Flurries of autumn leaves drifted down past the empty streets of New York, swaying back and forth in the brisk winds as a flickering light haloed the side of the road, its small sliver of golden ray pouring in through the small gap of the window, right across Brandon's face as he watched with curious eyes thousands of buildings pass him by. A line of red tail lights backed all the way to the end of the avenue, early morning people driving to their work locations.

In the midst of the polluted air, the cold breeze of the crack of dawn felt nice against his face while the evening lights melting through the end of the night continued to illuminate the scenery. The smell of dark coffee filled the yellow cab with its delicious aroma, making him realize just how badly he craved one.

Detaching his attention from the architecture displayed in front of him, he pulled at his white hospital bracelet that hung tightly to his wrist. He struggled for a brief instant but was soon able to rip it off, looking at the item in his hand where his name and room number had been written.

It marked the end of a chapter that he was thrilled to put behind, although, a part of him couldn't help but feel an arriving minor wave of nostalgia. He'd miss the lovely medical crew that had taken care of him all these years, especially Babu.

And, for it was the only place he'd known since he had woken up, the familiarity and habits he had developed there gave him the reassurance that the unknown he was stepping into didn't.

The taxi driver glanced at him through the rear-view mirror as they neared the famous Brooklyn Bridge before pressing on a button on his phone, the GPS still running and giving him the directions he had asked for.

"How's it going?" He spoke with a smile, one hand holding the steering wheel, the other one gripped the plastic coffee cup, ensuring that it was still warm enough to drink.

He wore large square glasses and a faux fur trapper hat. He seemed to be one of the very few, eager to welcome winter. Overall, he was a funny looking man.

"I'm good, thanks." Brandon replied, appreciative of the small talk he thought the driver was attempting to make.

The man gave, with a raised eyebrow, another look through the rear-view mirror. He didn't retort and focused back on the road, lowering the volume of the radio.

"What did you do today?"

"I was at the hospital but now, I'm going to see my wife." A little taken aback by his question, he responded sincerely, no longer looking through the window.

"At the airport?" The hat-wearing guy asked as if he already knew the answer and moved his head in a small nod.

Brandon's eyes moved around in confusion.

"No, I told you. The Hampton's. That's where we're headed."

Clicking his tongue, the man took a deep ragged breath.

"One second, honey." He said and quickly proceeded to remove the hat off his head, setting it aside.

Then, he turned around to look at Brandon.

"Excuse me but I'm kind of talking to my wife, here." He pointed at the bluetooth piece in his ear, lightly tapping it with his index finger.

He focused back on the road, setting the gearshift to a lower range. Silence spread through the automobile as the brown-haired man stared at the back of the driver's head, dumbfounded. What kind of sorcery was that?

"To— to your wife?" His question came in an amused and intrigued tone, thinking for a second that the man was messing with him.

"Yes, to my wife." He acquiesced with a crack of a smile.

Conversing with her must have put him in a good mood as most people would have gotten frustrated and wouldn't have taken the time to reply.

His wife, as a matter of fact, was currently on a seminary in another country and they had finally managed to find an hour in the day that worked for both timezones. The day had only began where he was but for her, it was already time to go to sleep.

Brandon let out a sneer. Decidedly, he wasn't at the end of his surprises. He leaned forward and gestured to the device with his hand.

"Your wife is in there?"

To say that he was amazed was an understatement. He had never seen anything like this in his life. How could he be talking to someone else with an earpiece? And without any cable? How had he dialed the number? It was only a reminder that he still had a lot to learn.

But, if he had not wanted to look like an extraterrestrial that had just marched on Earth, the plan had certainly been thrown out of the window.

If anything, he was making himself look like one of those older people that genuinely had no knowledge whatsoever when it came to technology or keeping up with the times.

"Yeah, yeah. She's in there." Replied the chauffeur, inclining his head in his direction momentarily.

Brandon mumbled incorrectly as they took a turn. The man hadn't actually enquired about him, he was simply talking to someone else. Well, that was embarrassing.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry." He finally said with a wave of his hand.

The other man in the front seat ignored him this time and all his attention went back to his wife on the other end of the line.

