Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

<p>The first thing Lawerence had thought was that it was a shame her outfit had absolutely zero shape. Was it the wrong thing to think when a literal ghost was standing…no… floating on his roof? Yeah. But that only mattered if this was your first ghost encounter. So, he continued to look at her. Her wide eyes stared back at him; the moon was glowing from behind her. He stood motionless. 

He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, or any other night for that matter, all thanks to the rickety old house he’d moved into. At first, he had figured it was a small price to pay for such a large space at a cheap price. The low price would have rung some alarms if he had actually been paying any attention when making the sale. Even still, he assumed the noise was what had made it so cheap in the first place. He never bothered looking any further into it. 

In the end it didn’t matter that much, he planned to be much louder. An assortment of instruments littered the house. A guitar in the living room. An electric guitar and a keyboard in the bedroom. Pieces of paper with lyrics were scattered across the entire living space. 

And eventually, if he was lucky, there would be a woman in this town worth trying something with. 

He found out very quickly the town was full of either older women with their noses in the air or boring chicks who wanted nothing to do with him. Whatever, they’d beg for him when one of his songs made it big. 

Another groan from the walls and he practically ripped the old, stained blanket off of himself. Running a hand through his hair, it practically stood in every direction. He trudged down the stairs with heavy footsteps making his way to the living room. His eyes felt heavy from his third night of little to no sleep. As he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, he scrunched his nose at the smell and glanced over to the old pizza boxes that had begun stacking up. He scratched at his stomach which had been poking out from under his cotton t, he’d deal with the mess later. 

He almost laughed, no he wouldn’t.

 He walked then to the living room and, grabbing the guitar by its neck, he settled into the worn-down couch, tuning the instrument for a moment. Once happy with the assortment of notes he began to strum. After the first few notes played out on the instrument a chill had entered the room. Damn windows were probably opened. He stopped and turned his head. The chill he had felt dissipated, and he scoffed when he noticed the windows were, in fact, shut. He rolled his eyes and shuffled against the couch prepping to play again. The notes came back to him easily, but the chill returned. He decided to ignore it. As he played, he had begun to hum the first verse. He almost didn’t notice the second voice when he had made it to the melody. Almost. 

He stopped humming but continued to play. This time he swore he heard another voice clear as day. After a moment he could tell it was…feminine. His hands froze. The voice continued on for a moment but then stopped too. He took a deep breath fighting the urge to look around. He waited, then started the chorus again. This time he had heard nothing. After playing for much longer and hearing nothing he figured the lack of sleep was getting to him. 

He didn't even remember falling asleep but when he saw the 3 on the microwave clock, he laid back down and rolled over. He was beginning to feel that warm haze of sleep again when he heard it. His eyes shot open, and he looked all over the room. No one was there but he heard it, he knew he did. 

A voice was humming, clear as a bell in the quiet of the countryside. He recognized it as one of the songs he had been playing earlier. As quietly as he could manage, he shuffled up looking for the source. 

The voice grew louder as he approached the stairs. He stood at the foot of the stairs and grimaced when he looked to the steps. There was no way they would not squeak under his weight. He looked down and poked at his gut. “Probably oughta lay off the carbs..” he joked, cracking a snarky smile before making his slow and careful ascend up the stairs. It was a small miracle when he had made it to the top without a sound. The, now much clearer, voice reminded him of his goal. He followed it up to the attic. 

Moonlight streamed in through the windows and dust floated through the air. The attic had an old mystique when viewed at night well, it would to someone who cared to pay it any attention. A gentle chill blew through, and he finally noticed, there was a single window open. He took a deep breath tugging his cotton shirt down over his gut before creeping through the opening. 

The wind blew gently around the roof. The bite of the cold didn’t bother him. The wind carried her voice. Whoever it was. He heard the lyrics now. 

“Baby, take my hand. 
Don't fear the reaper. 
We'll be able to fly. 
Don't fear the reaper.” 

He had to admit whoever this was half decent. He crept along the roof, careful of his footing. When he reached the edge, he gripped the corner of the roof and edged his head around it. There she was. Short black curls bobbed as she held her arms out awkwardly softly singing the words. 

“Romeo and Juliet Are together in eternity.
 Romeo and Juliet.”
 
He watched as she danced around. When she turned, he noticed that she was playing air guitar. Lawrence fought the urge to laugh, she clearly had no idea how to play. He continued to watch her figure moving every which way as she jammed. He watched her move but when he looked down, she… didn’t have feet. “Holy shit..” He murmured. She stopped immediately.
 
Shit. 

Her eyes flung open, inky pools meet his green. He looked at her. The only sound was the house beneath them creaking in the wind. It hadn’t yet registered to him that maybe he shouldn’t be standing on the roof. “So, are you like…dead?” 

Her shock became anger almost immediately. 

“How the hell can you see me?” Ok. So, she was fiery. He could work with that. “Should I not be able to?” He snorted. She didn't like that, if the wrinkle in her nose was any indication. She crossed her arms, turning away. “Just answer the question..” The ghost scoffed. His smile became somewhat condescending, “I was dropped on my head.” He wasn’t quite smug, but he didn’t seem ashamed about it either. She stared at him glaring. Great, he was making fun of her. “Are you sure it wasn’t your face?” She snarked back. He almost couldn't help rolling his eyes, “Har, har so you are a ghost?” the man asked, looking at her with a lifted brow. She took a step closer to him. “Yeah, and what is your excuse?”

 To anyone else it would have been weird to have a ghost sitting at their kitchen table. Ok it was weird to have a ghost at his table, but he had been used to ghosts. He had unknowingly sought them out as a child when he felt alone. His dad was gone, and his mother couldn’t have cared any less for him. He spent a lot of his time alone in an apartment when he finally made a friend his age; it never occurred to him that something could have been off. He only realized something was wrong when he tried to hug the young boy and fell through him. He could only stare at the little boy from the floor. He didn’t really know why he could see ghosts, but when he had tried to tell his mom about what had happened, she sneered at him, chilling him with a look from the corner of her eyes. “This is what I get for dropping you so often.” She groused. So, from then on, he had figured that was why he could see the spirits. It wouldn't be until much later that he realized his mother hadn't meant it as an actual answer. From there he grew up aware of ghosts but never pursuing much past conversation. He was never fascinated with death, but the constant reminders of the afterlife encouraged him to try and live a full life. His definition of such was not the same as most people. Many would argue his life was actually just chasing moment to moment. He was just living from place to place and that he hadn’t found anything really fulfilling. Hell, he was almost in his thirties and hadn’t had a successful album, but he was playing music for a living. A small living but he would have preferred it to a damn desk job like his shitty mom. 

So, no, the apparition at his table was not that bizarre to him. However, this was the closest to home that an appearance had been. He snorted. Closest to home. He was hilarious. 

“What?” She snipped clutching a warm mug in her hands. He looked back over to her. A large black t-shirt with some old band on the front hung off her petite shoulders. He couldn't even tell what band; it was so worn down. She wore a long black maxi skirt with small red flowers littered over the fabric. Her feet were in fact present but much more transparent than the rest of her, they were clad in chunky black boots. “You got a thing for feet?” She asked, noticing the way his eyes moved over her bottom half. She lifted the mug to her lips to try and mask her smile. He smirked. “Do you want me to be?” She choked on the drink spewing the liquid across the table. When she could breathe, not that she needed to, she barked out a laugh. “Gross dude!” She laughed, tossing her head back. Her laughter rang out and he couldn’t help the feeling of satisfaction that settled in his chest. He was ready for her to up and leave but she laughed. She. Laughed. He wasn’t prepared for how that would make him feel. 

He had never been the kind to be bashful, hell he wasn’t now, but his smile was more genuine than it had been as he watched the woman giggle, the sound like a tinkling bell. Pushing himself off the counter he moved to sit at the table with her. “So, like what happened to you?” She looked over the mug at him. Her eyes held a glint of...he couldn’t quite make out what emotion that held. He could tell, however, whatever joy she had felt was dulled considerably by the question. “Tactful.” She murmured. The chair he was sitting in tilted back as he laced his fingers together and placed them behind his head. “Aren’t I?” He asked, closing his eyes with a smug smile. 

“I jumped.” His chair went out from under him. He fell to the floor harshly and she laughed again as if she hadn’t just said something devastating. “You.. what?” He stuttered sitting up looking at her from across the table. She smiled sadly, if she had a heart, it would have sunk. "It was a long time ago. I don’t remember why I did it, frankly I don’t remember actually doing it but, it is the only thing I can think of that explains this ‘whole being dead thing” She said, gesturing to herself as she did, “but now? I'm stuck in this house.”

 He stared at her for a moment. He felt the discomfort in the pit of his stomach. “Uuuh thats..” She stood slowly making her way over to his sink. When her skirt floated through his shoulder his body was racked with violent shivers. He began to stare at where she had been sitting. She was kind of small and she didn’t look that old. She jumped. His throat felt tight. The clink of the ceramic touching metal caused him to whip his head towards the sink. 

“You can really play.” She said, her voice soft. He stared blankly at her backside. “Huh?” She turned around and pointed to his guitar. His face lit up. “Yeah, and you were singing, weren’t you?” She grimaced immediately. “Oh god you heard that?” She put her head in her hands. His grin quirked up on one side, quickly forgetting the previous topic and becoming more condescending. “Of course I did, that's how I realized you were here.” He sat back in his chair with a shrug. She looked up, her short hair bouncing with the quick movement. She had a contemplative pout on her face as she looked at him. “You’ve lived here for like two months and you didn’t realize there was a ghost here?” He grimaced, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean I realized eventually.” He tried not to think of all the stuff he had gotten up to in those two months. Shit, how many times had he had his hand down his pants recently? 

