Chapter 16
The karaoke room smells faintly like artificial strawberry cleaner and overconfidence. Neon lights flicker softly along the ceiling, casting vibrant streaks of pink and blue across the leather booths. Near the screen, Kaito is already gripping a microphone as though he had been born holding one.
"This," he declares dramatically, gesturing to the glowing room, "is culture."
"It's screaming into a box," Hana replies, not looking up from the song selector menu.
"It's art."
"It's noise."
Emilia sits quietly on the edge of the booth, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watches the exchange. She tells herself she is observing. She is not waiting. She is absolutely not waiting.
Ren hasn't arrived yet, which is entirely fine. He had explicitly said he would have to see how Mina was doing, and his choice to stay behind is completely reasonable, responsible, and expected. Even so, her phone rests face-down on the sticky table beside her. She is absolutely not checking it—not every thirty seconds, and not even slightly.
Kaito begins singing aggressively off-key, pouring a ridiculous amount of unearned passion into the lyrics. Yui immediately collapses into a fit of laughter, while Hana pretends to cover her ears in mock agony. The small room instantly fills with exaggerated drama.
Emilia smiles faintly at the display because it is the socially appropriate reaction to have. However, her gaze drifts toward the door. Just once. Maybe twice.
"He's not coming, is he?" Yui says softly, her voice cutting through the noise right beside her.
Emilia doesn't flinch, keeping her expression perfectly level. "I didn't ask."
"That wasn't my question."
"He has family responsibilities."
"That wasn't my question either."
Emilia exhales a slow, controlled breath. "It's fine."
Yui studies her profile carefully, her sharp eyes scanning Emilia's guarded expression. "You're much quieter than usual."
"It's incredibly loud in here."
"That is highly ironic coming from you."
Emilia rolls her eyes, shifting her posture away. "Va-t'en." [Go away.]
Yui grins, leaning in closer. "Ah. French. That always means emotional."
"It does not."
"It absolutely always does."
Suddenly, the door handle shifts slightly. Emilia's heart jumps straight into her throat before she can mentally step in to stop it. It is a ridiculous reaction. Predictably, it is just the waiter bringing in a tray of drinks. Of course it is.
She forces herself to stare forward, telling herself not to react like that again. This entire evening is absurd. He had said maybe, and in Ren's vocabulary, maybe usually means maybe not. She respects his boundaries and his choices. She truly does.
Kaito abruptly cuts through her thoughts, shoving the microphone directly toward her face. "Your turn."
"I decline."
"That's highly illegal."
"It's entirely necessary."
Yui leans forward conspiratorially, a playful glint in her eye. "Sing something soft."
"No."
"Something dramatic."
"No."
"Something French."
Emilia freezes for a distinct half-beat. "No."
That final refusal comes out much sharper than the others. Yui blinks in surprise, pulling back slightly. "Okay. That definitely hit a nerve."
Regaining her composure, Emilia takes the microphone from Kaito's hand with calm, measured movements. "I will sing something brief."
Kaito looks momentarily terrified by her tone. The music starts playing through the speakers—a quiet, melancholic pop song that isn't her usual style at all.
When she begins to sing, her voice is surprisingly soft. It isn't powerful or overly dramatic; it is just perfectly steady and incredibly gentle. The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly. Even Kaito stops talking, his jaw dropping slightly as he listens.
For a brief moment, Emilia completely forgets about the door. She forgets about the phone on the table, and she forgets about the agonizing waiting. She just sings.
When the final notes fade out, the room suddenly erupts into applause that feels far too loud for the enclosed space. She sets the microphone down immediately, sliding back into the booth.
"That was entirely unfair," Hana says softly, shaking her head.
"Why?" Emilia replies, adjusting her skirt.
"You hid the fact that you could sing like that."
"It wasn't hidden."
"It absolutely was."
Suddenly, her phone buzzes against the wood. Her heart betrays her yet again, fluttering behind her ribs. She flips the device over casually, trying to make the movement look unhurried. It is a message.
