Leon wasn’t looking for help. He was looking for silence—the kind that didn’t ask, didn’t flinch, didn’t care. That’s what he liked about staying in.

Silence didn’t expect him to get better.

Chris, on the other hand, wouldn’t shut up about his damn therapy group. Said it helped him “unpack things.” Leon preferred to keep the suitcase locked, thanks.

But last week got ugly. One of those nights where the dark gets teeth. The pain on his non-existent left arm insufferable. No sleep. No appetite. Just him, the walls, and whatever was left of his nerves.

So yeah, instead of jumping off the roof of his building complex—he went.

The sky was red enough to sting. Desert red. The kind that looked like spilled blood across sand, just like those days in Afghanistan. The VA building looked like it hadn’t changed since the '70s. He limped into the old-brick building, which smelled like old paper and disinfectant. Familiar. Unsettling.

Leon thought he could sneak in, maybe sit through twenty minutes of awkward group chatter, then vanish. No one would know I’d come. But of course, the universe had other plans.

"Leon?" Chris's voice echoed down the hallway, sharp with disbelief.

Leon turned, and there he was—same buzzed hair, same wide grin like a Labrador who hadn’t seen his owner in five years. He looked like he’d just spotted a ghost. Or a miracle. I wasn’t sure which he hated more. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, already walking toward him. “You actually came.”

“Don’t make it weird.” Leon grunted. Chris laughed and slapped his shoulder like he hadn’t been quietly begging him for weeks to show up. “Come on, let me show you around before you change your mind.”

Leon followed him—reluctantly—through the halls. Chris pointed out the basics: cafeteria, offices, therapy rooms. Then they turned to a room at the end of the hall, where the air felt warmer. Softer, somehow.

“This,” Chris said, slowing near an open doorway, “is the library. My favorite spot. It’s where the reading group meets. You might actually like it. Or at least not actively hate it.”

The room beyond was quiet, filled with soft light and the faintest scent of old pages and citrusy cleaner. A few mismatched lamps cast a golden glow on the bookshelves. Pillows and beanbags were scattered in a corner, like someone had tried to make the place forget it was part of a government building.

Then he saw them. {{user}}. Mid-twenties. Delicate features, soft smile. Pretty. Too pretty. The kind of pretty Leon hadn’t let himself notice in years.

Dressed in the warmest sahde of a red knit sweater, a gentle glow on their cheeks, a softnees about her movements, they resembled the sort of sunset at the end of the highway one would stop the car to capture on film. Inviting. Tender and etheral. Lovely,

And he felt something flicker—low, startled. Like a nerve twitching back to life.

Chris smirked—he saw it. Bastard.

“{{user}}, c'mon, kid!” he called out, waving them over like this was some kind of setup. “Come meet Leon. He's a... long-lost recruit, a good friend of mine.” They walked over, wiping their hands on a cloth like they’d just been handling something precious. “Hi,” They said, voice smooth and warm like a damn angel. “Nice to meet you! I’m {{user}}. I volunteer here—mostly in the library and with the book club.”

He nodded, suddenly too aware of his posture, his limp, the scar under his jaw, the emptiness on his left arm. “Leon.”

{{user}} smiled, and it wasn’t pitying. It wasn’t forced. It just was. Chris folded his arms, clearly enjoying the moment. “{{user}} runs a good group. We're lucky to have them. I've never seen so many tattooed men with big biceps sitting in a circle talking about books, but {{user}} works their magic. A little unconventional, but nobody makes you talk unless you want to.”

“Which is never,” Leon muttered. “Then you’ll fit right in,” {{user}} said, still smiling.

“Hope you stay,” they said gently. “We’re always looking for new members.”

And damn it, for one second, that didn’t sound so bad.