[LOVEY]

⚘

CREEP WOKE ME UP BY SLAMMING HIS FIST AGAINST THE HEADBOARD.

At the loud cracking nose, my body jolted into consciousness, and my eyes painfully adjusted to the bright sunlight. My head was spinning. My back was aching. Creep was staring down at me, a dull expression on his face.

It took me a moment to realize I'd fallen off the bed and that he wasn't eleven feet tall. I wouldn't be surprised if he was, honestly, because his ego was big enough to work as stilts.

"What do you want?" I groaned, rolling onto my stomach, "I'm sleeping."

I didn't have to see his face to know he was glaring at me. "Get up, please."

"No."

"The phone was ringing."

"Answer it, then." I mumbled into the ground.

I felt dizzy and I felt hungover. I didn't even drink yesterday. Perhaps the thought of Creep watching me sleep was preying on my unconscious (I am 100% sure he watched me sleep. He's weird and dedicated to his job).

"What do you think they'll say when a random man answers the phone?" I heard the man say from above me, "they'll think you were entertaining a guest."

If my arms were double jointed, I would have flashed him my middle finger. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, you pervert, you were implying that I'd cheat," I spat out. Hearing him smear disloyalty over my name gave me the motivation to crawl up from the floor, using the mattress as a railing. "I'm not a cheater."

Creep looked unamused. "I never said you were. I said that's what they'd think."

"Ah, yes," I mumbled, stumbling towards the phone, "God forbid the receptionist thinks I'm sleeping with sod like you."

I didn't bother to glare at him, but I swore I heard him clear his throat while I picked the phone up from it's hook. Blinking my eyes in exhaustion, I dialed the number for the lobby with careful detail. It started to ring.

When the call finally went through, I noticed Creep had thrown open my wardrobe door and was shuffling through it. I ignored him.

"Hi, bonjour," I yawned, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, "I'm so sorry, but I think I missed a call?"

I heard a woman's voice from the other end. "Oui, Madame, your caller has left a message..."

While I listened to the lady recite a string of words into my ear, I let my eyes follow the man across the room. He had taken my creme, tweed set off of it's hanger, laying it on the bed after careful inspection. He'd gone to get a pair of heels by the time I'd hung up the phone. I wasn't sure why he'd picked out my outfit (at least, that's what I assumed he was doing), but it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

I squinted my eyes, observing him for one last brief second. He was wearing a navy button-down shirt, black trousers, and shiny, black shoes. I wondered where he stored his clothes. I wondered when he had time to change.

"My friend called," I said.

He was flicking the lint off of my suit-coat. "I know."

"They want to know if I'm free to visit them."

"I assume you're talking about Mori Fauna-Blanc."

I squinted my eyes, a pang in my chest signaling a sense of alarm. It only took me a few seconds to remember our conversation from yesterday. He knew everything about me, including who I was friends with.

"Right," I exhaled stiffly, "I forgot you stalked me before becoming my bodyguard."

As I walked towards the bed, I saw him narrow his eyes. "I'm not your—"

"Bodyguard? I don't care, Creep."

"I gave you my name. Don't call me that."

Snatching up my clothes from the mattress, I scowled at him, before protruding towards the bathroom. I heard his footsteps travel after me, coming to a stop outside of the door. I made sure to lock it with a loud click! to let him know I didn't trust him in the slightest.

He was making my morning miserable.

"That wasn't necessary, Lovey," I heard his muffled voice say from behind the door, "I don't plan on opening the door."

I continued to change into the outfit he had picked out for me, my brows furrowed in total disdain. My patience was running thin, and all I wanted to do was argue with him. I didn't want him thinking he was in control—he's not. Far from it. He's just a stain on the quilt of my life, and I'm doing my best to wash him out.

"Don't expect me to trust you," I stated through the door, "first you stalk me around Paris, then you break into my hotel room, and oh, if I'm not mistaken, you pretended to read the same book that I was reading."

As I slipped my tweed suit-coat onto my shoulders, I listened to him snap back from the other side of the door. "There are many things wrong with what you just said."

"I doubt it."

"I wasn't stalking you, I was making sure you weren't killed." His voice sounded strained. Clearly he was trying not to snap again. "And for your information, I've been reading that book since June. The fact that you're reading it as well is a coincidence."

The lengths this man will go to.

I scoffed. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I doubt you ever believe anything."

"Who does Edmund kill in chapter seven?"

"Edmund doesn't kill anyone, it's debunked later in the book when we realize it was Arthur the entire time."

A moment of silence passed when I realized he was right. I gave him a trick question, but he escaped it just as quickly as I had thrown it out. Ignoring the still-uncombed state of my hair, I grabbed the handle of the door, wrenching it open with utter distaste.

"You skipped ahead," I said.

Creep was leaning up against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest in a condescending way. He stared down at me with a thoughtless expression. I wanted to punch him.

"It would be in bad taste to skip ahead of a good book. Ever heard of Spoilers, Lovey?"

I glared at him. He didn't bat an eye.

"I hate you," I frowned, stalking past him and into the room.

I could sense the sneer on his face. "It's better that way."

⚘

MORI FAUNA-BLANC was, in simple terms, utterly perfect in every way.

They were the kind of person who used sarcasm as a way of life, but never as an insult. Unless it was to tease me. That was the exception. Their personality consisted of dry humor, unsweetened coffee, faux coats, and the class of both a trendy young-adult and an elder.