From Ren.
How is it?
The question is incredibly simple. Her chest tightens as she stares at the text. She types back slowly: Bruyant. [Loud.]
The three digital dots appear almost instantly on the screen. You don't like loud.
She pauses, her thumbs hovering. He knows that about her. She types a quick response: Je tolère. [I tolerate it.]
Another pause stretches from his end. Then, she types out a question before her logical restraints can stop her: Are you home?
The three dots appear. They disappear, then reappear, hovering tensely before his reply comes through: Yes.
A wave of profound relief floods her chest far too quickly, and she immediately dislikes how much sway he holds over her mood. She quickly types back: Is Mina sleeping?
Finally.
She exhales a long breath at his answer. Good.
A long, heavy pause stretches over the digital line. Then, a text from him flashes onto the screen: You sound tired.
Emilia freezes, staring intensely at the words. That wasn't what she had written at all. She quickly checks the chat history to be sure. No, she definitely did not write that. He was the one who wrote it.
You sound tired.
Her fingers hover uncertainly over the keyboard. She types out a defensive line: Je ne suis pas fatiguée. [I am not tired.]
His reply is immediate: You lie when you use French.
Her breath stops completely in her throat. She knows he's just teasing her; he has always found a way to lightly tease her back. But looking at the words on the screen, that specific line feels incredibly pointed, cutting straight through every single defense she has built.
She types a quick response to his pointed text: Tu es insupportable. [You're unbearable.]
Consistent, he replies almost instantly.
She almost smiles at the screen, a small warmth blooming in her chest.
Before she can type anything else, Kaito collapses dramatically onto the bench beside her. "You're texting him."
"I am not," Emilia says smoothly, flipping her phone screen-down against her knee.
"You are."
"I'm merely responding."
"That's definitely worse."
She glares at him faintly, her eyes narrowing. "Chante." [Sing.]
"Don't command me in foreign languages," Kaito grumbles, though he eagerly takes the microphone she hands him anyway.
The heavy door to the room never opens again for the rest of the evening. Ren does not appear. Emilia tells herself she fully expected that outcome, which is technically true. But expectation doesn't magically eliminate disappointment. She doesn't feel rejected, exactly. She just feels... unbalanced. The realization unsettles her because she is forced to admit that the room simply feels fuller when he's there—quieter somehow, even when the environment around them is loud.
Halfway through the night, Yui nudges her shoulder again. "You know, you could just leave early."
"I won't."
"You clearly don't want to be here."
"That's not true."
Yui raises an eyebrow, looking down at Emilia's lap. "You've checked your phone twelve times."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
Emilia exhales slowly, letting her rigid posture drop just a fraction. "He's home."
"Good."
"He's fine."
"Good."
"Then why do I—" She cuts herself off sharply. Why do I feel like this?
Yui waits patiently for her to finish the thought, but Emilia leaves the sentence hanging in the air.
Needing an escape from the noise, she steps outside the karaoke building to get some air. The cool night breeze hits her face instantly, shocking her senses. Out here on the pavement, the city feels significantly calmer and quieter.
She unlocks her phone again, finding no new notifications. She hesitates, her fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing: Tu aurais aimé la chanson. [You would have liked the song.]
She stares at the text for a long second, then presses send.
A brief pause. Then: I know.
Her chest tightens at the certainty of his words. How? she types back.
There is a much longer pause this time. The digital dots hover on the screen before his message finally appears: You sing softer when you mean it.
Her breath falters in her throat. He isn't even in the building, and yet, somehow he knows. The accuracy of it lands much heavier than she ever expected.
She types a defensive reply: Tu réfléchis trop. [You think too much.]
His reply is simple: Only when it matters.
Silence follows. That specific line stays illuminated on her screen for much longer than it should. She doesn't respond after that, knowing that if she does, she might say something entirely irreversible.
