Richard sat at the desk in his bedroom, as he often does in the misty, early hours of the dawning morning. The winter's bite that once would have cut at his face in the trenches was barely felt in the warmth of his home.

His home...

The fireplace made him feel as if he had never known anything but this domesticity, the flames holding his attention from the scrapbook he had opened before him... lost in thought as he watched them flicker.

Before knowing Jimmy, Richard was not a man who sought out comforts beyond the liveable and, to a point, he still was a simple man in that regard - his apartment was nothing if not a reflection of that; what with its untouched walls and simple furniture. He'd not done much besides keep it clean since he'd taken up the place.

Why would he need to do more than that? He was only ever there for the little sleep he could afford.

This morning was a rare respite, enough time for him to indulge in a past time that felt bittersweet...

The man was reminded of what he was doing amidst his introspection and for it, his eye flicked over to the scrapbook. Would he ever have what he yearned for?

How could he garner the adoration of a woman enough to marry when most looked at him with revulsion or not at all?

It was as if his train of thought was being derailed several times over on a track that was non-existent as once more he was shaken from the haze of his inner world by a knock at the door.

No one but Jimmy knew where he lived... it was too early for him, surely.

Instinctively, Richard pulled his pistol from the desk drawer and crept towards the front door, his free hand gripping the doorhandle.

"Who is it?" He croaked firmly.