Fiddling with his keys, he unlocked his door and pushed it open to reveal his dark apartment. He went to flick on the lights-

-and nearly shat himself.

Micah had a studio apartment, which was basically just a fancy way of saying that except for the toilet and shower, everything – the stove and shoddily painted kitchen cabinets, his television, his dresser and mattress – all took up the same space.

And at the edge of his haphazardly-made bed, sat Damon.

Even sitting at the very edge of the twin-size lump, the man made a menacing picture. Like usual, Damon was dressed to the nines in a crisp suit and his hair and short beard was styled to perfection.

Completely wrapped up in Nico’s case, Micah would like to have claimed he’d completely forgotten about Damon and the complicated feelings he had for the man, but that wasn’t exactly true.

Damon wasn’t someone you just forgot about.

But Micah had managed to push thoughts of him to the back of his mind, labeling it a later problem. But since the man had apparently broken into his apartment while he was at work, it was safe to say that he was now a now problem.

Thankfully Micah’s puffy coat hid the fact that he was packing. His hand had automatically gone to his hip – his Glock – when he had spotted the dark figure on his bed, but when he recognized the figure as Damon, he’d played the action off by clutching at the doorframe instead.

He didn’t think the man had noticed.

Damon’s legs were crossed, and his hands were folded neatly over his knee, looking completely at ease – like he was in some lobby, running a mundane errand, not sitting and waiting for the owner of the apartment he had just broken into to get home. Of course, Micah was no dummy, and even if Damon’s knuckles hadn’t been completely white with how hard they were clutching his knee, even if the stiff line of his shoulders wasn’t radiating tension, even if his eyes weren’t spitting fire… he would have been able to tell: the man was livid.

And if Micah hadn’t had such a shit day, he might have even been scared. But as it was, Micah was just pissed. This presumptuous asshole had broken into his apartment – so covertly that he hadn’t even noticed until he’d opened the door, and fuck, if that wasn’t going to stick in his craw for a while.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Micah demanded harshly, slamming the door behind himself even as the part of his mind that actually had operating brain cells berated him for eliminating the only safe escape route from the proven criminal sitting on his bed.

“It’s Wednesday,” Damon replied.

“I’m well aware,” Micah shot back. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”