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Elijah doesn't have a single pair of properly matched socks. Sean wonders how the hell he manages to pull off dress socks for formal events. Sean wonders why the fuck he's folding Elijah's laundry, and then he remembers it's because he can. Twitchy compulsiveness won't allow a basket of clean, dry clothes to sit for more than twenty minutes under Sean's eye. "Sean, have you seen my blue—" Elijah asks, and Sean looks up. "In your closet." Elijah smiles. "Thanks, dude." Sean matches up the socks as best he can like always, and wonders if Elijah has ever noticed. |