"I haven't had sex in 2015."

Dean had been thinking about something – and Seth realized that he lost his attention about two minutes ago – but Seth hardly expected this statement to be summing up Dean's concerns. Besides, Seth did not ask him about it; he wasn't that interested in knowing. That became clear when Seth reacted to the new information with furrowed eyebrows and an expression that suggested he felt uncomfortable. As if it weren't enough, now Dean was looking at Seth, as if expecting a verbal reaction. What was there to say? "When I asked you if we should do something tonight . . . uhm . . ." Some kind of block was preventing him from being honest. "I did . . ." Another pause. "I did not mean like . . ." He was going to officially stop trying to clarify his original intentions, but then he realized he had to make himself absolutely clear. "When I asked if you wanted us to do something together tonight . . . I certainly did not mean –"

"Hey! Hey!" Dean interrupted him, shouting and holding his hands up in defense. "Neither did I. It's just a, you know, sudden realization," he explained. That was true. It's been about one and a half months since he broke up with Renee. Thoughts about that action and its consequences filled his mind often, yet the more practical side of it occurred to him only now. The last time he got intimate with someone was at the end of December, and it was with his then-girlfriend. Surely, he wasn't looking for a replacement – and he stressed it to Roman, especially – but . . . damn, it was already half of February and he got no action at all.

"Oh, okay," Seth replied, but the discomfort did not leave him.

"Have you?" Dean suddenly asked, with his eyes focusing on the guy standing in front of him.

Seth was necessarily avoiding an eye contact. His hands were in the pockets of his tight jeans – now he was realizing that they were maybe too tight – while his eyes stared at the floor. But Dean was posing his demands on him and Seth had to look up. In an abrupt, unfocused kind of way, he said, "Yeah."

"Cool . . . cool," Dean kept repeating casually, as though that answer did not interest him much anyway. He nodded. "So . . . ?"

"Tell me you're seriously not gonna open this topic. We're way too sober for that."

"No, no. No! I . . . I mean, I'm not interested in your sexual life."

"Good."

Dean was slowly regaining the confidence he lost because of the unfortunate topic he had chosen. Now he realized he didn't really care that much what Seth would think, and admitted the truth. "But I'm kinda interested in mine. And . . . there's not much happening there. To be completely honest, it's dead."

"Again, Dean, way too sober . . ." told him Seth.

Now Dean stopped caring about Seth's sentiments and how uncomfortable was this conversation making him, and continued with revealing his concerns and desires. "It's been so long. And, damn it, I have needs."

"What do you expect from me? Seriously!"

"From you, nothing," Dean said to calm him down. "Don't worry. I'm just mentioning it because you asked about tonight . . . and, to be fair, there's only one thing I'd really wanna do."

"You could've just said that you've already made plans."

"But I don't have any," Dean cried, feeling really misunderstood. And desperate pretty much too. "It's Valentine's Day! I'm stuck in the United Arab Emirates, and my best prospects for tonight are going to bed early and get some sleep." Before causing any confusion he added, "And that's not what I wanna do."

"You wanna get laid?" Seth guessed.

Dean mimicked crying. "It's been 45 days. But it's not like it's gonna happen here." He sighed. "Dammit! I haven't seen woman's breasts since I stepped foot in this country. No cleavage, no low-cut tops . . . no butts!"

"You can always watch porn and masturbate," Set reminded him.

Dean stopped wining and put on a serious look. Then, two seconds later, he smiled. "I'm looking for something more interactive than that."

"I feel ya, but unfortunately you'll have to wait till we get home."

Seth's casualness over the topic perplexed Dean. He would suppose his buddy would feel similarly. Conditions were set that way: it was Valentine's Day and they were alone. Needless to say, they couldn't do anything about it. "I thought you'd be more irritated by having to spend this holiday by yourself. . . . Or you're enjoying being single?" Dean wondered if that were true. "You felt differently two months ago," he reminded him the Christmas Day break-down. Even before that, it was the day of Dean's birthday party, Seth found it difficult to be around two people so much in love.

"Two months ago," Seth stressed. Yeah, it's been a while. He would not spend forever stuck in that shitty period. Besides, it was the holidays that had taken its toll on his mood then. Now it was New Year, new plans, perfect job performance. The world was looking good. Prospects for future took pink shades as it was looking really bright at the moment, and there was no reason for it to change. Seth believed that there awaited positive change for Dean as well. "I went through what you're going through now. Trust me, it'll get better."

"It's great as it is," Dean said. "I just have this need to fuck the next person I see." That statement had too wide implication, Dean realized, so he narrowed it down. "But that person can't have a dick. . . That's what I'm bringing into the relationship," he joked.

