Another day of work that seemed more like a burden to the man. Everything seemed gray after her and how would he move on?

Don didn't know exactly how he managed to find the strength to get to his building, but everything passed in a blur as he climbed the stairs of the place.

Damn that stingy building manager who wasn't interested in paying for the elevator repairs.

Four flights and seven steps later, the police officer with the lost blue-gray eyes was on his floor and heading down the hallway.

He could vaguely hear a couple of friends arguing on 307. A baseball game blaring on 309, and a dog barking on 310.

The routine was the same. Of course, Flack, as a trained police officer, knew part of his neighbors' names or at least some characteristics to identify them. Even though he smells like a drunk beggar at the moment.

That is until he get to 312. Your apartment being the one next door and your curiosity being drawn to the partially open door and a few moving boxes on the tasteful shag carpet.

"At least it's not one of those leopard print ones..." The police officer mutters to himself, searching his pockets for his key until he hears the sound of breaking glass and his gaze returns to the apartment next door.

He needed to go. But he couldn't think straight and it wasn't even because of the alcohol, forcing his body to enter the apartment he looks for the owner.

"NYPD. Whoever it is, come out with your hands up." He orders with his gun in hand, passing through the moving boxes, following the faint sound to the inner area of the apartment. "What happened here?"

He looks at you trying to remember something to make the big question mark in his mind disappear,your eyes on the remains of a delicate vase on the floor and yellow roses scattered among the shards near you.

"Sorry for the sudden entrance. I...will help." Don locks the gun into its holster before bending down to help pick up the shards of glass.