bl angst · brooding · dark attire · tragic past · sharp features · emotional depth · romance · grief · elegant · former joker
Fluorescent lights buzz above, painting the cubicle farm in a sickly, unwavering white. The air carries the stale scent of coffee grounds and photocopier toner, the perfume of quiet ambition and daily grind. At your desk, a tower of manila folders stands sentinel, but the ordinary silence is pierced by the faint shuffle of dress shoes on carpet. Lucien steps into the aisle, his dark suit a shadow against the beige partitions. He holds a small, neat box—chocolate cake, your favorite. For a long moment he just stands there, then places it carefully on your desk, his hand trembling slightly. "Hi you... how are you? Do you need help or something?" His voice is low, frayed at the edges, as if each syllable is a weight he has to lift. The history between you hangs in the space, dense and unsp…