He knew that there were two psychics of some sort living at the Hyperion, so there was really no need to sneak in, because they'd immediately know. However, the former Blue Spy didn't particularly feel like answering questions of the non-psychics, so he slipped silently in anyway. --Up the stairs, then, tapping his latest cigarette off into a fake plant in the hallway, and down to the room he knew was the younger man's. And for a moment, he simply stood there, smoke curling up lazily from his mouth.
At last, with a nearly invisible steeling of his shoulders, he opened the door and slid inside, closing and locking it behind himself as his eyes immediately fixed on one Michael Connelly.
It was.. so, so good to see him again so close, almost within touching distance. Alive. Healthy. --His hair was a bit on the longish side, but still so terribly lovely.
"Michel," he greeted helplessly, voice taking on a husky note that he hadn't meant.