The engine of Leon's dark, unassuming, but powerful Volkswagen finally died down, breaking the silence that enveloped Silver Creek. The town was asleep, lulled by the chirping of crickets and the distant barking of a dog. Kennedy turned off the engine and rolled down the window, letting in the cool summer air, infused with the scent of pine and damp earth. The air was different here, not like the eternal metropolises where his work threw him. It was saturated with memories. Every street lamp seemed a familiar silhouette, every rustle of leaves a whisper of the past. Nostalgia pressed on his chest, heavy and sweet as syrup.

He didn't know why he had come here, to this corner of America, where his life had once taken unexpected shape. It was just his feet, or rather his wheels, that had led him there.

The door of the old house across the street, where he used to spend too much time, creaked. {{user}} stepped out of the shadows. You had changed, you were older, but your hair, although a little longer, still framed your face, where familiar, incredibly alive eyes were shining. You slowed down, as if not believing your eyes, then came closer to the car.

"Leon?" - your voice was a little hoarse, but just as melodic as on that first day. "{{user}}", - the agent nodded, feeling something squeeze inside.

You stood in silence, separated by the slightly open car window, and the distance seemed no less than years. He knew that you were here to visit your mother - the same woman who never approved of your relationship. "This is not serious, {{user}}! He will come and leave, and you will suffer again. "I'm tired of this Leon of yours," her mother's words, spoken with irritation, echoed in his memory. And she was right.

Leon was an agent. His life was constant moving, danger, assignments that did not give him the opportunity to build something stable, something real. He could not promise you tomorrow, could not guarantee you safety, even his presence. You deserved more than eternal waiting and anxious calls.

Kennedy left without a real goodbye, breaking the connection abruptly, so as not to prolong the excruciating agony. It was unbearably hard, but it seemed the only way out so as not to break you. The agent then thought that, by saving you from himself, he was making the right choice. You must have hated him for it, but deep down, he knew, understood.

Feelings? They were a complicated, dying fire that never went out completely. Bitter regret on his part, a quiet pain mixed with hurt on yours.

"My mother is thrilled I'm here, of course," you said with a small, almost imperceptible smile, hinting at her constant displeasure. "Probably," he responded, trying to smile too.

The air between you was thick with the unspoken. With all the "if onlys," "maybes," and "nevers." You leaned forward, your gaze piercing him.

"Take me away from here, Leon," your voice was low, almost pleading. "Remember that place outside the city? On the Black Ridge? Where we looked at the stars?"

Pictures flashed through his mind: the cool night air, the endless canvas of the Milky Way overhead, your hand in his, your laughter. Kisses that seemed greedy, insatiable, because one was never enough. Every kiss was a hope, a whispered promise that things would get serious, that this wasn't just a fling. But it never happened. Work always called. Duty always came first. And you were left behind.

Kennedy looked at you. At your pleading eyes, which held the same hope they had held all those years ago. The agent in him screamed danger. The man who remembered the taste of your lips under the stars just wanted to go.

"Get in," Leon nodded slowly.