Seth lingered on that poorly-chosen word, and Dean noticed the confusion he unintentionally caused. "You plan to start dating again?" Quiet and steady voice unveiled how Seth felt about it.

Fortunately, those were but spontaneous mistakes that existed only for Dean to avoid offensive language. "No. But I feel like I'm ready to start benefiting from being a single man."

"Really? It's been just one month."

"One and a half," Dean corrected Seth's liberal counting. But it wasn't just the time that has passed since the couple broke up, and Dean felt the need to stress the other – maybe even more important – factor too. "She hasn't quite turned to celibacy either. While I've been this year only with one woman – and I don't even mean sleeping with her – she's been with at least three guys. There may be more."

"You don't know if she's slept with both." He didn't, that was true. He took no interest in Greg or the other guy – the hockey player whose name he didn't even know.

"Look, honestly, I don't really want to know. My point here is, if she can go out with other people so shortly after we split, I can sleep with other women six weeks later."

"And you want to?" Seth posed a question with which he did not confuse Dean at all.

"Hell, yeah."

Seth should've formulated it differently, he realized, and tried again. "No. I mean, wouldn't it feel strange for you?" he raised his voice into a question even though he hasn't finished the thought yet. ". . . Won't you feel like cheating on her?" That was slightly better expressing Seth's concern.

Dean's furrowed eyebrows reflected the suspicion that Seth's question brought. "It won't be cheating," he said in a way that assumed Seth had forgotten and needed to be reminded of it.

"No, I know. But you've been together for . . . and now you're . . . you still love her," Seth started mingling different things so he ended up saying nothing to advance what was supposed to be something like an eye-opener for Dean. "It won't feel natural . . . probably."

Dean chuckled. "It's the most natural thing there is."

"Spending hours and days and weeks flirting with other girls until they surrender to you?"

First, Dean waited to see if Seth had more to say or that was really it, and then, after a-few-seconds-long pause, he superiorly looked at Seth, grinned, and said, "I don't know about your strategy, but my game doesn't take weeks," he repeated what he heard, "to get going. What I do is walk up to her, smile at her, compliment her appearance, joke, do this shit, do that shit, and then bam! . . . there she is, lying in my bed with her legs wide open." Seth would continue being taken aback by the straight-forwardness as Dean decided to reveal more. "I whisper something nice . . . she's calling out 'my' name," he said, adding the quotation marks to make it clear he wouldn't tell her his real name, ". . . the next thing I know, we're lying next to each other and I'm thinking of a way to get her out. Next, please!" Dean said. "Now, I know I haven't done it in a while, but I've still got it. . . . Say, there is a girl I don't know standing by the bar, ordering something. I'll get her to come with me before she gets her drink."

"That's not what I was asking," Seth quietly admitted, as he was embarrassed for failing at explaining himself clearly sooner and thus avoiding this detailed explanation of Dean's seducing game. But Seth quickly realized to get what he wanted he had to start playing the game Dean loved so much. Sarcastic, dominant, with a goal of devouring his opponent. "Consider this. You're there, fucking her, and then a picture of Renee pops into your head. What do you do?"

"Finish what I've started." Dean wouldn't let show any sign of weakness . . . on the outside . . . so Seth ended up as a loser regardless of the change in the game plan. But he succeeded in getting inside of Dean's head and planting that idea there. Dean knew that one thought about his ex-girlfriend could ruin the whole night for him. This thought led him to another one: has this ever happened to Renee? When she's with those other guys, does she ever think of Dean – intentionally or unintentionally? He would never find out, but he liked to think that he still occasionally appeared in her head.

In the end – even after he achieved victory – Dean decided to change the image that he created of himself. Those games he's been playing with Seth were fun, but they portrayed him as a jerk, and this time he did not feel like looking as one. "It's alright to move on, isn't it?" he posed a question at the beginning. "How long did it take for you to start sleeping around again?"

"I've never done that."

"Don't take everything I say literally," Dean advised him, being himself amused at how Seth took it for an insult. "And you know what I mean."

Seth sighed. He had to think about it first. "Well, it took longer than a month," he said, implying that Dean could wait a little longer.

"Alright, but that's different. Now, tell me when was the last time you had sex?"

Seth hesitated before answering, although this was an easier question.

"Yeah?"

"A couple of days ago?"

Dean couldn't hide how that impressed him. But before getting too cheerful, he wanted to know one more thing. "And before that?"

This conversation wasn't quite enjoyable for Seth, and he showed this by looking anywhere but directly at the person asking all those stupid questions. Still, he replied. "Look, would it be enough to say that in the past week – or before we came here – I had about five-times more sex than you?"