She scoffed at him, but a small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. He seemed like a total dumbass but strange enough, that didn’t bother her. She floated over to the instrument letting her fingers drag across the strings. A soft chord played out and he walked over, plucking the instrument off the stand and sitting back on the couch. “Do you know how to play?” She shook her head curls hitting her soft cheeks. Well, he figured they would have been. 

Pause, what. 

He watched her as she moved to sit on the couch with him. She really was something else. Otherworldly. Dark wide eyes, full pink lips, and plump cheeks. Her clothes didn’t give much away, other than a bit of her interests, but he could still tell she was rather petite. Her short bob highlighted her thin neck. Her skin was a milky cream that was most likely just a part of her ghostly complexion, but he would bet the girl didn’t get much sun when she was alive either. She was a sort of dark beauty in a way.

 He must have been really friggin' lonely if the ghost was the best-looking girl he’d seen since he’d moved. 

She settled into the couch next to him. His arm rapidly began to feel cold enough to make him shiver. “That’s what I felt earlier…” He whispered looking intensely at the goosebumps forming on the arm closest to the specter. “What did you say?” He looked back at her. Wide dark eyes meeting his. “You wanna hear me play?” He blurted trying to cover for himself. She squinted her eyes at him then, looking past him, towards the sun just beginning to peek over the old town and through the window. 

She looked back at him. He looked rough. Patchy scruff messy hair and eye bags. She snorted. “Another time. Maybe you should get some sleep first.” He blinked at her before following her line of sight out the window towards the sunrise. “Sure yeah, whatever.” He muttered trying to cover disappointment with aggravation. He felt the chill leave his side and he watched as she stood up stretching her arms above her head. Her shirt rose a little and he saw blobs of green and blue poking out from under her shirt splattered at her midsection. It clearly wasn’t a tattoo but, what could it be? She let out a soft sigh and dropped her shoulders. “I’ll see you arou-” 

“Wait.” The ghost looked down to him still on the couch, her head tilting. “I just realized I literally never got your name. Since we are kind of like roommates and everything…” He trailed off picking at his own fingers, not quite meeting her eyes. She smiled. 

“Lydia.” 

“Liddy Bug.” her smile fell immediately. 

“No.” He started to smile. 

“Bitty Liddy.” How did he manage to make it worse? 

“Absolutely not.” His grin grew wider.

 “Lyds.”

 She thought for a moment, “Sure.”

Chapter Text

When Lawerence woke up it was, once again, against his will. His head was pounding like a bitch, he knew he had stayed up too late when he started dreaming of goth chicks. It would be hard to sleep through the clanking and clattering coming from his kitchen. Was someone robbing him? He looked at his bedside clock.

 Was someone robbing him at 4pm?

 If so… they sucked at being sneaky. He dug through his nightstand and found an old knife before deciding to make his way down to the kitchen. He clutched the weapon in his hands, he had never really fought before, just kind of dicked around and left before he could find out. He didn’t know what he would do in an actual confrontation. His heart pounded as he realized he might actually have to find out.

As he made his way down the stairs it became clear to him what those sounds were. Running water, a swish of something, the wrinkle of a plastic bag and, finally he heard humming. He peeked his head around the corner still clutching the knife. He relaxed immediately when he saw the back of Lydia and the mess of his kitchen floating around as if it was sorting itself out. 

He stood in the doorway stunned; he wasn’t dreaming. The hot goth chick was real, his luck was incredible. 

The multitude of pizza boxes were floating into a trash bag. At his sink there was a sponge scrubbing dishes before the dish floated into the dishwasher. Lydia turned around from the counter, a mug in one hand and a book in the other, she was completely absorbed in the novel as she floated to the table and sat down. A page flipped without her moving a finger. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen scratching his head. “What the..” he murmured watching the kitchen work itself. Lydia glanced up from her novel to acknowledge him before looking back down. “I can’t believe you trashed my house.” She sipped the mug. He looked over to where she had been at the counter and saw a fresh pot of coffee. He shuffled over and poured himself a cup. 

“A thank you would be nice.” She spoke up again, her eyes still scanning the pages of her book. He scratched at his midsection mumbling into a cup. She rolled her eyes but took it anyway. She left him to his cup and made her way back to the attic. She was, frankly, relieved to be able to do as she pleased knowing that, as loud and obnoxious as he’d proven himself to be in his short time in the house, he seemed rather chill with her being around. She shrugged; it was her house first after all.

 Once in the attic, she looked around at the space she had made her own. She couldn’t quite call it a living space anymore and chuckled at the thought. She moved back out the window and sat on the roof of the house watching as people walked past through the town. 

She sighed watching as a family passed her by. She knew she’d had one at some point. She knew their names. She wished she’d known what had happened to them. Months had passed between her death and when she was conscious again. When she looked at the grounds from the roof top, she noticed her body was absent, but she could see a distinct patch of dead grass from where she had landed. From the roof, she saw a book next to where her body had been. She figured she must have been reading when she had died but, what that had been, she couldn’t remember. 

She came to terms with her death relatively quickly. She had always been fascinated with death. She even felt a sort of thrill as she thought about her parents. Her mom would think having a ghost daughter was so cool. She ran down the stairs crying out for them. They would probably be scared at first, but she could sooth that and they would make this work. However, as she made it down the stairs, she saw no one. It was empty. She began to yell out for her parents. 

No response. She frantically tore through her house. She flung every door open. Her chest began to ache. Her throat constricting as she ran fear crawling up her spine. Where were they? She searched the whole house. 

Nothing. 

She decided to wait. It was after two days she had come to the conclusion they had left. What she had left of her heart was broken. Her family was gone. She was alone. 

Within the ten years she’d been dead other people had moved and quickly left the house. She felt herself grow cold within the first purchase. They shouldn’t be here. Her mom should be here. Her dad should be here. They should have been there with her. She thought after a moment if she could get the attention of the buyers make them see a ghost was in the house, her parents would know it was her and come back. 

 She had scared the first few buyers away with ease. The house was old and starting to fall apart. For Lydia, using that to scare the new couple away was practically child’s play. Then there was another buyer and another. Rumors about the house had started but still her parents hadn’t returned. 

She would keep the act up until one day a family moved in. A mother and father and their daughter. Lydia couldn’t bring herself to scare them. The little girl had pale skin dark black hair and was the spitting image of her mother. After seeing them Lydia couldn’t do it. She retreated to the attic ensuring the door would be locked and the new family would not move any of her familys old belongings. The family lived in the house for three years before moving away. Lydia spent the next three years alone. 

After year seven, it was clear that wherever her family had been they weren’t coming back.

The house had remained empty for another three years. Lydia was grateful that time moves differently for the dead, because it had only felt like weeks for Lydia when the new guy moved in. 

He was loud. The first night she sat in the attic shocked that a person could make sounds so obnoxious. He had brought in what she could only assume was an entire band’s worth of instruments. He played late into the morning and slept most of the afternoon. When he was asleep, she snuck down the stairs. He had left his laptop open, and she decided to take a peek at what he’d been working on.

She had to admit, he wasn’t half bad. His sound was reminiscent of the music she had listened to with her dad when she was younger. She could still hear her dad telling her “This is real music pumpkin,” as he drove down streets blasting the old rock songs. So, he had good taste in music but, his attitude and lack of any real hygiene made her decide to stay clear. Especially after she almost caught him with his hand down his- she shuddered, nope. Not now. She decided to stay away, and she didn’t get closer again, until one night, late into the am, she heard a familiar song in the living room. 

Timidly she made her way down to the living room. He sat on the couch strumming an old favorite of hers. She watched him fascinated. He was much quieter now, but he looked exhausted. His hair was a mess and rough patchy stubble spread across his jaw spilling down his neck. His shirt was worn out, the black faded in some areas and his joggers were clearly ready to be retired. Still, she watched as he played. 

He would do that every few nights. One night he had fallen asleep on the couch and, certain he couldn’t sense her, she approached. She leaned over as his chest rose and fell. Her hand absently lifted to her own chest. She had grown numb to the lack of her own heartbeat.

After a moment his arm rose, slinging itself over his eyes but it passed right through her. Her eyes widened at the intrusive feeling. She stepped back clutching the neckline of her shirt. Flicking her wrist a blanket covered the sleeping man. 

It wasn’t long after that he discovered her. She wasn’t totally sure she was grateful for the fact that he had or, worried about the aftermath but he didn’t seem bothered by her presence. 

As she thought about it her hands drifted across an old box lifting the trunk and shuffling through old memorabilia of hers. Pictures she had looked through dozens of times. Ten years had been lonely. Until now this had been her only source of comfort. She found an old family picture. It was one of her favorites. A younger Lydia, around 17, smiled brightly at the camera, her mother and father standing behind her both with their arms around her. 

“I don’t think I am gonna be so alone anymore, guys..” She whispered to the photo. She felt her eyes sting, but nothing came from it. 

Death. Even your tears were stolen from you. 

Still Lydia kept waiting for Lawerence to hightail it out of the house now that he knew a dead girl lived there. He never did. He didn’t seem to care all that much at all. Which threw her off a little but not enough to actually ask him about it.

One thing she noticed is that his schedule did not change at all. He would continue to play late into the night. He smirked when he saw her standing in the doorway. “Knew you couldn’t resist it.” He chuckled and she rolled her eyes trying to ignore how puffy and dark his eyes were. She knew he didn’t get much sleep but was it that bad? 

“As a matter of fact, I came to make a request.” She bristled, turning her head away. He then noticed something pinned to her chest by her arms. “Lay it on me.” He winked and she scoffed as her nose wrinkled at the double entendre.

