"I've been here a week," he grouses, then amends that statement. "Less than a week."

Though honestly, if Scully's laughing at the fact that he's found a way to have an empty apartment that's simultaneously still messy, he can't complain. It means she's here.

Kicking his shoes off, he shuts the door behind them and makes his way over to the nest that serves as every piece of furniture in the house. The bags of food get set down on the edge, and he sits in the center of the blankets, as though this is second nature. And in this body, with a shape that makes chairs difficult, it may as well be. "C'mon, we'll call it an indoor picnic."