"Hey, babe. What were you saying?"

He lifted his free arm to adjust the volume of the radio, setting it on a higher volume to occupy his passenger who was now looking back out the window. He remained fascinated by the beauty of the views that were offered to him, searching for familiarity.

The city held the same je ne sais quoi that it always had but a lot of it had changed. More modern buildings had been built and he could hardly recognize any of the restaurants or shops they were driving past.

Nevertheless, New York was in-temporal, it would always remain and feel unaltered, no matter how many changes the city would encounter or the amount of years and decades that went by. It would never stop being his second home, the place that had welcomed him and his family with wide-open arms.

It was only a couple of minutes later when the car came to an abrupt stop, only a few feet from the light that had just turned green.

Brandon was brought out of his reverie by the aggressive sound of the wheels screeching and the driver honking at a woman who had crossed the street without looking around the environment that surrounded her.

She held her hand up in front of the windshield, a little too late, perhaps, as if doing so would protect her from the potential shock. She uttered something in a high-pitched tone and looked back ahead of her, keeping a firm grip on her handbag.

Her washed-out white trench coat hung loosely on her body as she trotted to the other side of the pavement, clearing a path in-between the stopped cars while the taxi driver opened the window to yell a profanity at her.

"Come back here, you!" A bald man growled between clenched teeth, walking briskly behind her.

His hands were in his pockets and he appeared to be chasing after her. If his agitation was any indication to his frame of mind, he was not pleased by the goings-on.

The ex-FBI agent had turned on his side, watching the commotion attentively through the opposed window. Everybody else had gone back to attending their own business except for him. The automobilist was grumbling under his breath, a little panicked by how close he had been to hitting somebody with his car so early in the day.

The blonde woman looked disoriented and something about her continued to grip his attention. He knew the look on her face all too well, he had seen many of them throughout his career. She was distressed and something in his gut told him that she needed help.

His suspicions were immediately proven right when he heard a yelp escape from the other side of the street.

As it turned out, the woman was trying to free herself from the imposing man in-all black clothing. Was he trying to steal her bag? Were they married or lovers in a tumultuous relationship? Did they even know one another?

Pushing the man away from her, she grunted. Her handbag flew to hit him in the torso and there, he took a firm grip of her arm, almost crushing it.

When she stood shakily in front of him, helpless, the man swung his fist into her stomach, hitting her with all his strength. He let go of her and at this point, all she could do was bend over, crossing her arms in front of her before eventually collapsing onto the ground, in excruciating pain.

Despite the bright lights on his side of the road, the corner in which the couple was arguing was far more obscure, making it harder to discern the events that could potentially occur.

Thankfully, not one fraction of second had gone unnoticed by the brown-haired man who hastened to open the car door without hesitation. He stepped out and closed the door behind him under the gaze of the skeptical chauffeur who was not appreciating what he was witnessing.

"Sir! Hey!" He called out, turning around in his seat and extended his arm.

Upon receiving no answer from his passenger, he too opened his door, letting one of his foot touch the ground.

"You have to pay!" He interjected, moving his upper body further outside of the vehicle.

His eyes hadn't left Brandon who was still not deigning to say a word to him, too focused on the tortured woman. When something was on his mind, it was a difficult task to get him to concentrate on something else.

The light turned green and before anything else could happen, all the other drivers began honking at the driver for blocking traffic and making it impossible for them to go on with their day. They insisted, impatient and a cacophony soon disturbed the thoroughfare.

"Enough, goddammit! Enough! I'm moving." He yelled, making big gestures with his arms, conceding to the blending shrilling sounds.

However, that was not without mumbling another profanity under his breath when he got back into his car, slamming the door shut. Not only had he lost his time, had been disrupted from talking to his wife but he had not gotten the money he should've earned. Today was starting off on a wrong note for him.

As he pressed his foot on the accelerator pedal, Brandon, on the other hand, was running towards the man and woman that had moved deeper down the end of the street.

The blonde had managed to get back on her feet and was struggling to keep her balance while the man held her hair in his hand, staring at her with fury in his eyes.

