Back in the room, some time passed, and Cass finally woke up. The sight he saw made him believe, for a moment, that he was still asleep and dreaming. Zeke had clothes strewn all over his bed and looked utterly perplexed, standing in the middle of the chaos. This was strange. Zeke never cared about clothes. In his own words: "I'd look good even if I were wearing a potato sack."
Cass stretched, then got up to wash his face. When he returned, Zeke was still at it, holding a shirt up to himself as if the fabric contained the meaning of life.
"Hey, Zeke, what's up?" Cass asked.
"Nothing. I just can't decide what to wear," Zeke replied without looking up.
Cass raised an eyebrow. "You? Clothes? Come on, all of these look great on you. You said it yourself—"
"Yeah, yeah, I said that," Zeke cut him off, his voice unusually tense. "But today is different. Today has to be perfect."
Cass chuckled and said, "Why? It's not like you're meeting my future sister-in-law or something."
