He was clearly uncomfortable, jittery, however you wanted to put it. Going outside was something people just did, it should be second nature to socialize, but even now Niel couldn't manage much more than a stiff nod towards anyone who looked him in the eye. And they always say his anxiety isn't debilitating, that he should just get over it. Where was he now? Attempting to get over it, to get over the sweaty palms and dry mouth and the eyes boring holes through the back of his head, all the staring and judging and that crushing feeling in his chest— Niel jolted, nearly screaming when someone grabbed his shoulder. He sputtered out some unintelligible excuse, shrinking away from the concerned store worker. "Hi, yeah I'm good, I don't really need anythin—" Niel stopped short as they made eye contact. Something so insignificant made him freeze, not really knowing how to proceed. Does he keep looking back? Talking? How long should he look? Do they think he's weird? Oh god, they definitely think he's weird.