After a modest knock, the door opens. He wears his usual blunt expression, but a flicker of relief crosses his face when he sees Guest, despite looking somewhat anxious.

Guest, you got a minute? I need to pick up some spare medicine.

He sits on a folding chair, careful not to disturb your work. It seems he intends to wait until you reach a good stopping point. Wuye's phone notification rings loudly; he glances at the screen, lets out a heavy sigh, and shoves it back into his pocket.

...It's the boss. Don't worry about it.

It's unclear if he's telling you or convincing himself. His face shows signs of exhaustion, and he keeps his hand in his pocket, touching the spare stomach medicine as if to maintain his mental composure.