Chapter 17
By Tuesday, the school feels like it's holding its breath.
Not because anything dramatic is happening.
But because Ren is walking around like someone who's convinced he can outrun gravity.
Emilia watches him enter the classroom.
He's on time.
Tie straight.
Bag on shoulder.
Expression neutral.
A convincing performance.
If you don't look at his eyes.
If you don't notice the way his focus lags by half a second.
If you don't notice the way his hand tightens around his strap like he's anchoring himself.
Emilia notices all of it.
Of course she does.
Yui slides into her seat with the quiet confidence of someone about to be insufferable.
"He's here."
"Yes."
"And alive."
"Yes."
"And you looked relieved."
"I did not."
Yui leans in, whispering like she's sharing state secrets.
"You exhaled."
Emilia stares at her notebook.
"I breathe sometimes."
"That's exactly what someone hiding emotions would say."
Emilia turns her head slightly.
"Tu veux mourir ?"
(Do you want to die?)
Yui beams.
"French threat. Very serious."
Emilia tries to ignore her.
She fails.
Because Ren coughs once.
Not loud.
Just restrained.
And she feels her attention lock onto him like a reflex.
Ren sits down.
Takes out his notes.
The movement is controlled.
Measured.
Normal.
Emilia waits for him to look at her.
He doesn't.
Not immediately.
Then, finally, his gaze shifts sideways.
A small nod.
I'm here.
She nods back.
Good.
Then she narrows her eyes slightly.
But you're still lying.
During first period, the teacher announces a short quiz.
Collective despair.
Kaito makes a sound like a dying animal.
Hana sighs.
Ren doesn't react.
He just flips open his notebook.
Too calm.
Too steady.
Like he's trying to prove something.
Emilia leans slightly closer.
"Tu n'as pas dormi."
(You didn't sleep.)
He doesn't look at her.
"Yes, I did."
"Combien ?"
(How much?)
He hesitates.
Emilia's gaze sharpens.
"You hesitated."
"I was thinking."
"That's not an answer."
He finally glances at her, tired amusement flickering.
"You're interrogating me again."
"Yes."
"Why?"
She answers without thinking.
"Parce que tu mens."
(Because you lie.)
His expression softens for half a second.
Then he looks away again.
Quiz begins.
Pens scratch.
Silence settles.
Ren's writing is slower today.
Not enough for others to notice.
Enough for Emilia to.
Halfway through, his pen pauses.
Just a fraction too long.
His eyes unfocus.
He blinks hard once, as if physically forcing his brain back into place.
Emilia's own pen stops.
Her stomach tightens.
He steadies himself.
Keeps going.
A performance.
Again.
When the quiz ends, Kaito collapses forward dramatically.
"I saw my life flash before my eyes."
Hana rolls her eyes.
"You saw your grades flash."
Kaito points at Ren.
"He didn't even blink. Are you human?"
Ren's mouth twitches faintly.
"I blink."
"Not emotionally."
Yui adds, "He's saving his emotions for French."
Ren freezes for half a beat.
So small no one else notices.
Emilia does.
Yui's eyes sparkle with mischief.
Emilia shoots her a look that could cut glass.
Yui mouths silently: Oops.
Ren exhales slowly.
Kaito continues, oblivious.
"Anyway, karaoke again next week—"
"No," Hana says.
"We're still recovering."
Kaito sighs.
"Life is suffering."
Emilia doesn't hear most of it.
Because Ren's knuckles are white around his pen.
By lunchtime, Emilia knows two things:
Mina is likely better.
Ren is worse.
Because there's no way he's here like this if Mina still needed him every second.
Which means he's doing what he always does.
Pushing through because he thinks he has to.
Carrying because it's his default.
In the cafeteria, Hana sits across from them, brows furrowed.
"How's Mina?"
Ren's answer is immediate.
"Better."
Emilia's eyes narrow.
That one felt real.
Hana smiles faintly.
"Good."
Kaito shovels food into his mouth.
"Then you're free!"
Ren's lips twitch.
"Apparently."
Kaito points his chopsticks like a weapon.
"Then stop looking like you're haunted."
Ren blinks.
"I don't."
Kaito gestures at his face.
"That face says you've seen things."
Yui tilts her head.
"He has. He's seen exhaustion."
Emilia kicks Yui lightly under the table.
Yui makes a wounded expression.
Ow.
Ren's mouth twitches again—almost a smile.
Humor still reaches him.
That's good.
But it's thin.
After lunch, they have a festival committee meeting to finalize booth placements.
It's supposed to be simple.
A routine wrap-up.
But Ren's still here.
Which means he insists on being responsible to the last second.
Emilia watches him write notes.
Ask questions.
Confirm details.
Steady voice.
Clear logic.
The same Ren.
Just... held together by willpower.
Halfway through the meeting, a teacher asks Ren to carry some supplies to the storage room.
