Yearning

By. Pandora Spocks

yearn·ing [yúrning](plural yearn·ings)

n

yearning: a persistent and strong desire, usually for somebody or something unattainable or not within immediate reach

The continuous rain had been pelting London's mask of tall buildings, factories and shops for three days straight now.

Sweeney Todd rather fancied the rain, Mrs. Lovett had no idea why, she just figured it reflected his personal outlook on life. Cold, dark and gloomy. In some ways, you could say that he was like the rain itself.

Mrs. Lovett knew that the deranged barber would most likely be cooped up in his shop having some sort of a staring contest with his window.

"Mista T." Mrs. Lovett said as she entered his tonsorial parlor late that evening, just hours after she had brought him his dinner.

Mr. Todd merely grunted in response, acknowledging her presence. Naturally he said nothing as she continued her pointless chatter and went on with thinking of his beloved, his beloved Lucy.

"I brought ya an extra blanket, it's starting to get chilly outside and I don't want ya catchin' a ch-"

She stopped speaking when she found that he was ignoring her again, and she despised it when he ignored her.

"Mista T, are you listening to me?" She finally asked, a slight tone of frustration in her voice.

"Hmm?" Mumbled Sweeney, turning from the window to face the annoyed baker.

"You great useless thing, can't even appreciate that I take care of ya. A bloody baby at times, you are." Mrs. Lovett then left his barber shop and stormed back down to her pie shop.

Her words angered him as well as awoke him. Awoke him to greet the realization that she cared so much about him and he didn't even say anything, not even a mere, 'thank you.'

Sweeney Todd wouldn't do as much than to admit that yes Mrs. Lovett was pretty in her own way, an eccentric at that, and that yes he did appreciate her. The problem was he didn't want to show her just how much.

Reluctantly he went following after her, to her pie shop he presumed and opened the door to her shop.

She felt the cold, misty air gently rush into the room after the door opened, her auburn curls fluttered gracefully across her face, until the door was shut.

Mrs. Lovett knew he was there, behind her, watching her with those cold, dark, rain like eyes.

She withdrew a shaky breath when she felt his two index fingers travel along the backsides of her arms.

Looking up she saw his face in their reflection on the window. The raindrops ascending down the glass pane made it look as if she was crying. Mrs. Lovett wouldn't cry, not for him, but she knew her heart was already.

Their gazes locked into their reflection. Both of them wanted to try and decode one another's eyes. But both failed and found nothing. He then knelt down above her shoulder and tenderly kissed her neck.

After moments of enjoying the feel of his lips lingering on her exposed neck, she felt him grasp both of his hands around her slender arms before he turned her to face him.

Facing him she saw that his eyes were no longer cold, no longer full of darkness and hate. They seemed to have been transfused with remorse or something more, something that had been hidden for so long.

Yearning.

Note: I didn't put the definition of yearning because I think you are some sort of a daft idiot. I put it there because I felt like it ^^ Thanks for reading.