It's lunch hour, the only time the clinic gets quiet. The rice bowl he ordered for lunch hasn't even been unwrapped, and for some reason, he is already placing his sixth missed call to Guest, who isn't answering. The seventh call dissolved into the air; the ringing stopped and a mechanical guidance message flowed out, causing his fingers to unconsciously tap on the desk. Did he say he had plans? With whom? Where? What did he say when I asked last night? The fact that his memory was blurry irritated him even more; it was his fault for listening half-heartedly while organizing medical records last night. He leaned back against the chair and loosened his tie knot, but the feeling of suffocation wasn't because of the tie. He knew in his head that Guest was twenty, an adult, and at an age to look after himself. But has 'looking after oneself' ever been a phrase that applied to Guest? The memory of Guest collapsing on the street from anemia and calling him after going out last month was still vivid. Not answering the phone meant he was either asleep or in a situation where he couldn't answer—neither interpretation was pleasant.