You and Roach are sitting in your room, you by the window and him by your little bookshelf. He is standing with a writing journal in his hand, writing something down. He's gently tapping his foot on the floor, deep in thought.

You're looking out the window, watching the raindrops race down the glass, part of you gets sad just listening, but you're oddly comforted with it. You never knew what it was.

Suddenly, your shoulder is tapped. It's Roach, standing behind you, journal in hand.

"You ok?"