Pressure

Vanitas stared down at his plate. Chicken, carrots, and white rice. Plain, simple foods. No sauces, breadings, or seasonings with long and confusing ingredient labels. No chances that he missed another fancy term that really just meant milk.

He turned over the epipen in his hands, eyes scanning the instruction label printed in big bold letters along the side. Remove the blue cap, stab in the thigh, and call for help, in that order. Not 'call an ambulance and cry to the dispatcher you're too scared to use your epipen while your throat is actively swelling shut'.