"Stop with your fucking lies!" He warned her. "What's your problem, huh?"

His face had gotten red with rage, too caught up in his dispute to notice the bearded man approaching them.

"Hey! Hey!" Brandon exclaimed.

"What's your problem?" The baldheaded repeated, punching the woman right across the face.

She let out a scream and the force led to another expected fall. This time, she laid unresponsive by his feet, coat revealing her pale shoulder and the spaghetti strap of her top.

"What the fuck are you doing? Where do you think you are?" Brandon asked, anger taking over him.

He was now walking, only a few meters from the stranger. His left hand held the leather bag that Conran and Ariel had gotten him.

"That's none of your business. Do you want the same too?" Pointing his finger at him, the guy fired back, threatening to give him the equal treatment than the one he had given to the poor lady.

"Get lost." He added and turned on his heel to give his attention back to the woman he'd just beaten.

Brandon's voice interrupted him as he held his index finger of his free hand. "Actually, I do want that, too."

"What?" The man turned around, confused by the conversation.

With a hand gesture, he spoke again, in a way that made him look like he belonged in the streets.

"I'll have what she had." He gave the person facing him an insincere smile, mocking his attitude.

"Yo, catch that!" He laughed and stepped forward, throwing his bag right in the bald man's arms.

The latter caught the bag and remained still, having not yet registered what was happening. In this position, his face was revealed to Brandon and he could plainly see the wrinkles on his forehead, indicating that he was well over fifty and there was something in his features that made him think that he was perhaps Russian or Ukrainian.

Before he had time to do anything else, Brandon launched at him and jumped, knocking him over the head. The guy almost twisted in the air before crashing miserably on the ground, in the fetal position near the unconscious female. He covered his eyes with his hand, grunting and wincing in pain.

Taking advantage of his weakness, he bent down over to the woman's side, gently wrapping his arms around her. He pushed her scarf away from her neck to ensure that it wasn't constricting her throat. Afterwards, he brushed the hair away from her face, stroking a couple of golden locks back.

Looking at her at this very moment, as a father and husband, he couldn't help but let his mind wander to his wife and daughter. He didn't know the stranger lying in his arms but she was making him think of the women in his life and how much he'd appreciate that somebody went to their rescue if something like this ever happened to them. Which he prayed with all his being that it wouldn't.

For all he knew, she could have been somebody's mother, sister and she was after all, somebody's daughter. How could he have watched this horrible scene unfold and not jumped to her aid?

"Miss, can you hear me?" He asked, resting his hand on her leg.

Just then, the bandit glared at him and the siren of a police car resounded in the darkness of the early morning. His eyes widened as he continued to grunt.

And, when he caught the sight of the vehicle venturing down the street, he got back on his feet with difficulty, fleeing the scene with his hand covering his nose before the policemen stopped by the pavement.

He was long gone by the time the doors opened in synchronization.

"I'm taking you to the hospital." Brandon whispered to the lady, his hand sliding under her thigh to get a firmer grip so that he could elevate her.

Unfortunately, he'd barely had time to gather his strength and straightened up that three armed men rushed in his direction. They pointed their guns to his back, looking satisfied to have caught a culprit in the act.

Someone had alerted them and as they had been on patrol in the neighborhood, they'd arrived as fast as they could. Brandon had simply been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

"Police! Hands on your head!" They shouted. One of the men's voice even broke mid-sentence from how loud he had spoken.

He froze, his blood rushing to his head. He carefully unwrapped one of his arms from around the blonde's body, progressively lifting one hand into the air, cooperating with the order he was being given. He could sense the guns aiming directly at his back.

"Put your hands on your head!" One of the trio repeated.

"Alright, alright!" The brown-haired man yelled back.

Slowly, he situated the female back down, not wanting her to hit the floor once more. His hand that had been in the air, came to delicately lay on her side.

Her eyes opened as blood dripped down her nose directly over her Cupid's Bow and she watched Brandon with both fear and gratefulness. She let out an inaudible breath, her eyes rolling in her head and her head falling back.

