Chapter 6
Emilia does not like being escorted. It implies weakness.
She walks slightly ahead of Ren on the way home. Her steps are steady now. Controlled. Measured. The dizziness has faded.
Mostly.
"You don't need to come," she says for the fourth time.
"I know."
"Then why are you."
"You almost fell."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I shifted."
"You shifted into my arm."
She stiffens.
"That was incidental."
"It wasn't."
Silence stretches between them. The late afternoon air is cool. Her house is only three streets away. She could have walked it alone. She would have. If he hadn't insisted.
And if she hadn't actually needed it.
She hates that part.
They reach the gate. She hesitates.
"You can leave now."
"I won't."
"You don't have to see where I live."
"I'm not scared."
"That wasn't the implication."
He tilts his head slightly.
"It sounded like one."
She exhales sharply.
"You're insufferable."
"You're pale."
She glares.
"Stop saying that."
"You are."
She unlocks the gate. Walks inside. He follows. Not hesitating. Not awkward.
That unsettles her more than anything.
The house smells faintly of jasmine and clean linen. Her mother is in the kitchen. She looks up immediately. Her gaze shifts from Emilia to Ren. Then back to Emilia.
Slowly. Carefully.
Ah. That look.
Emilia straightens.
"I am fine," she says quickly.
Her mother raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't ask."
Ren bows slightly, polite.
"Good afternoon."
Her mother smiles warmly.
"You must be Ren."
Emilia freezes.
"Mother."
"What," her mother replies mildly. "You talk about him."
"I do not."
Her mother smiles wider.
"Frequently."
Ren doesn't smirk. He doesn't tease. He just nods politely.
"I'm sorry to arrive unannounced. She felt unwell at school."
Emilia opens her mouth.
"I did not."
"You almost fell," Ren says calmly.
Her mother's expression changes instantly. Concern replacing amusement.
"Emilia."
"I am fine."
"That's the fifth time you've said that today," her mother replies softly.
Ren glances at her. He counted too. Of course he did.
Her mother steps closer. Presses a hand to Emilia's forehead.
"You're warm."
"I am not."
"You are."
Ren and her mother say it at the same time.
Emilia closes her eyes briefly.
This is humiliating.
Her mother turns to Ren.
"Thank you for bringing her."
"It wasn't a problem."
Emilia bristles.
"I was capable of walking."
Her mother ignores that.
"Would you like tea?"
"That's not necessary," Emilia interjects quickly.
"I would," Ren says calmly.
She stares at him.
"You are not staying."
"I am."
"You are not."
"I am."
Her mother smiles faintly.
"He can stay."
Emilia feels something in her chest tighten.
This is betrayal.
She's sent upstairs. Against her will.
She changes out of her uniform reluctantly. Her head throbs again when she bends down.
Fine. This is temporary.
She brushes her hair down. Lets it fall loose instead of tying it back. It's easier. Less effort.
She stares at herself in the mirror.
She looks...
Soft.
Too soft.
She straightens her posture. Restores composure.
Then walks back downstairs.
Ren is sitting at the dining table. Tea placed neatly in front of him. He looks entirely comfortable.
Her mother is speaking to him warmly.
"And she's always been like this. Stubborn. Competitive."
Emilia freezes halfway down the stairs.
"Mother."
Her mother smiles gently.
"She never rests."
Ren glances toward the stairs. His eyes catch hers.
He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tease. He just watches.
She walks down slowly. Controlled.
"You are exaggerating."
"I am not," her mother replies lightly.
Ren raises his cup.
"She's disciplined."
Her mother smiles.
"She's exhausting."
Emilia exhales sharply.
"You're both dramatic."
Ren looks at her.
"You're pale."
She sits down sharply.
"Stop."
Her mother places soup in front of her.
"Eat."
"I am not hungry."
"You are."
Ren watches quietly.
Emilia glares at the soup.
"This is unnecessary."
"It isn't," her mother says softly.
She takes one spoonful. Then another.
Her hands are steadier now. The warmth helps.
She hates that it helps.
Ren sets his cup down.
"You should rest."
"I will."
"You won't."
"I will."
"You won't."
The rhythm again.
But softer here. Less charged.
Her mother watches both of them carefully. Then stands.
"I'll leave you two."
Emilia stiffens.
"That is unnecessary."
Her mother smiles faintly.
"It's strategic."
And she leaves the room.
Silence settles. Domestic. Quiet. Too intimate.
Ren studies her. Not competitively. Not teasing. Just observing.
"You shouldn't push like that."
"I wasn't pushing."
"You were."
"I was preparing."
"You skipped steps in math."
She freezes.
"You noticed."
"Yes."
"You always notice."
"Yes."
