((Going to a friend's house for beer and bbq, will try to post from my phone! So apologies for misspellings and slowness in advance.))
"I don't," he assured her, steering her in the direction of his apartment. He remained quiet until the door was open. He'd always lived in apartments, even before the Third World War. This one was the height of luxury compared to the ones previous. It had little in the way of clutter: no television, very few knickknacks taking up space. But what he had was obviously treasured. The effect was more one of openness than of Spartan living, with windows open to a view of City streets and everything in order.
He turned on a light, bathing the apartment in warm light that did much to make it seem more of a home and waited for Beauty to make herself comfortable.