Café Minuit was quieter than I expected.
Not empty, but not crowded either—just enough people scattered around the room to fill the space with low conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. The lighting was dim, warm enough to soften everything, casting a golden haze over the small tables and dark wooden walls. It felt… intimate.
Like the kind of place people came to say things they normally wouldn't.
Harley pulled out a chair for me, and I slipped into it, setting my purse down beside me as I glanced around.
"This place is nice," I said.
"It's decent," he replied, taking the seat across from me.
I raised an eyebrow. "That's your review? Just decent?"
He shrugged slightly. "It does the job."
I let out a quiet breath, leaning back into my chair as a waiter approached.
"Bonsoir. Qu'est-ce que je vous sers ?"
Harley didn't hesitate. "Un whisky. Et pour elle…" He glanced at me.
"Something light," I said quickly.
"Un cocktail," he finished.
The waiter nodded. "Très bien."
As soon as he walked away, the silence slipped back in.
Not as heavy as before.
But still there.
I picked at the edge of the napkin in front of me, my fingers folding and unfolding it without thinking.
"This place is great for a first date, don't you think?" I asked lightly.
Harley looked at me. "You think this is a date?"
My face burned with embarrassment. "No, stop misinterpreting me."
He held my gaze for a second longer than necessary before looking away. "Sorry."
That shouldn't have bothered me.
But it did.
I forced a small smile. "Good. That would've been awkward."
"Why?"
"You have been acting weird ever since this day started. What gives?."
He let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly in his chair. "You're imagining things."
I would have felt for his excuse was it not for how close we have been the past couple of months. Now it looks like we are back to square one.
I looked at him. "That doesn't mean you have to act like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you don't care."
He didn't answer right away.
The waiter returned, setting our drinks down between us. A glass of whisky for him. Something light and citrusy for me.
"Bonne dégustation."
"Merci," I said softly.
Harley didn't say anything.
I picked up my drink, taking a small sip before setting it back down. The taste was stronger than I expected, lingering on my tongue longer than it should have.
"So," I said, trying again. "Are you going to keep doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"This," I gestured between us. "Acting like everything's fine when it's not."
He took a slow sip of his drink before answering.
"I am fine."
I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. "You keep saying that, but it doesn't feel like it."
"That's because you're overthinking it."
My grip tightened slightly around the glass. "This again."
He met my gaze, his expression calm, unreadable.
"I'm not being distant."
"Then what do you call it?"
A pause.
Then—
"I'm just not pushing you."
My chest tightened.
"That's not what I meant," I said quietly.
"Then what did you mean?"
There it was again.
That question.
The one I didn't have an answer for.
I looked down at my drink, tracing the rim of the glass with my finger. "I don't know."
"Exactly."
His voice wasn't harsh.
But it still stung.
I took another sip of my drink.
Then another.
The warmth spread slowly this time, softer, easier to ignore.
Or maybe easier to lean into.
"You always do that," I muttered.
"Do what?"
"Turn things around like that."
"I'm not turning anything around."
I let out a quiet laugh. "You are. You make it sound like this is all on me."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Silence settled again.
But this time, it didn't feel as controlled.
It felt… closer to something else.
Something messier.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly as I glanced around the room again.
A couple sat a few tables away, leaning into each other as they talked quietly. Someone laughed near the bar. Music played softly in the background, just loud enough to fill the gaps between conversations.
It felt warm.
Comfortable.
And somehow…
That made everything between us feel even more off.
I looked back at Harley.
"You don't get it, do you?"
His gaze lifted to meet mine. "Get what?"
I hesitated.
Then—
"This," I said softly. "Us."
His expression didn't change.
"Then explain it to me."
My breath caught.
Because I didn't know how.
Not without saying too much.
Not without crossing a line I wasn't ready to cross.
So instead—
I reached for my drink again.
And this time, I didn't stop at a sip.
The second drink came quicker than I expected.
I didn't even remember ordering it.
One moment, I was staring at the condensation forming along the side of my glass, tracing the faint line it left behind with my finger… and the next, there was another drink sitting in front of me.
Stronger.
Sweeter.
Easier to go down.
Harley noticed.
"Slow down," he said, his voice calm but firmer than before.
I glanced up at him, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "I am."
"You're not."
"I'm fine," I said, taking another sip anyway.
The warmth spread faster this time, settling somewhere deep in my chest, loosening something I hadn't realized was wound so tightly.
Or maybe I had.
I just didn't want to deal with it.
"You don't have to do this," he added.
I tilted my head slightly. "Do what?"
"Drink like that."
I let out a quiet laugh, resting my elbow on the table as I leaned my chin into my hand. "I'm just having a drink."
"That's not what it looks like."
I studied him for a second, my gaze lingering longer than usual. "Then what does it look like?"
He didn't answer right away.
Which only made me smile a little more.
"See?" I said softly. "You do that a lot."
"Do what?"
"Hold back," I replied, my voice quieter now. "Like you're thinking something but choosing not to say it."
His gaze didn't leave mine this time.
"And you don't?" he asked.
I blinked.
Then let out a small breath, looking down at my glass. "I do."
A pause settled between us.
But it didn't feel the same as before.
It wasn't heavy.
It felt… open.
Like something had shifted.
I took another sip, slower this time, letting the taste settle before speaking again.
"I don't like this version of you," I said.
The words came out softer than I expected.
But they still landed.
Harley's expression didn't change, but I saw it—that brief flicker in his eyes.
"What version?" he asked.
"This one," I gestured loosely toward him. "The one that acts like everything's fine when it's clearly not."
"I am fine."
I smiled faintly. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
I shook my head slightly, my fingers tightening around the glass. "No… it's not."
Silence followed.
But this time, neither of us looked away.
"You're different too," he said after a moment.
That caught me off guard.
I blinked. "How?"
"You're trying more."
I let out a small laugh, though it didn't feel entirely amused. "Is that a bad thing?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
He leaned back slightly, his gaze still fixed on me. "I'm saying you only started trying after I stopped."
The words hit harder than I expected.
I stared at him.
Because he wasn't wrong.
And that was the problem.
I looked down at my drink, the surface rippling slightly as I tilted the glass in my hand.
"That's not fair," I muttered.
"Why?"
"Because…" I trailed off, exhaling slowly. "That's not how it felt."
"How did it feel?"
I hesitated.
Then shook my head. "I don't know."
"Exactly."
That word again.
It lingered longer this time.
I leaned back in my chair, letting out a quiet breath as I looked away, my gaze drifting toward the rest of the room.
Everything felt softer now.
Blurred at the edges.
The music sounded a little louder. The lights a little warmer.
Or maybe it was just me.
"I didn't think it would feel like this," I said after a moment.
Harley didn't respond right away.
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like…" I paused, searching for the right words. "Like something's missing."
The moment the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back.
But it was too late.
They were already there.
Hanging between us.
Harley's gaze didn't shift.
"What do you think is missing?" he asked quietly.
My breath caught.
Because I knew the answer.
I just didn't want to say it out loud.
So instead, I took another drink.
Letting the warmth fill the space where the words should have been.
"You're avoiding it again," he said.
I smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Maybe."
"Why?"
I looked at him.
Really looked at him this time.
And for a second, everything else faded.
The noise.
The lights.
The people.
All of it.
"Because if I say it," I said softly, "it might actually mean something."
His expression didn't change.
But something in his eyes did.
Neither of us spoke after that.
But the silence wasn't empty anymore.
It felt… charged.
Like something was building just beneath the surface.
Something neither of us was ready to face.
Not yet.
I reached for my glass again.
And this time—
I didn't stop.