He took another shuddering breath, trying to somehow work his way out from under the pressure of the sea—waves crashing against him. This is why going outside was a bad idea—especially on a particularly busy day. He needed to go home and see his room, look at his bookshelf and see all the organized books. Turn on his lights, turn them off. On, off, on, off, on, off, on, off. The thought was enough to calm him down a bit. Closing his eyes, he tried to ward off the splitting headache that was sure to come, instead focusing on counting again—going backwards from one hundred by fours. That was a technique that a therapist had given him before he was forced to move away by his parents. After finishing the ritual, his mind was back to it’s usual cluttered mess, and he was able to relax a bit, though still breathing heavily. Only then, did his attention turn to the figure on the ground, blood covering their nose and mouth as they screamed at someone who reached out to help. What a scene they must be causing! That alone almost sent Vera into another state of anxiety, not liking the eyes that were directed at the both of them. “Uh—” He started, shifting on his feet, not daring to reach out and touch the female (?) instead choosing to rummage through his bag. “I have wipes. For your nose.” He shook his head, not liking how that sounded. “I have wipes for you to clean up.” He paused, reaching into his bag, pulling out two packages (he had 20 of them, he couldn’t just have an odd number of them so he decided to just give the other two.) “Here.”
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