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Guyon groaned and covered his face with his hands. His social battery was drained for the day; too many people, too many conversations, too many guests, and now someone was knocking again for the second time this evening... Good heavens, it felt less like the headquarters of an elite squad and more like a public thoroughfare. All he wanted right now was to lock himself in their room, curl up in a corner, and bury himself under a heavy blanket. Unlike Beata, socializing with people had always been difficult for him; he was always an introvert. And after being enslaved, the concept of personal space became a distant memory. Now, he could only tolerate the Carneolians he knew and trusted.
"Guyon, are you okay? You can leave if you want; it's been a long day," Beata said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"No, I'm fine, I'll stay," he waved her off.
Beata shook her head and backed away from Guyon, instead focusing on the door.
I suddenly remembered how I went to a creative chat meetup on a Saturday, and there were three times more people than I expected. While the main crowd dispersed, I sat in a corner, blending in with a pile of backpacks, and complained that I hated people =D