Vincent helped Margaret up onto an upper bunk before plopping down on the lower bed. He rubbed his eyes, took off his dirty shirt, and went to see about putting on the thin grey t-shirt that was supplied. He grumbled about it being too small, but put it on anyways. It would classify as a fitted shirt in all honesty. However, Vincent was used to baggy shirts. He noticed that the pants were also too small. Perhaps he could find someone who had the opposite problem and make a trade. An answer to Vincent’s questions came from above, literally.
 
“These pants are too big,” Maggie called softly down to her brother, “Do you want to trade?” She dangled the grey set of scrubs from the top bunk. Vincent took only the pants from her and placed the smaller ones in her hands. 

“Shirt too?” Margaret requested. Vincent decided he would much rather see his sister in a baggy t-shirt than a fitted one, especially in a room filled with strangers. 

“No.” He replied simply. His tone marked the end of a discussion. Vincent replaced his torn jeans with the pants, sighing in relief and resignation. He bundled his clothes up and put them on the floor. 

Margaret was infinitely grateful for her tank top at this moment. She felt like she was on a stage, way up on the top bunk, though no one was actually looking at her. They were all too busy sorting themselves out to be bothered with anyone else. Maggie took off her jacket and shirt, using them as a makeshift sponge to wipe away sweat before putting on the fresh shirt. She removed her shoes, socks, and pants. Quickly, she put on the new pants, thankful that she had a manageable size now. She, too, wrapped all of her clothes together before dropping them onto Vincent’s. Her clothes were quickly followed by her shoes, which made a loud smack when they hit the floor. Margaret winced. She felt bad seeing a few of the kids startle and tried to make herself as small as possible.

She lay down on her back, staring at the ceiling. Margaret had a hard time deciding whether she liked being here more than being homeless or not. At least she got to sleep in when she was homeless. The thought of a guaranteed next meal was the most relaxing thought she had come across since she and Vincent left the bunkers. Vincent, on the other hand, was mostly very relieved that they were here. He knew that it meant safety from the outside. Something about the facility told him that there were big plans for their future. He reveled in the comfort of having a place to stay and the promise of food in the morning. Vincent ran his fingers through his hair and let them rest, intertwined, on his neck. His elbows rested on his knees, a posture of tiredness. Vincent couldn’t bring himself to sleep, not now.