No one mentioned it.
That was the problem.
Dinner passed with unnecessary politeness. My mother talked too much. My father talked too little. Ha-rin focused entirely on her food like it might start talking back if she looked up.
I focused on not looking at her.
Every time I did, my hand remembered.
This was inefficient.
"…Eat more," my mother said brightly. "You barely touched it."
"I'm fine," Ha-rin replied too quickly.
My father glanced between us.
"…You two quiet today."
"Yes," I said.
"…Very," Ha-rin added at the same time.
My mother smiled.
Too knowingly.
"…Young people," she said. "Always tired."
We were dismissed shortly after.
Ha-rin escaped first.
The door to her room closed softly, but it might as well have slammed.
I stayed in the living room, staring at nothing.
"…You okay," my father asked.
"Yes."
"…You don't look okay."
"That is subjective."
He sighed.
"…You're in trouble."
"Yes."
"…Good trouble or bad trouble."
I considered it.
"…Unclear."
He nodded like that was an answer.
Later, when the house finally settled, I heard her door open.
She hesitated in the hallway.
I didn't turn around.
"…Can I—" she started, then stopped.
"Yes," I said immediately.
She walked in slowly and sat on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving a deliberate gap between us.
"…This is awkward," she said.
"Yes."
"…You're not helping."
"I am attempting not to make it worse."
She laughed softly, then groaned.
"…I can't believe I did that."
"You already apologized."
"…I know. I'm apologizing again."
"That is acceptable."
She hugged a cushion to her chest.
"…I wasn't thinking."
"That was apparent."
She glanced at me.
"…You're really bad at comforting."
"Yes."
She sighed.
"…I didn't mean to cross a line."
"You did not," I replied.
She frowned.
"…I did."
"You crossed an impulse," I corrected. "Not a boundary."
Her grip on the cushion loosened.
"…There's a difference?"
"Yes."
She stared at the floor.
"…You didn't pull away."
"That is correct."
"…Why."
I answered honestly.
"…Because it felt real."
The silence after that was heavy.
Her ears turned red.
"…You shouldn't say things like that so casually."
"I was not casual."
"…That's worse."
She shifted, then stood up suddenly.
"…I need water."
"I'll get it."
"No," she said too fast. "…I mean— I'll get it."
She disappeared into the kitchen.
I stayed still.
When she came back, she didn't sit immediately.
"…So," she said, staring at the glass in her hands, "…are things weird now."
"Yes."
She winced.
"…Permanent weird."
"No," I replied. "Temporary."
She looked at me.
"…You sound sure."
"Because avoidance is inefficient," I said. "We will adjust."
She laughed quietly.
"…You really are like this."
"Yes."
She finally sat back down, closer than before. Not touching.
Just closer.
"…Next time I tease you," she said carefully, "…I'll stop earlier."
"That would be wise."
"…But you reacted."
"Yes."
"…A lot."
"Yes."
Her lips curved slightly despite herself.
"…Good."
She leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"…I'm tired."
"Yes."
"…But not in a bad way."
That mattered.
"…Get some rest," I said.
"…You too."
She stood, hesitated, then turned back.
"…Hey."
"Yes?"
"…Thanks for not making me feel stupid."
"That was never an option."
She nodded once, satisfied, and went back to her room.
The door closed gently.
This time, the silence didn't feel like a problem.
It felt like something settling into place.