Chapter 17
By Tuesday, the school feels as if it is holding its breath. It isn't because anything overtly dramatic is happening in the corridors, but simply because Ren is walking around like someone who is entirely convinced he can outrun gravity.
Emilia watches him enter the classroom. He is perfectly on time. His school tie is straight, his bag hangs securely on his shoulder, and his facial expression remains completely neutral. It is an incredibly convincing performance—if you don't look closely at his eyes. If you don't notice the way his focus lags by a distinct half-second. If you don't notice the way his fingers tighten around the strap of his bag, as though he is physically anchoring himself to the floor.
Emilia notices all of it. Of course she does.
Yui slides into her seat with the quiet confidence of someone who is about to be utterly insufferable. "He's here."
"Yes," Emilia replies, keeping her gaze fixed forward.
"And alive."
"Yes."
"And you look deeply relieved."
"I did not."
Yui leans in closer, whispering as if she is sharing classified state secrets. "You exhaled the moment he walked in."
Emilia stares intensely down at her notebook. "I breathe sometimes, Yui."
"That's exactly the kind of line someone hiding massive emotions would say."
Emilia turns her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Tu veux mourir ?" [Do you want to die?]
Yui beams, completely unfazed. "A French threat. Very serious."
Emilia tries her best to ignore her, but she fails miserably. A moment later, Ren lets out a single cough—not loud, but tightly restrained. Instantly, she feels her attention lock onto him like an involuntary reflex.
Ren sits down at his desk and begins taking out his notes. Every movement is controlled, measured, and entirely normal. Emilia waits for him to look over at her, but he doesn't—not immediately. Then, finally, his gaze shifts sideways and their eyes meet. He gives her a small, quiet nod. I'm here.
She nods back faintly. Good.
Then, she narrows her eyes just a fraction, sending a silent message across the gap between their desks: But you're still lying to me.
During the first period, the teacher unexpectedly announces a short quiz. A collective wave of despair washes over the classroom. Kaito makes a gut-wrenching sound like a dying animal, while Hana lets out a heavy sigh.
Ren, however, doesn't react at all. He simply flips open his notebook to a blank page. He is too calm, too steady, as if he is actively trying to prove a point to anyone watching.
Emilia leans slightly closer toward his desk, her voice a low murmur. "Tu n'as pas dormi." [You didn't sleep.]
He doesn't look up from his paper. "Yes, I did."
"Combien ?" [How much?]
He hesitates for a telltale fraction of a second. Emilia's gaze sharpens instantly.
"You hesitated," she points out.
"I was thinking."
"That's not an actual answer."
He finally glances over at her, a flicker of tired amusement dancing in his eyes. "You're interrogating me again."
"Yes."
"Why?"
She answers him plainly, without letting her filters stop the words. "Parce que tu mens." [Because you lie.]
Ren's expression softens for a brief half-second before he quickly looks away again.
The quiz begins, and a heavy silence settles over the room, broken only by the synchronized scratching of pens against paper. Ren's writing is noticeably slower today. It isn't a massive delay that others would pick up on, but it is more than enough for Emilia to catch. Halfway through the test, his pen suddenly pauses on the page for just a fraction too long. His eyes completely unfocus. He blinks hard once, a physical effort as if he is forcing his brain back into place.
Emilia's own pen stops completely, a sudden knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Ren steadies his grip, however, and keeps writing. It is a performance—again.
When the quiz finally ends, Kaito collapses forward dramatically onto his desk. "I literally saw my entire life flash before my eyes."
Hana rolls her eyes, packing up her pen. "You just saw your future grades flash, Kaito."
Kaito points an accusing finger at Ren. "He didn't even blink the entire time. Ren, are you actually human?"
Ren's mouth twitches faintly at the corner. "I blink."
"Not emotionally, you don't."
Yui chimes in from the side, a playful tilt to her head. "Oh, he's just saving all of his emotions for French."
Ren freezes for a distinct half-beat—a movement so small that no one else in the room notices it. But Emilia does. Yui's eyes sparkle with pure mischief, prompting Emilia to shoot her a look sharp enough to cut through glass.
Yui quickly mouths a silent, apologetic Oops.
Ren exhales a slow breath, while Kaito continues talking, entirely oblivious to the silent exchange. "Anyway, I say we hit karaoke again next week—"
"Absolutely not," Hana cuts in firmly. "We're all still recovering from your singing."
