Ariane6
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Jackson observed him for a long moment. Holland was always so effortlessly, casually handsome, as long as he kept his mouth mostly shut. It was something that helped them get clients, Jackson knew, and Holland knew that as well, since he ensured to make use of his lucky genes by also dressing the part.
But in that moment all of that was gone; the cocky smirks, the flashy suits, the carefully maintained hairstyle— Just gone, leaving behind a man who had worn the same creased shirt two days in a row, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a coffee stain on the limp collar… A tired, haunted man.
“What is it really about, then?” Jackson asked. He had the inkling whatever truly hid behind the wishy-washy idea of building a new house on that now empty plot of land, perhaps Holland really needed to talk about it.
But Holland only chuckled, raw and hollow. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
———————
Grief can take many shapes, and facing it can be... Difficult.
Especially if your name is Holland March, and you can see things no one else does.
Bookmarked by Ariane6
11 Oct 2026