Kieren is still staring at his walls and the window, in disbelief that this might be real. He trails his fingers along the walls and the charcoal of his drawings, the pastel paints on the paper. It's all so much, an overwhelming and wonderful thing, and he stares at them for a moment before glancing over his shoulder.

"Probably think you're more age appropriate," he admits, seeing as he'd seen his Mum's face when he'd first introduced Simon. "I mean, I could tell them the truth, but the last thing I want is them to lock me away because they think I'm mad."

He dresses, quickly, because he's worried that the longer he spends up here, the more awkward it's going to be downstairs. "Tell me when you're ready."