The apartment was a mess, papers and books spread across every surface. Peter had collected all of the books in the library that he thought might be useful for his research and taken them up to his flat this morning. Thankfully, given the nature of the complex and its inhabitants, there was plenty of reading material to go through, about both the ongoing apocalypse and the supernatural elements of this world. Peter sat on his tiny couch in the center of all the chaos, leaning over an enormous old tome that lay open in his hands. He was so deeply engrossed in his reading that, at first, he almost didn’t register the quiet knock at the door.
Peter looked up over the book at the front door and frowned. He barely knew anyone here. He had only really spoken to a few of the other displaced residents briefly on the message board, with the exception of Troy, whom he rather feared he may have frightened off after they went to the Roadhouse a few days ago, and Darcy, and while their little date had gone exceedingly well in Peter’s opinion, he really didn’t think she was so eager to see him again that she’d come over the following afternoon. Which meant it had to be…
Peter reached to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table and looked around for a clean spot to put his book. Every surface was covered with books or notes, though, so he just stuck his finger in to mark his place, hoisted the heavy text up off his lap, and went to open the door.
Sure enough, there stood Amy, her usual bright smile spread across her face and a big pastry box in her arms, a pair of drinks in a cardboard holder sitting on top.
“Amy!” he said, grinning. Amy’s smiles were infectious, and it really was really fucking good to see someone familiar. "Jesus, come in! Let me take that before you spill." He reached out and took the iced coffees off the top of her box with his free hand, then stood back so she could enter. Peter eyed the drinks eagerly. “Please tell me one of those is a white mocha,” he said, and shut the door.