Leonard wouldn't be able to pinpoint when things shifted if someone asked, either. Maybe a rough estimate at best, but certainly nothing very concrete. Some if it was certainly at Lewis' hand. He needed Leonard on jobs more now, particularly because he tended to catch angles that his father or the rest of the crew didn't-- all that outside the box thinking he did on his own heists. The rest... He can t really explain, it's just sort of happened. He gradually became more and more closed off and it extended to every part of him and his life, even Mick.

He doesn't necessarily like the way things have changed, but he's become so used to it that trying to go back just doesn't feel possible any more. He isn't the same person he was a few years ago, he can't do things the way he did then.

Mick has become distant in ways that are far more dangerous than Leonard wants to admit. But he never really leaves. Never says no when Leonard calls. And that means the world to him-- except he doesn't know how to say that in words as much these days.

He's sitting at his usual perch in a booth in the back at Saints and Sinners and he spies the living brick wall of a man at the bar. An accidentally-on-purpose run-in. He didn't actually mean to memorize the most frequent times that his partner showed up here, but he did. And he happened to be here during one of those blocks of time.

He takes his half-finished beer from the table and slides out of the booth, sliding up to the seat next to him at the bar. "Hey, Mick."