~~ Author's note: Rated M for copious swearing/dark themes. Set about 10 years after the show ended.

This wasn't originally meant to be a BMW fan fic, just something I wrote out of boredom. I tweaked a few things to fit each character's personality but somethings still may be a bit off.

Please don't be afraid to give constructive criticism! ~~

So he sat there.
He sat there in the study as smoke wafted around him.
Everything in room felt full.
His ash tray was full, his coffee cup was full, the room itself was
Clothes, empty cigarette packs, crumpled up pieces of paper littered the
He was beginning to think that he was the only thing in the entire world
that was so empty.
There was some nameless woman laying in his bed, but who really cared?
It was nearing 6 am and Cory still couldn't get any rest.
He had been about to get up and get ready for work when it hit him like
a slap of relief.
He didn't have to work today.
It was Friday morning, but it was summer. He was teaching summer classes
and they didn't meet on Fridays.
He was relieved all over again when he heard the lady he'd brought home,
whoever she was, getting up and collecting her things.
She stood at his doorway for a minute, saying something or another about
a nice time and seeing him again.
Cory didn't even look up from his paper.
After a few seconds, she took the hint and walked out, he heard the door
slam behind her.
'Who the hell cares?'
That seemed to be the thought he resorted to every time.
It was, after all, the last thing the most important person in his life
had said to him.
It had been funny at the time, Cory remembered laughing.
"Where'd you hear language like that?" he had said, and then he felt
someone tap his shoulder.
Who would have known that the second he turned around, his life would
change forever?
He didn't. So he dwelled on that thought.
"Who the hell cares?"
It was a question that haunted him through the night.
One he repeated often.
Every time he brought a woman home, every time his ex best friend
called, every time his ex wife called.
Fuck, even every time his mother called.
He had stopped picking up the phone long ago.
They were so worried.
Why were they always so fucking worried?
What did they care?
He didn't care, why should they?
He thought back on his life, when he was married and happy and didn't
have a single care in the world.
He remembered meeting his wife, as young kids in elementary school.
The connection was instantaneous. They thought it was last forever.
And, he supposed it might have.
"Who the hell cares?!" he shouted to himself in the empty room. "Who the
hell cares, indeed..."