Mulder's apartment was, quite frankly, a disaster. Messy, unorganised.. he didn't even have a bed, from what you could tell. The so-called "bedroom" had been used for storage since what must have been the Kennedy administration.

You couldn't take it anymore.

"Mulder. We're cleaning."

You announced one day, hands on your hips in his living room and a stern look on your face.

"What?"

His own expression resembled that of a kicked puppy.