[ He was heading unsteadily toward the door, but he pauses, takes a few rallying breaths.

(You promised—)

He shakes himself, straightening, putting on some of his usual confidence and levity. ]

I’m not gonna sleep in your weird, unmade bed.

[ That bed is bare and naked and uncouth, and considering the secondhand appearance of a lot of Pete’s furniture, who knows what or who’s been on that thing?

Peter’s just saying, if you took a blacklight to this place... ]

It’s all yours, okay? What’s the point in dishing out cash for your own place if you’re not gonna actually sleep in it?