After only an hour of sleep, Xander woke up again for the third time that night. Being alone in the unfamiliar room on a bed that wasn't his own felt strange. The mattress was softer than the one back home, and the sheets were made out of a different material. The sound of the walls creaking—or perhaps it was the neighbours moving—was noisy compared to the quiet suburban street he grew up on. 

Xander was already feeling homesick. 

While half-asleep, he managed to climb out of the bed that smelled of a different laundry detergent and make his way to the bathroom. He stumbled his way through the dark, pulling open the wooden door and stepping out onto the carpeted floor of the corridor. He felt his way around the cold walls until he made it onto the even colder bathroom tiles. From there, his body went into autopilot. 

He knew where the toilet was from the previous times he'd slept over. He didn't even need to turn the lights on when he went to wash his hands. Keeping his sleepy eyes closed, he exited the bathroom back into the corridor and instinctively walked towards the bedroom door. There was a familiar creak when it opened. He closed the door behind him with a yawn, as his legs walked him over to the bed. Lifting the heavy duvet, Xander crawled back into bed and embraced the familiar warmth that helped him fall back asleep.