@tallykennedy
She's talking to that one. When is she ever going to figure out that they're only ever talking to her to use her up? He's connected the dots for her; it comes with the detective brain; it's not her fault, but if any one of them was any good for her, she would have never found herself at her lowest low. She would have never fallen far below the perch she should always be placed at. He's never understood it. It's obvious to him. She deserves so much more, so much more than a singer can give her, or a director, especially ones who seem too busy.
He's done his research. He knows who they talk to, who they spend their time with, who they look at the way Dante looks at her. It's never Tally Kennedy. He knows things about her that they could never know, things they'd never in a million years even notice about her that he's able to trace over with his eyes closed. Don't the pages in his notepad bleed from his feelings enough? The tip of his pencil curving to become a weak mirror of her hair in a bun? He'll never do her justice. No one ever could. He can only hope one of the cameras around this place is clear enough to take, official police matter, nothing less.
All he can do is watch for now. Be content with being closer this time than most. To be in the light of the bar, even if it's in the corner, busying himself during his limbo, curating her image as best he can, even when she soon becomes alone, even when he's failed to notice her walking in his direction.