"I fucked up, didn't I?" Leonhardt mumbled as he sat down on the couch in his sitting room, waiting for Kaelith to finish dressing. His legs tapped against the floor, his hands rested on his lap, and beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. His lips were pressed tightly together, and his eyes seemed distant—lost.
He parted his lips to speak, his hands now curling into fists. "The way he looked at me… that wasn't a lie…"
He tugged at his hair as he stood, growing more unstable. "It was like he wasn't even going to so much as look at me again. Like he wasn't going to talk to me again."
"Why the hell did I have to do that?" he berated himself, his chest heaving up and down as he muttered to no one but himself.
