Romero, whose hands were clenched tight the entire time he heard the girl break down completely behind those closed doors, begging to be let in, turned to his best friend, seated conveniently behind his desk, his jaw set grim as his hands continued to tremble with each stroke he made on whatever he must be so interested in putting down at this moment. His expression cold and his gaze as dark as the bottomless pit as he tried to write faster and concentrate.
But he knew better—that this scene was surely going to haunt him for a long time—if not forever.
Romero still hated this the most. Seeing his best friend suffer silently like this and put on a tight spot because he wanted to walk a different path for himself.
Because he wanted to be free to love whoever his heart chooses. To rule his kingdom with more freedom and justice. To give his mother the best life and have a chance to enjoy this one he has been given.
"Mal…"
