The warm glow of the dining area in Yuragi Inn usually hummed with lively chatter and the clinking of dishes, a comforting symphony of domesticity. Tonight, however, a subtle quietness hung in the air, a hushed undertone beneath the gentle sounds of dinner. Chitose, ever the diligent innkeeper, had prepared a feast: steaming bowls of miso soup, perfectly grilled fish, and an array of colorful side dishes. Nonko, Yaya, Koyuzu, and Yuuna were gathered around the low table, their usual camaraderie evident in their shared laughter and easy banter. Yet, one seat remained conspicuously empty, a silent testament to Ren's absence.
Ren had left earlier, a casual wave and a vague mention of "running some errands" being his only explanation. The girls hadn't pressed, accustomed to his occasional, unexplained disappearances. But as the evening deepened and dinner began, his absence became a palpable void.
Nonko stirred her miso soup, her gaze drifting to the empty spot beside her. It's so quiet without him, she thought, a faint sigh escaping her lips. Her mind replayed the intoxicating memories of their night together, the raw passion, the feeling of utter surrender. She missed his touch, the warmth of his presence. She had lost herself in her manga work all day, trying to channel her restless energy, but even the thrill of creation felt a little hollow without him here to share it with. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. Is he with another girl? The thought pricked at her, but then, a strange acceptance settled. She had vowed to love him, to be by his side, even if it meant sharing. Still, a selfish part of her wished he were here, just with her, filling the empty space.
Across the table, Yaya poked at her fish, her cat ears drooping slightly. She usually loved dinner, the chaos and the food, but tonight felt… off. She didn't quite understand the feeling, this subtle ache in her chest. It wasn't sadness, not exactly, but a peculiar emptiness. Ren was always so calm, so steady, a grounding presence in their otherwise eccentric household. She missed his quiet observations, the way he sometimes just watched them with a faint, knowing smile. He's like a big, warm pillow, she mused, a strange analogy forming in her mind. The best kind of pillow. And he's not here. She glanced at Koyuzu, who was quietly eating, seemingly oblivious.
Koyuzu, indeed, was focused on her food, but even she felt a faint, unidentifiable wistfulness. Ren was like the big brother she never had, always kind, always there to gently guide her. She missed his playful teasing, his reassuring presence. Dinner was good, but it would be better if Ren-kun were here. She imagined him sitting beside her, perhaps sharing a bite of his food, and a small, happy sigh escaped her.
Chitose, observing her girls, felt a familiar maternal warmth, but also a subtle pang of something else. The inn was peaceful, yes, but Ren's absence created a quiet that was almost too profound. She had grown accustomed to his helpfulness, his quiet contributions to the inn. More than that, she found herself missing his calm demeanor, the way he always seemed to know what to do, even in the most unexpected situations. She wondered if he was eating properly, if he was safe. He's a good boy, she thought, a soft smile touching her lips. But this inn feels a little less bright without him here.
Yuuna, floating serenely beside Yaya, felt the absence most acutely. Her translucent form flickered almost imperceptibly with a deep, quiet longing. She loved Ren, a truth that resonated through her very being. Every moment he was away felt like an eternity. She wished she could leave the inn, could follow him, could be by his side. But she was bound, a ghost tied to this place. Although she can possess someone, does she know where Ren is now? She watched the other girls, their subtle shifts in mood, and understood. They felt it too, this quiet incompleteness. Ren had woven himself into the fabric of their lives, into the very soul of Yuragi Inn. And without him, even a delicious dinner felt like something was missing, a piece of their newfound family temporarily adrift.
The conversation eventually resumed, a little softer, a little less boisterous than usual. They talked about their day, about upcoming plans, about anything and everything. But every now and then, a gaze would drift to the empty seat, a silent acknowledgement that, despite their closeness, their dinner, and indeed their little world, felt undeniably incomplete without Ren.