The corners of Dean's mouth jumped high as he was pleased by the new information. "Nice," he complimented his friend. "So you're back on track, huh?" Finally realizing Seth was not as keen on this conversation as himself, Dean concluded the topic, "But you see my point, don't you? I just really want to get laid." He supported what he saw not only as a desire but also a deep need by saying "I'd like to avoid awkward boners during a match . . . which would come at some point." And he said a bit more. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Wha- What?" Seth panicked.

"Look, at least I'm wearing jeans. . . . Okay, never mind. Let's just drop this topic. . . . So what was your question?"

"Was there a question?" Now Seth had no idea what Dean was talking about. He tended to jump from one topic into another without warning, and Seth sensed this was one of those times.

"You know," Dean explained, surprised that Seth struggled to understand, "That what we're doing tonight thing. . . ."

"Oh, that! Yeah, I asked . . . like a million of years ago."

"So we're doing something?" Dean asked, ignoring Seth's comments. "I guess we're not really going out . . . we could hang out in my room – or your room – and watch something or play something. . . . ." suggested Dean. He had a vague idea, and to be fair, he didn't feel like doing either of those things.

"I think there's a bar downstairs." It wasn't that easy with alcohol but they could always drink coke."

"Um, yeah, I guess, we could do that."

"Or do you want to do something with other guys too?"

"No." What Dean kept hiding was his jealousy that still existed. Being alone with Seth proved not to be a problem because they discussed wrestling rarely and thus it did not feel as being with his opponent but rather a friend. When there would be other wrestlers involved, the anger would rise and envy would prevail all the other emotions, realizing he was fighting for the Intercontinental Championship while other guys either have been or got their chance to become the WWE World Heavyweight Champion. . . . Okay, to be fair, that sentiment was absolutely illogical since the only top guy there was John Cena. But another factor in his decision to reject the idea completely was that if he were surrounded by other wrestlers, he would begin to act like the gimmick Dean Ambrose as a result. So no, if he were to spend tonight with someone, it would be only with Seth.

"Alright then. Now the question remains whether we want to stay upstairs or go downstairs among people."

A thought flashed through Dean's mind . . . spending Valentine's Day – or night, really – in a hotel room with Seth Rollins . . . "We'll see what we can get in that bar," Dean made a decision.

Seth nodded, but his attitude differed from Dean who came to see it strange that two dudes would be together on a holiday of love. Then again, maybe he was thinking about it too much. . . . They should not have discussed the sex topic, Dean realized.

"Should we meet downstairs in, say, twenty minutes? I need to pack and get ready."

"Get ready?"

Seth hesitated. "Do my hair," he quietly explained due to feeling embarrassed.

Consequently, Dean laughed. "Okay. Why don't you just knock on my door when you're ready," Dean suggested. "I kinda have this feeling it's gonna take longer than twenty minutes."

Seth faked a laugh to show how he hated those sarcastic jokes, and then headed to his room that was on the same floor but on the other end of the hallway.

As Dean was already standing in front of his room, he simply entered. The bag that he's been holding until now, with all the dirty clothes that he wore during the match, landed on the floor to Dean's left. It was right next to his other bags that he brought to Abu Dhabi with him. He wasn't sure what having to pack meant for Seth, but Dean had all his stuff ready. When he went somewhere, he rarely unpacked, and this strategy proved convenient and really time-saving to him.

When it came to getting ready for going out, there wasn't much he could do and even less that he was willing to do. Even if it were a date, his preparation would consist of putting on clothes, shaking his head from side to side to allow his hair to shape naturally, grabbing the wallet, phone, keys, and he'd be good to go. The whole process would take no more than three minutes – and that too only in case he can't find something.

Now he had good twenty minutes. He knew that by teasing Seth about his taking too long he created a challenge for him, but Dean had perhaps too little trust in his friend and his time-management skills to believe Seth would come in less than twenty minutes.

The room was supposed to look cozy but it was simply empty. Cold. He never meant to spend there more time than necessary. In front of the wardrobe was where he kept his bags; all piled up and ready to go. The only sign of humanity rested on the table. His laptop was asleep – or probably completely off by now – and even it needed to be turned on so that the light would give out an impression that this room was in fact inhabited. Dean did exactly that – moved over to his laptop and turned it back on. Honestly, he had to find something that would bend the time perception for him. He sat down in front of it and waited until it gets into the state when he's able to use it.

While waiting, he heard a beeping sound coming somewhere from the left. He turned to notice the light of his phone that was on the other side of the room. It occurred to him that he had probably forgotten to take it to the arena with him and it's been here the whole time. But now that the laptop was on, he chose to pay attention to it and ignore what his phone had to say.