Still she pressed on, she walked to him standing right in front of him and held out the cd cover, “Do you know anything from them?” 

His eyes flicked to the cd cover and back up to her unimpressed. 

“Course I do babes you think I’m a damn poser or something?” He got hot in the face when he realized that he like seeing the way she smiled at him. He tried not to think about how no one had really smiled at him like that before.

 “Really?” She asked, a small, but bright smile forming at her lips.

 “Ya know even though you're a ghost I’m older than you right? How would I not know them?” He jutted a thumb to the cd cover again comfortably leaning into the back of the couch. She huffed again, puffing out those damn cheeks again. “Ya know forget I sai-” 

“Now hold on.” He gruffed, reaching for her, “What do you want to hear?” He cut her off grabbing the cd to try and keep her still. 

Lawrence was a rather touchy person so he had quickly discovered reaching for her person would not work. When he had tried to slap her on the back they watched as his arm went right through her. He swung it back and forth several times, taking delight in the way her lip curled as she shot him the bird. 

Lydia sat next to him on the couch settling into the plush as he began to play a song for her. As a ghost she didn’t need sleep, but it was hard to deny that the soft couch mixed with his quiet and rough voice late into the night was not extremely soothing. She hardly noticed when her eyes began to drift shut. He had and he played until he could tell she was asleep. 

He half expected her to disappear when she fell asleep. When it looked like she was staying there he continued to play until he himself couldn’t quite see straight. 

When he woke up the ghostly girl was floating near him still asleep. She hovered off the couch and he waited with bated breath as her small body hovered by his. He felt a heat in his cheeks. Before he furrowed his eyebrows and sat up he looked down at himself suddenly ashamed of the fact he looked like a slob. He looked like the borderline spent his time hungover. Which, while he looked the part, was not true.... He couldn’t afford the stuff. 

Careful not to disturb her he made his way to the bathroom and decided to try and get somewhat clean. He scrubbed his hair but couldn’t fully keep his mind off of her. It was getting irritating as all hell. Why was he even trying to get clean now? For her? Why? He hadn’t tried to get cleaned up for some chick before.

 He’d tried plenty of times to have a girlfriend. He’d been brushed off and laughed at plenty of times in high school by plenty of girls (and some guys), and even as he got older no one wanted anything substantial with a guy who had “no real job”. So, he got some satisfaction every now and again, but it never meant anything. He always left feeling lonelier because of it. He rushed through the rest of the shower, stepping out to rub a towel over his messy hair. 

“Lawrence?” He could hear her call for him from in the hall. It was sort of comforting after what he thought was a very unnecessary self-reflection in the shower. “Your phone is ringing!” Lydia called again. His eyes grew wide. 

Shit. 

He forgot his mom was going to call today. He flew out, ripping the phone from her grasp. “Hey mom”, He chuckled. He looked at Lydia and…

 she looked mortified.

 Her eyes flicking from his hips to his face. She was gawking at him. He gave her a look and a shrug as if to ask her’ what?’ After a minute she covered her eyes with her hands and bolted. He rolled his eyes turning to the bathroom when he saw his reflection. His towel was sitting on his shoulders. Not his hips

He almost forgot his mom was preparing to screech at him through the phone. But how could anyone tune out such a grating condescending voice. 

“You got a job yet?” She snarled on the other end. He could practically see her slicked silver bun and red pants suit. “Same job I’ve had for the last several years mom.” he grit his teeth. “That dumb ass shit doesn’t count Lawrence.” Why did he bother answering this? He knew where it was going to go. “I’m making money, aren’t I?”

“Hardly.”

Ok he was done. “Bye mom.” He hung the phone up before she could say anything else. “Fuckin Bitch.” he murmured tossing the phone on the counter moving the towel down to his hips as he moved to the bedroom. He was grumbling to himself as he did. He didn’t know why she bothered calling if it was only to bitch at him. He didn’t want to think about why he kept answering. It made him feel desperate which made him feel more like shit. It was an endless cycle with that bitch.

 He found a pair of old gray sweats and a black band t before moving up to the attic. “I'm decent Lyds.” He shouted at the door.

 He heard shuffling on the other side before it cracked open. Lydia poked her head through the crack glancing him up and down before opening the door the rest of the way.  She stepped back to invite him. He took the hint and stepped in. Looking around the space in the light of day. The dust only seemed more apparent in the light. 

“I’m sorry I uh..” She started looking anywhere but at him. He waved her off looking around the room. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I like getting attention down there.” he smirked. Humor was good. It at least helped hide how pissed he still was with his mom. Lydia moved to swat at his arm watching as her hand moved through his arm. Her face fell flat as a small sigh left her. He barked out a laugh. 

If she could turn bright red, he was sure she would. He kind of wanted to see it. 

“So, if you're so uppity about keeping the downstairs clean why can this place be a wreck?” He asked, trying not to breathe in the dust. She sighed, dragging a hand over the chest before sitting on it. “It's the only place I didn’t change from when my dad and my mom were still here.” She muttered.

He growled looking at the stored memorabilia and a photo of her, a bit younger, holding a large plate of some Italian food. He did not want to talk about parents right now.

 “Even better reason to clean it up.” She jolted, snapping her head up to face him. “What?”

Chapter Text

“Why the hell would you wanna keep any of your parents' shit? They’re gone, you're lucky.” She could feel the anger burning under her skin.

 “What the hell are you talking about? I’d do anything to get them back.” She cried, stepping towards him. He turned to face her, snarling. She curled in on herself instinctually. 

“Parents are just the stick up your ass. You’re better off without ‘em.” He spat looking at a photo she’d left out. “This them? They look like stuck up bitches.” Her dad looked like a suit, just like his friggin' mom. Lydia stared, there was a heavy weight settling in the pit of her stomach. “You don’t even know them.” She snatched the photo away from his hands holding it to her chest. He rolled his eyes at the outburst “Do I need to? I can tell they ain't worth a shit. I mean they left y-” He cut himself off looking over towards her, the word dying out as he saw the way her eyes glossed over.

She was silent for a moment before meeting his eyes, “Sorry your mom is a piece of shit, but don’t you dare talk about mine like that. Mine loved me.” She growled getting in his face. He got closer, not one to back down. Whatever hesitation he’d had didn’t matter now.  

“Clearly it wasn’t enough.” Her eyes widened. Her body went slack and then?

The dam broke. 

He knew it was wrong. God, he knew when he saw that look in her eyes it was wrong. “I’m gonna...” He mumbled shoving his hands harshly into his pockets, “I don't know... fuckin smoke.”

What the fuck was wrong with him. Ok well he knew but it wasn't his fault his mom had to be an ass hat and make an ass out of him too. He finally found a friend. Finally found someone who was kind of nice to him. And he threw the fact she was alone in her face.

 As if he was any better off. 

He was just as alone. At least she was dead. He was alive, he didn’t have an excuse. 

 She was probably right; her family did love her when she was alive. He could still see the way her mother looked at Lydia in those pictures. As if nothing else mattered. It made his blood boil. His mom only ever looked at money that way. 

He would have been bit clean through the cigarette if he hadn’t heard the sobbing from the upstairs attic. The stub fell from between his lips and hit the porch. He stomped it out trying to ignore the sound. It was as loud as day through the window. He leaned against the wall of the backyard porch he wanted to be mad. He sighed, shoulders bobbing up then down.

It was 5 in the afternoon before the sounds of her crying had quieted down. Before that, he tried playing anything to tune out the sound, but he got angrier and instead of playing he started lifting the instrument by its neck, he caught himself right before it could hit the floor. He stared at it for a moment then pulled at his own hair strangled growls leaving his mouth. He slumped back on the couch glancing over to the front door. 

The outside world was quiet. He walked up and down the streets of the old town, hands still shoved into his pockets as he wandered. He couldn’t stay in the house with the haunting reminder that he was just a sack of shit. 

Still, he couldn’t figure out why he had cared so much. Other people had thought worse of him. He had earned it too, but what had happened with Lydia was hard to shake off. 

He walked up and down the streets, cold air nipping at his nose. The sun was beginning to set. Streetlamps were flicking on left and right and he figured he really oughta get back to his house and just try and deal with what had happened.  Which actually meant, of course; ignore the problem.  

The glow of store lights illuminated his path. He trotted on not paying too much attention until one store however caught his eye.

An aroma permeated the air, and he followed where his nose took him. Right into the Italian restaurant he had been ordering pizza from. He stood, feeling a little clueless at the front of the restaurant.

“How many?” The hostess asked, her tone sweet. He looked over to her. He had to admit she was pretty, objectively, but he didn’t care. Which was weird. A single man, A single perverted man, a single perverted desperate man and he didn’t care.  

What the hell? Use a pickup line, get it together.   

“Just one.” He muttered. Oh god. Had he gone soft?

He was seated almost immediately and as he looked over the menu he got an idea. He checked his wallet and then placed his order. 

Lydia sat head buried into arms at the window as she wailed. She didn’t care who heard it. She didn’t care if she woke every dead person in the cemetery. It wouldn’t be right to say he had opened an old wound. The wound had never really closed. What he did was twist the knife. 

Even though it had been ten years since she had been left behind, what could she do? There really was no way for her to have any closure other than to just accept what had happened.  That was much harder said than done. 

What made it worse is that she wasn’t entirely a victim. She had thrown his own problem in his face. Problems she wasn’t even supposed to know about.

That call hadn’t been quiet. None of the calls between Lawerence and his mother were quiet. As a matter of fact, this was the tamest they had been. She held onto herself, holding herself close. Maybe if her parents had treated her like that, she would feel the same way he did. She looked back at the photo of her mother and father. She sighed, brushing a hand under her eye despite the fact that not a single tear had fallen. 

