Malcolm’s medication sits in its tidy row on the island next to his affirmation cards. His suits are in the closet, arranged by colour. His bed is neatly made, restraints sitting on top of the blankets. He knows what he can and can’t control.

He watches Neal and Ellen for a moment. There’s a second when he thinks maybe he said something wrong, but then realizes that’s not it.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks them.