Kaito sighs, staring up at the ceiling. "Life is nothing but suffering."
Emilia doesn't hear most of the banter. Her focus is entirely locked onto Ren's hand, noting how his knuckles have turned completely white around his pen.
By the time lunch arrives, Emilia is certain of two distinct things: Mina is likely feeling much better, but Ren is significantly worse. There is absolutely no way he would be sitting at school in this condition if Mina still needed his constant care every second. It means he is doing exactly what he always does—pushing through his own limits because he thinks he has to, carrying the weight simply because it is his default state.
In the cafeteria, Hana sits down across from them, her brows furrowing as she studies Ren's pale face. "How is Mina doing today?"
Ren's answer is instantaneous. "Better."
Emilia's eyes narrow slightly. That particular response actually felt real.
Hana smiles faintly in relief. "Good. I'm glad."
Kaito, meanwhile, is busily shoveling food into his mouth. "Well, if she's better, then you're finally free!"
Ren's lips twitch. "Apparently."
Kaito points his chopsticks at him like a weapon. "Then stop looking like you're entirely haunted, man."
Ren blinks slowly. "I don't look haunted."
Kaito gestures wildly at his face. "That face says you have seen things."
Yui tilts her head thoughtfully. "He has. He's seen absolute exhaustion."
Emilia sharply kicks Yui lightly under the table. Yui instantly pulls back, making a deeply wounded expression. Ow.
The corner of Ren's mouth lifts again—it is almost a genuine smile. The fact that humor can still reach him gives Emilia a small sense of comfort, but the facade is undeniably thin.
After lunch, they are required to attend a festival committee meeting to finalize the upcoming booth placements. It is supposed to be a simple, routine wrap-up, but Ren insists on staying. He remains in the room because he feels obligated to be responsible down to the very last second.
Emilia watches him write down notes, ask logical questions, and confirm scheduling details. His voice is steady, and his logic is perfectly clear. He is the exact same Ren—just entirely held together by sheer willpower.
Halfway through the meeting, the supervising teacher looks over and asks Ren if he can carry a few supplies over to the school's storage room. It is a stack of heavy boxes—not entirely unmanageable, but incredibly awkward to carry in his condition.
Ren stands up from his chair. "Sure."
Emilia's head turns sharply, her focus locking onto him. "Non." [No.]
The entire meeting room suddenly pauses. Even the supervising teacher looks slightly surprised, lowering his papers to blink at her. Emilia realizes exactly what she has just done. The outburst was far too direct, far too obvious.
Ren glances down at her, giving her a pointed look that says: I'm fine.
She doesn't move. She doesn't soften her expression, and she refuses to smile the awkwardness away. Instead, she repeats herself, her voice much calmer this time but laced with undeniable authority. "Il n'est pas en forme." [He's not well.]
The teacher hesitates, shifting his gaze between the two of them. Ren opens his mouth to object, but Emilia ruthlessly speaks over him, her tone quiet but incredibly firm. "Je vais le faire." [I'll do it.]
A heavy silence blankets the room. Kaito's eyes widen to the size of saucers, looking as though he has just witnessed a monumental, historical event. Yui wears a deeply smug expression, while Hana looks immensely relieved. Ren, however, just looks conflicted, his brows knitting together.
The teacher clears his throat, breaking the spell. "Well. If you're volunteering, Emilia..."
Emilia stands up, her posture absolutely perfect as she squares her shoulders. "Yes."
Ren's jaw tightens slightly as she steps into the aisle. "Emilia, I can—"
She turns her head just enough to catch his eye, her gaze cutting through his protests. "Tu ne peux pas." [You can't.]
He understands the words perfectly, but more importantly, he understands the tone. It isn't teasing, and it isn't playful. It is final. He goes entirely quiet.
They end up carrying the boxes down the hallway together anyway. Emilia doesn't trust him alone with them for a single second, and Ren is stubborn enough to follow her out regardless of his condition.
The school hallway is significantly quieter back here. The storage wing is dimmer than the main corridors, and the heavy air smells like old paper and industrial cleaning supplies. Emilia walks a few paces ahead, stacked with two of the awkward boxes, while Ren follows closely behind with the final one. He shouldn't even be carrying that much, but she knows that if she tries to take them all, he will actively argue with her. She allows him this small illusion of contribution, though she secretly hates how well she has come to understand his mind.
Halfway down the long hall, Ren comes to a stop. It isn't a dramatic halt; he just... stops moving. Emilia notices the lapse immediately.
