Burning Out

54- doctor

Song- Seven Devils by Florence + The Machine

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It's been quite a few days since we got back home. Life has surprisingly started to go back to normal, regular days at the office and I haven't ended up being dragged into anything from the opposing side of the company.

It's weird to go back to what it was like just a couple of months ago. It feels quite chilling, actually, as if there's an empty shell of a life which I'm just returning to visit.

Right now, though, I'm sat in a local café across from Otis. I vaguely remember promising him that we would catch up some time soon, so I thought I'd honour my promise.

So here we are, sat at a wooden table half-way through the day. I haven't told anyone where I am, I think it's a better idea to let us catch up in peace without having Olly or Leonardo barging through the door and dragging me away.

"That's good then," I nod, replying to his gentle chat about his current job.

"Yeah, honestly I'm loving it, all of my coworkers are so nice as well," he compliments, smiling as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"That's good," I smile back, not really knowing what else to say in this moment.

I know I was the one who insinuated this, but now I'm not really sure what to say. The two of us don't seem to have much in common and I can feel the awkward tension building. I only ever run into him around the apartment building and have a quick conversation, short enough to not become awkward. Sure, there's been the odd occasion where we've sat and had a long talk together, but all of that is already used up now. I don't have anything else to say to him.

"I heard that you went away recently," he speaks up after an uncomfortable tension settles between us.

"I did, yeah. I went with Leo, Olly and Noémi," I tell him, my interest in our conversation peaking now that I actually have something to talk about.

"How was it? I've never been to Paris," he asks, leaning his elbows to rest on the table.

"Um," I frown, tilting my head to the side and answering him with slight apprehension, "It was good... how did you know we went to Paris?"

"I saw that you had loads of mail on your doorstep that you hadn't collected so I knocked on your door, but you never answered. I did it again the following day but you still didn't answer, so I went to your office and there was a bodyguard—"

"Stoke," I interrupt to fill in his name.

"Stoke. He told me that you had gone to Paris for a few nights," he concludes his explanation, looking sincere and waiting for my reply.

"What did you do with my mail? I didn't see any when I got back home," I frown, trying to dig through my memories to make sure I didn't pick it up but just forgot.

"Oh, it's in my apartment I've just forgotten to give it to you," he tells me, "On our way back we can go and grab it if you want."

"That'd be great, thanks."

"I've never been to Paris, or France let alone, what's it like?" he questions interestedly.

"It's gorgeous," I reminisce on the beauty of it.

Memories flood my vision, the positive ones. I've managed to almost successfully blank out the gruesome and adrenaline fuelled memories of the injured and dead people from that café, and instead my mind just relives the night on the balcony.

I can't stop thinking about that moment with Leonardo, dancing in the moonlight as we stand thousands of miles away from home, and yet also significantly closer to both of our original homes.