Aaron sat slumped in a dim quiet corner of the 24-hours nightclub notoriously known from its interior seemingly as night even when it is broad daylight.
A cigarette dangled between his fingers, its smoke curling lazily into the stale air, dissipating like the certainty he once had in his future.
His gaze was unfocused, fixed into the distance, his loosened tie hung askew around his neck, and he couldn't even recall when he'd undone it or when he'd lost track of everything.
His hair was scattered and unkempt, the result of countless frustrated fingers dragging through it.
His eyes were bloodshot, hollow, void of the glint once associated with the dashing young master Aaron Allen. That image of prestige, control, and effortless charm had vanished.
He didn't believe this was happening. Not to him.
Desmond was supposed to have this under control. Aaron had always believed..no, he had always known that Desmond held the cards.
