The airport was quieter than usual, or maybe it only felt that way because of the silence between us. The low hum of conversations, the rolling of suitcases across the floor, and the distant announcements blended together, none of it strong enough to break through the tension that had settled in since we left the hotel that morning.
I glanced at Harley from the corner of my eye as we walked through the terminal, immediately noticing how calm he looked. It wasn't the kind of calm I was used to—not the effortless confidence he carried so easily—but something more controlled, like every emotion had been carefully locked away. Something about it didn't feel right.
Ever since we left Paris, a strange distance had settled between us. It wasn't obvious enough to name, not tied to any specific moment, but it lingered in the way he walked slightly ahead of me, his hands tucked into his coat pockets as he moved through the crowd without looking back. Normally, he would have slowed down or said something teasing about how long I was taking. Normally, he would have waited. Today, he didn't.
I tightened my grip on my suitcase and quickened my pace to catch up. "Harley," I said softly.
He stopped and turned to face me, his expression neutral in a way that felt unfamiliar. "Yes?" he replied, his tone strangely formal.
I hesitated, suddenly unsure of how to ask what was sitting in my chest. "Did something happen last night?" I managed after a moment.
For the briefest second, something flickered in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly.
"No," he said.
The answer should have been enough, but it wasn't. "Oh," I replied quietly, the word falling flat between us.
Neither of us said anything after that. The silence stretched, and I didn't know how to push further without sounding like I was searching for something I couldn't explain, so I let it go, even though the unease didn't fade.
A few minutes later, we boarded the plane, and the silence followed us there.
The flight home felt heavier than usual. Harley spent most of the time staring out the window, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the clouds, barely moving or speaking. It felt like he had pulled away into a space I couldn't reach.
I sat beside him with a magazine open in my hands, pretending to read even though I hadn't turned the page in over twenty minutes. The words blurred together as my thoughts kept circling back to the same feeling.
Something had changed.
I just didn't know what.
Normally, we would have argued over movies or teased each other about something small. Sometimes we didn't need to talk at all; the quiet between us used to feel easy. There were times I would fall asleep without realizing it, leaning against him without thinking.
Today, there was nothing like that. The space between us felt noticeable, like something invisible had settled there and refused to move.
When the plane landed in Seoul, everything seemed to move too quickly. Passengers stood, reached for their bags, and filed out into the aisle, while I stayed seated for a moment longer than I should have, trying to shake off the lingering feeling.
Harley stood first and grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment. "Let's go," he said.
That was all he gave me. No teasing. No warmth. Just those two words.
I followed him through the airport, my confusion growing heavier with every step. People moved around us, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing, but it all felt distant, like I wasn't fully part of it.
As we stepped out into the cool Seoul night, the air felt sharper than I remembered. The familiar sounds and lights should have grounded me, but they didn't. The unease I had been carrying since Paris hadn't gone away.
If anything, it had settled deeper.
The car ride back was just as quiet. I sat beside him, occasionally glancing in his direction, waiting for him to say something, but he didn't. He kept his gaze forward, his expression unchanged, like whatever he was thinking about didn't include me.
When the car pulled into the driveway of the mansion, I turned toward him, unable to ignore it any longer. "Harley… you've been quiet all day," I said.
"I'm just thinking," he replied without looking at me.
"About what?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. Then, quietly, he said, "About how easy it was for you to forget."
My chest tightened. "Forget what?" I asked, confusion creeping into my voice.
He didn't respond. Instead, he opened the car door and stepped out.
I followed quickly, barely noticing the driver moving toward the trunk. "Harley," I called after him, my voice more urgent now, "stop ignoring me and tell me what happened."
He stopped walking, and the sudden stillness made everything feel louder. "Why?" he asked.
The question caught me off guard. "What do you mean why?" I said, my voice trembling slightly. "Just tell me. I don't want this distance between us anymore."
"Sophie," he said, his voice rising just enough to make me flinch.
I froze, the sound of my name hitting harder than it should have.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "I won't bring it up again."
I turned and walked past him toward the entryway, my steps quicker now, my vision slightly blurred. I didn't trust myself to stay or to look back.
Behind me, he didn't follow. For a moment, there was only silence.
Then I heard it—a sharp, sudden impact as his fist hit the wall. The sound echoed through the quiet night, carrying more than words ever could.
I slowed for a fraction of a second before forcing myself to keep moving.
I didn't turn around.
I didn't stop.
Because I knew that if I did, I wouldn't be able to pretend it didn't hurt.