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tulipsforvin · 18 days

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DON'T BE A STRANGER ༉‧₊˚✧.*

✧ an albert j. moriarty x f!reader slow burn (reader is a doctor)

✧ ⚠️: angst, bittersweet ending.. idk

✧ it's so long :') please excuse my poor effort at foreshadowing 🌷

CHAPTER ONE — “so, let me get this straight. your biggest dream is to open a small clinic in london?”

“yeah!” you nod happily. “i want to treat the less fortunate people out there; people with financial troubles, men, women & children from the slum, you know?” the brown haired noble hums approvingly.

idyllic, soft noises of a piano being played comes from below the floorboard, probably downstairs. you lift your head up from the man's injured arm in mild surprise, only to be met with his own curious gaze.

his expression immediately softens upon seeing your own gaze and his lips melt into a small, subtle smile.

“must be louis.” albert says, grinning. “he's been practicing piano lately and—” he winces when you tighten the bandage around his forearm. “—ouch.”

you grin back at him teasingly. “you can deal with it, you're a big boy.”

“aha.” he rises to his feet. “that, my dear, i am.”

“here, catch.” you throw him his shirt, crisp white and clean and he catches it mid air with ease. he smiles proudly like he's caught an alligator by it's jaw. he wipes his sweaty hands with his handkerchief.

“i hope you'd come around here more often.” albert says while leaning against a wall, arms crossed. he's halfway in his shirt, deciding not to put the other arm in since he thought it'd be too painful to try. “it's fun with you around, (name).” he approves of his own words by nodding to himself. “truly.”

“hmm..” you pretend as if you're pondering, index tapping your chin idly and eyes looking up at the ceiling in feigned thoughtfulness. your gaze drops back to him. “then perhaps you should be ambushed during your missions more, yeah?”

the brown haired chuckles amusedly at your words. “ah,” he says. “now words, my dear, you should be careful with. i may as well willingly fall down a flight of stairs just because you've said that to me now.”

what a flirt, you scoff.

you stand to your own feet as well, sling your sids bag in and stuff in your medical supplies. his gaze falls to it momentarily before returning to your eyes and he smiles at you.

“you should let me drop you off as a thank you of nursing me.” he tells you, walking a few steps forwards until he's directly looming in front of you.

you lift your head to look up at him and speak. “no, that's okay. i'm pretty sure i can find my way back myse—” his hand slides between the gap of your arm and your waist and you're sure you feel the back of his fingers touch your waist as he's zipping your side bag shut. and you feel tingly all of a sudden.

what a goddamn flirt.

“i insist.” he says, voice soft before he pulls back a few steps. then, he grins at you as he's always done, with that easy, boyish grin he always has. “please.”

“fine.” you clear your throat, looking away. you're hurrying your way towards the doorstep and fiddling with the doorknob until it's open. you step out.

and he eagerly follows you behind, almost jogging to keep up with your fast pace of walking. his heart seems to be beating for some peculiar reason; perhaps due to the physical exercise of keeping up with you. “my, (name).” he laughs brightly. “i wasn't aware we were having a marathon.” and you groan annoyedly at his antics. “please be silent.”

if only he knew what was going on in your head right of this moment. if only he knew how hard your heart was thumping inside of your chest at every brush of your elbows. if only—

you've only realized you've already been out and about for a while now, that you've been walking past the streets and the lanes and under the unlit lamps and finally infront of your house. you've so realized that he'd been walking past you quietly surprisingly in obedience just like you'd told him to.

“then..” he speaks after some time, turning to look at you. he holds out his hand to you and you place one of your own over his. your eyebrow raises when he raises it to his lips, places the softest of kiss over it & lets both of his and your hands fall back to your sides.

“i'll see you, (name.)” he tells you, stepping back.

“i..” you pause, rather flustered. “y-yes. me as well.”

you tell the noble to get home safe and you step inside of your house, lock the door, back against the door with weak knees before sliding down against it.

you're sure you're red. everywhere. down to the tips of your very fingers, neck, face. everywhere.

it was only politeness. countless, not only noblemen but men in general have done that before. it was only right. so why did it feel so different when he did it?

“idiot.” you murmur under your breath. “stupid idiot.” at this point, you're not exactly sure who you're cursing and mumbling about. you, or him.

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CHAPTER TWO — the purple melted into the pinks and the pinks blurred into the shades of oranges that hovered right above the horizon. the morning was early. the day was new and so, a new enthusiasm had risen in you.

you had made up your mind.

enough of the unrequited love, you thought.

enough of the days spent daydreaming while fiddling with gauges and vials of ointment, you thought.

enough of the nights spent thinking and dreaming, dreaming and thinking once more of how it would be like for you to be his and his to be yours.

you grip at the belt of your side bag. your hands are clammy as you're riding your bicycle towards the moriarty residence and your entire body is hot with nervousness. the sun is pressing gentle kisses on your back and the soft, soft wind pushes back stray hairs away from your forehead.

your plan for the day? invite him over to your place so that the two of you can get closer somehow. maybe doing something like cooking, or baking. or just spending some time with him in general.

