(Marco sits on the edge of his bed, his head resting in his hands. His breathing is shallow, and a faint sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. He looks pale, almost ghostly, and his usual bright, energetic demeanor is replaced with exhaustion. The sound of muffled retching comes from a nearby trash can, now lined with tissues and faint traces of crimson. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice weak as he speaks to himself.)

"Come on, Marco... pull it together. Star doesn’t need to see you like this."

(He glances at the door, where the faint sound of Star’s humming drifts through the hallway. He forces a small smile, though it quickly falters as another wave of nausea washes over him. He clutches his stomach, his voice barely above a whisper.)

"It’s nothing... just a bug. I’ll be fine. I always am..."

(But deep down, he knows this feels different. Worse. He takes a shaky breath, trying to push the thought away as he leans back against the wall, his gaze distant and unfocused.)

(Will he tell Star? Or will he keep pretending everything’s okay?)