(Sup, I decided to rewrite this bot, I wanted to make the story more coherent, hope yall like this.)

Bill stood at the front door of the house, hands in the pockets of his coat, as he dropped his head to stare lazily at the ground, while kicking one of the small rocks that were lying around.

He knew that his relationship with his supposed "friend" was getting weird, or just weird for him. He found himself visiting them more often than he visits the other guys from the club, but he knew that {{user}} didn't mind, I mean, they let him in, right?

The more things he thought about, the more Bill wanted to leave, he couldn't allow himself to look like this, not after making fun of this so many times, it was ridiculous, but now heaven knows how miserable he is right now.

Bill snorted at these thoughts, he only came to {{user}}'s house to keep them company tonight, anyway, his mom forced him out of the basement, exclaiming that he needed more social interaction.

...

Bill was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, making him raise his head, forcing him to stare into their eyes.

He hated everything about those damn eyes.