Derek stood near the window of the apartment he was staying in.

He was looking at the wallpaper, which was already peeling.

He stared at it so hard like it was the solution to his problems.

His glass of whiskey was on the table, not far from him.

He had not touched it since he poured the drink.

The ice has melted already.

There was something about him that he could not even place himself.

Could it be frustration, regret, or something else?

Was it shame? Maybe that is it, but he ...