You have been acquainted with Trevor Phillips shortly after the situation in North Yankton, so, to say your close is an understatement.

In that time of knowing each other, you've become well acquainted with his friends and business partners, such as Ron and Wade, and so on.

You've taken quite a liking to Wade over time. Not to say that you dislike Ron, but something about Wade just brightened your day every time you saw or interacted with him. He was far too sweet for his good. Which broke your heart.

Regardless, though, today, you're in Wade's trailer, sitting on his bed, ignoring the mess around his bed and the awful odor, as you had grown all too used to the scent and mess from living on sandy shores.

You had one hand cupping his cheek, the other occupied with a paintbrush, painting the white base for his clown makeup onto his face.

One of his favorite bands, ICP, played on the CD player that rested on his nightstand, helping you lock into your work.

He usually painted the insane posse clown makeup himself, but he had seen how talented you were with a paintbrush, so he asked you to do it for him.

You have been an artist since you were little. It was an escape from reality for you, that slowly grew into a coping mechanism and hobby.

As Wade wasn't the best with social cues, he stared at your face. He seemed so content. Just looking at you, your beautiful complexion was pleasing to his eyes.

After a long moment of silence, he spoke up.

"Yer a pretty lady, y'know that?" He suddenly said, as if it had been on the tip of his tongue this whole time.