⟾ 25 | SEWER STENCH

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Y/N 💥

Wednesday, 2:19pm

_

CLEARLY THE WORLD PLAYS BY CLICHE.

I suppose that's what makes it cliche, but still, I happen to be soaring through the sky with only unconventional thoughts in my mind. We were running for our lives on the rooftops of London, and yet I found no worry in the fact that there were bullets and helicopters flying towards us.

I could only follow his lead, hand gripped tightly in between his, watching as he ducked under balconies and hurdled over alleyways.

He often had this look on his face whenever he was focused on something, where he'd furrow his brows and press his lips together, and for some reason I found myself jealous over everything. He usually only gave that look to me. When I'd break into his house, set ruin to the city, or bother him with insults, that's the look I'd get.

I shouldn't be jealous of the fact that he's also running for his life, but I wish I could just stop time and have him look me in the eyes for another moment.

I'm appalled at myself for thinking like this.

I'm usually not one to over-analyze behavior, but now I'm doing it every single second for him. It made me realize some things as well. I told myself that I always run from him, because he's never asked me to stay.

But I was wrong.

He had asked me to stay.

I just hadn't realized it.

I lived most of my life in isolation, never interacting with more than three people, so the gift of 'reading people' that Louis had didn't apply to me. I only heard what they'd say, and I'd take it all to heart. I could only understand their words, not their actions or feelings.

Which is why I didn't know how Louis felt.

His Love-Language was touch.

Mine was distance.

And this whole time, he had been asking me to stay through that, and I had been running away from him—because that's all I knew. Every time I'd walk away, he'd pull me back. Every time I'd let my hands slip out of his, he'd only hold on tighter. I just couldn't read it until now.

But you can't call me a fool for that.

My past is not yours, and my past still lives in my mind. It's tainted my blood with poison, and my fear is that there's no antidote. I'll just have to let myself die this way, without understanding how love works.

"This way," Louis called out, making a sharp right, "watch your head."

We ducked under the balcony of someone's apartment, ignoring the screams of toddlers watching from the window. Giving children trauma was not my forte, but dying wasn't either, and these stupid S.I.S tacticals were making it hard.

Westminster Palace was sitting a mile off from where we were running, and I cursed myself for living in a big city. I didn't feel like I could run another mile. All I wanted to do was collapse to the ground and sleep for the rest of eternity.

"What's the plan?" I yelled.

Louis skipped over to the next building. "We have no plan!"

"Why don't we have a plan?"

"Do you think I had time to make one?"

"Well, we've been running for an hour!" I remarked, "you couldn't have thought of something then?"

"And you couldn't have either?" He spat back.

No, I wanted to say, because I've been thinking about you this whole time! Clearly I wasn't going to say that, because I still had my reputation to uphold. I wasn't going to let myself simply 'crumble' for him just because he 'crumbled' for me. I do things on my own time and terms.

The whir of helicopters following us was attracting unneeded attention, and while they were still far off from us, we couldn't let them catch up.

"We need to get out of the sky," Louis said, hopping onto another balcony.

I followed after him. "It's even more dangerous at ground-level."

"Then we need to go lower."

"Lower?" I scoffed, watching as he kicked open the sliding-door to someone's apartment, "where do you want us to go? Into the dirt?"

Louis gave me an annoyed look as he broke into the apartment, tuning out the sounds of screams coming from inside. A group of University girls were huddled onto the couch, petrified by the fact that two sweaty strangers just waltzed into their dorm through the window.

I gave them a sympathetic smile, before following my—no, stop that—Louis through the small kitchen and out the door. From there we scaled the steps until we reached the ground level, rushing out onto the busy street of downtown London.

"So where?" I asked, "this is the lowest we can go."

The man shook his head. "No, it's not."

"Well, do you want to sit here and chat about it, or are you going to explain what the hell you're talking about?"

