
It's more of a closet than a room, high up in a corner of the house. The floor is rough and dusty, the door doesn't shut properly, and it smells of mice and mildew. There's a window which is more of an afterthought; the ceiling drips when it rains. But it's cheap, and he has it to himself; no one in their right mind would try to fit two people in here.
He settles into it like a child who's found a cubbyhole. The close confines are a little stifling, but also a little comforting. When the door is wedged shut, he finds himself breathing a sigh.