“(name)!” bond's opened the door, grinning enthusiastically at you. “it's good to see you.”

“good to see you, too, bond.” you tell him, returning the man's smile. he's new to the group, apparently. your smile at him is familiar. usually meeting someone new and interacting with them would be awkward but with bond, it was easy & comfortable.

“is albert home?” you question and he nods.

“yes.” he tells you. “in his bedroom.” he tells you, stepping back to let you step inside.

“okay!” you're hurrying your way up to his bedroom, heart pumping out of your chest in a mixture of excitement, anticipation and nervousness.

one knock. two knocks.

“come in.” a voice calls from within and you recognise it immediately. who else would have that velvety, deep & smooth voice except than him?

the door creaks open and he visibly brightens upon seeing your face. “(name).” he smiles. he's slipping on his leather gloves. “to what do i owe this pleasure?”

“well—” you shift your weight from one foot to the other. “i wanted to ask if.. you wanted to come over to my place and you know, do some baking. or something.”

albert blinks. “you came all the way over here to tell me that? (name)..” he exhales. “you could have just sent a telegram instead of going through all the trouble to get here to invite me.”

“i know.. but,” you clear your throat. but what? did you even have an excuse? “i wanted to spend more time with you.” “i thought- i thought i'd exercise or something. get some fresh air, you know?”

he pauses. “yeah.” he nods. ponders. speaks. “i.. actually have to get to a meeting in about one and a half hour or so.” and he watches your face fall.

“oh.” you can only mutter out. so much for trying to get closer to him, you think. “oh, okay. that's fine, then. always a next time, right?” and you try to laugh — it's almost a piteous sound, you can't seem to hide your disappointment and he sees right through it.

albert runs a hand through his brown hair. “it would be a hassle going back and forth.” he continues. “however..” small smile. “i think i can make some time for a simple cake if we do it here.”

your eyes twinkle and you nod vigorously. “but what of the ingredients?”

“i am sure we have plenty here.”

୨🌷୧ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

and that was how the two of you ended up like this, with you licking frosting off your fingers, watching albert as he frosts the cake with a sky blue icing. he takes a step back, rubs the sweat off his brow with his arm, looking at the work that the two of you created. it's simple, really; covered in a sky blue, a few small decorations here & there but it's yours. and his.

“well?” he sighs, turning to look at you with an eyebrow raised. he's wearing a dark green apron dusted in flour and so are you. “my hands were trembling, i was afraid i would ruin the cake or mess up the decorations.”

you beam up at him. “it looks great!” and he grins with the most proudest smile you've seen. “although i wish i could've helped more. i was the one with the idea and yet you're the one who did the most work.”

“nonsense.” albert says. his hands are already busy cutting slices for the two of you. “i only did the finishing touches and assisted here and there. you are the one that worked more diligently,” he reaches over and his thumb swipes at your cheek. he pulls his hand back & gestures at the excess flour he gathered from your cheek. “and there is the proof.” he grins.

“that doesn't prove anything, by the way.” are you stuttering? is your face too red? are you doing something out of the ordinary? is your expression too silly? too stupid? is it obvious that you like him?

“haha.” he chuckles. “i'd like to think otherwise.”

is now the right time to confess? it's been long enough, hasn't it? you've known him for four years already — isn't that enough? wouldn't he accept?

“albert?” you inhale, your fingers fiddle with each other in nervousness. you gather your courage, let it simmer under your skin momentarily as you prepare yourself to tell him what you feel about him.

“hm?”

“i've- i've actually always liked—”

moran walks into the kitchen, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants as he makes his entrance. “hey, it's time for the meeting.” his gaze falls on the cake. “ooh, is this for me?” he says greedily.

albert sighs. “no it isn't, colonel.” he swats the large man's hand away and moran yelps. “ouch!”

“tell the others i'll be there in a minute.” the brown haired man says, taking off his apron. moran shrugs his shoulders and walks away. “ah, right.” the man pauses, turns to look at you and tilts his head. “wasn't there something you were about to tell me, (name)? something about always liking something?”

“what?” you blink. “oh, nono- it's okay.” you shake your head frantically. “i just..” you clear your throat. “i just meant to say that i've always liked your determination to.. change this world of ours and that i've always respected your ideologies, that's all.”

“....” the silence in his pause is defeaning.

albert's lips slowly broaden into a smile. he nods in acknowledgement of your words. “thank you.”

