Chapter 16
The karaoke room smells faintly like artificial strawberry cleaner and overconfidence.
Neon lights flicker softly along the ceiling.
Kaito is already holding a microphone like he was born with it.
"This," he declares dramatically, "is culture."
"It's screaming into a box," Hana replies.
"It's art."
"It's noise."
Emilia sits on the edge of the booth, hands folded neatly in her lap.
Observing.
Not waiting.
Absolutely not waiting.
Ren hasn't arrived.
Which is fine.
He said he would "see how Mina is."
That is reasonable.
Responsible.
Expected.
Her phone rests face-down beside her.
She is not checking it.
Not every thirty seconds.
Not even slightly.
Kaito begins singing aggressively off-key.
Yui collapses into laughter.
Hana pretends to cover her ears.
The room fills with exaggerated drama.
Emilia smiles faintly.
Because that is socially appropriate.
But her gaze drifts to the door.
Just once.
Maybe twice.
"He's not coming, is he?" Yui says softly beside her.
Emilia doesn't flinch.
"I didn't ask."
"That wasn't my question."
"He has responsibilities."
"That wasn't my question either."
Emilia exhales slowly.
"It's fine."
Yui studies her profile carefully.
"You're quieter than usual."
"It's loud in here."
"That's ironic."
Emilia rolls her eyes.
"Va-t'en."
(Go away.)
Yui grins.
"Ah. French. That means emotional."
"It does not."
"It always does."
The door handle shifts slightly.
Her heart jumps before she can stop it.
Ridiculous.
It's just the waiter bringing drinks.
Of course it is.
She tells herself not to react again.
This is absurd.
He said maybe.
Maybe means maybe not.
She respects that.
She does.
Kaito shoves the microphone toward her.
"Your turn."
"I decline."
"That's illegal."
"It's necessary."
Yui leans forward conspiratorially.
"Sing something soft."
"No."
"Something dramatic."
"No."
"Something French."
Emilia freezes for half a beat.
"No."
That one is sharper.
Yui blinks.
"Okay. That hit something."
Emilia takes the microphone calmly.
"I will sing something brief."
Kaito looks terrified.
The music starts.
A quiet pop song.
Not her usual style.
She sings softly.
Not powerful.
Not dramatic.
Just steady.
Her voice is surprisingly gentle.
The room shifts slightly.
Even Kaito stops talking.
For a moment, she forgets the door.
Forgets the phone.
Forgets the waiting.
She just sings.
And when she finishes, the room erupts in applause that feels too loud.
She sets the microphone down immediately.
"That was unfair," Hana says softly.
"Why?" Emilia replies.
"You hid that."
"It wasn't hidden."
"It absolutely was."
Her phone buzzes.
Her heart betrays her again.
She flips it over casually.
Message.
From Ren.
How is it?
The question is simple.
Her chest tightens.
She types slowly.
Bruyant.
(Loud.)
Three dots appear almost instantly.
You don't like loud.
She pauses.
He knows that.
She types:
Je tolère.
(I tolerate it.)
Pause.
Then:
Are you home?
The question slips out before she can stop it.
Three dots.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Yes.
Relief floods too quickly.
She doesn't like that.
Is Mina sleeping?
Finally.
She exhales.
Good.
Long pause.
Then:
You sound tired.
She freezes.
That wasn't what she wrote.
She checks.
She did not write that.
He wrote it.
You sound tired.
Her fingers hover.
Je ne suis pas fatiguée.
(I am not tired.)
Immediate reply:
You lie when you use French.
Her breath stops.
He's teasing.
He has always teased back lightly.
But that line—
Feels pointed.
She types:
Tu es insupportable.
(You're unbearable.)
Consistent, he replies.
She almost smiles.
Kaito collapses beside her dramatically.
"You're texting him."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I'm responding."
"That's worse."
She glares faintly.
"Chante."
(Sing.)
"Don't command me in foreign languages."
She hands him the microphone anyway.
The door never opens again.
Ren does not appear.
She tells herself she expected that.
Which is true.
But expectation doesn't eliminate disappointment.
She doesn't feel rejected.
She feels...
Unbalanced.
Because the room feels fuller when he's there.
Quieter somehow.
Even when it's loud.
That realization unsettles her.
Halfway through the night, Yui nudges her again.
"You could leave early."
"I won't."
"You don't want to be here."
"That's not true."
Yui raises an eyebrow.
"You've checked your phone twelve times."
"I have not."
"You have."
Emilia exhales slowly.
