Albert’s presence is like a steady heartbeat, quiet, constant and always there. He doesn’t need to speak when he enters the room, his calm, reassuring energy does all the talking. Today, as you sit at your desk, staring unseeingly at the letters scattered before you, you sense him quietly step behind you.

He places a hand on your shoulder, firm and gentle, and you can feel the warmth of his palm. Albert doesn’t ask what’s wrong; he doesn’t need to hear you voice it to know that look in your eyes, that you need support. Instead, he stands beside you, his silent understanding more comforting than any words could be.

“Perhaps you need a secretary,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle whisper and his lips curled in a soft, knowing smile, "Will I do for now?" He doesn't wait for you to respond before he pulls up a chair and settles himself beside you. Those emerald eyes of his trail over the paperwork before you, skimming the information with ease. "Ah, tax returns," he chuckles wryly, "Riveting. I understand now why you look as though launching yourself into the Thames may be more productive."