"It's open." This gets called, slightly muffled, from inside the suite. It is, indeed, unlocked, it usually is, nobody's worried about theft. The sitting room is dark and the door that leads to Rich's bedroom is closed; even Rich must be in bed, judging by the shuffling and giggling noises barely filtering out from there.
There's a light on in Lee's room, which is chaotic as usual, claustrophobic really, books and papers and records and clothes strewn everywhere. Her lamp is on, coating the room in a dim orange glow. The window's all stuffed up with rags, though if it makes a difference in temperature, it's impossible to tell.
Lee is the lump under the blankets on the narrow bed. When she hears footsteps, she sits up, her mussed hair flopping all over the place, dangling in front of her eyes. "Michael?" She can see him through the curtain of her hair even in the dimness, how strange he looks. And how cold. She scoots over just a little, making room for him on the bed, inviting him in. She's still wearing her coat.