It was dark, cold, and snowing outside the window of the small Chicago apartment. Inside the apartment, it had light breezes permeating through the still air to match the shallow breaths in the room. The numbers 02:31 shone brightly in red through the cut of the street lamp from outside, seeping in through the window.

His forehead felt the crisp winds of the Chicago air through the glass, his eyes drifting from the sullen road to the still body highlighted in the center of the room. He had let her lead him; he let her set the pace. She guided him to the edge and back, leaving him wanting more.

He let his gaze shift back to the street lamp below, glistening the white snow into glamorous beauty as he realized that was one of the things that had made him love Chicago. He settled back into the crook of the window and the wall, closing his eyes to relish in the events that had taken place. Chicago was much like him, forever changing.

He pulled his knees tight to his chest, his thin white t-shirt and boxers not nearly enough to keep him even the slightest bit warm in the chill of the night.

Sam shuffled in the sheets, pulling the comforter high to her chin to gather all of the possible warmth around her. She was hardly used to sleeping alone, but even that it just didn't feel right. She glanced to the other side of the bed, reaching up to rub her eyes and noting that she was alone again for the 92nd straight night.

"Luka," she spoke his name barely audible, almost certain that it was useless to speak his name in an attempt to draw him back to her. She didn't have a clue whether she expected to find him there with her or gone.

He lifted his head from the glass upon hearing his name, looking over at her with pursed lips. He slid his knee away from his chest, standing slowly to his feet to cross the room. Hearing her voice quietly stirred him from his thoughts, bringing his attention to the only thing in the room that he wanted to settle his eyes on.

"Yeah," he said gently, pressing his knee against the edge of the bed while reaching to her and sliding his fingertips over her arm. She turned her head to the direction that his touch came from, almost instantly feeling warmth, or just him. She wasn't even sure anymore.

"I wasn't sure if you'd already left."

"I couldn't," he said softly, shaking his head. He brushed the hair from her face, his fingers quickly returning to her arm. He tapped his fingertips gently against her skin as he moved his hand down her body to entwine their fingers, his hand overlapping hers. "I couldn't leave yet; I couldn't leave you yet."

She laid silently, his arm protectively wrapped around her as they were divulged deep into the sea of blankets covering the bed. Her cold legs entwined his cold leg, her back drowning in the mattress as her hair angelically flowed over the pillow behind her head. She looked up at him, her eyes drifting towards the window and back to him, his cheek blending into the pillow beside hers.

She pursed her lips together, his exhale fluttering across her shoulder and sending her body into a slight wave full of chills.

"What were you thinking about?"

Luka narrowed his eyes at her, trying to think of what he'd actually been thinking about with his head pressed against the window. He could have been thinking of Chicago, the cold winds and the snowy roads. He could have been thinking of work, his colleagues and the friends that he'd acquired there. But if he was honest with her, and himself, he was thinking of her.

He thought about her often, but rarely did he have the chance to tell her that.

"I wasn't thinking about anything," he smiled slightly, his index finger drawing circles on the palm of her hand. He paused for a moment, knowing that he'd been thinking of more than just her; he'd been thinking about him, too. "I was just sitting."

"Luka," she'd done it again; used than warning tone that he was beginning to despise. He had to consider that every time that tone was used he knew to stop, that he was going into territory that she'd rather not venture into and maybe even a territory that he'd rather not be in either. Except this time it wasn't about that, it was about something else. "I know that you were thinking about something."

"It wasn't anything important," he smiled reassuringly. He faltered under her meaningful gaze, the disbelieving look on her face telling him that she really didn't believe him otherwise. He pursed his lips together, preparing himself to speak, when his pager started vibrating from the floor.

He heard her sigh in slight disappointment as he sat up to reach for his pager off of the floor. He glanced at the screen of his pager, biting his bottom lip to hold back a groan of anger when he saw that it was a page from work. He stood up slowly to pull his black slacks on, glancing at her lying on the bed.

"It's work. There was a big crash," he muttered with a sigh, buttoning his pants and pulling up the zipper. He pulled his shirt over his shoulders and fiddled with the bottom button, looking at her through narrowed eyes. He paused, dropping his shirt to reach up and scratch his temple, and he exhaled in slight exasperation. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Huh?" She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, rubbing her eyes again. Her mind caught up to what he was asking her, and she shook her head. "No…They need you at work. Work comes first."

"Right," he agreed reluctantly with a nod of his head. He sighed, beginning to button his shirt again, and he stepped towards her bundled in the blankets on the bed. "It doesn't have to be like that, you know?"

"Don't, Luka," she closed her eyes momentarily, sitting up and holding the blankets tight to her chest to keep her body from being shown to the room. She stopped, silence over taking them while she began tracing the pattern of her comforter. Her slightly drawn out breaths directed his eyes to lock on her.

He dressed in silence, his eyes being torn from her as he bent down to pick up his shoes. He sat on the bed to pull his boots on and to tie them, finding himself more hurt by the fact that she was unwilling to even except his silent pleas. It was almost tearing him apart inside.

Her own pain was knowing that when he walked out of that door it may be the last conversation they have, the last time she felt his arms around her, the last time she felt his hands on her, the last she felt his lips on her. She missed him, and he was still in the same room. She felt like she was full of secrets, keeping them all hidden and locked away.

"Sam," he nearly whispered, sitting upright and glancing back at her while he nervously scratched his forehead. He saw her eyes drift up to him, the glaze in them making his heart wrench, and she clutched the blankets tighter to her chest. "You know how I feel about you. You've always known."

"It doesn't work like that."

"But it does work like that, Sam. That's all it takes for 2 people to be together," he sighed, his palm pressing against his forehead. He didn't know what to say to her anymore, and he was beginning to get angry with himself. He knew that it was useless to say those things to her, but he didn't want to give up all together. "It's useless. Forget I said anything."

"It isn't useless," she gently shook her head, his narrowed gaze piercing through her as he turned his head to look at her. That was almost her invitation, but he passed it up just letting himself look at her and grateful for the chance to do that. "It's just, there's more to it than you and me."

"Sam…"

They looked at each other for a long second, her phone ringing breaking the intense gaze between them. She offered him a smile as he stood up and she answered her phone only to find herself doing the same thing that he was doing. She, too, found herself getting ready to go into work, where she had to face not only him but everyone else she knew.

It was complicated because secrets always seemed to make it that way.