Chapter 20
Ren wakes slowly. It isn't all at once, and it isn't sharp. He just returns to consciousness gradually, shifting out of the heavy haze of sleep. First, he becomes aware of a distinct warmth, then of a comforting softness, and finally, of a gentle weight pressing against his side.
His hand shifts slightly against the sheets. There is fabric beneath his fingers—not the rough texture of his blanket, and not the smooth cotton of his pillow. It is something much warmer. His brow furrows faintly as he inhales, catching a scent he recognizes instantly: clean soap, paper, and a very faint hint of citrus.
His brain completely catches up half a second later. Emilia.
His eyes open very slowly, and the entire world instantly tilts on its axis. Because she is there. Right there. She is half-leaning directly against him, her shoulder tucked neatly beneath his chin, and her hand resting lightly against his chest. Her face is slightly turned away from him, and his arm—his arm is fully and securely wrapped around her waist in a protective hold. It looks as though she completely belongs there.
Ren's brain entirely short-circuits. He does not move a single muscle, because he knows that the exact moment he moves, this fragile moment becomes entirely real. He remembers the night vaguely through the fog of his fever: the biting cold, the desperate reach for warmth, and his slurred pleas for her not to leave. For her to stay. And now, looking down at her, the reality hits him. She actually stayed.
Emilia feels the change before she even sees it. She notices the subtle shift in his deep breathing, the sudden tension building in his arm, and the quiet weight of his awareness. Her heart slams violently into her ribs like a trapped bird.
He's awake. He's awake.
Her mind screams at her to maintain control. Do not panic. Do not move too fast. Do not—
Suddenly, his hand flexes slightly against her waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her uniform. Her entire nervous system instantly ignites. She grows completely stiff against him, and Ren freezes in response. A heavy, excruciating silence stretches painfully through the dim bedroom.
Then, breaking the spell, she speaks. "...You're heavy," she says calmly.
Her voice is perfectly level, utterly failing to match the frantic erratic rhythm of her pulse.
Ren's breath catches faintly in his throat. "I—" He swallows hard, his throat feeling incredibly dry from the fever. He slowly loosens his grip around her waist, but he doesn't pull his arm away completely. "I didn't mean to."
"You did," she counters smoothly, her body still locked in place.
Silence blankets the room once more.
"That's worse," Ren murmurs quietly.
Emilia's face is completely on fire in the morning light. She cannot force herself to look at him; she absolutely refuses to meet his eyes.
"Release me."
He hesitates just for half a second, his fingers tightening against her uniform one last time before his arm finally drops away. The movement is slow and careful, as if he is genuinely afraid of something fragile breaking between them.
The exact moment the physical boundary dissolves, she pulls back immediately. She moves entirely too quickly, sitting upright on the edge of the mattress as she immediately begins fixing her hair and adjusting her rumpled blazer.
Composure. Composure. Composure.
She repeats the word like a mantra, but her hands are visibly shaking. She folds them tightly together in her lap, squeezing her fingers to hide the loss of control.
Ren pushes himself up slowly, leaning his weight against his palms. As he moves, the bedroom tilts faintly around him. Emilia notices the microscopic lapse instantly.
"Don't."
"I'm fine."
"Tu mens." [You're lying.]
He lets out a faint exhale, his shoulders dropping. "That's consistent, at least."
She glares at him sharply. "You are not standing up."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were."
"I was thinking about it."
"That is highly suspicious."
A faint, weak smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at her familiar hostility. For a brief, fleeting moment, the atmosphere in the room feels almost entirely normal again. Almost.
Then, the heavy silence returns. He keeps his gaze locked on her, but she firmly refuses to look back at him. She knows that if she meets his eyes right now, she might helpless remember the exact way he had held her against his chest, the vulnerable way he had murmured that it was better, and the way he had buried his face directly into her shoulder. Her cheeks burn with a fresh wave of heat.
"...Did I say anything?" he asks quietly, his rough voice cutting through the quiet.
Her pulse spikes violently behind her ribs. "No."
It is a blatant lie—a total, absolute lie.
