The night air seeped in through the open balcony doors of Leonard’s apartnt, brushing cool fingers across his skin, but he barely noticed. He sat slouched in the leather armchair—half dressed, half drunk, and fully miserable. A single glass of bourbon rested on the coffee table, half empty. Or half full, depending on how pitifully optimistic he was feeling.
The lights were off. Only the city lights spilled shadows through the windows. His tie was draped over the floor, and the shirt on his back was wrinkled—careless, like the ss of thoughts jamming in his head.
Miranda’s words still lingered in his mind, like a freaking fog.
"You weren’t even fun anymore."
That’s what she’d said when he caught her. When the silence broke into shouting and the shouting dissolved into bitterness. She stood there—eyes dry, unapologetic. Like he was the one who betrayed her.
Leonard let out a dry laugh, dragging his fingers through his hair.
What a damn joke.
He had never loved Miranda. He thought he could. He thought she’d fit into the box—the perfectly manicured image of who his partner should be. But she fit too neatly, too smoothly. It never felt real. And maybe that was the problem.
Katherine hadn’t fit in any box.
He didn’t realize it until she was gone. She didn’t demand. She didn’t force her way into his world. She just stood there—present. And he ignored her. No, worse. He dismissed her.
Leonard gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing at the far wall like he could erase the mory if he stared hard enough.
She used to smile at him gently when he ca ho exhausted. Not loud, not needy—just there with a soft towel if he’d been caught in the rain, or a cup of coffee if he had an early morning.
And he never thanked her. He never asked her how she was. He never even looked at her like a person. Just a placeholder. An obligation.
A fool.
A sharp knock on the door broke the suffocating silence.
Leonard didn’t move at first. But the knock ca again, this ti followed by a familiar voice.
"Open up, dumbass. I know you’re in there, sulking like a heartbroken soap opera lead."
Leonard groaned, dragging himself out of the chair. "Go away, Claudio."
"I brought pizza."
He paused. "With pepperoni?"
"Extra cheese. And beer."
He didn’t want company. Especially not Claudio—his most persistent critic, his most brutal mirror.
But still, Leonard opened the door for him.
Claudio stepped in, wearing a leather jacket and a smug grin that only siblings could perfect. He took one look at Leonard’s disheveled state and whistled low. "Wow. Did a raccoon get into your closet or are you just embracing the ’depression goblin’ aesthetic?"
"Don’t start."
"Oh, I already did." Claudio walked in uninvited, tossing the pizza box on the table and helping himself to the bourbon. "So. Which part are we sulking about? Miranda cheating? Or how you let a perfectly good woman like Katherine walk out of your life without a second glance?"
Leonard flinched at the na. He sat back down and reached for the pizza but didn’t take a bite.
Claudio raised an eyebrow. "You know, I keep wondering sothing. You dated Miranda for what? A year? And you’ve been brooding about Katherine for at least double that ti. Make it make sense."
Leonard leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "She was good to . So damn good. And I was... selfish. Dismissive. I let Miranda twist my world until I couldn’t see clearly."
"Ah, yes. The infamous logic of ’let push away the one woman who actually cared about and go after an emotionally unavailable narcissist.’"
"I didn’t think she cared that much," Leonard muttered. "Katherine. I an—she never said anything. She just... existed quietly."
Claudio looked like he was about to throw the bourbon glass at him.
"She didn’t need to say anything, Leo. You just had to look at her. Watch how she looked at you. Hell, even I saw it—and I only t her, like, ten tis before she disappeared from your life."
Leonard said nothing, the silence thick between them.
Claudio leaned back in the chair, sighing. "You know what your problem is? You treat people like they’re either a risk or a reward. You calculate. You distance. You forget they’re human."
Leonard stared at him. "What do you want to say? That I’m sorry? That I should’ve grovelled when she left? You think I didn’t want to go after her? It would’ve taken three clicks to find her."
"But you didn’t."
"I didn’t," Leonard agreed, his voice low. "Because I didn’t want to force my way into her life again. She deserved peace. She deserved better than... ."
Claudio exhaled, long and slow. "For soone with a damn high IQ, you’re impressively stupid."
Leonard chuckled bitterly. "Tell sothing I don’t know."
The night dragged on. They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds were the crinkle of the pizza box and the occasional clink of glass. But Leonard’s thoughts remained elsewhere—on soft brown eyes, gentle words, and the mory of her hands soothing a crying child while he stood frozen, useless.
He rembered the ti she smiled at him, even after he snapped at her for no reason. Rembered how she made the bland apartnt feel like a ho without asking for anything in return.
And he rembered the last ti he saw her—walking away, holding her belly with one hand and determination in the other.
He closed his eyes.
He would’ve chased after her. He should’ve.
But back then, Leonard Ford was too much of a coward to admit he didn’t want her as a stand-in. He wanted her as her. Just her.
He looked over at Claudio, who now laid half-asleep on his couch, snoring lightly with a slice of pizza in hand.
Leonard leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"You deserve better than ," he murmured to no one in particular.
But maybe, just maybe... I could learn to be better.
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