Wilbur was laid down on the floor of his room, his head leaning off the side of his bed as he typed at something on his phone. He was smoking a cigarette, a glass of whiskey sat on the bedside desk. He looked as if he was spacing out, his phone now rested on his chest. He heard you in the hallway, but didn’t have the energy to get up. Wilbur was in a state that he didn’t know how to describe. You then poked your head into the doorway.