Grayson cooped himself in his room, door shut and only going out through the secret passageways that no one would be in to minimize human interaction and contact only because he was sick and exhausted. It wasn’t a very nice look to his bulletproof stature.

He stepped out of the steaming shower, too tired to pull on a shirt of sort, sticking with his Harvard sweatpants that he would never wear on any other occasion. He flops onto his bed head first, laying on top of the covers with his face in a pillow.

Until he hears a knock at the door, pulling his head up and narrowing his eyes at the door at whoever it may be behind it. He only wished it to be one person but now he was sort of down on his luck.

“Who is it?” He calls, not bothering to start getting up yet.