[C'mon, man, he's a latchkey teen. He can handle it. Well, the basic stuff... anyway. He glances at Quill skeptically, leading him to sit on the sadly bare bed. It'll look a lot better once he can make it a little more personal. For now, maybe it's good that it's not — it's like Quill doesn't have to deal with anything that reminds him of jack shit. Right? Right.]

Hey, at least I'm not naming it after an 80's hair band or something.

[That's a jab at you, bud. He's not even aware of the whole Benatar thing, he just knows you're totally nostalgic and dorky, same as him. He plops his backpack down on the edge of the bed, and as soon as he knows Quill's sitting, he very nearly collapses backward onto the half-busted couch, but thinks better of it and leans on the wall near it instead.

One seat sinks way too far (like it's a monster eating you), but he kind of likes it.]

The bathroom's that door, there's some popsicles in the freezer but I have no idea where they came from — um, and... [He yawns into his hand.] Um... medical kit's in the backpack, crammed in the top... I should, uh. I've gotta go finish my rounds... but you can stay however long you wanna. I'm not exactly living here yet, so...