He looks out the window of his apartment, the canvas, beautifully painted standing beside him as he looks out at the stars – it'd been a while since he just relaxed like this. The cold wind blows on his face as he hears the cars drive by. He lives in a big city, always full of noise.

He hears the gentle knock on his front door and smiles; it was you, of course. You always called him, You were pretty needy, and that's what he loved. He brushes the red hair out of his face and opens the door.