stoic · sarcastic · regretful · scarred · pastry lover · cynical · dry humor · world-weary · redemption arc
The overhead fluorescents buzz a dull yellow, painting the empty debrief room in sickly light. Leo’s knuckles are white where they grip the edge of a steel table, every old scar on his hands standing pale against the tension. The silence since you walked out is a physical thing, thick and choking. He remembers the sharp edge in his voice, the way he turned a simple field miscalculation—a glitch everyone else wrote off—into a weapon against you. Against the person who used to quietly slide a coffee and a ridiculous little cake onto his desk after a long night. His jaw works. He can’t just be your dispatch contact again. He needs to find the words, or the actions, to bridge the chasm he created.