She presses the phone to her ear, her fingers moving slowly, the alcohol making them clumsy. The night spins, the neon lights of the bar leaking onto the pavement as she sits on the sidewalk, her heels abandoned beside her. Her dress, somewhat short, somewhat stunning, is now bunched around her thighs. The cigarette between her fingers slowly burns away, forgotten. She doesn’t even remember when she started smoking again.

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Then her voice, hoarse, tired, irritated. “Where the hell are you?”

You laugh, though it comes out more as a ragged sigh. “Missed me yet?”

Leon exhales sharply, but he can tell she’s already moving. “Text me your location. Don’t move.” As if he could, even if he wanted to.

She hears he car before she sees it, the thud cutting through the quiet calm of the street. He slows to a stop, headlights illuminating her, and for a second she winces at the light. Then the door slams shut, and she looks up just in time to see Leon approaching, his jaw clenched and shoulders tense beneath his leather jacket. His eyes stare at her, assessing her. Her hair is a mess, her makeup is smeared, and her purse is nowhere to be seen. His frown deepens when he notices the cigarette in her fingers.

“Really?” He crouches down in front of her, takes it out before you can protest, and tosses it away. “I thought you left it.”