Elian left before dawn.
No note.
No goodbye.
Just a suitcase, a locked door, and silence.
The city was still half-asleep as he boarded the train, hood up, headphones in, heart strangely steady.
He didn't cry.
Didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
It was over.
The job was done.
The transaction complete.
He had fulfilled the contract.
And Leonhart?
Leonhart had nothing left to hold him.
---
Leonhart woke to an empty apartment.
No sound in the kitchen.
No quiet footsteps across the hall.
No scent of lavender on the sheets.
At first, he thought it was a mistake.
Elian had gone out, maybe. A walk. Coffee.
But the suitcase was gone.
So was the phone.
So was the card he'd given him.
Leonhart stood in the middle of the living room, shirt undone, barefoot, fists clenched.
For the first time in years, he had no words.
Only the knowledge that everything he thought he owned—he never really had.
---
By noon, he had the address.
He could've sent a car. Sent men.
But he went himself.
Black coat, dark sunglasses, fury tucked beneath the calm like a loaded gun.
He knocked once.
Elian opened the door.
Simple clothes. Fresh face. No fear.
He didn't flinch. Didn't greet him.
Just waited.
Leonhart stepped inside, and for the first time, didn't tower.
He looked… small.
Not in body.
In soul.
"You just left," he said quietly.
"That was the agreement."
"I never agreed to this."
Elian's gaze didn't waver. "You gave me money, not permission."
Leonhart stared at him, breathing shallow. "Was it all fake?"
"Yes."
Silence.
Leonhart swallowed. "Not one moment?"
Elian took a step forward. Close enough to whisper.
"I moaned when you touched me. I kissed you like I wanted you. I let you believe you broke me. That was your fantasy, wasn't it? The poor thing who melted under your hands."
He smiled. Gentle. Final.
"I played my role better than you ever played yours."
Leonhart's jaw clenched.
His hands trembled.
"Please," he whispered. "Stay."
Elian tilted his head.
"Say it again."
Leonhart looked at him, eyes shining with a kind of desperation he'd once thought impossible for himself.
"Stay," he said, voice breaking.
Elian reached up and gently touched Leonhart's cheek.
Then leaned in.
And kissed him softly.
Not like a lover.
Not like a goodbye.
Like the final touch of a performance ending.
Then he stepped back.
"I'm not yours," he said.
"I never was."
And he closed the door.