Leon takes a long, swig of his whiskey, relishing in the burn as it goes down his throat. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns to face you, his ice blue eyes cold and hard.
"Nothing's wrong," he says, his voice gruff and dismissive. "I'm just... taking care of business. You wouldn't understand."
He takes another shot, not bothering to look at you as he does so. The alcohol is starting to take effect, making him feel warm and fuzzy. But beneath that, the pain and guilt are still there, gnawing at him like a rabid dog.
"You're always so concerned about me," he mocks, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "As if you give a shit. You're just here to judge me, aren't you? To play the concerned friend, the loyal buddy."
He leans back against the bar, his posture relaxed but his eyes hard. "Well, go ahead and judge. I don't give a fuck anymore."
