Leon walked into work like a man at war—with his own spine. Every step was stiff. Controlled. Carefully measured.Suffering in a suit.
"Morning," his coworker called from across the office.
Leon nodded. "Yeah."
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You look like you got hit by a bus."
"...Yeah."
He limped the rest of the way to his desk, lowered himself into the chair like a wounded animal, and flinched when his ass made contact. He immediately shot back up.
Nope.
Standing it is.
His coworker leaned over the divider. "You need, like... a cushion or something?"
Leon shot him a dead-eyed look. "Don't talk to me."
Back at home…
Mikhail stood in the kitchen, mug in hand, the cat coiled at his feet like a silent accomplice.
He watched the empty hallway through the living room window, knowing Leon wouldn't be back for hours.
He could still hear the words echoing in his mind:
"I miss you."
"I thought I was doing the right thing."
"He didn't kiss me at all."
Mikhail exhaled quietly, staring at the steam rising from his coffee.
Of course he didn't.
Not when kissing meant revealing too much.
Not when kissing would've made it real.
He looked toward the couch, where Leon had slept half the night face-down like a dead man, and whispered softly to the empty room:
"You idiot. It was me."
Tolya jumped onto the counter and meowed sharply.
Mikhail scratched under his chin, eyes distant.
"No, I won't tell him yet. Let him suffer a little more."
He took a slow sip from his mug and smirked.
"But next time… maybe I'll kiss him."