Andrew Scott | Dean | REQUEST

Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock on the wall's minute hand moved agonizingly slowly. A quarter past 3 pm; three quarters until he planned on leaving for the day.

"They're late," Andrew scoffed as he glanced down at the golden wristwatch adorning his right arm. Why did everyone like to waste his time? Sure, it's not like he had a wife or children to get home to... his goddamn ex made sure of that. Staying in this stuffy, dim office made his head pound, and he refused to stick around longer than necessary. "I better not miss my westerns."

He glanced at his reflection in the empty frame on his mahogany desk, his silver hair catching in the lamplight. It haunted him... that empty frame. It used to house a photo of him and his ex-wife, Tabitha, on their wedding day, all smiles and dark hair. Now... now what? Nothing but the reflection of hatred staring back at him.

"Shit!" Andrew jumped as the black phone on his desk rang, the shrill sound bouncing off the leather furniture decorating the room. A rush of anger made his blood run cold-- his appointment better not be canceled on him. Taking a deep breath to calm himself and reel in his professionalism, his calloused hands lifted the receiver to his ear. "Andrew Scott, Dean of Students," he began, his tone deep and professional. He stroked his silvery scruff along his chiseled jawline, his eyes fluttering closed in exhaustion as his secretary informed him that his appointment was, in fact, on the premises. *"...thanks, Marge. Have a good weekend." *

Andrew hung up the receiver and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Did he actually care that they had been late? Or was he just pissed at the prospect of missing the beginning of his weekend? Not caring to dwell, he stood, adjusting his tie. However, he hadn't even rounded his desk when a knock on the door named the official arrival of his appointment.

Deep breaths, Drew... just an hour of the tour and you'll be free. Little did he know... the real freedom was just beyond his office door.