The cold winter air nipped at Dexter's skin as he walked through the streets, smoking a cigarette and desperately trying to stay warm. His wool gloves were torn in a few places, letting the cool winter air hit his hands in an almost painful way. As he walked, his eyes scanned the streets desperately, searching for any dealer that could numb the pain even a little.

It had been almost ten years since he father died, and he'd started down this path. The little inheritance money he got from his father was almost entirely spent within a year, and he was soon evicted from his old apartment. He turned to drugs, desperate to numb of pain of his childhood. The pain of of his fathers fists, or of the hands of his father's many girlfriends.

He turned the corner onto a seedier street, tossing his cigarette to the ground. It was less windy there, the tall buildings providing shelter from the bitter cold wind. Dexter walked silently, his fists clenched in his pockets. He'd find someone to sell him something soon enough, and he'd forget about the cold and about his pain.

He glanced up, raising an eyebrow as he noticed a figure. He froze, heat rushing to his cheeks. He usually just walked by escorts, not wanting to waste his precious money on something like that, but for some reason he stayed frozen. The man was beautiful, too beautiful for the grungy street corner and the men who walked it. When the man finally met Dexter's eyes, he cleared his throat, quietly approaching and mumbling, "How much for a night?" His voice was gravely and tired, and a hint of shame accented it. Compared to the beautiful man, he was a pathetic sight, but in that moment that didn't matter. All that mattered was getting to hold him.