Chapter 15
The cough returns. It isn't loud or dramatic, just a small, persistent sound echoing faintly through the room. Ren sits two rows ahead of Emilia, his usually straight shoulders slouched slightly forward under his school uniform. The fact that he is still here at all means Mina is likely worse; he would only ever leave school if he absolutely had to.
Emilia tightly grips her pen, telling herself she is merely observing—not worrying. Just observing patterns.
From the desk beside him, Kaito leans over with a tragic sigh. "You look like you lost a duel, Ren."
Ren exhales faintly, not even looking up from his book. "I didn't."
"Well, you look like you did."
Hana glances up from her neat rows of notes, her brow furrowing with genuine concern. "Did Mina sleep at all last night?"
Ren hesitates for a telltale half-second. "No."
Emilia's pen pauses mid-sentence, the black ink pooling slightly on the white page. There it is. The first real crack in his composure.
During the morning break, she approaches his desk casually, making sure her movements look entirely unhurried rather than urgent. "Elle va comment ?" [How is she?]
"Still coughing," he replies quietly.
"You stayed up with her?"
He shrugs his shoulders lightly, a dismissive gesture. "Some."
"How much is 'some'?"
He considers the question for a moment. "Enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's accurate."
She narrows her eyes at his evasiveness, stepping a fraction closer. "You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
He almost smiles, the familiar warmth flickering in his eyes for a brief second. "Noted."
Even when he is utterly exhausted, he still manages to deflect her probing questions with gentle ease. That unshakable steadiness irritates her infinitely more than it probably should.
By lunchtime, his sheer exhaustion is completely visible to anyone looking. His movements are slower, his gaze drifts toward the windows, and his answers to the teachers are delayed by a noticeable half-beat. Emilia pretends not to watch him from across the courtyard, but she fails miserably.
Yui plops down beside her on the bench with dramatic flair. "You are staring again."
"I am not," Emilia says instantly, keeping her eyes fixed on her lunch tray.
"You are."
"I'm observing behavioral patterns."
Yui grins, leaning in close. "That is still incredibly romantic."
"It's strictly analytical."
"Sure it is."
Emilia exhales a sharp, annoyed breath, causing Yui's grin to widen.
"You know, you could just tell him to go home," Yui points out softly.
"He won't."
"How do you know that so confidently?"
"Because he carries things," Emilia murmurs, her voice dropping. "He doesn't know how to drop them."
Yui tilts her head, her expression softening into something knowing. "Ah."
That specific tone makes Emilia bristle slightly, her defensive guards instantly flying back up. "What?"
"That just sounds like someone who knows him incredibly well."
Emilia doesn't respond. She looks away, because the truth is, she does know him that well.
After the final bell, Ren stays in the classroom much longer than necessary. He methodically organizes his club paperwork, finishes tomorrow's homework assignments, and takes the time to answer a teacher's question that easily could have waited until morning. Emilia watches the entire display from her own desk, a lingering spark of irritation building in her chest.
When he finally stands up, his movements are almost too slow. She walks over to his desk before she can fully mentally decide to stop herself.
"Tu dois rentrer." [You need to go home.]
"I will," he says, sliding a notebook into his bag.
"You're lying."
He looks up at her directly. His expression isn't defensive or guarded; he just looks deeply, profoundly tired. "I need to finish this."
"It can wait."
Ren studies her face carefully, his sharp eyes searching hers in the quiet classroom. "You're worried."
She quickly crosses her arms over her blazer, squaring her shoulders. "I'm practical."
"That's not what I said."
A heavy silence settles between them. She doesn't deny it, and she doesn't back down.
He sighs faintly, running a hand through his dark hair. "Five minutes."
"That's exactly what you said yesterday."
"And?"
"You stayed for forty."
Ren blinks in genuine surprise. "You're tracking my time."
"Yes."
The word slips out far too easily, hanging raw and uncovered in the air between them. He notices the slip instantly, and Emilia notices that he notices.
Internally, her mind screams at her to retreat—to pull back immediately and throw up a wall. Instead, she forces herself to add, "Parce que tu es imprudent." [Because you're reckless.]
It sounds better. Less vulnerable. More like the sharp Emilia she usually projects.
Ren finally zips his bag closed, his movements slow but deliberate. She falls into step beside him, walking through the quiet hallways toward the main gates.
"Elle mange au moins ?" [At least is she eating?]
