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He hadn't left much in the apartment, at least; linens, pillows, a handful of forgotten dirty clothes, three or four bottles of strong alcohol tucked under the bed. The necessities, of course, and nothing more. All the same, now that Ever was back in the states, back in Destiny City, he couldn't help but think about reclaiming it.

Or trying to, perhaps, was a more accurate explanation.

As Ilmenite, he could have simple teleported into the middle of the room and taken the place in -- but paranoia crept in when he thought about it, when he thought about the potential energy signature blipping up like a beacon in the middle of his home. Hadn't thought about that at Zac's place, but perhaps now he would. No. Instead his approach would be marked by the stumbling, limpy thump of his boot against the stairs, grumbling at the walk up into what had once been his apartment, and the rattle as he struggled with keys in the door.

There would be plenty of warning before he shoved the door open, drawing in a deep breath and expression sliding toward victory as he peered in.

Things were very calm on the floor, for a long moment -- Ever stretched out with keys still swinging from the lock, trying to process what, exactly, had just happened. Slowly, though, his face would blossom into pain: not the sharp pain of a slice or the grating feeling of bone on bone but the slow, growing throb of bruising and swelling. Unpleasant but familiar.

His eyes just locked on Drew for a moment before he shut them, biting back on a whimper. As of yet, he didn't try to stand up, didn't try to move, just stayed where he was and tried to go boneless. Things hurt less, if he didn't bunch.

"...it's...was my apartment..."

Oh. There were the needles, the scrapes, the grating -- Ever grunting as he hit the floor again. He should have caught himself and rolled, Drew himself had been teaching him to roll, but months without practicing had left him slow and clumsy. That plus, of course, the boot: it was light for what it was, more cloth than plastic, his leg healed enough that he perhaps could have taken it off but probably should have been using a cane in addition. It was also still bulky enough that he only managed to keep from hitting any fragile extremities.

"Son of a --" Not directed at Drew, precisely. More at the room around them, from his position once again on the floor. Finally, he brought fingers up to his face, to a swollen cheekbone, bruise dark against his skin. "I was using a key. What kind of robber uses a key?"

Ever lay still for a moment, squinting down at his foot -- and then finally, after a very long moment, reached up to catch the edge of the bedspread and haul himself into a sitting position. It made his head spin, whirl, made his cheek throb again. He mad a grumbling noise and decided not to get up the rest of the way.

"...the landlord's a tiny Italian woman." At least he was recovered enough to be sarcastic and a bit grumpy, instead of just that dazed expression. He looked around the room, hunting for signs of him there, and likely finding none. It seemed highly probably Drew'd sold or thrown out all her stuff. "Please, for the love of God, tell me you never hit her like that."

A slow breath outward, his eyes on Drew and his head cocked to the side, and then Ever eased back into motion, using the blankets to haul himself up onto the bed and stretching his leg out as he did. Had it been anyone else, he probably would have held out his hands in the hopes for a lever up, for help with the motion, something that would leave his head ringing less. He didn't even try, with Drew.

Let people say he had no common sense. Ever knew he had some at least.

"Why'd you think I'd be gone longer?" It came with a squint, changing the subject instead of venturing into conversation about murdering hapless landlords. If he didn't ask, Ever could just assume that Drew's old one had deserved it. "When I have all this to come back to?"

"...just don't tell Zac." That came out slow, dry. Even better, then. He could go into joking and flirting, his head cocked to the side, trying to look amused but...his eyes just a bit swollen, too, killed the effect. He eased back, slowly, and puffed out a breath, all attempts at a smile fading out to thoughtful again.

"Is any of my stuff still here?" He should have sounded more sarcastic and less hesitant. As it was, Drew was going to be able to read the hint of hope in his tone, and that was probably bad news.

The start of an answer to that formed on his tongue: something which, certainly, would have just riled Drew up more. Ever squinted up at him and whuffed out a breath, eyes narrowed and head tipped back against the wall. His face hurt. And his leg hurt. Probably not wise to poke at the bear. So, miracle of miracles, he didn't.

Instead he thought for a moment, with a hum. "...Can I have it back, or is it a tax, at this point?"

Ever huffed out a breath as he looked down at his own foot, and then shifted to prop it some on the bed. Like that, some of the ache would fade away; it was uncomfortable enough walking on the damned thing as it was. Thank God for teleportation, limiting the distance he had to cover, screw the subway.

"I got in a fight." Which was true enough. His eyes narrowed a bit as he said it, attention sliding back onto Drew -- perhaps to see if that was good enough. Probably not. That was a bit of a no brainer.