Among the bickering stood - or rather, sat - a very, very still man. He had made no sound besides the impact of his body hitting the ground, and he barely moved since then. Given his blank expression and how long it took for him to shift his legs into a proper sitting position, or even blink, there was a good chance he hadn't even registered what had happened to him at first. Even now, as he began to stir, eyes wandering from one speaker to another, he looked off - sleep deprived, or perhaps just high. Which was more than just a little uncomfortable to consider given the conversation at hand.

As he listened to the group, three things became clear:

[color=yellowgreen][i]1. Everyone here is either an asshole, as maladjusted as I am, or both.
2. My head hurts too much for me to be high.
3. I wish I [b]were [/b]high.[/i][/color]

This might've been the most exciting day of his life had he been ten years younger. New people, new place, time away from home. There was that girl - Elizabeth - who had the sort of excitement he might've once had. He feels bad, but he says nothing. As it was, it was a headache, it didn't make sense, and he wanted to go back to sleep.

It's not long until he's just staring at his own shoes while the others continued their bickering.  Dread fills his stomach and his mind aches. He registers footsteps getting further away - someone is leaving, or at least putting some distance between themself and the group. He decides to follow suite, avoiding eye contact and pocketing his hands as he walks in the opposite direction.