Gone

The chair was uncomfortable no matter how many times Ed switched between sitting with his left leg tucked beneath him or sitting cross legged on the seat.

He sighed and rolled his head to stretch the stiff muscles in his neck, tilting it left and right to try and get it to crack.

When he's in the studio he isn't easily distracted, not like he is at home, which is why he chooses to spend full days there and then some when he's feeling creative. He'd been there since early that morning and every so often he'd check his watch for the time, making sure he'd stick to his schedule and be out of there before eight, since he made plans to have dinner with you at his house.

From the kink in his back and the yawn he couldn't help but let out, he checked his watch again, double taking when he saw that it was already ten minutes past eight o'clock and he was nowhere near being done at the studio. Without another thought he quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed your number.

It rang unanswered and Ed sighed against the phone when it went to voicemail.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," he started, "I lost track of the time, but I promise I'm leaving here in fifteen minutes, no later, please wait for me."

With a final 'I love you' he hung up and got straight back to work editing the last bit of the song he'd been working on. He kept getting stuck on the last verse of the song and when he started to run his hand through his hair and rub his eyes under his glasses, he knew he had to leave it and come back to it another time.

Ed stood up and stretched his back, curling his arms up beside his head with another yawn. Though his stomach had been grumbling for the past hour or so, he ignored it to try and finish the song and stayed put in the dim room, handwriting lyrics he'd been trying to complete for the past week.

Sometimes songs would come so easy to him that he'd get overly frustrated when he got stuck on one or two of them. When he would start feeling angry or frustrated he was well aware that he had to stop, and so he did, closing up his leather bound notebook and gathering it in his left hand beside his hip.

"'Night guys," he called once he left the room, rubbing under his nose before he nudged his glasses up a little further.

There wasn't an answer but instead of going to say goodnight to anyone else left behind, he walked straight through and to the front where the reception desk was.

"'See you tomorrow-" he trailed, but he didn't complete his sentence when the desk came into view and the receptionist, Jenna, was gone.

Ed looked around and stood completely still with his eyebrows angled in confusion. He'd listened for a bit but heard nothing but quiet, which even he knew was exceptionally odd for a recording studio, even at eight at night.

"'Ello?" he called out, a little louder, listening after the sound of his voice rang out.

The computer's screen at the desk was still on, and Ed leaned over the counter, seeing the spreadsheet of upcoming artist schedules opened, but he didn't bother to read any of it.

Normally if he was the last artist there, someone always stayed behind to lock up at night, so he wasn't sure exactly what to do in the situation.

After a few more minutes of silence he sighed and headed back down the corridor, knocking and calling out at each closed door and peering in the open ones. The studio was entirely vacant, and Ed couldn't understand how or why he was the last one there.

Either way he didn't want to keep you waiting any longer so he called the studio from his own phone and left a message, explaining the situation before he shut the lights and pulled the main door closed. He felt uneasy leaving it unlocked, but he didn't have a key or another way to lock up, so he shrugged it off and pulled his car key from his back pocket.