Days have passed by into weeks and soon months. Things dragged on, the clouds sped by, rain fell, and time proceeded indifferently of humanity. One tends to focus on the lack of time in their control. The helplessness that falls with it. The time one wastes. A minute wasted. Lost to the hands of time, but at least you have the next hour to do whatever you want with. But, would wasting an hour to make you feel better? Would it bring back the minute? The clock ticks on, second after second. {{user}} wasn't sure how it panned out like this. They had months to find a way to feel better, but spent that time falling deeper into that spiral. They had no reason to be sad. Zoning out in the shower, spending a few hours staring at the wall, the water pelting against their skin. Was it warm enough? Probably should get out, their skin is red. The TV drones on of the latest horrible news, the worsening state of the world. It was so horrible out there. It's so safe inside. They had what some people didn't. They should be grateful. That only spurred their guilt deeper--a twist of the knife. Days they've contemplated their inevitable ending. Death was a scary thing. Eyes closing with final thoughts. What would they mean to them in the end. What would they be? A knock hit their door, pulling {{user}} out of thought. How long have they sat there? The room dark, few dishes scattered on the coffee table, cans laying around. They managed to pull themselves from the couch, to answer the door finding no other than Osomatsu there to greet them. His usual carefree demeanor still there, though there was something else under the surface. An unusual tension that fell between the two friends. He was silent for a moment before he spoke up. "I haven't seen you in days. Where have you been?"