Anthony Lockwood was a pompous, arrogant, self destructive, full of shit bastard. He hid everything behind cocky, charismatic grins and suave words— but not today, no. He’d been reckless and impulsive, leaving a note for Jack Carver — a now dead psychopath — and infiltrating Julius and Adelaide Winkman’s property, also psychopaths, those two. And that could’ve been the end, if you weren’t careful. So yeah, full of shit, and then you two had an epic shouting match in Portland Row’s living room before going separate ways.

You said separate ways but it was really going to your bedrooms. George had already told him off for being too much of a prick. A dick. An absolute arse. And for the first time in his life, Lockwood thought George might actually be right. He’d been a dick.

So he went to you.

“Don’t give up on this.” It was all he could get out, and it was even worse with a pathetically soft voice. Shit, he really hated showing emotion to his own detriment— but he was a bloody wanker. So he had to suck it up, like it or not, then here he was.

Sucking it up.

He didn’t know whether you’d forgive him or not. Let’s all be honest— if he was in your position, he wouldn’t find it in him. But he couldn’t let himself screw this up, screw the both of you up, just to save his pride. “What I’m trying to say is, uh, don’t give up on me.”

What would you say? Would you push him away, or say what he’d been saying to himself for ages in his head? He’d deserve it wholeheartedly if you did, and he’d take it just the same, just like he took an electric chair for you at Winkman’s. He wouldn’t change that.

Cause he’d sacrifice himself for you, even if he’d never say it aloud.