The apartment was quiet, too quiet, and I didn't like it.
I'd woken to sunlight spilling lazily through the blinds, painting soft streaks across the floor, but it didn't bring the comfort it normally did. Not today.
Ken was moving around the kitchen, making coffee, humming under his breath as he always did, except something was off.
His movements were precise, careful, but distant.
Controlled.
Detached.
I had followed him from yesterday's medical mission, had laughed, helped, shared fleeting glances and touches… and yesterday, everything felt easy.
Natural.
Warm.
Now…
Now, he barely even looked at me.
I sat at the edge of the couch, hands clasped in my lap, eyes tracing the steam curling from his mug.
Why?
I tried to remember if I had said something wrong.
Did I upset him? Had I misread a gesture, a glance?
Nothing came to mind.
Everything had been… normal.
Perfect.
And yet.
He didn't smile when I spoke.
He didn't ask if I'd slept well.
He didn't brush his hand lightly over mine as he always did.
He was here… but not here.
I shifted slightly, studying him.
The soft crease between his brows as he stirred his coffee.
The way he hummed the same tune he hummed yesterday.
But it feels like he's… far away.
My stomach twisted.
Something deep inside whispered that this was intentional, that the warmth he had yesterday, the gentleness I'd clung to, had been pulled away.
I stood slowly, walking toward him.
"Ken," I said softly.
No reaction.
He kept stirring.
"Ken," I repeated, firmer this time.
He finally glanced at me.
Just a flicker.
A pause.
A careful, polite acknowledgment.
But the softness, that familiar, comforting softness was gone.
My chest tightened.
My throat constricted.
I had to know.
"Why are you acting like this?" I demanded, voice trembling slightly, eyes locking onto him.
He blinked, looked down at the counter, and didn't answer.
I took a step closer, desperation rising. "We were fine yesterday. Everything was fine and now… now it's like you don't even want me here."
Ken's hands paused on the coffee mug.
He exhaled slowly.
"I… it's complicated," he said finally, his voice quieter than normal.
I shook my head, frustration mixing with hurt. "Complicated? No. You're… you're cold. Why?"
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. How could someone so close be so distant all of a sudden?
How could he shift from the warmth of yesterday to this… this emptiness?
"You have to talk to me," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I can't handle this silence. Not today. Not like this."
Ken swallowed, looking away.
"I… I want to," he said finally, voice low, strained.
I ran my hands down my face, gripping the edge of the counter. "Then now it's your turn. Tell me. Tell me that you love me. Tell me that you need me. Tell me that all you need… is me."
His hands dropped to his sides.
He blinked.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer.
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes."
I couldn't hold it in anymore.
My knees trembled, tears spilling freely.
I pressed my forehead against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat through my sobs.
But even in that moment of raw closeness, the chill lingered, the distance that remained between his words and the warmth I remembered from yesterday.
"Then… why?" I whispered to him. "Why act so distant?"
He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead lightly against mine.
The struggle in him was palpable, the tension almost unbearable.
I realized then.
My manager.
My parents.
They had spoken to him.
They'd told him to pull away, to make me return to the life I had left behind.
He couldn't answer.
He could only hold me, silent and heavy, and I could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing between us.
"You're keeping me at arm's length," I said, voice trembling. "For them. For my career. For… everything."
Ken's lips trembled, eyes misting. "Yes," he admitted softly. "I had no choice. I wanted to protect you. To make sure you could—"
I shook my head violently, cutting him off. "I don't care. I don't care about any of that! I just… I just want you."
And in that instant, I pressed my lips to his, desperate, aching, needing him to understand, needing him to stay.
He froze at first, then slowly wrapped his arms around me, holding me tighter than he ever had before.
"I love you, Ysabelle," he whispered against my hair. "Only you."