The truth is, sometimes, he just doesn’t know what to do with himself.

1:29 AM seems to be a specific time of day when he often finds himself awake. He’d pick up a book he initially resolved to finish within three weeks, flip to page 186, lay it on its back, pick up the phone, light the screen to see nothing but a big 1:30 mocking at him, pick up the book again, this time flipping to page 185 since he forgets what happened to Elio.

Is he pensive? Maybe. Is he drowsy? A little. What is he thinking about? At this point in time, he’s desperately grasping onto anything to shut that host heating up in his brain, to prevent that cursor from gliding to the next tab, to halt that automatic update from downloading and decelerating Wi-Fi, to—

At this point in time, he’s begging for anything to stop himself from thinking, from processing the fact that he could not fathom what to do with himself.