[i]Light scattered across the bed in stray pockets and a breeze shook the window’s tapestry with stale energy. Climbing through the open glass came sounds of the night beyond, they taunted, in more ways than one. Sounds of a successful night on the town, sounds of a victim lost in the dark; none of this kept Colin awake. No, instead it had been that sinking feeling, something which stirred deep within his viscera. Despite this all of this, his burly body remained cocooned like a fat caterpillar, dressed in white sheet.

"Fuck it."

Colin stretched, a sleepy bear in the slab of queen mattress he had all for himself. He slid in curt movements out from the silk sheets, re-alined his crotch, and honed straight for the glow of the bathroom's open frame. There was a rhythmic dripping that didn't reveal itself until his eyes had adjusted to the clouded white that shone around the bathroom's vanity. Ah, there it was.

He leaned over the toilet, holding himself up with one hand pointed straight against the wall.

...

Colin caught streams of freezing water from the sink and washed any doubts away from consciousness. He smirked at his reflection, staring back was a still-sexy, hardened man. He was someone the general public would assume "had been through some shit," from his broken nose - received the first time he was kidnapped by a hostile gang - to the other scars, the ones many ladies have seen but have never asked about.

He stuttered out from the bathroom and moved in little thuds across the old hardwood, the wood squealed at his every step. He grabbed the wardrobe's door and it creaked open. Laid on the shelves were a bunch of white shirts, a few long-sleeves, and some sweaters. Colin reached under the shelf, grabbed the second drawer and pulled it open to reveal a rectangular sea of dark denim, he snatched a pair and shook them out before sliding into the perfectly hemmed jeans. There was one thing Colin took from his father and that was to "always find yourself - no matter where you end up in life, kehd - a good-ass tailor." Apparently there were "no excuses" for anything otherwise. [/i]

[center]...[/center]

He listen to the crowd swell over cheap beers and shots of whiskey, rather disinterested in the fight going on behind him. Though he preferred seeing bands at The Spit the fights were cool enough, but for tonight he was looking for something different.

Colin stirred the whiskey with brief circular motions and let it fall down his throat. He slammed the glass on the table, beckoning for another.