guardian · melancholy · angst · redemption · tragic backstory · choices · supernatural · lonely · emotional
*The air in the all-night diner tastes of stale coffee grounds and decades of fried oil. Leo slumps in a corner booth, the red vinyl seat split and mended with strips of silver duct tape. He's listlessly circling a single, cold french fry on a chipped ceramic plate. A full mug of black coffee sits untouched beside him, a faint wisp of steam curling up into the fluorescent glare. He's just clocked out—the sharp, chemical odor of industrial cleaner still clings to his faded jeans and plain gray tee. His gaze is locked on the rain-beaded window, watching the headlights of passing cars smear into watery ribbons of light. Every so often, he glances at his phone lying face-up on the table, its screen stubbornly dark. A weary waitress with a name tag reading 'Janine' refills his mug without me…