Lucky Break
Chapter Fifteen - Transfer
Leo woke with the uncomfortable sense that a decision had already been made somewhere he hadn’t been invited.
Not decided, exactly. Not concluded. But arranged. Like furniture moved in the night by someone who knew the room better than he did.
He lay still, listening.
The city sounded ordinary. A delivery truck reversing somewhere nearby. Footsteps on the pavement. A radio playing faintly through an open window, the voice too distant to catch the words. No toast. No angels. Just morning, doing what it always did.
He sat up and felt the now-familiar weight settle into him—not dread, not reluctance, but density. The accumulated presence of the last few days. The attention he hadn’t put down.
He showered. Dressed. Made coffee. Drank it without ceremony.
Halfway through, he realised he was waiting.
For what, he wasn’t sure.
He checked his phone. No messages from Kevin. No missed calls. Ronise hadn’t written either. Ruth, blessedly, was silent.
The quiet felt intentional.
Leo went out.
He walked without a plan at first, letting the streets choose for him. He noticed the way his pace adjusted automatically now—how he slowed near crossings, how he gave people more room than strictly necessary. None of it felt virtuous. It felt calibrated.
At a small park, he sat on a bench and watched a man attempt to fix a loose wheel on a child’s scooter. The child hovered nearby, hands jammed into pockets, offering advice that was both incorrect and relentless. The man listened anyway.
Leo smiled.
This was the world, unbuffered. Inexpert. Persisting.
Kevin found him there.
No announcement. No scent. Just the sound of someone sitting down beside him.
“You’re late,” Leo said, without turning.
Kevin followed his gaze. “You’re early.”
They sat for a moment, watching the man finally succeed in tightening the wheel. The child cheered as though a miracle had occurred.
Kevin spoke first. “You’ve been moving differently.”
Leo nodded. “I noticed.”
“Good,” Kevin said. “That means you weren’t doing it for me.”
Leo snorted. “If I were, you’d have shut it down.”
Kevin smiled. “Immediately.”
Leo turned to face him. Kevin looked the same as always—ordinary, unremarkable, dressed like someone who might be on his way to an errand. There was no trace of ceremony about him.
“That offer,” Leo said. “It’s not about me stepping into something empty, is it?”
Kevin tilted his head. “No.”
“It’s about someone stepping out.”
Kevin didn’t answer immediately. That, Leo realised, was answer enough.
“Whose?” Leo asked.
Kevin looked back at the park. “Mine. Eventually.”
Leo laughed once, sharply. “That’s not how you sold it.”
“I didn’t sell it,” Kevin said. “I framed it.”
Leo leaned back against the bench. “You’re talking about succession.”
Kevin grimaced. “I hate that word.”
“Of course you do,” Leo said. “It sounds like purpose.”
Kevin sighed. “I’m tired.”
The admission was quiet. Unadorned. It landed harder than any revelation.
“You’re an angel,” Leo said. “You don’t get tired.”
Kevin looked at him. “That’s what I used to think.”
Leo watched him carefully now, noticing something he hadn’t before—not weariness, exactly, but erosion. The way a stone changes shape not from impact, but from years of water.
“What happens if you step back?” Leo asked.
Kevin shrugged. “The system adapts. It always does. Poorly, at first.”
“And me?” Leo asked. “What happens to me?”
Kevin smiled faintly. “You become inconvenient.”
Leo laughed. “I already am.”
“Yes,” Kevin agreed. “But you’ll be inconvenient in a very specific way.”
Leo was quiet for a long moment.
“This isn’t about heroics,” he said finally.
“No.”
“It’s not about fixing people.”
“No.”
“It’s not even about intervening most of the time.”
Kevin nodded. “Mostly it’s about not intervening. About knowing when presence is enough.”
Leo closed his eyes.
He thought of Ronise, navigating rooms without asking them to soften. Of Ruth, naming things without rescuing him from them. Of the woman at the checkout, insisting gently on her oranges.
He opened his eyes again.
“You’re not asking me to replace you,” Leo said. “You’re asking me to take something you’re carrying.”
Kevin’s shoulders eased slightly. “Yes.”
“And you’ll still be… around?”
Kevin smiled. “Less. That’s the idea.”
Leo exhaled slowly. “I don’t know if I can do this forever.”
Kevin stood. “I don’t want you to.”
Leo looked up at him. “Then what are you asking for?”
Kevin considered. “A transfer. Not of role. Of weight.”
Leo frowned. “You’re going to have to explain that.”
Kevin gestured around them. “I’ve been carrying attention for a long time. Redirecting it. Absorbing it. Smoothing edges. That kind of vigilance has a cost.”
“And you want me to share it.”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “But not as duty. As capacity.”
Leo laughed softly. “You make it sound like a muscle.”
“That’s because it is,” Kevin replied. “And yours is developing.”
They sat again.
A jogger passed, nodded at them. Leo nodded back.
“What about Ronise?” Leo asked quietly.
Kevin’s expression softened. “She already knows how to carry weight. That’s not what she needs from you.”
Leo nodded. “Good.”
“And Ruth?” Kevin added.
Leo smiled. “She’d tell me not to be an idiot.”
Kevin smiled too. “She would.”
Silence settled between them again, companionable this time.
After a while, Leo said, “If I say yes—if I agree to this transfer—what changes first?”
Kevin stood. “Nothing obvious.”
“That figures.”
“You’ll notice things sooner,” Kevin went on. “You’ll feel when something is about to tip. You’ll be tempted to step in.”
“And I won’t?”
Kevin met his gaze. “Sometimes you will. Sometimes you won’t. The work is knowing the difference.”
Leo stood as well. “And you?”
Kevin shrugged. “I’ll rest.”
Leo hesitated. “You deserve that.”
Kevin’s smile was small, genuine. “Thank you.”
They walked together toward the park gate. At the edge, Kevin stopped.
“This isn’t a vow,” he said. “You can change your mind.”
Leo nodded. “I know.”
Kevin hesitated, then added, “But once you start noticing with this level of care, it’s hard to stop.”
Leo smiled. “I’ve already noticed.”
Kevin looked relieved.
He stepped back, already fading—not disappearing, just receding, like a thought no longer being actively held.
Leo stood alone at the gate, the park behind him, the city ahead.
He did not feel triumphant.
He felt calibrated.
He walked home slowly, not because he was unsure, but because he didn’t want to outrun the shape of the decision forming inside him.
By the time he reached his flat, the day had shifted into afternoon. Light slanted differently. Shadows lengthened.
Leo stood in the doorway for a moment, hand on the frame, and felt the weight settle again—familiar now, not oppressive.
Not a burden.
A transfer.
And this time, he didn’t set it down.
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