The cold October rain splatters across the colorful visage that the streets wear.

He adjusts the collar of his coat, trying to prevent the cold from getting to him.

Wind swirls around the street lights, cars, and anyone outside, trying to whisper it's story to anyone.

A smile spreads across his face.

He's guilty.

And that's alright.

He looks up at the night sky, reveling in the cold sensations.

Letting go was easy.

Moving on was easy.

Staying put was the hardest.

He feels like the wind, trying to tell a story to people who would listen, or try to tell those who won't hear.

Picking up his pace, he looks around him.

There is no one here in the crowded streets.

No one he knows.

No one he cares about.

The rain feels nice, the weather is perfect.

He feels guilty.

And that's bad.

The man takes a turn, his hand wrapping around the necklace.

It has a picture of his girlfriend in the case.

Next to that necklace is a phone number.

He finds shelter under an awning, and looks at the number.

His smile slowly fading, the young man trembles a little.

The cold feels nice, doesn't it...?

He takes a deep breath, collecting his conscience.

He looks up at the apartment.

Again, the guilty feeling comes back.

And it's not alright.

He quietly stalks up to the front door.

He opens it up.

He goes in.

Walks up the stairs.

Opens his apartment.

Closes the door.

Sits down.

Looks at the number.

...

And calls.

"Carter..."

"Oh, hey! How's it going?"

"I'm doing... fine."

"Okay, love. I- ..."

"Are you alright? You-"

"I said I'm fine."

"Tell me, what's the matter? Dear-"

"Carter, please. Stop. I can't... I can't take this anymore."

"I'm going over. I am no-"

Click.

The young man looks around the apartment.

He can see his things.

He can see his T.V.

His cabinets.

The chest.

He frowns.

Was he guilty?

Probably.

He looks back at the number.

He sighs.

Taking out his watch, the man looks at the time.

5:10 pm.

50 more minutes.

...

The young man closed his eyes, not wanting to see.

He didn't want to.

He didn't want to see his girlfriends broken face.

His "flings" broken heart.

He slowly picks up the cell phone again.

The young man calls the number on the piece of paper.

"Hello...?"

The voice was still the same.

It still sounded comforting.

Yet...

With a cracked voice, the man said, "Brother..."

Silence.

The young man's breath started to waver.

"... How the hell did you find me, you disgusting prick?"

...

He quickly threw the phone away from him, at the wall.

The phone was broken.

He looked outside.

The rain was pouring.

Was he guilty?

Yes.

He could see cars coming and going.

One of them could be Carter.

Or her.

He started sobbing.

This was too much.

The drugs started to lose it's effect just a few days ago.

He panicked.

Now here he was.

Hurting.

He looked at one of the cabinets.

...

The thing was in there.

He looked at the clock.

5:15 pm.

It was going to be a long hour.

He knew he wouldn't survive it.

That is, if Carter arrived.

He knew he would come.

He would make things better.

But...

There was his girlfriend...

He didn't want to tell Carter about her.

It might hurt him.

And he doesn't want to hurt the loveable guy.

After all, Carter is the only one who cares about him.

5:16 pm.

The man looks at the telephone.

He still knows her number.

May as well get that over with...

He gets up.

Slowly walks there.

Picks up the phone.

Dials her number.

"Hi Dennis! How are you?"

"Fine... You?"

"I was doing some homework. Were you at work again? Is that why you didn't pick up your phone?"

Silence.

"... Dennis?"

"Look, this is pathetic, but I am breaking up with you."

Silence.

A tear slowly goes down his face.

"... What?"

"Yes, I'm breaking up with you. I was happy were together, but I can see nothing happening between us."

Silence.

Click.

Dennis put the phone back into the reviever.

He leans against the counter top.

Sighs.

Clenches his fists.

Looks at clock.

5:20 pm

Dennis goes and sits down again. His heart is clear. His head is clear.

His forehead is hot.

He feels sick.

Dennis lays on the couch.

He just lays there.

Till he hears thumping.

It's from his door.

He just frowns, closes his eyes, and weeps.

Softly.

Alone.

Then...

He opens the door.

There he was.

Carter.

He quickly hugged him.

Affectionately crushed him, really.

"Dennis..."

Dennis didn't have time to register what happened next.

All he knew was that he was crying. He was talking. And, most importantly, not alone. Not anymore.