"Don't worry, you're in good hands now. Somebody will take care of you." He reassured her, removing his other arm from underneath her and raising both hands to place them on the back of his head, as demanded.

His wedding band that he'd gotten back from Juliet sparkled from the street light reverberating right upon it.

He'd barely had the time to think that two of the policemen approached him, one of them resting their gun directly against his leather jacket while his colleagues harshly brought his arms behind his back, handcuffing him. They'd expected him to wrestle but were pleasantly surprised when all he did was comply.

"Get up!" They told him.

"Take care of her, goddamnit!" The ex-FBI agent instructed with a movement of his head, not at all pleased by the carelessness the trio were exhibiting.

There was a victim lying on the ground and their main preoccupation was to give their attention to him?

"Go on, do something!"

Using his leather jacket as a blanket to keep himself warm as he napped, Brandon laid with one leg bent on the uncomfortable bench in the cold cell. He'd spent all of his morning and the beginning of his afternoon there, at the police station and boredom had began to catch up on him, tiring him out.

Right on top of him, on a built-in shelf laid a large pile of documents that the man sitting at the opposite end of the seat he shared wouldn't stop staring at. The individual was bizarre, sitting against the wall, facing him as he played with his fingernails, a hood over his head and swaddled into a large dirty Moncler.

When he'd first entered the confined room, Brandon had entertained himself by attempting to guess what was the reason behind his cell companion's arrest.

Solely based on his looks, he'd assumed that it had something to do with having being caught possessing something he shouldn't have.

The sound of the door being unlocked came to interrupt the weighting silence as an Asian woman wearing an uniform glissaded aside to make way for a much taller young man. She juggled with her keys before squeezing them into her hand and waited patiently.

"Brandon Hart?" The young man called, standing by the entrance of the cell.

He wore a dark blue cardigan on top of a lighter blue top and his general attitude suggested that he was a confident and friendly man who had little experience in the field.

Startled after he'd heard his name, Brandon jumped up and quickly sat up, pushing his jacket off his body using his forearms. He rubbed his eyes, grogginess in his voice.

Then, he turned his body to face the person that had just spoken to him all the while wiping his mouth to verify that there hadn't been any drooling incident in the past hour.

"Yes?"

"Detective Nolan Davenport. Captain Falcon has asked me to get you out of here." He explained with a faint rictus.

"That's very nice of him." Brandon snickered with his atypical sense of humor.

The rays of sunshine coming through the small window cast a shadow over his face. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at the man in the down jacket that still hadn't moved, almost frozen like a statue.

"Good luck." He told him, taking a hold of his own piece of clothing.

He then got up and pulled at his shirt, holding the hem of the sleeve to facilitate putting on the jacket. There was nothing he hated more than having his shirt rolling up underneath his coat. He walked out of the cell under the supervision of the young detective.

"You don't happen to have a cigarette, by any chance?" The brown-haired man requested as he adjusted the collar of the jacket he'd just put on.

"Smoking is forbidden here, sir." Nolan was dumbstruck by the cheekiness of his question. He shook his head as the two of them advanced further into the corridor.

"Okay. At least I'd have tried." He chuckled. "Is Conran here?"

"No, Captain Falcon is at a meeting with the mayor." He informed him, rounding a corner that justly displayed a cigarette ban logo.

A policeman exited a room and followed behind them for a minute before turning to another direction.

Brandon contented to nod in response, zipping his attire. "Have you found the guy who assaulted the woman?"

The detective's eyebrows went up as he tilted his head. "Ah, according to her... you're the one who assaulted her. Which she didn't fail to mention when she pressed charges."

Hearing that, Brandon couldn't help but come to a stop. He remained on his spot while the younger man carried on with his walk.

"You're kidding, right?" He questioned, his eyes darkened in shock, feeling as though the sky had fallen upon him.

"Me? Not, really. But I do make jokes and you'd look be laughing a lot more if I had just made one." The law enforcer scoffed, pivoting to look at the confused man behind him.

"And", he began with his finger held up in the air, "as per her deposition... you were the only one there."

A couple of police officers dressed as civilians moved around the room they were standing in, some were discussing with one another whereas others were looking at computer screens or rummaging through large and heavy binders.

