glock, and slid onto your bed, and took it apart, cleaning and examining. Technically, you didn't work for Moriarty, so even if you were caught dancing, there was nothing he could do, it was more of not wanting to explain why you were doing it. The creaking of the hinges alerted you to the presence of the charming villain. You glanced up, but immediately busied yourself with your weapon. The sight of him in that plain black Westwood, his skull-patterned tie, and him, overall, it was too much.

"Hello, James. Going somewhere?" You asked casually, but the pounding of your heart ringing through your ears made it difficult to decipher his answer.

"I'm going on a date this evening, but you also seem to be dressing nicer than usual, what's the occasion?" He asked, annoyed. Seemed you had been doing that a lot lately, and to you, it was because you had been always one step ahead recently, which annoyed him. Truth being, he was simply trying to push you away. Away from his mind, as far as possible from his heart. The word 'date' struck you like lightning, quick and painfully. A date? With whom? Was he actually interested in her..? He had tried everything to get your attention, waiting for you to show even the slightest interest, but always nothing. This was his last try, his last heave to push the boulder off the cliff, to see if it quaked the ground below, if it quaked your heart. And oh did your heart quake. It left a deep rift in the base of your heart, the vibrations casing more such cracks to rise to the surface, yet somehow the gentle hills kept the water from the lakes from overflowing and spilling out into the real world.

"I'm going out this evening, I believe it's the reason I informed I'd be missing dinner. If I recall, I informed I'd be out with William tonight." Sure, he had tried to keep you away from his heart, but fact of the matter was, you owned it. Not only that, you abused it. Words like that sent him spiraling downwards, and you neglected to even notice it.

"As long as his middle name isn't Sherlock..." He sang, sending a small smile to your lips. He tried not to let his usual confident smirk falter, but as your eyes gazed away for a bit, trying to think of the words to say, the smirk turned into an expression of emptiness. The hole that had been in his heart for so long had always seemed to fill itself with the gentle toss of your hair, the snarky morning comments most dared not say, and the radiant glow of your reassuring smile.

"I'm not stupid, I don't want to be skinned!" You joked back, and though he laughed, it also hurt. The thought that you even considered the possibility that he'd hurt you. The fact that there was a chance you feared him. You were the one person he didn't want to fear him, and  if you did, it would be the final blow. He slunk out and you speedily reassembled your gun. Rolling off your bed, you grabbed the shoes you needed, and your purse, which mainly contained some casual attire, and three well-concealed weapons. You rearranged your tee and leggings, and put the heels in the bag, next to the deep black, high top converse. With everything you needed cramped in your bag, you grabbed your phone from the night stand, and hopped into your sleek black flats, going over the light skips and twirls in your head. Once at the bottom of the stairs, you noticed a woman, dressed in a very revealing navy dress. It went to about her mid thigh, it almost looked as if it were made from spandex, and it was evident from how the straps laid, the dress wasn't supposed to be that short. Her raven hair with Crimson undertones cascaded down her shoulders like swirls of blood, and she had a tear-drop necklace, that seemed to be made of diamonds. Her ivy eyes paired well with the gorgeous winged eyeliner. She was about your height, but her heels were higher than your flats, so she seemed much taller, about Moriarty's height. He walked in, hair slicked back and those eyes that knew every secret. Every secret, that is, except for yours.

"Ah, Violet, this is y/n, and Ms. Moran, this is Violet Monroe, my date for this evening." You shook the lovely woman's hand, despite wanting to tear it from her arm, and she stared at you with a look of recognition.

"I'm sorry, you just look so familiar... Have you ever done acting? Perhaps in New York?" Her voice was softer than satin, but you nearly froze. Moriarty snorted, deeming the idea ridiculous.

"I have been told I look very similar to an actress, yes, but I'm afraid I don't have the time nor the talent." You dismissed the woman's thought.