As she thought over the problem one thing came to mind, she still didn’t really want to lose him. She had been so alone in the house for the last several years, even when a family had occupied the space, she was invisible to them. He saw her, they had become friends. She wasn’t ready to lose that. She wasn’t quite ready to apologize either. She understood why he had said what he said but that by no means made it right. 

She heard the front door. She took a shaky breath unsure of what she would be facing. She was surprised when she heard draws opening from the kitchen and what sounded like..cutlery? She was 80% sure he exclusively ate pizza. 

As carefully as she could she crept down the stairs towards the kitchen. He was messing with one of the mismatched chairs. Two bowls of take out were steaming on the table both with forks next to them. Ziti, just like the pasta she’d been eating in one of her pictures.  

“That place is still open?” She said under her breath as she moved towards the kitchen almost as though she was drawn in by the dish. He turned to look at her before his eyes darted away. He felt grimy, which normally he wouldn't mind. Still, he wouldn’t actually apologize. “Yeah you looked like you liked it when you were…” He looked over to the food. As if just now realizing this could have been a terrible idea. She was a ghost. Did she even eat? She sat down at one end of the table barely making a noise. He waited with bated breath as she lifted the fork and began to eat. 

She couldn’t help the slight grin that split across her face at her first bite of the food. His shoulders dropped only slightly, and it became clear that this was his version of an apology. She snorted while taking another bite of the food feeling the way it warmed her from the inside. He looked over to her, brows furrowed. “What?”

She swallowed as a cheeky smile took over her face, “I accept your apology.” He blanched before trying to form some sort of words but none of them were really all that clear. She laughed out loud at his attempt before he threw himself into his own chair and took large sloppy bites of food. She rolled her eyes somewhat affectionately; he could be such a brat. They ate in a renewed comfortable silence. 

“I shouldn’t have said that about your mom.” Ok it was comfortable for like a minute. 

“No, you're right she is a piece of shit.” He groused, biting harshly onto the fork of food. ‘I just don’t like the reminders.” He added through a mouthful of food. She grimaced looking to the side, “well thank you for the food, Lawrence.” He looked up to her from his plate and his once bitter expression softened slightly. “No problem, babes.”

From there things had returned to a relatively peaceful state. Relatively.  Lawerence found Lydia in the attic, looking through old photos more and more frequently. It was in those times he would leave her alone to rummage through what he thought of as old junk. But, as Lydia had started going through it, the grief of her loss returned. To make matters worse, what he said lingered in her mind. She felt like she was back at square one in dealing with their absence.  

She looked at the photo of her parents. Old painful questions were circling within her head. Rational or not it was hard to shut down the kinds of thoughts that haunted her.

 Did they really leave her intentionally? Did they care enough to find out if she was still there? Her mom had believed in ghosts so why hadn’t they stayed? Did they make any attempts to find out about her death? What were they thinking when she died? If it really was a suicide did, they blame thems- her throat grew tight. Her hands shook. She felt little sobs start to well up once again. She pulled her knees to her chest, the sensation of crying making her body tremble. 

She barely heard it when the door to the attic creaked open and she barely registered that the picture had been taken from her hands. “What’s on your mind Lyds.” His voice was rough and quite but it did not bring a stop to the storm of thoughts in her mind.

 “What if you were right. What if they knew I was still here and left.” She murmured hands going to her shoulders tugging on the old shirt. “Lyds I just said that ‘cause I was pissed it didn’t mean shit.” He said she hadn’t looked at him, but he sounded awkward, clearly not used to comforting someone. “My mom believed in ghost she would have thought I was here.” She choked out her eyes pleading with his for..she didn’t know what. He was trying to be rational. Hell in a way he was trying to take back what he said, a half apology. She held herself tighter, desperate for some sort of comfort.

 “I wish you could hold me.” She said the words before she could really think about what she was saying. They froze. 

Her pain was temporarily forgotten. There was no way she just said that. She looked to him before her eyes darted away. Her lower lip wobbled. First, she was crying and then this. She couldn’t embarrass herself further.

“Me too.” He muttered after a moment. A multitude of emotions flooded her all at once. Longing for her parents. For some sort of emotional comfort. Embarrassed for crying for admitting… that but, he returned the sentiment and the emotional whirlwind inside of her continued. “They left me. God, they left.” She wailed. 

He was sitting next to her inspecting the photo feeling helpless to do anything other than just be there with her. There were more people in the background, but they were indistinguishable in the darkness of the attic. Lawrence figured it must have been taken at a dinner party. 

Ghost didn’t need to sleep. They didn’t get tired but still Lydia Deetz had seemed exhausted; she had sobbed out all her emotions. She seemed entirely out of it. It took some work considering he couldn’t physically touch her, but he was able to convince her in her groggy clouded mind to move down to the living room where she sat on the couch and within minutes dozed off. He sat at the kitchen table contemplating. He had brought the photo down with him. He couldn’t figure it out. Hell, he was no parental expert but by the way those two shmucks looked at Lydia he could tell they would have done anything for her. So why weren’t they here? He looked back at it. There was a man in the background. In better lighting he could recognize the face. He recognized him almost immediately. His mom's old business partner Maxie Dean. 

What was Maxie Dean doing at the Deetz household? Maxie was a schmooze, a worse pervert than he was, and it took a lot of work for Lawerence to call someone a pervert. To Lawrence a man like Maxie had no business being near Lydia. So why was he?

 He looked at Lydia’s dad a little more, his posture was stiff, he wore a nice tie and button up, his hair was perfect. Why would such a polished man live in a shit hole house like this? 

He pulled out his phone and googled his own address. He felt the air leave his lungs like he’d been sucker punched; the house used to go for half a million dollars. He looked at images of the house when it was newer. It had a fresh white paint compared to the chipped old exterior walls it had now. The roof was a rich black and the exterior window shutters were still present on the house. He might have still had one hanging on as of now, he literally had never looked. 

He looked back over to the picture before typing in the name Deetz. He was bombarded with articles. Article after article about Lydia’s death, how the girl's small body was found broken on the ground next to the house. Police investigated the incident but after several months chalked it up to a suicide and closed the case. 

After scrolling for a while longer he found it. An article about the case that went further than what the police reported,

“Charles and his wife Emily fought the police on their deductions claiming that their ‘daughter would not do this. They claimed that foul play was involved, but the police insisted that the case was not to be reopened.”

“Local realtor loses job after claiming business partner was involved in young girl's death.”  

No wonder they had left, they weren’t given a choice. Charles lost his job, Emily from the looks of it went crazy. He looked over to the living room where Lydia had been resting. What would they do now? Would they have even cared about the cause if they knew she was here? 

Next, he tried typing in Charles Deetz, but he couldn’t find anything about his or his wife's current whereabouts. They had practically disappeared. He did, however, find a list of Charles' old business partners. He looked at his screen and the long list of people. He dragged a hand down his face feeling the weight of this seeping into his bones. When he closed his eyes, he could still see how broken Lydia looked crumpled in on herself staring at the photo of her parents. He sighed.

He stood, careful that the chair wouldn’t screech beneath him so as to not wake the sleeping beauty. He moved over to the cabinets and pulled out an old note pad that he had been using to write down lyrics and a pen. He sat back down running his hands through his hair.

“It’s a start.”  

When Lydia woke up it was 2 in the morning, she felt groggy and sluggish. She sat up peering around the area, her eyesight bordering on bleary. She lifted one hand to rub at her eyes. A small moss colored blanket pooled at her hips; she peered around trying to think of how she got here in the first place. Her attention was taken instead by the messy brown hair at the table. Lydia stood from the couch and began to approach the kitchen. She smiled when she saw Lawerence’s head on the table next to his phone at 2 in the morning.

“Lawrence?” She whispered, moving towards him from the couch. She walked around the chair to see his face and held a hand to her mouth when she noticed the slight drool coming from the corner of his mouth. She couldn’t smother her smile as she glanced over to his phone. The machine was still on from whatever he had been doing while she slept. 

She hadn’t meant to snoop but her name was in the search bar; “Wht happned to Lydia Deetz ?”

She felt frozen for a moment. What had he been doing? She looked at the contents that had been scattered across the table. Her family’s photo was in the center next to his head. Underneath his head was another slip of paper. Lydia lifted her hand slowly and his head rose just enough for her to remove the paper from beneath his head. 

When Lawerence’s head had been placed back down, Lydia began to read through his notes carefully. A difficult task considering his handwriting bordered on chicken shit. Dates were scratched in and names scribbled all over, names she recognized. Her parents' names were listed at the top, both with question marks all around. At the bottom he had written down several questions about the night she died. He had found out there was a dinner party and even the guests. What he hadn’t found was where her parents were.

But he had tried. 

Lydia clutched the paper trying to hold back the flood of emotions. Lawrence, who had made his own distaste for parents quite clear, had tried to find hers for her. Not only that but he had tried to find out what had happened to her.  

Lydia felt as affection thrummed throughout her soul, and she looked at the man sleeping away on the table. She smiled fondly at him and leaned over to press a kiss to his temple. She hesitated mere inches away from him before she realized what she had been intending to do. She backed away before the chill of her presence woke him up. She looked back at the paper filled with notes and pressed it close to her chest before setting it back down and returning to the couch.  

As she sat down, a hand drifted to her lips. Even when she was alive, she had never had the urge to do…that before. She turned over her shoulder to look at the sleeping man. He had wormed his way into her heart. 