Not caring about standing in the way, the middle-aged man continued to stare ahead of him with an astonished look upon his face. His features highlighted his growing indignation.

"But... she's lying!" His answer came in a much softer and calmer note than he had expected. He gestured with his hand and hurried to walk up towards the detective.

"Re-interrogate her!" Brandon declared with a frown. They arrived inside another fuller room and beside the desk Nolan occupied.

"That won't be necessary. We'll manage from here." The other brown-haired man retorted. "Should we take you back to the hospital?"

"Hell no! I'd rather die." Shaking his head vigorously, he shuddered at the thought. He would make sure to never set a foot back in that place.

"Are we good now? Can... can I go?" He asked, hopeful, pointing behind him with his thumb.

"Yeah, sure." Nolan smiled. "William?" He called out over his shoulder to a man whose back was facing them as he leaned on a desk, conversing with one of his colleagues.

"Can you return the gentleman's personal effects, please?"

The law enforcer turned around after hearing his name and acquiesed just as a fellow man strongly held and pushed somebody towards the interrogation room.

They were howling about their innocence but received no acknowledgment in response. At this time of day and year, the station was swarmed with all sort of interesting individuals.

Brandon followed after William, ruffling his hair and stretching. His back was hurting from sleeping on such a hard surface and he couldn't wait to get some fresh air.

Things had taken a turn he hadn't quite expected and getting locked up so soon after leaving the hospital hadn't exactly been part of his plans. Was he ever going to be able to go in and out of a place on his own accord?

Once the two left the room, Nolan moved to the other corner of the room and towards his partner.

"Gabs?" There seemed to be something troubling him.

"Yeah?" She said with a smile, looking up from her desk.

When she saw the look on his face, however, concern promptly took over. She righted herself up, pulling at her flannel button down shirt.

"Regarding Victoria Reyes…" He initiated as he rounded her and came to an halt on her right.

"This morning's assault?"

"Yes. Go pay her a visit." He told her, glancing down at her desk momentarily.

"Claim it's an ordinary procedure. Then ask her exactly what happened." Insisting on the last few words, he held his thumb in between his index finger, gently moving it up and down.

"Why? Is there a problem?" Gabrielle asked in skepticism, eyeing the door where Brandon had walked out.

There was a pause. He looked at her and moved his mouth from side to side. Next, he exhaled.

"I don't know yet."

The motel wasn't situated in the greatest neighborhood. In fact, it was an area of the city that he wouldn't recommend to visitors that looked to be taking in some scenery.

But much like any big city, New York wasn't simply filled with picture-worthy corners and the least dangerous boroughs were very expensive. Too expensive for a man who'd just woken up from a coma after twenty years of inactivity.

He had always known the Big Apple for being a touristic destination but he had witnessed as he looked for a place to accommodate him until he'd get back on his feet that tourism had tripled in the past twenty years. As sad as it was, he thought of it as a good thing.

After the attacks in 2001, he'd have assumed that people would have been a little reticent at the idea of traveling there but terrorists hadn't won and it had given travelers another reason to visit the city: to pay their respects to the souls that had lost their lives on that terrible day.

He'd walked into several hotels, some of them were booked, others were too pricey for him. And just as he had been ready to give up, he'd found this one.

It looked old, insalubrious and he'd needed to take a double take to make sure that he had read it right when he'd seen the hotel sign on top of the door. Were people really paying money to sleep there? He'd gotten his answer almost right away. They were and he was about to become one of them.

Much like a book, the motel was best not to be judged by its cover. Sure, time had tumbled down the façade of the building and hygiene seemed questionable but dared he admit that it looked cosy? And it was right beside a kebab restaurant. He wouldn't need to go very far if he wanted to eat something.

As he followed the aging gentleman and owner of the building, he discovered that he had made the right choice. Not only was the price more than reasonable but that way, he wouldn't need to crash at Conran's or be a burden on anyone's shoulders. It was the last thing he wanted and he was glad that this option was finally out the window.

"Eh, I'm sorry." The old man said, fumbling with the key in his hand.

