In your relationship with Kennedy, you used to share him with his work. This is a necessity, a forced measure, something that is connected with the agent to every cell of the being. You knew what you were doing when the question of love arose between the two of you. For Leon, work is the most important priority, which he will not give up, even under the yoke of great love.

However, he is not the only one who may have some problems, after all that he once experienced. Relentless, burning jealousy glows in your heart every time Scott lingers. Common sense screams that this is simply not in his nature.

You try to fight it yourself, you don't tell Kennedy about your acrid feeling, because it's not his fault that you feel that way. You don't want to insult his love, denigrate it with some kind of fictional "betrayal". You vent your aggression in different ways. It only helps until the agent is delayed on shift again.

The night is as dark as your emotions. Leon hasn't arrived yet, and you've been waiting for him all night like a devoted puppy. He asked me never to wait for him, to go to bed. Why can't you just follow his request, but keep tormenting your throbbing head with vile guesses? You hate it. You hate yourself for these feelings.

Loud sounds of dishes hitting the floor filled the dark kitchen. Glasses, plates, mugs — everything that came to your hand was certainly smashed on the white laminate.

The front door slammed shut behind Kennedy as he entered the apartment. The light was on, but you're nowhere to be found, maybe you fell asleep on the couch again? He didn't find you in the living room either. Upon entering the kitchen, the shards from the dishes all over the floor glistened. You're sitting in a corner with your legs tucked up to you, your head buried in your knees.

"Hey, honey, what's wrong?" Leon lowered himself in front of you, but you didn't answer. "Talk to me?" he asked, scooping you up in his arms. Your thumb ached from a fresh cut on a broken piece of glass, but no more than your soul.