The rain was pouring down from the sky, drowning the streets quickly. Not that most were out and about at this time. After all, it was the middle of the night. Typically, one should be fast asleep, warm under a blanket or two. Sweeney Todd however, was not.
He walked quickly down Fleet Street, his feet sloshing in the growing ammount of water staying on the ground. Even though it had only just begun to rain, he was already completely drenched. The moon's light was his only guidance, but he didn't have far to go. And besides that, he already knew his way all too well.
This wasn't his first time going for a walk in the middle of the night. In fact, he did so quite often. Sleep was never able to find it's way to Mr. Todd. His wandering mind never allowed it to. Occasionally, he would just let his mind go where it wanted. Or rather, it would go without quite asking permission. Other times, he would leave before his mind would have any say in the matter. He would take a small walk.
The cool air calmed Mr. Todd. It gave him the ability to breathe without it hurting, to live without feeling spiteful. More than anything, it let him be alone, without feeling alone. When up in his shop, he would remember his past. He would know that he used to be with his wife and child. He would know that he couldn't be with them. He would know he was alone. Those feelings went away out in the cold.
Which is why, on such a cold and rainy night, Sweeney Todd was wandering alone -- 'was' being the keyword. He hated the rain. He thought it made the streets of London even more gloomy than they already were. It also made him feel disgusting.
Rain, to Mr. Todd, was nothing but dirt falling from the sky. So when walking in the rain, he felt as though he was covered in grime, coated in the revolting substance that no one seemed to like. Deep down (where ever that was), he knew it was water. Dirty water, perhaps, but water none the less. He knew water falling from the sky would cause discomfort, which was the true reason he walked back to his residence on Fleet Street. His excuse, if anyone asked, was grime.
Sweeney stopped in front of Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium and frowned. He hesitated slightly, and then walked inside. He gave a sigh of relief as the warmth hit him. It was always warmer there than it was in his parlor. Maybe that was Mrs. Lovett herself, a lot warmer than he ever was. Always there for him, she was.
Why aren't you ever there for her?
He frowned yet again, before shaking off the thought. The entire purpose of that walk wasted in not even a minute. Or, perhaps not.
The purpose of the walk was to stop him from thinking the depressing and anger creating thoughts of Judge Turpin, Lucy, Johanna. . . Not Mrs. Lovett. There wasn't many depressing thoughts Sweeney could create from Mrs. Lovett, not with her colorful attitude. No, she seemed to be more of an upper than a downer, so to speak.
She did always help him whenever he needed it. He slit customers throats, she cleaned up the mess that followed. He stained his clothing, she tried hard as she could to get the blood out. He sat around most of the day, she worked hard to give them a good life. He gave her the meat for her pies, but that was purely out of his own vengence.
It may have been the lack of sleep, the cold, or even "the grime" possessing his mind, but he felt compelled to repay her. That couldn't wait for morning.
Sweeney walked into her small bedroom, his shoes squeaking on the floor. Mrs. Lovett was asleep on her side, her hair even messier than usual from the night. She looked content, as always, and just a tad more peaceful than normal. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sat down beside her sleeping form. He had no intentions of waking her up right that moment, but a drop of water from his hair fell onto her face. Her eyelids fluttered open as she pushed herself up with a frown on her face. Once she saw who was sitting on her bed, she let out a gasp.
"Mr T! What are you doing in here?"
Sweeney stared into her eyes. He never quite realized the beauty of them, the complexity of her personality shown ever so clear. . .
Without much of a second thought, he pressed his lips against hers. He wanted to think he'd regret this in the morning. He wanted to think he would stop what he was doing any second.
Deep down, he knew that tomorrow would probably be a better day than he had
experienced in a while.