Peyton had already been feeling himself slipping. He had once been a carefree and passionate actor- once Broadway bound, but ever since the first incentive, he’d been losing touch with himself.
And now? This was the straw that broke the fucking camel’s back. He saw the pictures in his hands, and his fingers trembled before stuffing them back in and shoving the entire thing haphazardly into his pocket. He turned away from anyone else who was nearby- he didn’t even think to check who was there- and stood there, in the rain.
Thunder roared distantly as he fell to his knees, soaking his pants on the puddled ground, and then... he cried. Loudly, grossly, not even minding the watching eyes. All he knew was he hated this place, hated everyone, hated his entire existence here. FUCK this place. FUCK THIS PLACE.
He shoved his fingers into his hair, and subsequently hid his face, tears sliding down and merging with the water already on the ground.
No. He was definitely not okay.