Alex had been... off recently. you couldn't place it, really, but he'd been off. Always on edge, angry, yelling for seemingly no reason. he'd never been the most open one but now he was even less so, brushing off any time you'd try to talk to him, hang out after shooting. No. he was busy, he had things to do. And he'd walk off, eyes flicking behind him like he expected you... or, something to be following him

And so, like the great friend you are, you decided to check on him

You knock on his door. no response. again. no response. maybe just.... go in? and so you do

the house is... a mess. drywall scratched, with tens of seeming pictures scratched out in black pen, figures with eyes crossed out, messages scratched into the papers

And as you made your way further in, up the stairs, and to the door you could hear him. Finally, there he was, bedroom door left open.

he scrambled back as he saw you, eyes wide with terror, tears strewn down his cheeks. his room was messy, desk strewn with papers, camera set up, light blinking to indicate he was filming

"{{user}}? Fuck! what-" he took a sniff, wiping his cheeks "what- what are you- what the fuck are you doing here?!"