the thick chalky pill lodges in his throat, and for a moment he panics. he suppreses to urge to caugh sputter, or bug out - that would only invite interest, and if he is choking, he won’t be able to do anything to keep the hands off his pack.
he risks an intake of breath through his nose, risking panic once more. thank fuck he can still breath. he looks out over the bunk to see whose eyes are on him, scanning casually along one of the four bed rails stretching from one end of the giant hangar t’other. none of the bunkies slumped around him have noticed anything, nor it seems have any of the others, at least not obviously.
he brings a ratty sleeve over his mouth to see if he can work the lysine pill loose with his tongue, and when that doesn’t work he tries reaching into his mouth, making like he’s cleaning his teeth. neither approach does anything but risk spilling his panic over into his affect, so he decides to stop.
he’ll just have to sit here and wait for it to dissolve, and who knows how long that will take. 1 hour? more? he drags his pack in closer to his body and perches his chin on top of it so the others can’t see his adam’s apple furiously bobbing and straining to get this fucking pill down.