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“You’re not a freeloader, Leaf. We all knew what was going on. Back then, after Christmas, after that … incident, I overheard my parents whispering. ‘Go over there and shoot that man,’ Mom said.”

Leaf’s breath caught, and he felt the agony creeping in. Tortured by the memories, he clenched his teeth and tried to endure them. But he couldn’t. He abruptly stood up.

“Leaf …”

“No,” he said, disappearing into the dark apartment.

There was only one thing that enabled him to triumph over his memories, if only temporarily. He immersed himself in oblivion and solace, where no one could reach him, even if it meant paying for it with an early death—a pact he had made at fifteen.

José hadn’t followed him. If he had tried to stop him, it would have led to a fight. He apparently wanted to avoid that.

Leaf cocooned himself in a sense of security, allowing all the pain to dissipate. He breathed deeply, sighing softly in relief.

“What happened?” José’s voice echoed from a distance.

Leaf slowly opened his eyes. He found himself lying on the couch, the room spinning around him.

Yeah. What happened? I’d like to know that too.

Groggily, he brushed his hair back. His eyelids were too heavy to keep his eyes open.

“Leaf.”

“Hmm …”

“Did you talk to Tristan?”

“You don’t understand,” he said, struggling with the weight on his tongue as he strung one word after another. “That’s what brought us together. We didn’t really talk about it. At least, not certain things. And that was okay. It was good like that. But now … I tried to tell him, but …” Leaf sighed. His body was paralyzed, the memories banished. He wasn’t even sure if it was him speaking.

“We lived in this wonderful little bubble,” he continued. “It was just us, owing each other nothing but love. But it feels like that bubble has burst. It’s shattered now. You can’t repair it. It’s gone.”

Leaf turned his head to the side and felt the cool leather against his cheek. He wanted more, but he didn’t have the strength to reach for his pipe and smoke.

“So what do you want to do now?” José asked calmly.

“Hmm …”

“Leaf.” José sat down beside him. “Do you want to keep going like this, just waiting for your guilt to disappear?”

“I threw Milo under the bus,” he mumbled, covering his face.

“That’s exactly what I mean! Leaf! Look at me!”

Leaf lowered his hands, unable to meet José’s gaze. He couldn’t bear the understanding look in José’s eyes; it was a grace he hadn’t earned.

“You should go to him,” José said, as if he had devised a plan for him. “He needs you. That’s all I know. He needs you so much.”

“I just let it happen,” Leaf whispered. “I let Milo die. I couldn’t do anything to stop it. What more is there to say?”

He had been wrong. That wasn’t José’s understanding face; it was his worried one. Leaf turned his head away and covered his eyes.

“No. You’re not getting away from me like this. I won’t allow it. Get up!”

Leaf lifted his head, his eyes glazed.

“What do you need to get back on your feet?” José asked, taking a few steps back like he was ready to go. “Tell me. You have a choice. Because believe me, if I have to, I’ll drag you onto that stage tonight. Please, Leaf. Don’t let me down. Don’t let us down! Tristan! Don’t let Andrej win.”

Leaf gathered all his strength and lit a cigarette. Lying back, he closed his eyes.