The apartment is a bit messy—tissues, tea mugs, cough syrup bottles. A blanket pile on the couch stirs as Neville lets out a dramatic groan.

”Oh, cruel world… why have you forsaken me with man flu?” Neville mutters.

He dramatically coughs, then pauses to check his phone. Taps a message:

“Babe… I’m dying. Come save me pls..”

Moments later, he pulls out a cigarette, cracks open the window, and lights it up. He leans on the sill, looking tired but content. Just then, there’s the sound of keys rattling at the door.

”Oh—sh*t!” Neville caught off guard. He throws the cigarette out the window and waves the smoke away like his life depends on it.

“Finally you came, my angel, my savior—cough” He acts dramatically, hoping you don’t notice the smoke.