When she finally returns inside, the karaoke room feels completely different. It seems louder, brighter, but entirely hollow. She laughs when it is appropriate to laugh and claps when it is necessary, even singing one more chorus because Kaito forces the microphone back into her hands. But something small has shifted deep inside her. It isn't a painful feeling; it is just entirely clear.
She misses him. And the distinction is important: it isn't because he didn't show up tonight, but simply because she wanted him there.
At the end of the night, as the group finally leaves the building and steps into the dark street, Hana stretches her arms lightly. "Next time, he better show up."
Emilia blinks, feigning ignorance. "Who?"
Hana smiles faintly, a knowing look in her eyes. "You know who."
Emilia looks away, adjusting her bag. "It wasn't important."
Hana doesn't argue the point. She doesn't need to.
Once she is back home, Emilia sits on the edge of her bed in the quiet room, her phone held loosely in her hand. A fresh message flashes from Ren: Did you get home?
She exhales slowly, typing back: Oui. [Yes.]
A pause. Then: Did you have fun?
She stares at the screen, considering a lie to protect her pride, but ultimately decides against it. Pas vraiment. [Not really.]
A long, heavy pause stretches from his end of the line. Then: Sorry.
Her chest tightens at his immediate guilt. Ce n'est pas ta faute. [It's not your fault.]
Another pause. Then: Next time.
It is just two simple words, but they feel weightier than a casual text. They feel like a promise. She locks her phone, lies back against her pillow, and stares up at the dark ceiling. For the very first time tonight, she finally allows herself to admit the truth: it is infinitely quieter without him.
Thin Lines
Monday morning feels much quieter than usual. It isn't because the school hallways are empty, but because Emilia finds herself actively listening for something specific—a particular set of footsteps, a certain voice, a unique rhythm that she has somehow gotten entirely used to.
The moment she enters the classroom, she sees that Ren is already there. He is sitting at his desk, his shoulders slightly curved forward and his uniform tie hanging much looser than usual.
Her breath leaves her chest in a quiet rush before she even realizes she had been holding it. He came.
He looks up from his desk as she approaches. "You're early."
"So are you," she replies, pulling out her chair.
"I always am."
"Not lately."
A faint, deeply tired smile touches the corner of his mouth. "That was one time."
"It was three."
"You're counting."
"Yes."
A quiet silence settles between them. Ren doesn't even attempt to argue or deflect her accusation this time, and that lack of resistance worries her infinitely more than a flat denial ever would.
He looks significantly worse than he did on Friday. It isn't a dramatic shift, just a quiet, total thinning of his focus. His gaze takes a second longer to settle on whatever he is looking at, and his movements are slower, as if every single action requires a deliberate effort of thought.
"Comment va Mina ?" [How is Mina?] she asks softly.
"Better," he replies.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"You hesitated again."
He exhales softly, looking down at his desk. "She's not coughing as much."
"That wasn't what I asked."
He glances at her sideways, his tired eyes meeting hers. "She's fine."
She studies the dark circles under his eyes carefully. "And you?"
"I'm fine."
"Tu mens encore." [You're lying again.]
He doesn't even attempt to smile this time. He just nods faintly, accepting the call-out. "Probably."
The raw honesty hits her entirely differently now, stripping away the playful edge of their usual bickering and leaving something raw in its place.
During the first period, he loses track of the teacher's explanation once. It is just once, a brief lapse that the rest of the class misses, but Emilia sees it instantly. Without a word, she nudges her notebook slightly toward him so he can copy the formulas.
He blinks at the paper, then looks up at her. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not saying anything."
She studies his pale face. "Tu penses que je te ridiculiserais ?" [You think I would embarrass you?]
"No."
"Then why thank me?"
He pauses, the silence stretching between their desks before he answers quietly, "Because you didn't look disappointed."
That stops her dead. She hadn't even realized that her disappointment was a possibility he was worrying about. Her chest tightens sharply. "Je ne suis pas déçue." [I'm not disappointed.]
"I know."
"But?"
"But you expect more."
She freezes because, deep down, he isn't wrong. She does expect more—not from his grades or his performance at the academy, but emotionally. She exhales a slow, careful breath. "I expect you to take care of yourself."
