It's not like Ethan can pinpoint the exact moment in time when things fell apart. It was a process. Their relationship resembled a stone rolling down a slope. First they lost balance, things slowly went down, then everything began to pick up speed, till it was all just a blur: falling down, crushing, braking into pieces. And then he watched the love of his life walk out the door.

It's late November. He's twenty-seven years old and a complete mess, but ironically, there is an order to it. He makes the same mistakes every day, right on schedule. Smokes too many cigarettes in the morning, wastes too many hours on staring at the screen of his laptop in the afternoon, arrives late at the bar he works at and starts drinking before his shift ends.

He used to be a star – shining bright with ideas and hopes, and courage. Surrounded by friends, always reaching for what he wants. He was young and careless, with the world at his feet.

That's how he met Nowell. They were both drunk in some downtown club, dragged there by common friends.

It took few hours, really. By midnight they were both at Nowell's, fucking senseless on the kitchen table. None of them had any idea what they were getting themselves into. Stars were shining bright that night.

They were both wild types, barely twenty-one and looking for fun. Fortunately or unfortunately (he still can't tell) they found much more. It was supposed to be a one night stand, like so many times before with so many other guys. But they kept coming back, because sex was good and it was all just kind of addicting. And then, before they even noticed, sex was just a small part of it. Part of something bigger, brighter, better. They fit - it was that simple.

Six months. That was the exact amount of time it took them to move in together. The apartment was small and shitty, but they were happy like never before. Ethan was studying English Literature and Creative Writing, wanted to be a writer. Nowell was studying Drama, dreamt about becoming a famous actor and watching himself on big screens. And with his talent and almost-surfer look he probably could make it. Blond hair grown a bit too long, bright eyes shining with green and blue and brown, each colour drowned in light grey, broad chest... Who wouldn't want him? He did make it, eventually. Ethan just wasn't there to see it.

Now Ethan is lying in the exact same shitty apartment, but he's not twenty-one anymore and there is not much happiness in his life. It's not like he's crying every night, no. He's fine, actually. It's just that everything seems a bit grey for longer then he can remember. Nothing is really... worth the effort. Life just slips by. Maybe he's a bit numb. Maybe he's just getting old. Old at the age of twenty-seven. Funny, that.

His alarm clock went of just a second ago and he's lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. There is a cigarette in his hand, smoke slowly crawling around the bed sheets.

It's not like he thinks about Nowell constantly. The past is in the past, he gets that, he does. But sometimes there are days like this one, when he wakes up and sweeps his arm across the bed, looking for the warmth of another body, for soft, blond hair. It's annoying, really. How long has it been? Three years? And still, there are days when it all feels like yesterday.

He should probably move out. Rent another flat, maybe even save up and buy one. It feels immature – to live in the same place he lived in as a broke college student. But he likes it - white walls, huge, old window in the bedroom, small kitchen, old, brown couch that only gets more comfortable with every year, slightly curved panels... It feels like home and he doesn't want to let it go.

Maybe that's his problem. Maybe he just can't let things go.

Ethan finally picks himself up from the bed, growling a little. He hates that moment when he has to stop drifting and get back to reality. It sucks, truly.

He stumbles to the bathroom only to see a dark-haired ghost in the mirror. He has always been pale but now he's almost transparent. Like his skin is made from glass, body filled only with smoke.

Then comes impossibly strong coffee and computer with brand new, blank page. He did make his dreams come true, though. He is a writer. Kind of.

After having written one not-so-horrible book two years ago, he lost the inspiration. His novel never made it to the top of any list, but it also wasn't a disaster. Someone buys it. Somehow, somewhere, someone does. So there is that. But then words just left him and he got himself a job in the bar to wait it out. He's still waiting. Every day he sits in front of the computer and just stares. Smokes. Thinks.

Maybe that's his problem. Maybe he thinks too much.

He starts rocking on the chair, dark green eyes wandering around the room, looking for something to do. His shift doesn't start before five p.m.

There is a small, burned mark on the floor next to the couch – remainder of the time when Nowell fell asleep with a blunt in his fingers. A plant in the left corner, next to the window with the white, see-through curtains, is almost dead. Stanley bought it for the two of them as a house-warming gift and they were watering it with vodka once everybody got drunk.

They would always get drunk, that's just how college worked. He and Nowell were never the shy, quiet types. They used to stay up all night with friends, doing shit no one will admit to now, breaking the rules, laughing at the dark sky. Bad boys' stuff.

But in all that roughness and wildness, there still was some space for sweetness. Some evenings it was just Ethan and Nowell, wrapped in each others arms, buried in blankets, watching stupid movies and sharing biggest secrets. They were perfect together and it was all built on the small things. The way they looked at each other, the soft touch of Nowell's lips in the morning, the giggle over burned toast, the way he listened to every fucking thing Ethan said and how he knew when to make him laugh and when to just shut up and let him be. They had their own language, all small gestures and touches, their own holidays and jokes and memories. They knew each other and even then they wanted to know more, every day, for almost three years.

