The man in his robe and slippers trudged down the stairs of the student halls, while Tibur followed closely behind him. 

"Can I get my phone back?" asked Tibur. 

"Once I've checked I have your number you can" said the man, "But until then I'm holding it hostage. For all I know, you're not even a student here. You're just some vandal that will have disappeared by the morning."

Tibur was confused; he'd seen a photo of his ID after all, it's not like he was forging student cards so he could go around breaking peoples' windows. But regardless, they crossed the street together, and walked into the side entrance of the Phoenicia. 

The guard at the desk gave them a curious look. He'd never seen the resident of 4C bring back anyone other than a woman. It seemed that maybe he'd run out of potential female partners on the island, given that it was a skinny young man he was taking upstairs with him. 

"Michael! There you are!" cried a half-naked woman as the key was turned and he entered the apartment. 

At the unexpected sight of Tibur walking in behind him, she let out a scream and shut herself behind the door she'd come out of. 

"Don't mind her" said Michael, "Once she puts some clothes on I'll grab my phone from out of the bedroom."

It wasn't as big as Caleb and Tristan's place, but there was a private terrace that led on from the living room, the door to which had been shattered; with only the net screen left intact. Tibur hung his head and clasped his hands together in shame. 

Michael took a seat at the breakfast bar while they waited, examining Tibur as he stood awkwardly before him. "What are you studying?" he asked. 

"Does it matter..?"

"No. I suppose not." 

The door to the bedroom opened, and a blonde woman with messy hair and a cocktail dress came out. 

"Is he staying long?" she asked the man who had been her date for the evening. 

"Seems like it" said Michael, "Do you need me to see you out?" 

The woman stood open-mouthed, until Tibur could no longer bear the uncomfortable atmosphere between them. 

"I'm sorry" he said to her, "I was the one that broke the window. I think he just wants to get that dealt with quickly, please don't take it personally." 

Michael was surprised by his response.

The woman shot them both a final angry look before gathering up the last of her things and slamming the door as she left.

"Why shouldn't she take it personally if I wanted her to leave?" asked Michael, "Surely that's an incredibly personal thing from someone you've just been intimate with."

"I just didn't want her to feel like shit about it" said Tibur.

"That's very big of you. But there was nothing serious between us, we met today and we'd be strangers again tomorrow. Just two people meeting each others' needs. You don't need to feel bad for her."

"Did you even know her name?" asked Tibur.

"Rachel."

"I regret breaking your window, I honestly do. But if it wasn't for the countless stream of women you bring back here, and the ensuing noise that keeps me up half the night, I would never have been driven to do such a thing. Did it never occur to you that your actions might affect people? And not just your neighbors. Rachel looked pissed off. This may have been just another night for you, but it could have meant more than that to her." 

Michael laughed and got up from his seat. "Are you sure you're in your twenties?" he asked, "Don't tell me you're serious with every girl you hook up with? You're not bad looking, you should get out and play the field a little while you can."

"Weren't you going to get your phone?" reminded Tibur, "Just give me your number and let's talk about the window when you've got an estimate for the repairs."

Michael mused on his request and sauntered off into the bedroom to get it. 

"Tell me your number again" he said, typing the digits he was given into one phone and waiting for the screen on the other to light up. "You can save it as 'Michael'" he said, handing Tibur's phone back to him. 

"And I'm-"

"Tibur Farina" said Michael, "I remember." 

It was strange that he'd remembered the man's name in full; to tell the truth he had no idea if the blonde had been called 'Rachel', he'd just thought that Tibur wouldn't think to question it further. The contacts saved, Tibur readied himself to bid the man goodnight. 

"You're leaving?" he asked, "With all this mess left to deal with..?" 

The glass was strewn across the marble floor of the living area, the warm air pushing in through the unprotected screen. 

"Do you have a dustpan and brush?" Tibur asked, "I'll sweep things up and go."

Michael checked under the sink, in the utilities closet, in every kitchen cabinet and found nothing remotely useful. 

"I guess not" he said. 

"So what? You want me to pick it up with my fingers?" asked Tibur. 

"I have a maid" Michael explained, "I don't know where she keeps it. Maybe she brings her own." 

Tibur took a deep breath. "Can you ask the security guard if there's one you can borrow?" 

Michael had never entertained such an idea before. "I can just buy another one" he said, "It's not like they're expensive." 

Tibur motioned to the night sky beyond the broken glass. "At this hour?"

Down the elevator and into the lobby, Michael let Tibur take the lead. 

"You didn't need to come with me" he said. 

"Oh? And what if you ran off into the night? Besides, I'm the resident here. Why would they lend cleaning supplies to a stranger? You could have been trying to clean up after a murder." 

His dramatic reasoning aside, Michael hung back and let Tibur speak with the guard. He explained what he wanted in Modeshi, and after a short back and forth, a tatty brush and mismatching dustpan were retrieved from the back office.

"And that will work, will it?" asked Michael. 

Tibur thanked the guard and they headed back to the fourth floor. 

"So you're Modeshi are you?" he asked. 

Tibur nodded his head, "I thought it was obvious." 

Michael regarded Tibur's dark eyes. "I suppose so..." he said, "But your accent... Your English is excellent. I would have thought you were a native speaker." 

