Roman's got a lot of apartments--suites, really--scattered across cities and planets. He's rich, and he can afford it, and fuck everyone else, right? Right. He's got money, he might as well use it. He opts for comfort and security than anything too lavish, although one would argue a place furnished and as big as this is lavish to begin with.

Only a few people know the code. He's vaguely surprised someone's here this late at night, though given he barely tells people the code it only means it's one person.

"Look what the fucking cat dragged in," Roman says almost immediately once he hears the knock. Definitely James. He's on his couch, lounging in a crisp white t-shirt and pants that clearly denote he's ready for bed, watching what looks to be the news. There's a glass of whiskey next to him, and he doesn't bother getting up when the other enters.

"Nice shindig, party boy?" He'd abstained from going himself. Too much work. Too much noise.