Edinburgh is for Lovers (l.s.)

i.

October 1982
Edinburgh Scotland

Louis reached his arms over his head, stretching his back out from sitting in the same cafe chair for over six hours. He'd been trying to write all day, but the words were stuck somewhere in his subconscious, ever more elusive as the day went on.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and rolled the sleeves of his ivory, cable-knit jumper up to his elbows. Three empty teacups sat on the wooden table top before him, and another would soon be joining if the words didn't start flowing. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking down at the half page he'd managed to write in six hours and the black pen that had laid mostly untouched and still managed to smear ink on the outside of his right palm.

"Shit." Louis whispered and licked his left thumb before vigorously rubbing it over the ink in hopes of wiping it off.

He gave up when he only managed to smear it further, and looked up as the bell on the front door of the cafe chimed. A tall man walked into the small cafe. He wore a grey, wool suit and his hair had a few defined curls that fell across his forehead. He brushed them off his face as he approached the counter. Louis couldn't hear what he said, but the woman working behind the counter blushed and looked down as she laughed and nodded.
He watched the man as he leaned against the counter while he waited for his order. His stance was so casual, but his presence was commanding. Louis couldn't take his eyes off him; how his shoulders filled out the suit perfectly, how one curl kept falling into his face no matter how many times he pushed it back, how his long fingers tapped on the counter top to a melodic beat, and how when he leaned against the counter his arse looked incredible in those trousers.

Louis looked down at his half arsed writing from earlier, then back up at the man. He took a to-go cup from the woman behind the counter and thanked her before turning back towards the door. The man took a sip of his drink and Louis watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed.
The man looked up from his cup and Louis held his breath when they locked eyes. Louis felt like time stopped as the man looked him up and down, taking in every detail, but only a second passed before his mouth turned up to the right and he nodded in Louis' direction before walking back out of the cafe.

Louis let out the breath he'd been holding and looked back down at his writing. He ripped the page from his notebook and crumpled it into a ball before pulling the cap off his pen and starting in on the next page. His writer's block dissipated in that moment, and his hand couldn't keep up with his mind as the words came out in jumbles.
Within in an hour, he had eight pages full to the margins of his scratchy script. His hand hurt from holding the pen so long, but he kept writing. He wrote until the sun started to set, then he packed up his notebook into his messenger bag and stood to stretch his back again. He had even more ink decorating his skin, but this time it felt like a reward instead of a punishment for his lack of words.
He pulled his sleeves down, preparing for the cool evening air, and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. He balanced the mugs in one hand, pen bit between his teeth, and used his other hand to push his chair in before setting his mugs in the wash bin and waving goodnight to the woman behind the counter even though she was deep in a book, pencil tucked behind her ear.
Louis tucked his own pen into his bag and pushed his glasses up again before pulling open the heavy cafe door and stepping out into the streets of Edinburgh.