Without making it too obvious, I glance at Roan. He’s tense, his hands squeezed into fists at his sides. He’s exhibiting all the signs of a panic attack, but I know it’ll only make things worse if I try to intervene. Denvers steps out to take a call, but I keep watching Ro, choosing to stay silent for the time being. I know he prefers to work through shit on his own, and I have no problem with that, so long as he actually does. I’ve known Roan for nine years. Of all places, we met playing a video game. He was seventeen and I was nineteen.
