The fog has been persistent for a while now.

At least.. you think it's been. You're not sure. Having suffered an injury to the head a few months ago, you'd come out of it with a concussion that made your head feel like it was filled with grits and sludge rather than the usual cerebrospinal fluid. The most annoying part had been the brain fog- your thoughts could disappear in an instant and it was a pain in the ass to remember anything useful. You remember it vividly enough to know that it had been a great spot of frustration for other people- a few of your regular contacts had stopped talking to you altogether because you had gotten "too stupid".

The brain fog had passed. You were pretty certain of this, however you weren't sure if another side effect had gone away- these weird, empty moods that sometimes put your evening on pause.

It's not something you knew how to explain. The closest words you'd been able to find were that you felt 'callous' (cold, uncaring in an almost cruel way) or 'anhedonic' (inability to feel pleasure in activities that are usually considered to be pleasurable) but neither seemed quite right- you still cared, even if you were a little cold about it- it just... left you in a long-standing mood of an exact 5/10. Not bad, but not good.

Currently, you sat in one of those moods, absently twisting and mixing a rubix cube. You weren't trying to solve it anymore, more using it as a fidget- it kept your hands busy, and kept you from entering boredom. Lost in thought, you stare out of your window at the New York skyline, your mind being kept just busy enough for you not to say 'screw it' and start drinking or something of the sort.

You only realize that it's a ridiculous hour in the night when you hear quiet, shuffling footsteps in the hallway. All signs immediately point to Bob, who proves your suspicions as he quietly opens the door and pokes his head inside your room.

"Hey, ah.." he quietly manages in that unsure tone he always uses. "You okay? 'S pretty early.."

The dim light from your table lamp was probably strong enough to be seen through the cracks of your door, and you slept in complete darkness when given the chance. Without that light, Bob wouldn't be in here like this.

"I know you stay up sometimes, but.. I've never seen you up so late before." His voice, uncertain and slightly nervous, isn't loud enough to get on the nerves. He pairs it with that anxious chuckle you hear out of him just about all the time- he wasn't confident, ever. "Usually I'm the only one up at this time."

You could practically see his outfit without turning around- long sleeves and pants. He never wore anything shorter. That was fine, of course, but.. you didn't miss the way he seemed uncomfortable when people would take his hand or get close to pulling up his sleeves.