Leo

Your job at the advertising agency had turned into hell. By the end of the week, you felt awful, so at the office party on Friday, you decided to let loose.

The alcohol was flowing, and you overdid it. By midnight, the world started to sway. Stumbling, you left the bar, sat down on a swing at a playground, and pulled out your phone. Your finger tapped the contact “Leo” on its own.

He answered almost immediately.

“Where are you? Have you been drinking?” — concern crept into his voice.

You started talking fast, swallowing words and sobbing. Leo didn’t interrupt.

“I’ll come now. Send me your location,” he said shortly.

Fifteen minutes later, he found you on the swing. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, his hair disheveled. You looked pathetic: mascara smeared, your heels lying nearby.

He sat down next to you. You started your usual rant again, waving your hands around.

“See! Even you’re silent. Because nobody understands me…” you breathed out.

“I understand you,” he interrupted quietly.

Liquid courage made you blurt out what you’d long suspected.

“You don’t understand a damn thing. You just want to sleep with me, that’s all,” you scoffed bitterly.

Silence fell over the square. Leo chuckled — knowingly, somehow too knowingly. He leaned closer, and you felt the warmth.

“And you understand me,” he replied, not looking away.