She turns around to face him. "What?"
He blinks slowly, his eyes glazed. His face appears noticeably paler than it had even fifteen minutes ago in the classroom. "I'm fine," he says automatically, the words hollow.
Emilia's eyes narrow to slits. "You didn't answer my question."
He shifts his weight slightly to adjust his balance, and the box in his hands dangerously tilts. He steadies it with a sudden, jerky movement, but his breathing has become visibly heavier. He swallows hard once. "I just stood up too fast," he says again, repeating the phrase like a magic spell he thinks will fix reality.
Emilia sets her own boxes down carefully onto the floor. She walks closer, stepping deep into his space. "Regarde-moi." [Look at me.]
He hesitates, his shoulders tense, before he finally raises his eyes to meet hers. His focus is entirely fuzzy around the edges, a sight that scares her far more than she wants to admit to herself.
"Tu es encore chaud." [You're hot again.]
He tries to force a small smile. "That specific phrasing again—"
"Ren."
His name leaves her mouth sharper and louder than she intended, echoing slightly in the empty hallway. He stops trying to joke instantly. Good, because she absolutely cannot handle his deflections right now.
She reaches up, and this time, she doesn't let her logical restraints stop her. She presses the cool back of her fingers lightly against his forehead. He is warm—far too warm. She exhales a sharp, stressed breath. "Idiot."
Ren closes his eyes for half a second at the contact. It isn't a gesture of annoyance; it is pure, total relief, as if her touch has finally given him permission to stop pretending. Then, he opens his eyes again, his gaze heavy. "I don't have time," he murmurs.
The confession hits her like a physical slap. "You don't have time to be sick?"
"I don't have time to—" He cuts himself off, swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat. "—to fall behind."
There it is. The real fear driving him. It isn't the physical illness or the raging fever; it is the thought of falling behind and losing control. It is the exact same terrifying concept that Emilia fears herself, just shaped into a different form.
Her chest tightens sharply. She steps even closer, lowering her voice to a fierce whisper. "Tu ne perds rien en te reposant." [You lose nothing by resting.]
He looks away, staring at the dim wall. "That's not true."
She studies the exhaustion etched into his face. "Because of Mina?"
"Because of everything."
She lets out a heavy breath. "You think that if you stop for even a second, everything will collapse around you."
Silence follows. He doesn't deny it, and that lack of resistance is more than enough of an answer.
From the far end of the hallway, Kaito's booming voice echoes faintly around the corner. "Did they get lost down there? Are they secretly confessing to each other? I can literally feel the emotional tension in the air from here!"
Yui's sharp voice immediately shouts back, cutting him off. "Shut up, Kaito!"
Emilia almost laughs—almost. Even in a moment like this, Kaito remains entirely himself. The corner of Ren's lips twitches faintly, humor trying to fight its way back to the surface of his face. But then, his body suddenly sways.
This time, the movement isn't subtle at all. It is a distinct, heavy tilt to the side. Emilia reacts on pure instinct, her hand dropping from his forehead to grip the fabric of his sleeve firmly, anchoring him in place. "Stop."
"I am stopping."
"No. Stop pretending."
He exhales slowly, trying to breathe his way through the wave of dizziness just like he tries to breathe through everything else. She tightens her grip on his arm—not painfully, but steady and unyielding.
"Assieds-toi." [Sit down.]
He blinks heavily at her. "There's no chair—"
She points a finger directly at the floor near the baseboard. "Right there."
He stares at her for a long half-beat, evaluating her expression. Then, finally, he lowers himself carefully onto the floor, resting his back against the cool wall. It doesn't look like a defeated gesture; he is just... yielding to her will.
Emilia crouches down directly in front of him. A spark of anger simmers deep in her chest—not directed at him, but at the exhausting way he insists on carrying things entirely alone. She is angry at the way he refuses help, and the way he always forces himself to stay upright for everyone else. Including her.
"Tu es vraiment têtu." [You're really stubborn.]
He exhales, resting his hands on his knees. "Yes."
There is no argument from him. The easy compliance scares her more than his stubbornness ever has. She swallows hard past the knot in her throat, trying to keep her tone sharp. "Tu m'énerves." [You annoy me.]
"Yes."
Still absolutely no argument. She looks at him sharply, her brow furrowing. "You're agreeing with me entirely too much."
