We entered into his apartment silently with no form of communication emitted between us. We just telepathically knew what to do next. I could hear a few silent sobs coming from him but I dare not to look. I don't think he permitted it. I went straight into the guest room while he went into his, slamming the door behind him.

The day went on slowly ticking away the hours while I voluntarily locked myself inside the room supplied by only my phone, laptop and my Walker's crisps. Although I occasionally heard him shuffling in and out of the room, it doesn't disrupt me from my personal time watching the entire six seasons of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. But as the time passed, the mouthwatering smell of his cooking lingered into the room, causing my stomach to grumble and my mind to stir crazy.

As the sound of his door slammed shut once again, my phone pinged unexpectedly causing an unnecessary startle. I reached for my phone and slid the notification panel downwards, revealing Nick's text 'Lunch ready. Help urself. Im not hungry.'

I freed myself out of the room and headed for the stairs. Despite the song 'A Better Life' by Grace VanderWaal blasted in his room, I tiptoed my way passed his room as stealthily as possible without him listening to my movement. As I reached the dining area, my nose followed the delightful trail of scent towards his cooker hob and spotted a medium sized wok with its lid closed resting on one of the burners, calling out to me.

Nick just made my favourite dish, the Chinese fried rice resembling the ones Mom usually made with a sprinkle of black and white pepper on the rice mixed with pre-cut carrot, peas and corn, black soy sauce, eggs and fried shallot as garnishes. I guessed he took the liberty to learn how to make one from the internet as I never taught him how to, except for imparting him on the things I craved the most and Chinese fried rice was one of them. But what makes a Chinese fried rice perfect by my standard is when it is garnished with fried shallot. I reckon he got it from Taipan, the only Asian store that has fried shallot, not even the ones in China Town has it.

I took the first bite and it melted my mouth instantly. Although there wasn't as much soy sauce as how Mom would put in, it was a perfect first attempt. The sweetness from the soy sauce, salty from the condiments and buttery sensation from Lurpak's cooking liquid blended merrily in my mouth that I had second helping.

I turned around to see if he might change his mind and decided to come down if not to eat, at least to accompany him like he always does. Then regret slowly creeping in my conscience for bringing up the past. I realised that not only it doesn't solve any problem, it caused estrangement between us. I didn't know Nick that much so I wasn't sure if he actually had changed but at least he changed his ways around me.

After finishing my meal, I transferred the leftover into a used food container and placed it into the fridge before washing the dishes and the wok. I walked upstairs and approached his room, my hand reaching for his door but I stopped myself. I stood quietly in front of his encased room constructing words to say to him, to tell him that I shouldn't have said what I said. But I doubted that my words would do any help. Besides, my thoughts were distracted by Nicki Minaj's sultry voice singing a sappy ballad 'Grand Piano' that was playing loudly behind the door. I edged away from the door, thinking that it would be better if we talk this over fresh tomorrow. I walked into the guest room and texted him about the leftover in case he became hungry at night.

            **********************************************************

"Nick," I called out, knocking several times but no answer. I went to confront him the next morning as promised. "Nick, you alright? Can I come in?"

Another silence responded to my call. I figured that he was either too angry and sad or too sleepy to respond. I bravely turned the door knob after I realised it was unlocked. I slowly peered into his room in between the door only to find that it was empty. Seeing this, I pushed the door open and scouted around the room, acknowledging his absence. The remnants of burnt joints and cigarette butts piled inside the ashtray next to an empty bottle of Dickel No. 12 on the floor and a strong smell of weed suggested that he left the room quite recently. This was very odd beyond all reason because Nick wasn't the type to bring booze inside his room, let alone smoking inside.

I turned towards the bathroom door and was alarmed by a decent splatter of blood spots by the doormat. I rushed towards the bathroom door and quickly swung it open. Nick wasn't inside but I spotted something far disturbing. Lying on the floor was a pair of small sickle shaped blades attached to chains and the blades were stained with blood, his blood.

I frantically dialled his number, pacing back and forth, chanting under my breath, pleading for him to pick up but the call didn't get through. 'Fuck!' I cursed. I returned to the menu selection in my phone for Track-a-Friend app and tapped Nick's number in my saving list. I felt blood rushing through my head, creating a throbbing ache on my temples and the beat of my heart quickened its pace as I irritably waited for the loading circle around the pin image to stop animating. Seconds later, the pin swiftly hovered across the virtual map and stopped at somewhere nearby Bennett Street.

What was he doing at the warehouse on Sunday morning?