Lucky Break
Chapter Twelve - The Offer
Kevin came back on a Thursday evening, which irritated Leo more than it should have.
Tuesdays made sense for unsettling truths. Thursdays were liminal—too close to the weekend to feel serious, too far from Monday to justify dread. Leo had been making pasta, the reliable kind that asked little of him, when the smell of toast appeared behind him like a bad idea.
Not burnt. Not fresh.
Accusatory.
He turned slowly, wooden spoon still in hand.
Kevin was sitting at the small kitchen table, legs crossed, leafing through a takeaway menu Leo didn’t remember owning.
“You alphabetised your spices,” Kevin said without looking up. “That’s new.”
Leo stared. “You’re early.”
Kevin frowned. “I’m late.”
“That’s not how—”
“I know how time works,” Kevin said. “I meant ethically.”
Leo put the spoon down carefully. His heart was not racing. That bothered him. He’d expected adrenaline, anger, something theatrical. Instead, he felt a weary recognition, like seeing a former colleague at a funeral.
“You said April,” Leo said. “You said you were off.”
Kevin sighed. “I said I was on holiday. I did not say I was unreachable.”
Leo folded his arms. “You left.”
“Yes.”
“And things are… off,” Leo said. “People. Systems. Everything’s noisier.”
Kevin glanced up then, expression sharpening. “You noticed.”
“That was the problem,” Leo said. “Wasn’t it?”
Kevin leaned back in the chair, studying him. “You’re not supposed to notice. Most don’t.”
“Well,” Leo replied, “congratulations. I’m special.”
Kevin snorted. “You’re attentive. There’s a difference.”
Leo gestured at the room. “So what is this? A check-in? A performance review?”
Kevin closed the menu and set it aside. “It’s an offer.”
The word settled between them.
“No,” Leo said reflexively.
Kevin raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know what it is yet.”
“I don’t care,” Leo replied. “I didn’t sign up for—whatever this is.”
Kevin nodded, as though ticking something off an internal list. “Good. That means you’re not eager.”
“That’s a prerequisite?” Leo asked.
“It’s the main one.”
Leo pulled out a chair and sat, suddenly aware of how tired his legs felt. “Say it.”
Kevin folded his hands. “The system isn’t broken.”
Leo waited.
“It’s understaffed,” Kevin continued. “Overextended. Running on assumptions that no longer hold.”
“That sounds familiar,” Leo said.
Kevin ignored him. “You were buffered for a long time. That made you invisible to most of it. Now you’re not.”
“And that’s my problem because…?”
“Because you can see without panicking,” Kevin said. “And you don’t immediately try to fix things you don’t understand.”
Leo blinked. “You haven’t been watching very closely.”
Kevin smiled thinly. “Closer than you think.”
Leo leaned back. “I’m not an angel.”
“Correct.”
“I don’t have powers.”
“Also correct.”
“I don’t even have luck anymore.”
Kevin tilted his head. “Debatable.”
Leo laughed once, sharply. “No. That part’s gone.”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “That’s why we’re talking.”
Silence stretched. The kettle clicked off behind them, forgotten.
“What are you offering?” Leo asked finally.
Kevin chose his words with care, which worried Leo more than anything else.
“Participation,” Kevin said. “Not guardianship. Not protection. Just… presence. Attention, where it matters. Small interventions. Human-scale.”
Leo stared at him. “You want me to do your job.”
Kevin shook his head. “I want you to do your job. You just didn’t know you had one.”
“And what is it?” Leo asked.
Kevin smiled faintly. “Noticing when something is about to tip. Being there when it does. Sometimes doing nothing. Sometimes doing the smallest possible thing.”
Leo thought of the bucket in the road. The smell of toast. The woman at the checkout. Ronise, standing still in a room full of art, trusting him not to lead.
“And if I say no?” Leo asked.
Kevin shrugged. “Then nothing dramatic happens. The world continues. A little louder. A little rougher.”
“That’s it?” Leo said. “No doom? No consequence?”
Kevin met his gaze. “There’s always consequence. Just not the kind you can point at.”
Leo rubbed his face. “Why me?”
Kevin considered this. “Because you used to glide. And now you don’t. Because you remember what ease felt like and you didn’t mistake it for virtue. Because when the buffer disappeared, you didn’t demand it back.”
“That’s not a qualification,” Leo said. “That’s an accident.”
Kevin smiled. “Most vocations are.”
Leo stood and walked to the window. Outside, the city moved in its usual way—cars inching, lights changing, people adjusting to delays they would not remember tomorrow.
“I don’t want this to make me… different,” Leo said. “From people I care about.”
Kevin’s voice softened. “It won’t. It’ll make you tired.”
Leo snorted despite himself. “I already am.”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “But this would be chosen tiredness.”
Leo closed his eyes.
Ronise’s voice came back to him, unbidden. Attention costs.
“And how long?” Leo asked.
Kevin shrugged. “As long as you want. As long as you can. This isn’t a contract.”
“It sounds like one.”
Kevin smiled. “It’s an invitation.”
Leo turned back. “And my life?”
Kevin spread his hands. “Continues. Just… denser.”
Leo laughed quietly. “You make it sound like a furniture problem.”
Kevin stood. “Take your time. There’s no deadline.”
“That’s new,” Leo said.
Kevin paused at the door. “One more thing.”
Leo looked up.
“You don’t get to do this instead of living,” Kevin said. “If you try, I’ll pull you out myself.”
Leo frowned. “You’d do that?”
Kevin smiled, tired and genuine. “I’m very good at boundaries.”
And then he was gone.
No flash. No smell. Just absence.
Leo stood alone in the kitchen, the pasta overcooked, the room unchanged.
He didn’t feel chosen.
He felt seen.
Later, lying in bed, the offer replayed itself without urgency. Not temptation. Not fear. Just weight.
He thought of the museum. The bench. The effort of standing still beside someone without reaching for control.
He thought of the grocery store, the queue, the woman with the oranges.
He thought of Ronise, and the way she occupied space without asking it to soften for her.
Leo stared at the ceiling until sleep came.
He did not decide anything.
But for the first time since the luck had gone, he understood that what came next would not be given.
It would be taken up.
Quietly.
Deliberately.
And only if he chose it.
This chapter is special. Not dramatic. If you skipped past it, it would hardly notice. But this chapter presents a choice. To all of us.