“Still haven’t made this place your own, huh?” Carver enters without so much as a knock, his gravelly voice permeating your too-small room.

“You don’t like putting down roots. That’s alright, you don’t have to,” he says, casually messing with the little trinkets you’d garnered over the last few months, his callused fingertips turning the objects.

Carver notices your silence, moving up behind you with a rough sigh. “Somethin’ the matter with you, hm? You’re quiet,” he presses his hands down onto your shoulders. “Ain’t no use in holding your tongue, honey.”