☆

[y/n]

_

"DON'T YOU DARE," Louis laughed, "I'm paying."

I had reiterated to the boy that I was perfectly comfortable paying for my own ice cream bowl, but he seemed to have made it his life mission to stop me from even touching my wallet.

"You can't stop me," I smirked, reaching for my pocket.

He grinned. "I can."

Before I knew what his devious mind was up to, he snatched both of my hands into his, holding them captive behind my back as he slipped out his own wallet with the other. I tried to wriggle out of his grip, but alas, no use.

Even though I was unable to twist around, I could sense the smug look on his face as he handed his card to the cashier in front of us. This whole time, I must have forgotten to notice that he was rather witty when it came to doing things his way—once again, his awkward personality had gone flying out the window.

"Shame," he said, finally letting go of my hands, "guess you couldn't pay."

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm getting you back for this, Partridge."

"Don't hold your breath, Tewks."

Okay, he wins. I can't handle that nickname, and I never will, so just plan my funeral already.

As soon as our ice cream bowls were slid across the marble counter, we glossed over the small shop and made our way towards an empty table by the window. We had a perfect view of the busy road, with Louis' bicycle chained to a lamppost outside the door.

"So, tell me about yourself," Louis said, spooning a glob of ice cream into his mouth.

I did the same. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything I don't know."

"How specific," I laughed, glancing away momentarily. I didn't really know what he managed to figure out from the short amount of time we spent running around London, but I decided to cover the basics. "I want to be a botanist, I love Enola Holmes, and my last name is Ashling."

"I knew two of those things already," he noted complacently, "but the third is interesting."

I cocked a brow. "Really?"

"Ash-ling," he said, stretching out his words, "means dreams and visions."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I have a knack for names," he smiled, grabbing another spoonful, "which is something about me that you now know. Your turn again."

We fell into a game of getting to know each other, and neither of us noticed that we had finished eating an hour later. According to Louis, his favorite emoji was a flower bouquet, he was starting to learn how to play guitar, and he liked tea (as do many of us here in London).

And we might have spoken for longer, if I hadn't turned my head to pick up my spoon.

As soon as I did so, I noticed a suspicious figure hovering around Louis' bicycle, their hands shoved deep into the pockets of their black trousers as they scanned the area. I felt a shiver run up my spine.

"Louis..." I mumbled, squinting my eyes out the window, "Louis I think—"

Before I could finish my sentence, my hypothesis was proven correct. The shady suspect I had been eyeing a few seconds before soon whipped out a wire cutter from their pocket, snapping the bike lock off of the lamp post. It fell to the ground just as my heart dropped too.

"They're stealing your bike!" I hissed, scrambling out of my chair, "what the hell?"

Everything was blurry as I sped across the ice cream shop, swinging open the glass doors and running onto the pavement without so much as a doubt in my mind. Louis might have followed after me, but I didn't notice. The only thing I could see was the thief trying to get away.

"Hey!" I yelled, running after them, "Stop!"

Being a robber, they obviously didn't stop.

However, they panicked, stumbling over their trainers as they realized they had been caught. I was closer now, nearly in arms reach. I couldn't see their face. They couldn't see mine. The world almost stood still as my hands grasped the side of the handlebar, but pride filled my blood when my hope of stopping them remained.

I didn't see them let go of the bike.

And I didn't see their fist, until it came crashing into my cheekbone like a wrecking ball.

I had been punched. Not slapped, not socked, literally punched in the face so hard that I thought I might have lost my brain in the hit. Stumbling back, I came crashing onto the cement ground beneath me, my head ringing and my lips tasting like copper.

Hell, my nose is bleeding.

So is my cheek, I assume.

I wanted to get up and keep running, but I could feel my body start to shut down like a train without power—I may have slid off the tracks at this point. The familiar sound of Louis' voice came running towards me from a few paces away, but I closed my eyes in pain. My face hurts.

Maybe I should—

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

"YOU BLACKED OUT," said a muffled voice.

Somehow, somewhere, I found myself lying down on something. I didn't remember anything from the second I got punched in the face, but now I was slowly regaining my consciousness.

Groaning, I flitted open my eyes, trying to adjust to the bright lights from overhead.

"Oh, you're awake," the voice said again.

It wasn't a familiar voice, so a peak of alarm in my chest rose for a split second. Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I felt my gaze dart around the unfamiliar room until they landed on a face—not just any face—but one that seemed to share traits of a boy I knew.

"Hi, I'm Millie," the girl said, holding out her hand, "Louis' sister."

If I wasn't so dizzy with a post-unconscious haze, I might have passed out again. Maybe. I didn't, thanks to my desperation not to possibly die of a concussion. Speaking of possible head-injuries, I feel like my head was about to fall off of my neck.

