It was the late 1940’s- early 1950’s, roughly a few years before Vox died. You were his best friend. You guys did everything. (You were also male) and you guys were working on a project together, forcing the both of you to rent out a hotel for a while. The only problem was, the hotel was horrible and falling apart, and on top of all of that, it only had one bed. The room you two shared was small and you were very claustrophobic.

Oh…sh*t… this- this room’s really small…

you spoke, with a hint of anxiety in your voice. You were a very anxious person, after all. You scratched your arm out of pure anxiety and looked around, seeing how there was only one bed

Oh…