The streets were abuzz with life, pedestrians moving about, trying to complete their busy schedules, shop doors opening and closing, children playing with their friends, voices blending into a constant hum, the smell of baked goods wafting from the bakers, mixing with the smell of meats from the butchers.
All in all, everything seemed to be moving forward.
Everything except Lucian. For some reason, he couldn't calm his mind; the recent events of his day were weighing heavily on him, and this was now affecting his thinking.
"I should have just taken the money… why am I like this?" he said.
"Lad, would you stop walking in circles?" said an elderly man, grey hairs already showing.
"Huh?" Lucian looked down, and true to the old man's word, he had been wandering in a small circle.
"Sorry, don't mind me," Lucian said, scratching his cheek. The old man walked off, mumbling something about kids these days and their lack of discipline.
The truth was that walking in circles helped him think, so it wasn't as if he didn't know what he was doing. Of course not, he was a man of focus, after all, but still, he couldn't shake those thoughts.
"What a terrible day it's become…"
His stomach growled. Ah, that was the reason for his thoughts being scrambled, no doubt about it.
He snapped his fingers and discarded any other thoughts. While doing so, he made his way out of Hawthorne Park.
The park was quite old and therefore had seen better days. The lake had filled with small amounts of rubbish, the geese had a bad attitude, and the gravel path had some holes in it. At times like this, the park seemed dull and grey.
But maybe that was just Lucian's mood.
Now entering the street, he had to find somewhere to eat. Fortunately for him, he knew just the place to grab a quick meal. He had, in preparation, made a mental map of streets and areas that had shops just for this occasion.
He took a left onto Gerald Street, continued down for fifty paces, then made a sharp turn to the right. Following that path for some time, he came to a crossroads tucked into a street corner, surrounded by houses, making it hard for anyone to notice. There, along the rows of large houses or lightly occupied buildings, stood a small bookstore named Hilda's Library and Lunch, the wooden sign withered with age.
Lucian turned the handle of the rustic wooden door. Upon entering, he was hit with the smell of fresh baked goods and the scent of old classic literature. Wooden tables were scattered along the ground floor, with stairs leading to the second floor, which was the library, where visitors could enjoy the vast selection of books to their heart's content. That was not to say that rows of bookshelves didn't line the bottom floor.
As he entered, a joyful voice greeted him. This voice was one Lucian had heard on many an occasion; it belonged to Lily, the daughter of this fine establishment and its best worker, by her own mouth.
She was quite a bit older than Lucian, at the age of 21, though she still carried the same youthful energy that children exuded, giving her a warm presence. She had soft brown hair that flowed just to her shoulders and shimmering caramel eyes. She was wearing her baker's uniform, with her white headscarf on, bits of flour showing on her face and hands.
Lily rubbed her hands clean with a small towel. "Ah, Lucian, to what do I owe the pleasure? Shouldn't you be teaching, unless—"
"It is as you assume, my dear lady. I'm taking a break from teaching, principal's orders, ma'am," he said, tipping his half-top hat slightly.
"Hmm," Lily said with a nod. "So, you finally got the sack. I suppose it was only a matter of time—ah, what great news!" She let out a hearty laugh.
Lucian frowned. "To take joy in my pain and misfortune… have you no shame?"
"Well, I'd certainly feel some shame, waltzing on the street with what you're wearing."
Just as Lucian was going to reply, he was cut off by his impatient stomach. Lily's smile only grew wider. "Now what do we have here?"
He had found a seat near a window in the corner. As many of the regular customers were busy, the shop was empty. He had removed his jacket and was about to dig into his soup when a certain somebody began lounging on the seat across from him.
"So, tell me, how did you lose your job?" she said.
"That's not much of a lunch matter, now, is it?" Lucian replied, dipping a piece of bread he had cut off into the soup. The soup itself had small bits of meat, beans, carrots, and other vegetables, giving it the look of a comfort food.
"Well, that meal isn't going to pay for itself, so how about you tell me what happened, and the meal can be on the house."
Lucian took a bite, chewed, and let the flavour sit. The soup had a meaty taste, but it wasn't overpowering, as the vegetables and beans added a sweetness that complemented the salted flavour of the meat quite well.
He looked up, meeting Lily's caramel eyes, and said with a blank face, "The soup is slightly overcooked."
Lily's eye twitched. "Overcooked? I'll show you overcooked."
"No, no, Lily, don't let the brat get under your skin," she took a breath in and out.
"Well, it isn't much of a story, but I'm not one to turn down a free meal."
And so, Lucian recounted the run-in with a Soulfracture at the train station, his late arrival at work, the two bureau agents Liam and Clara, and exactly why he was fired, not forgetting to mention his broken watch and his due rent. By the time he was done, he had also finished his meal. Leaning his head back in his chair, he closed his eyes, finally relaxing for a moment.
"My, you've had quite the day, haven't you, lad?" Lily sighed to herself. "I can only imagine how you're feeling."
How he was feeling… Lucian didn't know how he felt. He hadn't known for a long time, but this Soulfracture attack had broken his routine, and he enjoyed his routine: go to work, go home, maybe spend time doing other menial tasks, try new foods, and repeat for as long as his days would carry him. It was his choice to live like this, wasn't it? It was why he did what he did. So why? Did his skin itch? Was something wrong with him? Did he catch some disease? Who knows.
