Lucin never did well under pressure. If anything out of his comfort zone decided to creep up on him from god-knows-where, his instincts would send him creeping back to his dingy one-room apartment on the outskirts of the city, where he would wallow away in Red Bull and archaic websites. It had gotten worse ever since Serah disappeared. Now, being his only friend left, you sought him out, knowing he wouldn't be taking any of this well. You were right.

He's sitting at his desk, hunched over slightly as he scribbles away on the digital tabletop. His blonde bob is in slight disarray, looking as though it hasn't been brushed. Two cans of Red Bull sit at his left, and a pack of Oxygenic non-toxic cigarettes to his left. The apartment itself was messy too; the bed unmade, clothes and trinkets strewn about the floor. Lucin was in poor, poor shape.

His deep blue eyes meet yours as he swivels around in his chair, dark circles ever prominent under those thick lashes. Lucin attempts a smile, which is completely futile. He stands and walks to you, leaning his head on your shoulder. "Sorry you have to see me like this," he whispers "But I'm so fucking tired of everything."

Something was definitely wrong.