“albert!” the both of you hear moran calling out for the noble. albert's head turns towards the direction of the noise momentarily before returning to yours. “i'll take my leave now. moran seems to be getting his knickers in a twist.” he grins when you giggle. “you should take the cake with you, though.”

albert leaves, but manages to take one more glance at you. his expression has shifted, a little different as he's leaving; strange. almost unreadable. his smile has disappeared — as if he's thinking of something.

does he know? or is he just suspicious? not that him being suspicious of your feelings is any better.

you're left alone in the kitchen. you feel like ripping your hair out in embarrassment. you wanted to do this slowly, taking your time, doing it the right away.

and yet, you panicked. rushed. failed.

“ugh..” you groan at your ruined attempt to tell him how you actually feel about him. “this sucks.”

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CHAPTER THREE — it's been entire weeks since you've properly talked to albert. some days when you talk to him, he pretends not to hear at all, some days he only answers if he really has to and some days he blatantly ignores you. as if you don't even exist.

“i am alright, (name). please don't worry about me.” william smiles up at you. you've finished tending to his wounds and are currently observing him for any more bruises or any signs of distress & ptsd. william willingly let himself be kidnapped for one of their missions.

however, a kidnapping is still a kidnapping, now matter how much it was planned with detailed intricacy. “you should check up on albert, instead. it seems he's gotten a little hurt during my rescue.”

“well..” you gulp down hard. you're reluctant — because he's been keeping his distance from you for the past few weeks. you're not exactly sure why, but you have a hint. he definitely knows, doesn't he?

albert was known among high society to be on friendly terms with both noblemen and noblewomen alike. he was popular, but he was also infamous for suddenly turning distant and reserved towards a particular lady if she confessed of her feelings to him, or the news of someone becoming interested in him romantically came to his knowledge.

of course that was also because he didn't want to hurt anybody. he couldn't afford being in love — knowing how their grand plan would end, anyway.

and you being treated like one of those women made you feel terrible; like you'd been thrown aside.

weren't you special to him? then why did he treat you as such? does he treat other women the same?

“alright.” you tell william reluctantly and he offers you an empathetic smile. he gives your arm a small, encouraging pat and you feel a little comforted.

“i am sure things will go well with the two of you.” nothing was ever hidden from william, was it?

with his encouragement, you make your way to albert who's currently conversing with moran. moran would never, ever in a hundred years or a million years pass down the opportunity to tease albert.

“getting rusty, aren't you?” moran laughs loudly, finding great amusement in this. “this is what happens when you're cooped up in adminstrative work instead of being out there in the field.”

“very funny, colonel.” albert responds gruffly.

both the men notice your presence and moran gives you a loud "yo" as a greeting. albert is much quieter than usual and only gives you a curt “good morning”.

it hurts, you realize. but never mind that — you're here to check up on him, not bring your personal feelings into this. “give me your arm for a second.”

and he does. his head is turned a few degrees away from you and he's busying himself in conversation with moran deliberately. he has a bruise on his cheek, a few scrapes on his arms that broke skin, but that was it. you put down your side bag on the nightstand besides the medical bed and begin to shuffle through the necessary items to treat his wounds.

you pour disinfectant on a piece of cotton and lean in to dab away at the bruise on his cheek. albert flinches sharply, grabs your wrist unconsciously.

what? both of your expressions seem to say exactly that. albert looks up at you with wide, panicked eyes. his grip on your wrist still hasn't loosened and you wince slightly in pain when you try to tug it back.

“oh..” he finally realizes what he's just done and he clears his throat uncomfortably, looking away. he drops your hand and “apologies. i didn't mean to do that.” he murmurs quietly. “give it to me, i'll do it.”

albert snatches the cotton drenched in disinfectant away from you and begins to do it in your stead.

and you can feel your heart aching because even now he's ignoring you. it's been days, no—weeks, since you've had a proper conversation with him.

you feel a lump rise in your throat because he doesn't even sound sincere with his apology. he sounds so halfhearted, like he just wants to get it done with, like talking with you is a chore. he's so distant. so cold.

“albert, can i please talk to you?”

“i'm sorry, (name). i'm a little tired from right now and i'd like to rest.” albert says, volume and octave of his voice a little higher than usual. his tone of voice is brittle, firm, rough — so unlike the gentleness he used to address you with only a few weeks ago.

he's avoiding you.

“it won't take long, so—”

“(name).” his voice is stern, without a hint of warmth.

it's obvious. and it pains so much.

