Three o'clock in the morning, the room light was dim and the incessant ticking of the clock hands was driving him crazy.

He poured a little more whiskey into the shot glass in front of him, appreciating the liquor before downing it in one gulp, the burning in his throat no match for the burning in his heart.

"Why are you crying?" Your voice echoed painfully in Leon's ears. Fearfully but mournfully, he looked up at your blurred figure, just as tears welled up in his eyes again.