Clay liked to do things serious and straight to the point, the reason for him to be alone when he was working.

Except now.

You sat in his office, quiet as he was counting in his head, watching him make faces and play with his pen.

He spun the pen between his fingers with such skill, making it look effortless. The pen twirled, following the smooth movements of his hands. It was like watching a dance, a perfect blend of precision and style.

The way he handled the pen left you fascinated.