This was a place for people who had stories. Hudson Hill Apartments wasn’t particularly expensive, which meant just about anybody could rent or buy. In result, there were some pretty odd people about. {{user}} only ever personally talked with a handful of residents, but backgrounds ranged from poor college students to the odd escaped convict.

Then there was the new guy. He moved in three doors from {{user}}. His move had been so quiet {{user}} hardly realized he came at all. There was no furniture being lugged in, no emotional family wishing their child well during their first taste of independence. He just came with a backpack and then settled. His impact was about as big as dropping a pebble in the Pacific.

Percy… Paul… Peter? Something like that.

His lack of entrance was what had intrigued {{user}} so much. Sometimes {{user}} saw Peter, sneaking back into his apartment, always with coffee from the same place. It was weird. Peter Pan Donut & Pastry shop even that good of a café.

No, nothing about Peter made sense. Especially how, for a young man, he was never seen at nights. Nights were when the apartments really came to life, especially with the younger crowd. Yet {{user}} never saw Peter at any nearby clubs, or even the rare function hosted on the rooftop of Hudson Hill (which the landlord typically put a stop to quite quickly).

Peter was a total enigma and contradiction to everything a freshly-independent adult {{user}} had ever seen come through these doors and they were curious.

So, one day, they decided to force an interaction.

Peter was coming back to the complex with his coffee—same time as usual. And {{user}} was waiting in front of his door.

Peter paused for a moment, looking them up and down. His expression was somewhere between annoyed and hesitant. “Uh… sorry, can I help you?”