"Well, I must be off, I'm expected." You rushed out of there, jealousy and fear pumping through you, to where you didn't know if it was the tardiness making you sprint, or the adrenaline. Your thoughts quickly made their way back to him. Where could he be taking her? Was he... In love with her? He seemed very pleased with taking her out. Was it wrong that you hated her, with everything in you? Forcing the thoughts to halt, you came upon the theatre, and rushed in, quickly getting the dress and heels on, allowing women to do your makeup, and even more to curl and pin your hair.

"You ready?" William's husky voice broke you from daydreams you didn't even realize you were having.

"Oh, yes. Today's the final day, I have to be!" You and William shared a hearty laugh, and he helped you to your feet. On Moriarty's front, he was waiting patiently in the audience, trying to keep his attention on his date, attempting not to let his mind wander to what y/n would've wanted to do. This wasn't really wasn't her type of thing, he'd expect something more... Inspired. She wouldn't want to be in the audience watching people enjoy themselves. She'd be wanting on stage, in the lights. Or anything except sitting around, being bored. The curtain pulled itself up, exposing the set of an Opera house, many singing men and women, but one stuck out. The triple pirouette, much more graceful, yet sharper and stronger, than the identically dressed women's, and the flowing, dancing silk trailing her made the idea that she was flying into her leaps all the more believable. She had an aura of familiarity, of being known. He focused in on her, never letting his attention leave her. Suddenly, the dove separated from her flock.

"That's Christine Daaé." Violet felt the need to point it out, he simply nodded, but for the most part, her note was left ignored. He gazed at her like a child at the stars, interested in every minuscule detail. Most of the show went like this, his sense of being connected to her growing to unbelievable heights when seeing her in the slacks of men's wear. What was it about her? Who was she?... It was coming to an end all to soon for him, as 'Past the point of no return' was soon to begin.

Anxiety bit into the root of your stomach, as each beautiful, but almost ear piercing notes of Juliane's high voice echoed throughout the theatre.

Final performance as Christine, the curtain was nearly ready to fall, not much longer, but nerves still manage to twist knots all over. Yet, you had absolutely no clue why. Anxious was never a word to describe how you felt during this scene... Sure, there were butterflies in the beginning, but never this late into the performance. It was... Strange, to say the absolute least. Your cue was almost here, and you no longer had time to think about it.

Your feet lightly slipped into each step, swaying your hips with each motion. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, but you were determined to keep it at bay.

"No thoughts within her head, were thoughts of joy!" Your voice twirled into the rafters of the theatre, as you smile. Strolling into the centre of the stage, completely oblivious to the blinding shine to illuminate your presence. Your curled and pinned hair seemed to sway with the music, as you echoed the next string of notes, "No dreams within her heart, were dreams of love!" You couldn't help thinking about that handsome Irish man, with his large chocolate eyes that you almost always feel right into. That slick black hair, perfect smile. Even if it was a little... Hm, maniacal? Most of all, how much you wished his voice would be saying sweet words to you. Letting that rich accent fill your ears. You focused on the task at hand.

You held each note with soft, flawless precision, and you came to a stop once you hit your mark. Timidly, you fiddled with the blood red rose, soft twirling ringlets caressing your blushing cheeks, that soft rosy colour.

He stayed perched in his seat, beside the woman he had no true interest in, other than to make the woman who sent his heart skyrocketing jealous. Of course, the only one with that feeling was him, when she said she'd also be going out this evening. So, instead, he sat mesmerized by the graceful dancer, as he allowed her voice to lull the feeling of loss, she was oh, so familiar, he just hadn't been able to place it. The actress turned to the audience to continue her song, and that moment, is when it clicked. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, he knew. It was her. That gorgeous woman, with the h/c hair, which danced in the wind, that he always snuck glances of brilliant e/c eyes. That woman, who had stolen his heart, but neglected it, to the point she didn't even know she had it in the first place. He continued to watch, with a sudden nervousness to what he would be witnessing. The story he knew all too well, and he couldn't fathom all the unfamiliar feelings he'd have to experience if he had to witness your lips caressing another's. So, instead, he excused himself.

