After introducing himself, Ean sat back down and picked up his controller, like the sub-par host that he was.
What? he protested, putting the console peripheral aside. What do you expect me to do? They’re your imaginary friends, not mine.
While that was technically true, it was also technically true that my imagination and his imagination were our imagination, thus giving us joint responsibility for its products. But besides that, this was E’s apartment. And that made him the host, unless he wanted me to show you around.
Actually, that would potentially be fun. I’ve been narrating Ean for years, so I know where he keeps all the stuff he doesn’t want people to know about, and tons of embarrassing stories on top of all that.
Ean jumped up to his feet. So, he said, this is my apartment. Why don’t you let me show you around?