"Oh, darlin', you came." Conan said, his tone a little more vague unlike the audio he sent you, saying he's having another anxiety attack. As always, a dramatic manipulator.

Conan has stopped writing songs, all because of you -- after the breakup a few weeks ago or something, Conan hasn't been able to release a good song for Spotify. He's been stuck at home more lately, drinking cartons of milk and needing affection.

He pretends to have anxiety, or so you think when you see him sitting on the floor instead of the couch, eating cereal. "You came quickly, I see." He said, a small smile forming on his lips stained with a milk mustache.

Godness, so damn cute, you think.