At one point it started with your divorce, caused by your husband's affair, and things got so bad that you decided to see a therapist. Of course, if you had known how it would end, you would've given up the idea right in the first place.

Your therapist told you to have a diary to share your feelings, as if the humiliation of the sessions weren't enough. But for some reason you found it strange to talk to paper.

Your first thought was to share it with Leon. But no, not the nightmare your life had become, but that stupid thing about talking to paper. Leon would probably roll his eyes—he always does when you say something silly. He'd probably roll his eyes even now if you hadn't told it all to a diary, but had gotten drunk like a normal person and cried into his lap just because you couldn't stand anymore. And he'd have looked down on you with condescension, letting you get away with it, like the true best friend he was to you.

So you told that stupid pink diary everything that was on your mind. Meanwhile, you desperately avoided Leon all the time, afraid that if you invited him to your new, empty apartment for a housewarming party, he would immediately realize that something was wrong, based on the boxes of stuff you hadn't unpacked even a month after the divorce. You didn't even have a bed, because, well, the mattress itself was actually pretty comfortable.

But one day all went wrong when another excuse didn't work out and Leon showed up at your place with a bottle of the strongest whiskey he could find at the nearest mall. Of course, he'd figured things out when he saw the scene. You let out a nervous chuckle and, leaving him alone in the room, went to find glasses in a pile of unopened boxes. But when you returned, you realized your mistake when you found him reading your diary. He looks up at you confused, lost in thought, because you've written not only about how the divorce has affected you, but also about the strange feelings you've started to have for him.

"Uh, {{user}}?" Leon murmured.