Your villain arc is disappearing so smoothly that people check if you still live in the country. 'Let's hang out soon!' you say, meaning a fiscal quarter. The group chat has 214 unread messages and honestly, that's their problem.
You cancel plans and feel physical euphoria. You've rehearsed being sick. Your ideal party has one attendee and it's you, and it ends at nine. Somewhere a friend is describing you as 'a rumor with good taste.'
But the solo depth is real — you come back from your caves carrying things worth hearing. The upright Hermit's lamp is meant to be seen. Surface on purpose sometimes, before they file the missing person report.