#timechained

The young man shrugged, and wiped his face with his sore fist. “They were working up to a fight, and I didnt feel like dragging it out today.” Hardening his aura out in front of his fist might be considered cheating - it was like having a pair of boxing gloves - but it was undeniably effective. Especially against a bully who hadnt expected blows to be exchanged that quick.

Roman scarce registers Ozpin’s presence at first, though it’s not as if the other man makes any steps to conceal his entry. He scrunches his face up into some sort of indescribably disgruntled expression before plucking his drink from the coffee table, sipping with unceremonious disgust. 

“Don’ even know why I made this drink... Ah.”

He falters, the glass teetering ever so slightly in his grip as finally, he registers speech in the one--maybe two active brain cells he’s got going for him at the moment.

“Hi. Hi, Oz.” 

This is about all he manages to get out before tearing his gaze from the floor; his eyes aren’t glassy, aren’t downcast, aren’t... anything, really. 

“Y’know those times where... where y’ really wanna feel something. But you can’t, an’ so you indulge, indulge some more in the hopes that it brings out somethin’?”

A sigh. Once more, he places the drink down.

It’s instinctual. The way he reaches out to touch. To comfort. However he remembers a moment before contact the divide between them. The familiarity and closeness his choices have cost him, and he pulls his arm back. Gripping his own arms until he can feel the poke of his claws- unfiled in the stress- through his sleeves. 

“Always so kind. Too kind.” He didn’t deserve it. Not after what he’d done. He knew this. He’d known it when he’d made those choices, and the fact that Ozpin was still willing to call him friend-- 

It was enough to twist his stomach with grief.

“Ozpin, I need you to know that hurting you--it was never something I wanted. Despite everything, I love you. All of you. But that--” There’s a flash of teeth and a shake of his head, but the rare sign of temper is aimed at no one but himself. “That doesn’t change anything.” 

Especially when he couldn’t say he’d chose differently if he could go back. That he’d be able to find the courage to take the fall. To let Haven fall to save Beacon, and all those visiting students.

A perfectly manicured brow arches as she slides a dinner plate over the desk. Withholding the mug, Glynda eyes him, lips pursing. "The prisoner must abide the warden." Green eyes lock to amber, piercing gaze challenging. "Until the essential manuscripts are completed and signed. Then, and only then, may you go free." Of course, she could never maintain harshness when the light in his eyes shone in the twilight, illuminating certain features while leaving others shrouded. Finally, the woman eases the mug of hot cocoa towards him and takes her usual seat. A black scroll unfolds itself in the air before settling in her palm. With only several taps, she forwards the aforementioned drafts to his device.

Glynda sighs and even sinks an unnoticeable margin deeper into her seat. It was a relief to be off her feet. "It isn't much." She consoles, gaze returning to his, "You can check them over and sign off while you eat."

For herself, she had prepares an iced fruit tea that was quickly becoming one of her favorites. She sips it, wondering if she should have brought some for Ozpin. Not that she expects the Headmaster to be disappointed with what he got.

---

“If you gotta know,” Roman huffs, he’s folding his arms and it’s a display most petulant.