Before he had a chance to respond, a team of tacticals—no doubt the ground team—swarmed around the corner of the block, barking orders at each other to catch us. I sighed, taking Louis' hand and intertwining our fingers out of instinct.

He flinched. "Ash, what are you doing?"

"What?" I questioned.

"You're holding my hand again."

"Don't you usually take my hand hostage when you go running somewhere?" I snapped back quickly.

"Yes, but—"

"But, that's not important, and we should probably be running for our lives right now."

He didn't say anything, but I noticed his cheeks flush red as he spun on his heels, beginning to drag me through the streets and away from the tacticals chasing us. I could never understand why people found hand-holding appealing. It didn't really seem romantic. Just useful if you don't want to get lost.

Trampling over feet and bags from random civilians, we ran, and ran, and ran out of the towering structure of downtown London, heading towards the River Thames without hesitation.

"Why are we going towards the River?" I yelled.

He dodged a moving stroller. "Westminster, right?"

"Yes, but we'll be fish-bait if we head in that direction!" I argued, "we have to stay where the crowds are, or we're basically handing ourselves over."

"Just trust me!"

Nodding my head, I clutched onto his hand, letting him lead me through the remaining block of the road and out into the grey skies above us. We should have turned. The tacticals were hot on our trails, almost a few feet away from us now, and I was beginning to think we wouldn't make it.

But we reached the river, and we suddenly stopped.

"Louis, what are you—" I began to say.

He cut me off. "Hold your breath."

"What?"

Before I had a chance to even blink, I felt his arms wrap tightly around my waist, and I was pulled off of the stone ledge and into the freezing waters below.

It was cold.

For a moment, I felt like I lost all sense of life, my mind blacking from the pressure building up around my body; pressing, and pressing, and pressing around my lungs. It was muddy and dark, and I didn't want to open my eyes in the fear I'd lose all sight and let it come rushing at me.

The only warmth I could feel was Louis' arms around me, holding me so tightly against his chest I almost thought I'd sink with him.

What the hell did he do?

Was this his plan?

As if sensing the questions running through my mind, I felt his hand brush against my face, as if he was asking me to open my eyes. I could feel my breath slowly running out, and I knew I'd have to swim back up for air inevitably. But I opened my eyes, searching through the murky waters to meet his own gaze.

He nodded his head, as if to say: It's okay.

Loosening his grip around me, he took my hand again, pulling me along with him as he swum deeper and deeper down into the bottom of the river. The shadows of tacticals peering into the water above us were twirling around us, and I realized we were stuck. If we kept swimming deeper, we'd run out of breath. If we swam to shore, we'd be caught.

We had to find another chance of escape.

And apparently Louis had found one.

Lodged into the side of the Thames, a barred gate was melded into the stone walls, water rushing and running through like a filter. The current was our friend, nearly drawing us towards it almost too quickly we almost lost hold of each other. We managed to keep out hands interlocked, careful not to drift down the stream and get lost forever.

I needed air.

I was losing most of my oxygen, and it was making my throat burn and my head spin. Water wasn't my thing, and if I was going to die in the Thames, I'd rather just swim up to shore and let those agents take me. But I prayed Louis had a plan.

I trusted him.

I think.

Hope in my heart, I watched as he began to kick the bars of the gate in, pushing the rusted metal further, and further, and further back until the screws started to come loose, and the metal began to give way. Not wanting to seem like a slack, I paddled myself towards it as well, mimicking his movements as best I could.

But air.

I need air.

I needed it quickly, even as the gate finally came loose, and Louis swam through the tunnel. I needed it now, even as we found ourselves surrounded in complete darkness, diving through thick water. I was running out of time, and I didn't think I'd make it.

But then finally I felt someone's arm around me once more, and I was hoisted back into the air and onto the stony ground.

"Hey, hey, hey," Louis said, peering over me. The droplets of his hair were splashing onto my skin, and I hated it. "Are you okay?"

I didn't feel okay.

