Red vs. Black

Chapter 1

Fifteen minutes before Zayn's set to leave his desk for the day, he gets a text from Louis.

Not in the mood to cook. Meet us at the Japanese place on Hadley at 7?

With London's rush hour, it'll take him the full sixty minutes to make it on time, but Zayn's been packed and ready to escape the monotone publishing office for the past thirty.  So long as he takes off the moment the clock strikes six, he'll be fine. Or...

Fuck it.

Pushing back from his desk, he stands and looks around the other cubicles scattered about the floor. Their inhabitants hardly even notice the towering figure surveying them.

I hate all of you.

On the way to the lift, Zayn replies to Louis, letting him know that he's bypassing office protocol and leaving now.

If you beat us, I put the reservation under your name.

As he steps into the mirrored box, he thinks to ask, why? Their favourite eastside sushi joint's closer to his flatmate's software engineering company in Shoreditch than it is to where Zayn's currently located in Soho. But he can't care less; it's too insignificant for the effort.

I hope when I show up tomorrow morning, you've all kissed the plague.

The lift doors close on the fifth floor scenery.

Sadly, Zayn knows his wish won't come true. Although, for a split second, he does wonder if he'll be the one to carry the disease in when he finds himself sandwiched between two middle-aged women on the Tube, one of which never learned the courtesy of sneezing into a tissue, or at the very least, the inside of her elbow. He apologizes when he trips her on the way out, causing a domino effect and almost toppling the other woman over along with the other innocent passengers trying to exit onto the platform, but the sarcastic smile on his face proves his plea for forgiveness to be nothing other than a mocking admonition.

A small bout of February rain starts when Zayn hits the halfway point between the station and 'Bento Love'. He checks that his crossbody satchel's closed tightly, not bothering to blurt out an obligatory "sorry" when he bumps into several passersby on the sidewalk. While the clasp looked to be fine then, he still opens his bag when he enters the sushi restaurant to ensure none of the manuscripts he plans on reading through later that night have gotten damp.

"Welcome! Can I have your name please?"

Even after he mutters his surname of Malik to the hostess, Zayn continues to examine the second stack of bound papers.

"Zayn?"

"Yeah."

It looks like the interior of his briefcase lives to see another day.

"Can I take your coat and bag?"

Finally, Zayn looks up at the young woman who's holding out her hand for him to fill. "Sure, thanks."

For a Thursday night, the place isn't that crowded. In fact, when he leans left to check out one of the dining areas, none of the booths are filled. As his mouth opens to make a comment about the abnormal vacancy, another woman shows up to his right. When he turns to take in her appearance - blonde and slim, wearing a floral dress and holding a clipboard that completes her typecast of outgoing perfectionist - he can see that the main dining area is practically empty as well.

"Hi, can I have your name?"

"I already told her," Zayn nods to the worker who's now handing him a laminated card that matches the one wrapped around the hanger his things are hanging on.