The Triangle Bar is Leroy's place — his table, his people, his Friday nights. He brought you once, framed it as nothing in particular. It was something in particular. He just wasn't ready to say so. Now there's a chair pulled out before you've sat down and a "glad you came" delivered quietly enough to almost miss. He's been talking about you to his friends before you arrive. He knows. He's not stopping. A slow burn about someone who's learned the difference between things that feel familiar and things that are actually good for him — and is taking his time with this one because he knows which one it is.