"Tell my editor I can't do tomorrow. I've got that conference call with my contact at the New Yorker. She's going to have to wait till Monday to go over those line notes," Dan looked up as he spoke to see his assistant hovering near the door, ipad in hand, planning yet another jam packed week.
"Ah right, I'll try and schedule it in." She glanced up from the screen to raise a delicately shaped eyebrow at him. "Don't forget you have the Cancer Research benefit on Friday. It might be good for your reputation if you bring a date." There's a sparkle in her eye and he snorts with a roll of his eyes.
"My reputation will continue to be that I am dateless, Delila. But thank you for the suggestion." He offered up with a dry tone to his voice before going back to his work.
"I'm going to head off now. Can I get you anything before I go?" Delila asked as she left the ipad on the corner of his desk.
"A plotline worth writing about?" He smiled wryly before tapping the backspace key a few times. She laughed softly and shook her head.
"See you tomorrow," She called over his shoulder as she left his office. He only grunted as his attention was once again caught up by the steady blinking of the cursor and the blank page.
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It was well past nine o' clock by the time he left the office. The only people still there were the cleaners and the workaholics like him. The clear sky brought the people of London out in abundance. Once thing he has noticed about the English was they never failed to capitalize on a day of nice weather. The patios of the pubs he passed as he made his way home were brimming with people.
But his head was still wrapped up in work. He barely noticed the buildings he passed or the others on the pavements. It was like any other walk home until from the open door of one of those pubs a string of music caught his attention. His body instantly tensed inside his fine Armani suit. The world slowed to a halt around him. Some where in the back of his mind he knew that he didn't have time to stop, he had so much to do before he left on his book tour next week but he couldn't help it. It was a familiar melody, one that brought ancient and yet poignant aches to the surface.
The notes spun him along a sea of memories. Like waves they tumbled together as they moved along the score. His mind span backward somehow finding its way to that penultimate moment. May fifteenth two-thousand and twelve. He'd always had a thing about dates, writing about them, remembering them. But he could never find the words for that blazing spring day.
The sheets on his bed had been a deep sapphire blue. The colour made her skin seem even more exquisitely pale. One of her delicate hands had been resting on his chest, close to his heart. She was warm against him, their skin sticking together from being entwined for so long. Their night had been filled with a bright flare of passion and pleasure. He had spent those velvet moments making her shatter over and over and over.
But the morning had been his and his alone. She was asleep but he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes against the sight of her. Bright beams of sun fell through the blinds covering the windows and over their bodies, lighting the motes of dust in the air. It lined her hair with a golden hue making it seem somehow richer and darker where it spilled over his bare shoulder. He didn't dare move from their tangle of limbs. Every moment with her felt painfully precious. He hadn't known at the time just how true that was. As if it was yesterday he could still hear the sound of her breath, feel the weight of her body nestled in the crook of his arm.
The distant sepia toned memories felt like they had been a dream. Or one of those old films that she had loved. Truth be told he had loved them too, loved watching them with her. But in a drunken bought he had destroyed every DVD or CD he had that reminded him of her. Some of his books had even suffered from that particularly shameful night. That was the night her engagement had appeared on Gossip Girl. The very next day he had picked up and left New York for London. Fleeing from the shame, the guilt, and from all the love he carried for Blair Waldorf.
Still carried. Held in his heart like the treasure it was. That love, no matter how far he fled, would always haunt him. It would colour every word he ever wrote. He could put an ocean between them and bury himself in his work but he would never truly escape it.
The final notes of Moon River twilled through the air and he slowly noticed the world again. His eyes were rimmed in red, burning with unspent tears. People were moving past his still form, bumping into him with apologizes. A bus drove by drowning out the sound of whatever song came on next.
His phone buzzed to life in his pocket chasing away the last of the memories and reminding him of the work that waited. Quickly he lifted it to his ear while resuming his walk home and leaving thoughts of Blair Waldorf behind.
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Notes: Fic title, summary and inspiration shamelessly stolen from the song Bones of You by Elbow. Its an amazing song, go listen to it right now.