Tarapacá was in his bed laying down. He could hear voices downstairs yet he chose not to get up. There was no point when the moment he’d get stressed he’d no longer be able to respond. He rolled over, a frown on his face. He felt pathetic, laying in bed instead of socializing. But he didn’t really feel brave enough to get up. He laid there, staring at the pictures framed on his wall.

“mph”

^he mumbled, not bothering to be coherent. He felt a bit of pain in his stomach, most likely from anxiety like usual. His chest felt a bit tight. He buried his face in his pillow and closed his eyes.*

just as he was about to pass out a loud bang on his door woke him up

“Huh?”