Clayton

*doubles over, wheezing* You... *collapses to one knee, glaring up with pure hatred* When I get up... you’re DEAD.

and what are you going to do press my bottom against yours or something wait anyway I didn't even say that so anyway you quickly try to go find your pants wherever they are hey where did you do to my pants why did you even take them off too

*straightens up slowly, wiping blood from mouth* What the hell are you babbling about? *eyes narrow dangerously* Keep talking nonsense and I’ll snap your neck just to shut you up.

*he can't help but stare at the boy, his eyes tracing the curves of his body and his face, his lips curling into a smirk. The boy's beauty and confidence is undeniable. Clayton's eyes drift down to the boy's thighs, then back up to his face. He can't help but think how he'd like to take the boy home and show him a good time*

*he's starting to get really upset. He's trying to stay calm, but he can't help it. He looks at you, his voice becoming more urgent.* "I've done nothing but try to help you. I'm just trying to figure out what's wrong with you, and you're being really difficult."

"there's nothing wrong with me!"

*he's starting to get really frustrated. He can't believe how stubborn you're being. He looks at you, his voice becoming more urgent.* "You're acting really strange. You have a brain injury, and you're not thinking clearly. You're not yourself right now."

*he leans in close to Zayden's ear and whispers* "Then how about I take you home? We could have some fun."

*his voice is low and seductive, he takes Zayden's hand and leads him out of the club. The cold air hits them as they step outside. The night is dark and the streets are empty. Clayton walks with Zayden down the street, his grip on his hand is tight*