Ren studies her profile carefully, his sharp eyes picking up on her rigid posture. "You're actively avoiding eye contact."
"I am not."
"You are."
Unable to handle the quiet accusation, she turns to face him sharply. Their eyes meet instantly. The proximity is entirely too close, too intense, and far too honest. The very air in the bedroom shifts between them.
"You said," she begins, forcing her voice to remain perfectly calm, "that I was heavy."
Ren's eyes widen slightly in genuine surprise. "I did not."
"You heavily implied it."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"That's completely not how implication works, Emilia."
She blinks at him, momentarily stunned. He is actively arguing semantics with her while sitting in his bed after holding her like a personal pillow for hours. Her brain feels as though it is entirely overheating.
A small, rhythmic knock at the wooden frame breaks the tension. Mina peeks her head into the room once more, her intelligent gaze drifting between the two of them very slowly. Then, her eyes land on the glass of water still resting untouched on the desk.
"Oh," the little girl says again, her voice entirely flat.
Ren blinks, trying to clear the fog from his head. "Mina?"
"You're awake."
"Yes."
"You were hugging her."
Emilia feels her absolute soul leave her body. "I was not," she says far too quickly, her voice a pitch higher than usual.
Ren freezes completely against his pillows. "I—"
Mina tilts her head to the side, entirely unfazed by their panic. "You were."
An absolute silence detonates in the room. Ren looks over at Emilia, but Emilia quickly shifts her focus to the far wall. The plain white wall is infinitely safer than meeting his gaze right now.
Mina walks into the room calmly, bypassing the thick tension, and hands Ren the glass of water. "Drink."
Ren obeys her command immediately, taking the glass without a single shred of protest. Emilia blinks at the display, her eyes narrowing in deep irritation. Of course he does. He drinks it down simply because Mina told him to.
She crosses her arms over her blazer. "That is entirely unfair."
Ren lets out a slight cough, setting the empty glass down. "What is?"
"You actually listen to her."
"She's five."
"Yes."
"And?"
"And you are—" She cuts herself off sharply before she can say something irreversible.
Mina watches the two of them back and forth like a scientist observing a rare, fascinating species. "You were smiling," Mina adds casually, looking directly at Emilia.
Emilia stiffens up completely. "I was not."
"You were."
Ren's gaze shifts slowly toward Emilia again at the little girl's words. That specific look is incredibly dangerous—far too soft, and entirely too aware.
Emilia stands up abruptly from the mattress, smoothing down her skirt. "That is more than enough."
Mina smiles faintly, completely satisfied with the chaos she has caused. "I'll be in the living room." She turns and leaves the room, leaving the wooden door slightly open behind her. Always slightly open.
The thick silence returns to the bedroom, heavier and far more charged than it had been before. Ren sets the glass down slowly onto the nightstand, his movements still slightly unsteady from the lingering effects of the fever. She notices the tremor, of course she does, but she doesn't make a single move to step closer to him this time. Not yet.
"...Thank you," he says quietly, breaking the silence.
"For what?"
"For staying."
She swallows hard past the knot of pride in her throat. "It was strictly practical."
"You easily could've gone home, Emilia."
"I didn't."
Another heavy silence stretches between their positions.
"Why?"
The single question lands infinitely heavier than it had the previous night. Her pulse stutters in her chest because the reality has completely changed. Now, he is fully awake, fully aware, and looking directly into her eyes. And she no longer has his fever to use as an excuse.
She exhales slowly, letting the final layer of her breath carry the remains of her excuse into the quiet room.
"Because Mina was scared."
"And?"
"And you weren't answering your phone."
"And?"
She tightens her jaw, her fingernails pressing lightly into her palms. "You are incredibly irritating."
"That's not an answer."
"You don't deserve one."
Ren's intense gaze softens faintly, a quiet look of acceptance passing over his features. "I probably don't."
Her breath catches sharply behind her ribs. The statement wasn't defensive, and it wasn't laced with his usual dry teasing. It was completely, unvarnishedly honest.
He shifts his weight slightly under the heavy blanket, only to wince faintly as a sudden dull ache ripples through his frame. She reacts on pure instinct, stepping closer to the frame.
