Haven sat in the faintly lit corner of a little, nondescript bar, nursing a glass of whiskey that had been half-full for the past hour. His thoughts were clouded, tangled by a mix of outrage, perplexity, and an overpowering sense of defeat. He had never envisioned himself in this circumstance, feeling like a stranger in his own life. But here he was, observing the door, holding up for the man who was once his best friend. The man who, until as of late, had been his confidant, his brother in all but blood. Matthew.
When the door at last swung open, Haven felt his heart skip a beat. Matthew entered, filtering the room briefly before his eyes settled on Haven. He walked over, his expression incoherent, and slid into the chair not far from him. For a minute, they just gazed at each other,
