Through the looking glass[1p + 2pEngland x reader]
One would think that using magic could easily complete the most mundane of tasks. But work? God, no. He had to do it himself. There was no charm or spell that could write out emails for you. Let alone anything more complicated than that. Soon enough, he left behind the world of the fantastical to focus on the fact that he had a job. He wanted to give you the world, and he couldn’t do that by falling down rabbit holes or indulging in nonsense.He’d been anxious all morning. Years had passed since he last returned to this place. But that couldn’t be why. His childhood home, a picturesque, two-story cottage surrounded by lush, overgrown gardens fostered some of his fondest memories. The problem was, he couldn’t get himself in the spirit to appreciate it. Buried underneath his things were stacks of papers he’d never finished. He was skeptical he could hide it—that he had days-worth of work to catch up on—on a trip you had both been planning for months. “Fuck me.” He hissed under his breath. Currently, you had no idea, and was quite literally, frolicking in the grass. “I’m such a useless cunt.”The sun was high, and the soothing breeze sent ripples across the lime green fields.Racing through the meadow to get to the house, he watched you spin a few times like you were the poster girl for Sound of Music. His gaze softened as he kept walking again. You were never a stick in the mud like he was, and it was the one thing that kept him grounded. “Slow down, would you?” He called out, swinging out his duffel bag in your direction.“Why? We’re going to the same place, aren’t we?” You mused, spinning around briefly to catch his expression. His brows were furrowed together, and he was wiping the sweat off his forehead. “You love traveling until you have to walk on your own feet.” He gawked at you for a moment, then marched through the tall strokes of grass to match your pace. “It’s not the walking I mind. What I do mind—” Arthur grabbed your hand and showed a sneaking smile. “—is when you walk without me.”You narrowed your eyes accusingly. “Have you been spending time at Antonio’s?”He shook his head in confusion. “No?”“Francis’s?”“What is this, an interrogation?”Your voices grew louder in the garden, which was fenced off by old stone bricks layered with moss and vines. “Depends.” Leaning into him much to his delight, he grinned mischievously and did the same. “Who says I can’t flirt?” He pulled you closer to squeeze your waist. But he could admit one thing. He was emotionally constipated, more often than not. But flirting didn’t necessarily need feelings. “I have a little French in me. Ancestry-wise. But thank God it runs thin.” You snorted. Sounds like it was Francis.To say the house was old was an understatement. It wasn’t the rotten, unliveable, and dysfunctional kind of old. It was the design. The cottage boasted a traditional charm you couldn’t find in the city. There were secret doors and inconspicuous details. They were either pointless or led to nowhere, and some, to the same place where you started. It’s to confuse unwelcome spirits and creatures. He’d explained. You know, so they don’t bother you in your sleep, or something. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned something fantastical, so you figured it was some ongoing inside joke of his. Last time, he told you he was going to his study to perfect a gardening spell. Then, before that, he said he’d be using the kitchen to brew a potion. He wasn’t cooking, so it never alarmed you. But you had to say, it was impressive how long he’d kept it up. It was too bad he stopped.Once you both unpacked in the bedroom, you gathered some clothes to take a bath. He was more than happy to let you go first, and even went out of his way to find some bath salts. Take as long as you need, love. He’d said. What he meant to say was, please take as long as possible. Dread rose in his chest when you lingered in the doorway. He knew that look. It was expectant and exhausted. “You’re not gonna join me?” You asked softly.Arthur died a little inside when he let these words slip out. “I, well—the tub is kinda small. I thought you’d be more comfortable using it yourself.” It was ritual to wash up together. He was a busy bee, you were a night owl. He couldn’t stay awake past twelve, but he came home late from work regardless. The bathroom may as well be the only place you could catch up with him. So it was odd, to say the least. Fortunately, it was a vacation. Or it should’ve been. “Oh.” You turned around to stare at said tub, unwilling to give in just yet. “You know I don’t mind. I could use a massage.”He attached two hands on your shoulder and laughed nervously. If you could take a longer bath, he could get some work done in secret. But really, that would only work under the assumption you never confronted him. And yet, he was relying on it like his life depended on it. “I’ll just give you one in bed. Trust me, love. You’ll thank me later,” With that said, he ushered you into the tiled room. Before you could object, he flashed you a grin and shut the door in your face. “Enjoy your bath.” Huh?