“i can't seem to comprehend why you're bothering me after i outright asked that you let me rest. can i not have that? or did you not hear me, perhaps?”

you feel your heart drop to the pits of your stomach.

albert spoke loudly to make sure everyone would hear him, and that it would seem rude if you were to bother him even after he directly told you he needed rest. all eyes are on you. your head feels heavy. your heart is drumming hard, there's a hollowness in your stomach and a deep, aching pain in your chest.

and you shift anxiously. you can only shift anxiously.

he's put you in an uncomfortable situation. you'd never expected him, of all people, to do that to you.

why was he being so hostile to you?

your fingers wrap tightly around the belt of your side bag. “i- okay..” you say, defeated. “get some rest.”

“yes.” he says, voice tight. “leave.”

your hands are trembling. all the ignored words, avoidant eyes, distance, harsh words from him was getting to you. he was being mean. your vision is blurry — most likely due to the formation of tears. you dare not let them drop right now.

why was he acting like this? what had you ever done to him? was your only sin falling in love with him?

“i should go now.” you pray. you pray hard that your voice didn't sound shaky. you pray that your voice didn't crack. you pray that it didn't sound like you were about to cry. but a tear betrays you, anyway.

you can't look at anybody right now.

everyone is gawking, and you rush out of the room. it doesn't matter anymore — it's too much for you. you run past the hallways, past the door, past fred tending to the plants in the conservatory and out of the manor. you run and you keep running until the moriarty residence is out of sight, until you begin to gasp and breath hard for air, until you collapse onto your knees over rocks and gravel and dirt.

the pain from bruising your knee over a sharp rock only makes matters worse. the cut is deep and you bleed over the blades of grass and over the dirt.

you bleed over his words.

you cry and cry. you cry your heart out.

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CHAPTER FOUR — exactly six months have passed since your falling out with albert. you've given up all dreams of being involved with him romantically. you've been huddled up inside of your house for a few weeks, researching and researching. soon, you'd have enough money to move to london and finally fulfill your dream of opening your quaint little clinic.

you'd forgotten your precious side bag at the moriarty residence but were too hesitant, too embarrassed, too hurt to retrieve it.

william and bonde, especially, have sent numerous letters asking about your health and if you are well — which you haven't answered. not to a single one. one from louis and fred each and one small note from moran bluntly telling you to just forget all about albert and about how much of an asshole he is.

you'd laughed a little at that one — it was short and half of it consisted of profanities but you knew that it was his own way of caring. and it was sweet to know.

no news from albert, or about albert. but you'd decided to leave it all in the past, anyway.

you take a step into the shower.

tonight was very special for you, anyway.

୨🌷୧ text divider ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

this is the first time you're going to attend a noble function. you're accompanying a viscount by the name of francis. he's over six feet tall, has warm hazel eyes, curly black hair, wears glasses — a little awkward and stutters in social situations, but you figured that was his charm.

he was your business partner. he'd provide the money to allow you to open your clinic in london and you'd provide your intellect & experience in the medical field. everything was set; tonight was a stage for the two of you to advertise and hopefully, find customers. or donators. both would be a great help.

“s-shall we get some drinks, (name)?” francis holds out his arm to you and you link your arm in with his.

“we shall.” you beam up at him. you're wearing an emerald coloured silk dress that francis bought you which perfectly hugs your body — you look striking.

the two of you get yourself a glass of sparkling wine each and begin to actively engage with other nobles; you in the lead with francis backing you up, subtly pushing the topic of opening your clinic into the conversation. everything seemed to be going good.

“brother, how about we not overindulge in wine tonight?”

that's a familiar voice.

your neck almost whips towards the direction of the voice. albert and william, clad in perfectly fitted tuxedos and crisp white shirts underneath.

“what are you saying, will?” albert laughs. “how can i say 'no' to wine, out of everything else?” that same, handsome face. except there was a type of gauntness to him — a tiredness in his expression.

“..(name)?”

“(name)?”

“(name)!” you flinch sharply. “what?”

“you're zoning out.” francis looks concerned, eyebrows furrowed in worry. he has an arm rested atop your shoulder and he squeezes gently. “are you alright? i've been calling your name for a while now.”

“oh..” you feel queasy but put on a smile regardless. “everything's fine. i was just looking around, y'know?”

francis's hazel eyes narrow.

they slowly lift to see albert; only for him to notice that albert's sharp, green eyes were looking right back — especially at you. he may be awkward, but he wasn't stupid, and he surely wasn't dense enough to not be able to read the room or social situations.

‘‘an ex-lover? a failed love? an one-sided love? which is it?,, francis thinks to himself.

“you know w-what?” he holds his palm out to you, giving you his usual warm smile. “the dance is about to start soon. how about you be my partner?”

you blink in surprise, taken off guard. “huh?”

“we're business partners, a little d-dancing isn't going to hurt either of us, is it?” he tells you softly.

“well..” you contemplate for a long time.

then, the music begins to play.

