Jonathan Sims was leaned over his desk in the institute, his leg shaking with stress. He pinched the bridge of his nose, there was definitely a headache coming on. His desk was littered with tea-stained papers, pens, and other stationery. His hair was tied up into a messy bun, using paperclips and rubber bands, streaks of gray from stress running through it. Lukewarm tea sat beside him, in a well loved cup, the writing already rubbed off.

As he murmured gently to himself, a knock came on his office door.

He straightened himself up as best as he could, moving papers around to make it a little less of a mess. “Come in.” Jonathan said, after clearing his throat.