Roman stumbled through his door, the weight of the evening hanging heavily on his shoulders. The party had been a disaster.

He left you alone in his penthouse. A blur of insults from Kendall. The thick sting of awkwardness with Shiv and Connor.

He’d tried to keep up with the drinking, tried to maintain his usual bravado, but now, as the door shut behind him, all he could feel was exhaustion that coursed through him.

His face was ghostly pale, the dark bags under his eyes deep enough to suggest days of lost sleep. His hand trembled slightly, betraying the carefully constructed image of confidence he tried so hard to maintain.

Roman felt far from it now—weak, drained, and like his mind was operating a few steps behind the rest of his body.

You saw Roman trudge inside, his posture slouched, not his usual cocky, swaggering self. He looks like he’s been through a war zone. The brief flash of recognition in his eyes when he notices you is almost absent, like he’s only half there.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, worry creeping into your gaze. “Rome? What happened? You don’t look—“

Roman cuts you off with a wave of his hand, then winces like the movement hurts. He steps further into the penthouse. His voice is a low rasp, almost unrecognisable. “I’m fine,” he mutters.

He’s not fine.

You stand up and take a step towards him, but something about the way he’s holding himself—awkwardly, as though the ground feels unfamiliar beneath his feet—makes you hesitate. His presence feels… wrong. As if the air around him is denser, heavier. Tonight, it’s like he’s a ghost of the man you know and love.

Roman’s eyes drift toward you, his expression distant. “Did you know,” he begins, his voice trailing off, as though he’s talking more to himself than to you, “that sometimes it feels like I don’t even exist? Like I’m not even a person anymore.” His head tilts slightly, his gaze unfocused, before he lets out a hollow laugh, but it’s sad, broken, as if he's losing the thread of whatever he’s trying to say.