“my arm is beginning to hurt, (name).” he tells you, gesturing towards his extended hand that he's been holding up for a while now. “may i have this dance?”

you exhale, smile, nod your head and place your hand over his. he brings it up to his lips before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“woah—” you squeal in surprise.

“s-sorry.” francis grins. “too close?”

you shake your head. “no.” you chuckle. “just fine.”

the music is soft and slow. violin, piano, trumpet, etc cetera. a few others have already started waltzing across the large ballroom, swaying in sync to the music. you place your hands on his shoulder.

“i must inform you beforehand,” you tell him, peeking up at francis. “i am not the finest of dancers, i am afraid that i may step on you.”

he laughs. “t-then i seem to have done a good job picking the toughest shoes out of my collection.”

you smile up at him — genuinely, sincerely. it felt good being with francis. but to albert, it sure didn't feel good watching the events unfold before him.

why was he feeling this way watching you two?

there was a strange feeling of unfamiliar irritation and resentment for francis bubbling under his skin; even if he's sure he's never met the man before. there was something about the way francis had his hands placed on your hips that pissed him off.

albert's green eyes narrow and his fingers tighten around his wine glass. suddenly, his finely tailored tux begins to feel constricting. he wants to pull his gaze away, he really does, but his eyes are stuck on you.

does he feel something for you? why is his heart beating so hard in his chest? is it out of anger for the man you're dancing with? or something else entirely?

listening to you laugh as that man twirled you around the grand ballroom makes his jaw tighten.

it annoyed him to a great deal — even if he wasn't aware why. william notices this and places a comforting hand on his older brother's shoulder. “perhaps we should take a tour in the gardens? i am told the greenery is beautiful here.”

albert inhales deeply, lets go of the breath he was holding and nods. “that's a wonderful idea.”

୨🌷୧ text divider ≈ ≈

the moon tonight is pale and it illuminates the gardens with it's iridescent glow. the two brothers have been walking around in the gardens for an hour or so now — it's hard to keep track of time for albert anyway, with how his mind is filled with thoughts.

“(name)!” william calls out, noticing you staggering into the garden. albert's eyes flash open and they follow his gaze. you're swaying side to side, a bottle of wine sloshing around in your hand.

“(name).” albert's voice is hoarse and he practically runs over to you. he scans you down from head to toe, eyebrows scrunched in worry. “what is..all this?”

“hnn—?” you trip on your other foot and almost crash down on your knees until albert catches you by both your arms. you grunt, stabilising yourself on your feet and look up at the man, only to notice that it's albert, of all people. “don't touch me, you prick!”

you slap his hands away. his eyes widen momentarily before he huffs frustratedly. he runs a hand through his silky, brown hair. “where is the man that was accompanying you?”

“i don't—hic!—need to say anything to you!” instantly, the tower of all of the negative emotions that had been building up inside of you suddenly come crashing down. “you think you can act all chummy with me again? news flash, you can't!”

your voice is loud and it's booming over the garden grounds. albert lifts his head from you to see if anyone has heard you. he can only thank the gods above that the music is much louder inside.

“you're drunk.” he states. “how can that imbecile leave you alone when you're in this state?”

“don't call francis that!” you yell at him, words slurry. “he's a million times better than you will ever be.”

“so francis that is fool's name?” he scoffs. “contrary to your belief, that's quite hard to imagine when he's left you like this. what if some man was to—?”

albert isn't sure what's struck him until his ears ring. there's a sharp ache emitting from his cheek, only later realising that you've just slapped him. hard.

“i..” william clears his throat uncomfortably, looking just as surprised. “i shall get a carriage for us.”

albert's quiet for a while before he mumbles: “...yes, that would be ideal. thank you, will.” william gives albert a small nod before making his way out of the gardens and leaving the two of you alone.

“i don't think—hic!—you're in any position to talk.” you retort at him. “you are no better than the rest.” you're glaring daggers up at him. “infact, you are much, much worse! you're the scum of your species. you would rather run away from everything that bothers you than face it like an actual man!”

albert watches you holler and throw profanities at him in utter silence with a grim expression on his face. his face only further darkens when tears begin to build in your eyes and stream down your face.

“i hate you!” you shout up at him. the flow of tears won't stop. they keep falling over and over. you'd been strong for too long, and this was the result.

you keep shouting over and over that you hate him, sides of your fists pounding against his chest as albert just takes it all in — lets you do as you please.

it's only until your shouting has turned to sobs and sniffles that he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close. “shhh.. shhh...” he cooes to you softly.

“i love you, can't you see that?” you babble up at him and he exhales quietly. “i... can. i do.” he says.

you huff, still quite intoxicated. “and your answer?”

albert ponders, hesitates, but speaks in the end. “i don't have one.” he replies. “i'm not sure how i feel for you.” he pauses. “i'm not sure i do feel for you.”

you stiffen in his embrace. one beat. two beat. three beats. and you detach yourself from him.

