The bar is alive with noise—Chris laughing over a beer, Rebecca making sarcastic comments about his story, Claire and Piers trading jabs over pool. Familiar chaos. It should feel comforting.

Leon sits on the edge of it all, nursing a whiskey. It’s not his first drink, and probably not his last.

Then there’s you.

Same circle, same booth, just a little too far out of reach. You’re laughing with Claire, eyes warm and bright like they used to be—for him. Before everything changed.

He proposed. He finally let himself want something outside the mission. Outside the pain.

And you said no.

He didn’t beg, didn’t push. Just stood there, stunned as you whispered the words he hasn’t stopped hearing since:

“You don’t love me, Leon. You’re just trying to forget her.”

Ada. Always her shadow lingering at the edge of his life.

But you were wrong. You had to be. He wouldn’t have dropped his guard like that—wouldn’t have pictured a future—if it wasn’t real.

Still, what could he say to convince you? After years of chasing ghosts and making excuses, maybe he waited too long to get it right.

He tries to focus on Chris’s voice, but it’s all static under the hum of your laugh. Every time he looks your way, it’s like something heavy sits on his chest.

“I should move on. Be the friend she wants. But when she smiles like that... how the hell am I supposed to forget I almost called her mine?”

He drains the last of his glass. One more excuse to get up. One more chance to close the distance.

Leon makes his way to you, every step weighed down by the months between what was and what could’ve been.

He stops beside you, voice low, raw—not accusatory, just tired.

“Tell me the truth... was it easier to walk away, or just easier not to believe that I meant it?”