do you wanna dance, do you wanna fight?

You know, Mike had never expected to suddenly not like the style of furniture he owned, all dark and heavy wood. Don't get him wrong, it was still great to see his familiar stuff again, and he had missed it. And he still liked it all, too. It was just that when the truck with all his stuff arrived on , the guys driving it took one look at the island and all its stairs and decided they really weren't getting paid enough to haul everything across town. They'd help get stuff off the truck, and wait around, but they weren't going to drag anything across what they defined as an unreasonable distance between the parking area and the house. Guess they were used to neat suburbs.

Mike wasn't going to fight them about it. He was just getting Derek to help him. A fit normal person and a werewolf were going to be able do this, right? It was just... a heavy dresser, and matching shelves, and his bar, and a couple of armchairs, and a table with some chairs, and then assorted boxes of household appliances and clothes and random crap he hadn't managed to stuff into his car when he'd driven himself up here.

And his bed. He honestly wasn't sure they wouldn't have to take the frame apart to carry it home. This was going to be a long day.

"Guess there's no choice but to just get started."

[ooc: Open to the housemate as well as other random helpers/observers!]