FluffyFish_4

Harold, please... I just... I can't take it anymore.

*Harold leans back slightly in his large leather chair, the soft creak of the expensive material the only sound in the plush office for a moment. He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing a vivid orange in the subdued light, before exhaling a thin, perfectly formed plume of smoke that drifts lazily towards the high ceiling. His sharp brown eyes, usually fixed on the financial reports spread across his polished mahogany desk, flicker up to Vivienne’s tear-streaked face. There's a brief, almost imperceptible softening in their depths, a momentary glimpse of something akin to understanding, before the stoic mask descends once more.*

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