He closes his eyes briefly, leaning his head back against the wall. "I'm tired."
The words are incredibly quiet, but they land with immense weight in the dim hallway. He never says things like that plainly. He never admits to weakness without hiding it behind an intricate wall of logic. Emilia's throat tightens, her protective instincts flaring. She forces her tone to remain absolute.
"Then go home."
He opens his eyes again, looking at her. "After we finish moving these—"
"No."
The single word is sharp and final. Leaning closer, she speaks in a voice so low that the words are meant only for his ears. "Tu vas rentrer." [You are going home.]
Ren studies her face carefully, searching her features. In the dim light of the storage wing, he sees something there that he doesn't usually see in her. It isn't her usual teasing nature, and it isn't her guarded pride. It is something fiercely protective. It is something almost... afraid.
He exhales a long, slow breath, his defenses completely crumbling. "...Okay."
The surrender is incredibly quiet, but the moment the word leaves his lips, the heavy air in the hallway instantly changes. Emilia's chest loosens by a fraction, the sharp panic fading into relief.
She stands up smoothly and picks up the discarded boxes again. "All of them," she says, stacking the final one on top with practiced ease.
He starts to form a protest, his mouth opening slightly, but she shoots him a warning look that instantly cuts him off. He doesn't push it. He stays seated against the wall, surprisingly obedient. That specific word feels entirely ridiculous when applied to someone like Ren, and yet, there is no other way to describe it.
She carries the rest of the supplies to the storage room by herself. When she returns to the dim hallway, he is still sitting exactly where she left him. His head is tilted slightly back against the plaster, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing is heavy but steady.
She crouches down in front of him once more, her uniform skirt pooling around her knees. "Can you stand?"
"Yes," he replies quietly.
"Without lying to me?"
A faint, deeply tired smile flickers across his face. "No."
She exhales a sharp, exasperated breath. "Good. At least we have established honesty."
She extends her hand toward him. The gesture isn't dramatic, and it isn't overtly romantic; it is just purely practical. Ren stares at her open palm for a long second, evaluating it, before he finally reaches out and takes it. His grip is warm—far too warm against her skin. She braces herself, steadying her stance as he pulls himself up. He doesn't lean on her fully, but he does actively allow her to support his weight. That concession alone feels monumental.
As they begin the slow walk back toward the main classroom wing, his voice cuts through the quiet corridor. "Mina's better," he says.
"I know."
He blinks at her, genuinely surprised. "How?"
"She texted Yui's friend once," Emilia replies smoothly, keeping her eyes fixed ahead. "People talk."
Ren blinks again. He knows that is a blatant lie. In truth, Emilia simply doesn't want to admit that Mina had texted her directly—not yet, at least. Not when admitting it would make everything between them far too obvious. Fortunately, Ren doesn't press the matter. He just nods faintly, accepting the deflection. "Good."
Emilia glances at him sideways. "Is that really what you were worrying about this whole time?"
"Yes."
She exhales a slow, quiet breath. "You're a good brother, Ren."
He looks away slightly, a faint trace of color rising beneath his pale skin. "You're... intense."
She scoffs softly, the defensive barrier rising out of habit. "Merci." [Thanks.]
He almost smiles. "That was sarcasm."
"Yes."
Good. The familiar humor is back, if only a little. It is just enough to allow them both to breathe.
The moment they reach the busy classroom corridor, Kaito appears out of nowhere like a precisely summoned nuisance. "There you are! We seriously thought you two had run away together!"
Emilia glares at him, her expression sharp enough to halt him in his tracks. "We carried boxes, Kaito."
Kaito squints at them suspiciously. "That sounds like a massive metaphor."
"It's really not."
Yui steps out from behind him, her sharp eyes instantly scanning Ren's drained features. "You look significantly worse."
Ren lets out a weak breath. "Noted."
Hana steps closer to the group, her brow furrowing with genuine concern. "Are you finally going home, Ren?"
Ren hesitates, his lips parting, but Emilia ruthlessly answers for him before he can argue. "Yes."
Ren looks down at her, caught off guard. Kaito's eyes widen to the size of saucers all over again. "Wow."
Yui mutters under her breath, a smug smile touching her lips. "Look at that. He's officially being managed."
Ren's mouth twitches faintly at the description. Emilia simply crosses her arms over her blazer, her posture unyielding. "If he attempts to argue, I will throw him."
Kaito leans in, looking deeply invested. "Wait, in French?"
