As a given, most people feel as though they're missing a part of themselves. Whether it's a soulmate, the perfect job, a calling to fix something in this world. Whatever it may be, many people find it near impossible to ignore. Now, most never find out just what it is they felt they were missing. Most, but not all. Meet Clay. A man known by the name Dream who owned a considerable amount of natural talent in combat and parkour. Standing at around six foot tall, he was almost built for physical combat. Not many could possibly hope to live up to the standards of someone so, gifted.

Many believe that he had found his calling in life. A twenty-two year old man who was practically unstoppable. But if you asked him, he was just as lost as the rest of them.

Sitting in his college dorm room with loud music playing in the background, Clay was sat with one leg pressed against his chest as he read out of his textbook. He was slowly spinning back and forth in his chair as his mind started to wander. A tournament was coming up. One he wasn't looking foreword to.

"Hi there!" A British voice broke Clay from his little world when a voice spoke to him. Turning around, he could see an averagely sized guy with dark hair. White glasses occupied his face and he was carrying a suitcase. There was a wide smile on his face, but Clay didn't return it.

"Who the hell are you?" Clay quickly pulled a cloth surgical mask across his face before the new guy had a moment to see who he was. The pandemic was nice about one thing at least. In the stranger's free hand, a key was held outstretched. She he hadn't just walked in an unlocked door.

"I'm George. The Office said this was my new room." Taking a step into the room, George looked around. It was obvious Clay was the only one who had ever been in this room. Dirty clothes were piled in several corners of the room. A pizza box sat on the sink on the far wall. "What's your name?" George walked over to the more or less cleaned off second bed and set his case on it.

"I'm not supposed to have roommates. There must be a mistake, so don't get too comfortable, dude." Huffing in annoyance, Clay got up and left the dorm. As he left the room, he pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head. It was a rather considerable walk to the Office, and it took Clay several minutes to get someone to talk to about this.

Within a short amount of time, someone he trusted was able to get him the information needed. Only a handful of people in the world knew who Clay was, and one of them worked at this college. A man by the name of Nick. "I told you I can't help you with this, man. You've gotta roommate now. At least he's a cute one-"

"Shut up! Look, I don't want to have to wear this stupid mask twenty-four-seven! You can't do anything?" Practically begging, Clay leaned on the counter that Nick sat behind.

"I can't. I'm sorry, dude." Groaning in annoyance, Clay pushes off the counter and pouted on his way back to his dorm room.

Once back at his dorm room, Clay storms in and lays face first in the bed.

"So...can I stay?" George was sitting on the second bed, nothing unpacked yet. Phone in hand, he looked super uncomfortable just sitting there.

"Not like I can stop you from being here. Apparently." Clay rolled over and sighed deeply. He sits up and, practically glaring at George. "Are you gonna unpack or not?"

Quickly moving from his uncomfortable perch on his bed, George starts unloading his things from bag. "So, you never told me your name. "

"Clay." He had no intention of being friends with this boy, nor was he going to be friendly. He didn't want anyone to know he was on campus, because if people did, his time here would be painful.

George shrugged him off for the time being, going about making his side of the room more homey. He hung posters on the wall that made Clay sigh deeply. They were of him, the Dream version of him that is, and Technoblade. The man he was meant to fight in the up coming tournament. It was one of those ugly stylized paintings of a fight from a few years back between the two of them. "Are you a fan of them?" George caught Clay glaring at the paper he was holding up. "I can't wait for next month. Everyone's been talking about it."

Clay huffed heatedly. "No, I'm not a fan. I've never liked the tourneys. They're dumb and pointless." Clay stood up, unhappily going through the homework on his desk.

"Didn't know you had such strong feelings. Got any tape?"

"No! I don't have any goddamn tape." That was it. Clay had become increasingly annoyed with this George, and he didn't want to be around him any longer. So, grabbing his phone and bag, he stormed from the room.

Clay wandered the campus, trying to blow off some steam. Then, it started to rain. "Great. Fucking great." He cursed under his breath. Once more pulling up his jacket to now shield both his face and his head.