Not that much later, it beeped again. Irritated by the repeating sound, Dean stood up and went over to it. He remained standing in front of the desk, looking angrily at his phone, as if daring it to beep again. It did. Now Dean grabbed it and squeezed it in his hand, meaning to punish it for its acting without being given orders. But finally Dean checked the reason behind it. It wasn't a message, it wasn't a missed call. It was a notification. Calendar notification. It was set for about two hours ago so it's been probably demanding attention ever since then. But Dean never used those and he had no plans other than that wrestling show that already happened. However irrational it seemed to him, he read the text.

Happy Valentine's Day, Titty Master.

Various feelings were stirring inside of him. Was that supposed to be a joke? Was it serious? What the hell? Who took his phone and set this message? When?

Unfortunately, it didn't say more. Would his friends dare to do it to piss him off? No, he wouldn't believe that. It'd be useless, and it wasn't that funny or offensive either. . . . So it had to be her.

Dean dropped the phone and ran toward his laptop. He opened a couple of social media websites until he found her online on one. But still he waited before writing to her.

Hi, he wrote after almost two minutes passed.

Of course he got no answer. It would be strange to see her wanting to talk to him.

Besides, the deadline passed. He wasn't aware of this, but yesterday was the last day he was supposed to give her a reason for their break-up. With all the things going on, he forgot what he "promised." But maybe she was aware of it, and now that she got an impression that he had no interest in explaining his actions to her, she did not want to talk to him at all. She herself said to him that she didn't want to spend Valentine's Day thinking about him. He did not mean to contact her either . . . but there was the message. . . . Most certainly she did not program it in recent past. It had to be old, if indeed she was the one behind it, but it existed. And Dean wanted to know for sure if it was her who did it. . . . Not that it would make him feel any better.

Renee? Please. I have only one question.

Still nothing. But she was still online so that was a good sign.

Ten seconds, that's all I'm asking for.

Now the answer arrived. Ok.

Thanks. So I got this message . . . or a notification or whatever. A Valentine wish. Is that from you?

Her reply was short. Lol

Ren, it was set as an event on my phone. It said "Happy Valentine's Day . . ." uhm, ". . . Titty Master." Did you set it?

He realized that she probably did because she did not write anything back. Only after a couple of seconds – actually, maybe even minutes. It's old.

So you did write it.

Long time ago. Delete it, please.

I'm not deleting it. Dean thought before continuing with the conversation. All he knew was that since he managed to get her to talk to him, he would not let her leave soon. Thank you, he wrote. He gave her time to reply but she didn't. Happy Valentine's Day to you too. While his was ending, he realized that it was probably about lunch time for her. You're busy? He asked. It was Saturday and it was Valentine's Day. She probably made plans. You have a date tonight? This became a one-way conversation that only he took part in. But she read it and that sufficed to him. Is it with that hockey player guy? Or with someone new?

No.

You can tell me, I don't mind. That was a huge lie, but he wanted to know.

I don't have a date tonight.

Oh.Dean wondered what was the reason. In order to find out, he played a you-deserve-better card. If we were together, I wouldn't leave you alone on Valentine's Day.

If we were together, you'd still be in Abu Dhabi so you would leave me alone.

Ok, so he didn't phrase it right. But if I were anywhere in the States . . . as those guys are. All was the way of finding out about her reason for being alone.

And finally she did reveal that information to him. I'm not seeing anyone.

A smile on Dean's face came as a natural reaction to the pleasing fact. But still, despite being happy, he wrote, Sorry about that.

Yeah. So I guess I'm gonna go now.

Wait! He didn't want her to leave. He wanted to find out more . . . or just talk to her. He knew all he could get was chatting, but he wished to really talk to her. It was always nice to hear her beautiful voice after a long day. And now it's been days since he heard her voice. He missed it. And – although it was hard to admit – he missed much more. It was Valentine's Day, for Christ's sake. He wasn't made of stone. Maybe before he wouldn't care, but after spending months being in a relationship, it was a bummer to be alone today.

While they were still together, it was probably in December, he thought about their future. It all interlocked with the whole marriage thing. It got him thinking . . . how they would be together, how they would get married, how they would spend holidays such as New Year's or Valentine's Day. Easter . . . his thoughts reached that far. Damn, he thought even about summer. There was a picture in his ahead about going away for a holiday, for a couple of days at least if they couldn't get a week off. They could go somewhere far . . . or to Hawaii. They could spend their summer holiday in the Caribbean . . . or go to New Zealand. The point was to go somewhere where they'd be alone and they could escape the curious eyes of the public. . . . Now he knew none of that would happen.

Today was such an average day. It didn't feel anything especial at all. And that was how he wanted it . . . until now. Until he saw the notification and realized it was from her. And now that he was talking to her he wished for more.

Finally he noticed the message from her. What? He wondered how long ago she sent it because he got a bit distracted.

You're still there? He asked.

