Nigel strutted into the room with the air of a man who knew perfectly well how important he was, wheeling in a rack overflowing with garments of varying shades and fabrics.
The clothes swayed gently as he maneuvered the rack to the center of the room, humming an overly dramatic tune.
"My, my," he said, looking around as if he was inspecting a crime scene. "This place looks… the same. Should I call it minimalistic?"
"I wanted to respect your choices, so I didn't say anything last time, but I can see you've decided to stick to the 'exiled prince who gave up on interior design' aesthetic. Bold choice."
Noah, seated at his desk, looked up dryly. "It's a dorm room, not a palace."
Nigel clasped his hands behind his back, taking a slow, theatrical turn about the room. "Yes, yes, of course. The kind of simplicity that reminds me of the city guards' prison cells. I suppose it helps you think."