"Don't move."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He exhales a long, slow breath, resting his head back against the headboard. "I'm not going anywhere."
The words hang heavily in the quiet air between them, feeling entirely too loaded, entirely too layered. She looks at him sharply, her eyes narrowing as she searches his expression. He notices the sudden intensity of her gaze, but he doesn't attempt to clarify a single thing. He doesn't need to.
Suddenly, her phone buzzes softly in her uniform pocket. The vibration startles her, breaking the spell, and she quickly pulls it out to check the screen. It is a fresh message from her mother: Be gentle.
Her pulse spikes all over again at the words. She slowly looks up from the glowing screen to find him watching her carefully, tracking every microscopic shift in her demeanor. She looks away immediately, tucking the phone back out of sight.
"Tu es vraiment stupide," [You're really stupid,] she murmurs faintly into the corner of the room.
He tilts his head to the side slightly. "What was that?"
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
"Consistent, at least."
He lets out a sound that is almost a laugh, but the sudden movement turns into a dry cough. Emilia steps forward instinctively, her hand hovering near his slouched shoulder. She doesn't actually touch him, but her fingers remain close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.
He notices the protective gesture. He always notices.
The space between them feels incredibly thin now—fragile, as if one single wrong word could shatter it completely or change it forever. He looks up at her, and this time, there is absolutely no teasing left in his eyes. There is no clever deflection. There is only a quiet, unwavering intensity.
"...You stayed," he says again.
And something fundamental in his voice changes—just slightly, but it is more than enough to completely shift the air in the bedroom. It is enough to make her heart slam violently against her ribs. It is enough to make whatever words come next incredibly dangerous.
And that is exactly where the world stops.
Stay
The room feels significantly smaller now—not in a physical sense, but emotionally. Ren is sitting upright against his wooden headboard, his skin still noticeably pale and his forehead still warm, but he is fully awake and entirely aware. Emilia stands near the edge of the mattress like someone who doesn't completely trust her own legs to hold her up.
"...You stayed," he repeats, his voice rough.
The words are simple, but they carry a completely different weight than they had the previous night. It isn't a casual observation anymore; it is a quiet demand for clarity.
She quickly crosses her arms over her blazer, squaring her shoulders. "I explicitly said I would."
"You didn't have to."
"That truly seems to be your favorite sentence."
"It's just accurate."
She exhales a sharp, annoyed breath. "Tu es fatigant." [You're exhausting.]
He watches her closely, his eyes tracking the way she shifts her weight. "You're actively avoiding something."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
She glares at him, but he refuses to look away. It is entirely unfair because when he is quiet like this, it becomes infinitely harder for her to find a clever way to deflect his questions.
"You look angry," he says softly.
"I am absolutely not angry."
"You're flushed."
"It's warm in this room."
"That's my fault."
A heavy silence stretches between them. He doesn't sound smug or prideful about it; he just sounds completely aware. Her pulse stutters in her chest, and she takes a small step back, needing to create a safe boundary of space between them.
He notices the retreat instantly. "Did I—" He pauses, choosing his words with precise care. "—did I make you uncomfortable last night?"
The question lands gently—far too gently against her defenses. Her chest tightens painfully. If he had joked about the situation, she easily could have teased him back. If he had deflected, she could have hidden behind her own pride. But this raw honesty leaves her entirely exposed. It makes the moment incredibly dangerous.
"You were completely unconscious," she replies, keeping her voice perfectly even.
"That wasn't my question, Emilia."
She exhales a long, slow breath, realizing she has no shield left to use, no clever deflection available to save her pride. "You held me."
"Yes."
"You explicitly said stay."
Ren's breath falters slightly at the admission, his eyes widening just a fraction. "...I actually remember that part."
Her heart slams violently against her ribs. Of course he does. Of course he remembers the one part she was desperately hoping he had forgotten.
The silence stretches out long, thin, and entirely fragile between their positions.
"Why?" he asks quietly.
Her brain completely short-circuits. "Why what?"
"Why did you stay?"
The air in the bedroom changes instantly. He isn't asking out of casual curiosity, and he isn't asking because he doesn't know the answer. He is asking because he wants to hear her say the words out loud. And to her, that realization feels deeply, entirely unfair.
