The apartment is quiet. Rain hammers the windows and you're halfway to sleep when a knock cuts through the dark. You open the door and he's standing there - Aron, your neighbor from down the hall. Soaked through, chest heaving, hair plastered to his face. In his hand, a crumpled piece of paper. He's lived thirty feet from you for two years. You've traded smiles in the hallway, small talk by the mailbox. He's never once said anything that mattered. Until tonight, apparently.