later in the lab?
[Komui's work is half-done on his desk, forgotten. He's back on the sofa, but no lounging this time; his head is in his hands and he's rocking slightly back and forth. His beret, usually so pristine on his head, is overturned on the floor beside him where it fell.]
[It's not just that something is wrong. Something is always wrong. But right now he can't seem to forget all the things that are wrong, they won't sit quietly and wait for him to release them like usual, and like a relentless virus they won't stop attacking.]