"Yes," he answers.
"Tu mens encore." [You're lying again.]
A faint, tired smile flickers across his lips. "You're dramatic."
"You're impossible."
"That's mutual."
There is that familiar humor again—soft, automatic, and comfortable. Even wrapped in thick layers of exhaustion, they fall into the rhythm of each other effortlessly.
At the train station, they come to a halt near the platforms. Ren looks noticeably worse in the dimming evening light; his skin appears paler, and his features are drawn with fatigue.
"You should rest tonight," she says quietly, her voice losing its sharp edge. "Truly."
"I will."
"Promise me."
He hesitates, the silence stretching between them as the train whistles in the distance. "...Yes."
Emilia studies him carefully, noting the small pause before the word left his lips. He hesitated. And to her, that hesitation means he isn't sure he can keep the promise at all.
Her chest tightens at his silence. "Tu ne dois pas tout porter." [You don't have to carry everything.]
He looks at her, hearing that specific line from her once again. He nods just once, his expression unreadable. "I know."
But she can tell from the heavy look in his eyes that he doesn't actually believe it.
That night, Emilia sits at the dinner table at home. Her mother is in the middle of recounting an amusing story about a colleague at work, causing her father to laugh lightly. The dining room feels incredibly warm, comfortable, and familiar, but Emilia just finds herself staring down at her rice, barely eating a bite.
"You're quiet tonight," her mother says calmly, setting down her teacup.
"I'm not," Emilia replies automatically.
"You are."
Her father tilts his head, a knowing glint in his eye. "Is someone not answering your messages?"
Her hand tightens around her chopsticks. "I didn't message anyone."
"That wasn't the question," her mother replies gently, a soft smile touching her lips.
Emilia exhales a quiet breath, looking away from their tracking gazes. "It's nothing."
Her parents exchange a brief, silent look. It isn't intrusive or prying; it is just deeply observant.
"Is he stubborn?" her father asks casually, reaching for a side dish.
She freezes for a fraction of a second. "...Maybe."
Her father smiles knowingly. "Then let him be stubborn."
"That's terrible advice."
"No," he says lightly, meeting her eyes. "It's patient advice."
She rolls her eyes faintly, her defensive armor slipping just a bit. "Tu es impossible," [You're impossible,] she mutters under her breath.
Her mother smiles warmly. "French now? That always means you're thinking too much."
Emilia freezes again, her breath catching. She hadn't even realized she had switched languages out loud. Her parents notice absolutely everything, and that realization unsettles her far more than she ever expected it to.
Later that night, she lies in bed, staring intensely at her phone. There is still no message on the screen. She opens their chat bar and types: Tu es rentré ? [Did you get home?]
She stares at it, then deletes it.
She types a different command: Repose-toi. [Rest.]
She deletes that one, too, before aggressively locking her screen and tossing the phone onto the mattress. She will not text him first again. She absolutely will not.
Suddenly, her phone lights up against the sheets. Her heart jumps straight into her throat at the sudden illumination. It is a message.
From Ren.
Home.
It is just one single word. She exhales a long, slow breath she hadn't realized she was holding, a profound sense of relief flooding through her chest far too quickly for comfort.
She types a response quickly: Bien. [Good.]
That's all she sends. It is short, controlled, and neatly guarded. She sets the phone down on her nightstand, but despite the sudden wave of relief, she doesn't find it easy to fall asleep.
Plans
By the time the last bell rings the following afternoon, Ren looks like he is running on something infinitely thinner than human energy. It isn't a dramatic collapse, just a quiet, total depletion of his strength. Emilia notices it because she has recently begun cataloguing every tiny detail about him: the way his shoulders sit slightly lower than usual, the way he absentmindedly rubs the back of his neck, and the way he blinks a second longer than necessary before answering a teacher's question.
She tells herself she is merely observing. In truth, she is absolutely worrying.
Near the front of the classroom, Kaito stretches dramatically over his desk. "Study group this weekend."
Hana glances up from her books. "For what?"
"For survival."
"That's not very specific."
"It doesn't need to be."
Yui swivels around in her chair to join the conversation. "Midterms are in two weeks, you know."
"See? That's close enough to warrant total panic," Kaito insists.
Ren exhales faintly, resting his chin in his hand. "You're overreacting."
"You look like a Victorian orphan, Ren," Kaito shoots back. "You don't get to dismiss panic."