His age was perceptible in his voice and he sounded as old as he looked. His clothing made him look as though he hadn't quite transitioned to the past five decades.

"It's not... it's not very modern." He proceeded as they finally reached the last room down the hall.

"Uh-huh." Brandon agreed, stopping behind him.

"And it's the only one left." Remarked the owner, turning to look at him as he bent down to reach the lock, his back stiff, transporting a big hunch.

At that, the younger man could only laugh.

"You know, when it comes to modernity, I'm not very selective."

"Christ almighty!" The octogenarian grumbled to himself, not succeeding with opening the door as the key he held in his trembling hands refused to get inside.

"I think it's the other way around."

Brandon moved forward and reached for the key in his hand. He turned it upside down and twisted it. Immediately, the door opened.

"Ah, thanks." The motel owner gently patted his arm as a way to thank him and they both entered the room.

The outdated light floral wallpaper hadn't been touched since it had first been put up. To the exception of having being cleaned now and again. The rest of the room was similar, the furniture was old and none of them matched the other.

There were a lot of shelves, even a minuscule kitchen area and the bed looked like it belonged to someone's grandparents from the late seventies. But it was large and the mattress appeared to be comfortable.

For someone who'd been born in the past twenty years, it'd have been like walking inside the set of a period movie. But to him, it looked like something he had always known.

There was an obvious gap between him and the life as people lived it now, he'd witnessed the inadequacy when he'd been amazed by the tools they used or the way they acted. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was running in parallel to everything. It proved that he had underestimated how laborious his transition and adaption would be.

Things had changed and they were going to require him to be careful if he wanted to stay out of trouble and avoid another bad episode like the one he'd lived just a couple of hours earlier.

"Wow, indeed." He let out, referring to his comment about it not being modern. His mouth hung open while his eyes scanned every detail of the apartment in front of him.

"Do you like it?" Urged the man before him, leaning against the door for support.

He struggled to keep his balance but rejected to use anything that could help him with that, affirming that it was something for old people and he didn't feel like one.

"Super!" Brandon grinned, striding further inside his new home.

"And if it's the last one, it's even better." He set his bag down on the chair, in the middle of the room.

"I'll see you soon." The retiree extended his hand for him to shake.

"Thank you kindly."

"Have a good stay, Mr. Hart."

Brandon shivered, pressing the cigarette to his chapped lips as the rich benignant smoke eddied coldly down his throat. His eyes were contaminated by a thrilling mix of fear and excitation.

The sweet toxins filled his lungs and he exhaled his stress in rings that breasted the air for a moment, in a cloud of white and grey fume. It swirled like a ballerina in the dull sky, devouring everything eagerly in its delicate path before fading into nothingness.

He'd always had a thing for danger and, having flirted with death, he acknowledged that breaking from this bad habit wouldn't be an easy feat.

As tendrils of the toxic substance swirled up in his lungs, some residual hung around him, shifting like the ghosts of his past in the autumn gust. It obscured his surroundings like a fog and he was quick to take another drag. The substance was a ribbon of death but yet, he felt the most alive.

He gazed, transfixed as the thin folds of the white tendrils of burning toxins ebbed away. There was something mysterious and exalting about the moment, the opening of a new chapter, led by the christening of his sin.

It brought a sweet rush to his body and he felt the sweet burning sensation curling throughout his throat, ripping its way to his head. But what was even paralyzing to him was the woman he was about to see, the delight in the depth of his abyss.

Ironically, he needed the strength the cigarette was giving him to come face to face with her again, after months of quietude between the pair.

He'd trimmed his beard for her — not shaved, she'd forbidden him to ever do such a thing, preferring him with some facial hair — for he wanted to make a good impression on her and to look presentable. He wasn't sure what to expect from their encounter nor if she'd appreciate him coming over unannounced.

He sat on a high wall, a river behind him. The movements of the water soothed his rapid heartbeat. She'd always wanted a place like this, facing a source of water. He was happy for her that she'd gotten her wish even if he regretted not being the one who'd made it come true.

He smiled to himself, imagining the joy she'd felt the day she'd found the house and purchased it.

