09:49WITH ONE L(I don’t believe for a second you were high but let’s say you were)
Charles exhales slowly. That’s close enough to an agreement to the terms of their unspoken deal. He can move on to the next stone in his stomach. The aggravation caused by Enzo, now exacerbated by a scene Charles can visualise too well. That guy won’t appreciate the Heath. He’s probably seen taller trees, deeper ponds and nicer views of bigger cities. He might not even look, solely focused on Loris, who he didn’t appreciate either when they were dating.
Charles should be the one going to the park. He would help Loris find the spot where his father planned on proposing. Is Enzo aware of this story? Does he care? Does he stand a chance to worm himself back into Loris’ arms before his train leaves?
Charles doesn’t know anything about their relationship other than the few subjective crumbs thrown by Aliah and Phoebe. But he doesn’t want to see any more of the shadows he caught a glimpse of on Loris’ face last night.
He’s being protective. And possessive of Hampstead Heath.
Protective of Hampstead Heath and possessive of Loris.
When Gareth’s phone rings, Charles picks up faster than he ever has in this office, relieved to be yanked away from an obscure door in Charland.
Take contact details, but don’t get involved.
‘Gareth is in a meeting, but I’m familiar with your account, Mrs Ludlow. Is there anything I can help you with?’
Charles is already lost, miles away from his comfort zone. He may as well learn to grow comfortable in unconventional ones.
And getting on Gareth’s nerves seems like a very satisfying place to start.
***
Except for the pillowcases – now yellow on the bed and striped white and blue on the sofa – Loris’ place is exactly as Charles left it last time, healthily untidy.
Yet it feels different, stained by an oppressive atmosphere he can’t help but imagine. He’s been trapped in his own home with people smothering him, he knows the feeling. But he always had his room to retreat to. Loris had no escape from his ex-boyfriend in this tiny flat.
Supposing that he wanted to escape.
‘Where have you gone to?’
Charles shakes his head and looks at Loris, who’s approaching with the rugby mug.
‘Back to a work issue from yesterday. Which is stupid, because it’s sorted.’
‘Was it okay? That day you were afraid not to survive?’
‘Yes.’
He saved it, by single-handedly preventing an important client from leaving the firm. But this is too pointless a feat to share here.
Charles grabs his coffee and blows the smoke towards Loris. His eyes are drowsy, his stubble is thicker than usual and his hair messier than ever. The best Loris, he claimed.
It must be nice for someone to be at their best so effortlessly. To just stand there, groggy, and to hold such power over another person. Charles’ mind unfolded like a flower in spring the moment Loris opened the green door. Blank petals of parchment, waiting for a novel made of memories. Some he had buried and some they’re about to create.
Inhaling a long breath of peanutty caffeine, Charles edges towardsthe sofa. It’s cloudy today, the natural light is ghostly. Loris might use this different atmosphere to tackle the glitching effect.
Did he find a few minutes to work on the drawing during the week? Was it left on display? Or kept away from unwarranted assessments from Enzo?
Hopefully on display, showing Charles at his best.
Hopefully, he will stop obsessing over the guy soon.
‘Okay!’ Loris sits on his stool and drums his fingers on his thighs. ‘I’ve got thousands of questions!’
‘You’re not drawing?’
‘This conversation requires my full attention!’
