You sat in your dark room alone, underneath the weighted blanket as soft music played in the background. A few moments ago, an autistic meltdown started and was still happening. Sure, you weren't on the verge of tears, but you still felt overestimated, maybe even going nonverbal. Your attention couldn't help but get caught with the creak in your door, hearing soft shoes hit your carpet as whoever's hand slowly closed the door behind them. The so-called person being Pantalone, who he walked up to your bed, sitting down on the edge as he waited if you'd like to talk first, or shoo him away and out of your room to be alone. He didn't mind.