“this is wrong,” you mumble. “so very wrong. how can you tell me you don't feel anything for me and that you don't have an answer to give me while you're hugging me? don't you think you're being too heartless?” you wipe away at excess tears with the sleeves of your green dress. you sniffle twice.

“i need to leave.”

you back away, albert catches you by the wrist. “wait a second—” he says, tone of voice panicked.

“please.”

you turn around. “what?”

“let me drop you off. to make sure you're safe.”

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CHAPTER FIVE — (albert pov!) the heavens are scowling constantly this week and the rains frighten the terrains. the unstable weather is the perfect reflection for albert's current state of mind.

he sighs deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

it's been a week since the function.

a week since you broke down & cried infront of him.

a week since he's seen you —

and almost seven to eight months since he's last heard your laugh.

albert's too much of a coward — he's terrified that you would turn him away if he came to visit. even back then with ending his life and even now, his cowardliness seems to persist throughout his life.

the side bag that you left here months ago sits atop his lap and he fiddles with it's chain idly. this is all that he has of you right now; a worn out leather side bag.

he isn't even sure why he feels the need to keep it close with him but having even a semblance or a fragment of you calms his heart down somehow. there's a gap in his heart and he doesn't know what to fill it with. he doesn't know what piece fits in his chest and that makes him feels numb and empty.

“haa...” he exhales tiredly. when was the last time he actually slept well? he doesn't even remember. everytime he tries to fall asleep, there's a deep uncomfortableness he feels — making him avoid it almost completely. he's tired and sleepy, but this strange anxiousness in him won't let him rest.

“caffeine.” a rough voice speaks. “here, it'll help to stay up.” albert lifts his head to see moran holding out a mug of steaming coffee to him.

“colonel.” he responds hoarsely. “thank you.”

“you'd really prefer to do all kinds of mental gymnastics just to justify your own inaction, huh?”

moran sits opposite to him, dragging a stool under him and plopping down on it comfortably. “so?” the black haired man begins. “what is it?”

“what is what, colonel?” albert exhales. he's too exhausted to deal with anything right now.

“the issue, man.” moran says matter-of-factly. “you're weeping & mopping your ass everywhere around the manor and it's pissing me off. everybody's worried.”

albert looks down at his mug of coffee quietly.

“do you think how i treated (name) was wrong?” he fiddles with the mug holder, gaze locked to it.

“what? psshh—” moran snorts. “so all of this-” he waves his hand around the room. “-is because of a girl?” the large man snickers, slapping his knee.

albert only shoots a glare and moran throws his hands up in the air, shrugging. “yeah, i mean you did treat her like garbage. if you don't like her than just tell her and move on, y'know? you didn't have to do all that ignoring and criticising extra shit.”

“that too, and..” albert leans back in his chair. “i.. what does it mean to feel uncomfortable and strangely irritable if you see a friend of the opposite sex dance with a man?”

“huh?” moran yawns, sipping away at his coffee. “what does it mean? doesn't that just mean you're jealous or something?”

the brown haired man freezes. “jealous..?”

“yeah. jealous. for example, if a girl i'm seeing or interested in is dancing with other men and doing things that only someone intimate would only do is obviously going to annoy the shit out of me. you'd want it to be you in their place, you get me?”

“you'd want it to be you in their place..” he echoes thoughtfully. looks up at moran. “then, would that indicate that i'm in love with that person?”

“well, not exactly love—it could just be infatuation.”

“then what does love feel like?”

“uhh, i guess your palms get sweaty and your heart beats fast and—” moran pauses. “wait, why do i have to be the one teaching you this shit? gross.”

“..” albert ponders to himself. “colonel, i think i'm in-”

moran shudders. “shut the hell up!”

୨🌷୧ text divider ≈ ≈

the day of your departure is nearing. you've packed all your clothes days before. you're nervous, but excited. this is a new chance for you aft life, and you'll gladly take it. you'll miss the people and the memories you've made here but you've decided to make some more. just somewhere else.

four days left.

albert spends most of his time in his office, lost in thought. he still isn't exactly sure what he feels for you is love — but seeing that man; francis or whatever that gibface's name was or even imagining anybody else, for that matter, touching you in that way would irk him greatly.

three days left.

not even alcohol lets him forget you. you're so deeply ingrained into his brain, too entangled with his soul. it's a strange feeling — this desperation to have you.

two days.

he's realized for sure that he loves you. he was always unfamiliar with the idea of love since childhood because it seemed to him that everyone around him were merely estranged with each other due to political reasons or for convenience.

even while growing up, he was always busy having to act as a shield for his younger brothers so that they could focus on themselves and the moriarty plan. he'd absorbed the limelight to himself but was always detached from forming any romantic relationships. 'what use would it do, anyway?' he often thought to himself, knowing the only fate awaiting him and his brothers was death.

