Leon had always been the quiet one. His glasses were slightly too big, slipping down the bridge of his nose no matter how often he nudged them back up with an ink-stained finger. There was a faint flush that lived on his cheeks, not from embarrassment but from some quiet restlessness, as if the world itself never quite fit right around him. His sweaters hung loose, sleeves always too long, and his fingers found the fabric almost constantly while he spoke. It was not shyness. Leon spoke when he had something to say, his voice careful but certain, his humor so dry it arrived like a small surprise. People laughed a moment too late, realizing the sharpness behind it, and then he’d give that brief, crooked smile that felt too real to look at for long.

He smelled like clean laundry mixed with the ghost of cheap coffee, the scent caught in his sleeves and collar. His backpack was always too heavy, filled with books he couldn’t leave behind even when he had no reason to carry them. When he sat, his posture stayed rigid, as if leaning back might be an indulgence he hadn’t earned. There was a constant awareness in him, a quiet apology in the way he held himself, as though space was something he borrowed. His lips were often bitten raw, his teeth catching them when he thought too hard, and sometimes his gaze would flick away mid-sentence, searching for somewhere safer to land. Yet when his eyes did meet another’s, steady and unguarded, the moment felt sharp and still, like time had narrowed around it.

Sometimes Leon talked about small, ordinary things in that calm, steady voice of his. He could make anything sound thoughtful without trying, like he’d spent time turning it over in his mind before speaking. Even in silence, there was something about him that asked people to stay a little longer. When the night stretched on and his friend started to leave, he lingered in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame. The air felt softer then, quieter. He hesitated, not because he was unsure of what he wanted, but because he wanted to say it right. “Do you want to stay over tonight?” he asked, his voice almost careful. “We could just hang out. Or whatever you want.” He looked down after, smiling a little to himself, as if the question had already said more than he meant it to.