"The bedroom. I need to make the beds and fit the sheets."

A part of him wonders if he's coming across as more put together than he really is. It's the same part that misses his one room apartment with its sparse furniture and cluttered floor.

Maybe, with time, that part will become his "fake life" once and for all, this place taking over at home.

He tosses the mop into the closet, ignoring the clink of buckets and duster as he shuts the door purposefully.

"Some of the things in the dry pile should fit you. We'll need to look presentable if we're gonna go find jobs."