"He's home."
"Good."
"He's fine."
"Good."
"Then why do I—"
She stops herself.
Why do I feel like this?
Yui waits.
Emilia doesn't finish.
She steps outside the karaoke building for air.
Cool night breeze hits her face.
The city feels calmer out here.
Quieter.
She unlocks her phone again.
No new messages.
She types:
Tu aurais aimé la chanson.
(You would have liked the song.)
She stares at it.
Sends.
Pause.
Then:
I know.
Her chest tightens.
How? she types.
Longer pause this time.
Then:
You sing softer when you mean it.
Her breath falters.
He's not there.
And yet—
He knows.
That lands heavier than expected.
She types:
Tu réfléchis trop.
(You think too much.)
Reply:
Only when it matters.
Silence.
That line stays on her screen longer than it should.
She doesn't respond.
Because if she does, she might say something irreversible.
When she returns inside, the room feels different.
Louder.
Brighter.
But slightly hollow.
She laughs when appropriate.
Claps when necessary.
Sings one more chorus because Kaito forces her.
But something small has shifted.
Not painful.
Just...
Clear.
She misses him.
Not because he didn't come.
Because she wants him there.
That distinction is important.
At the end of the night, as they leave the building, Hana stretches lightly.
"Next time he better show."
Emilia blinks.
"Who?"
Hana smiles faintly.
"You know who."
Emilia looks away.
"It wasn't important."
Hana doesn't argue.
She doesn't need to.
At home, Emilia sits on her bed again.
Phone in hand.
Message from Ren:
Did you get home?
She exhales slowly.
Oui.
(Yes.)
Pause.
Then:
Did you have fun?
She stares at the screen.
Considers lying.
Doesn't.
Pas vraiment.
(Not really.)
Long pause.
Then:
Sorry.
Her chest tightens.
Ce n'est pas ta faute.
(It's not your fault.)
Pause.
Then:
Next time.
Two words.
Simple.
But they feel like a promise.
She locks her phone.
Lies back on her pillow.
Stares at the ceiling.
And for the first time tonight—
She allows herself to admit it.
It's quieter without him.
Thin Lines
Monday feels quieter than usual.
Not because the halls are empty.
But because Emilia is listening for something.
Footsteps.
A voice.
A rhythm she's gotten used to.
When she enters the classroom, Ren is already there.
Sitting.
Shoulders slightly curved.
Tie looser than usual.
Her breath leaves her chest before she realizes she was holding it.
He came.
He looks up as she approaches.
"You're early."
"So are you."
"I always am."
"Not lately."
A faint, tired smile touches his mouth.
"That was one time."
"It was three."
"You're counting."
"Yes."
Silence.
He doesn't argue.
That worries her more than denial would.
He looks worse than Friday.
Not dramatically.
Just—
Thinner in focus.
His gaze takes a second longer to settle.
His movements slower, like everything requires more thought.
"Comment va Mina ?"
(How is Mina?)
"Better."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"You hesitated."
He exhales softly.
"She's not coughing as much."
"That wasn't what I asked."
He glances at her sideways.
"She's fine."
She studies him carefully.
"And you?"
"I'm fine."
"Tu mens encore."
(You're lying again.)
He doesn't even smile this time.
Just nods faintly.
"Probably."
The honesty hits differently now.
During first period, he loses track of the teacher's explanation once.
Just once.
But Emilia sees it.
She nudges her notebook slightly toward him.
He blinks.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not saying anything."
She studies him.
"Tu penses que je te ridiculiserais ?"
(You think I would embarrass you?)
"No."
"Then why thank me?"
He pauses.
Then quietly—
"Because you didn't look disappointed."
That stops her.
She hadn't realized that was a possibility.
Her chest tightens.
"Je ne suis pas déçue."
(I'm not disappointed.)
"I know."
"But?"
"But you expect more."
She freezes.
Because he's not wrong.
She does expect more.
Not academically.
Emotionally.
She exhales slowly.
"I expect you to take care of yourself."
He looks at her.
Longer this time.
That silence feels heavier than before.
At lunch, Kaito drops into his chair dramatically.
"You look worse."
Ren blinks slowly.
"That's encouraging."
"It's accurate."
Hana leans forward.
"You're pale."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Emilia says nothing.
She doesn't need to.
Her expression is enough.
Ren notices.
"Why is everyone staring at me?"
"Because," Yui says gently, "you look like you might evaporate."
"That's dramatic."
"Is it?"
Ren rubs his eyes briefly.