"So sorry, Violet, but I must excuse myself for a moment." His sultry voice whispered, but he gave no time for her to reply. Simply, he raised himself from his seat, and walked swiftly up the aisle. He managed to maintain his confident posture, and masculine stride, but otherwise, it seemed like he was running from something. The fear of why his heart was accelerating to the point he had reason to fear it popping out at any given moment, filling him like it had so many times before. That fear lead him to push her away. Push you away. But that same curiosity lingered. Of what the feeling could mean, or could hold. Though he'd never admit it, another thing had recently been climbing the ranks for this new feeling; the want. The want to experience all the unique sensations it had to offer. Yet, he still didn't know what to call it. One word echoed from the song; Love. Was it possible? Is this what it felt like? Those thoughts, and those similar raced through his brain as he retreated to the restroom.

He stared into his reflection's nearly-black irises. Counting the passing seconds. He ran his hands wildly through his hair, repetitively leaning against the door, not only for physical, but somewhat emotional support. As if that he hadn't, his entire world would've fallen apart. He finished his counting, which he assumed would give him ample time to miss the lovely woman fall for the man on stage, but, as luck would have it, he counted much too fast. Once his counting had ceased, he quickly slicked his hair back, straightened his skull tie, then flattened his Westwood suit, that matched perfectly with his black as death hair. He strode with purpose back to the theatre, heaving the stone-wall like doors open, then immediately returning to his seat, thoughts of her smile distracting his presence.

The silent click that shouldn't even brought an effect to you for it was so quiet, seemed to catch you off guard for a small moment as it drew you to the need to look up. To vanquish your curiosity. Mainly, because no one had left the theatre...

But you managed to only look up when meant to. The Phantom's shadowed eyes reflected into your own, and his dark mask that pearled with starry figures and gleams in the glistening light from the theatre's spotlights, finding a sense of calm as he slowly strides towards your angelic figure, eyes completely entranced  by the vision that was you.

But something seemed to pull your focus away, simply speaking, you couldn't stay in the moment... The dream of the man, the fantasy of when you strolled into the opera house stage as you took cue. The longing for it to be his chocolate vaults you were staring into, for it to be his ebony hair that was meant to be hidden, but purposefully wasn't.

In that moment, his name evaded you, but you knew you were close. Reality again came crashing through, pulling you to it's truths, as you were suddenly, but also gently, tackled into a strong, warm, meaningful embrace. One muscular arm firmly around your waist, holding you to your partner's sturdy frame, before his hands slipped up your body as his fingertips danced lightly up your arms as he sang his lines.

"What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" With an aura of gentleness, he took hold of your soft hand as he serenaded, before he delicately placed a kiss on the back of the same hand. Your costume could be considered, to most, a tad revealing, and nothing short of sexy. The only modest piece of the ensemble being the shawl, that brought out your eyes quite nicely, covering your bare shoulders and that wee bit of cleavage that your off-the-shoulder dress didn't cover. You carefully, and gracefully, took your hand from his grasp, spinning away from him, clutching it to your chest as if it were the very key to your heart, one that you couldn't trust anyone with.

"You have brought me to that moment where words run dry." You let each word bring every person to the edge of their seat. Your mind wandered, without consent, to that mysterious man. He took the words from your mouth, kept you in the dark of every emotion he may have. Just the mere memory of him made it almost impossible to speak...

"To that moment when speech disappears into silence..." You took another timid step away, eyeing him with both love and caution, "I have come here, hardly knowing why!..."

He took his seat next to Violet, once again, and she immediately held onto his hand. She brought it to her chest, using it like a safety blanket to hold the tears in her eyes at bay. The pure romance of the scene was enough to bring any woman to her knees in envy and pity. The silk, ominous voice of the phantom rang true in his ears, the stage finally capturing his attention.

