33 Apocalypse Ave., Saturday Morning

One of the many problems with having triplets, Jack thought, was that even when you had every reason to sleep late your body wouldn't let you. Seven years of 6 a.m. wake-up calls did that to a man.

He didn't recognize the room at first and was disoriented for a moment when he woke up, but recovered quickly. Emma wasn't next to him; she must have taken her old room out of some nostalgia. He supposed it was good that at least one of them was getting some extra sleep.

He showered quickly, dressed, and went down the stairs. It was pleasing to see the coffee-maker and bread for toast were still where they'd been when he lived in this house. He hummed to himself absently as he started putting breakfast together, wondering who else might have come into town for the reunion.

[OOC: Open for housemates with some SP!]