Emilia almost laughs—almost. What catches her attention is that Ren doesn't even attempt to deny it, which is entirely new for him.
"Saturday?" Hana suggests, looking around the group.
Ren hesitates, a brief shadow passing over his face. Emilia sees it instantly.
"You can't," she says smoothly, speaking before he even has the chance to.
Everyone in the circle stops and looks directly at her. She freezes internally. Abort. That was far too obvious.
Ren blinks at her in surprise. "I didn't say that."
"You were about to."
"I was thinking."
"That's exactly the same thing."
Kaito squints at the two of them, his eyes darting back and forth suspiciously. "Are we interrupting something here?"
"No," they reply at the exact same time.
Kaito grins, thoroughly amused. "That's definitely worse."
Ren rubs his temple lightly, the banter clearly taking a toll on his tired mind. "Saturday might be difficult."
"There," Emilia says calmly, gesturing toward him as if her point had been proven.
Hana tilts her head. "Because of Mina?"
"Yes."
"Is she still sick?"
"She's better," he says, his voice softening slightly. "Just... clingy."
Emilia feels something soften inside her chest at that word. Clingy. Of course she is.
"She's five," Yui says gently. "That's basically in the job description."
Ren nods once in agreement.
"Then Sunday it is," Kaito declares, slamming his hand on his desk. "Neutral ground. The library. Four p.m."
Ren hesitates yet again, his eyes drifting away. Emilia exhales a sharp, impatient breath. "You're going."
He looks at her directly. "Am I?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you desperately need to leave the house."
A sudden silence falls over the group. The others look between the two of them like spectators watching an intense tennis match.
Ren's lips twitch faintly at the corners. "You're ordering me around now?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
"Tu es insupportable." [You're unbearable.]
He almost smiles. "That's consistent, at least."
Hana claps her hands together once to finalize the plan. "Good. Sunday it is."
"And," Kaito adds dramatically, pointing a finger in the air, "karaoke next Friday."
Ren blinks slowly, the concept seemingly too much to process. "Why?"
"Because we deserve joy."
"That's incredibly vague."
"That's entirely intentional."
Yui leans forward, pointing her pen at him. "You're coming, Ren."
Ren hesitates a third time. Emilia doesn't wait for him to find an excuse this time. "Yes, you are."
He studies her face carefully, tracking her expression. "Are you deciding my schedule for me?"
"Yes."
Silence stretches between them again. His eyes flicker, but he doesn't look annoyed at her interference. Instead, he looks quietly amused. "You're very confident."
"You're very tired."
"That's entirely unrelated."
"It's really not."
The others exchange knowing glances again. Hana leans over to Yui and whispers loudly, "This is absolutely fascinating."
As they finally begin packing up their bags, Ren stands up from his desk and sways slightly on his feet. It is a barely noticeable movement, but Emilia catches it. Of course she does.
"Sit," she says quietly, stepping into his space.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He extends a hand to steady himself against the edge of the wooden desk. "I just stood up too fast."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's just physics."
She narrows her eyes at his stubbornness. "You're deflecting."
"You're overanalyzing."
"Tu mens encore." [You're lying again.]
He pauses, the silence stretching a second too long. Then, he lets out a quiet breath. "Maybe."
The rare honesty lands much heavier this time, stripping away the playful edge of their usual bickering.
Outside the academy walls, the evening air feels cooler than usual. Ren walks quietly beside her toward the train station, his posture relaxed but drained. He is much quieter today. There is less banter between them, and a wide, thoughtful space naturally forms between their sentences as they walk into the dusk.
"Did Mina eat?" she asks softly, her voice cutting through the quiet evening air.
"Yes," Ren replies.
"And you?"
He glances at her sideways, his expression unreadable. "Yes."
She studies him closely, her sharp gaze tracking the subtle hesitation in his face. "You hesitated."
"I was thinking."
"That's not comforting."
A faint, tired laugh escapes him, a breathy sound that vanishes into the cool breeze. "Why are you interrogating me?"
"Because you look like you're about to collapse."
"I won't."
"You will."
"You're dramatic."
"You're stubborn."
"That's mutual."
There it is again. Even when he is completely exhausted and running on empty, their rhythm remains entirely unbroken.
They pause at the pedestrian crossing, waiting for the light to change. Cars blur past them in streaks of headlights, and the distant hum of the city vibrates softly against the asphalt.
