This was going downhill fast. Monroe could see it already. He could see it in Berkeley's body language. They were sitting in their usual booth, in their usual café, at the usual time, and on the usual day. But the reason they were there (the dreaded "we need to talk" line) was most unusual.

"Monroe?" Berkeley started after taking a sip of his coffee. Black, like always. Everything about him was as it always was. From his golden wedding ring to his grey business suit to his neatly moussed brown hair to his bright grey eyes.

"Berkeley?" Monroe answered quietly. He was nervous, and his palms were sweating. He kept rubbing them on his pants in an attempt to remedy it, but to no avail. His mouth was dry and he desperately wanted to take a sip of his cappuccino, but was afraid it would slip out of his slick grasp.

"Monroe," Berkeley said again, "How long have we known each other?" His voice was crisp and on the verge of being curt. Monroe swallowed past the lump growing in his throat. When Berkeley's voice gained that tone, bad news or an argument was always close at hand.

"About... nine months? I think...," Monroe felt his face growing hot. He always felt so stupid when he couldn't speak clearly. Berkeley hated it, which was why he was glaring now. He looked so scary when he was angry. The irony was that Berkeley's testiness was almost always the reason for Monroe's stuttering.

Berkeley looked down his nose in an expression of haughtiness. The lighting in the café glimmered in his eyes, giving them an evil quality, "Do you recall the stipulations on which we agreed before starting our relationship?"

Of course he remembered. He was simply to be Berkeley's any-time fuck while his wife was pregnant with their first child, and not wanting to have any kind of sex. Monroe knew that. He did. Yet he had still hoped that Berkeley would change his mind and they would run of into the sunset together. Change his mind about what, Monroe wasn't exactly sure. About getting his wife pregnant? How naïve.

"Yes. I do," Monroe finally said. The fake red leather of the booth creaked as he shifted around uncomfortably.

"Then I believe you should be aware that Martha is due in a week," Berkeley stated in a serious voice. He took another sip of coffee. If any of the other customers were to look at them at that moment, they would most likely see they two completely straight adult men in suits talking business. Not a closeted mercenary cheating on his wife and a gay home-wrecker. Profiling is bad, but people do it just to make their own lives seem a bit more secure.

Monroe laughed bitterly, "So I guess this means you no longer require my services?" His voice came out smooth as butter. That usually happened when he was getting mad.

"Not in the least," Berkeley shot back without hesitation. Monroe winced in response.

A minute passed in which nothing was said. Finally, Monroe reached into his wallet and pulled out his share of the bill, throwing it onto the table top. He got up out of his seat, turning to leave.

"Have a nice life," Berkeley said, cold as ice. Monroe didn't respond. He just ran.

The sun had already set by the time Monroe got back to his apartment. He had spent the past few hours driving around randomly, attempting to vent his frustration by going over the speed limit, nearly getting into three accidents, and getting one ticket. He had decided to go home once he felt that his tears were done falling. But to his dismay, he felt them prickling once more in the back of his eyes as he wrestled aimlessly with his key-chain, trying to locate the one to the front door. After ten seconds, he gave up and slumped against the red-painted wood that separated him from his bed. He could hear his roommate's music pumping away loudly inside, so it was useless knocking.

Monroe sniffled, trying hard not to cry, but there were already thick streaks crawling down his face. He bit his lip hard, almost breaking the skin, but that just made the tears come faster. He bashed his fist against the door angrily and jumped back, yelping at the pain that now shot across his knuckles. He cried some more before turning around to sit with his back against the door. He would rather stay outside all night than let Seth see him like this. So he did stay outside, and cried, and cradled his abused fist. After what he guessed was a half-hour, Seth's techno music came to a sudden halt and there was silence. Oh, great, thought Monroe, he probably went to bed.

But fate was not that kind.

The front door swung open suddenly, and warm air washed over Monroe's back, making him shiver. He looked behind him, seeing Seth standing there in a jacket and pajama bottoms, with two wet paintbrushes clutched between his lips. There was a pause in which they stared at each other blankly, before Monroe realized what he must look like and turned away as fast as he could.

"Oh geez," he heard Seth say around the paintbrushes. Monroe buried his face in his hands, hoping Seth would ignore what he just saw and go to bed.

Faintly, he heard Seth walk back into the apartment. He came back a moment later, with his newly painted canvas, an easel, and a bowl of water. Seth brushed past Monroe, who pulled his knees closer to himself in response, and set up the easel. He placed the drying canvas gingerly onto it as if it were a baby, and then put the bowl of water on the ground near it's feet. He pulled the brushes out of his mouth and dropped them into the water. Next, he turned around and walked back into the apartment, and switched on the porch light to illuminate Monroe's little corner of angst. Finally, he plopped down next to Monroe and pulled out a cigarette.