“... I guess I will.” A slight frown worked into your face. The Brit was many things, but straightforward was not one of them. Conscientious, adventurous, and even eccentric. More so a few years ago, anyway. So there was no denying he was acting strange. But you didn’t think much of it.The second the door lock clicked, he raced to the dining room to get his things out. Slamming two stacks of papers on the table, he whipped out his laptop and typed like a speed demon. Forty minutes in, he’d made pleasing progress, but that was compromised by an unexpected phone call. It was from none other than the mastermind of all his trouble and grief. His boss. But tonight, he was also the bearer of bad news. “What do you mean, you can’t do it yourself? Don’t you live twenty minutes away—me? I can’t go! I’m two hours away!” Arthur spoke frantically. His pale complexion turned bright pink from breathlessness. “I’m literally. On holiday. Right now. You’re seriously gonna tell me I need to do what?” For the next few minutes, he fumed into the speaker, but he still ended up with the shorter end of the stick. “Are you really on holiday, Arthur?” Was the last thing he heard before the call dropped. The Brit could only stare at his table strewn with office paraphernalia. His laptop, pens, and forms. “Bloody fucking tosser—”“Arthur?”He turned to your voice in panic. He’d been caught standing in front of the one thing he meant to hide from you. But the second he saw the look on your face, which he figured was disappointment, he cracked like an egg. Digging his hands through his choppy blonde hair, he gave an anxious laugh. “I’m sorry,” He swallowed, unable to meet your gaze. “I was falling behind.”“Don’t look so nervous, I’m not gonna kill you.” You chuckled, reaching up to his cheek. “Just don’t stay up too late. I want that massage you said you’d give me.”Arthur practically cringed. He couldn’t even do the least of sticking to such a trivial commitment. “No, love. I actually got off the phone with my boss. There’s a work emergency.” He could see the joy fade from your eyes, not that there was much left to begin with. And for that, he would never forgive himself. What drove the nail in was seeing you so calm about it. “I have to go back to the city.” He muttered stressfully, digging his hands through the sides of his hair. “Please forgive me.”“Alright.” You rubbed your arm and forced a smile. The heat was settling in, but you tried your damnedest to be nonchalant. “I guess you can’t really help it. How long do you think you’ll be gone for?”“Three days, give or take.”“Three days?”Your voice was high with shock. This was the part where he’d apologize profusely and promise he’d never do it again, only to do it yet again.He even repeated his apology verbatim. “I’m really sorry.” He whispered into your ear, squeezing you in an embrace. “I promise this will be the last time, I promise. It’ll never happen again.” You never returned the gesture, and instead, let your arms stay by your side. Something was weighing your hands down, and it had much to do with the growing bitterness inside. But really, you were sadder than anything. When he left through the door, he gave you one last look. His chartreuse eyes were heavy with regret. But you couldn’t bring yourself to meet them, let alone say anything when he told you this—“I love you.” Nothing hurt more than saying those three words and hearing silence. But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered him to no end. “I... Miss the old you.” It was no higher than a whisper, but he heard you loud and clear. His eyes widened in shock. Those words were so sincere with hurt, his chest immediately began to ache. How long had you felt like this? You turned away quickly. “But maybe it’s just me who needs to change.” Arthur was so ashamed you even said it. You were perfectly fine the way you were. It was him that needed to get himself together. To think he could never tell you this—he never hated himself so much.You slept alone in the cottage that night. A few tears managed to escape your eyes, but the house was so quiet, you didn’t feel like making a fuss.The next morning, you made breakfast for yourself. A cold bowl of cereal