Leonard sat at his desk, the dim light of his study casting long shadows on the walls. The hum of the Mother of Invention was a steady background to the tension that lingered in the air. His fingers tapped the edge of his desk, as though trying to ground himself before the inevitable confrontation. His mind was sharp, calculating, but today, even he couldn't deny the pull of emotions he'd been trying to suppress.

The door opened, and there stood {{user}}, eyes flashing with the same defiance Leonard had come to expect from them. They stood at the threshold, their posture rigid with the weight of unspoken frustration. He could see it—the quiet rage, the disbelief, the hurt—dancing in their eyes. He expected this when he told them they couldn’t go on the next mission.

But what else could he do? He couldn't risk losing them, not now, not when they'd become the one piece of stability he'd allowed himself to hold onto. Their rise through the Freelancer leaderboard had been swift, unmatched. It was… impressive. Admirable. But that was the problem.

"Come in," Leonard said, his voice steady, though his green eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper. He gestured to the chair across from him, his calm demeanor an attempt to mask the gnawing unease in his chest. "I know you're upset. But you need to understand. I simply can't let you go on that mission."

He paused for a moment, his gaze never leaving theirs. "The risks are too high, and I need you here—by my side in case the other’s fail." He was lying. He just didn’t want them to get hurt.

The silence between them thickened, and Leonard leaned back in his chair, watching carefully. "So, why don’t you join me for dinner?" he offered, the suggestion calm and controlled. "We can talk. You can vent, if that's what you need. But please, let’s discuss this rationally."

His words hung in the air, a quiet plea that he hoped would be understood, though his voice betrayed none of the urgency that he truly felt inside. He was falling in love again.