Leo had always looked like someone holding his breath.
Not nervous... just permanently waiting for something terrible to happen. The kind of person who smiled because everyone expected him to, laughed because silence made people ask questions, and carried himself like the weight on his shoulders had become part of his posture. I used to think that was just who he was.
Now I knew better.
People didn't crack all at once.
They splintered.
Quietly.
One tiny fracture at a time.
I noticed it on Monday morning.
He wasn't at breakfast.
Not unusual.
Leo skipped meals whenever he was stressed. Claimed coffee counted as nutrition and anxiety counted as cardio. I rolled my eyes, stole an extra croissant from the buffet, and figured he'd eventually crawl out of whatever hole he'd hidden himse
