"I'm - " he begins, quietly purposeful, but whatever momentum he seems to have gathered abruptly dies out. He holds a crumpled pair of jeans limp in one hand, shoulders tightening around his ears.

It's what he always does.

Run, boy, as soon as things start going the slightest bit south. Seclude yourself. Section yourself off. Safer that way.

Hide like the coward you are.

"Finding my own place," he says, trying to infuse the words with some kind of firm finality. "Building's pretty much free for whoever now, right? There's empty rooms down the hall, I've seen 'em."

The jeans he shoves roughly in with the rest as he stands, shouldering his bag. Throw up all those old walls. It's not that hard, now, is it?