Lawrence woke up head pounding. He had read so much about lame ass businessmen last night, but it had been worth it. He had a lead. The night Lydia had died her father had hosted a dinner party. Maxie Dean had been the only high-profile guest, well Maxie and his now divorced fifth wife. 

He stood from the table with different joints popping as he moved. Walking towards the couch, he could see Lydia was still sound asleep. He reached over her to pull the blanket around her shoulders. He watched fondly as she snuggled into the old couch with his gross old blanket. He stayed for a moment, a look of contemplation on his features.  He knew it would take work, a lot more work than he was probably prepared to actually do if he was honest but, for Lydia? It would be worth it.  To follow up on what he had found he knew what he had to do. He stepped away and moved to his front door. He slid on a pair of flip flops and as he opened the door he cringed.

He was really going to do this. 

He stepped outside and made his way to his neighbors, the Maitlands.

Chapter Text

After traveling a short distance through town, passing a corner store and a gas station he had made it. Lawrence stood on the porch of the Maitland household. He had a fist raised to knock on the door but he hesitated. When he first moved here they had been kind enough to introduce themselves. Lawrence, not one to miss an opportunity, did what he did best. Annoy the shit out of them. He made a pass at each of them and their horrified expressions had entertained him for at least a week.  That wasn’t what made him hesitate now.

The Maitlands were ungodly dull. Incredibly boring. A punishment sent from his mother herself. He had more fun describing how boring they were than he did actually talking with them. If they were just boring he probably would have left them alone when he first moved in, but they were such tightasses it had been fun poking at them. Still they probably held what he needed to follow his lead. He stood there fist raised when he heard it.

“Barabra he is still just standing there… I don’t think he knows how to knock..” What the heck? He looked over and could see Adam Maitland standing in the window staring at him through the blinds. He smirked and made a jerking motion at his crotch. He cackled when he saw Adam practically fly away from the window. He heard crashing on the other side of the door. When it opened a very angry Barbra Maitland stood with her arms crossed between Lawrence and her husband. “Mr. Shaggoth.” She stated her eyes narrowed at him. “I don’t appreciate the harassment towards my husb-”She started he placed a finger over her mouth.

“Yeah whatever, do you have a phone book?” Whatever she had been saying was cut very short and her anger quickly forgotten. She took a step back inspecting the man in front of her and leaning into Adam. 

“I didn’t think you knew what those were..” Lawrence put on a tight grin, “haha! It tells jokes.” Barbra and Adam looked to one another, a look of trepidation on their faces before closing the door. 

Lawrence looked at the old door. They really were good for nothing borning pieces of shit. Great now he would have to buy one. He turned and took a step off the Maitlands porch. His foot landed awkwardly and he lifted it to see a pebble beneath his shoe. He took a step back and lifted his leg sending the pebble flying as he cursed. 

He froze when he heard the door open behind him he turned and plastered back on his grin, still not sincere in the slightest. As a matter of fact it looked more like a car salesman's smile. 

Barbra stood in the door a large yellow book with weathered text on the spine and cover. She looked at him with an expression that could only be described as cynical. “What do you even want this for?” 

“Look b-dog,”

“Barbra.”

“Babs”

“ Barbra. ” 

“I am doing it for a friend.” He grunted, already tired of the conversation. She froze expression shifting. “I didn’t know you’d made any..” She whispered. His face fell flat, “And I don’t think I was supposed to hear that.” She turned red but cleared her throat. She stepped off her porch and handed the book to him. “Lawrence before you go.” She said tone even and gaze made of steel.

He turned and looked at her with disinterest. “If you sexually harass my husband or myself any further? I’m calling the cops.” He grimaced and turned away scratching the back of his neck.. yeah he… probably had taken it a little too far every now and again. He shrugged, “Got it, Babs.”

Walking through his front door Lawerence placed the book on the kitchen table with the other notes he had taken. He paused looking back to the photo of Lydia with her parents. 

To be honest… he didn’t get it. He wouldn’t be able to understand wanting to be with his mother again. For lydia… he would try. He would try to understand. He would try to find out what happened to her and her parents. He walked back over to the couch freezing when he saw the blanket was folded nicely in the corner. Glancing down at he thought for a moment before grabbing it and flinging it out again. That looked more like him. 

After that he started to look for Lydia. He called out to her and began walking around the lower level, as he approached the stairs he heard the music playing in the attic.. 

Lydia cracked open an eye when she was sure she heard the front door close again.  She sat up and looked to the stair case a determined expression on her features as she made her way to the attic. 

For too long she had let the pain of missing her parents stop her from reclaiming the space. She stood in front of the door. She was going to make a start. It would be slow but she knew it would be worth it. 

Opening the door, her eyes roamed the space. It was covered in dust, old furniture covered in canvas cases and cardboard boxes stacked in the corners. She sighed. It really was a mess. Still she remained determined.

  She searched through half the boxes until she’d found what she had been looking for and carefully removed the device, setting it out on the closed trunk. After fishing through the box further she found the second object. Her dad’s old KISS records. 

She felt a little sick to her stomach in a bitter sweet way. She never thought she could listen to them again, but she could practically see the look on Lawerence’s face when he saw them. He’d love em. 

Carefully she removed the old record from its case and placed it into the old phonograph her mother had bought while thrifting. Lydia still remembered her mom placing it in the car excitedly telling her that the machine was old enough the person who had owned it may have died. Her mothers eyes always lit up when thinking about the macabre. 

Lydia looked at the machine waiting  until she heard the front door open and after a moment Lawrence had started calling her name. He had only called her name out twice when she hit play. She snickered when she heard him pause mid way through the third call of her name. Heavy foot falls started up the stairs.  

Then, there he was standing in the doorway of the attic. His eyes lit up as he entered the space . She turned to face him, a wide smile on her face and eyes practically sparkling.

 “I found my dad’s stuff.” She offered, holding up the record case. He slowly made his way over to her carefully taking the cover to get a better look at it. “Dynasty? Your old man had good taste, even if he was a suit.”  He muttered the last bit to himself and Lydia pretended not to hear it. He continued looking over the case Lydia standing next to him bouncing to the beat. The song was an old favorite of her dad’s. He would sing along to it off key and pitchy and her mom would laugh as he practically croaked out the words , 

“I was made for loving you…” he would croon. It sounded horrible, but Lydia wouldn’t have had it any other way. She could still see the way her dad looked at her mother when singing the song. He looked at her like she held the answer to happiness, and maybe to her father she did. 

Now Lydia looked over to Lawerence who was singing the same words this time with skill but no less dorky than the way her dad had sung it. 

She almost couldn’t help the way her soul sparked when he jumped as the next track started. He nearly tripped over himself rushing to get his guitar. “I know this one!” He called running down the stairs, grabbing his guitar to play along, Lydia was delighted when he returned flushed and clothes in even more disarray than normal. He pointed at her telling her to pause the track which she did to indulge him as he started to set up. When he was ready he gave her a thumbs up and began to strum along to the music. He murmured the words, getting louder as he became more confident. 

“But she feels cold inside

But you still want her much too much”

He belted out, his rough voice suiting the genre oh so well, Lydia smiled a wild grin as the music built, 

“And when she says she's leaving

That's when you realize

How much you need her magic touch

Her magic touch

Her magic touch.”

Lawrence stopped singing looking at the spunky chick singing her heart. He felt his pulse stutter but he continued to play. He was watching her, enchanted, as she moved her body left and right to the beat belting out the words. He watched until the very end when the music began to fade. Her movement slowed as the song quieted down until her motion and the music ceased entirely.  

She was still focused on the next song until Lawerence broke the musical haze. 

“Lyds you got a set of pipes..” She turned to look at him, if her face could have gone red anymore she knew it would have. She turned her head avoiding his gaze no matter how heavy it had felt. “I well ya know I..” 

He chuckled as she floundered in the praise, “You oughta sing more.” He set down his guitar to approach her. 

She’d had her back turned to him to lower the volume on the phonograph. “I don’t know, it was never my thing before..” She murmured eyes downcast, staring intensely at the record.

“Never too late..” he whispered and she turned. He had gotten so close. She looked up to him, his eyes held a sincerity she felt was unfamiliar to him and she knew right then. 

That look was just for her. 

 “Maybe for you.” she murmured, eyes searching his. She watched his gaze, it shifted, it shifted so subtly. Her own eyes darted to his lips where a soft but coy smile sat. It suited him. He watched her eyes. His hands lifted towards her face, he hovered inches away from her. “Lydia..” His voice sounded rough. His eyes looked down to her lips. She’d started chewing on her bottom lip, he felt his pulse grow stronger.

“Mhm?” She looked up to him with her dark doe eyes. If he hadn’t known better he’d have thought that those eyes were putting a spell on him. 

“Lydia..” he tried again she tensed and for a moment he thought that she had seemed more opaque. 

“Lawrence..” She whispered, tilting her head as he approached.

“Lawrence!” A shout came from down the stairs. He felt his heart in his throat. Lydia’s eyes widened. “Lydia, give me one second…” He turned to go deal with whoever had the nerve to bother him. He missed the way her eyes widened. The person down the stairs continued to call for him. He missed the way Lydia fell, leaning against the wall gasping.

To say he was pissed didn’t quite do enough to describe the way Lawerence was feeling in this particular moment. It hadn’t even occurred to him that what he had wanted was borderline impossible, she was a ghost she had practically gone right through him several times. 

He paused on the stairs. What he wanted. 

He had almost kissed Lydia.

He wanted to kiss her. 

What had she done to him?

He made his way down the stairs considerably less angry. He opened the door, now more dumbfounded than anything. 

Barabra stood on the other side, holding her arm and smiling awkwardly. “I’m sorry to bug you but are you done with our book? We kind of need it back.” He looked at her for a moment… what book was she talking about? What had he even done that day before almost kissing Lydi- OH THE BOOK. 

