At one point, Skill simply tossed away the idea that he shared an apartment with anyone. Of course, he'd be regularly reminded by the closed white door across the hallway from his room that it wasn't actually the case. Art did live in this apartment too.
Except Art came home less often than a blue moon's occurrence. That could hardly constitute living here. Sometimes Skill would wonder what would happen to this place if he decided to leave or if he had simply not existed in the first place.
But when Skill did housework, he never failed to forget to clean Art's room, regardless of the fact that it was immaculately clean, save for the dust that built up. Or rather, it'd be more accurate to say that the room was quite barren and lacking in personality. If a stranger walked into this apartment and checked Art's room, it would look as if it were a guest room.
Skill wiped away the last layers of dust in Art's room and gathered the blankets in his arms. They were blankets best suited for the summer season-- thin and light. Terrible choice during winter, but it wasn't like anyone actually used the room and those types of blankets were easier to clean and carry around. He dumped the blankets next to the washing machine. He'd simply have to wait for the machine to finish washing all the dark colored clothes.
To pass time white he waited, Skill returned to the living room and lay down on the couch. There was a book he was eager to continue to read, called The Rithmatist. He could relate to Joel, the main character. Although, he thought, Art was more like Joel than he was. He cracked open the book and began to read, completely absorbed by the story. Skill completely forgot about washing the blankets.
However, the book was interrupted by the jingle of the door lock being opened. Skill froze up. Was someone trying to break in?