She finally looks at him fully, abandoning her defenses. There is no teasing left between them, and no sense of academic competition—there is only absolute honesty staring back at her. Her heart is racing far too fast.
"You weren't answering your messages," she says, her voice dropping.
"That's not enough."
"Mina was terrified."
"That's still not enough."
Her jaw tightens, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. "You are incredibly persistent."
"Yes."
Silence returns. She knows she could easily walk away right now. She could leave the situation completely unresolved, slip out the front door, and protect her guarded pride. But the image flashes vividly in her mind—the raw way he had reached out for her in the dark, the way he had murmured that it was better, and the peaceful way his breathing had steadied the exact moment she stopped fighting him.
Her chest tightens with a sudden, painful wave of vulnerability, and her pride finally cracks just a tiny fraction. She looks down at the floor, then forces herself to look back up into his eyes. And before her logical restraints can step in to stop the impulse, the words slip out—soft, completely unplanned, and wrapped in her native tongue.
"Parce que je t'aime bien plus que je ne devrais." [Because I like you more than I should.]
The entire bedroom goes completely, utterly still. Even the heavy air feels as if it has stopped moving entirely.
Emilia freezes the exact millisecond the admission leaves her mouth, her eyes widening in sudden horror. Her heart explodes violently against her ribs. She wasn't supposed to say that. Not now, not in this room, and certainly not like this.
A sharp spike of pure panic flares up in her chest. She looks away from him immediately, her face burning crimson. "It was a fever reaction," she mutters quickly, her words running together as she tries to tear down the truth. "Just ignore it."
The silence that follows is heavy, thick, and suffocating. She cannot force herself to look at him; she absolutely refuses to meet his eyes.
If he laughs, if he chooses to deflect the weight of her words, or if he simply pretends not to understand—she knows with absolute certainty that she might not recover from the humiliation.
Suddenly, there is a distinct shift in the room. The mattress dips slightly beneath his weight. He moves toward her. It isn't a massive distance, just enough to close the physical gap separating them. Her breath stops completely in her throat.
"...Emilia."
Her name sounds completely different coming from his lips this time. It is lower, clearer, and stripped of the heavy haze of his fever. He isn't joking.
She swallows hard, desperately trying to pull her defenses back together. "You don't understand," she says quickly, keeping her face turned away.
"I do."
Her heart slams so violently against her ribs that it almost physically hurts. She turns around slowly, her eyes wide. "...You do not."
Ren holds her gaze steadily. And for the very first time since she had known him, there is absolutely no trace of hesitation in his eyes. "I've understood for a while now."
Her brain empties completely. Every logical thought, every calculated shield evaporates into nothingness. "What."
"I don't answer you," he continues quietly, his voice level, "because you think I don't understand."
An absolute silence detonates in the small bedroom. Her pulse roars so loudly in her ears that it drowns out the quiet hum of the house. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Tu mens." [You're lying.]
"Non." [No.]
The word is perfectly steady, entirely clear, and flawlessly pronounced. Her breath leaves her chest in a stunned, ragged rush. He did not mispronounce the syllable. He did not hesitate, and he didn't guess the meaning. He answered her fluidly, in her own native tongue. Her entire world tilts violently on its axis.
"You—"
Ren shifts slightly closer to the edge of the mattress. His movements are still careful and visibly weak from the illness, but they are entirely intentional. "You think I stopped learning the language."
Her voice is barely a faint whisper now, her throat incredibly tight. "...You didn't?"
"No."
Silence blankets the space between them. Her heart is pounding so frantically she is utterly certain he can hear the erratic rhythm.
"I just chose not to answer you," he added softly.
"Why?"
His unwavering gaze softens faintly. "Because you're entirely different when you think I don't understand."
Her breath catches painfully. Different how? More honest. More vulnerable. Infinitely less guarded. He doesn't say the words out loud; he doesn't need to. She knows exactly what he means. Her entire body feels as though it is burning up from the inside out.
"You're cruel," she whispers faintly.
"Probably."
