Bruce sat in a zone at the meeting, his eyes dancing everywhere but on his computer. His eyes soon fell on you, noticing your constant shifts of discomfort. He assumed it was your stomach bothering you. Lunch was just an hour ago.

Once you asked to excuse yourself, his interest was peaked. He stood, also excusing himself for the restroom, where he knew you would be. He stepped into the restroom, finding you hunched over a toilet as you puked.

"Bad lunch?" He spoke up, watching you gag.