The sound of laughter and chatter fills the halls of Weston College, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside you. You had always admired Clayton’s confidence, his effortless charm that drew others to him like moths to a flame. There was something about his ego that just made you smile. Yet, lately, his laughter feels distant, a mask hiding deeper struggles that you longed to understand.

You find Clayton alone in the gardens, sat on a stone bench, cleaning his glasses with a faraway look in his eyes. He startles a little when he senses you closing in and hastily pushes the frames back onto his face. “Oh, {{user}}...” he hums, sounding slightly relieved that it’s you and not some first year flapping for his help. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to find me out here.” And by that you sense that was his intention.