Ethan's coffee is getting cold. He snaps out of the memory lane, suddenly realising what he was thinking about. He sighs. So it's gonna be one of those days, eh? How lovely.

He goes to work eventually. Walks in twenty minutes late, greeted by Darren's judging look.

„Having trouble waking up on time?" he jokes and throws white rag at him. Ethan catches it without blinking and starts wiping down the counter.

„Yeah, you could say that," is all he says.

Darren snorts. He's thirty-someting and a perfect example of a healthy human being, or at least that's what Ethan thinks. The guy is almost always optimistic, casual about everything and reasonable. Darren's life is simple but that's just because he has everything figured out. He has a kid or two kids, Ethan still can't remember, a lovely wife and, well... He is the perfect example of a human being. Everything that Ethan is not.

Hours are passing by and Ethan is not at all surprised when thoughts about Nowell come back to haunt him. It's one of those days, so be it.

Thing is, they were perfect, they really were. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe when things started to go down, that's exactly why they went down all the way. For over two years they lived in their own heaven and then? Then Nowell got serious about the whole acting thing, started to be more focused on his studies and auditions. Ethan on the other hand had doubts about his writing-related future. He kept fucking around, partying and not giving a shit about deadlines.

Suddenly they weren't two young bastards anymore. They were the promising one and the lost one but that wasn't even the main problem.

See, they were always the wild ones. That's what brought them together and that's what drove them apart. Funny, when you think about it.

It was fun and love, it was crazy sleepless nights and rough mornings, it was screaming love declarations at the top of lungs under the moon and it was whispering dirty words in each other ears while fucking. And, as it turned out, it was all to much. Suddenly there was no space between them, no place to take a deep breath. It all seemed so intense all the time and they started to blame each other. Blame for the fact that this lone-wolf thing they got going is gone from their lives. They wanted to be close, to be together, to be in love, but they didn't want to need all that. It all happened too fast. They burned too bright. Maybe loved to much. Fucked up, innit?

Or maybe that wasn't even it. Maybe it just happened, no reason. Anyway, it took them six months to move in together and it took them six months to ruined it all, after two wonderful years.

Six months. Six months of fighting and screaming. They were breaking things, shutting doors, throwing away each other's stuff. They were causing scenes or giving the silent treatment. They were the wild ones, after all. So they raised hell.

Then, one day Nowell came back to the flat, late as always after rehearsing and said that he was leaving.

And that still wasn't even it. Because he wasn't leaving Ethan. Deep down they were still in love so badly it hurt. He was leaving London, got a part in some movie in LA, serious shit, big thing. Ethan shouldn't be surprised. He always knew Nowell has it in him, even back then, when they mostly had just smoked weed on their couch. So once Nowell got more responsible and started actually trying it was bound to happen.

And so it happened. He came back, he said he had bought the tickets and that there was already a flat for them in LA. And they stared at each other for a long time, trying to talk without words.

That was it. Ethan felt like he was lacking air for a while then. He was not meant to be stay-at-home boyfriend, never has been. So when Nowell just dropped the bomb on him, announced that they are moving to Los Angeles, no questions, not even „would you like" or „please", that was it for Ethan. That was it for them.

Because love doesn't always make it right. Sometimes things just fall apart, Ethan learned it the hard way. From being perfect they went to the worse combination possible. He needed his own way, his own motivation and dreams and success. He needed space to write, freedom to breath, but Nowell was always there, shining bright, loud. And Nowell on the other hand needed the boyfriend he could own. He wanted to have Ethan, every little part of his body and soul. And then they would wake up one day, moods completely opposite. And it was going round and round. Their love went bad. It was still there, but it wasn't something they could hold on to anymore. After a while everything became just a blur. Maybe there was no true reason, no logical explanation. It was just all falling apart, rolling like that stone. Down, down, down. And they both realise they couldn't live like this anymore.

So when Nowell came home that night, talking about LA, that was it for them. They fought for a week more, both going crazy, literally crazy with need and anger and unspoken words, expectations and regrets. And then Nowell took of - packed his things and walked out of the door, leaving Ethan's plane ticket on his nightstand. He was too proud to beg, just hoped his boy would change his mind and show up at the airport. And Ethan was too proud to change his mind.

So yeah, there you have it. He went back to his life and has never seen or spoke with Nowell after that. He watched his movies, though. Every single one he got casted in. Call him sentimental, whatever.

„What's on your mind, man?" Darren asks at some point, just as he finished pouring a beer for some blond chick sitting next to the bar.

„Same old shit," Ethan shrugs. His co-worker looks at him again, more carefully this time.

„You okay?"

