Adam quirked a self effacing smile, black eyes meeting Richard's own. "Not a business call, I promise," he said, raising one hand, palm out, politely waving off any real concern on the other man's part. "I actually just got off work. I'm down the hall, five-oh-four." His dark head - his hair, for work's sake, not gelled into prickly, upraised spikes - tipped back toward the hall, canting toward his own home a few doors down. "Adam Vejas," he offered, tipping his head in a kind of greeting.
Though the door had been left open, Adam did not presume to enter unbidden. This did nothing, however, to curb his unsubtle appraisal of the apartment, his eyes crawling over every surface in sight. He could not shake the sensation of familiarity worming its way firmly into his brain; perhaps it was only something in Richard's decor, or his demeanor. Perhaps, Adam thought, he had at some point answered a call and come to Richard's aid; perhaps they had passed one another in a hospital, or even in the lobby below. The logical part of Adam discarded these options, knowing them for the grasping attempts at rationalization that they were. The more distressing (and therefore more frequently ignored), intuitive part of him insisted it was not so tidy as that. At last this latter portion took hold, and he could not stop himself.
"We've never met before, have we," he said, attempting, at least, to frame the question as mere statement of fact. "You just moved in?"