The hum of the club drifted around them — bass low, conversations rising and falling like distant tides. Emily sipped her water, her eyes steady on Luca.
He hadn't spoken since Jordan left. Just sat there, elbows on the table, fingers lightly tracing the condensation on his glass.
Lost in thought, or maybe trying to outrun the ache in his chest—the one he didn't know how to name.
After a long stretch of silence, she finally asked, "Wanna talk about it?"
Luca shook his head first — automatic.
Then stopped.
His voice came quietly. "I don't even know what it is."
Emily tilted her head, gently. "Noel?"
His eyes lifted slowly.
"I think he's mad at me," Luca said, like he didn't fully believe it himself.
Emily waited.
"He told me," Luca continued, brows pulling together, "I just need space. That he didn't want to see me right now."
Emily's eyes softened. "When?"
"Yesterday," he murmured. "I came out of the shower, and… he just said it. Like it punched itself out of him."
