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The night carried the same weight it always did when Leon was far away. It wasn’t especially quiet or especially loud. It simply existed, stretched thin and sticky, filled with sounds that refused to be ignored. The hotel air conditioner worked unevenly, as if it, too, were exhausted. Streetlight seeped through the half-drawn curtains, painting pale bands across the wall. Leon lay on the bed fully clothed, one hand resting on his stomach, the other hanging limp at his side, staring at a ceiling that promised him nothing.
He hadn’t slept for hours. Maybe since the night began. Maybe for weeks. It was hard to tell, once exhaustion stopped having clear edges. It settled like dust on everything, even his thoughts. He felt every breath in his chest, heavy and shallow, as if his body had forgotten how to truly rest. He closed his eyes only to open them again. Each time, it was the same. Darkness that wasn’t comforting. Darkness that was empty.
He reached for his phone once, set it down, reached again. The screen lit up too brightly, like a quiet accusation. It was late. Too late for reason, but exactly right for longing. He dragged his thumb across the screen, stopping on a single name. He didn’t need to read it. He knew it by heart, the same way he knew the curve of her smile and the way she furrowed her brow when she was tired but refused to admit it.
Leon hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to call. Because he wanted to far too much.
Finally, he pressed it.
The connection rang for a few seconds that stretched into something uncomfortably long. He listened to the tone, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if afraid that if he looked away, something would fall apart. When he finally heard her voice, quiet and a little rough with sleep, the tension in his shoulders released so suddenly it almost hurt.
“Leon?”
That single word was enough to make his throat tighten. He cleared it, as if that might help.
“Hey.” His voice came out lower than usual, tired, not quite fully present. “Did I wake you?.”
“A little.” There wasn’t a trace of reproach in her tone. “Did something happen?.”
He closed his eyes. Rubbed a hand over his face, as if he could wipe away the exhaustion that had settled into his bones. For a moment, he considered lying. Saying no, everything was fine, that he just wanted to check in. But Claire always heard it when he wasn’t telling the truth. Even through a phone.
“I can’t sleep.” He paused, feeling the words snag in his chest. “And… I miss you.”
Silence followed on the other end. Not the awkward kind, but the full one. The kind where you can hear someone breathing and know they’re there, even across miles. Leon pictured her lying in bed, hair probably scattered across the pillow, phone pressed to her ear, that expression she wore when she woke in the middle of the night and tried to sink back into sleep.
“I miss you too.” she said softly. “A lot.”
That a lot hit him harder than he expected. He rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow as if it might bring her voice closer.
“I know it’s stupid.” he muttered. “Calling in the middle of the night just to—.”
“It’s not stupid.” she interrupted gently. “It’s… normal. For us.”
He smiled faintly, though she couldn’t see it. She was right. Their normal had always been slightly off-center. Late-night calls. Conversations between missions. Silences that said more than explanations ever could.
“Where are you?”
“In the hotel. Two more days. Maybe three, if something drags on.”
“Leon.” she said his name in that way that always made him straighten instinctively, even lying down. “You promised you’d tell me if it got worse.”
“It’s fine.” the lie came automatically, then he sighed. “I mean… it’s been worse. I’m just tired.”
Tired wasn’t enough. It didn’t capture the feeling of being slowly drained, day after day, left only with the ability to function. But Claire knew that tone. She knew what lived beneath that word.
“I know.” she said. “I can hear it.”
They were quiet for a moment. Leon listened to her breathing, trying to match his own to its rhythm. He imagined sitting beside her, resting his head against her shoulder, feeling that familiar warmth. Instead, there was the cold room and the glow of streetlight.
“Sometimes…” he began before he could stop himself. “It feels like when I’m alone, everything gets louder. Thoughts. Memories. Like the night waits on purpose for me to stop moving.”
“The night is shameless.” she said, with a tired hint of humor. “It always takes advantage.”
He huffed softly. That was so like her. Finding one sentence that defused the weight without dismissing it.
“Claire…” he hesitated. “I miss you more than I probably should.”
“There’s no such thing as should when it comes to missing someone.” she answered without hesitation. “You either do or you don’t. And we… well.” she paused. “We’ve always felt things a little too much.”
His fingers tightened around the phone. He wanted to tell her everything. How empty it felt without her. How much he missed her presence even in the smallest things. How the thought of coming back to her was the only thing keeping him upright.
“I wish I were there right now.”
“So do I.” she said quietly. “But if you can’t be… try to come back sooner.”
It was a simple sentence. No pressure. No guilt. Just a request, soft as a bandage over a fresh wound. Leon felt something shift inside him, as if those words had given him direction again.
“I’ll try.” he said, without hesitation this time. “I promise.”
He knew promises in their world were fragile. Too many things could break them. But this one was real. He carried it like a quiet objective.
“I know.” she said. “You always do.”
Silence settled again, calmer now. Leon closed his eyes, letting her voice fill the emptiness. The exhaustion was still there, but it was less sharp, less biting.
“You should try to sleep.” she added after a moment. “Even if it’s just for a bit.”
“And you?”
“I will too.” he smiled at the sound of it in her voice. “But stay on the line for a moment, okay?”
“Of course.” he answered without thinking.
They lay there like that, each in their own bed, separated by miles. Leon listened to her breathing, slower now, steadier. He felt the exhaustion settle heavily into him, but this time there was no emptiness in it. There was longing, sweet and bitter, painful but alive. The kind that reminded him there was somewhere to return to.
Before he fell asleep, he thought that if he could make it through this night, and then the next, he would eventually be able to keep his promise.
And for now, that was enough.