A stack of boxes.
Not heavy.
But awkward.
Ren stands.
"Sure."
Emilia's head turns sharply.
"Non."
(No.)
The room pauses.
Even the teacher looks slightly surprised.
Emilia realizes what she just did.
Too direct.
Too obvious.
Ren glances at her.
It's a look that says: I'm fine.
She doesn't move.
Doesn't soften it.
Doesn't smile it away.
She repeats, calmer this time.
"Il n'est pas en forme."
(He's not well.)
The teacher hesitates.
Ren opens his mouth—
Emilia speaks again, quietly but firmly.
"Je vais le faire."
(I'll do it.)
Silence.
Kaito's eyes widen like he just witnessed a historical event.
Yui looks smug.
Hana looks relieved.
Ren looks... conflicted.
The teacher clears his throat.
"Well. If you're volunteering..."
Emilia stands, posture perfect.
"Yes."
Ren's jaw tightens slightly.
"Emilia, I can—"
She turns her head just enough.
"Tu ne peux pas."
(You can't.)
He understands the words.
And the tone.
Not teasing.
Not playful.
Final.
He goes quiet.
They carry the boxes together anyway.
Because Emilia doesn't trust him alone with them.
And because Ren is stubborn enough to follow.
The hallway is quieter back here.
The storage wing is dimmer.
The air smells like old paper and cleaning supplies.
Emilia walks ahead with two boxes.
Ren follows with one.
He shouldn't even have that.
But she knows if she takes them all, he'll argue.
So she allows him this illusion of contribution.
She hates that she understands him so well.
Halfway down the hall, Ren stops.
Not dramatically.
Just... stops.
Emilia notices immediately.
She turns.
"What?"
He blinks slowly.
His face is paler than it was fifteen minutes ago.
"I'm fine," he says automatically.
Emilia's eyes narrow.
"You didn't answer."
He shifts his weight slightly.
The box tilts.
He steadies it quickly.
But his breathing is heavier.
He swallows once.
"I stood too fast," he says again, like it's a magic spell that will fix reality.
Emilia sets her boxes down carefully.
Walks closer.
"Regarde-moi."
(Look at me.)
He hesitates.
Then looks.
His eyes are unfocused around the edges.
That scares her more than she wants to admit.
"Tu es encore chaud."
(You're hot again.)
He tries to smile.
"That phrasing again—"
"Ren."
His name leaves her mouth sharper than intended.
He stops trying to joke.
Good.
Because she can't handle jokes right now.
She reaches up.
This time she doesn't stop herself.
She presses the back of her fingers lightly to his forehead.
Warm.
Too warm.
She exhales sharply.
"Idiot."
He closes his eyes for half a second.
Not out of annoyance.
Out of relief.
Like the touch itself is permission to stop pretending.
Then he opens them again.
"I don't have time," he murmurs.
The words hit her like a slap.
"You don't have time to be sick?"
"I don't have time to—" he stops, swallowing. "—fall behind."
There it is.
The real fear.
Not illness.
Not fever.
Falling behind.
Losing control.
The same thing Emilia fears, just shaped differently.
Her chest tightens.
She steps closer, lowering her voice.
"Tu ne perds rien en te reposant."
(You lose nothing by resting.)
He looks away.
"That's not true."
She studies him.
"Because Mina?"
"Because everything."
She exhales.
"You think if you stop, everything collapses."
Silence.
He doesn't deny it.
That's enough.
From the other end of the hall, Kaito's voice echoes faintly.
"Did they get lost? Are they confessing? I can feel tension in the air!"
Yui shouts back.
"Shut up!"
Emilia almost laughs.
Almost.
Even now, Kaito is Kaito.
Ren's lips twitch faintly again.
Humor tries to return.
But then he sways.
This time it's not subtle.
Just a small tilt.
Emilia reacts instantly.
She drops her hand from his forehead to his sleeve, gripping firmly.
"Stop."
"I am."
"No. Stop pretending."
He exhales slowly.
He's breathing through it.
Like he does with everything.
She tightens her grip.
Not painful.
Just steady.
"Assieds-toi."
(Sit down.)
He blinks.
"There's no—"
She points at the floor near the wall.
"There."
He stares at her for half a beat.
Then—finally—he lowers himself carefully onto the floor, back against the wall.
Not defeated.
Just... yielding.
Emilia crouches in front of him.
Anger simmers in her chest.
Not at him.
At the way he carries things alone.
At the way he refuses help.
At the way he always stays upright for everyone.
Including her.
"Tu es vraiment têtu."
(You're really stubborn.)
He exhales.
"Yes."
No argument.
That scares her more than stubbornness ever has.
She swallows.
"Tu m'énerves."
(You annoy me.)
"Yes."
Still no argument.
She looks at him sharply.
"You're agreeing too much."
He closes his eyes briefly.
"I'm tired."
The words are quiet.
But they land heavy.
