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Oliver. King. (cyprian) wrote in bellumlogs,

This was Shane's lucky day because not only was Trenton home, but he was home alone. It was quite the rarity for the fourth penthouse, but Trenton hadn't been in the mood for hosting a party or an orgy or a card game lately. The freeloaders of Manhattan wept.

No, Trenton decided this was the perfect evening for a quite night in. Just him and some herbal relaxation that didn't lend to too much thinking. The last thing he really wanted to do these days was think. Or remember.

He was flipping through his music when the knock came to his door. There was some hypnotic trip hop coming through his speakers, but - for the first time in a long time - it wasn't loud enough to disturb his neighbors. See? He was learning, getting mindful of the needs of others! Or he'd just lost the remote to his stereo, whatever.

The knock was modest, almost polite really, and that made Trenton squint. Anyone he knew would have already been shouting through the jamb for him to open up already. Regretfully, Trenton got to his feet and dropped his blunt in an ashtray before going for the door. He was dressed down in dark slacks and a threadbare white tee. Glancing through the peephole, he didn't recognize the man. If a Bellum resident didn't live on his floor or have breasts, they might as well have no existed, really.

No, he didn't know the guy. This probably was some kind of Craig's List homoerotic housecall, in which case, this guy had the wrong door entirely. Trenton unlocked his door and leaned against the jamb with a wide, vacantly amused smile. "You're probably looking for P3, across the hall."