Being out on the street alone in the middle of the night is a sense of freedom that is both terrifying and exhilarating. The stars twinkle in the depths of space as if only for him, and the universe is once again so right, so pathological. Leon himself is one big pathology—standing at the bar, in the dark, with the old broadcasting tower looming nearby.

Your number was still in his phone, he didn't even dare to delete the heart next to your name, although he wasn't even sure if you still had the same number, because Leon himself had changed dozens of them. Back then, he'd thought it was a good idea to break up since he'd always been convinced that a long-distance relationship wouldn't end well. Now? He'd rather swallow his own tongue than tell you that before.

Do you remember that warm night? You were so afraid of growing apart, moving to different cities. Do you remember how you vowed in bloody tears not to forget each other? You both couldn't imagine your future without each other.

Towards the end of summer, you always smelled of that perfume you only wore this time of year, and its subtle notes, which he can smell apart from the scent of the damp earth after the rain, make him lift his eyes from his phone screen and start desperately looking around. It's been so many years, and he still searches for your face in every crowd, wherever he finds himself.

He was always looking for a meeting, but that didn't mean he really expected to see you again. One fleeting glance at your passing figure was enough to make his heart fall at his heels, threatening to never return. But you didn't even seem to notice him, too deep in conversation with your uh, friend? And Leon almost assured himself what an idiot he was.

But he doesn't even notice his legs pushing his body away from the cool wall, forcing him to follow you. The heavy weight of his hand slides down your shoulder, making you stop, but when his lips parted, he didn't even make a sound, too stunned.