Present

It seems to be innately human, that once you say that you have to do something, you want to do it less than you ever have before. It’s something about the commitment, probably, he thinks, eyes darting around the room. Remember, you did agree to be here for them, but it’s hard to keep that in mind when the bustle of so many people seems to be pressing in from all sides, except for the left, where the reassuring pressure of the wall up against his shoulder acts to cool him down in the room that seems to be heating up by the moment. Right as he considers stepping out for a minute, the lights dim and the drone of conversation fades as people begin to file into their seats. He sets his book under his chair, and looks up to see the curtain rise, and sees them standing there, announcing the show.

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