I felt like my lungs were full of water, and a headache the size of a chocolate bar had lodged itself into my brain. Not great. Louis seemed to think I was dead when I didn't respond, because he placed his hands on the side of my face in panic, lowering his head towards where I lay.

"Kiss me, and I'll cut off your mouth," I snapped, shoving him off me, "you creep."

"I was going to give you CPR!" He said defensively.

"Well, It's your fault for nearly drowning me."

"We had nowhere else to go!"

"At least give me proper warning then!"

He frowned, brushing his wet hair out of his face. "Maybe you should be more prepared."

Scrunching my nose at him, I exhaled, feeling positively distasteful about the situation. He ruined my outfit, and he dragged me through polluted waters without my approval. I almost drowned because of him.

"I hate you," I remarked.

He shrugged. "I love you."

"Same damn thing," I frowned, slowly stumbling onto my feet, "where the hell did you bring us, Partridge?"

It was dark and swampy in the area, and the chittering of mice could be heard echoing from down the various tunnels. No, probably rats. It was almost like walking straight into the Chamber Of Secrets in Harry Potter. Mysterious, scary, and wholly off-putting.

"Welcome to the London Underground," Louis said in disappointment, "and no, not the tube-system, I mean the sewers."

"Clearly," I frowned.

"It's a plan, don't give me an attitude."

"I can give you an attitude if I want."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

"No."

"Ash—"

"You don't tell me what to do."

I couldn't even take another step, before I felt a hand around my wrist, and I was yanked forward and against the boy in front of me. His eyes were darker than the tunnels around us. Cold, even.

"This isn't a game anymore, [y/n]," he said sharply, "you don't have to respect me, but at least respect yourself and stop acting like you're better than everyone else."

I froze.

"I don't act like I'm better than anyone else," I squeaked out.

It was a clear lie, and he could see through me like glass. Unfortunately he could see all the stains and smudges that came along with it. Shaking his head, he let go of me, turning on his heels and beginning to pace alongside the sewer-system, his boots thudding against the rock ground.

"I don't know why I try," he mumbled to himself, but I heard it all the same.

I followed after him.

"Falling out of love with me already, Partridge?" I asked.

He frowned. "It's not that easy."

"But are you or are you not?"

"Am I what?"

"Falling out of love with me," I repeated, "I'm not easy to love, I know that. I'm annoying, I'm rude, I have an attitude, I'm stubborn, and I never listen to anyone else, even when I know I should."

He stopped walking, his footsteps ceasing to echo off the stone walls.

"There's nothing to love about me," I continued, "all those things make it impossible."

There was a definite spark in the air, where my imagination depicted a lighter setting a pool of gasoline ablaze. I couldn't tell if it was a fire of anger or thought, and I didn't know if it was his or my own.

"What if I said all those things were what I do love about you?" He said, turning his head.

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I love you for you," he muttered, "even the things that drive me mad."

"Oh."

"Oh," he repeated, nodding his head.

I wanted to desperately change the subject. I didn't like discussing feelings. It felt like I'd say something wrong and offend someone's entire life when I didn't mean to. I knew I offended him. I knew he wished I'd understand his thoughts, but I wasn't raised like that, and I didn't know how to start.

So, I changed the subject.

"So what's the plan, then?" I asked, resuming our path.

He pursed his lips together. "We follow the canals across the Thames, and find our way into Westminster through the sewage system."

"That's disgusting."

"I've been through worse."

"And that makes this any better?"

He shrugged, his eyes squinting in the darkness as he searched for the right turn to take. He knew London like the back of his hand—even the tunnels underneath it all. Sometimes I forgot he was an Agent before he met me, and I hated to think I ruined it all for him. But did it really make this terrible journey any better?

"Of course it does," he said, turning to look at me, "because you're with me this time."

"Team Phoenix," I whispered, looking at the marking around my wrist.

He smiled. "Team Phoenix."

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