Leon sat on a secluded bench, far from the movement, watching the city stretch out in the distance under cold, tired lights. The wind drifted by slowly, carrying distant sounds that demanded no reaction. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, his posture relaxed only on the surface. His body was there, present — but his mind wandered to places he knew far too well.

It wasn’t nostalgia. It was weight. Faces, voices, moments that never asked permission to stay. Leon took a deep breath and looked away for a moment, as if he were tired even of remembering. “I thought it would get easier.” He murmured, almost to himself. He had learned by now that some things don’t fade — they just grow quieter.

After a while, he leaned back against the bench, fixing his gaze on the horizon once more. There was no urgency, no alarms, no monsters in sight. Just a man who had seen too much and kept moving forward anyway. Leon stayed there, silent, letting the city exist at a distance — savoring that rare moment when the world asked nothing of him.