Tibur shrugged. 

"I am. It's our second language in Modesh, and it's the first I learned to speak. Do you have a newspaper?"

"Huh? Oh... no. I don't think anyone reads those anymore. You can use my phone if you wanted to look something up."

"To sweep the glass into" said Tibur, "So it doesn't tear through your trash bag."

"Oh, I see." 

Michael searched the cabinets again, emptying out a box of wine bottles and passing the cardboard to Tibur. 

"Thanks..?" 

The glass was neatly dealt with, and the box was folded and thrown away. 

"Do you have anything to cover the hole with?" asked Tibur. 

"That was my last box..." said Michael, "Should I go out and buy another?" 

The pair took another journey down to the security desk. The supplies were returned, and exchanged for a newspaper and tape. It was only on their way back up in the elevator that Tibur had a realization.

"I should have asked Tristan to borrow stuff" he said, half to himself. 

"Tristan? Who's that? A friend at college?" 

Tibur pointed to the shiny PH on the elevator buttons. 

"My friend lives upstairs. We probably wouldn't have had to bother the guard." 

Michael had seen the guy around the Phoenicia before. Once or twice he'd seen him hit the upper-most button. 

"Glasses? Gym guy?" he offered. 

"That's his husband" Tibur explained, "My friend lives with him here in the penthouse."

"Weird" said Michael.

"What's so weird about two men together?" asked Tibur, "It's not like it doesn't happen. And at least they're committed to one another, not sleeping around and picking up who knows what."

"I meant" said Michael, "that it's weird the loner glasses guy has a husband. I've always seen him creeping around on his own. Miserable asshole. Maybe he keeps your buddy locked up in there; lest he start sleeping around and picking up who knows what. You sure your friend's there willingly?"

Tibur's brow was furrowed in concern, considering whether he ought to pay them an impromptu late night visit. 

"Why do you say that..?" he asked, "What did he do? The guy upstairs. Why should Tristan be afraid of him..?" 

Michael leaned in conspiratorially. 

"Never once, have I seen that man smile. And never once, have I heard him speak. There's something not right about him. One of my guests saw him in the parking lot meeting a guy. She recognized him from the bar where she works; a sleazy detective that specializes in surveillance. I didn't know then that he was married, but it makes sense, doesn't it..? He probably keeps tabs on him, on the rare occasions he lets him out of the house."

Tibur sighed. "So basically he doesn't like you and you've taken offense" he said; "because I can assure you that he both talks and smiles frequently." 

Michael pictured the gloomy guy that skulked around the building and refused to lock eyes with another soul. That guy can smile..? It didn't seem plausible. 

"Well, whatever" said Michael, "It's still news to me that he's married."

Back in the apartment, Tibur taped the paper over the doorframe. 

"I'm not sure it'll do much, but at least it can keep out any draughts." 

Michael laughed as he flicked the paper. "Surely I want the breeze coming through to combat this heat" he said. 

"It will keep the sand out too" said Tibur, "And it's as much as I can do for tonight. Once you have a quote on what the replacement door will cost, I hope you'll take into account my remorse along with my circumstances. It may take a while until I can pay you in full, but I am a man that honors his responsibilities."

To that end, Tibur held out his hand. 

"You broke my door and now you want to shake hands?" asked Michael, "A little presumptive, don't you think?" 

Before Tibur could pull his hand away, Michael grabbed it. 

"And if you don't pay?" he questioned. 

Tibur's dark and earnest eyes stared back at him. 

"Rest assured, that will not be the case. I will pay back every penny." 

Tibur's hand was comfortingly warm beneath his cold fingers. 

"I'll hold you to that" said Michael.

With the tasks that could be done completed, Tibur staggered home to finally sleep; remembering once again that the elevator was out. "Fuck" he said, as he trudged up the stairs to his room. 

At least he knew that the neighbor's guest had gone home for the evening, and there was unlikely to be another round of screaming to keep him awake. After a tepid shower, Tibur had just laid down in the stifling heat of his room, when his phone buzzed. 

"6000 MD" read the message. 

6000 Modeshi dollars..? Was he serious..? He didn't even have the text allowance on his phone to reply and question the ludicrous number he'd been sent.

After several minutes, his phone rang. 

"You didn't reply" said Michael. 

"I'm out of messages" Tibur replied drowsily, "What did you mean by 6000 MD?" 

"What do you think I mean?" said Michael, "It's the price of the door." 

Surely not. It was only the glass that was broken, the frame looked absolutely fine. 

"How do you know?" asked Tibur, "How could you possibly have a quote just like that? At this time of night no less? Whatever idiot told you it was so much, be sure to get a second opinion before you bring the final cost to me."

"I can get a second opinion but it'll still cost 6000" said Michael; "Phoenicia rules. It needs to be the same model doors as the rest of the building, and they don't sell them individually." 

Tibur wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep in his bed and was currently in the midst of a nightmare brought on by his anxiety. 

"Six... thousand?" 

"Don't worry" said Michael, "I'll call you tomorrow and we can discuss your payment plan." 

The call ended, and Tibur was left in a familiar position; laid on his bed in the student housing, and once more unable to sleep.