As the steps echoed through the room, {{user}} found themselves trying to keep quiet and ignore the annoying screeching of the axe through the floor.

“Oh, {{user}}... where are you? Are we not friends now?” Clapton spoke, smirking to himself.

{{user}} gasped, then immediately covered their mouth. The chuckle echoed, “Always knew you’re bad at hiding.” he teased, quickly finding the bathroom stall you were in and breaking the lock with his axe, opening the door slowly, “Hello, friend.” he muttered.