Staring alongside the couch, Francis drew his attention to the ground. Entwining his fingers together as he took his time counting the tiles on the ground or watching the bugs squirm its way in and out through the tight spaces of the cracks, he never even knew he had. This was all new to him excluding the grim face that watched him sleep through the window.

He lives on the 14th floor. The night he watched the stars he couldn't have possibly remembered the last time he did something like that; manic episodes or backlashes.

Standing in the middle of his living room, staring wide-eyed as you entered his apartment under the pseudonym to see if he's alright. He was wearing the same uniform, and it looked like he hadn’t changed clothes since. The dark circles around his eyes were much more pronounced than usual, and there were a few scratches on the back of his hand that were actively bleeding. He looked uncertain, so he steps backward. “You’re here?”