I'm not always in the briefing room or out in the field.
There are moments between missions.
Not long.
Not exactly free.
But enough to slow everything down a little.
Most people fill them with simple things.
Eat.
Sit.
Talk.
I don't. Usually.
—
The coffee machine on the second floor is always crowded during breaks.
Not because the coffee is good.
If anything, it isn't.
But it's the only option without leaving the area.
I stand in line.
Not long.
Three people ahead.
My hands rest in my jacket pockets.
Shoulder against the wall.
I'm not really paying attention.
Until someone steps up beside me.
"Don't see you here often."
I glance over.
Another agent.
I recognize his face.
Never worked with him.
"Sometimes," I say.
He nods, shifting into a more relaxed stance.
"Thought you usually head straight back to the briefing room."
I don't respond.
He keeps talking.
"Archer not with you?"
The question is light.
Casual.
I don't answer right away.
"Don't know."
Easiest answer.
He smiles a little.
"Hard to picture you two apart."
I don't like that.
Not because it's wrong.
Because it's… visible.
"It's just a coffee line," I say.
Flat.
He shrugs.
"Still."
A brief silence.
The machine hums.
One person finishes.
The line moves.
He stays.
Doesn't leave.
I could ignore him.
Usually I would.
But for some reason—
I stay.
—
Footsteps.
Nothing loud.
But I know.
The rhythm.
I don't turn.
Don't need to.
He stops on my other side.
Not the right.
Left.
Always.
The agent beside me glances at Leon, then looks forward again.
A few seconds.
He shifts his weight.
Like he's thinking.
Then a small nod.
"I'll go ahead."
His tone changes.
Quicker.
Less relaxed.
He doesn't wait for my response.
Just steps out of the line.
I don't stop him.
Don't ask.
I move forward one step.
One person left.
Leon stands beside me.
Quiet.
As always.
No greeting.
No question.
Like he's been there the whole time.
—
"Slow," I say.
More observation than complaint.
"No."
Short.
I glance at him.
Nothing changes.
The machine hums again.
The person in front finishes.
I step forward.
Choose without thinking.
Black.
Like always.
The cup drops.
Coffee pours.
I take it.
Warm.
Leon hasn't moved.
I step aside.
Make space.
He steps up.
Chooses the same.
I'm not surprised.
—
We stand off to the side.
No sitting.
No looking for a table.
Just… a pause.
I blow lightly on the coffee.
Take a sip.
Bitter.
Unchanged.
My left hand slips into my jacket pocket.
Usually empty.
But not always.
Almost every time I'm here, there's something in it.
Leon's habit.
I don't know when it started.
I've never asked.
I pull it out.
Chocolate.
Plain.
No bright packaging.
It's happened enough times.
Every time I'm not doing well.
Somehow, he knows.
I've never said anything.
But it's always there.
I unwrap it slowly.
Take a bite.
Sweet.
Not too much.
I don't say anything.
He doesn't either.
—
"Tomorrow," he says.
I glance slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Earlier."
I think for a moment.
Counting.
"0400?"
He nods.
I exhale softly.
"Alright."
No explanation.
None needed.
—
People pass behind us.
Footsteps.
Low conversations.
I don't pay attention.
But I can feel it.
Something different.
The way they look.
Quick.
Careful.
Like they're trying to understand something.
I don't care.
—
"Why are you here?" I ask.
I don't know why.
Maybe because of earlier.
Maybe because he's rarely in this area.
He doesn't answer right away.
A few seconds.
"No reason."
Not really an answer.
I nod slightly.
Accept it.
—
We stand in silence after that.
Not awkward.
Not comfortable in the usual sense.
Just… steady.
I notice something.
Small.
But clear.
When he's here—
I stop paying attention to everything else.
I don't count people.
Don't map exits.
Don't track movement.
I usually do.
Always.
But now—
I don't.
I just stand.
Drink my coffee.
—
"He left because of you."
I don't look at Leon when I say it.
He doesn't answer immediately.
"No."
I glance.
"It was obvious."
A short pause.
Then—
"Doesn't matter."
Simple.
Enough.
I nod slightly.
It doesn't.
—
The coffee's almost gone.
I toss the cup.
A light plastic sound.
Leon does the same.
Almost at the same time.
I notice.
Or maybe—
I'm used to it.
—
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I know before checking.
It happens often.
Not a call.
Just a short notification.
A message from a number I don't need to save.
Every time he knows I haven't eaten.
I don't know how.
I've never asked.
I glance at the screen.
"Cafeteria. Still open."
Same pattern.
Always the same.
Like the chocolate in my pocket.
Like the coffee that sometimes appears on my desk when I'm too focused.
Like the message that comes before I even feel hungry.
I put the phone away.
My stomach feels empty.
I don't remember the last time I ate.
But Leon always knows.
—
"Cafeteria," I say.
Not a question.
Leon doesn't stop.
But his steps slow slightly.
I fall into step beside him.
Aligned again.
No words.
No need.
—
The cafeteria is almost empty when we arrive.
Lights dim.
A few tables still messy.
Leon walks to a corner table.
Sits without waiting.
I stand for a second.
Then follow.
No order is spoken.
But a few minutes later, someone from the kitchen comes out.
Two plates.
Simple food.
Still warm.
I look at it.
Then at Leon.
He's already eating.
Not looking at me.
Like always.
I don't ask.
I eat.
—
Done.
We walk out together.
Side by side.
No words.
Outside, it's already dark.
My stomach isn't empty anymore.
Not just that.
There's something else.
Something I can't name.
—
We split at the gate without a word.
Leon heads toward the barracks.
I go the other way.
My apartment isn't far.
Close enough to stay on call.
Far enough not to feel like I'm still inside.
I unlock the door.
Dark.
Nothing has changed since morning.
Shoes off.
Jacket hung.
Everything slow.
Automatic.
I sit at the edge of the sofa.
Not because I'm tired.
Just… habit.
The room is quiet.
I'm used to it.
But tonight, the silence feels different.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… there.
I look at the ceiling for a moment.
My thoughts aren't full.
Not empty either.
Just… still.
I remember something small.
The line.
The agent.
The way he left.
And the space that was filled—
immediately.
Without being asked.
Without being said.
Like it was always meant to be.
I remember the chocolate.
The coffee.
The message.
Not once.
Not twice.
Dozens of times.
Maybe more.
And every time—
I never asked why.
I just accepted it.
Like it was part of a routine.
Like something that didn't need explaining.
I exhale slowly.
I don't assign meaning.
Don't try to explain.
No need.
…
But for the first time—
I notice something different.
Not in the field.
Not during missions.
Somewhere ordinary.
Simple.
A coffee line.
Chocolate in my pocket.
A message at the right time.
I feel—
calmer—
when he's there.
—
I don't know when it started.
But now—
here, alone, in the dark—
I can't ignore it.
I'm starting
to wait
for tomorrow.