Yep

However, those words that would keep her in this conversation did not come to him. Another pause came, and he had no idea how to fill the blank rectangle on the screen in front of him.

At least there was her to keep the discussion going. Maybe she had some interest in talking to him, after all. What are your plans for tonight?

He smiled when she wrote something on her own initiative. I'm going out with Seth.

Have fun, you two.

I'd rather be with you . . . to be honest.

I'm sure Seth's a good company, she wrote. Even for a Valentine's Day.

We're not doing anything Valentine-like. Just hanging out because we have nothing better to do.

Sounds like fun. I'm doing nothing at all, she revealed to him.

. . .

What?

Okay, it was impossible to understand was those dots were supposed to mean. It was just that he felt awkward asking straight. Why did you break up with the last guy? . . . If you don't mind telling me.

I didn't want to spend Valentine's Day with someone I don't exactly have feelings for.

Oh, ok. So you're getting back together later?

No, lol. We're not. I think I'll stay single for now, Renee admitted. How about you? You're with someone?

Clearly, she was just as curious as him. Until now, he thought only he was the one who wanted to know everything about her life even after they broke up. Perhaps she had the same necessity, he realized. I'm not really interested in dating now. To avoid being forced to discuss this topic further, he wrote, But it sucks being single on Valentine's Day.

Don't tell me you really feel that way.

Why? Because I'm not a romantic, sentimental kind of guy? Because I don't give a damn about love and don't like feeling loved?

Yeah, pretty much.

He wasn't sure whether she meant it as a joke or it was a reflection of her being angry at him. If you knew what I had planned for today. . . . He came to regret sending that text.

Picking up under-aged girls?

What?! That was offensive. No! He calmed down. And that's not what I meant at all. . . . I meant my plans with you.

We didn't have any plans.

We did, you just didn't know about them.

Dean, hearing about what could have been is the last way how I want to spend Valentine's Day. He wasn't sure whether objecting would be a clever thing to do so he decided to remain silent, feeling embarrassed for bringing it up and offended for her refusal to listen about it.

Well, it could have been incredible, he wrote. He shouldn't have, but he did.

Do you expect me to praise you for being such an amazing boyfriend? Because you've changed my opinion on you in the moment you decided to break up with me.

Sorry. He had nothing more to write. Dean even considered ending the chat and his whole activity online because he felt stupid and knew that Renee was getting mad at him. Now, that was the last way how he wanted to spend today . . . arguing with his ex.

But he remained logged in and waited for her to write more – as he knew she was typing. He anticipated angry comment, blaming him for everything. He got something unexpected. What were we supposed to do today?

He cheered up. He took a deep breath before typing the answer. You'd wake up to a text from me. . . . Morning, angel. Happy Valentine's Day. . . . As I know the sound would wake you up, I would call you a minute later. That'd be before my match. I calculated it. He waited if she wanted to react somehow. Then he went on. An hour later, you would hear a knock on the door. That'd be the delivery for you. Roses and a heart-shaped box of chocolates. My signature on top. In the bouquet you'd find a note. Yellow – the color of the roses, he explained although it wasn't part of the note, because red is too mainstream. Yellow because that's the color of the sun. And you are my sun. Without you my day is dark and grey – as is today because I can't be with you. Without you I'll wilt, as will these roses if you don't take such a good care of them as you do of me. You are my sun because one cannot live without the sun, and I can't live without you. He should not have written that. Yes, it was all true, but it never really turned into reality. He was gonna do that, write those things, but he did something that prevented that from happening. And now he was telling Renee this as if it could make anyone feel any better.

What's the point of this?

There was no point. It was a simple mistake. He followed his instincts and revealed his never-realized plans to her because perhaps he thought they would be even more useless if nobody knew about them.

If any of that is true, then you're the biggest asshole ever.

He let her insult him. He was guilty of the crime she was accusing him of.

Not only you're hurting me by saying what could have been, you're also proving that your breaking up with me was not part of the plan. Why else would you think about Valentine's Day? He was bored, that's why those plans happened. One day as he was lying in bed there was nothing to do so he was making future plans with his girlfriend. Nothing strange about that. Maybe it was a bit in a distant future, but that day would eventually come, he believed, so he better be ready. The only strange – and wrong – thing was telling her about it.

If I were with you now, I'd kiss you. Bold strategy. Strange, unexpected, but completely honest on his part.

As a result of this, it would not be surprising if she went offline, but she was still there. Not writing anything, but she was still online and he was pretty sure that she was fully focused on her conversation with him.

I don't care we're not together, he went on. You deserve better than being alone on Valentine's Day. I know it's my fault and I'd make it right if I could. Even if I were in a different state, I would come and spend tonight with you.

Don't.

