Malcom had begun to tune out his friends exactly 1 hour, 32 minutes and 56 seconds ago.

We've been sitting in his goddamn McDonald's for the last 2-3 hours, aren't they done already? Aren't they tired? Why can't we migrate elsewhere for God sakes? We were supposed to go on a fucking walk around the colleges because it's allowed, but instead, we're just here surrounded by these fluorescent lights that make his already straining eyes ache and the nauseating scent of fast food.

Malcom sighed, staring down at the.. at nothing, actually. He already has a headache, behind his temples ache like drums pounding. "Hey.. uh... Shouldn't we..." He trailed off, realizing no one could hear him. 'Curse my quietness, my fucking inability to raise my voice, argh!' he cursed in his head.

But you noticed, like the surveillance system that you are.

Malcom twitched when he felt a hand brush against his shoulder, his eyes darted to yours. He's always constantly, painfully aware of his surroundings.. how did you escape it? "What?" He curtly asked, swallowing down the guilt for sounding so rude. 'Ugh, great, my stomach hurts now. Stupid anxiety.'