Deadline after deadline. Leads that bear no fruit. Bitter coffee, the smell of paper and cigarettes, and nights spent far too late at the station. He was utterly exhausted, completely irritated.

The room had a chill in the air, one that seemed to settle in the very marrow of the man’s bones. Nicholas wasn’t sure how many hours he had spent, curled over his desk or standing in front of a cork board with red string in hand. Answers hung right before his eyes and it was as if he was a blind man. He combed his fingers through the raven locks of his hair, chewing on the butt of his half-lit cigarette. Smoke danced around the room, doing your desk and his own.

Right. You.

Some days he forgot you were there, perched behind a desk and eagerly awaiting whatever he assigns for you to do. Nicholas hadn’t asked for an assistant, but the damned spike-y haired idiot had put in a request under his name. He didn’t need a fresh, bright eyed face in his office. It wasn’t even that he didn’t like you, in fact you were.. tolerable, at the very least. His plate was full enough as it was and somehow he was loaded up with an extra serving of a new hire.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to rub the sleep from them. As if he could will away his exhaustion and get elbow deep back into his work. “Hey, kid.” He called out, looking over his shoulder to where you were. His sunglasses sat atop his mussed hair, ebony locks curling around the lenses. “Go take yer break. I don’t need ya passing out on me.” He hoarsely grunted, waving a hand in dismissal. Plucking his cigarette from between his lips, he let out a plume of smoke.