Despite the location, there was something about it that reminded him of Oklahoma and her roots; it was was no wonder that she had fallen in love with it. From his outside perspective, he knew that the cottage-inspired house was a good match for her.

It was unclear to him how he wanted the conversation they'd have to play out. Of course, he wasn't hoping that she'd throw her arms around his neck, kiss him with abandon as she begged him to pick up where they had left off or... maybe that was his problem, he wished for her to do just that.

Yet, one thing was for certain: he needed to see where she lived for himself. He wouldn't be able to obtain a peace of mind without knowing once and for all.

In a way, being there was like getting a sneak peek into her life, of what kind of person life had shaped her into. It showed the things she liked and could possibly reveal more than some words could.

He was unapologetically curious to see what was the place the mother of his daughter had called home while he was sleeping. To him, it'd reveal if he had lost her, if she was still the Ariel he had once known.

As best as he could, he tried to prepare himself for the possible bitter blow he could receive. After all, it'd remind him that the present was different than his version of reality. It'd divulge a lot, maybe too much and he prayed with all his might that he was emotionally ready for that.

After his cigarette had become nothing but a tiny piece of white paper, he contemplated the tip before crashing it against the wall beside him.

Captured by an impetus of courage, he jumped back to his feet and crossed the empty street, reaching the gates of the beautiful property.

Standing in front of it, he was hesitant to push it open at first, but a voice inside of him never ceased to repeat that he hadn't gone this far to retrace his steps now.

He looked up at the window, hoping to see her from his spot but no one came to view. Before he knew it, he'd made his way inside her garden and towards the stairs that led to the main entrance. He spotted her car in the corner and knew that she was home. Unless it belonged to Juliet, he didn't really have any idea.

The sound of his boots hitting the last step filled his ears as he gulped. He'd made it. The moment had come. All he had to do now was ring the bell and she'd appear. He had been anticipating this instant for months, though it felt like he'd waited all his life for this it, for her.

His heart was ready to jump out of his chest and his eyes were on the edge of watering. He refused to be this nervous around the only woman he'd ever loved but everything was beyond his control.

Brandon peered through the window of the door only to deviate his head to the side, sighing and ready to take off running and jump in the first taxi he could find. But he owed it to himself to be courageous, he'd already shown his resilience countless times now, why would he stop now?

Almost like a deficient robot, he gradually lifted his arm until it was at the same level as the door bell. Soon, his finger applied a pressure on the button and the ringing punctured the air. He had done it.

Inhaling deeply, he dropped his hands to his side and took a step back, letting himself lean against the railing of her outside stairs. Contrary to what he had imagined, time did not freeze.

In reality, he would've sworn it had been fast-forwarded. The door swung open while panic rushed through his veins and the silhouette of a petite redhead was revealed.

He breathed loudly and awaited a reaction. Ariel, on the other hand, nearly jumped back at the unexpected sight of the familiar face that had come to her. Her eyebrows went up in surprise and she let out a muffled gasp.

"Bran!" She rasped out in a creaky voice.

Despite her attempt to cover it, he instantly noticed that she wasn't as euphoric about seeing him there as he'd have wanted her to be. He could sense her distress by just looking deep into her eyes.

"W—what are you doing here?" She asked him, her eyes still widened.

It seemed as though she was contracting her upper body, her collarbones more prominent than they usually were and her breathing was almost retrained.

"Did you get out of the hospital?"

It was more of a rhetorical question than anything else. Her clumsy way of asking him when he had been released.

Brandon nodded with a smile. "Yes, yesterday morning."

He was tempted to mention that he would have gladly visited her sooner but he doubted it'd have made a difference. And if he had to be honest, he didn't want her to know about the incident he'd had with the police.

There was a long silence. They looked at one another with such intensity that their eyes could have nearly pierced through one another.

"I... was just curious to see where you lived, that's all." He finally spoke.

Just as her mouth was about to curve, there was an agitation coming from behind her. They broke eye contact and both their hearts dropped to their feet.

"Honey? Who is it?" Enquired a man in his boxers, from the living room.