Accompanied by a young man carrying a similarly-bulging duffel bag. 

"Hi! I'm Eliza." 

"Hey." Can he manage a friendly smile? Maybe a mildly awkward one. "Dylan." The other guy did not introduce himself but right now he can't think of a non-awkward way to point that out so he's just going to let it sit.

"I'm your roommate, this is my boyfriend Joey." Friendly cheek-peck. 

He smiles fondly at her and then nods politely at Dylan. "Hi." 

"Good to meet you both," he lies smoothly, trying very hard to steer his mind away from the thoughts generated by that casual display of affection. He should think about... experiments he could do to figure out the boundaries of this 'domain' thing. Find an abandoned warehouse to squat in? Buy a tent? Buy one of those bed tent canopy things? Build a pillow fort?

The two of them disappear into 201A to start unpacking. 

"Disappear" is perhaps not the best possible word; the door is left open, and if he looks in, he can see them, taking things out of one of the two overpacked bags and putting them in places. They orient with respect to each other automatically; they aren't silent, but a lot of their communication is non-verbal. 

But if he doesn't want to interact with the fact that they, and their casual, automatic affection exists, then they aren't at all obtrusive. 

After about five seconds of this, he decides that he needs to be somewhere very else.

He thinks about trying to turn a sock into a second backpack or something, but no, he's just going to go out there with his hoodie and wander around in search of stuff to decorate his room with and if he buys anything he will haul it home without help. Or buy a second backpack. Anything else would take too long.

It gets easier once he's in the elevator, and easier still once he's out the front door. Something about the way those two were interacting... it felt wrong, but in a strangely enticing way, like looking at someone whose face is so punchable it makes your fists itch. It felt—well, a lot like the way he feels around his parents, when they're being Like That.

If that's how it's going to be, he might need magic powers just to keep him sane and out of jail.

But that's getting way ahead of himself. So the spooky guy disappeared, fine, maybe he had a secret trapdoor or some dumb shit like that. It's not proof. Dylan would really like some proof here.

So how does he find it?

He combs his fingers through his hair and collects a few loose strands, then twists them into a vague approximation of a thread and winds the thread around his finger several times, tucking in the end. Now he has a gold ring.

Then he concentrates on it, remembering the familiar sight of his parents' wedding rings around their fingers... and now he has a gold ring. He looks around to make sure no one saw him casually fulfilling the dreams of centuries of alchemists.

But that's not quite all the way to proof, because how would an ignorant slob like him know real gold from a hole in the ground? What if he's imagining it somehow? So he keeps walking until he sees a big WE BUY GOLD sign, and he walks in with a story about how he found this in his late grandma's jewelry box and he doesn't even know if it's real gold, what'll they take for it, and as he expected, the man behind the counter is only too happy to help. He walks out with an amount of money that is very much a ripoff in one direction if he did make a real gold ring, and very much a ripoff in the other direction if he didn't, and either way the man did not look at him like he was crazy and so he must conclude that either he is much crazier than he thought or he really truly does have magic powers.

With that verification taken care of, he's happy to go hunting for pillow fort materials. He buys whatever's cheapest, intending to transmute it all into nicer but functionally identical things once he's home; he's not quite sure how far his transmutation powers will stretch, and wants to give the pillow fort idea as generous a test as possible to find out if it's possible to make it work at all.

It takes him about an hour and a half, all told; the sun is getting low by the time he makes it back to the suite hauling big poofy bags of cozy textiles.

When he returns, the suite is more populated than when he left it. 

Joey is sitting in the chair nearest to the kitchen, reading what is on closer inspection a biology textbook. Eliza is in the kitchen with an unfamiliar third person, who is making tea while Eliza stirs something in a saucepan. 

The door to Room C is firmly closed and locked. 

Oh, good, Those Two aren't touching. He manages a friendly smile on his way past.

The new face smiles back.

"D'you want some lemon pepper chicken thing?"

His new suitemates are very nice. He doesn't bother hiding his mild, pleasant surprise. "Oh, sure! Thanks! Let me just..." He carefully scoots past them with his big poofy bags and heads into his room to set them down.

(And, in his room with the door closed, he takes a few seconds to sort through all his new blankets and pillows and make them nicer, more like the stuff he remembers from home. Though he does have the presence of mind not to replicate the hand-crocheted blanket his mom gave him when he was five; it would be tough to explain picking that one up at a store, if anyone noticed.)

Soon he's carting an armload of pillows back out into the common area and cheerfully stacking them on the couch.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making a pillow fort!"

"Walked right into that one, didn't I. Fair enough. Hi, I'm Lenore."

"Dylan. Nice to meet you."

"Do you want some help?"

"Aww, but if you help me then I don't get to be proud of doing all the work myself! Tell you what, you can help with the next one."

He stacks up the pillows and goes back for some blankets with which to reinforce his creation, then another round of pillows, then finally some more blankets. The fort is looking pretty spectacular by the time he's done, a riot of colour and coze.

The kettle clicks.

"I think I can make this stretch to four cups," says Lenore, peering into it. "You want any tea, Dylan?"

"Depends, what kind?"

"Oh, he knows about kinds! I have Earl Grey, chamomile, and peppermint."