"I didn't try," he muttered to himself.
Lily perked up. "Didn't try for what?"
"Anything."
"What are you going on about? Honestly, sometimes I don't know what to do with you."
The bell above the door rang. The slow work hours of the day had ended, which meant it was time for Lily to get back to her duties. As she stood to greet the regular customer walking in for their dinner, she added, "Well, whatever the problem is, you can always come back for a meal. Just make sure you're not broke next time."
Lucian didn't say anything as she walked off. He paused, lips parting as he breathed out a heavy sigh. It's time to go. He got up, grabbed his top hat and cane, and before leaving, he turned toward the counter where Lily was taking someone's order. He bowed his head slightly, tipping his hat.
"Farewell, my lady. I do hope to receive such fine service on my next visit."
Lily just shook her head, slipping in a quiet 'Ta' as she got back to work.
Lucian left the store, not looking back. He had one more stop to go to before he was to head home. Looking up at the sky, it seemed to be a bit past evening.
Making his way down the crossroads back onto the main street, where vehicles of all kinds travelled, although he had been walking all day, he didn't hail a taxi, nor did he feel tired, but most certainly it was because of his budget.
He crossed at a traffic light, making his way from street to street, finally entering the main market. This was where one could find all sorts of shops with exotic foods, accessories, dolls, knitting—anything your heart desired, for a price of course.
He weaved past pedestrians and storefronts, taking a side alley deeper into the market. He arrived at Phelps Watch Emporium; gears and pieces of old watches could be seen in the large storefront windows.
Lucian turned the handle of the door, as he made his way inside, he could see different watch sets and pieces laying on the counters or on the walls, he walked past different shelfs that sectioned off other areas of the store.
He noticed a recently hung-up photo. It seemed to be a photo of a woman with short black hair and a sundress, with a child in her arms. The child had her soft features and seemed around the age of eight, a small blue wristband on her left arm.
"I don't think you should be looking at other people's photos, lad," a tired voice emerged from behind Lucian.
"I couldn't help myself; I've always been the curious type."
"Well, you know what they say about curiosity," the older man, who was now beside Lucian, said. He was someone in his mid-thirties, grey streaks along his hair and beard. Despite that, he looked well-kept, wearing brown trousers, a black suit vest over his white buttoned shirt, a tie accompanying it, black pointed shoes, and silver-rimmed glasses to match. A pocket watch sat on the right side of the vest.
"Unfortunately, I don't," Lucian said, putting the photo back into its place and moving back to the counter.
The older man stayed by the photo, looking at it before turning to Lucian. "What's your name, lad, and what do you need fixing?"
"Lucian, sir, and I already know your name, Mr Phelps. What I need fixing is this," he said as he took off his watch. The watch was an elegant silver piece, with a rose pattern on both sides. Its cracked glass shone in the light from the window.
Lucian handed the watch to the older man. Mr Phelps examined it for a moment, then said, "It's a fine piece. The only issues are the cracked glass and a few of the gears, so it won't take too long to fix. But…" He looked at Lucian, then back at the watch. "Where did you get it? You don't see pieces like this just anywhere."
"It belonged to my father before he passed. That watch was entrusted to me, and I've had it ever since," Lucian said.
"I see… sorry for your loss," Mr Phelps replied.
"It's quite alright, I don't have enough to pay you now, as I only have four pounds, but I can pay you later if that's alright, sir."
"No need," Mr. Phelps said, voice firm but calm.
"Sir?"
"No, it's fine. You don't need to take pity on me. I'll find the money—so just take the four pounds for now," Lucian said, now confused.
Mr. Phelps shook his head. "You're not getting it, lad. I want to fix this watch. It's the choice I've made, and I won't go back on it."
Lucian blinked. "I… thank you for your generosity, sir."
Mr. Phelps gave a small nod, returning to the watch with a careful touch.
Lucian stepped back, He turned toward the door, adjusting his top hat and cane, the city waiting beyond the shop.
"Farewell, Mr. Phelps. I hope to see you again soon," he said, tipping his hat once more.
With that, he stepped out into the street, the evening air brushing against his face. The market lights flickered on as he made his way home, each step echoing in the quiet of the cobblestone streets.
As the day came to a close, Mr Phelps, who had closed the shop, sat down to work on Lucian's watch. He placed it under his mechanical microscope, turned one of the scopes, and began his work, little by little fixing the watch.
That's when a knock came from the door. The older man stopped what he was doing, put down his tools, and made his way to the door, glancing at the photo of his wife and child as he did.
"Who could it be at this hour?" he said, peering through the peephole.
No one was there. Then, a calm and polite voice sounded from behind him, just beyond the shadows.
"You have a very beautiful family, Mr Phelps. I'm sensing you want more time, time to make things right. I can help with that."
"What? Who are you? How did you get in here?" Mr Phelps' voice trembled, frantic.
"No, stay away—ahhhhh!"
The photo now lay on the floor, cracked.
A calm, polite voice followed, almost gentle.
"Time… oh how it slips through our grasps."