"What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" Horror filled his gaze as the man took her petite hand lovingly into his gloved ones, holding it like one gently holds a dove, just enough to grasp, but sure not to harm. He rose it to his lips, sending a fit of anger through the criminal. He took notice of how the gown flaunted your every perfection, and the shawl seemed to bedazzle your eyes.  Her hand suddenly threw itself from his grasp in a soft, yet harsh way, and immediately pulled itself close, protecting the secret she held so close. From the pain that surely followed, had she fallen in love with him.
"You have brought me to that moment where words run dry." Her notes swam through  the theatre, sending shivers throughout, at the thought of the meaning that those simple words could hold.

"To that moment when speech disappears into silence..." The pitying feeling for the phantom shocked even himself. Trying to reveal this mystery that not even he knew to her, only for her to continue adding layers for them both to uncover.
"I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why!..." He knew every heartbreak the phantom had known throughout the story. How did Phantom's story end? He lost her...

A shy, but secretly sly, smirk played onto your vibrantly painted Crimson lips as you sang the, rather, implying lines.

"In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining- defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts.. I've decided. Decided..." You willed your e/c eyes to remain locked on the masked man, as you sneakily and teasingly, showed a small bit of leg through the slit in the long, flowing skirt of your costume. The warmth of the stage lights and the heat of your shawl burned your skin as your lungs allowed a relieving breath to fill them.

"Past the point of no return. No going back now! Our passion play has now, at last, begun!" And it was in that fateful moment when you realized the words weren't being played for the man across from you, with the mendacious loving stare, nor the directors that excitedly cast you, not even the crowd itself. But for the one man that you'd never have. He stuck at your mind, the very idea of him creating his home in the very front of your brain as every detailed memory of him courses through.

The perfection of his looks, to the honeyed sweetness of his high voice were all vividly clear, and fresh in your mind. But why must he stay when you could never be together? Did you truly have to be a phantom in his heart, while Violet portrayed his love? It wasn't the time to think of it, you had to finish this final performance, first.

His jaw clenched at the same time an embarrassed twitch pulled at her blood-red lips, and her lines sped through him with a heating sensation.

"In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining- defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided. Decided..." His breath weighed a ton. It became even worse, as the little sliver of her bare skin was exposed by the slit in the carelessly revealing skirt. The lights may as well have revealed feathered wings behind her, for its glow showed her angelic beauty. Her chest heaved, as if she was having the same troubles as him.

"Past the point of no return. No going back now! Our passion play has now, at last, begun!" Her voice echoed, driving the passion in her. He, himself, seemed past that point. He had fallen into this valley of hearts intertwined into a feeling of pain, but relief. The stream of fluid memories of small touches of skin, against rocks of shared smiles, the sound of the waves crashing mere gentle laughs that they've given the other. It felt as if the words were meant only for him. For the silent understanding they have for each other. But why sing for him? Why was he with this woman he cared nothing for? Would he forever be in the shadow of one who would be her Raul, while Violet showed affections he would never return, for she was only paste in replacement of a diamond. The scene came to a close, and he could feel his heart doing the same. He may have to just learn to like Violet. He may have to forget the warm feeling that hugs him every time he meets the gaze of those e/c diamonds. Ignore the impulses to watch the performance of your h/c, doing leaps and twirls, partnered with the wind. Try to move on, because no matter how much he hates to admit it; You could never love him. Yes, you were alright with living in a criminal's home, supporting your brother's murderous tendencies, but you were still a good person. That was one of the initial things that sparked his attraction. You fully supported Sebastian before every job, sometimes even cleaning his gun before a mission, and the blood from his clothes after. Yet, you were kind. You had no problem giving up a meal to a hungry child, nor cheering someone up after a bad day. Your behavior suggested you'd be an angel, so it would never be in your nature to even admire the devilish ways he practiced. No way you'd care enough to love him as he loved you. Thoroughly torn between unable to contain the words he longed to admit, and wanting to at least retain the current relationship he treasured so dearly. Violet stood, tearing him from his thoughts as she waved her petite hand in front of his eyes. He shook the depression from his features, and gave her a small, reassuring smirk, before standing on his own, hoping she wouldn't initiate any contact. Of course, false hope is never a good thing, as it was clear she would take his hand, and she did.