and muesli. While you finished it off, as unappetizing as it was, you sauntered around absently to explore the house. The cottage was nowhere near as big as a mansion, and yet, you soon realized you were lost. You must’ve taken the wrong doors.Between these doors were strange staircases, hallways, and secret rooms. Arthur always explained them so well—which one to use, and which one to avoid. But it left your mind as seamlessly as he did last night. “I guess I’m just one of the unwelcome spirits and creatures,” You mused in a somber tone. “Maybe I should’ve gone back with him.”Such a beautiful place should’ve been shared with company. As if somebody responded to those very thoughts, you heard the hollow tap of something falling downstairs. Maybe, it was an acorn. A smile graced your lips at the thought. Had a squirrel snuck in here? You never noticed how bored you were until you scrambled to the basement to see. Your feet thudded against the wooden stairs as you descended to the underground study. When you pushed open the door, you were astonished by what you saw. “... Spellbooks,” You muttered breathily. “And potions.”A single ray of sunlight poured in from a slit on the ceiling. But it was more than enough to illuminate the inside—a desk littered with scrolls, parchment, potions, and a beautiful white quill in some ink. Surrounding that were several bookshelves, but what impressed you the most wasn’t the vast collection of old, dusty things. It was the huge mirror in the center, leaning against the wall. Walking closer to the looking glass, you peered at your reflection curiously. Seeing yourself in the mirror was probably the only person you’d see for the next few days. The glass wavered. Like a ripple of water. Not enough to surprise you, but enough to get you thinking—“No.” You breathed. The mirror swirled again, distorting your reflection more than it did before. When you reached out to graze your fingertips against it, it seemed to follow your movements. Now, you were shocked. “He wasn’t joking!”That gardening charm, the potions, and probably the spirits and creatures too. That only begged the question, what else was there you never noticed? And what was that strange shadow inside the glass. “This is impossible—” A hand shot out of the surface and grabbed your wrist, making you jump. “—woah!”It pulled you right into the mirror. After the longest day at work, Arthur found himself wandering through the evening London streets. Everywhere he looked, was the warm glow of Christmas lights and decorations. He’d walked past more fake fir trees than he could count. But the most common spectacle wasn’t that, as iconic it was, instead, it was the couples. He looked away quickly before another kissed in front of him. If only you were here. Just how many times had that thought occurred to him? Way too many. Impressively enough, it was always him that ended up pulling away—be it for work, or because of cold feet. He slowed down so he could cover his eyes. “I’m pathetic.” Once he slowed to a stop, he removed his hands to reveal a storefront. A jewelry store. Rings. Engagement rings. His cheeks grew rosy, and his eyes were practically sparkling, much like how a child’s would on Christmas day. He spent a few moments staring in silence, and the excitement seemed to fade away as he pondered away. Arthur stood up straight. Then, he sighed. “Just a little longer, Arthur.” He muttered to himself. “When we’re more financially stable.”Cold feet was damn right. It looked like you were back where you started. Making your way through the hallway, you appeared in the dining room. You should’ve been alone, but there he stood in the kitchen, pouring a spot of tea. A stranger with strawberry blonde hair who looked eerily similar to your boyfriend. Your heart sank. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”“How did I get in here? Oh, this is my house, darling.” He laughed giddily, craning his head to the side. Walking over with a tray, he added this, seeing you were still staring at him strangely. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me. I’m your boyfriend, silly.” “My boyfriend doesn’t have pink hair.” You corrected, lowering your gaze to the clothes he donned. A dress shirt, a pastel purple vest, and a bright blue bowtie. “And he doesn’t wear bowties.”