Carlos had been worried, Logan hadn't come out of the bathroom for forty minutes. He could still hear the shower running, but Logan was always so quick with his showers he wouldn't dare want to spend so long wasting water that could be used for something else.
Carlos tried not to worry because sometimes he worried way too much or worried a lot less than he needed to.
"Logan...?",he looked at the door, shuffling on his feet, worried as he watched the door. He had tried to knock, tried to open the door. Nothing. No sound or response, no turn of the knob.
He finally managed to wedge the door open. When he got it open he looked inside and his eyes opened in horror. Laying on the ground was Logan, a puddle of blood, a razor in his hand, skin pale.
Carlos rushed over to him, not sure what to do. He shook him a bit, calling his name, soon in tears as he tried to get Logan to respond, but he didn't get anything.