He looks at her for a long moment, the silence between them feeling heavier and more profound than it ever had before.
At lunch, Kaito drops into his chair with his usual dramatic flair, but his expression instantly shifts when he looks across the table. "You look worse, Ren."
Ren blinks slowly, his exhaustion weighing down his eyelids. "That's highly encouraging."
"It's just accurate."
Hana leans forward, her brow furrowing. "You're incredibly pale."
"I'm not."
"You absolutely are."
Emilia says nothing throughout the exchange. She doesn't need to; the intense look on her face speaks volumes. Ren notices her gaze and sighs.
"Why is everyone staring at me?"
"Because," Yui says gently, leaning her chin on her hand, "you look like you might literally evaporate at any second."
"That's dramatic."
"Is it?"
Ren rubs his eyes briefly—just a small, weary motion, but it is the final straw. Emilia's patience snaps completely.
"Rentre plus tôt aujourd'hui." [Go home earlier today.]
He lowers his hand slowly, looking at her. "I have things to finish here."
"It can wait."
"It's not urgent."
"Then go."
He exhales a long breath. "You're not very subtle."
"I'm not trying to be."
Kaito looks back and forth between the two of them, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Should I leave the room?"
"Yes," Emilia replies calmly.
"No," Ren says at the exact same time.
Kaito's grin widens. "Fascinating."
After lunch, Ren stands up from the table far too quickly. This time, his physical weakness isn't subtle at all. The entire room seems to tilt on him, and he has to slam a hand down to steady himself against the edge of the wooden desk.
Emilia is already on her feet before she can even think about the action. "Assieds-toi." [Sit down.]
"I'm fine," he mutters, though his eyes are glazed.
"You're not."
He tries to wave her off with a weak gesture, but she ignores it completely and steps closer—far too close, breaking past his usual boundaries to keep him from falling.
She lowers her voice, leaning even closer into his space so their conversation stays completely private. "Tu trembles." [You're shaking.]
Ren blinks, his dazed gaze dropping down to his own hand resting on the wood. It is—just slightly, a faint tremor rippling through his fingers. He quickly closes it into a tight fist, hiding it from view. "It's nothing."
Emilia's jaw tightens at his stubbornness. "Arrête." [Stop.]
He looks up, meeting her eyes. "What?"
"Pretending."
A heavy silence falls between them, the single word landing with immense weight in the small space separating them. Ren doesn't respond immediately, his lips pressing into a thin line simply because he can't find a way to argue against the truth of it.
The rest of the agonizing afternoon drags on at a grueling pace. Ren somehow pushes through the remaining periods, answering the teachers' questions, taking mechanical notes, and offering a faint, polite smile whenever it is socially required. But Emilia can see the dangerous thinness in his facade now. She notices the way he leans his weight slightly against the corridor wall when he thinks no one is watching, the way his eyes close for half a second too long whenever he blinks, and the way his shallow breathing feels increasingly heavier.
When the final bell rings after school, Hana packing up her bag looks over and suggests grabbing a quick coffee together before everyone heads home. Ren hesitates, his movements freezing. Emilia notices the pause instantly.
"I'm going," Hana adds gently, picking up on the sudden heavy atmosphere. "You really don't have to, Ren."
Ren opens his mouth to speak, but Emilia ruthlessly cuts in before he can form an excuse. "He's not."
Ren turns his head to look at her, a flicker of exasperation in his tired eyes. "You're making decisions for my schedule again."
"Yes."
"That's highly dangerous."
"You're utterly exhausted."
"That's entirely unrelated."
"It's completely and entirely related."
Hana glances between the two of them and takes a diplomatic step back toward the door. "I'll just see you guys tomorrow."
The others quickly drift off into the crowded hallway, leaving the two of them entirely alone by the school gates as the afternoon light begins to fade.
Ren exhales a long, slow breath. "You really don't have to do that."
"What?" Emilia asks, adjusting the strap of her bag.
