An Apartment in Two Bridges, New York, Monday Morning

For the second time over the course of the past few days, At-- Jack woke up somewhere he hadn't expected to be. His back hurt. He wasn't cold, which was good. But the second he tried to roll over, he hit a hard floor, his arm knocking against something solid and--

He squinted.

"This is my floor," he mumbled. Wait. Wait, it was his floor? It was his floor. "Oh thank the Force."

He looked up at the piece of furniture that had just so rudely let him roll off. "Screw you, couch."

"Holy shit!" And that was Dane, stumbling out of the bedroom with eyes wide. There was a hug (he'd gotten better at them) and coffee and talking and apparently he'd just vanished out of the back of the van days ago and-- and it was good to be home, to be back in New York, in his own stupid apartment with his own stupid couch with his own stupid vinyl and his own stupid--

Anyway.

All in all, it took him half an hour to find ( the letter tucked in his back pocket. )

[[ establishy, unless someone really wants to get in touch with him again ]]