Cleanliness is next to godliness, yeah yeah blah blah. Cesare listlessly pulls out a few sheets until he's found one that's clean, or clean enough, but he still carefully sniffs it to make sure. He couldn't be bothered to deal with the washing machine, and certainly not with pressing and ironing and folding things. He's not making concessions when it comes to straightening his hair, but pressing sheets is just a waste of time.
Miquel hovers discreetly. Don't be so jealous, carissim', he says. Let them have what they have.
"Have I said anything?" Cesare whirls around.
No, Miquel smiles sadly, and you don't need to. Your face is like a book.
"Mpfh." He slams his bedroom door a little harder than necessary, shoves the sheet in Iago's general direction. "That okay?"