Her room has been slowly gaining color, decor, and a life of its own. Presents from her new little family have ended up on the walls and on her desk or dresser. Her night stand has her sketchbook and a handful of loose pencils. More are scattered along the floor underneath it, and there's a line of dirty clothes that she hasn't bothered picking up.

The towel joins it after she's got panties and a tank top on, and she belatedly pulls her pajama pants up before climbing onto the bed and sidling close.

"I didn't know you and Kavinsky were doing the thing again," she says. Her voice is soft, even though they're alone and don't really need to whisper.