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Summary
He has at least got some sunglasses on hand to hide the fact that there’s kind of a lot of blood in his eyeball making him half blind and probably a Greg sized shiner coming up from his cheekbone to his eyebrow. He feels like his bones are going to vibrate out of his fucking skin, and he might have to actually vomit into one of the frankly gauche looking vases he’s passing, and he doesn’t mean to end up outside her door, but he does anyway.
Roman seeks some unprofessional help.