Just a small motion.
But Emilia's patience snaps.
"Rentre plus tôt aujourd'hui."
(Go home earlier today.)
He lowers his hand slowly.
"I have things to finish."
"It can wait."
"It's not urgent."
"Then go."
He exhales.
"You're not subtle."
"I'm not trying to be."
Kaito looks between them.
"Should I leave the room?"
"Yes," Emilia replies calmly.
"No," Ren says at the same time.
Kaito grins.
"Fascinating."
After lunch, Ren stands too quickly.
This time, it's not subtle.
The room tilts slightly — he steadies himself on the desk.
Emilia is already on her feet.
"Assieds-toi."
(Sit down.)
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He tries to wave it off.
She steps closer.
Too close.
Lowering her voice.
"Tu trembles."
(You're shaking.)
He blinks.
Looks at his hand.
It is.
Just slightly.
He closes it into a fist.
"It's nothing."
Her jaw tightens.
"Arrête."
(Stop.)
He looks at her.
"What?"
"Pretending."
Silence.
The word lands between them.
He doesn't respond immediately.
Because he can't argue it.
The rest of the afternoon drags.
Ren pushes through.
Answers questions.
Takes notes.
Smiles faintly when required.
But Emilia sees the thinness now.
The way he leans slightly against the wall when no one's watching.
The way his eyes close for half a second too long.
The way his breathing feels heavier.
After school, Hana suggests grabbing coffee before heading home.
Ren hesitates.
Emilia notices.
"I'm going," Hana says gently. "You don't have to."
Ren opens his mouth.
Emilia cuts in.
"He's not."
Ren looks at her.
"You're making decisions for me again."
"Yes."
"That's dangerous."
"You're exhausted."
"That's unrelated."
"It's entirely related."
Hana steps back slightly.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
The others drift off.
Leaving them alone near the gate.
He exhales slowly.
"You don't have to do that."
"What?"
"Intervene."
"Yes, I do."
"Why?"
She hesitates.
Because the honest answer is too close to the surface.
"Parce que tu ne le feras pas."
(Because you won't.)
He studies her carefully.
"That doesn't mean you have to."
"It does."
"Why?"
Silence.
Wind moves softly through the trees above them.
She looks away first.
"Parce que je te regarde."
(Because I watch you.)
He goes still.
That line again.
More exposed this time.
Less shielded.
"You don't miss much," he says quietly.
"No."
He exhales.
"You don't have to carry me."
Her breath falters slightly.
"I'm not."
"You are."
Silence.
He's right.
She is.
Not because he asked.
Because she decided to.
At the crossing, he slows.
His steps uneven.
She notices instantly.
Without thinking—
She reaches out.
Grabs his sleeve.
Not dramatic.
Just steady.
"Arrête."
(Stop.)
He stops.
Looks at her hand on his sleeve.
Then at her face.
"You're warm," she says softly.
"I told you—"
"Non."
Her voice is firmer now.
"Tu es chaud."
(You're hot.)
He almost laughs.
"That phrasing—"
"Tu sais ce que je veux dire."
(You know what I mean.)
He looks at her.
Really looks.
For a second, something almost breaks through his composure.
But he steadies it again.
"I'll go home."
"Now."
"Yes."
"Directly."
"Yes."
She doesn't release his sleeve immediately.
Just to be sure.
Then slowly lets go.
At home that night, she sits at dinner again.
Her mother notices immediately.
"You look troubled."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Her father glances over.
"Still stubborn?"
She exhales.
"Yes."
"Yours or his?" her father asks lightly.
She doesn't answer.
That's answer enough.
Her mother smiles gently.
"You can't make someone rest."
"I can try."
"Trying and forcing are different."
Emilia stares at her plate.
"I don't want him to break."
Her father softens.
"Then be patient."
"That's terrible advice."
"It's patient advice."
She rolls her eyes faintly.
But the words stay.
Later, her phone buzzes.
Message from Ren.
Home.
She exhales.
Tu as mangé ?
(Did you eat?)
Pause.
Yes.
Medicine ?
Longer pause.
Yes.
She narrows her eyes at the screen.
Tu mens.
(You're lying.)
Three dots.
Then:
Maybe.
She closes her eyes.
Half frustrated.
Half relieved he's answering at all.
Prends-le.
(Take it.)
Pause.
Then:
Okay.
That small concession feels larger than it should.
She sets her phone down.
Stares at the ceiling again.
And feels it.
The line is getting thinner.
He's still standing.
But barely.