but that had changed with your appearance into his life. he was a fool to realize it this late.

one day.

albert recalls it all; his sweaty palms when you treated him, if wasn't because of the room temperature — it was because you touched him.

the time that the two of you were supposedly 'having a marathon' to see who would get to your place first, it wasn't because he was running that his heart was beating out of his chest, it was because the two of you were side by side, elbows brushing and genuinely having a fun time together.

that time how his hands was trembling the time that the two of you were baking a cake, it wasn't because he was afraid of ruining the cake, it was because you were watching. it all made sense.

he had decided — tomorrow he would buy the biggest bouquet of flowers he could find, get to your place, earnestly apologise to you for his behaviour, tell you all about his realisations and properly ask for a chance to let him woo you.

✦ ₊ ♡ . ₊ ✦ . ♡ . ✦ ₊ ♡ . ₊ ✦ . ♡

THE FINAL CHAPTER — “louis, do i look good?”

albert is standing infront of a lifesize mirror, watching louis from the corner of his eye as he enters with a tray of tea and breakfast in hand.

louis puts down the try, albert turns to look at his youngest brother - practically sweatdropping.

“you do, brother.” louis says, tilting his head. “but i'm curious; why are you asking me this?”

albert rubs the back of his neck. “i.. am going to go see (name). and tell her that i love her.” he tells louis & louis's lips broaden into a genuine, sincere smile.

“i am happy for you.” he tells his older brother, stepping forward to fix his cravat. “and i am glad you have finally noticed.”

albert laughs somewhat embarrassedly. “i see you were aware of my feelings even before i was.” he smiles. “does william know?”

“yes, it was obvious.” louis says, stepping back.

“it seems i have gone through all the trials and tribulations of pushing her away for nothing.” albert sighs, grinning nonetheless.

୨🌷୧ text divider ≈ ≈ ≈

albert is probably carrying the biggest bouquet he's seen in his life. there are probably over a hundred (fave/colour) roses in this bouquet - but it's worth it.

it will all be worth it.

he rings the doorbell of your place. waits.

ten minutes have passed and yet he still waits.

twenty. thirty.

the door still doesn't open to him.

his arms have begin to ache with carrying the humongous bouquet and he exhales sadly.

“excuse me,” he begins when he sees an elderly woman come out of a house beside your own. “do you know where the owner of this house has gone?”

the elderly woman looks around her, not sure that the nobld was speaking to her. “me?”

“yes.” albert says. “do you know where she's gone?”

the woman ponders for a moment, “ah, right. you mean (name)?” she says when she remembers. “isn't she boarding the train for london today?”

he feels his heart falls to his feet.

“what?” albert asks weakly.

“mm, i'm not sure if i remember this correctly but i remember another noble—francis, i think his name was, coming around here and discussing with the lady about their departure and future plans.”

future plans? departure? him and you? together?

“w-when—” his voice is unsteady, panic written over his face. “when did they leave?”

“uhh..” the old woman looks around for a clock, remembers she has a pocket watch, opens it. “i think.. around thirty five to fourty minutes ago?”

“and the train, when is it supposed to leave?” his words are spoken hurriedly and looks at the elderly woman with wide, anxious eyes.

but the woman, due to her age isn't sure: “i don't know, young man. maybe.. hmm..”

time is ticking away.

tick-tock.

“i'm not exactly sure.” the elderly woman ponders thoughtfully. “my grandson..he told me about this..”

tick-tock.

“oh, right..!” the woman nods her head enthusiastically upon remembering.

“in i think— around 20 minutes?”

twenty minutes. getting to the station would take fifteen to seventeen minutes by carriage — and that's only possible if there isn't traffic on the road.

albert doesn't even have time to thank the elderly woman; the large bouquet is almost thrown aside as he begins to start sprinting. he's running down the street; looking for any carriage, any, to get to the train station as fast as he can.

he finds one after some searching, practically jumps in. “to the train station, please. and quick!”

the carriage begins to set off, horses trotting down the streets of durham in high speed. the horses run and run until they come to a halt — almost pushing the brown haired noble lunging out of his seat.

nineteen minutes.

“what is going on?” albert exclaims frustratedly, to which the carriage driver answers — “traffic. it seems there's been an accident.”

he huffs, looks down at his pocket watch.

eighteen minutes.

fuck it.

he takes out a small bag of coins from his pocket, passes it to the carriage driver and jumps off his seat.

“sir?” the carriage driver's eyes widen, alarmed.