You quickly redressed in the casual attire, slipping your converse on, and tying them slowly. The phantom's touch still echoed in your memory, and it still seemed present on your skin, but that wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to feel his touch. Moriarty's touch. You wanted to feel finger tips as he lifted your chin to gaze upon you, that sly smirk drilling into you, like the school's bad-boy to a shy nerd. It was your every fantasy. You wanted to know the taste of his gum mixed with the burning Irish whiskey you always could smell in his breath. He never really drank, that you know of, it just always had that undertone, and boy, did you love it. It was your every daydream. You wanted to feel his hand clasped around yours as he lead the twirling path around a ballroom, whispering sweet words as he did. It was your biggest daydream. You wanted to feel his love, because you would hand him every weapon to harm, kill, or otherwise maim you, if only he'd promise a kiss before the pain. He was your biggest daydream, your every daydream, your every fantasy. Sometimes you just wanted to leave, and never look back to that heartbreak of a place, but you couldn't. Because the vivid brushstrokes of memories in your head would make you regret even the thought of it. The daily morning memory of seeing him in his sweatpants and plain white tee, his hair and stumble as if he'd been lost for years at sea. The gravelly roughness of his Irish drawl as he used his vocals for the first time that day to say good morning. The memories of his mischievous glint when he was all too excited to tell you all about the wonderful job he got, that bizarre glitter of insanity, as his dramatized movements swung themselves around, and the glances every few seconds to make sure you were still paying attention. But how could you not? Seeing him that excited was like giving gold to a poor man. You treasured the beauty and shine, and gladly accepted the rarity that made your heart double in size, only for it to be broken when his mood passed, and was back to being calculatingly cold, and flirting with everyone within proximity. Interest in people wasn't something he typically showed, but you pleaded to every single star that he'd make an exception, just for you. That in the end, he'd choose the shy girl that he knew as nothing more than the girl he shared a home with. That he'd choose you.

He went over every detail in his head as he allowed Violet to drag him to the area outside of the Stars' doors, where she could properly show her admiration for the woman he'd come to know as the only person he'd ever love. It was ironic, in a roundabout way. He pictured every detail, he could practically feel the burn of her cheeks the first time they'd met. The day she moved in, and the soft

