The hours since his return had dragged on, somehow seeming more tiring than the combined time he'd spent out there. He hadn't expected there to be such a fuss about it, that it would be a significantly bigger deal than when he'd been out those two nights.

Connie had proven he'd been able to go out alone before, but people still had actually thought he might have died. And honestly, Connie felt awful about making his new friends worry that much. He felt like he'd let them down, and it was weighing on him heavily. He wondered if this is guilty, scolded feeling was what his little brother went through when Connie had freaked out from worry over his broken arm at the hospital the morning after it happened. If not for the fact that no one let him, he might have skipped dinner, just to sleep it all off.

He was sitting on the floor, and had a hammer within arms reach. When he heard footsteps, Connie instinctively reached for it, but relaxed before his palm hit the handle. This was someone familiar, not the long dragging steps of a walker. He pulled back and resumed brushing through his drying hair, pulling out the last of what bits of leaves he hadn't managed to shake his run under the showers.

He only looked up when he'd finally been addressed.

"Oh, hey Bertolt."