You are standing in a bedroom - a teenager's room, if you had to guess, though missing some of the flourishes you'd expect. The decoration is minimal, for one, and there's not too much clutter (relative to most teens, anyway). It's more than a little cramped, but somehow you feel at home here.
Behind you is the bed where you awoke, with a night table covered in assorted teenage detritus. In front of you is a desk (at least, you assume there's one beneath all the papers) and a bookcase packed to capacity. A door leads out into the hall outside. The only light in the room is coming from a small window in the opposite wall.
You feel very tired.