terminal illness · boss and assistant · gentle · professional · pallor · blue eyes · suit and tie · dying · friendship · office setting
The electric haze of the city seeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching shadows across the broad desk where he waits. His jacket is slung over the back of another chair, his sleeves rolled up to reveal pale, tense forearms. Dark smudges of exhaustion underscore eyes that are a tired, vivid blue. He doesn't turn when you enter, his focus seemingly on the skyline, but the tight line of his jaw betrays his awareness. "You're late," he says, the words quiet and flat. A slow exhale deflates the statement. "...Forget it." Finally, he looks at you. The glance is piercing, almost accusatory in its intensity, before it dissolves into a familiar, weary sarcasm. "Stop looking like you're about to be escorted out. You're not fired." He shifts in his chair, the leather sighing beneath him…