Night had already sunk deep into the apartment when Seo-in heard it—the sharp click of a key turning inside the lock. A second later, the door was shoved open as if by someone running from a storm. Luca stumbled in.
Not walked—stumbled.
His face was pale beneath the dim light, except for the bridge of his nose, which was swollen in a strange reddish-purple hue. His hair was a greasy, tangled mess, clinging to his forehead. The once-familiar scent of his cologne now mixed with sweat and something sharper—something foreign—turning his presence into a warning rather than a comfort.
Seo-in froze mid-step.
For a heartbeat, all she could feel was raw relief—he's here, he's alive—but it curdled almost instantly into anger when he didn't even look at her.
Not a glance. Not a word.
Luca brushed past her like a shadow, heading straight to his study. He yanked open drawers with frantic, jerky motions, papers spilling out onto the floor. Seo-in followed him, pulse drumming painfully in her ears.
"Luca," she said sharply, trying to steady her voice. "What happened? Where have you been?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't even hear her.
He was tearing through the drawers now—hurried, desperate—breathing unevenly, like he'd run all the way from the other side of the city. His fingers trembled as he shoved aside notebooks, cables, envelopes, searching for something with feverish urgency.
"What are you even looking for?"
No reaction.
Seo-in's jaw tightened. "Luca."
Still nothing.
Then he moved to the bookshelf, pulling out books at random, tossing them aside without care. A hollow thud echoed each time a book hit the floor.
That was it—something inside her snapped.
She grabbed his shoulder and forced him to face her.
"What the hell is wrong with you? I'm talking to you, you bastard!"
For the first time, he stopped.
Slowly—too slowly—Luca turned his head toward her. His eyes were bloodshot, but not just from exhaustion. They were glazed, unfocused, like he was looking through her rather than at her.
And that swollen, bruised-looking nose…
Had he been hit? Fallen?
Or—
She didn't even want to imagine the possibilities.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Flat. Emotionless.
Not Luca. Not hers. Not anyone she recognized.
Then he pulled away with a force that made her stumble.
"Don't."
The word came out strained—rough at the edges, like something dangerous was coiled underneath it.
Seo-in's breath hitched.
He'd never spoken to her like that. Never pulled away as if her touch burned him.
He returned to the shelf, movements sharper now, more frantic, until finally—
He froze.
His hand closed around a small black USB drive wedged behind a stack of old textbooks.
There it was.
His shoulders sagged, not in relief, but in something closer to dread. He slipped the USB into his pocket so quickly, as if afraid someone would take it from him.
"Luca…" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Talk to me. Please."
But he didn't respond.
He just stood there, shoulders tense, breathing unevenly—like someone bracing for impact.
Like someone who'd seen something he shouldn't have.
Like someone who was already halfway gone.
And as Seo-in watched him—this man who once smiled at her like she was his entire sky—she realized something chilling:
The person standing in front of her wasn't the Luca she knew.
Not anymore.
This was someone who came back only in body.
His mind, his warmth, his softness—
they were still missing somewhere out there in the dark.
The silence between them didn't just sit in the room—it crawled under Seo-in's skin.
She took a small breath, steadying herself.
"Can you at least tell me—"
But her voice died as Luca finally yanked something from behind the books:
a crumpled, yellowed envelope clutched in his trembling hand.
He held it like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Then he turned toward the door—
without looking at her,
without acknowledging her,
without a single word.
Seo-in felt the bottom of her stomach drop.
No anger. Just fear.
A cold, sick, suffocating fear.
"Luca." Her voice cracked, just barely.
"Wait. Please. Just stop for a second."
He didn't.
Something inside her lurched forward before her body could think. She stepped in front of the doorway and blocked it with both arms, palms pressed to the frame.
"No," she whispered, then steadier, "No. You don't get to walk past me like that. Not after everything."
Her heartbeat thudded painfully in her ears.
"Just tell me where you've been. Tell me why you vanished. Tell me what's going on."
Her breath trembled. "At least tell me why you're doing this to me."
Luca finally looked at her.
His eyes were bloodshot.
Empty.
Like there was no recognition, no warmth, no memory of who she was to him.
"Get out of the way," he said.
Seo-in felt the words slice cleanly through her chest.
She stared at him—searching his face for any sign of the boy she loved, anything familiar.
Anything human.
But he was already looking away.
Her throat tightened.
"Luca … Do you hate me now?" The question slipped out before she could stop it—bare, fragile, humiliating.
He didn't even flinch.
"I don't have time for this," he muttered, moving to push past her.
Something desperate clawed its way up her spine.
She grabbed his sleeve—lightly, gently, like touching a wound.
"Then just … look at me." Her voice shook. "Please. Look at me and tell me you don't care anymore. If that's what you want, I'll leave. Just—don't do it like this."
For a moment—just one—he paused.
Seo-in felt hope flicker.
But when he turned his head, his expression was colder than before.
"I don't owe you anything," he said quietly.
Too quietly.
Like a blade slipped between ribs.
Her fingers fell from his sleeve.
Still, she tried again—because she had to.
Because not trying would crush her worse than any rejection.
"Luca … if you're doing this because of Berlin—because of that girl—just say it. I can take it. I'd rather you stab me in the chest than keep pretending I'm invisible."
A beat of silence.
Then he answered, voice flat:
"Move."
Something in her chest felt like it tore.
She stepped aside because her body stopped listening to her.
Because some part of her—the softest, stupidest part—still hoped he would turn around and fix this.
He didn't.
But at the doorway, he paused long enough that Seo-in lifted her head.
For a second, she thought he might apologize.
Explain.
Say her name the way he used to.
Instead:
"I almost forgot," he said without looking at her. "You need to leave. Go back to your own apartment."
Her world stopped.
Just—stopped.
Your own apartment.
Not theirs.
Not the life they built.
Not the home they shared.
Just hers.
Cold. Final. Clinical.
Seo-in didn't breathe.
She didn't blink.
She didn't move until the door shut behind him—
—and the lock clicked.
The sound was small.
Insignificant.
But to Seo-in?
It sounded like a heart breaking.
The room felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Her knees weakened, and she had to grab the edge of the table to keep herself upright.
She stared at the closed door, waiting for it to open again.
Waiting for him to say he didn't mean it.
Waiting for anything.
Nothing.
Only the weight of his absence pressing against her ribs, squeezing until it hurt to breathe.
The apartment—their apartment—felt like a stranger's space now.
Cold walls, cold air, cold memories.
He had shut her out.
Completely.
And this time?
Seo-in realized with a slow, choking clarity—
He wasn't coming back.