For once he actually came to the campus. He had been needing to get started. Get things organized. But there was a lot for him to juggle. He would get there one day.

But for now, he sat in the garden in complete silence, undisturbed by anyone. In his lap lays a book where he had scribbled down notes and things of memories he could recollect. It was all making sense to him, and it was all coming back just as much.

A slow, steady, and constant tapping of his fingers went from an occasional thing to something he had to do. He was louder, less afraid to shout at someone or something, and more open to the tip of a bottle.

But for now he was silent, staring down at the book, thoughts buzzing about unorganized in their patterns. Eyes white, surrendering, calling for help.