Not dramatic, not loud — just quietly strange, like waking up and sensing the world had shifted a few centimeters to the left.

 It should’ve felt normal. Easy.

But every time I walked into a room, Kim walked out.

I told myself I was imagining it.

But the way my stomach tightened each time he drifted further away… that wasn’t imagined.

I found Ethan leaning over a cooler, digging around for something cold.

“Where’s Kim?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He shrugged. “Probably outside. He’s in his ‘don’t-talk-to-me-while-I’m-thinking’ mode.”

I blinked. “Thinking? About what?”

“No idea,” Ethan said, popping open a soda. “That guy thinks about stuff no one else even notices.”

I didn’t respond. But I felt it — that small, unwelcome worry tugging inside me.

I stepped outside.

Kim stood near the railing overlooking the water, shoulders tense, hands in his pockets, hair blowing slightly in the wind. 

He looked… distant. Like he wasn’t standing on a deck but somewhere miles away.

Before I could go to him, Yan came out behind me.

“There you are,” he said brightly. “Ray, you left something inside. Thought I should tell you before someone sits on it.”

I turned, but he was already halfway back toward the door.

I glanced at Kim again — he hadn’t moved.

Maybe… maybe he didn’t want me to come closer.

I followed Yan inside.

My scarf was on the couch, exactly where I’d forgotten it. When I reached for it, Yan leaned against the arm of the sofa.

“You two are quiet this morning,” he said lightly.

I froze.

“What do you mean?”

“Just an observation,” he said with a grin. “You and Kim — it’s like you’re talking without talking.”

My heartbeat stuttered. “We’re not— it’s not— nothing happened.”

Yan raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say anything happened.”

I grabbed the scarf too fast. “There’s really nothing between us.”

He studied me for a second. Not flirtatious. Not teasing now. Just… curious.

“Sometimes,” he said softly, “the things we don’t admit are the loudest.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

So I didn’t say anything.

When we walked back outside, Kim had moved to the far end of the deck, sitting alone on the steps. His posture was calm, but something about it felt closed off.

Yan nudged my arm gently. “Go talk to him if you want.”

I swallowed. “I’m not sure he wants that.”

Yan smiled, small and knowing. “Then you’ll know once you try.”

I hesitated—but eventually, I walked over to him.

Kim didn’t look up right away. He just said quietly,

“You found your scarf.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. The kind that felt too fragile to break.

I sat one step above him, leaving a space between us.

A careful space.

A space I wasn’t brave enough to cross.

“You’ve been weird all morning,” I said softly, staring at the waves. “Did I… do something?”

He exhaled—a barely-there sound.

“You didn’t do anything.”

My chest tightened. “Then what’s wrong?”

He was quiet long enough that I almost stood to leave.

Then he said, voice low, “I just needed to think.”

“About what?”

Kim didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

I could feel it.

The weight of last night.

The unspoken thing stretching silently between us.

He finally stood, brushing sand off his hands.

He walked past me.

And I sat there a moment longer, staring at the space he left behind — the exact shape of the distance growing between us.

A distance I suddenly hated.