He woke up to flushed waves of early morning blue. This was one of the best and worst things about this apartment. The near 360 degree window coverage it provided it. Good views and good lighting, but sometimes he didn't want the good lighting.

Like early this morning. The night before he had come home late and was too drunk to close the drapes or brush his teeth. He barely got his shoes off as he went over to the bed and crashed. The morning blue crushed into him like the salty waves off the Atlantic. 

The first thing he wanted to do was check his phone. After drinking three glasses of water he checked his phone. Nothing good there, or more accurately there was something bad. Something he wasn't sure what it was getting at.

"Hey. Text me. We need to talk."

And a few more messages from the same number.

"I'm coming over there today."

That was the last one. He heard footsteps in the hallway. His heart stopped. Surely he wouldn't come over at this hour? The steps came closer to his door. He put the glass of water down gently as not to make a noise and got his hands in a fist. He'd never been in a fight before but he knew he'd need his hands as fists.

He listened to the footsteps. Tensed his hips, ready to jump out of bed. He hadn't had the energy to shut his blinds or brush his teeth last night, did he forget to lock his fucking door? The footsteps grew louder. Louder. There were more than one pair of feet in the hall. Was there a group of them? Hired muscle? 

And then just as quick as the footsteps came they went. Gone. Continued down the hall, up the stairs onto a different floor. He got off his bed again, grabbed his glass and poured himself another water.