He wouldn't stop despite her begging. It's true. Look, I've caused this. It was not supposed to happen, but you're all alone on Valentine's Day and it's my fault. It's my moral obligation to make it right. And it's not that I have to . . . I want to. If I could spend today with anyone, I'd choose you.

Stop, Dean.

If only those thousands of miles weren't preventing me from doing it.

Even if you were right next door, I wouldn't want it, Renee told him, and hurt his pride.

And if I said I want us to be together again?

I'd say no.

Dean stopped watching the screen. He stood up and walked around the room for a while. He went toward the window and opened it to get some fresh air in his face. Then he closed it and took a breath. Out and in. In and out. He grabbed the phone that laid on bed behind him and hurried toward the laptop again. It wasn't Renee that interested him now. At least not the conversation with her. He opened google and searched for a flower delivery express, and in no more than three minutes he had what he wanted. A yellow-roses bouquet and a box of chocolates. 45 roses for each day they haven't been together. For each day he caused her pain. But he doubted she'd count them. . . . He considered the note. Repeating the words he already told her wasn't as big of a problem as was the fact that they were outdated. It would sound sarcastic so he better refrain from it. But maybe he could send her something that would not make her blood boil. It took a lot of time and effort to come up with something. It couldn't be offensive, it couldn't contain past memories or any emotions that would be considered inappropriate since they were not seeing each other anymore.

He heard a sound of her sending him a message. He switched tabs and read it. I gotta go.

No, you don't.

Maybe not, but I have better things to do than chatting with you.

Please, stay. I just need a minute for something.

Without assurance that she'd be still there when he returns to the conversation, he looked again at the flower ordering website. He still needed that note. . . . That was difficult. He could send the simple Happy Valentine's Day. But no, he wanted to be more creative than that. Finally, he came up with something. I don't care if this is inappropriate. I don't care if it makes me crazy that I want my ex-girlfriend to be my Valentine. Because, honestly, you still are my sun and I still can't live without you. There he had it. And he really didn't give a damn about how morally wrong this was. If he can accomplish making her happy – even for one minute, make her smile – even for a second – it's worth it.

I'm back, he sent to her. His mind was filled with thoughts about how she will react when she sees those yellow roses, the box of chocolates . . . Suddenly he realized he forgot to include his name on the note. Well, she'll probably know who it is from.

There was no activity on her part. He worried. Renee? Are you still there?

Dean, let's not do this.

Do what?

Pretend we're friends. Pretend we care about each other.

But we do, he claimed. And I want us to be friends too.

It doesn't work like that.

Why not? We could hang out sometimes. We like spending time with each other and we understand each other. I'd still like to talk to you. You're the first person that comes to my mind when I have good news and when I'm down you're the one I want to be with as well.

If any of that were true, we'd still be together, she struck.

So now you're gonna ignore me for the rest of your life because I let you down?

You don't make sense, Dean. I thought I understood you, but it seems to me that I was wrong. And you know what? It's probably for the best that things developed the way they did. Now I'm free to do whatever I want.

I'm sorry you feel that way.

Why? That's what you wanted too, isn't it? Having break from being in a relationship . . . all the commitments. . . .

Dean wondered how to feel about it. Especially about the part where she basically said she was glad to be freed from their relationship. Was it only the result of the break-up or did she feel suffocating even when they were still together? Would she even reply affirmatively to his offer to get married? A doubt whether he really knew her and whether everything had been working out intruded his mind. But at least he was reassured by the fact that there was no point in dealing with those issues.

You're really glad we're not together?

I'm glad you showed your true face. And I'm glad there are no complications.

What complications? He asked.

None. He was ready to let go, but then she added. Not anymore.

What are you talking about? What complications? He asked again.

Nothing you need to worry about.

Alright, he said, but he wasn't quite happy with leaving it like that. But is there something I should know about?

Not really.

Is that your final decision? On the other hand, he wasn't going to dig into it either. He wasn't even sure if it concerned him or not. But he believed that if Renee chose to not talk about it, there was no need for it. She was quiet . . . figuratively, as the chatting window hasn't changed and there was no indication that she was typing either. Renee? You're there?

Yes, it's my final decision, she finally wrote.

Ok. But tell me, honestly, is there really no way we could be friends again?

There are things you can't go back from.

I see. . . . But still, he started his defense, but he was too slow in finishing it. Maybe because he still had to come with the ending to that sentence. So while he was still typing his wishful strategy to get her to reconsider their friendship, she has already written her part.

Like a miscarriage.

He was still writing the text, only a couple of seconds later he read what she has written. And at that moment his fingers froze. His heart started beating faster as his eyes earnestly stared at the screen. What? He sent his reply with a delay. However, the time he took to grasp that information did not matter. Her reaction came regardless of it. She went offline.

