"Sure," he says, heading over to the one closet that isn't open and opens the doors, flicking on the light. Inside, everything's on hangers or stacked--for the most part, neatly--on the shelf. He pulls an armload of clothing out, everything still on its hangers; it seems easiest to just take it out and take the hangers out as he folds it.

There are a few things he's pulled out that seem familiar; not that he can remember specifically, as he'd never really paid attention to what Tony was wearing, but he has vague memories of seeing Tony wear it. Maybe it's better that way, that it hadn't really made that much of an impression on him, as it helps him stay calm and detached as he carefully starts folding shirts.