The distance between Lune and his parents did not arrive through conflict.
It arrived through scheduling.
Calls shortened first. Then rescheduled. Then replaced with messages sent through assistants, forwarded politely, answered hours later with careful warmth. His parents adapted quickly, learning the new rhythms without complaint.
They became spectators.
Lune noticed it during a visit home arranged months in advance, slotted between shoots and interviews. The house felt smaller than he remembered, not because it had changed, but because it no longer oriented itself around him. His childhood room remained intact—bed made, books untouched, trophies dusted—but it felt curated now, preserved rather than lived in.
At dinner, his mother asked questions that mirrored headlines. His father mentioned box office numbers with cautious pride. They spoke about him as if he were nearby rather than present.
Lune responded with practiced affection.
He smiled at the right moments. He thanked them for their support. He reassured them he was eating well, sleeping enough, taking care of himself. He offered anecdotes that revealed nothing—set mishaps, funny misunderstandings, the kindness of crew members.
They listened attentively. They did not ask how he felt. That omission relieved him more than he expected.
Later, as his mother poured tea, she hesitated and said, "You seem very… settled."
Lune nodded. "I am."
It was true in the only way that mattered.
The visit ended early the next morning. His driver waited at the curb. His parents hugged him carefully, as if he were fragile or already halfway gone.
"We're so proud," his father said.
Pride, Lune understood, replaced responsibility easily. It absolved people of worry.
As the car pulled away, Lune watched them recede through the rear window—two figures waving, already becoming part of a story they told others. Their role in his life had shifted from architects to audience.
The relief came quietly.
No more monitoring. No more explanations. No more expectation of intimacy he had never felt equipped to provide. Their distance removed a variable he had managed since childhood.
Back in the apartment that night, Lune unpacked without urgency. He noticed how easily the silence returned, unchallenged by memory or obligation. The managed quiet welcomed him back without judgment.
He lay on the bed and considered the change. Parental distance did not feel like loss.
It felt like release.