"You're not coming Friday if you look like this," she says quietly, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead.
"Karaoke?"
"Yes."
"You're banning me?"
"Yes."
He turns his head, studying her profile carefully in the dim streetlights. "You don't even like karaoke."
"That's completely beside the point."
"It really is the point."
She exhales a sharp breath, her shoulders tightening. "I just don't want you fainting in front of Kaito."
"That would ruin his evening."
"Exactly."
He almost laughs again—almost. But the sound fades far too quickly this time, swallowed by the sheer weight of his fatigue. When they finally part ways at the station, she stands and watches him walk away for much longer than usual. He doesn't notice her tracking him this time; he is simply too tired. That lapse in his usual awareness unsettles her more than anything else.
Sunday arrives much faster than she expects. The study group gathers at the library, and Ren actually shows up. He is late, but he is present.
Emilia lets out a quiet breath, a wave of relief washing over her that she firmly refuses to acknowledge. He looks noticeably better than he did on Friday, but he still isn't steady; his energy remains visibly thin.
They sit directly across from each other at a large, worn wooden table, notes spread out and pens tapping lightly against the paper. The scene around them is comfortably normal: Kaito is loudly misinterpreting a formula, Hana is calmly correcting his math, and Yui is whispering a running commentary from the side. It is almost completely normal.
But Ren's focus slips once, then twice. He blinks heavily, his eyelids drooping. Without a word of comment, Emilia slides her open notebook slightly across the table toward him.
He glances up, his glassy eyes meeting hers. "You're doing my work for me now?"
"No."
"You moved your notebook."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"So you don't fall asleep face-first onto the wood."
He studies her quietly for a long moment, the chaos of their friends fading into the background. "You're intense."
"You're irresponsible."
He smiles faintly, the expression tired but soft. "You're worried."
She freezes for a distinct half-beat, her fingers tightening around her pen. "I'm practical."
"That's not what I said."
A quiet silence falls between them. Instead of pressing her on the admission, he simply lets it go, which is somehow infinitely worse.
Midway through the session, Kaito dramatically leans back in his chair, throwing his hands in the air. "Break. I'm dying."
"You're absolutely not," Hana replies calmly, not looking up from her textbook.
"I am emotionally."
Ren leans back slightly in his chair too, closing his eyes briefly. Emilia notices the movement immediately.
"Don't sleep," she murmurs.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm just blinking."
"That is a suspiciously long blink."
He opens one eye faintly, a quiet spark of amusement returning to his face. "You're monitoring me."
"Yes."
There is no denial from her this time. Ren goes entirely quiet, his gaze locking onto hers as he just watches her. Something subtle shifts in the air between them. It isn't romantic, and it isn't explosive; it is just a profound, shared awareness.
Later, as they begin packing up their loose papers, Kaito stretches his arms. "Friday karaoke is officially confirmed."
Ren hesitates, and Emilia notices the pause instantly. Again.
"I'll have to see how Mina is doing," Ren says quietly.
"That's reasonable," Hana nods, understanding completely.
Emilia says absolutely nothing, but something small and heavy tightens deep inside her chest. He might not come. And that tiny possibility bothers her far more than she ever expected it to.
That night, she sits alone on her bed, her phone held loosely in her hand. She finds herself scrolling aimlessly, not reading a single thing on the screen. She opens their chat bar and types: Tu viens vendredi ? [Are you coming Friday?]
She stares at the text, then aggressively deletes it. She will not ask him. If he wants to come, he will. If he doesn't, that's perfectly fine. It's fine.
Suddenly, her phone buzzes against her palm, a new message flashing from Ren: Thanks for today.
She blinks at the screen in genuine surprise. For what?
She types back quickly: Pour quoi ? [For what?]
His reply arrives almost instantly: For not letting me drift.
Her breath stills completely in her throat. She stares down at the words on the glowing screen. For not letting me drift. The weight behind that statement is much heavier than he probably realizes.
She hovers her thumbs over the keyboard, typing much slower this time as she composes her response: Je ne te laisserai pas dériver. [I won't let you drift.]
She stares at the sentence, her finger hovering over the screen. She almost deletes it out of fear of being too vulnerable, but she doesn't. She presses send.
There is a long, agonizing pause. Then, his final message appears: I know.
Her chest tightens sharply at the simple admission. She doesn't respond after that, knowing that if she does, she might finally say entirely too much.