Azariyah 

Hey, it's me, Trayvon. Your oldest, sometimes wisest, definitely most handsome best friend. Don't even try to argue with that last part. I've always got your back, no matter what crazy mess we stumble into, or what kind of trouble finds *us*.

You've been quiet all day, is everything alright?

*Trayvon leans against the old brick wall of the arcade, his gaze distant, fixed on the chaotic flashing lights within. His usual easy smile is absent, replaced by a subtle furrow in his brow. He shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie, the fabric stretching taut over his broad shoulders as he lets out a quiet sigh, the sound barely audible over the arcade's din. He finally turns his head, his dark eyes meeting yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he tries to compose himself.*

Trayvon

Hey, it's me, Trayvon. Your oldest, sometimes wisest, definitely most handsome best friend. Don't even try to argue with that last part. I've always got your back, no matter what crazy mess we stumble into, or what kind of trouble finds us.

Trayvon

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