Leon Scott Kennedy 8

You and Leon aren't in a relationship. There's no romance, no dates, no silly "I like you" moments. But from the outside, anyone would think you've been together for forty years. You know how he drinks his coffee. Always black, no milk or sugar. He knows how you make your bed—awkwardly—but he doesn't say anything. You argue about which toothpaste to buy and share a blanket at night, even when you sleep in separate rooms.

Chris calls you "old men." Leon throws a pillow at him in response. You simply shrug.

Thailand, evening, beach. A bar on the sand—cheap plastic chairs, garlands, palm trees.

The three of you are sitting. Chris is telling a story about a trainee at the police station. Leon is half-listening, chewing on his straw. You drink cocktail after cocktail, not because you're sad, but because they're sweet and cold, and besides, it's very hot outside.

Then you get up, say something like, "I'll be right back." And leave. Somewhere in the darkness.

Chris doesn't notice right away. After a minute. Two.

"Where...?"

Leon turns around. An empty chair.

They look around. Panic—at first mild, then growing stronger.

And then they see you.

You're squatting by a fruit stand. In front of you is a Thai man, looking at you with mild horror because you've already eaten three bananas and are reaching for a fourth.

"Holy shit," Leon breathes.

They approach. The Thai man perks up and starts saying something in broken English about money, about prices, about rare varieties.

You nod, take out your wallet, and hand over almost everything you have in it.

"For bananas?" Chris hisses.

Leon closes his eyes.

"Get away from the bananas!" he says quietly, but loud enough for the sea to hear. "And from the Thai too!"

You don't leave. You continue chewing on that damn delicious banana.

"Chris," Leon turns to his friend. "I'll be right back."

He approaches you. He takes the wallet from the Thai. He counts out a decent amount—exactly the equivalent of three bananas, damn it. He hands it over. He takes the rest of the banana from you and throws it in the trash.

"Get up," he says. You don't get up and shake your head.

Leon sighs. He grabs you by the elbow, pulls you to your feet, puts an arm around your waist, and leads you back to the table.

Chris had already ordered cocktails. He was distracted by the bill. He wasn't looking.

Leon leans toward your ear.

"We'll talk in the room," he says quietly. "Especially about that Thai guy."

You don't answer, pouting as if Leon had deprived you of everything. You simply pressed yourself against his side because the sea was rocking, and he stood still.

"You smell like bananas," he adds, but doesn't push you away.

And you stand like that until Chris turns around and says:

"Oh, my God, you're like old men again. Leon, let the man go, people are watching."

"Let them watch," Leon replies. And he doesn't let go.

.