Emilia doesn't even blink. "En trois langues." [In three languages.]
Kaito visibly shivers, taking a step back. "Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying."
Ren exhales a quiet, breathless laugh. It is real this time—small and faint, but completely genuine. Hearing it gives Emilia a rush of relief so sharp it almost hurts behind her ribs.
For once, he actually leaves the academy early. It isn't because he wants to, but simply because she forced him to. As he walks down the path toward the school gates, he glances back over his shoulder just once. It isn't a dramatic look; it is just a quiet acknowledgment of what she did. Emilia stands perfectly still in the corridor, watching him until his figure completely disappears from view.
Then, and only when he is entirely gone, she finally lets out a long, shuddering exhale.
Quiet Rooms
Ren does not text when he gets home.
That is the very first thing Emilia notices. It isn't a conscious, dramatic realization, just a small, heavy absence vibrating from her phone. She had told him to go home, and he had listened. That should be more than enough. It is enough. And yet, her screen remains entirely dark.
At dinner, she sits at the table while her mother vividly describes a new documentary she insists the entire family needs to watch. Her father makes thoughtful commentary at all the appropriate intervals, maintaining the easy rhythm of their household. The house smells safely of miso and grilled fish—warm, familiar, and comfortable.
Emilia just stares intently down at her rice. She has eaten exactly three bites, and she simply cannot force herself to take any more.
"You're chewing very slowly," her mother observes calmly, her voice breaking the rhythmic clink of silverware.
"I am not," Emilia replies smoothly.
"You are."
Her father glances up over the wire rims of his glasses, a knowing look in his eye. "Did the stubborn one finally surrender?"
Emilia freezes slightly, her chopsticks hovering over her bowl. "Maybe."
"Ah," her father nods, returning his attention to his meal. "Then you're not worried."
"I'm not worried."
Her mother tilts her head gently, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Then why exactly are you holding your phone under the table?"
Emilia blinks, looking down. She is. She hadn't even realized she was doing it. Trying to regain her composure, she sets the device on the table, face down. "I was checking the time."
"It's 7:18," her father replies dryly.
"Thank you."
Suddenly, her phone buzzes against the wood. Her heart betrays her again, fluttering behind her ribs as she flips the device over entirely too quickly. It is a message from Ren.
Home.
It is just one single word, but relief floods her chest so sharply it almost embarrasses her. Her thumbs move across the keyboard, typing slowly: Tu as pris des médicaments ? [Did you take medicine?]
A pause stretches over the line—noticeably longer than usual. The three digital dots appear, disappear, and then reappear. Yes.
She narrows her eyes intensely at the screen. Tu mens. [You're lying.]
Another long pause follows. Then: Maybe.
Her jaw tightens at his stubbornness. Pourquoi ? [Why?]
A heavy silence follows the text. The wait stretches long enough that her mother notices her intense staring. "You can go to your room if you need to, sweetheart," her mother says softly.
"I don't."
But she stands up from the table anyway, abandoning her half-eaten rice.
Upstairs in the quiet of her room, she sits cross-legged on the center of her bed, phone gripped firmly in her hand. Still, there is no reply. She stares at her last message, her frustration building. Why? It shouldn't be a complicated issue. Medicine is medicine, and rest is rest. But with him, absolutely everything is wrapped in a suffocating layer of responsibility.
Her phone finally buzzes.
Because Mina hates the taste. She won't take it if I don't either.
Emilia stares down at the screen. That is utterly ridiculous—and completely in character for him. She exhales a slow breath, typing: Elle va mieux. [She's better.]
Yes.
Alors prends-le. [Then take it.]
A long pause follows before his compliance arrives: Okay.
Her shoulders relax slightly, the tension leaving her upper body. Then, a fresh text flashes across the screen: You don't have to manage me.
Her breath stills completely in her throat. She reads the sentence twice. You don't have to manage me.
She chooses her words carefully, typing: Je ne te gère pas. [I'm not managing you.]
His reply is immediate: You are.
She frowns deeply at the screen. Je te rappelle juste que tu es humain. [I'm just reminding you that you're human.]
A much longer pause stretches from his end this time. Then: That's worse.
Her heart tightens sharply at the two words. Why worse? Because being reminded he is human means he is capable of falling? Because it means someone is actively seeing him when he isn't perfectly steady? She doesn't respond immediately; she simply doesn't know how.
