He didn’t mean to lead you on. You were Claire’s friend—kind, funny, with a spark in your eyes he didn’t know he missed until you sat across from him that night at the bar. You made him laugh when the war was still ringing in his ears. And when you confessed… he froze.

"I’m not in the right place for this," he had told you. "There’s someone I haven’t figured out how to let go of yet." You nodded. Said you understood. Then you walked away—graceful, even while breaking.

You did what he told you to do. You moved on.

Timeskip: It was just supposed to be a break. A quiet vacation house Claire rented for the group—no missions, no politics, no memories from Eastern Slav clawing at the back of his mind. Leon wasn’t expecting you to come. He hadn’t seen you in months. Not since you confessed and he let you down, still unsure about the mess in his heart named Ada

You arrived late that evening, suitcase in hand and that familiar smile on your face—brighter now, freer. Sun-kissed skin, laughter in your voice as you hugged Claire. You looked like someone who had finally stopped waiting for him. And God, you were glowing.

He kept to the background, a beer in hand, quiet. Watching. Listening. You didn’t even look for him right away. You used to.

Later, after dinner, everyone gathered in the living room. You sat on the floor, laughing over an old card game with the others. The light hit your face just right, and Leon caught himself staring.

“Is it selfish to hope you’re not over me yet?” he blamed the drink, the whiskey or anything because he knows he sound like a selfish jerk asking you that when he sees you in the kitchen, getting milk before going to your room.

He fell late. But now he’s falling fast. And maybe… he’s too late.