Love On Air (Larry Stylinson)

Love On Air

It's not that Louis is known for being impatient, but this guy is really testing his limits.

"And there will be access card tap-n-read units on every door," the heavy set, bald guy from SecuraTeq drones on like he's recited this same script a million times today, and let's be real, he probably has. "You'll need to keep your card with you at all times. We have lanyards or belt clips with a retractable string. Which one do you want?"

Louis has no preference. None. He could care less, actually. He just needs to get through this and upstairs to the studio as fast as humanly possible. The guy already has a lanyard in his hand, so Louis opts for that.

"A lanyard will do nicely. Thanks, mate."

Without even bothering to glance up at Louis, baldy continues on. "You've been coded into the system already with all the access that you're entitled to. If you lose your..." the guy trails off and clocks Louis' shoulder bag, grimacing at its very existence like it's some kind of global signifier of gayness for a guy to have a bag that has one shoulder strap instead of two. He looks physically in pain to be in Louis' presence, and, well, the feeling is fucking mutual.

"Bag," Louis finishes for him in an attempt to speed things along.

"Yeah, your bag," the rude prick says, distaste clear in his tone. "If you lose it, your first call is to SecuraTeq."

Louis is pretty sure that if he loses his bag, his first call is to his fucking bank, so this asshole can piss right off, but he's not about to get into an argument about it when he's already running late. Niall is gonna have his head if doesn't front-up to the studio in the next three minutes.

"Yeah, for sure," Louis lies and flashes the guy a smarmy smile.

SecuraDick hooks the access card onto the lanyard and finally hands it over. The entire process has taken up his precious caffeine sourcing time which is really going to suck in about an hour when his coffee from earlier wears off while he's on air. Maybe Louis can convince Niall to get him one, although he doesn't like his chances.

Louis gives SecuraWanker a curt nod and steps over to the new entry turnstiles, tapping his card on the reader. The weird half-height glass doors that sit on top snap open and seem very much like they're a workplace accident waiting to happen. He doesn't really get the point of them. They're like those units you find at train stations, except with these glass sliding panels as well, which he reckons he could easily jump over with a decent run-up.

His is not to question why though, so he slips through and takes off down the corridor, his (apparently offensive) shoulder bag slapping on his ass as he jogs past all the little cubicles and offices.

The harsh fluorescent lighting does nothing to ease his mood, the internal space bereft of natural light, which is exclusively reserved for those lucky enough to have their own offices around the outer edge of the floor. It's a shitty 1980s building, designed at a time when open-plan had yet to make its mark; not old enough to be retro and not new enough to be designed with any modicum of concern for the human inhabitants. From the worn, grey carpet tiles and high cubicle walls that box people off from the rest of the office, to the gross 'ergonomic' chairs on plastic protective sheets that are anything but ergonomic, and the once white walls that have developed a yellow tinge over the years, the place feels like it's frozen in time.

The smell of stale coffee, that Louis suspects might actually be embedded in the ventilation system at this point, hangs cloyingly in the air. Prints hang on the walls from a bygone era when radio was King, and sad-looking ficus plants that he'd very much like to steal and set free in the outdoors, complete the general vibe.