"No! No! No!" he shouted. "Renee?!" he screamed her name as if she were a disobedient child that did something bad and needed to be punished.

He checked again whether she wasn't online. Then he looked at other websites and social networks but she was nowhere to be seen. "You can't leave just like that!" There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many explanations he needed to get from her. But she was gone. She chose the worst time possible to disappear. Dean jumped right up and ran toward the desk where he thought he had left his phone. It wasn't there. He was furiously looking around, but he couldn't see it. He paced around the room while failing the fight with is emotions. He was nervous; he was angry. Wrinkles appeared on his forehead and all the veins became more visible. The mad appearance could be compared to the one he had after someone cost him the match. Or after someone betrayed him. Except this was real and much more serious.

Finally he saw the phone. It was behind the laptop. He grabbed it and called her immediately. It was ringing but no one answered. "You can't ignore me!" he shouted. He called again and again. Still nothing. Until he heard a female voice telling him "The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable." "No!" he cried. Then he smashed the phone onto the floor. He yelled like a wounded animal, but that was not a response to the broken phone laying in the middle of the room.

He ran out of his room and sprinted toward the other end of the hallway. He kept incessantly banging on the door until Seth opened it.

Dean let himself in without formal invitation and forcibly closed the door – and almost hurt Seth in the process.

Seth stared at him for a few seconds, wondering what the hell was wrong, before nervously looking back at the screen of his laptop and hurriedly closing it in panic. He did not realize that his activity on the computer did not interest Dean in the slightest. His head was filled with his own problems; Seth could breathe freely.

None of the two guys found it strange that the other one was not ready yet although they agreed on going to the bar downstairs and they should have already left by now. They both got distracted and forgot about the plans. And Dean at least had no longer any interest in going to the bar.

Seth was ready to suggest that Dean sit down, but his mouth would not let out a single word. He was concerned. Dean kept pacing around the room; his breathing was loud, and so were his steps. His hands were covering his mouth and better half of his face that he started to massage. He was turned away from Seth, and Seth wasn't sure whether he should say something or wait for Dean to start explaining.

Then he stopped walking. He noticed Seth's phone laying nearby and grabbed it. Holding it tightly, he turned around and walked over to Seth just to force it into his uncooperative hand. "Call Renee," Dean urgently formulated his demands.

"You know how expensive the calls from Abu Dhabi to the States are?"

Dean's angry and not-minding-to-kill face made Seth regret the joke. "Not a good time, Seth," Dean said quietly, however, with frightening anger. "Not a fucking time!" he yelled. "Call her. Now!" he insisted.

Seth was legitimately scared. He never saw Dean this enraged. On the one hand, he did not dare to oppose him, but on the other hand, there was a doubt whether making that call would be a good idea for the exact same reason: Dean's mood. "Why?" Seth was brave enough to ask.

"Just do it," Dean commanded. "Call her." Dean would do it himself, but Renee would hang up immediately.

Seth found it difficult to swallow with those eyes staring deep into his soul. He felt like Dean's prey. "Ok." He took a breath and made that call. Dean's eyes kept watching him. A few seconds later Seth told Dean, quietly, still too afraid of ending up dead, "I think . . ." He had to swallow. "I think her phone is off."

"Dammit!" Dean shouted, and Seth jumped from pure fear.

Calm down, he wished to say to Dean, but he wasn't able of pronouncing those two words. Even asking what was going on was impossible for him right now.

Dean looked at the laptop. Maybe . . . "Check if she's online. Twitter, Facebook, Skype, anything! Go!" he yelled to hurry Seth. Now Seth was starting to feel like a soldier – no, worse, a servant . . . or a slave – and that was something Seth didn't like. Despite this, it was hard to protest when the person commanding you was holding an imaginary gun to your head.

Seth had his business on his laptop that he didn't want Dean to know about. Fortunately, Dean was in state where he paid no attention to details so Seth could close everything he did not want anyone to see and then go on to perform the mission he's been assigned. Dean wasn't really watching him checking those websites, in spite of his interest. Or maybe that was the reason. He so wanted it to happen that if he witnessed the failure he'd feel miserable.

"Sorry," Seth said after a while. "She's . . . not online." The feeling of despair finally arrived. Dean's whole angry attitude was falling apart. "I can send her an email," Seth suggested.

"Don't bother."

Now that Dean appeared calmer – and less dangerous – Seth found courage to ask. "What's going on?"

"That's between me and her."

That phone laying on the desk was hypnotizing Dean. He picked it up and called again. He hoped that if she saw Seth calling her, she'd answer. But, first of all, she turned her phone off so she had no idea, and second of all, even if she saw Seth calling her, she'd know it was all because of Dean. Fucking Abu Dhabi! If he were at home, he could talk to her in person. She couldn't hide from him. She couldn't ignore him.

