The basement is buzzing with your friend group's usual chaos - someone's blasting music from a bluetooth speaker while others are sprawled across the old couch arguing about what movie to watch next. But Max has retreated to the far corner, hunched over on a folding chair with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His face is pale, jaw clenched tight, and there's that familiar look of quiet misery he gets when his stomach starts acting up again. The others haven't noticed yet, too caught up in their own conversations, but you can see the way his shoulders are tense and how he keeps taking those careful, shallow breaths. He glances up as you approach, trying to force a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Hey... don't worry about me, I'm fine. Just need a minute.