-flashback cuz I'm lazy-

He looked to his sniper, his second in command, straightening his tie once more. Sebastian figured it was because he was meeting a random woman who'd be living in his home for awhile, but that was only part of it. Moriarty always knew his best friend had a little sister, since the day they'd started working together, he started gathering Intel on her. And the more he got, the more intrigued he got. It started with the first time he had someone follow her. He expected her to be exactly like Sebastian in every way. From the greasy blonde hair, to the overly muscular build. That was simply not the case. Instead, he got pictures of wispy h/c hair, and those dazzling e/c eyes that stared into his soul; even through a photograph. Her (body shape; Ex. Lean, hourglass, curvy, etc.) striding confidently, and with a purpose. Then came gathering actual information on her, and that's what started his downwards spiral. Sure, she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world in his eyes, but that wasn't what caught his attention. He found piles of information on Sebastian before finally meeting him. His sister, on the other hand, he found a few school report cards, a full ride to Oxford, and a news article for being the youngest person in the school's history to get your doctors. But that was it. He knew everything about Sebastian; from his last relationship (2001, before he was sent off to war), all the way to his shoe size (11). You? He couldn't deduce anymore information than what he'd already found from the photographs. His intrigue had been piling on, and on, but he hadn't done anything about it. Now he'd finally meet her; y/n Moran. A small, timid knock sounded at the large oak door, and Sebastian pulled them open, as Moriarty leaned against his desk. Pretending to be bored, when in reality, he was trying to figure out why his heart seemed to stop, why his blood ran cold, and why he suddenly felt ill prepared to meet her. You hugged Sebastian, and he happily wrapped his arms around you.
"Geez, I missed you, y/n!" You giggled softly, causing Moriarty to glance up, the sound feeling sweet as it drifted into his ears, and he liked it. Absolutely adored it, actually.
"Well I'd assumed so, it must've been like she wasn't even there when she was in highschool; the absolute youngest Oxford doctorate grad. That takes a lot of wo~ork." He sang intimidatingly, but in a tone that somehow made you feel at ease. No, actually, not at ease. You heart was pulsing in your chest as you glanced over to him a he spoke, and your first thought just had to be it. 'Damn, he is hot!' Yep. It was timed absolutely perfectly, because the heat didn't come running up to your cheeks until he had finished, smirking up at you. Heat was radiating off your face, and you lifted an arm to rub the back of your neck, desperately trying to hide the look of recently being slapped (all over your face). Sebastian just gave that low, annoying laugh he had always done.
"Yep, that's my sis, all right! She's pretty exceptional!" This only made the tinged pink skin, turn to blood red. You were a definite introvert, and it didn't help that you'd just met this man, and he already knew who you were. Or that he was probably some serial killer, knowing Seb. But something about him was... Calming, he rolled his eyes at Sebastian, a light smirk on his face. He looked over to you, shrugging apologetically, more of a smile on his face now.

-End of flashback-

Everything he knew about y/n Moran. She was exceptionally smart; an absolute genius. Her voice was like honey and dew drops from Summer's rain. Her movements were as strong and confident as his, but she was also more graceful than a swan. A swan's irritable flapping wings, versus her flowing silk-for-wings as she glided effortlessly through the air. Her favorite colour was the same colour she wore daily; (f/c). He listed about twenty more of her favorite things, before moving on to her personality. She was so open, and courageous, yet secretive and timid. She was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery, guarded by a riddle. And in her petite, delicate hands, laid the very thing he never wanted anyone to get to. His heart.