The simplicity of it unsettles her.
She looks away.
"You're not my responsibility."
"I know."
"Then stop acting like it."
"I'm not acting."
She exhales slowly.
Her body feels heavier now. Less adrenaline. More fatigue.
He sees it immediately.
"You're tired."
"I am not."
"You are."
She almost laughs.
The repetition is ridiculous.
But comforting.
In a way.
She stands slowly.
"I will go lie down."
"I'll finish the outline."
"You will miss something."
"I won't."
"You're second."
He pauses. Then smiles faintly.
"By one question."
Her lips twitch despite herself.
She turns toward the stairs. Her legs feel slightly unstable again.
He stands instinctively. Not touching. But ready.
She notices.
"Do not hover."
"I'm not."
"You are."
She reaches the top of the stairs. Turns slightly.
"You're not allowed to win finals."
He looks up at her. Calm.
"I am."
She narrows her eyes.
"I will not let you."
"You don't have to."
Silence.
She studies him.
He's serious. But gentle. Not sharp. Not escalating.
Different.
That shift unsettles her more than the hallway confrontation ever did.
"You're different today," she says quietly.
"You are too."
She swallows.
That lands heavier than intended.
She retreats to her room. Lies down.
The ceiling feels far away.
Her body relaxes despite herself.
She hears faint conversation downstairs. Her mother's soft voice. Ren's steady tone.
Something tightens in her chest.
He's comfortable here. He fits here.
That realization is dangerous.
She closes her eyes. Just for a moment.
And sleep comes faster than she expected.
Quiet
Emilia wakes to the sound of rain. Not heavy. Not dramatic. Just a soft tapping against the window like someone politely reminding the world to slow down.
Her room is dim. Grey light filtering through curtains.
Her body feels heavier than usual. Not painful. Just drained.
She sits up slowly. The movement makes her head throb once. A dull pulse. Then settle again.
She exhales.
Fine. Temporary.
She reaches for her phone. No messages. Good. Silence is efficient.
Then she realizes something worse than the headache.
There are footsteps in her house.
Not her mother's light step. Not her father's measured pace.
A third rhythm.
Calm. Steady.
Ren.
She freezes.
He's still here.
She pulls her blanket up slightly like that will protect her dignity. It won't.
A soft knock at her door.
Her mother's voice.
"Emilia?"
"Yes."
"I'm coming in."
"I am fine."
Her mother pauses. Then opens the door anyway.
Ren is behind her. Carrying a tray.
Emilia's soul leaves her body.
"This is unnecessary," she says immediately.
Ren's expression is calm.
"You're awake."
"I was always awake."
Her mother smiles gently.
"You were asleep."
"I was resting my eyes."
"You were drooling."
Emilia sits up so fast she nearly regrets it.
"I was not."
Ren's gaze flickers to the pillow briefly. Then away.
He does not comment.
That is worse than commenting.
Her mother steps inside and sets the tray down on her desk.
"Soup. Water. Medicine."
"I do not need medicine."
"You do," her mother says calmly.
Emilia crosses her arms.
"I do not."
Ren sets a small cup of water beside the medicine.
"You do."
She narrows her eyes.
"You are not allowed to agree with her."
He blinks.
"I'm not agreeing."
"You are."
"I'm stating facts."
She glares.
Her mother hums.
"You two argue like an old married couple."
Emilia chokes on air.
"We do not."
Ren says calmly, "We're not married."
Silence.
Her mother smiles wider.
"That's a very specific denial."
Emilia's face burns.
Ren looks mildly confused. As if he genuinely doesn't understand how he just made it worse.
Emilia points a finger weakly.
"You're dangerous."
Her mother pats Ren's shoulder lightly.
"Thank you for staying."
Ren bows his head slightly.
"It wasn't a problem."
Her mother looks at Emilia.
"Eat. Then rest."
Then she leaves. Door closing softly behind her.
Leaving Emilia alone with Ren.
In her room. In her personal space.
While she is wearing an oversized hoodie and looks like a haunted librarian.
This is catastrophic.
Ren sits on her desk chair. Not too close. Not too far. He's careful with distance.
That somehow feels considerate.
And that is unacceptable.
Emilia pulls her blanket tighter around her waist like a shield.
"You didn't have to stay."
"I know."
"Then why did you."
He pauses slightly.
"The outline."
"I could have done it."
"You couldn't stand."
"I could have."
He looks at her. Long. Steady.
"You almost fell."
She exhales sharply.
"You're repeating yourself."
"Yes."
Silence settles. Soft rain against the window. The clock ticking. Her breathing uneven.
She hates being seen like this. Not polished. Not sharp. Not in control.
She reaches for the soup with forced composure. Takes a spoonful.
