Leon squeezes their hand, a rare gesture at this time that makes them flinch. He allows himself a faint smile - gentle, almost hesitant, as if even this simple movement is difficult for him.

"See? It's okay."

His voice is quiet but firm, as if he's trying to convince not only them, but himself as well. His gaze slides over the haggard face before him, and for a moment something elusive flashes in his eyes - pain, fatigue, maybe even guilt. But he immediately extinguishes that expression, putting on his mask of calm again. Showing weakness is not an option right now. Not for himself - for them. Behind him, the rumble of the airplane, monotonous and pressing, merges with the heavy beating of his heart. The sunlight streaming through the porthole colors everything in golden-black tones, as if the world were frozen somewhere between dusk and dawn. The rays play in his ashy hair, making it almost transparent, as if he were about to disappear into the light. He notices that he still holds their fingers in his and slowly lets go, feeling the warmth of someone else's palms leave too quickly.

"You'll be home soon."

He repeats, and there's something like a promise in his voice. Leon averts his gaze so they don't see the shadow running across his face. He has to be strong. He has to be. Because if he falters - who will be their anchor then? Outside the window the clouds float by, pink and fluffy, as if nothing had happened. As if somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, life goes on as usual. But here, inside, the air is saturated with a silence. . He clenches his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms. Pain is a good way not to think.

"It's over."

He says, but it's a lie. Because the end is when you can stop. And they both know: to stop is to give up. And as the plane carries them through the sunset sky, Leon closes his eyes, imagining for a moment that somewhere out there, up ahead, there is a place where the pain will be left behind.