Everything you knew about Jim Moriarty? Absolutely everything. You had memorized every little detail, and still did. You thirsted to know about him, for a single detail that'd help you get over him, but the more you found out, the more you loved him. Every detail that'd send most running for the hills, just sunk the claws into your heart, ready to tear it out when he had the chance. You looked in the mirror, and grabbed your bag; leaving the heels behind, and putting your previously 'fancy' outfit in your shoulder bag. You stepped out, immediately getting crazed fans attacking you. One person you didn't notice was Moriarty, unknowing of how he got there. You noticed his date first; Violet, was it? She asked for an autograph (something slightly odd considering, but you were happy to feel like a star), but as you were signing, you could feel your palms getting clammy. He stared at you, trying to figure out how to move on when you were always right there, right in front of him! It wasn't fair how you got to crush his heart, then break each little piece over and over again every time he'd see you. You hadn't even been his, and it was killing him inside to lose you. You knew that if she was here, he was, too. You gave everyone their pictures, and let the fan do their fanatics, and when you looked around, Moriarty was nowhere in sight, and Violet was gone. It should've been a sigh of relief, it gave you more time to come up with a liable explanation, but it left an all too familiar crater in your heart, knowing he'd probably take her home, kiss her gently goodnight, and probably stay the night with her. You weren't ever sure what he did, but you had theories. You weren't wrong, but your reasoning to why was all messed up. Every woman he took out had meant nothing to him. A distraction to try and forget you plucking the strings to his heart, pulling him so high he was nearly on cloud nine, before breaking the same string, sending him crashing to the ground. Again and again. He had been excited to take out Violet; it was a test to see if you'd even care. After his last date, he noticed something he had then tagged as jealousy in your eyes (which it was), and noting how you had buried yourself so deep into his head that he could no longer just distract himself from you, he decided to see if maybe you'd be his. After you had met Violet, so sweet and kindly, he gave up. At this point, he just wanted to go home, so he dropped Violet off, not even bothering to say goodbye as he stared blankly out his car window. He tried to find a place to look that didn't bring up thoughts of her, but was at a loss. He tried to look at the ground, watching each blade of grass yield to the breeze's soft force. It brought up the memory of when he watched from his office window, her babysitting his niece as a favor. She laid down that day, the grass hugging her gently, as she pointed to each cloud, laughing and chatting idly with the six year old. Then he tried the gorgeous night sky, but the stars only reminded him of the night in Moscow, Sebastian insisted on her coming because there were some threats coming in, and thought it'd be better if he could protect her, so Moriarty agreed. The car stopped to change a tire that had gone flat, and to calm him down, she started pointing out the constellations, and their stories. He tried the far-reaching floral horizon, then the flat complex, and even the window, itself. Each road led him to the same place; You. He opted to close his eyes, and try to file you away as 'unimportant', failing miserably as the car drove him home. To his surprise, when he got there, you were pacing in the living room, trying to figure out how to explain all of this mess. He watched for a few seconds, admiring how, even when under distress, you kept that graceful, yet bold walk. He couldn't live like this much longer. He had to watch you be everything he wanted- actually, no, you were just everything to him. Not just what he wanted. You were his everything, while you didn't even care to try and understand what he felt towards you. He cleared his throat to alert you to his presence, and you spun to face him.
"Hello, y/n." He said, rather reluctantly, but thoughts started flying through both of your heads as you took in the other's full appearance.
"Oh. You're home..." Not as much time as you thought you had, but it was enough. You knew how to explain why you didn't tell him, why you lied. It wasn't a good explanation, but it'd do.
"Of course I'm home; it's my house." That was another thing you were afraid of. That he'd kick you to the curb for being weak, ordinary. He glanced around the living room, eyes wandering around, but never landing on you. You guessed distrust and disgust for the woman before him, but you couldn't be farther from the truth. Okay, maybe you could. The only distrust he had, was to himself, he didn't trust he'd be able to look into those eyes without falling into their batches of e/c pearl, that he could face those lips without greedily taking his own to them, nor did he trust that he'd be able to hold back the want, no, the need to entangle his fingers in the wispy locks, hanging in beautiful wakes, like willow branches. It disgusted him to know he had those compromising thoughts, that he listed for your touch as much as your affection, but most of all, how he thought about taking it. It was a split second thought, and he hated himself for it. But he didn't trust himself enough to not be that monster, so he refused any contact between you both.
"Uh, yes, but I figured that you'd at least stay the night with Ms. Monroe." There was a slight drop in your tone. Jealousy and pain fought for control of how the words sounded, despite you only wanting to sound inquisitive. He began moving to the lounge room, suddenly interested in the painting he had bought a few years back. You heaved a deep breath, ready to explain everything.
