Shadows of the Spotlight

Chapter 59

The next morning arrives far too quickly, the sunlight pouring through the curtains with an uninvited brightness. We both wake up tangled on the bed, his arms still loosely around me. Neither of us says much as we prepare for the day, a quiet heaviness settling over the air.

We board our flight from Buenos Aires to Los Angeles together, the silence between us tinged with the sadness of knowing this is where our paths split. The hours pass in a blur of half-hearted conversation and forced sleep, both of us clinging to whatever time we have left.

After landing in LA, we make our way to the lounge to wait for Arc's connecting flight. The air-conditioned space is quiet, a stark contrast to the crowded terminal outside. Jihoon appears a short while later, his expression mildly apologetic.

"We should move, Arc. Our flight will start boarding soon," Jihoon says, his voice calm but urging.

Arc turns to me, his brows knitting together. "Your flight is after an hour, right? You stay and eat something before you board."

"Okay," I agree, my voice coming out a little weaker than I intended. I wave him goodbye as he leaves with Jihoon, my smile faltering the moment their backs turn.

I sink into the lounge chair, the absence of Arc already settling like a cold weight in my chest. I'm not even sure why I'm staring at my phone, but then it lights up with a message.

Arc: "I miss you."
Me: "You just saw me 5 minutes ago."
Arc: "I missed you in the last 5 minutes."
Me: "Have a safe flight."
Arc: "You too."

I stare at the screen, feeling the ache of parting settle more firmly. It's ridiculous, really, how much I already miss him. I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on the practical things—checking my boarding pass, gathering my things. But Arc's messages keep replaying in my mind, each one a quiet echo of his presence.

Reluctantly, I drag myself out of the lounge chair and make my way toward the boarding gate. I prefer to board last, letting the crowd and lines thin out before stepping onto the plane. It's quieter this way, less rushed, giving me a few extra moments to myself before the long flight ahead.

But the moment I step onto the plane, the reality of what's changed hits me. I've grown so used to first-class luxury, of sinking into wide seats with endless legroom, of having Arc beside me, his presence making the hours feel shorter. Now, I'm crammed into an economy seat, elbows pressed close to my sides, knees uncomfortably wedged against the seat in front of me.

It's a sobering contrast. The flight feels longer than it should, the minutes dragging as I shift and fidget, trying to find a position that doesn't make my back ache. I lose count of how many times I check my phone, even though I know there's nothing to see. The absence of Arc's easy banter and occasional stolen glances leaves a hollow kind of quiet.

By the time the plane lands, my legs are stiff, and my back feels like it's been twisted into knots. But the relief of finally standing, of stretching out my limbs and breathing air that doesn't feel stale, is immediate.

I gather my bags, my fingers tightening around the straps as I follow the signs toward the exit. As I approach the arrival area, I notice a group of people standing off to the side, facing the gate I'm exiting from. One of them seems impatient, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Why are we waiting here?"

Another person is just staring past him, eyes fixed on me the moment I step through the gate. He waves, a bright grin breaking across his face. The impatient guy follows his gaze, his eyes widening when he sees me. Recognition flashes across his face, and he immediately rushes toward me.

He's about to pull me into a hug but hesitates, suddenly remembering they're in a public place. Instead, he stops right in front of me, eyes wide with surprise. "How come you're here in Seoul?"