For Slodwick's 1000 words challenge. If you're interested in my assignment picture, go here:
http://www.iespana.es/cornerofclex/images/taxistand.jpg

Summary: A decision made, and the internal conflict surrounding it.

Disclaimer: I look at my pockets and I see no money. Ergo, they're not mine.

Notes: If I tell you what the pairing is, then why did I bother writing it vague?

Lots of hugs to Alax and Tigress for the kickass beta.

If you don't give me feedback, I will never write again. (That's probably not true, but I like being overdramatic.)

He opened the door and let himself out. He left the keys inside the apartment; he knew he wouldn't need them anymore. He closed the door, walked away, and forced himself not to look back.

Trying to be as quiet as he could, he started climbing down the stairs. He couldn't see his feet; the bag he was holding was blocking his view. All he could do was to hear the sound of his footsteps and hope it really wasn't as loud as it seemed, even though it was somehow muffled by the carpet.

One last door and he was on the street. He had once felt threatened by that street, but after countless days, weeks and months, it turned into welcoming. It would be the last time he'd see it, and he started feeling melancholic about it.

He walked through the darkness of the night until he reached the taxi stand. It was just a pole with a yellow sphere with the word "taxi" written in all caps but, to him, it meant so much more. He looked around and realized the street was deserted. Even though the temperature was freezing--he could see his own breath--he decided to wait.

He took a look at the bag he was holding. It was a representation of his departure, of the fact that he was never coming back. What could have been? He didn't want to ponder that, it was too late now. It was over, and he hated himself for ever thinking it might have worked out.

He did not want to leave this way, but he didn't have a choice. He knew all this courage would abandon him in the morning. He knew that if he saw those eyes, those very eyes would make him stay.

He put his hands in his pockets and looked up to the sky. The heavy clouds above his head promised him snow in the very near future. The night was exceptionally quiet, since he couldn't hear any noise, even if he tried.

He dropped his bag on the floor and decided he would be more comfortable sitting in it. He knew it would be a long wait, but he didn't care. He hadn't any strength to walk or run. He'd been running all his life, both literally and figuratively, and he was sick of it. Besides, he couldn't move even if he wanted. The sadness and the sorrow seemed like a thousand tons of weight on his shoulders, pinning him down against the ground.

A very tiny snowflake landed on his jeans, right on his knee. He inhaled deeply and tried to blow it away with no success, since it had already melted.

He felt his eyes becoming teary, but he couldn't let himself cry. He wouldn't blink until the cold wind dried the tears off. He wasn't supposed to feel this sad. He made a decision, and he made that decision knowing that this was the best for everyone.

He looked again to the end of the road. Nothing. The street was still empty, without any vehicles in sight. A thin layer of snow was forming on the ground. The pure white reminded him of the very pale skin he was leaving behind. Except that instead of icy cold as the snow, he was leaving something as warm as the Sun.

Maybe it didn't have to be like this. Maybe he wasn't doing this for the both of them. Maybe he was just being selfish. Maybe he was just being a coward.

He saw a couple of headlights in the distance. A moment later he distinctly saw the figure of a taxi coming his way. This was it. All he had to do was raise his hand and the cab would stop. He'd be miles away in a matter of moments.

He closed his eyes once again and listened to the sound of his own heartbeat. He could do this. He had to do this. Everything would be alright once he got away, far enough.

The revving of the engine was becoming more intense. He looked at the interior of the cab and he had to smile. It was already occupied: a teenage couple was making out on the back seat.

He flashed back to a time when he was just as young and happy. Endless summers, when life was only about kisses, caresses and making love all day long. He drew his fingertips softly over his lips, feeling the ghostly sensation of day-old kisses.

But the blissful days seemed like a million years ago. Even if he decided not to leave, things would never be the same as before. He wondered if he was really making the right decision. He could have changed his mind and returned. Instead, he was alone on the street, waiting for a taxi that would probably never show up.

But he couldn't go back now. He was too proud and stubborn. He made the excuse inside his head that, even if he wanted to go back, his keys were left behind. Then he realized he had been making pathetic excuses all night long. Maybe this was what 'forever' meant. Not a meaningless promise, but a reality.

He could never leave.

He felt the weight of a hand in his shoulder. He didn't have to turn back his head to know whose it was. He stared at the ground and fought the tears coming to his eyes.

"Please come back home, Clark. You know I can't live without you".

He turned around and a pair of arms helped him to get up and stand again. Nothing mattered anymore, because a finger was slowly caressing the side of his face. He couldn't help but gently put his arms around the body that felt as an extension of his own.

Their foreheads pressed one to the other. Their eyes could never look away. He didn't need to be afraid. He didn't have to go anywhere. He was already home.