"I'm not interested in Ms. Monroe." He dismissed the idea, and you were relieved, but shocked. The way he said it was is as if it were obvious, and almost like he was upset you'd think he actually liked her.
"James, I apologize for lying, and keeping this from you, but you must understand my position. It could've looked bad on Sebastian, and you could've kicked me out. Heaven only knows how I'd be after that. I didn't want manything to relay bad on him, or yourself, for my extra-curricular activities." You explained quickly, you wanted out of there. Violet was so beautiful, so poised and elegant, why would he ever want you if he didn't even like her?!
"I don't know why you're apologizing about that. It's not that big of a deal." He said it so nonchalantly, that you almost didn't notice his mistake.
"Then what should I apologize for?" His head snapped to you, and his eyes darted downwards to consider what he had said.
"Damnit." He whispered under his breath. There was no explanation he could come up with, no decent one anyway, that he wouldn't ruin everything he had worked for. Everything he had done to be your friend, tone close to you. He buried his fame in his hands attempting to clear you from his mind once again. A state of panic washing over over you, you fell in front of him, trying to analyze what had suddenly happened.
"James! Are you alright?" He lifted his head, astonished that you had been so worried for him. His eyes met yours, and he still neglected to notice how your pupils nearly doubled in size, how your pulse seemed to be attracted and instantly repulsed, just to be attracted to the magnetism of him as it pounded through you.
"Want to know why you need to apologize?" His voice sounded like it was coming out as rusty nails, cutting up his throat, and paining him in the worst way possible, as he looked up to look in your eyes. You nodded feebly, concerns about the sudden question. He took your hand, and opened your palm, running his thumbs over the small (skin tone) rivers moving through it. He swallowed a lump in his throat.
"I'm past the point of no return. And it's all your fault, you just keep breaking me!" His voice was in a hoarse whisper, and his words took you off guard, "You stole my heart, and you just forget you have it, except for the moments your pulling it apart. You distract me without being there, and I grave a loss I shouldn't know!" He sat in silence, his hands still cradling your left one, and you just blinked. You were too shell-shocked for the words to truly register, and for you to truly react. He brushed you away, and started towards the hall. He was nearly out of the lounge, when his words finally caught up to you, and you ran to catch up. You grabbed his arm, stopping him. His breath hitched, acting like a plug for his breath. He slowly turned towards you, eyes full of shock, and jaw slightly slack. He had absolutely no time to react, before your lips were connected with his. His eyes widened for a second, before he relaxed into it, securing one hand to your waist, the other reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your cheek, then to become prisoner in your holding waves. You could taste spearmint gum, mixed with the unexpected taste of honey. Your left arm wrapped around his neck, and the other rested on his neck and collar bone, slowly moving it to the back of his neck, and dragging itself back down. It was everything he ever imagined, and then some. The feeling of your lips reminded him of soft rose petals brushing against his lips. All the electricity he had grown accustomed to from the small, purposeful brushing of skin was magnified to proportions he couldn't describe. You were transported to your own world, where the only thing in existence was each other. That's why when Sebastian walked in, neither of you noticed.
"What the-?" He stared in bewilderment for a hot second, then realized what was happening, "FINALLY!" It broke the fragile dream world holding you together. You didn't remove yourselves from each other, at first at least. Your eyes just shot open, and stared at each other for a second before gasping, and pulling apart.
"S-Seb! Th-this isn't what it looks like, I swear!" Sebastian's eyebrow shot up, and you and Moriarty fidgeted wildly. You snuck glances as if to ask what to do. Because neither of you had a clue.
"Really? Because it looks like my boss is kissing my little sister." He commented, crossing his arms with a small smirk. You would've noticed, if you were not so embarrassed of being caught.
Moriarty decided to say something, and cleared his throat to signal so.
"You aren't supposed to be back for another hour. Why're you back so early?" He almost snapped, trying to control his supreme embarrassment. Sebastian rolled his eyes, pointing to the clock. It was nearly 11:45, the time he was expected home.
"How long have we been home?!" You were honestly shocked; the play was over by 10:15, and it only took you 10 minutes to leave, and were home five after that. Moriarty had gotten back at 10:45, so it had been nearly an hour.
"So, you both finally admitted it, huh?" He set his 'case' on the table, hanging up the jacket as you both looked at each other. James looked almost... Disappointed.
"I did, at least." He put his hands in his pockets, and looked down at his feet. You thought for a bit, about how every flaw head seemed to make your infatuation for him grow, how even the first day you met, he sent your heart a flutter.
"I thought you got the idea." You gave a crooked smile, which he laughed a bit for returning.
"Good, because I just won 2 quid, who wants dinner?"