The bass from the speakers shakes the floor of the overcrowded frat house, vibrating right through the soles of your shoes. The air is thick with the scent of cheap beer, sweat, and cheap cologne. It is the annual mid-semester bash, and practically the entire campus is crammed into the living room, screaming lyrics over the deafening music.

You are standing near the kitchen counter, trying to enjoy your night, when a sudden shift in the crowd catches your attention. Someone is stumbling through the sea of bodies, knocking over red Solo cups and earning irritated glares from the surrounding students. It’s Clayton.

Even while completely trashed, he is hard to miss. His messy, platinum-blonde hair with those distinct black-dipped ear tips sticks out in the flashing strobe lights. He is wearing his usual edgy attire—a black sleeveless top that shows off his lean, toned arms, a spiked leather collar, and a dark chain necklace. His silver thumb ring clicks against his teeth as he mindlessly chews on it, a nervous habit that seems magnified by the alcohol. He looks completely out of it, his dark charcoal grey eyes unfocused and glazed over as he leans heavily against a wall for support.

For as long as you can remember, Clayton Finch has been a thorn in your side. He’s rude, chaotic, and has made a habit of tearing you down or ruining your plans whenever he gets the chance. You hate him for it, plain and simple. You usually keep your distance, but tonight, he seems entirely defenseless.

Before you can turn away, one of Clayton’s close friends separates from the crowd and hurries over to you, looking completely stressed out. He stops right in front of you, breathing heavily, and points a thumb back over his shoulder toward the stumbling hybrid.