We Had the Right Kind of Love // L.S.

Chapter 16. Retracing

Five years later

"Louis, the phone," Crystal calls from her desk as the obnoxious ringing echoes through the high-ceiling penthouse.

I quickly shove the last bite of my salad into my mouth and began to chew furiously as Diana watches from her nearby desk. She wrinkles her nose in distaste at my caveman mannerisms while her lips form a tight line of disapproval.

Good, I think, swallowing down a grin. I had yet to bicker with her today and the office felt eerily silent without our usual banter filling up the spacious grey walls.

I give one more obnoxious and exaggerated munch in her direction before swallowing and picking up the handset.

"Louis Tomlinson; editor of Noon Magazine, how may I help you?"

"You sound like an idiot," Ed's voice says through the receiver, and I relax into my chair, glad to hear his voice.

"How many times have I told you not to call this number?" I groan, wiping the salad dressing I know is on my mouth with the back of my hand and making a face at Diana as she turns away in disgust.

I love bothering her.

"Probably a million," Ed says happily from the other line, "anyway, you free tonight? Drinks on me."

"Tempting, but I have an early start tomorrow," I say, looking down at my day planer and instantly wanting to curl up and die at the sight of the jam-packed days ahead.

"Well damn," Ed says, not even putting up a fight. After knowing me for a better part of three years, it's apparently not worth his time to put up with me and my stubbornness. "Tomorrow though, are you down? Everyone's going to be at Solas."

I'm shaking my head, about to say no when Diana looks at me and mouths, "Pussy," which makes me throw the middle finger in her direction before telling Ed yes.

"I hate you," I say, putting down the phone and leaning over my well-worn keyboard to frown at her, "I had plans Friday night my ice cream and Friends reruns then you had to go bully me into saying yes—"

"I didn't bully you," she scoffs, "Maybe you just need thicker skin."

"Are you saying I have thin skin?"

"Maybe," she shrugs, "Are you offended? Did I wound your masculinity a bit?"

"Masculinity not wounded," I say, "But a bit weirded out you've been thinking of my skin."

"Not your actual skin," she rolls her eyes, "It's a saying; a figure of speech."

"I know that," I scowl, "I didn't spend the last four years studying the English language and not learn what a figure of speech was and how to detect one."

"Could have fooled me," she says before saluting in my direction and returning to her computer.

"I work with literal children," Crystal from the front desk says before shaking her head and resuming her scanning.

Yeah, she did.

**

My apartment on 39th street where I've spent the last year and a half was the closest I could get to feeling at home, besides my actual childhood home. Sure it was small with its one narrow hallway that leads into one bedroom, one bath, and a kitchen so small it could barely pass for a kitchen, but it was my place.

That night I came back with tired feet and limp eyes, barely issuing a good night to Brian, who was, as usual, standing guard in front of the revolving door, before walking to the elevator like a zombie.