The silence stretches out thin and incredibly fragile between their positions. And then, he lets out a slow, quiet exhale. When he speaks, the words are delivered very quietly, in flawless French.
"Moi aussi." [Me too.]
Her brain completely stops functioning. "...What."
He holds her gaze, his eyes still steady and entirely certain. "Je t'aime bien plus que je ne devrais." [I like you more than I should.]
Her pulse explodes behind her ribs. Her face burns violently with a crimson flush, and she finds herself completely unable to breathe. He just—he just said it. It was clear, perfect, without a single hint of feverish slurring or hesitation.
She takes a step back instinctively, her uniform skirt rustling. Her legs feel so weak they nearly give out beneath her weight. "You're delirious," she whispers, trying to find any logical excuse. "You're completely delirious."
He shakes his head slowly against the pillow. "I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not, Emilia."
"You—" Her voice fails her entirely. She can't finish the thought because he looks incredibly calm. He is physically weak, yes, but he is completely calm and utterly certain of his words.
The thick silence between them transforms into something else entirely. It isn't their usual academic tension, it isn't a playful game of bickering, and it isn't a form of rivalry. It is something profoundly fragile—something entirely new.
Suddenly, the faint sound of footsteps echoes in the hallway, accompanied by Mina softly humming a tune to herself. Reality crashes back into the bedroom like a physical wave, and Emilia's brain immediately reboots into pure survival mode.
"You only said that because you're sick," she mutters quickly, smoothing down her blazer. "Ignore it."
"I'm really not that sick."
"You are."
"Emilia."
Hearing her name again—too steady, too clear—makes her shake her head defensively. "This is completely not how this works, Ren."
"Then how exactly does it work?"
"You are supposed to tease me in French."
"You tease me back."
"You pretend not to understand a single word."
"You get completely flustered."
"You win."
Ren watches her frantic deflection carefully, his expression unreadable. "That's not what I want."
Her heart stumbles violently. Before her logical restraints can step in to stop her, she takes a small step forward, returning to his space. Her voice is barely audible in the quiet room. "...Alors qu'est-ce que tu veux ?" [Then what do you want?]
Silence falls. Ren's gaze drops briefly to her lips, then moves slowly back up to lock onto her eyes. "I want you to stay."
The words land softly in the air, but they shake her entire foundation. Her chest tightens painfully. Her mind is screaming at her to retreat, but her heart is infinitely louder. Stay. He isn't asking because he is cold, and he isn't asking because he is sick. He is asking simply because he wants her there.
She opens her mouth to offer a sharp retort, but absolutely no words come out. Her pride is entirely gone, her protective shield is shattered into pieces, and her heartbeat is completely overwhelming.
Mina's footsteps grow louder in the hallway, the fleeting moment rapidly collapsing around them. Moving on pure impulse, Emilia leans in slightly, dropping her voice to a fierce whisper close enough that the words are meant only for his ears. "Tu me rends folle." [You drive me crazy.]
Ren lets out a soft, breathy exhale. "...I know."
The wooden door swings open, and Mina peeks her head into the room once more. "You're both very red."
Emilia jumps back instantly, creating a wide, polite distance between them. Ren lets out a faint cough to cover the sudden, awkward silence.
Mina tilts her head to the side, looking between their flushed faces. "...Are you fighting again?"
"No," they answer at the exact same time, their voices perfectly synchronized.
Mina nods slowly, accepting the answer. "Okay." She turns and disappears back down the corridor.
The silence lingers in the bedroom, thicker now, more charged, but different. They look at each other across the space. There is no teasing left between them, no hollow victory to achieve, and no neat resolution. There is only a profound, quiet understanding, and something beautifully fragile hanging unspoken and unfinished in the air.
Ren leans his head back slightly against the headboard, his deep exhaustion finally catching up to him again as the adrenaline fades. But even as his eyelids grow heavy, his eyes never leave hers.
"...You stayed," he murmurs.
Her heart stumbles all over again at the familiar weight of the words. She doesn't offer a verbal answer this time; she simply gives him a single, very slight nod of agreement. And for now, in the quiet depth of the room, that is more than enough.
End of Volume 1