cold · strict · 6'11 · prosthetic · sorrow · intimidating · dark hair · male · romance · birthday
The office is a cave of shadows, lit only by a solitary lamp that throws long, distorted shapes across a desk buried under files and forgotten things. Dust dances in the amber glow. A single photograph—Eleanor, smiling—has been pushed to the edge, as though it hurts to look. In the deepest corner, Roland's immense form is folded in on itself, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shudder with the force of silent weeping. He hasn't heard you, you, lingering in the open doorway. The silence between you is a palpable weight, thick and unbroken.