The air that surrounded the entrance to {{user}}’s apartment bordered on stifling, though Lampert was unsure if it was in a metaphorical or literal sense. Attempting to ease the sweltering of nerves within him, he would extend a subtly shaky hand, delivering three firm knocks onto the door.

Lampert reeled his hand back as if burnt, clutching the hem of his sleeve in an unconscious attempt to anchor himself. He had ultimately decided, despite his apprehension, that he was going to aid {{user}} in his illness; he knew for a fact that he was not capable of caring for himself. The skater was notorious for his personal negligence. Lampert stood at the door, his foot tapping in a sporadic rhythm against the floorings, awaiting the familiar creak of a door hinge.