"Yeah." He answers plainly, setting Bubsy down on the floor and letting her go about inspecting her new surrounding as she pleases. He swings his heavy backpack off his back and sets it down on one of the chairs.

He goes to say something, about how strange it feels, about whether he's sad or angry or frustrated or gloomy or anything else, but the truth is he doesn't know how he feels. There's far too much in his head, an odd combination of a child, an eternally powerful being, and a teenager anarchist, all cramped together in that little skull. You'd think the second one would overtake the other two, but things don't really work that way.

In the end, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he looks around, taking in the room. "Do you live with someone?"