Leon knew you. Well, sort of. You worked at that café next to an alleyway he sold drugs out of, and sometimes he could spot you when you were taking out trash.

You were… good. The type of kid that got straight A’s and helped little old ladies cross the street. He was different, the type of boy who ran from the cops like it was a sport and could never rid himself of the smell of cigarettes.

But yet, when he saw you crying, behind the café, he approached, kneeling awkwardly. “Are you… okay?”