I assumed I was in Millie's room, staring at white-painted walls and printed pictures, polaroids of strangers taped to the wall like a collage of various colors. I was laying straggled out on her bed, probably looking beaten up and tired.

"[y/n]," I said, taking her hand, "Ashling."

She smiled. "Louis went out to buy something for your shin, but he'll be back soon, don't worry."

"My shin?" I blinked.

Glancing down, I realized I had a gash running up the bone of my left leg, already starting to scab. Ouch. From the looks of it, it had been partially cleaned (the lingering sting said an alcohol swab), but hurt like hell now that I knew it existed. I must have cut it when I got throttled onto the pavement.

"So, how do you know Louis?" Millie asked, slinking back into her chair, "I don't think we've met before."

We haven't.

She had one airpod tucked loosely into her left ear, the soft sounds of pop music trickling out into the quiet room, and her Heaven Can Wait jumper tucked neatly into the waist of her pleated skirt. The Partridge genes were insane—how could someone be so effortlessly pretty?

"We met today," I said (purposely leaving out every single previous shift), "at a bus stop."

Millie cracked a smile. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Only met a few hours ago, and he's already taking you to meet the family," she laughed, jest glinting in her hazel eyes.

As if on cue, Louis appeared in the doorway, a Tesco bag hanging on his forearm and a worried look on his face. He sent me a relieved smile when he saw I was awake, but when he glanced at the girl beside me, he sighed.

"Drop it, Illie'," he said, swatting her away, "don't bother her."

Millie stuck out her tongue. "This is my room, you git."

"Your point?"

The girl rolled her eyes at him, turning towards me with a sympathetic smile. Louis was digging through his grocery bag by the time she slipped out of the door and into the dimly lit hallway. I wanted to question why he sent Millie out of the room (or Illie', as he called her), but my thoughts were cut off when he pulled out a small tube from his bag, sticking it between his teeth as he turned to shuffle through the rest of the contents.

He pulled out a box of band-aids.

"Picked these up from the store," he said, taking the tube out of his mouth, "sorry about what happened with my bike."

I nodded. "Sorry about your bike."

"I'll get a new one tomorrow," he shrugged, "that one had buggered tires, anyways."

I watched as he sat down in Millie's abandoned chair, unscrewing the cap to what I now recognized as cut ointment. I felt honored that he went all the way to the shop to grab first-aid, but then again, I did get knocked out an hour ago.

"Leg," he said, gesturing to the side of the bed.

I shifted my spot on the mattress, propping my heels against the side rail so that my injured shin was facing him. It was a bloody mess—not just my leg—but my brain. I couldn't tell if it was the chill of the ointment, or the sting of it hitting my wound, but something was screwing with my mind.

Or maybe it was the fact that Louis Partridge was taking care of me.

He had his brows furrowed in focus as he tended to my injury, smirking when I'd flinch at certain gashes as he rubbed the healing gel in. I hated it but loved it at the same time. The thought of someone caring about you enough to help you feel better, regardless of how long they had known you for, made me feel soft inside. I hadn't met many people who were like that.

"Pretty brave of you to do that," he said, glancing up to look at me, "trying to save my bike, I mean."

I shrugged. "Key word, trying."

"Not many people would bother to try, when you think about it."

He had somehow moved onto the bands, slitting open the cardboard flaps to retrieve a spool of bandages. I tried to distract myself as he made a temporary cast around my shin, hoping to think of anything but the situation—leaves, plants, bouquets, soil? Anything was better than accidentally letting him know my heart was beating faster than usual.

"I can drive you home, if you want," he offered, "although traffic might be bollocks right now."

I winced. "It's okay, I don't want to intrude."

"You're not intruding."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," he grinned, holding up his hand. He had his pinky finger extended out towards me, the rest of his fingers curled up into a ball. "Promise."

When I hesitated, he chuckled, bowing his head in amusement. I wasn't sure what to do, and he must have noticed.

"It's called a pinky-promise," he explained, "you're supposed to take my pinky with yours, and we shake on it to show we won't break our vow."

I blinked, locking my pinky with his.

"Promise, then," I said, "thank you, Louis."

"No worries, Tewks."

For a split second of a moment, I felt like we were the only people who existed in the world. Fingers locked, eyes locked, and simple promises that felt like entire galaxies. I wondered if he felt it too, but my thoughts were discarded when he let go of my hand, rising out of his chair.

He held out his hand. "Time to get you home, hm?"

_

everyone turned into
Sherlock Holmes in
the last chapter PLS-

still betting no one's
going to guess what's
coming...