Across town, Ren sits heavily on the edge of his bed. The room is dim, illuminated only by the warm glow of his desk lamp. Mina is fast asleep in her own room, leaving the house completely quiet.
The fever hasn't fully settled yet. He can feel it in the heavy, throbbing ache behind his eyes, in the way the ceiling lights seem entirely too bright, and in the way his thoughts feel slightly delayed by half a beat. He stares down at his phone, his gaze fixed on her last message.
Reminding you that you're human.
He exhales a long, slow breath. That concept scares him infinitely more than physical exhaustion. Because if she truly sees him like this—not steady, not reliable, and completely out of control—what does that change between them? He rubs his eyes, closing them briefly as the room tilts just a fraction. He lies back against his pillow, the phone still clutched in his hand.
Emilia stares intensely at the conversation, waiting for new notifications. Nothing appears. She types: Tu es couché ? [Are you lying down?]
No response.
She waits. Three minutes pass, then five, then ten. Her jaw tightens as her stomach begins to knot. He wouldn't ignore her—not right now, and certainly not after a conversation like that. Her brain immediately starts building worst-case scenarios she doesn't want to entertain.
She exhales a sharp breath. Il dort. [He's sleeping.] That is the logical conclusion. It is reasonable and highly likely. She sets her phone down on the mattress, only to pick it up again a second later. Her mind helplessly replays the hallway scene from earlier—the way his eyes had completely unfocused, the way he had sat down on the floor without a single argument, and the way he had simply said, "I'm tired." It hadn't been masked or strategic. It was just true.
Her chest tightens with a sudden wave of vulnerability. She types out a familiar command: Ne me fais pas attendre. [Don't make me wait.]
She stares at the sentence, her thumb hovering. She almost deletes it out of fear, but she presses send anyway.
Immediate regret washes over her. The line is far too vulnerable, far too exposed, and it comes dangerously close to meaning entirely too much. She throws the phone onto the bed beside her and flops backward dramatically against her pillows. This is ridiculous. She is being completely ridiculous.
Suddenly, her phone buzzes. She bolts upright instantly, grabbing the device.
Sorry. I fell asleep.
Relief crashes into her so suddenly that a quiet laugh escapes her lips. Tu devrais. [You should.]
I know.
A brief silence hangs over the digital line. Then: Thank you.
Her fingers pause over the keyboard. Pour quoi ? [For what?]
For not letting me drift.
That line again. It feels significantly heavier tonight—far more fragile. She swallows hard past the dryness in her throat, typing: Je ne te laisserai pas. [I won't let you.]
A long, tense pause follows. Then: Don't promise things like that.
Her breath catches. Pourquoi ? [Why?]
The typing indicator flickers on the screen. It stops, starts again, and then finally, his true text arrives: Because you don't know how long I'll need it.
The message feels entirely different from their usual exchanges. It isn't dramatic or tragic; it is just devastatingly honest. He truly doesn't know when he'll feel steady again.
Emilia stares at the screen. Her pride wants to deflect the weight of it, and her usual teasing nature wants to respond with something light, but something much deeper answers instead: Alors je resterai. [Then I'll stay.]
The exact moment she presses send, her heart pounds violently against her ribs. The statement is too real, too clear to take back. The three dots appear. Stay. They disappear, then reappear.
Then: You don't have to.
She exhales sharply through her nose. Je sais. [I know.]
A long pause stretches. Then: Okay.
It is just two simple letters—short and final. She sets her phone down slowly, her pulse still racing in the quiet room. She had just openly told him she would stay, and more importantly, he hadn't pushed her away.
Across town, Ren reads the message a second time, then a third, before finally locking his phone. He stares up at the dark ceiling, the fever still humming restlessly beneath his skin. But a completely different thought is echoing much louder in his mind.
She'll stay.
He doesn't know if that realization comforts him or utterly terrifies him. Because if she stays, he knows he absolutely cannot afford to fall. And yet, deep down, he can already feel himself starting to.
Emilia lies back on her bed, staring up at her own dark ceiling as the house settles into complete silence. Her phone rests quietly beside her on the sheet. She tells herself she won't check it again tonight, but she inevitably does. There are no new messages.
She exhales a slow, soft breath. "Tu es vraiment idiot..." [You're really an idiot...] she murmurs softly to the empty room. But the tone of her voice is infinitely gentler than the words themselves.
Outside her window, the night is perfectly calm—entirely too calm, as if the darkness is quietly waiting for something to break.