“i'm getting off. keep the change.” he says to the driver before disappearing into the crowd.

seventeen minutes.

he pushes past people, rushing and scampering past the large huddle of people, exclaiming ‘excuse me’s, ‘sorry’s and ‘passing through’s as he gets through the crowd.

soon, he makes it past the site of accident and all the people swarming that place. he's never ran so fast in his life — he's getting out of breath.

sixteen minutes.

“haa.. haa..” albert's panting, breathing in irregular, hard inhales and breathing out in short exhales.

fifteen minutes.

his legs are hurting.

fourteen minutes.

he's sweating.

thirteen minutes.

his heart feels like it's going to fall out of his chest or just stop instantly. it's pumping, hard.

twelve minutes.

he doesn't know if it's due to the fear of never seeing you again or due to the constant, fast running but his legs begin to feel wobbly.

eleven minutes.

his knees are about to give up. he's sorry, so sorry.

ten minutes.

he can't give up — not now.

‘if there's really a god,’ he prays. ‘then at least let me make it on time.’

nine minutes.

he's grunting to keep on going forward. his ironed, white shirt is practically drenched in sweat now.

eight minutes, seven minutes, six minutes, five...

albert's neck is turning and twisting in all directions, trying to find your familiar face. he looks behind him, only sees a father holding up his child, he looks to his rest, only sees a couple holding hands, he looks to his right, only sees an elderly man feeding his grandson.

and then he looks in front of him. you. ten feet away.

“(name)..” he's panting, huffing, exhaling and inhaling all at once. “(name)!” he staggers forward to you.

you freeze in place.

this familiar voice, you've heard it before. “who—?” you turn around and your eyes widen in shock.

four minutes.

“i'm sorry.” he says, voice shaky. “i'm so, so sorry for everything. i should have never pushed you away — it was wrong of me. all those words, i should have never said them to you. i should have faced a lot of things properly, i should have faced you properly.”

“albert, what are you talking abou-”

“i love you.” his voice breaks, disperses at the end. “that is my answer; i love you too. i have loved you since i first laid my eyes on you, (name). and i'm sorry it took me so long to realize this, to say this.”

you watch him in stunned silence.

he's sweating — he looks haggard, his hair is messed up due to the wind, his shirt has become creased due to the constant running. he's exhausted; but he doesn't stop talking. he needs you to hear him out.

three minutes.

“yell at me, hit me, be angry at me for as long as you want to.” albert says. he takes out something from his pocket; your side bag, you realize. he holds it out to you. “i love everything about you, all your habits, your way of talking, thinking, the rise and fall of your laughter, this- this silly side bag of yours. i love it all.”

is this really happening?

“choose me, (name).” he pleads. “it doesn't matter if i have to spend the rest of my life being scorned by you, if it'll make up for even a fraction of—”

albert's eyes widen and he almost falls backwards. this warm sensation against his lips —

two minutes.

“mmhh..” he hums in surprise, feeling your soft lips against his own. his hands, big and warm situate themselves on your hips and he leans down to kiss you better, kiss you deeper. the two of you are almost running out of breath but neither of you want to pull back; this desperation, this passion is all too consuming for either of you to run away from.

when you pull back, the man almost whines for more. his forehead rests atop yours, eyes closed. “i.. don't know what you've heard,” your voice is hoarse, soft. “but francis is just my business partner.”

his emerald eyes open to meet your (e/c) ones and he breathes a deep, deep sigh of relief. “i see.” he says. “but why are you leaving so suddenly, then?”

“it's not sudden. remember the clinic i wanted to open in london? he'll offer the money to help me run it in exchange for my skills.”

albert groans. “if it was money you needed, i could have given it to you for free. i'll give you everything of mine to you without asking for a cost.”

“no,” you shake your head. “i couldn't do that. plus, the contract and all the necessary arrangements have already been made.”

one minute.

“passengers please board the train.”

you pull away from him. “will you wait for me until i return?” you begin to pull up your luggage but albert takes it from your hands and does it in your stead.

he nods. the two of you walk side by side over the cobbled floor and he helps you get onto the train, puts away your luggage and looks up at you from his position on the platform. “even if you ask me not to.”

“good.” you smile down at him, genuinely. you lean in to place a kiss on cheek and his emerald green eyes unconsciously flutter when you're close to him.

the train begins to move and albert takes a step back. “until next time, (name).” he smiles warmly at you - albeit there's a tinge of sadness on his face upon seeing you go. “i'll write you letters.” he pauses - adds in desperately, just in case: “i love you.”

“i love you too.” you grin. “and if we meet again,” you tell him, having to speak a little more loudly since the train is travelling away from the station. from him.

“don't be a stranger to me.”

the end.

#this took 10 years #off my life #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #albert james moriarty #albert james moriarty x you #albert james moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty x y/n #william james moriarty #louis james moriarty #sebastian moran #james bonde #fred porlock #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader

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