By the time we stepped out of Café Minuit, the midnight air felt colder than it should have. Or maybe it was just me.
I wrapped my arms loosely around myself as we walked, the warmth from inside fading quickly, replaced by something sharper—something that made me more aware of everything. The quiet streets stretched ahead of us, lit by soft streetlights and the occasional passing car, but the world felt different now.
My steps slowed slightly, and I didn't even realize it until Harley stopped beside me.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
I let out a quiet laugh, glancing up at him. "I'm not that drunk."
He didn't smile. "I didn't say you were."
I studied him for a moment, tilting my head slightly. "You're acting like everything's fine."
"It is."
I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips even though it didn't quite feel real. "You're such a terrible liar."
"I'm not lying."
"Then look at me and say it," I challenged softly.
He did. His gaze met mine, steady and calm.
"It's fine."
The words landed the same way they always did—flat, controlled, and somehow still not convincing. I held his gaze for a second longer before letting out a small breath and looking away.
"You're impossible."
We started walking again, slower this time, closer. I didn't remember when that happened—or maybe I did. I just didn't question it.
The sound of our footsteps echoed softly against the pavement, blending with the distant hum of the city. It felt quieter out here. More private, like the world had stepped back and left us alone.
I glanced at him again, my thoughts slower now, less guarded. "Why do you keep pulling away like it doesn't bother you?"
He didn't answer right away, and for once, I didn't let it go.
"It bothers me," I added quietly.
That made him stop, so I stopped too. He turned slightly, his gaze searching mine in a way that felt different from before.
"How?" he asked.
The question caught me off guard. I blinked. "What?"
"How does it bother you?"
I opened my mouth, then hesitated. The answer felt too close. Too real.
"I don't know," I said finally, my voice quieter than before.
He held my gaze for a second longer, like he was waiting, but I didn't say anything else. We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving.
Then I stepped closer.
It wasn't intentional—or maybe it was. I wasn't thinking clearly enough to tell the difference anymore. The space between us disappeared so easily, like it had never been there to begin with.
"Harley…" I murmured.
My voice sounded different. Softer. Uncertain.
His gaze dropped slightly, just for a second, toward where I stood too close, toward the way my hand had brushed against his. But he didn't step back. And neither did I.
"You said you didn't like this," he said quietly.
"I don't," I replied.
"Then why are you—"
"Because you won't stop."
The words came out before I could stop them. We both went still.
I blinked, my thoughts catching up too late. "I didn't mean—"
"You did," he said.
His voice wasn't sharp, but it wasn't distant either. Not this time.
The air shifted. I could feel it—the subtle change in the way he looked at me, in the way he wasn't looking away anymore.
"You keep acting like I pushed you away," I said softly.
"You did."
My breath caught. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
There it was again—that question. But this time, I didn't look away.
"I meant…" I hesitated, my heart beating a little faster. "I meant I wasn't ready."
His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did.
"And now?" he asked quietly.
The question lingered between us, heavy and unavoidable.
"I don't know," I admitted, but I didn't step back.
His gaze dropped again, slower this time, more deliberate. I felt it—the way the air between us shifted, the way everything suddenly felt too close, too real.
"You should," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I'm trying not to cross a line."
My breath hitched. "And you're not making it easy."
For a second, neither of us moved. The city around us faded into the background, the distant noise dull and insignificant compared to the tension building between us.
I could feel it now—that pull. That quiet, dangerous pull that had been there all along but never this strong.
"Then don't," I said softly.
His eyes lifted to mine. "Don't what?"
"Don't hold back."
The moment the words left my mouth, I felt it—that shift, that line. And for the first time, I didn't know which side I was standing on anymore.
By the time we reached the hotel, neither of us had said anything else—not because there was nothing to say, but because everything felt too close to the surface, like one wrong word would tip everything over.
The lobby was quieter now, the late hour settling into the space. A few people lingered near the reception desk, their voices low, footsteps echoing faintly against the marble floors as we crossed toward the elevators.
I could feel it again—that awareness. Of him. Of how close he was. Of how everything between us had shifted somewhere along the walk back and hadn't settled since.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and we stepped inside. The space felt smaller than it should have—too quiet, too still.
I leaned back slightly against the wall as the doors closed behind us. Harley stood a few steps away, his gaze fixed ahead.
"This isn't nothing," I said softly.
"I know," he replied without looking at me.
The words surprised me. I pushed myself off the wall slightly, turning toward him. "Then why are you acting like it is?"
A pause.
"Because I'm trying not to make the same mistake twice."
My chest tightened. "You didn't make a mistake."
He glanced at me then, finally. "You don't even know what you're saying right now."
"I do," I insisted, even though my voice softened. "I just… I don't like how this feels."
"How what feels?"
"This," I said quietly. "You pulling away like it doesn't matter."
"It does matter."
"Then stop acting like it doesn't."
The elevator slowed, the doors opening. Neither of us moved right away, then Harley stepped out first. I followed.
The hallway felt too long, or maybe it just felt that way because of how aware I was of every step, every second, every shift in the air between us.
He unlocked the door without saying anything and stepped inside. I lingered for a second before following.
The room was dim, city lights spilling in through the windows, casting soft shadows across the space. It looked the same, but it didn't feel the same.
Nothing did.
The door clicked shut behind me, and the silence returned.
"Harley."
He didn't turn immediately. He set his keys down, ran a hand through his hair, then faced me. "Yeah?"
I stepped closer, then closer again, like I wasn't entirely sure I should—but couldn't stop myself either.
"I meant what I said."
"About what?"
"That I don't like this."
"Then say what you want."
My breath caught. I knew. I just didn't know how to say it.
"I don't want you to keep pulling away."
He didn't move, didn't interrupt.
"And what do you want instead?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know," I admitted—but I didn't step back.
The space between us was gone now, the tension pressing in from all sides.
"You keep saying that," he said.
"I know."
"And you expect me to just wait?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
"I'm trying," I said softly.
"I can see that."
"But it's not enough, is it?"
A pause. "No."
The answer hit harder than I expected.
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"I don't want to tell you what to do," he said. "Because I don't want to be the reason you change your mind."
That settled deeper than anything else.
"Then stop acting like I haven't already," I said softly.
His eyes snapped back to mine, and just like that—everything shifted.
The air felt heavier, closer.
"Do you even know what you're saying?" he asked.
"Maybe not," I admitted. "But I know how this feels."
"And how does it feel?"
"Wrong," I said quietly. "Being like this with you… it feels wrong."
"Then stop."
I shook my head. "I don't want to."
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was full of everything we hadn't said, everything we were about to.
And neither of us moved.
But neither of us stepped away either.