“Uuuuuh yeah one sec.” He slammed the door in her face before flipping to the page that had Sarah Dean’s number, using his phone, he took a picture of the page and threw the device on the table. He returned to the door and practically shoved the book in Barabra's face. An aggravated “you’re welcome!” was muffled by the door. 

He started up the stairs but was met halfway by Lydia, her eyes were wide and she stared at him almost horrified.

Shit. He blew it. She moved down the stairs towards him. He waited. Waited for the screaming. He closed his eyes and let out a huff.

She grabbed his hand. His eyes flew open. She was staring at their conjoined hands with a look of intrigue. She twisted her hand in his, moving to entwine their fingers.

“Your hands are so rough..” She whispered, squeezing his hand in her. He looked at their hands, he saw how small she was compared to him. Soft milky skin against his rough olive hands. His hands, decorated with callouses from instruments, nails bitten and rough held her small soft hands. Her hands seemed so delicate. He moved one hand to her cheek. She lifted her gaze to meet his leaning into his touch. She was so soft, delicate. She smiled, nuzzling her face into his rough hands. 

“How..?” he asked. Her eyes fluttered open to look at his. She pulled away looking at the ground a pout on her lips.. “I don’t really know..” 

His phone buzzed from the table, pulling them from the moment. He looked back at the table evidence of the previous night's research scattered about. Lydia followed his gaze with a cheeky smirk of her own. “Oh yeah..” he whispered. 

“Were you gonna tell me about that?” She asked moving past him to the bottom of the stairs. He stood watching her. Feeling a little awkward.. “Probably… not ” She giggled while lifting his sheet of paper again. The pen’s ink had smudged somewhat from his drool, but at least by now the entire sheet was dry. 

He followed her down, taking a seat at the table and using his phone to write down Sarah Dean’s number on a new sheet of paper. Lydia looked at him, a concerned look etched into her features, “What have you been getting up to?” She asked, her voice soft.

He looked back to her pausing for a moment, “Just snooping, putting my nose in other people’s business.” 

She looked at him, placing a hand on his, “It was ten years ago..” She said her tone was despondent. “You aren’t gonna find anything new.” 

He sighed moving his free hand to run it through his hair. He took her hand in his holding it tightly for a minute, their moment in the attic not forgotten, hell now it was plausible. Situational awareness was a bitch though and even he knew now wasn’t the right time for that. Instead he turned the hand in his over so that their palms were touching and lifted the top of her hand to his lips. “You’ll be surprised what I can dig up .” He said Lydia was mad that she even smiled at such a pun. “That was awful..” he smiled cheekily, proudly. He sure as hell was gonna try. 

Chapter Text

Based on what he knew about Maxie Dean there was no way that he had stayed with Sarah for more than a year, his suspicions were confirmed when he googled the asshole's name and a new wife had come up. In fact, several new wives had come up.

What were these women thinking?

While he worked, Lydia had decided to clean up the attic. Instead of treating it like an untouchable relic, she decided it was time to make it a room again. He was kind of proud of her. 

He’d never say it but he knew she knew.

He sat at the kitchen table, a single light above barely illuminating the space. It wasn’t until the phone was ringing he realized Sarah might not even pick up. He waited still. If she didn’t answer now he’d just call again later.

Fortune seemed to be on his side as after a moment, a groggy voice answered the phone. 

“Hellaow?” A thick jersey accent was on the other side. Sarah Dean. “Yeah… hi… im doing a, uuuuh, report on the people Maxie dean screwed over..” he started. It wasn’t a his best lie but it would do, “I saw you were an ex of his thought I’d ask.” His heart was in his throat. 

She bought it…

Maxie didn’t marry people for their smarts. Probably because people with smarts wouldn’t marry ol’ Maxie. 

“That bitch!” She screeched through the phone, a good start. A pissed Jersey woman was like an open book. “God, ya know he flahted with every woman he pyassed!” She guffawed. “ Even when we were mahrried! Like this girl… some sort of Delia something?” He took a deep breath. Now was the time to get his shit together if this would work. ‘Lydia?” he asked trying to keep his tone neutral. His throat was practically dry, this had fallen into his lap. It couldn’t have been this easy. He heard her snapping on the other end of the call, “That’s the one!” If fortune was going to favor him he couldn’t have hand picked a better time, “She was so young too. Her dahd invited us to some sort of dinnah to tawlk business when down comes this girl she was like what 19? Coulda been 20 I dun know..”

 Lawrence waited with baited breath, “yeah?” he goaded. “Yeah Maxie was looking awll sweet atta. Her dahddy stepped in but,  Max didn’t back down.” Lawrence's expression soured, sounded about right. “That asshole just kept pushing, said some bullshit about makin’ er his sixth wife, like I wasn’t right there. The girl was cheeky though hit him with some cold fuckin reality, told him she wasn’t into creepy old guys.” He could hear the woman bark out an ugly laugh on the other end of the line, “Everyone gotta good lauegh outta that one but, Maxie was pissed , he went in the kitchen and pouted like a lil’ bitch  and then came back to dinnah, can ya believe him.” Lawrence felt numb, “yeah… what an ass.” He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “And that wasn’t the only time oh no,” She kept on. He wasn’t listening, he had more questions. He let her ramble for what felt like hours. She was midway through her fifth story about Max when Lawerence cut her off. 

“Sarah, Max had a business partner, Charles Deetz, do you know what happened to him.” 

She paused on the other end, “Why?” He felt his face heat, “I was thinking of contacting him for my report too..” Another excellent save he thought, until he heard her bark of laughter again, “Yeah good lahck, last I saw him was that dinnah, after that he practically disappeared.” Lawrence froze. 

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. He hit a dead end, another dead friggin end.  

When he had made his way to the attic he felt tired like he never had before. He had been so sure that this would take him somewhere, he had been too lucky. Figures his luck would run out when he would need it most.

 Lydia stood in the center of the attic, she had made excellent progress, the once dusty attic had been brought to life. An old iron bed frame sat beneath the window they had crawled out of so many nights ago, he didn’t even know how many now. The bed was made with black sheets and a large fluffy black blanket. Lights were strung up across the banisters and all the dust had been cleaned out.Floors swept and windows wiped down.

 Her family's photos had been pinned to one of the walls and the old trunk had been used as a table to hold the phonograph, the records and other things like books. They were all classics, Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Beetle, Lawrence wouldn’t have expected any different. She turned to him, eyes twinkling.

“Did you find anything?” She bounded over to him searching his face, he looked at her, God he didn’t want to disappoint her. “kinda,” he ruffled her dark hair and shes watted at his hand. She stepped back and used her own hands to smooth out the mess he had made of her hair before glancing back over to him. He looked tired and she felt her soul stir with some sympathy. She stepped towards him and leaned up on her toes, hands placed on his chest she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. His hands held on to her forearms tilting his head to accept her kiss. He’d hated knowing how much he craved affection. She soothed his worries by giving it to him so freely. “Thank you, for doing all this for me.”

When she stepped back, he lifted a hand to his face, finger’s brushing against where her cold lips had been, they left a tingling sensation in their wake, “Only for you babes..” She smiled walking to her old bed and patting the spot next to her, he made his way over sitting on the plush fighting to urge to lay down and just fall asleep there. “So what did she say?” Lydia asked, falling back on her mattress, her feet dangling off. He fell back next to her, she giggled when she bounced the slightest bit. He looked at the lights scattered across the roof. “Do you remember a party the night you died?” He asked. 

She paused feeling a touch unsure of herself..she remembered but, the memories of that night brought a pain to her stomach she wasn’t sure what to do with , “Kind of.. dad had a business friend there, made some real uncomfortable comments and then hid when his ego got bruised, it's kind of foggy..” She took his hand and he clasped his around her. The simple act sent a surge of warmth through her, it was grounding in a way. “Yeah, in the kitchen.” He murmured.

Lydia shot up. Looking over at him, “what?” She felt a sense of clarity. It was sharp and it almost hurt her. She remembered why she was on the roof. She remembered feeling sick after dinner. She had wanted fresh air. 

“Yeah, Sarah said he’d gone to the kitchen.” Lydia looked to the wall, eyes wide. After a moment she bolted down to the kitchen. 

“Lyds?” Lawrence called after her, not able to move as quickly, he followed her down.

She was crouched in front of the sink cabinet doors held open. She stared horrified at something underneath the sink. He squatted down to look himself. He followed her gaze, there was a small yellow bag buried beneath a dozen other things. He swallowed before pulling the bag out, it was rat poison. The seal had been broken and a small spoon poked out at the top. He had thought nothing of it until he saw the expiration date. It expired nine years ago.  

Lydia stood, slowly trembling and lifted her shirt, green and blue blobs littered her stomach trailing up to where her heart was unbeaten. They stood out like bruises against her pale flesh. Lawrence stared at the marks, his expression unreadable but his grip on the rat poison tightened. He wanted to throw the shit against a wall, he stood one fist in a ball the other clutching the bag. 

After a moment Lydia looked at the bag in his hands and she knew that hysterics wouldn’t help her. She placed a gentle hand on his. He looked at her, his fury softening. She took his wrist and guided him to place the bag on the counter. “Don’t it may be evidence.” She whispered. He grit his teeth, “Evidence means you were murdered, Lyds.” He spat. She looked at him. The look in her eyes could shatter the heart of any man.

 “I know.” She whispered

He felt his arm tense and release several times before he finally put the bag back on the counter. She had everything ripped away from her. She was supposed to get a job she would love. She was supposed to find someone to get married to. Now here she was stuck here… with him. 