It's warm. Comforting.
Her stomach protests quietly like it has been ignored too long.
She takes another spoonful.
Ren watches without comment.
Then slides the medicine slightly toward her.
She freezes.
"I don't need that."
"You do."
"I am not a child."
"Then act like it," he replies, calm.
She stares at him.
That's not teasing.
That's... firm. Grounded. Annoyingly mature.
She takes the medicine. Swallows it with water. Then glares.
"There. Happy?"
"Yes."
She pauses.
Her heart does something stupid.
"Why."
He blinks.
"Why what."
"Why are you... like this."
He studies her for a second.
Then answers simply.
"Because you'd do it for me."
Her throat tightens.
She looks away.
"That's not logical."
"It is."
She exhales slowly.
She hates that it is.
Minutes pass.
She eats more of the soup.
Her body relaxes slightly. Not fully. But enough.
Ren stands.
"I'm going downstairs."
"Good."
He hesitates. Then turns back.
"I finished the outline."
He hands her a folder.
Neat.
Organized.
Structured.
Her style.
She takes it slowly. Her fingers brush his.
A small spark.
Not the charged kind from school.
Softer. Domestic. Real.
She hates that too.
"You did it correctly," she says quietly.
"Obviously."
She looks at him sharply.
He's almost smiling. Almost.
She narrows her eyes.
"Don't get smug."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He shrugs lightly.
"Maybe."
He turns to leave.
And for some reason—
Her chest tightens.
Not panic. Not jealousy.
Something quieter.
She doesn't like him leaving the room.
That's ridiculous.
He's in her house. He's literally one staircase away.
But still—
Her fingers tighten around the folder.
Before her pride can stop her—
The words slip.
Low. French.
"Ne pars pas tout de suite."
(Don't go yet.)
She freezes instantly.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Why did she—
Ren stops in the doorway. Still facing away.
He pauses.
Her heart slams.
He heard.
Of course he heard.
He turns slowly. Looks at her.
And answers—
In English.
"I'm not leaving."
Her pulse stutters violently.
He understood. Again.
But he didn't answer in French.
He never does.
Not yet.
Not until—
Stop.
Do not spiral.
Not in your bedroom.
That is too intimate.
She looks away sharply.
"Fine."
He stays near the doorway. Not approaching. Just present.
Like an anchor.
Her breathing steadies.
That's annoying.
She takes another spoonful of soup.
Silence settles again. Comfortable. Unfair.
Rain continues outside.
Her eyelids grow heavier. Medicine working. Warmth settling. Fatigue catching up.
Her body softens into the pillow.
She fights it.
Control. Always control.
But her eyes close anyway.
Just for a second.
Then again.
Longer.
Her breathing slows.
She feels herself slipping into sleep.
Ren speaks softly.
"You should sleep."
"Mmph."
Not words. Just refusal.
He doesn't push.
He just remains. Quiet. Steady.
Minutes pass.
She drifts. In and out. Half-dreaming. Half-aware.
In the haze, she feels the edge of the blanket shift. Someone tucking it up higher.
A hand brushing her shoulder lightly.
Her mind tries to register.
Ren. Of course.
She murmurs something incoherent.
And reaches—
Instinctively.
Her fingers catch fabric. His sleeve.
She grips it lightly.
Not forceful. Not dramatic.
Just... anchoring.
She doesn't even know she does it.
Her body does.
Ren freezes.
She feels the hesitation.
Then his hand settles gently over hers.
Warm. Steady.
Not prying her fingers off.
Not pulling away.
Just there.
Grounding her.
Her half-sleep voice mumbles.
"Reste..."
(Stay...)
She doesn't realize she said it.
She doesn't realize it echoes Volume 1.
Ren exhales softly.
"Okay."
English. Quiet. Certain.
His hand remains over hers.
Her grip loosens slightly but doesn't release.
As if even asleep—
She trusts he'll stay.
The door creaks. Soft.
Her mother peeks in.
She sees them.
Ren standing near the bed. Emilia asleep. Her hand gripping his sleeve. His hand resting gently over hers.
Her mother doesn't speak.
She just watches for one second.
A small smile forming.
Not smug. Not teasing. Just relieved.
She steps in quietly.
Whispers to Ren.
"Thank you."
Ren looks up. Eyes calm.
He bows his head slightly.
"I'm not doing anything."
Her mother's smile deepens.
"You are."
She gestures subtly toward Emilia's hand. Ren glances down. His expression shifts faintly. Not embarrassment. Something softer.
He doesn't move. Doesn't pull away.
He simply stays.
Her mother closes the door quietly behind her.
Leaving the room dim and warm.
Rain tapping the window.
Emilia asleep.
Holding his sleeve.
And Ren staying.