log: sam, russ, and louis - housewarming and reunions Who: Louis, Sam, and Russ What: A visit to the new New York Apartment. Where: Marvel, Louis's. When: Recently. Warnings/Rating: None expected.
The new place was a Manhattan loft - tiny, modern, and a bit impersonal. The stairs in the living room led to the miniature bedroom above, with steps from there to the tiny balcony. The last of Louis's savings, smuggled out before the collapse of the ersatz 'family' in Gotham, had gone to the security deposit. The rent wasn't cheap, and his starting salary at the precinct wasn't much, but it all worked out to just enough. As he had required, the place even came furnished. The paint still smelled fresh, and a crisp interior didn't disguise the sterile, unlived in disquiet of the brand new building, but living somewhere with more warmth could wait. Before finding somewhere historical, he needed to be sure he actually wanted to have a history here.
Crossing over hadn't gone well.
There was no way to know if New York here would be any better than Gotham there, and as he stepped through the door with a suitcase full of what remained of his possessions, he began feeling ill. Just crossing the threshold was terrifying beyond explanation. That feeling he'd told Preston about weeks ago, that something horrific was going to happen if he left, that the door would stop his heart or cut him to pieces, it hit him so hard it felt physical. His chest burned, and his scars, still somehow raw, ached. His ears rang. It was real. All of it was real.
He wasn't even sure how he'd found his way to the Marvel door and slipped in, shaken, alive. What was wrong with him?
But after an hour or two in Marvel, the weakness and pain faded to nothing, and his own concerns went with them. He knew that should be more worried after what he'd just been through, but he just...couldn't. That was all, and that had to be a good thing. There had been nothing imaginary about what he had felt in that hotel hallway, but it was over now, and he could settle somewhere without a history of trouble, bad memories, and notability. A fresh start. Somewhere he could sleep well.
The apartment was beginning to acquire small touches of his personality that made it look more lived in, like the sleek mid-century dining chairs from a flea market that he'd hauled up the stairs himself earlier in the week, but when he opened the door to Russ and Sam it still looked a little sterile. But it hardly mattered. His own warmth was what made the difference, whatever the setting, and it would have been impossible to guess anything had worried him at all. Even if he did look a little skinnier than he had the last time he'd seen Sam (hardly even possible), and the dark circles hadn't entirely gone.
Not a word of greeting for his sister, just a long-limbed hug, a tight squeeze. "Hello, Russ," he said, over the top of her head.