House on the Vistula (an Ed Sheeran story)

Chapter Seven

He was as charming as ever, and he smelled the same. Nine months and three seasons later and he smelled of tobacco and Nivea men aftershave and warmth.

Warmth.

What a silly way to describe how a person smells, but it sounds more meaningful in the sense that it is not overused like the word "home". In the summer, he smelled strongly of tobacco and heat, and now in the spring, the scent of Nivea and the warmth inside of him trying to keep him heated in this miserable weather that he loved more than the sun I craved for.

It was nowhere as strong as my craving for his tobacco-tinted breath on my shoulder, on my face, in my hair. There were many boys and men I had been with who smelled of cigarettes, or the mixture of something sweet with tobacco to disguise the smell in front of their mothers. It had never been the same as it was with him.
With some people, it is something that you just know, something that you crave. Especially when you know that you could never have them, whether that be out of personal choice, or external factors.

We walked and walked and I was so engrossed in our conversation of the past nine months and the selfish self-importance it filled me with. As much as I did not like what I did, it made me feel very smug to know that he was still willing to spend an extended amount of time with myself. We then fell into a mellow silence after laughing at the disastrous relationship attempts and disappointing flings we had both endured over the past nine months. The night before had been one of those disastrous attempts at hooking up for myself. We walked for a good five minutes before I noticed that we had ended up on a small, urban-suburban road filled with cute bungalows and impressive houses with multi-car driveways.

"So, I've been meaning to ask- have you any idea where we are at the moment, or are we wandering aimlessly like in the movies?" I asked, bumping his shoulder with a grin.

"I do actually, And considering the drizzle that has been going on and off, it's a good place to be once it hammers down with rain. That is, if you are interested in a drink and a movie, for old times' sake." He told me and glanced up at the sky for effect as the drizzle kept getting less friendly and well... drizzly.

"Sounds better than going home and wandering the streets of... -bloody hell, we're in Kensington?!- in this lovely weather, that's for sure. So why not?"

"Come on then." Was his firm response as he grabbed a hold of my hand as if it had no effect in the world on him. He grabbed my hand with the innocence of a child and it took everything inside me to not stop him right there and wrap my arms around him and cling onto him like the little monkey with Velcro paws I had somewhere in my room.

As we turned into road after street, the rain began pounding on us until eventually we arrived at a cosy-looking terraced house, which Ed revealed to me, was a hotel. As cliche as it sounds, I would not have noticed if Ed had not pointed out the delicate sign right above the door frame and the menu next to said door.

We rushed into the lobby, coughing up water and flopping our hands.

I caught the receptionist glancing at us with a pained expression and apologised with an embarrassed smile. Ed went up to the desk to claim the keys he left at the desk- typical Ed. It made me smile, knowing how wary he was of his forgetfulness.

Once he had exchanged formalities with the receptionist and grabbed his keys, he spun around to face me and offered my his right hand with a deep bow. He glanced up at me. "Mademoiselle?"

With a laugh, I placed my hand in his and let him spin me around before wrapping his arm around my waist, dipping me backwards and pulling me up. Without a word, just his simple half-smile, he led me up the staircase, and then yet another.