"Intervene like that."
"Yes, I do."
"Why?"
She hesitates, the honest answer rising far too close to the surface for comfort. "Parce que tu ne le feras pas." [Because you won't.]
He studies her face carefully, searching her guarded expression. "That still doesn't mean you have to carry the responsibility."
"It does."
"Why?"
Silence stretches out between them once more. A cool autumn wind moves softly through the branches of the trees above, scattering loose leaves onto the pavement. Emilia is the first to look away, breaking the intense eye contact.
"Parce que je te regarde." [Because I watch you.]
Ren goes completely still. Hearing that line again—only far more exposed this time, completely stripped of its playful banter and left dangerously unshielded—leaves him entirely speechless.
"You really don't miss much, do you?" he says quietly.
"No."
He exhales, a faint sound of defeat. "You don't have to carry me, Emilia."
Her breath falters slightly in her throat. "I'm not."
"You are."
Silence returns. She knows he's right. She is carrying him, not because he ever asked her to, but simply because she had silently decided to.
As they approach the pedestrian crossing, Ren's pace noticeably slows, his footsteps becoming visibly uneven. She notices the lapse instantly. Without a single second of conscious thought, she reaches out and grabs his uniform sleeve. The movement isn't dramatic; it is just a firm, steady anchor to keep him grounded.
"Arrête." [Stop.]
He comes to a complete halt. He looks down at her hand tightly gripping the fabric of his sleeve, then slowly raises his eyes to her face.
"You're warm," she says softly, her fingers feeling the heat radiating right through the fabric.
"I told you—"
"Non." Her voice is significantly firmer now, leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Tu es chaud." [You're hot.]
Ren lets out a weak sound that is almost a genuine laugh. "That specific phrasing—"
"Tu sais ce que je veux dire." [You know what I mean.]
He looks at her—really looks at her—and for a split second, something deep behind his guarded composure threatens to break completely. But he catches himself, steadying his defenses with a quiet breath. "I'll go home."
"Now."
"Yes."
"Directly."
"Yes."
She doesn't release his sleeve immediately, holding onto the fabric for a few seconds longer just to be absolutely certain he won't drift away. Then, she slowly lets go.
At home that night, she sits at the dinner table with her family. Her mother takes one look at her face and notices the shift immediately. "You look deeply troubled tonight, Emilia."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Her father glances over from his newspaper. "Still dealing with that stubborn boy?"
She exhales a sharp breath. "Yes."
"Yours or his?" her father asks lightly, a knowing smile touching his lips.
She doesn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on her plate, which is answer enough for both of them.
Her mother smiles gently, setting down her chopsticks. "You can't force someone to take care of themselves, sweetheart. You can't make someone rest."
"I can certainly try."
"Trying and forcing are two entirely different things."
Emilia stares intently at her food, her chest tightening. "I just don't want him to break."
Her father's expression softens with profound understanding. "Then be patient with him."
"That's terrible advice."
"No," he says softly. "It's patient advice."
She rolls her eyes faintly at the sentiment, but the words sink deep into her thoughts, staying with her long after dinner ends.
Later that night, as she lies in the quiet of her room, her phone suddenly buzzes against her palm. A message flashes from Ren: Home.
She exhales a long, relieved breath, her thumbs moving quickly over the screen: Tu as mangé ? [Did you eat?]
A brief pause. Yes.
Medicine?
A significantly longer pause stretches from his end of the line. Yes.
She narrows her eyes at the glowing screen, knowing him far too well by now. Tu mens. [You're lying.]
The three digital dots appear. They hover tensely before his admission arrives: Maybe.
She closes her eyes, feeling half frustrated by his stubbornness and half intensely relieved that he is even answering her at all. Prends-le. [Take it.]
A pause. Then: Okay.
That small, quiet concession feels infinitely larger than it should. She slowly sets her phone down on the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling as the gravity of the situation settles over her. She can feel it plainly: the line between them is getting thinner by the day. He's still standing, but only barely.