"What happened?" he asked in a voice usually reserved for children. He rummaged around in his coat pocket for a little while, searching for his lighter.

"Nothing," Monroe squeezed his knees briefly when he realized how immature that was, "I don't want to talk about it..."

"Of course not," Seth replied, pulling out a blue see-through lighter triumphantly, "No one ever wants to talk about it. Now tell me," he placed the cigarette in his mouth and made quick work of lighting it. He breathed in deeply and moaned as he let the smoke back out. He hadn't had a cig all day, he had been focusing hard on his painting.

Monroe grimaced when he took in a mouthful of second-hand smoke. Seth glanced at him and sighed. He shifted his position so that he was sitting directly in front of his roommate, making sure that he was mostly downwind from the smoke.

"What's that look for?" Seth asked, pushing some loose black hair behind his ear.

"That was oddly considerate of you," Monroe tried to smile, but it came put as an ugly grimace.

"I'm always considerate. Don't change the subject," Seth jabbed Monroe's knee with a finger.

"Ow! I already told you I don't want to talk about it!" Monroe felt more tears starting, and rubbed angrily at his wet face.

"Pissy, pissy!" Seth widened his deep blue eyes mockingly. He took another drag before continuing, "Well, if you don't wanna tell me, and just wanna wallow in your self-pity like some stupid teenager, then I'll just have to guess."

"Really, Seth, can't I just go to be-"

"You got dumped again, didn't you?" Another drag from the cigarette. Monroe blinked, not sure what to say, "Ahah, I knew it," Seth continued. He didn't even try to cover up the Cheshire-Cat smile. "¡Qué horror!"

"You're such a bastard," Monroe whispered weakly. His energy was suddenly spent. He really didn't want to be here, talking about his terrible love-life with Seth, of all people. Seth, the lazy, inconsiderate, immature, chain-smoking roommate who barely ever helped with the rent. Seth would have been long-gone by now if he hadn't been such good eye-candy...

"Oh my God, I can't believe I just thought that," Monroe moaned, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Thought what?"

"Never mind."

"Was it Josh?" Seth randomly asked.

"What?" Monroe blinked, trying to clear his tear-stained vision.

"That broke up with you. Was it Josh?" Seth explained.

"Seth, Joshua was from, like, last year," Monroe rubbed his eyes again, which he found only made things blurrier.

"Oh, right," Seth was quiet for a second, tapping the butt of his cigarette thoughtfully against his lip, "Oh! Wait for it!" he snapped his fingers a few times, "His name was B-something... Bernard? Barney? Bobby?"

"Berkeley...," Monroe whispered painfully.

"Berkeley! That's right," Seth took a long drag this time, seemingly collecting his thoughts. He breathed out three perfect smoke rings before continuing, "You're better off without him. Cheaters are never any good. Especially pseudo-straight business tycoons. Definitely better off..."

"I know that already, goddammit," Monroe hissed. Seth blinked, evidently surprised. "I know that. But...," Monroe squeezed his eyes shut. A single tear managed to escape.

"Jesus Christ. Don't tell me you were actually in love with that guy," Seth sighed in disappointment. Monroe chose to stare at the inside of his eyelids. After a few minutes, Seth said, "You know what the hell your problem is? You fall in love too damn easily."

Monroe's eyes shot open. The look on his face at that moment would have made Hitler shit his pants.

But Seth wasn't Hitler. "Just telling the truth."

Monroe almost physically deflated. "I think I've had enough truth shoved in my face for one day."

Silence.

"Dammit," Seth sighed. He stood up and dropped his cigarette onto the concrete, crushing it with the sole of his ratty sneaker. "You're making me feel bad."

"You deserve to be miserable," Monroe mumbled.

"Come on," Seth held out both of his hands. Monroe just stared at him blankly, not understanding. "Don't just leave me standing here," Monroe just kept staring, "I'm taking you bed, estúpido. You have work tomorrow, right?"

"Oh," Monroe normally wouldn't have taken the offer and grasped Seth's hands, but he was just so tired, "What about your painting? Is it dry?" he asked once he was standing. He glanced at the canvas, but Seth quickly turned him around and began pushing him into the apartment.

"I'll get it in a minute. Don't worry about it," Seth reassured.

"I wasn't..."

"Mmm-hmm. Just get to bed."