Neal had known that things weren’t right, but he'd been too busy with his own chaotic thoughts to really pay attention to it.

Now, the silence between them felt deafening. It was as if the world had come to a grinding halt, with only the sound of his footsteps filling the air. Every time he glanced over, there was a distance, an invisible wall that hadn’t been there before.

He couldn't explain it—didn't even know where it started—but there it was.

Usually, he’d break the silence with some nonsense, throw out a joke or a pun to lighten the mood. But the words felt stuck in his throat now, like they didn’t even matter. What was the point of cracking a joke when the connection had already been severed?

Was it his fault? Maybe.

Was it something else? Probably.

But if he was honest, he didn’t know how to fix it, either.

Neal's hands slid into his pockets as he leaned against a nearby wall, watching from the corner of his eye. They were so different now, a shadow of the warmth they once had. He couldn't help but miss the easy camaraderie they used to share, before everything turned quiet and heavy.

“Oi,” he finally muttered, not meeting their gaze, but his voice still carrying that hint of cheek. “You still mad, or you just givin' me the silent treatment?”

Neal hoped his voice sounded casual, but it came out strained, like he was trying to shove a lid back onto a bottle that had been shaking for too long. His Kiwi accent softened the words, but it couldn’t hide the tension in his tone.

Another minute passed, and Neal let out a sigh, pushing off the wall and shoving his hands further into his pockets.

“Look, I don’t know what I did to bug you, but... I’m not one to let things hang in the air for too long, eh? So if you’re gonna keep being all distant, then... well, I guess I’ll just be hangin’ round like a spare part.”

Neal waited, hoping for some kind of response, any kind of sign that this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He didn't know how to say it—didn't know how to make it right.