"Psst. Hey. Ethan?"

Gentle poking at my shoulder awakens me. I open my eyes and blink, taking in the room that looks strange in the bright light slipping through the bedsheet covering the window. Joshua is lying next to me on the bed. He's on the blanket and I'm underneath it, but still–

"Could you just…" I pause to clear my throat. "Could you stop getting into my bed?"

"I was just wondering," he whispers, "don't you have to go to work or something?"

I fumble for my phone on the bedside table and check the hour.

"Not for another day." I put it back down and rub my eyes. "We work for twenty four hours and then we have forty eight hours off."

"What?" He's still whispering—quite unnecessarily, given that he's already woken me up. "There are jobs like that? Holy crap. Work one day and get two days off?"

"You can apply, too, if you want. Although I doubt you can lift a water hose, let alone drag and use it."

"No, thank you, I'll pass. Right now, I don't think I could look at an unlit fireplace without having a panic attack." He pokes me in the shoulder again. "I need money for groceries. Pasta is all carbs and I'm trying to watch my figure."

"Huh?" I say, trying to catch up. "Money?"

He shrugs. "I'll need to recover my documents to access my bank account, and it will take time, I guess. Come on, don't be greedy. I'll cook us something nice."

"It's not about the money. It's just that you shouldn't go out yet."

"I'm an adult, and I can decide for myself," he says. "I perhaps can’t pay for myself right now, but decide I can."

I sigh, not awake enough to handle the argument.

"In the drawer." I nod in the direction of the bedside table.

He reaches unceremoniously over me, forcing me to hold back the instinct of kicking him to the floor. There's no contact though—he curves his back like a cat to avoid touching me while he rummages in the drawer, and then he's gone, sitting on the side of the bed, checking the cash compartment of my wallet.

"Okay, I'm out," he says, getting up.

"Don't take the credit card," I say. "Only the cash."

"Can't hear ya," comes from the hallway. His sneakers screech on the linoleum as he puts them on. "I won't be long. You can go back to sleep."

I open my mouth to repeat my request about the credit card but then I shut it again. It does bother me a bit, giving him my wallet, and yet the prospect of him stealing my money and running away seems unlikely. No one could be that ungrateful. Also, I could always block the card.

The door slams shut, and the apartment gets quiet. I consider getting up to lock the door, but I'm so comfortable under the sheets that I keep delaying that. Still, leaving a door unlocked in this neighborhood isn't wise, so I intend to lock it, and I keep intending until, eventually and inevitably, I slip back into sleep, lulled by the muffled, steady purring of the traffic outside.

It's the door slamming shut again that wakes me up. I sit up with a jerk, the thought of not having locked it popping right up. Yet the noise of paper bags rustling in the hallway and the familiar screeching of sneakers against linoleum put my mind at ease. Robbers don't bring paper bags with them.

"You're still asleep?" Joshua peaks into the room, a couple of bags pressed to his chest. "I understand now why they give you two days off. You spend one of them sleeping."

"I usually don't–" My mouth is so dry I have to stop speaking. I glance at the hour on my phone again. I sure outdid myself in terms of sleep this time, but at least I do feel rested.

I lower my feet to the floor, my body feeling stiff. I stretch and yawn and then think back to the bags in Joshua's arms. They weren't from Quinnell's shop.

"What did you buy?" I say, getting up.

"Oh, you know. Stuff."

I find him in the kitchen, taking things out of the bags. There're not just two of them, as I initially thought, but four, and only one of them carries Quinnell's logo.

"Nike?" I say, examining the 'V' sign on the side of one of them.

"I needed new sneakers," he says retrieving vegetables from the Quinnell's bag. "The old ones are too dirty. Total loss, and I must look presentable if I'm to find another job."

"And this is?" I peek into another bag.

"Clothes." He looks up and spread his hands, demonstrating the blue shirt he's wearing. It's only now that I notice that he doesn't have my Hanley shirt on anymore. I briefly wonder what became of it.

"I just thought you went shopping for food."

"Yeah, but, you know, I needed other stuff, too, so I thought—hey! Ethan wouldn't mind. I'll pay him back." He winks at me. "If he insists, that is."

I cringe inwardly, estimating how much all the shoes and clothes and whatever else is hiding in those bags could cost. It won’t break me financially, but it's just so unexpected. Yet given that he has lost almost all his possessions, he needs those things more than I need the money they cost. Also, I didn't really define what he can and cannot buy, so this shopping spree is partly my fault.

"I'll cook us a good dinner, okay?" He gives me a wary look, perhaps sensing that boundaries have been overstepped. "And you know what? I got something for you, too."

"Really?" I walk to the counter, pour myself a glass of water and down it before turning back to him. "Hit me."

He digs into the third bag and retrieves what looks like a folded cloth. I stare at it for a moment trying to figure out if it's perhaps a bedsheet or a summer blanket or a large towel, and why would he think I needed one of those.

"A towel?" I try, looking into his expectant face.

"Geez, where have you seen towels this big?" He frowns at me, then turns and walks out of the kitchen. "Come here, take a look."

I find him in the room, standing by the window, unfolding his present—which can't quite be called that, since he bought it with my money. He holds it open, and then I can see what it is.

"Ta-dam." He reaches out and pulls at the bedsheet covering the window. It drops down and the light fills the room, illuminating the new curtain he holds to his chest like a dress. It's white, covered with images of Fireman Sam holding a fire hose shooting blue water in a perfect curve. I can't help but chuckle.

"It's for children," I say.

"I know, but I just had to—I mean, come on, it's fireman, you get it?" He grins at me. "You can return it if you want, but seriously, isn’t it perfect? It'll make you smile. I mean, hanging bedsheets over windows is bold and modern and all, but isn't this better?"

"I guess." His smile is infectious, and my lips stretch against my will.

"Let's hang it now? Do you have a ladder?"

"No need in ladder."

I reach up and remove the curtain rod from the two hooks it's been resting on. Joshua takes it from me and starts slipping the grommet rings of the curtain onto it, one after another.

"Hold it there," he says, and I move closer and hold the other side of the rod.

 I watch him as he works. He looks better now than he did in the evening. His cheeks have gained some color after the walk outside.

"There we go," he says, handing me the rod. I raise it carefully and hoist it back onto the hooks. Joshua starts spreading the curtain to cover the whole window as I step back to observe the result.

"It's childish," he admits, straightening up. "But funny, don't you think?"

Despite the curtain swallowing some of the light, the room still looks very bright. It also looks… different. It's strange how a piece of fabric can transform it so much. I can't quite put my finger on what exactly has changed, but perhaps it's that the room suddenly has a bit of a personality to it. It doesn’t look like a cell anymore.

"I like it," I say.

"Right? Guess it's one of those things you don't know you need until you get them. This shit really brings out the—" he gestures around, seeking the right word. "The whatever in this room, right?"

"Yeah," I say. "The whatever is totally out."