He stood. He tried to speak.
He tried again. He could see the anger, and he could see the *reason* for the anger.
Why wasn’t he shouting?
There was the bed, his combination Girlfriend, confidant and room-mate.
There was the bed, exactly as it had always been, albeit slightly damper.
And there was the other man, looking guilty.
Carefully, he picked up the roses, box of chocolates, and gift
/maybe I can return it. Why am I still calm?/
and then he spoke:

“Carry on”

turned around, and walked out of the room, sat on the stairs.

And cried.
[&nbspWhat is Drabble?&nbsp]