Edinburgh is for Lovers (l.s.)

vii.

Louis opened his eyes when he could no longer hear the putter of the cab's engine. The street was empty, and he was drunk and alone.
He sighed and turned towards home, grabbing a street lamp post for balance. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, only opening them when his head stopped spinning. His heavy legs carried him home, his heavy mind grieving yet another loss as he stumbled home through the dark streets of Edinburgh.

Louis' hands fumbled with the key as he unlocked the front door to his flat. He stepped into the darkness. Street lights cast heavy golden glows across the wood floor and ivory walls, and the flat was silent. Louis pushed the door shut behind him, his back pressing up against the wood. He took a shaky breath and sat down with his back pressed against the door, letting his notebook fall to the floor beside him. The floor was cold below him, and he reached up to lock the deadbolt before pulling his knees to his chest and allowing himself to feel the full extent of the man he'd just lost. The ghost of him still clinging to Louis' jacket, mixing with the overpowering smell of whiskey.

Louis sat on the floor, knees to his chest, trying to catch his breath as his intoxicated brain pulled him deeper into the sadness. It could have been minutes, or hours, but Louis eventually pushed himself off the floor and walked further into his flat. He pulled the curtains closed in the living room, leaving only the golden street lamp glow from the kitchen windows. He stumbled to his bedroom and stripped out of his clothes that reeked of alcohol, opting instead for the brown jumper he'd worn the first day he and Harry had talked. He hadn't washed the tea stain out yet. He stood in only the jumper and pants, looking around at his room. On a last thought, he grabbed his jacket that smelled like Harry's hug and pulled it over his shoulders before walking back into the living room.
His writing desk was pushed against the far windowless wall of the living room, an old lamp perched on the wood, and a pile of loose leaf paper with a candle stick used as a paper weight. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself like a safety blanket and walked to his desk, flicking on the lamp as he sat down in the old, wood chair. He sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before standing to pick his notebook up from the floor by the front door.
As he lifted the notebook, Harry's pen fell from between the pages and clattered to the ground. Louis' chest tightened as he stared at the pen for a moment.
He picked it up and moved back to the desk, setting his notebook and the pen down before rummaging through the desk drawers to find matches. He lit the candle and sat with his notebook and papers spread in front of him. He picked up Harry's pen, observing how it felt between his fingers, and then he began to write. His hands shook slightly as the whiskey settled in his veins, but the words flowed freely into the early hours of the morning.

☾ ◯ ☽

Harry barely spoke the rest of the night, only saying thank you and goodnight to the cabby when they arrived at the airport.
His flight felt quick; he'd fallen asleep with his cheek against the freezing window, replaying Louis' words in his head until he was unconscious. He forced himself off the plane and through Heathrow airport, out into the night.
He felt out of touch, completely on auto pilot as he managed to hail a cab in the middle of the night. The drive through London felt unfamiliar even though he'd lived there most of his life; the street lamps and buildings flashed by the car window, too fast. Harry thanked the driver again when they pulled in front of his building. The red brick walls were almost unwelcoming in the darkness.
With his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and suitcase in hand, Harry tugged open the front door of the building and walked inside. He opted for the stairwell instead of the old elevator, taking his time dragging himself up the seven flights to his floor. The hallway was dark, only one lamp still functional, as he walked to the front door of his flat.
He unlocked the door and tossed his keys on the table by the door, locking up behind himself. He walked through the flat to his room and tossed his bags on the bed, before walking back through the flat, turning on a few lights to try to warm the space. Harry leaned against the kitchen counter, staring out the window over the sink, observing all the dark flats across the way, and the two that still had lights on. He had an early morning tomorrow, or today... Harry groaned when he looked at the clock and it was already past 2:00 a.m. Harry didn't feel tired; he felt a headache forming from the alcohol he'd consumed earlier, and a heavy sense of loneliness. He made himself a cuppa, hoping it'd relax him enough to sleep for a few hours, and moved into the living room. He sat on the worn, leather couch and looked around. Things can't change that much in just a week. He told himself as set his mug down and laid back against the arm of the couch. Louis had never even stepped foot in this flat, and yet somehow it felt emptier without him here. Harry sighed and closed his eyes.

He hadn't fallen asleep hours later when the alarm on his watch began to beep. He rubbed his eyes and pushed himself to sit up, resting his face in his hands.His bags were still laid on his bed, the manuscript tucked into his messenger bag. Harry had laid on the couch all night in his clothes from the previous day; he stripped down and walked nude through the hallway towards the small bathroom. He let the water run as hot as he could handle and stepped in.
With a towel around his waist, Harry trudged back into his room, exhausted, and inexplicably lonely. He pulled a dark grey suit off a wooden hanger in his closet and laid it out on the bed. He dressed and pulled on his shoes before he grabbed his messenger bag and slung it across his shoulder. He was almost grateful to leave his flat by the time it was 7:45; he wrapped a light scarf around his neck and stepped outside, locking the door behind him. He walked downstairs, and out into the crisp London morning, with just enough time to walk to his office for an 8:00 a.m. meeting.