Duo was running late, and while something had happened, that wasn't actually the reason. He'd made the mistake, just before arriving, of thinking about just how uncomfortable the whole thing was going to be (really, Maxwell, the first time you see a guy in months and you're going to ask him for a place to stay? Great plan, there) and ended up pacing in his motel room and talking to himself so long that he hadn't gotten out of there in time.

It wasn't as if the situation was dire really — Duo still had some funds squirreled away, probably enough to keep him housed and fed for a few weeks, at least, but he wasn't the most optimistic about finding a job on a reduced timeframe. Besides, when your resume involved stealing, rebelling against the entirety of government, and a short stint at salvaging, what exactly could you apply for?

He was thankful that the room meant he didn't have to show up with his luggage in-tow, but it didn't exactly get rid of the situation. He was out of breath when he got there, having run most of the way (considering this was his only planned anything for the foreseeable future, it had made more sense to find somewhere to stay nearby and avoid having to pay for transportation). "Hey," he said, sitting down and shrugging off his jacket. He almost wished he was still in the habit of wearing a hat — pulling on it was reassuring. He settled for hooking his thumbs in his pockets. "Sorry I'm late."