They confused people most of the time—their job was to design and decide the trends in 1960s clothing, but they dressed like they were constantly in mourning. While their work was never without vibrant colors and pop-art flowers, their own attire was always black. No grey, no ash, just a pure abyss of darkness.

I only saw them a few times a year, which was strange, because they're my closest friend. They weren't French, but they lived in Paris. They knew everything about me, but also knew everything about everyone else (including themself). I wondered what they'd think if they saw Creep following me around.

I knew it wouldn't be good.

"You're not going in there with me," I said sharply, sticking my finger out towards the man.

Creep and I were standing in the hallway outside of Mori's penthouse suit, itching from the silence that had previously consumed us walking here. If Creep accompanied me inside my friend's apartment, They'd have questions. Bad questions. They were a fan of my relationship with Percy; we were together because of them.

Unfortunately, it seemed Creep didn't care about things like that.

"Fifty-feet, Lovey," he said blandly.

I frowned. "Shove those fifty-feet up your—"

My insult was cut off when the click of a handle rang out into the hallway, and the door in front of us swung open. With a cigarette in hand, Mori Fauna-Blanc stood staring at us with dead-panned eyes, complete suspicion on their face.

I glanced at the smoke dangling from her fingers. Just as I'd thought, it wasn't lit. Mori wasn't the type to smoke ("if I wanted to destroy my lungs, I'd do it myself") but still carried cigarettes around to make themselves feel precocious. They cleared their throat, waiting for an explanation.

"I haven't seen you for a year, and yet you still haven't gotten rid of that tweed set?" They said bluntly, eyes flickering over my attire. "I expected at least some growth."

I smiled. "Hi Mori."

"Who's the giant?"

They were referring to Creep, who's height towered over me like a slim mountain. He hadn't said anything, nor given any indication that he was listening to our conversation, yet suddenly all eyes were on him.

"Chauffeur," I said quickly, my right thumb twitching, "Percy hired him."

Mori narrowed their eyes on the man. "Kent hired you?"

Creep didn't say anything. He only stood there like a statue, staring back at my friend as if they hadn't asked him a question. Unsurprising. Total lack of any attempt to explain his presence.

"I'm shocked," Mori said, turning away from the door. They beckoned for me to follow them. "It's not like him to hire attractive men. They usually make him feel threatened."

I squirmed at the notion of my friend calling Creep attractive, because one, he didn't deserve it, and two, I didn't want him to be a topic of conversation. I wasn't good at lying, and he clearly wouldn't help me.

I stepped into the apartment's foyer, my heart beating as I grasped the handle of the door, quickly shutting it behind me. Creep was locked on the other side. I heard his knuckles tap against the wooden barrier, before the knob jiggled slightly. Then there was a silent breath of air.

"Do that again, and I'll make sure you regret it, Lovey," his voice said thinly from the other side.

My heart skipped a beat.

"I don't need your help," I whispered through my teeth.

Creep didn't respond. A part of me wished he did, just for the sake of arguing, but it was better that he didn't. Stepping away from the door, I turned into the foyer and made my way into my best friend's apartment space. We had a lot to catch up on.

I found Mori in their living room, reclining on an orange, velvet chaise, the unlit smoke still in their hand. They waved for me to sit on the chair across from them. Their job as a fashion designer paid well, the large windows depicting a parisian view shining down on me. Everything was neatly placed in it's due position; unread magazines, stacked sketchbooks, strips of fabric I assumed had already been critiqued.

"I heard the news," Mori said calmly. I hadn't finished adjusting comfortably in my seat when they sprung the topic on me. "Kent's proposing?"

I glanced at the floor. "Maybe."

"He hasn't hinted anything?"

"Oh, he has," I nodded. My fingers grazed against the necklace he'd gifted me yesterday, almost instinctively. The daisy chain felt cold against my neck. "If not, the press has."

"You don't seem excited."

"I am." My right thumb twitched.

"Such a liar, [y/n], seems you never grew out of that either."

They threw a smile my way, and I knew they were amused by my lack of growth. Mori liked it when a person was flawed—it made them interesting. In my opinion, flaws made people annoying (this was based on my own self-hatred).

I watched them reach over to the glass coffee table between us, dropping the cigarette onto it and reaching for a crystal glass instead. They poured some whiskey. They looked at me. I declined.

"If you don't want to marry a man out of love, marry him for financial benefits," Mori announced. They took a sip of their drink gracefully. "It's not gold-digging, it's just making sure you survive in this society."

I blinked. "So you want me to marry him?"

"I want you to be rich and happy, that's all."

"But I hardly ever see Percy nowadays."

"Oh, that's a blessing," they smirked, chuckling under thier breath, "to marry a wealthy man and never need to see his face around. Not that Percy's face isn't gorgeous to look at, but men can be a bit too much sometimes."

Mori never dates. This is a fact. I'm surprised they know so much about it.

As I listened to them ramble on about what life was like in Paris, I felt my mind drifting back to the hallway. It had been silent for so long. Not a sign of movement. I wondered what Creep was doing behind the wall, still pissed at my previous stunt.

As if on cue, the door knocked down.

Creep came running towards me, arms outstretched, voice yelling inaudible words, and four words painted on his expression: You'll regret this, Lovey.

Then we heard the gunshot.