Yeah. He's just fine. He doesn't say anything, though. Just starts putting washed glasses back on the shelf.

„'s all gonna figure itself out, man," Darren says after a moment of silence. He must have noticed that Ethan is a bit more quiet than usual which is actually surprising, since he never talks much at work anyway. „It's in the stars."

Ethan raises dark eyebrow, confused. Darren smiles at him.

„The stars, man," he says. „I believe everyone has their own stars up there," he points at the ceiling, „and they take care of us. Our future."

Of course this is what he thinks. He's older than Ethan and yet, sometimes so naive. Maybe because his life is all... stable. He know where he's going. And, on the top of that, he has this weird thing for spiritual bullshit.

„Yeah?" Ethan asks without even a shadow of interest. „Well, tell my stars they can go fuck themselves."

Darren barks out a loud, amused laugh. Ethan can't help himself and rolls his eyes.

It's not like he doesn't believe it's all going to get better. He also doesn't think it's all bad to begin with. It's just... He is pretty sure that great, indescribable love happens to everybody only once in a lifetime. And well, yeah. He already had his.

And he let it go. Funny how things turn out.

Maybe there is something in this whole stars thing though, because today Ethan feels like they are fucking with him. Around midnight tall, skinny brunette walks in and he recognises her instantly. She looks around, eyebrows scrunched together. Then she notices him, smiles wildly and waves at him from across the room. Ethan smiles back with not even half of the energy she has.

„You look awful," is what she says, flopping down on the stool next to the bar.

He chuckles.

„Yeah, yeah. I know," he smiles, honestly this time. „Nice to see you too."

He does know, though. It's not like he's suddenly ugly. He still has nice, dark hair curling at the top of his forehead and even some muscles, thanks to the running sessions that he does when he needs to clear his head. But he knows that when people look at him they see the emptiness in once vivid green eyes. It's this ghost thing again – everything about him seems a bit grey, darker than usual, worn out. It's lack of sleep, mostly. And too much cigarettes, probably.

„So, stranger," she starts once he puts a pint in front of her, „what's up?"

She jokes, obviously, but there is a hint of accusation in her voice and Ethan knows he deserves it. Thing is, he kind of lost contact with most of his friends during past few years. Maybe he's avoiding them a little bit. It's just... They remind him about old times, okay? When he was Nowell's, Nowell was his and all that romantic bullshit. Even though Nowell left them all, not only Ethan, when he got on that plane, the rest tried to stay in touch with him for a while. Or so he heard.

„Not much?" he tries, wondering if Molly will do her thing, that I'm-gonna-torture-you-untill-you-spill-everything thing, or just let this one go.

She lets it go.

„Stan is throwing a party" she announces after good ten minutes of small talk and it's immediately obvious that this is the reason she came by. Ethan raises an eyebrow, hint of curiosity in his green eyes.

„Yeah?" is all he asks.

„Yeah" she nods. „It's kind of a reunion..?" she hesitates, „you know, gonna get wasted like we used to. Old crowd."

He smiles, nodding, „that actually sounds good."

Best friends he ever had were his college friends. They had this pack, team, group, whatever. Bunch of weirdos who liked to stick together and get drunk. Through those friends he met Nowell and together they spend most memorable times of their lives.

And then Nowell was gone and Ethan was somehow gone too. He knows well that he took a step back. Spend most of his days alone in the apartment for almost half a year after the breakup and even though he got back to normal life eventually, he never got back to his friends for real. He found new ones, new relationships even. One way or another he tried to keep his past behind the closed doors and now, looking at Molly for the first time after a very long time he feels a bit guilty.

„Will you come?" she asks, hope sparking in her eyes.

He nods again, „sure. Did you come all the way down here just to invite me?"

„I thought you will take much more convincing" she smirks but then her eyes get a bit more serious. „It's hard to get in touch with you those days, E."

She's right. Because of that and because of her empty glass Ethan places another pint in front of her.

„Guess it is. Sorry."

They talk for a bit more, mostly catching up, interrupted only when Ethan has to take an order. It gets awkward when she asks about his new girlfriend and it turns out it's old ex-girlfriend now. It shows how rarely they talk.

And yes, he has been dating. After Nowell there were two guys and one girl, not at the same time, obviously. The longest of those relationships last seven months and ended calmly, when they both realised that's not it. Mostly he's just doing one night stands, though. Got back to basics, you could say.

Molly leaves eventually, making sure his phone number hasn't changed, promising to text him details. He's quite excited, actually. Seeing people who once were his favourite in the whole world again sounds exciting.

He goes home around 3 a.m., walking down the street with the cigarette between his fingers. He exhales, smiling at the large moon, grey smoke mixing with the cold air.

And if there is some shadow following him, some aching, empty spot in his chest, some forgotten smell in the back of his mind... Well, it's just how it is, you know? It's one of those days. What you gonna do about it? Life goes on.