She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he could only meet her in death. 

Lydia looked up to him. He looked so tired, so angry, a swarm of emotions hidden behind two green eyes. Slowly she wrapped her arms around him. He froze for a moment before embracing her, resting his head atop of hers. “Hey..” she started. He made a noise of acknowledgment. “Do you have cookies?” 

The shop on the corner had never seemed like such a blessing. He grabbed two packs of break and bakes before returning to Lydia, who had already started the oven. When the two pans were placed into the oven they sat on the counter in a heavy silence. There was almost too much to process but, how do you even begin to unpack what had happened? How do you keep going when you find out that you had been killed? He glanced over to her. She was kicking her legs from her perch on the counter. 

Lawrence admittedly, wasn’t the nicest person. 

Ok, he was an ass. 

But, as he looked at Lydia his heart sunk. How could Max do it? How could he do it and live comfortably for the years to follow. If Lydia was anything in life as she was in death…he can’t imagine meeting someone so lively so full of attitude and spunk then doing something to bring an end to that.

Lydia looked at the clock chewing on a cookie. She glanced over to Lawerence who’s head bobbed as he fought to stay awake. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s past your bedtime.” Her smile quriked up to one side and his eyes slide over to the clock. 3 am. He put the half eaten cookie back down on the tray, “Sure thing babes.” His voice was so quiet.

  He watched her as she sluggishly made her way up the second flight of stairs. Looking back over her shoulder to him she gave him a half a smile. He watched her go. 

When he heard the attic door shut he finally made his way to his room sitting on his bed, numb to everything around him. He laid back slowly, not bothering with the blanket. He stared at the ceiling, unable to focus, unable to sleep. He stared.

She had been so calm about this. So much more rational, she was the victim of a murderer and she had calmed him down. 

He felt like a sack of shit. 

He should have been there for her . The hardest news of her afterlife and she was comforting him. What was his problem? Why couldn’t he just be a decent human being. Damn his mom. 

His train of thought was interrupted when through the thin walls he heard as sniffles turned to cries. Without a second thought he ran to the attic. 

Lydia clutched at herself, knees folded to her chest, eyes screwed shut. When the door opened she looked at him, her expression of anguish left him at a loss for words. He ran to her scooping her up in his arms. One arm hooked under her knees the other behind her back. He took a spot on her bed, his back against her headboard. He curled himself around her. She reached for him as arms wrapped tightly around her. She clutched at his shirt. Her broken cries rang out, words indiscernible between sobs. He kept one arm around her, his other hand moved to the back of her head pressing her to his chest.  

For the rest of that night they wouldn’t separate again.

______________________________________________________________________________________

In New York Maxie Dean strolled into his office wearing a grin as he passed his employees. Headed straight for the elevator, Max winked at the secretary and she waved to him politely with a pleasant smile. She waited for him to pass before rolling her eyes and pretending to gag, to the amusement of the doorman of the building. 

Max stood in the elevator looking at the band on his finger with distaste. Another divorce was rapidly approaching. With that thought he slide the offending metal off and into his pocket.

 He heard the ding signaling his destination and plastered on a smile before stepping out the elevator and on to the top floor. He passed several men and women asking questions about their lives that he wouldn’t stay to hear the answer to. When he had almost made it to his office he noticed a man with a blue suit, blue tie and white dress shirt standing by the door. 

Maxie felt his smile tighten and the pain in his jaw when he grit his teeth. 

“Joey!” The man's expression did not move as the corporate boss approached. He slapped an arm around his shoulders as he spoke “Step inside my office huh pal?” He opened the door for the man, who stiffly made his way into the space. Max turned to the other employees working on the floor and gave them a smile before shutting the door. His expression turned sour within an instant.

Maxie Dean's office was a perfect reflection of the man. Obnoxious bright lights. Purple accent walls. The walls were littered with photos of models, all half naked. His desk was white and littered with knick-knacks that were entirely useless. To seal the deal the desk chair and every other chair in the room was zebra print. 

“Be straight with me Joseph, why are ya here.” He sneered plopping himself into the desk chair and then propping his shoes on the surface of his desk. Joseph glanced over to the shoes. They were pristine white patent leather loafers. How entirely in character.  He cleared his throat returning his attention to Max and handed him a slip of paper.. 

Max rolled his eyes and glanced down at the sheet on his desk grabbing it with one hand, he scanned over it. He felt his blood pressure rise ever so slightly. It was time to pay Sarah again. His grip on the sheet of paper was tight.

“Ts’ what I get for marrying a Jersey bitch.”

Chapter Text

When Lawerence woke up Lydia was still snuggly tucked into his arms. His back and legs were stiff, and he realized he had never properly laid down. He had fallen asleep with her in his arms. He slept the whole night propped against the iron headboard comforted only by the several pillows she had.

 He looked down to the woman in his arms. Her head was nuzzled into his chest, hands folded over her stomach. She looked at peace as she rested in his arms. He groaned quietly and then slowly, careful not to make too much noise, he stood still holding her. When he had fully risen, he turned and laid her between the bedding. He covered the windows with a dark sheet as she sleepily adjusted. With a final glance to her he left the attic and shut the door behind him. 

He trotted down the stairs stretching his arms over his head. He swore every vertebra he had popped. He walked to the kitchen starting a pot of coffee, despite the fact it was already one in the afternoon. He grabbed a mug, clean only thanks to Lydia and filled it with the steaming liquid before sitting at the table. He took a large sip and fantastic, it tasted like shit. 

He hadn’t felt any better after last night and it seemed his morning-afternoon- would be too. He was at a loss. He wanted to kill the sick son of a bitch, but what would that do? Best case scenario he killed him, but Lawerence wasn’t sneaky enough or frankly clever enough to get out of going to jail. Even if he killed the guy it would seem like a senseless act of violence from the poor against the elite. No one would ever understand why he did it. Maxie Dean would die another martyr of the rich, and then Lydia.. Lydia would be left alone again. 

The murder of ol’ Max would do absolutely nothing for Lydia. There would be no real justice for her, but there was no way he could just let it go, he had to do something . He just had no idea what. He hadn't realized he was pulling at his own hair.

 There was a sound against his window, as rain began to fall softly pelting the window.  Lydia had mentioned loving the gloom that came with the rain, the gray skies, sitting in with her mother. What was it she said they did? Movies. They watched movies. 

Lawrence checked his wallet. He was pretty low on cash again, but he had one of his mom’s credit cards. He grinned.

 That would work.

 Grabbing a coat and his old flip flops he packed into his car and drove the short distance to the store. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

He wandered the isles finding the items he had already made a mental list of. He kept going until he started to drop items and had to backtrack to pick them up. A disgruntled worker rolled their eyes at the sight and shoved a cart his way. 

 He was walking past the film section when a particular shelf caught his eye. Black and white films. He would never have looked twice at it before, but then he saw it, Frankenstein, Dracula double feature. He grabbed it off the shelf looking at the front and back, she’d love this. He threw it into his cart and, after ensuring he had everything he needed, he proceeded to check out. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

When he got home the rain was pouring down much harsher than before. He sat in the driveway huffing before he thought ‘screw it’ and grabbed as many bags as his arms could carry, determined to only make one trip. 

He practically kicked his own door down as he fell through. Grunting, he flipped his head to try and get the wet hair from his eyes. It fell back against his head with a wet splat. The bags of items were discarded on the table as he grabbed a hand towel to rub against his head. When he was happy enough with it, he tossed the towel on the table and he made his way to the attic, peeking in through a crack in the door. Lydia was still in bed snuggled into the blankets.  

From there Lawerence looked out across the living room. He’d wanted to surprise her, so he knew he’d have to be quiet which was hard to do when shoving around a couch and other furniture, but eventually he had moved around the chairs and couch enough to have the skeleton formed for a blanket fort. He double checked that he could properly see the tv from the fort and then took several thick black and gray blankets from the grocery bags. He draped them over the couch and chairs using random objects to pin them to the chairs. When the coverings had been in place he went to his room grabbing every pillow from his bed and grabbing the extras from his closet. He threw them into the fort. He turned from the entrance of the fort, going back to retrieve the dvd from the grocery bag and putting it into the tv.  

When he was satisfied with the setup he had checked the clock, 6pm. Perfect. He had heard her moving around in the attic an hour or two previously so he knew she would be awake now. He made one final call. 

Lydia could hear him down the stairs unsure of what he was doing, the very first screech of the couch had her sitting up, she was tempted to peek at what he had been doing but, then she heard the rain. Previous curiosities forgotten she moved the sheet away from her window and looked out at the dark skies. She smiled fondly at the weather. 

She was tempted to let the pain of the previous night ruin the comfort of the stormy weather, but she couldn’t let Maxie Dean take simple joys away from her. She had never been an optimist but she had always been a pain in the ass when she wanted to be. Maxie Dean would be thrilled in her misery, and she refused to let him have that kind of power over her. So she waited for Lawrence to be done with whatever he was doing as she watched steaks of water run down the windowpane. 

She heard him coming up the stairs and as the door opened, she turned to face him. 

“I got a pizza.” 

She followed him down the stairs wondering about what kind of rearranging he would have even bothered doing. He didn’t seem like the decorative type. When she got to the bottom of the stairs she noticed all the kitchen chairs were gone.

There was a black blob sitting in the living room and a glow was emitted from the tv. Lydia looked over to Lawerence who had been watching for her reaction. The doorbell rang and he bolted off to the door to retrieve their dinner as Lydia explored his work. 

