Outside the apartment door.
Kneeling on cold tile, one ear pressed against peeling paint. All of his sounds muffled by the building and engulfed by the echoes of the city outside. The halfhearted hope that he won't see the shadow of a body through the gap beneath the door.

Under the couch.
Flattened uncomfortably between its fabric-lined frame and the hardwood floor. All of his heat and weight pressing down. The threat of suffocation as a ribcage struggles to expand.

Beneath the kitchen sink.
Curled in darkness surrounded by sweet scented poisons. The slow tack of bare feet on linoleum before his shadow obscures the bright line where the cabinet doors meet. Water rushing through a metal pipe.

In the apartment above.
Crawling silently, hovering just above the floorboards. The soft thread of his voice drifting upward and crumbling apart before it can be grasped. Following the sound of his footsteps to the place where they pause, knowing he is directly below.