Although her phone was still unreachable, he kept trying.

"Is it ringing?" Seth asked when he saw Dean with the phone still by his ear.

"No."

Then Seth got an idea. "Have you tried her work phone?"

That suggestion seemed to create a spark of hope. Dean ended the unsuccessful call – one of many – and started the process of getting in touch with her in a slightly different way. But he never got through with it. Nervously biting his lower lip, with feet stepping from side to side, he looked at Seth and handed him the phone. "You do it."

Seth accepted the task, and he was glad that this time Dean did not yell it in his face. He called. When he heard it ringing, he smiled, and as a result Dean did too. But then it failed. Seth looked at Dean with sympathy. Their faces saddened again.

Dean wouldn't give up. "I can call Roman and tell him to call her. Or somebody else. Summer! Or Natalya. Or Stephanie! She can't decline a call from her boss," Dean thought out loud.

Maybe there was something about it, but Seth's logical thinking would not persuade him that this strategy would be that much more successful. "So you call them and they call Renee. But do you really believe she'll then call you? Apparently, she doesn't want to talk to you, Dean. I'm sorry."

"Well, she has to!"

"Why? What happened?" Seth asked. Dean would have to tell him. He can't just be upset or angry without acknowledging why.

"I don't know," he said, sitting down, putting his head in his hands.

Seth didn't want to get into something he wasn't – and didn't have to be – part of. But seeing Dean desperate . . . it was hard for him to just sit there and watch. Do nothing . . . ask nothing. "You can talk to her tomorrow . . . or on Monday," he attempted to say something soothing to make Dean feel better. But Dean had to be aware of those options, and those things he wanted to talk about with Renee clearly couldn't wait.

"I need to talk to her right now," he stressed. He again grabbed Seth's phone to send a message to her work phone – the phone he knew she wouldn't turn off. But as he saw a keyboard in front of him, he didn't know what to write. First attempt was typing We need to talk. Now. But he erased that. Call me. Wrong again. What happened? Nah, he didn't like that either. Dean looked in front of him abstractly, hoping to get an idea. Seth thought Dean was looking at him and started to feel intimidated again, but Dean didn't give a damn about him; Seth just happened to be in the way. Nervousness returned. Dean's fingers were tapping on the screen of Seth's phone. Then his eyes as well focused on the object he was holding in his hands. That brought discomfort to Seth. Again, Dean was violating his privacy. And he had a good reason to be worried; at least he thought so. But Dean was only watching the screen, the space where he would type the message if he had any in his mind; some private messages or secrets that Seth wanted to keep were safe.

"Could you give me my phone?" Seth asked, making Dean look up. The anger in his eyes suggested that Dean still felt too passionate to be taken lightly. Seth's fear still existed. "Ok," he surrendered, and let his friend – or more like a fiend – keep the possession.

Dean returned to staring at the screen. Suddenly he felt there did not exist a message that would be good enough. What's more, he couldn't make her respond if she didn't want to. He couldn't make her talk to him.

One of those sudden rushes of courage enabled Seth to speak up. "Ok, what the hell's happened?"

"I've told you."

"No, you didn't. You said 'I don't know.' If you didn't know, you wouldn't be this angry."

"Well, I don't know," Dean replied quite loudly.

"Then why the hell are you acting like this?"

"Because she doesn't want to talk to me!" Dean shouted as though it was supposed to be clear to everyone.

"To be fair, it's Valentine's Day. And ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend is not exactly the person you'd want to talk to that day," Seth came with an explanation that could only embitter Dean.

"Oh, fuck off!"

"You're not the nicest company either. . . . Why don't you calm down? Take a deep breath," Seth suggested, "sit down, put the phone away, and tell me what happened. Or the part you know," Seth added when he realized Dean's I don't know was the most probable – and at the same time most annoying – reaction.

Dean did take a deep breath. He did put the phone down. But he still stood there, his mind flooded with unanswered questions. Her abrupt ending to their conversation annoyed him again. His breathing would not slow down and he would not calm down either. The rage would not disappear by conscious breathing. His mind had no control; everything was overseen by his body. His animal instincts told him what to do. He lifted his right arm, formed a fist, and punched the wall in front of him.

Subsequently, the pain arrived. Blood appeared on the knuckles. His body thought this action would relieve the mental pain. The anger. Well, it did moderate the temper. But the situation hasn't change at all. He needed to talk to her and she kept ignoring him.

Now he turned around. He saw the open mouth of Seth that expressed bewilderment, confusion . . . shock. Fear.

"I'm gonna go to my room now," Dean told him. "If she calls, tell her I need to talk to her. Urgently. Got it?"

Seth nodded.