“He used to.” He hummed, pulling out a chair for you. “But he switched up for those boring old ties. Can you imagine wearing something like that out in public? Couldn’t be me.”You sat down, albeit hesitantly. Whoever this mystery man was, he was definitely not a burglar. He seemed too proper. And too eccentric. He fit in with his surroundings too well, like a glove, even, which he also wore on his right hand. While you studied his appearance so seriously, he laughed again, flustered by the scrutiny. “Is there something on my face?” He pointed up to himself, then looked down. “Oh, gosh. Maybe I should’ve worn something special. I haven’t seen you in a while, after all.”You leaned in, and wound up supporting yourself on the lacey tablecloth. He leaned back in surprise.“Who are you?” You asked in a hushed whisper. When he said he hadn’t seen you in a while, his sincerity dissipated all suspicion of him lying. But there was something else—something else about him that hinted he was telling the truth. Besides being the spitting image of Arthur, he was so familiar, you had to have met him before. “You remind me so much of him, and yet...” You’re nothing like him. He could practically hear your thoughts, seeing your troubled expression. He smiled gently, then closed his eyes. He’d been waiting ages for this, to finally reveal his greatest plight. It was his damnation, but it was in every way his salvation. “You mean I remind you of his old self.”Nobody could’ve said it better. Dumping two spoonfuls of sugar into his cup, he stirred it slowly for steady wisps of steam to float up. “I’m a part of him, you see. But he decided he didn’t want me anymore. So here I am, I suppose.” Bringing the cup to his lips, he took a slow sip. His face was unreadable, but behind those bright azure eyes, you saw conflict. As calm as his demeanor was, there was something restless growing inside him. But you’d be surprised if there wasn’t. He’d been trapped in here for years at most, so one would’ve wondered if he’d gone insane. When he glanced up again, he caught you in a gaze that spoke of cutting conviction. “You have to help me. For us.”Arthur sat by himself in his apartment. He never bothered turning on all the lights, in save for the one hanging directly above. There, he strained his eyes to scan through pages and pages of spreadsheets on his computer. Bags were already developing under his eyes, and it was only the second day. So much for the holiday season. Bringing up a cold cup of black coffee to his lips, he sipped it. He never liked the taste, but he figured he’d drink it for the function. All he needed to do was to get through tomorrow. Then, he could see you again. Even then, why did he feel like he still wouldn’t be happy? He was trapped in a dark, endless tunnel, and the exit was getting further and further away. Soon, the light at the end would disappear altogether. Oliver, he said his name was. But you can call me anything you’d like.He was everything Arthur wasn’t. Lively, youthful, and much less ‘proper’ than you assumed. He hated working, doing math, and was hopeless with technology. The future was never something he considered, because it didn’t ‘exist’ yet, apparently. But the most notable trait he possessed was how attuned he was with his emotions. It was sometimes hard to keep up with him, but it was fun to try. He never hesitated with showing you affection like Arthur did. He’d kiss you whenever you let him, and when he hugged you, he held onto you like you would disappear if he let go. When you’d ask if he was okay, he’d just say, I missed you. It was sweet, but you never could’ve imagined the pain behind those three words. “If you’re a part of this world, then where am I?” You asked in a crouch, patting down the dirt around some strawberry plants. He continued to dig holes for you to fill. The fruits in his patches were all for consumption, but they looked more like gems than anything. Here in the garden of Eden, he had everything in the world to bake with. Apples, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, and peaches, to name a few. “There is no you in this world,” Oliver mused, sparing you a brief glance. “She’s always been inside you. You accepted her, so there she stays.” What you immediately took from that was this—he’d been by himself this whole time. It must’ve been lonely. The thought manifested into a deep frown, and it translated into your actions. Launching yourself into his arms, he fell onto his behind with a thump. “Oh, dear!”Sitting out here in his garden, your eyes were narrowed to filter out the glare of the sunset. Your clothes were still damp after being sprayed by the hose. You’d made a mistake to trust him with a projectile of water. But he was just as soaked, and was drying his hair out with a towel.“This feels like a dream, Oliver.” You spoke in a dazed manner. “If I go back, will I ever see you again?”“Sure you will.” He hummed, trudging back to sit by your side. “If you help me get out of this little contraption, you’ll see me in Arthur. I won’t be as charming as I am now, but I’ll be there.”