So these two drabbles/one shots are from before Chenry realised they actually realised they loved each other, and I initially wrote them seperate, but thought it was a good idea to compile both their POV's into one short drabble/one shot compilation, so enjoy.

Henry's POV

Henry knew her every move. He watched her go down the halls of the Institute, an air of authority and importance clinging to her. It made him feel dizzy, made him want to hold her and never let go.

If only.

He shouldn't complain. He had his inventions, he had the crypt, he had a nice home. But none of them compared to what he wanted. It was like he only had half of Charlotte, like he was attached to a rope that had only part of her to keep him from falling. But he knew he had already messed things up. By avoiding her at the best of times had seemed like the only way he could cope; but it only worsened his state as the years grew. Now it was like torture, agony spreading through him, preventing him from even smiling at her.

He never knew what Charlotte was thinking. He could never tell if she showed true signs of affection or whether it was misdirected. He only knew that she blushed whenever he called her Lottie. That was probably the only thing they shared between themselves. The only time he could see feelings for him displayed on her face - if they were feelings at all, it might've been a face of secret piteous embarrassment. He could never tell. But there were times when a possibility of a better relationship had always been hopeful to him, but he had always misjudged it. Those times were hard to ignore, a sense of despair lingering in the pit of his stomach while he worked the day away in his crypt.

He daydreamed during his work. He dreamed of whispers and laughter and kisses. He dreamed of a better version of himself replacing himself, confident and intent on providing the best life for his wife. Even when he was deep in thought, he was still conscious of reality placing him back to the ground. It was recurring, a life he could lead for a few minutes before someone came to release him from it.

His relationship with Lottie wasn't even worthy of saying it was platonic; nothing affectionate or intimate, and nothing at all sexual.

Nothing to suggest that he loved her, or even if she loved him. Just a rigid relationship that was only kept going by the desperateness of the Institute, and the thought of losing Lottie hitting him like a bomb. Even if he didn't have all of her, he still had a part of her. He still had Charlotte, and that was all that mattered. A small part of her was better than nothing. Wasn't it?

He walked out of the room and sat on his bed in despair, wondering how different it would be if she loved him...

Charlotte suddenly walked into the room, her expression a little confused yet surprised.

'Are you alright Henry?'

'I'm fine.' He muttered, his head bent.

She walked over to her dresser, and undid her plaits. He stared at her longingly, watching her hair tumble around her shoulders. He loved her hair in plaits, she looked like she was still 18. If only he could go back to that time, when they were both younger and more naive, more capable of love than they were now. But even back then, their relationship was still plain. He saw her hands threading her hair, and desire burned in his throat until he could hold it no longer; he walked over and spun her around, his lips touching hers for a brief second.

'You look lovely.' He whispered, Charlotte's expression still surprised and shocked. He walked swiftly away, his reminiscence of her lips the only thing that consoled him. He strolled down the steps to the crypt, his eyes blinking back what must've been moisture.

'Back to my toys.' He thought, with a bitter resentment. As he worked, he thought only of one other thing: His tools could fix nearly anything, could make him occupied and happy as he repaired one thing after the other; but ironically, it couldn't mend his heart.