"George said you wanted to talk to me?"
Lockwood sat at the bar in the Diner, long legs kind of defeating the purpose of the barstoo, feet flat on the floorl. He looked up, dark forelock flopping into his eyes. "Uh, yeah, if that's okay...?"
Lucy frowned. "I don't see why not?"
He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "Can we... go outside? Please?"
"Sure, just gimme a second". Lucy flicked her towel onto the shelf at the back of the bar, and pushed open the door a little. "George, I'll be two minutes!"
The Greaser stood, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. Lucy flipped open the top of the bar and shimmied through, making her way to the door and pushing it open.
It was overcast but not raining, the air humming with the anticipation of a storm. Lockwood followed her out, brushing past her and leading the way over to the pine trees lining the parking lot.
Lucy followed, the wind rustling the hem of her peachy uniform. He ducked under a low - hanging branch, holding it back for her to follow.
They were stood at the edge of the lot, on the small bank between the diner and the woods, shadows twirling around their feet.
"You wanted to talk?"
Lockwood swallowed, and nodded. He shifted anxiously, and Lucy was struck with the realisation that this was the first time she'd seen him and he hadn't been grinning inanely. Something really must be wrong.
He was pale, too.
Oh my god. Was he going to-?
Lucy thought about all the couples she had seen in the corridors, boys getting onto one knee with stupid, adorable cardboard signs and asking...
Lucy stared up at him. She thought about speaking, prompting him perhaps, but decided against it. He could do this in his own time.
"I, um...", he ruffled his hair, looking up from the waitress and across the concrete back to the Diner, and then chuckled awkwardly, "God, this is harder than I thought..."
"Take your time", Lucy soothed, reaching out to pat his arm through his tough leather jacket. He was warm; radiant and hot, glowing.
"Lucy, I..."
A damp, cold breeze ran through the trees, shaking droplets of water loose, so that they plunged down and splattered against Lucy's back. She shivered, and stepped a little bit closer to the Greaser. The air around them did some strange crackly thing, the air between them humming and snapping with energy.
"I..."
She looked up at him. He was staring back down at her, his lips slightly parted. They were just a little chapped, but pink and warm and close and... oh God, they were so close. She could count his individual eyelashes, if she wanted to, or reach out and trace the constellations of his freckles and moles.
He smelt good. Like, really, really, good.
Like leather, and pine, and soap, and something she didn't recognise but wanted to drown in.
Rather suddenly, his broad hands grasped her hips firmly, warm fingers splayed. God, he was burning up.
A loud caw. A group of crows erupted from the trees opposite and soared into the slate sky. They burst apart, Lockwood's hands flying from Lucy's hips, and Lucy's up into a defensive position in front of her chest. The atmosphere had broken; everything was as it was.
Lockwood cleared his throat, suddenly paying a great deal of interest in his combat boots. "I, um, I've been getting notes. Just... silly stuff, you know, but I... was wondering if you had any idea who would- or whose handwriting this is?", he reached into his top pocket and revealed a slip of paper. He held it out for Lucy, who took it cautiously, making sure their skin didn't brush.
'GO BACK TO YOUR OWN COUNTRY! KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OUR GIRLS'
Anger clouded Lucy's vision.
"When did you get this?", she whispered, gripping the paper.
"A few days ago. It was in my rucksack. There was another in my gym kit"
Lucy looked up at him. He looked... entirely unbothered by the note and it's contents. His jaw was tense, his eyes downcast, but he wasn't... angry, per se.
"Lockwood", she ground out, "how long have you been getting these?"
"A couple of days, I guess"
"you have to go to the police!"
The Greaser scoffed. "And tell them what? That I, a young male Latino immigrant, have been receiving racial abuse? Ha!"
Lucy frowned. She understood, of course, that she was privileged to be white - although being female of course was a considerable disadvantage. She'd heard the horrendous stories of brutality and corruption by police, but surely threats and aggression were something they'd take seriously?
Wasnt it?
"The police are there to protect us, Lockwood-"
"Are they?"
He said it with so little questioning, so much finality, that Lucy had to stop and look at his face. The man was staring down at her, jaw clenched and eyes dark.
She gazed up at him. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and he parted his lips slightly as if to speak.
Then before she could react, his huge hands were cupping her face, and he was kissing her.
His lips were a tiny bit chapped, but soft and warm, and Lucy sighed into his mouth, her eyes shutting. Slowly, he slid his hands down from her face and arms to her waist, gripping it tightly. Her hands hovered awkwardly by her sides, before grasping his triceps as if her life depended on it.
He straightened up, and Lucy found herself suddenly being pulled up onto her tiptoes, and wobbling about. She'd have fallen over had Lockwood not been cradling her against him so ferociously.
It was only then that Lucy realised she... didn't really know what she was doing.
This was her first kiss - with someone who was clearly considerably more experienced than her. Someone who was currently biting her bottom lip with surprisingly gentility; and Lucy was sure she would have adored it - if she knew how to breathe.
"Mmph... Lockwood", Lucy's hands found their way to his shockingly solid chest, and she batted at him, "can't breathe..."
He drew back immediately, setting her down carefully to ensure she didn't fall, grinning inanely. "Sorry", his tongue flickered out over his lips, "got a tad carried away". Lucy smiled, her lips numb and a tad bruised. Her mind was still whirring, taking a moment process, and she blurted; "that was my first kiss"
He stared down at her, and kinked an eyebrow. Lucy suddenly felt very self - conscious, and fixed her eyes on her battered little pumps, wedged between his combat boots.
A loud roar tore through the parking lot. It was a motorcycle, or several actually, flying down the road towards the town. Before Lucy could even process anymore, Lockwood had tucked her safely behind him, hiding her from view of the road. Lucy swallowed.
"Who-"
She felt his grip tighten momentarily on her arms.
"A biker gang. A... Nationalist biker gang, if those jackets were anything to go by"
Lucy grasped his hand and squeezed it.