When she got further into the living room, she saw the gap in the blankets and crouched. Blankets and pillows littered the inside of the dark fort. She crawled in looking around the space. SHe poked her head out the entrance of the cave and noticed that there was a black and white film paused on the title screen. She read the title and felt her soul flood with warmth and nostalgia. It was a movie she could practically recite word for word. Had he done all this for her?

She heard the sound of a box hitting the table as she crawled out of the makeshift cave. Watching Lawrence from behind as he sat down the pizza boxes. His face was illuminated by the tv, he looked almost soft. His hair was wild sticking up and out in every direction. His gray sweatshirt held evidence of the rain fall. Little dark dots littered across his shoulders. Streaks of water down his face. He picked up his discarded hand towel and patted at his face. 

He turned towards her as he flipped up the pizza boxes lid. “Grub’s up” He lifted the box and walked to the entrance of the fort, sitting down the greasy dinner within the fort, and crawling inside. She followed after him and he lifted a remote from behind one of the pillows starting the movie without another word. She stared at him. He did all this and was being casual about it? She slowly relaxed against a pillow lifting a slice to start eating. After about a minuet she noticed him getting progressively more tense and quickly he snapped.

 “Ok do ya like it or not?” he pouted. She turned towards him, surprised at the outburst but somewhat amused. After looking at his expression, he looked like a kicked dog, she burst out laughing. He crossed his arms and turned away from her, “Of course I do!” She giggled her shoulders bobbing up and down with the sound. She placed a hand on his shoulder when her laughter had died down. “I can’t believe you would do all this to make me feel better..” She smiled. He sighed dramatically, “All I did for you, and I had to beg for you to notice me..” He placed a hand to his forehead, and she began to laugh once again. “Well did you do it for me or did you do it to get praise?” She smirked watching as his dramatic pose fell away and he leaned towards her with a quirked brow, “Does it matter?” She leaned in, “It changes everything.” She challenged, looking into his eyes, the green shade looked almost like moss in the dim lighting. “Wish I could've done more...” He grumbled pulling back as he thought back to Maxie Dean.

 She placed a hand to his jaw turning his head back to face her. “There is nothing we can do now Lawrence.” Her eyes were pleading with him to just let it go. He looked at her for a moment, before his expression changed, it had been so quick Lydia swore she might be a victim of emotional whiplash. “Maybe there is!” He exclaimed, crawling out of the fort. She followed him confused as he scrambled around the kitchen throwing open a drawer that he had shoved his notes into. 

“Hey, Lyds do you have any notes from your dad?” He asked, digging through another drawer that held old parchment. She tilted her head, “Yeah I-”
“Then go get it..” 

______________________________________________________________________________________

Maxie Dean sorted through his mail, junk, junk, junk, a letter from Charles Deetz, junk, junk- holy shit what.

He stopped frozen in place. There was no chance. Charles Deetz had, in fact, been dealt with. He had fought hard, but Maxie Dean had money, lawyers influence, and connections. Charles may have had some of those things at one point but now? He had been deemed crazy; he had lost his job, ruined his reputation and lost his house. The letter looked pristine, the handwriting a little rough. It was different from how he had remembered Charles’ handwriting looked but it was unmistakably his. He ripped the envelope open. There was nothing left for Charles to have over him. 

“I found proof Max. I’m going to put your ass behind bars.” 

Charles must have lost his shit. What could he have?

What did he have?

 Max was pretty sure that he had done a good enough job protecting himself but damn he hated wondering. He checked the address the letter had come from, and within an instant grabbed his phone, dialing his assistant.
“Get my shit we are going on a trip.”  

______________________________________________________________________________________

When he arrived at the old house, he looked up the hill squinting as the sun beat down on him. The white paint had chipped and flaked away, the windows looked fogged over, He wasn’t even sure it was safe for him to be there. Still, he walked up the hill and stepped onto the porch. He lifted a pristine shoe when he heard the creak of the porch as it gave under his weight. His lip curled and he rolled his eyes as he rang the doorbell. 

He waited with baited breath, and when the door opened, there stood Charles Deetz.

Chapter Text

He shivered slightly, He was unsure of why, it may have been the look Charles was giving him or guilt. He didn’t care to find out, he wanted to forget both. Charles looked slightly older than the last time Maxie Dean had seen him but just as clean. Max didn’t really care how Deetz had managed to get back on his feet. He just wanted his business dealt with. He smiled, “Chuckie! Been a while, hasn’t it?” Charles stared at him, daggers in his eyes. 

“Yeah, come in.” The man’s voice was rough. It sent another round of shivers through Max’s body, but he did as he was asked. 

Charles shut the door behind him as Max took in how the house had looked. It was decrepit. It smelled like mold. Charles walked behind him, and Max fought the urge to turn around and smack him. “Not even gonna offer your guest a drink? I know you’ve got better manners than that.” He smiled. It was lecherous. Charles looked at him unimpressed. Max crossed his arms tapping his index finger against his bicep. 

The silence persisted and Max cracked, “Look buddy,” His ‘manners’ forgotten he frowned, “we know what happened last time, what could you possibly have now?” 
Charles' expression stayed sour as he lifted an arm, a finger pointing to the bag of rat poison sitting on the counter. Max scoffed, ignoring the way his pulse quickened. “What are you gonna do with that? That shit means nothing.” Charles smiled. 

“Talked to some cops, new ones from the first time around. Cops you haven’t paid off. They said the bag still could have fingerprints.” 

Max guffawed, “So what?” he felt his arms tense, was this all? He could easily get out of this. Charles' smile turned to a smirk, vile and nasty on the older man’s face. “They still have samples from her autopsy, they can trace it. It’ll be undeniable that she was killed.” Max felt his face flush, he refused to be intimidated, he refused to be threatened like this. Charles pressed on, “I know you did it Max, they’ll get your ass.” Max felt a tightness in his chest. 

Who the hell did this guy think he was? How dare he think he could go up against Max fuckin Dean. He had the best lawyers in town, he had everyone on his side, still he looked at the condescending smirk on Charles' face. He was going to have to knock that shit off. 

“Ya know what Chuckie, I bet you are really proud of yourself Your ass thought you really did something here.” Max gave an easy smile leaning back to gesture to the room around them, he saw Charles grin falter, and he felt his ego inflate just a little. He was going to chase that feeling. “Here’s the thing though buddy, what you still can’t put together is that I’ve been getting away with this for ten years. I paid the cops off once I can pay ‘em off again. If I want them to shut down your case I can fuckin’ do it, you’re the only one who still cares about the little goth bitch.” The smug look on Charles' face had completely disappeared. Max felt pretty good about it too. He knew he had done enough, but hell he loved hearing the sound of his voice when he was winning. He knew if he pushed a little more, he could really push Charles over the edge, “I killed her, and it didn’t even fuckin matter.” 

Charles lifted a fist, Max grinned like a vulture, if he got hit, he could put him away for assault. It would be the cherry on top. He closed his eyes and waited for impact, but it never happened. He looked over to Charles, his face twisted up, eyes scrunched together. 

“Get out.” he grits through his teeth. Max rolled his eyes with a shrug and shoved his hands into his coat pocket. “Sure thing, buddy." Onl;y maxie dean could make a term of endearment sound like an insult. He made his way to the front door, pivoting before opening the door, “And Chuckie, if you try this shit again,” he paused looking at the back side of the man he grinned wildly, “I’ll get you like I fuckin got your daughter, so let’s not go through this again.” 

Maxie Dean made it back to his car feeling lighter and a hell of a lot more smug than before. 

When the door shut behind Maxie, Charles walked to the computer buried away in the corner of the room. As he did, Lydia drew her outstretched hand towards herself. She and Lawerence watched as trails of purple smoke were pulled from his body and the illusion of Charles Deetz disappeared.

______________________________________________________________________________________
Maxie Dean sat in his desk chair feet propped up on the desk, he had worried for nothing, he could almost laugh. He didn’t know why he had bothered. What could Charles Deetz have on him that he hadn’t tried before. 

There was a buzz from the handheld phone on his desk, “Mr. Dean?” His secretary called out to him, he smiled still feeling high from his power trip, “Please honey, call me Maxie.” He smiled leaning back in his chair. There was a pause, “You have a visitor, Mr. Dean.” He rolled his eyes.

 She dug him. 

He knew it.

 Maybe she liked a little power play. 

He spun in his chair and made his way down to the lobby of the building. 
______________________________________________________________________________________

Lawrence felt pure delight when he saw the news on his phone. He cackled. It had been easy, men like Maxie Dean were always predictable. He looked over to Lydia who sat by the window holding an old camera. He put down his phone, he had gloated for practically the entire day anyway. Still, he couldn’t wipe off his grin.

“Whuzzat Lyds?” She raised the camera, taking a picture of him. The flash startled him, and he knew the photo would show it. Lydia looked down to the camera with a smile on her face and a glimmer in her eye, “perfect.” she murmured.

Lawrence rolled his eyes but walked over to her anyways, he slung an arm around her shoulders and glanced at the photo of himself. “Aren’t I?” She rolled her eyes, turning to face him. He watched her expression sour, and he snickered as she turned to him, a perfect snarl on her lips. “Lawrence,” her head had turned towards him, just enough. He pressed his lips to hers, quickly. She froze stiff for just a moment before her eyes fluttered shut and she returned the kiss. 

It lasted only a moment before he pulled away looking at her. She slowly opened her eyes looking back at him. Her lips were parted and eyes wide he started to feel the seed of nerves in his gut, but she smiled and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt pulling herself up to press her lips to his again. He stumbled back and the two of them froze when they heard a crunch. 

They separated and looked down, seeing the head of a beetle poking out from beneath his foot. He lifted it and wrinkled his nose, Lydia snickered at the goo stuck to him, “Ew, beetle juice.”