“So... No pink hair?”Oliver chuckled. “Unfortunately, not. But maybe, I’ll still have it in your dreams.” He winked. You managed a lazy smile. As much as you loved being with him, Arthur was still out there. Fortunately, you wouldn’t have to pick between the two. By setting him free, he could become whole.“But dreams aren’t reality.”His brilliant blue eyes glinted with mischief. “Dreams aren’t reality, but who’s to say which is which?”The next evening, you led him down to the study where the mirror was. While you stood in front of it, peering at the reflections, you came to notice that Oliver’s was nothing like him. It looked more like Arthur than anything—his hair, his eyes, even his clothes. When he noticed you staring, he settled a hand on your shoulder. “They say there’s a whole dimension in mirrors.” He explained, watching you peer up at him curiously. Oliver leaned down to press his cheek to yours, and there, he stared at the you in the glass. “And of course, another version of you. Your evil twin, maybe.” You managed a small laugh at that. Who would’ve thought such a harmless joke could end up as reality? But then again, you were always terrible at distinguishing between Arthur’s deadpan humor and serious statements. “Well, here goes.” Stepping into the looking glass, you never let go of Oliver’s hand as you pulled him in. He synched with his reflection—Arthur—as he sunk into the surface, and before long, they became one as he disappeared through the mirror. Or they should’ve. When you stepped back out, this time, without falling, he was standing right next to you. “So, what’s next?” You piped, turning to the man. “Do we get you both to meet and shake on it?”A tense silence ensued before he spoke up. For a fraction of a second, you would’ve sworn you caught him grinning. It wasn’t the playful kind he always sported, or rather, it was sinister. Uninviting. Like he was scheming something. But it couldn’t be—it was too out of character.“Not exactly.”That evening, Arthur returned to the cottage. His usual pale complexion was rosy, and he was huffing and puffing like his life depended on it. “I’m back, love. I nearly missed the last bus, but—” You were nowhere in sight, much to his confusion. “—I’m here, now. And I have some good news.” He hid a small velvet box behind his back. What he held in his hands was a Godsend. On the last day of his trip in the city, he decided to finally suck it up and buy the one thing he’d been mulling over for months.No more waiting or funny business. When he wanted to give you the world, he only thought of the textbook definition of it. And he worked for it like how everybody else would. He never stopped to realize how naïve he’d been, thinking about the future when the future was already right in front of him. It was about time he stopped being such an absent workaholic. “I quit my job,” He declared, following the sound of footsteps in his study. “I hated my boss, anyway. And plus, we’ve got plenty of savings. I was thinking we could just stay in this cottage—” Arthur arrived in the basement, only to see that there was nobody inside. Strange. He would’ve sworn he heard someone pacing around. “—hm. Are you still mad at me? Is that why we’re playing hide and seek?” Unbeknownst to him, you were doing nothing of the sort. Oliver had told you to stay in the bedroom, stressing that the merging process was going to be ugly. So ugly, it was blinding. And you took his words for granted, so there you stayed. “I’m sorry, alright? I miss you to death, so would you please come out?”In the shadows where the light didn’t shine, stood a silhouette. Out stepped Arthur’s doppelgänger. His alter ego, carbon copy, and greatest enemy. When Arthur wandered too close to the mirror, he walked up to him with a dark glower. “It’s only been three days since you’ve seen her. What about me?” Oliver grabbed his shoulders and him around. The last thing Arthur would’ve seen was a pair of maniacal blue eyes. The face of death took on many forms, but this was his personal rendition of it. As terror gripped his racing heart, he stumbled backwards from the other’s incessant pushing. “I was in there for years. And I was always alone.”He thought he could settle things in a different way. But he ended up staying true to himself, the one thing Arthur always failed to do. He would give his counterpart a taste of his own medicine, just like he deserved. With one strong shove, Arthur fell back into the mirror and disappeared. “It’s your turn in the looking glass. Only then will we be equal.”
Alfredosauce50
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