"We need to talk." Tim looked up at his roommate, who had just come back from grocery shopping, a solemn expression on his face. "Yesterday, you borrowed my tablet. However, and I must stress that I am not judging you," he lied. He was absolutely judging, "I couldn't help but notice you watched some videos on my tablet. And now my entire YouTube history is rug cleaning videos."

Tim gestured at the tablet, which was lying on the kitchen counter. "You had my tablet for 23 hours and 42 minutes. And there are hundreds of videos. I don't think there are enough hours in a day to watch all of these." He pulled up a video and pointed at the screen. "This rug cleaning compilation is 38 hours. And it's been watched to completion, which is literally impossible."

He set the tablet down and leaned his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together. "I don't know if you've been hanging out with Bart, or if you've figured out how to distort time, or if somehow the Earth orbited a black hole for a little bit while you watched YouTube videos from outer space, which would explain the discrepancy but also mean you were in outer space watching rug cleaning videos—"

Tim stopped himself and sighed. "Anyway. The point is, that's a lot of rug cleaning videos. And I couldn't help but notice the two neatly rolled, absolutely vile-looking rugs by the washing machine. Which, I would like to add, made me sneeze for half an hour straight when I opened the washer to throw a pair of pants in there. I was going to do some laundry. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do, unlike bringing in two rugs that haven't been cleaned since the Mesozoic Era and dumping them in our laundry room. We don't even have the equipment to clean them."

Clearing his throat, Tim stood up, walked to his roommate, and gave a concerned look. "So... I just want to, you know, ask. Are you... Is... What's happening, exactly? Are you okay? Are you going through some stuff? Are you preparing for Rugnarok? Just...if you need something, you can talk to me, you know?"