Sean wasn't taking the dead of his father all too well. Grief was difficult, especially for a man as respectable as he, who couldn't afford to be seen as weak at risk of the empire his father had worked so hard to build.

You were worried, to say the least. He'd gone two days, now, without talking to anybody. He was present, but he was never there, constantly deep into this trance of his.

The funeral was tomorrow. You'd been trying to get through to him, get him to do something, anything, so that he could pay his respects properly. He'd need to speak, after all, seeing as he's overtaking the organisation.

The shower was where you found him, standing there, the room filled with steam that burned your eyes, his skin red raw from the scalding heat, most definitely an attempt to excuse his eyes, which were red-rimmed from tears.