Grey

Twenty

[FINN]

My phone was tucked between my ear and shoulder, the dial tone droning on as I groaned under my breath. I had a hunch she wouldn't answer given the eight hour time difference, but I'd hoped to hear her voice before my day started. I fumbled with my door key in the slot, jiggling the familiar peeling green knob back and forth until I heard it click loose.

My flat in London had its shortcomings, but it would always warm my chest in the best of ways. We'd only been back in the city about 24 hours and had our European tour kick-off the night prior. I'd crashed on Jack's couch, exhausted and not having it in me to journey the 20 minutes further from the venue after the show. As I stepped into the cramped lobby with the faded checkered floors and weird musty smell, I knew I was home.

It was only 7 in the morning so I tried to keep the noise down as I climbed the winding stairs up to my floor, shoving my phone in my pocket in defeat. I was just turning the corner when, as if on cue, the dark brown door opened to the flat below me. The familiar balding man frowned at me, fueling my smile.

"It's you."

"Boris," I nodded, exhaling. "Nice to see you."

The middle-aged man and I had our differences over the handful of years I'd lived in the building, usually resulting in a broom banging against the floor or ceiling - whichever way the complaint needed to go. He'd known me when we were playing club gigs for five people and he knew me when we were selling out much larger venues, but he treated me all the same - like the annoying twat who lived upstairs and played his music too loud. He kept me grounded, though I was fairly confident it was unintentional. He had absolutely no clue who I was.

"Knew it was you, fussing with the doorknob and making all the commotion."

I tried not to smirk, hiking my bag further onto my shoulder. "In the flesh."

"Keep it down," he reminded, beginning to shut the door. I knew it was his way of saying, welcome back. "I don't want to hear you clambering up the staircase drunk in the middle of the night."

I knew it would only be a matter of time before I was spewing profanities out my window in hopes they'd drift into his, most likely about his damn cat scratching the wall right below my bedroom. I bit my tongue and nodded, wishing him a good day and continuing my trek up the last flight of stairs. When I reached unit 401, I let out the pent-up breath I hadn't even realized I was holding.

The place was exactly as I'd left it three months prior, housing so many memories. My mates gave me a hard time, encouraging me to let the old flat go. They'd especially taken the piss after seeing my new place in LA, but I saw nothing wrong with my little old flat. It brought me inspiration and comfort on my loneliest nights.

The chipping paint reminded me of the night Jack punched a hole in the kitchen wall, piss drunk and angry about some bird. The stain on the living room floor reminded me of the night I'd written two songs off the album in their entirety, stranded inside because it was pouring raining and the ceiling got a leak. The bedroom reminded me of Bridgette and I's first fight, when she was passionately flailing her arms and spilled red wine down the front of her dress and the rug. It would always be home.

I walked into my room, setting my backpack and bag onto the floor. The bed looked tempting but I forced myself into the shower instead. The task was pure torture, the water absolutely freezing. I'd forgotten to pay my water bill. I was shivering, wrapping a towel around my waist when I heard my phone ringing, risking my life jogging over with wet feet.

It had proven to be worth it. Rory was laying in her bed in the dark, the glow of the screen causing her to squint her eyes.

"I miss you already," I groaned.