Because he never says that.
Not plainly.
Not without hiding it behind logic.
Emilia's throat tightens.
She tries to keep her tone firm.
"Then go home."
He opens his eyes again.
"After we finish—"
"No."
One word.
Sharp.
Final.
She leans closer, voice low enough that only he can hear.
"Tu vas rentrer."
(You are going home.)
He studies her face carefully.
Sees something there.
Something he doesn't usually see.
Not teasing.
Not pride.
Something protective.
Something almost... afraid.
He exhales slowly.
"...Okay."
The surrender is quiet.
But it changes the air.
Emilia's chest loosens by a fraction.
She stands.
Picks up the boxes again.
"All of them," she says.
He starts to protest.
She shoots him a look.
He doesn't.
He stays seated.
Obedient.
That word feels ridiculous applied to Ren.
And yet.
She carries the boxes to the storage room herself.
When she returns, he's still sitting there.
Head tilted slightly back.
Eyes half-lidded.
Breathing steady.
She crouches again.
"Can you stand?"
"Yes."
"Without lying?"
A faint, tired smile flickers.
"No."
She exhales sharply.
"Good. Honesty."
She offers him her hand.
Not dramatic.
Not romantic.
Just practical.
He stares at her hand for a second.
Then takes it.
His grip is warm.
Too warm.
She steadies him as he stands.
He doesn't lean on her fully.
But he does let her support him.
That alone is huge.
As they walk back toward the classroom wing, he speaks quietly.
"Mina's better," he says.
"I know."
"How?"
"She texted Yui's friend once. People talk."
He blinks.
That's a lie.
Emilia doesn't want to admit Mina texted her.
Not yet.
Not when it makes everything too obvious.
Ren doesn't press it.
He just nods faintly.
"Good."
Emilia glances at him.
"That's what you're worried about?"
"Yes."
She exhales slowly.
"You're a good brother."
He looks away slightly.
"You're... intense."
She scoffs softly.
"Merci."
(Thanks.)
He almost smiles.
"That was sarcasm."
"Yes."
Good.
Humor is back.
Just a little.
Enough to breathe.
When they reach the classroom corridor, Kaito appears like a summoned nuisance.
"There you are! We thought you ran away together!"
Emilia glares.
"We carried boxes."
Kaito squints.
"That sounds like a metaphor."
"It's not."
Yui appears behind him, eyes scanning Ren.
"You look worse."
Ren exhales.
"Noted."
Hana steps closer, frowning.
"Are you going home?"
Ren hesitates.
Emilia answers for him.
"Yes."
Ren looks at her.
Kaito's eyes widen again.
"Wow."
Yui mutters, "He's being managed."
Ren's mouth twitches.
Emilia crosses her arms.
"If he argues, I will throw him."
Kaito leans in.
"In French?"
Emilia doesn't blink.
"En trois langues."
(In three languages.)
Kaito visibly shivers.
"Terrifying."
Ren exhales a quiet laugh.
Real this time.
Small.
But real.
And Emilia feels relief so sharp it almost hurts.
He leaves early.
For once.
Not because he wants to.
Because she made him.
As he walks away, he glances back.
A small look.
Not dramatic.
Just acknowledgment.
Emilia stands still.
Watches until he disappears.
Then, only when he's gone—
She exhales.
Quiet Rooms
Ren does not text when he gets home.
That's the first thing Emilia notices.
Not consciously.
Not dramatically.
Just a small absence.
She told him to go home.
He left.
That should be enough.
It is enough.
And yet—
Her phone remains silent.
At dinner, her mother is describing a documentary she insists everyone should watch.
Her father makes commentary at appropriate intervals.
The house smells like miso and grilled fish.
Warm.
Familiar.
Safe.
Emilia stares at her rice.
She's eaten three bites.
No more.
"You're chewing very slowly," her mother says calmly.
"I am not."
"You are."
Her father glances over his glasses.
"Did the stubborn one surrender?"
Emilia freezes slightly.
"Maybe."
"Ah," her father nods. "Then you're not worried."
"I'm not worried."
Her mother tilts her head gently.
"Then why are you holding your phone under the table?"
Emilia blinks.
Looks down.
She is.
She hadn't realized.
She sets it on the table.
Face down.
"I was checking the time."
"It's 7:18," her father replies.
"Thank you."
Her phone buzzes.
Her heart betrays her again.
She flips it over too quickly.
Message.
From Ren.
Home.
Just one word.
Relief floods her chest so sharply it almost embarrasses her.
She types slowly.
Tu as pris des médicaments ?
(Did you take medicine?)
Pause.
Longer than usual.
Three dots.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Yes.
She narrows her eyes.
Tu mens.
(You're lying.)
Long pause.
Then—
Maybe.
Her jaw tightens.
She types:
Pourquoi ?
(Why?)
A long silence follows.
Long enough that her mother notices her staring.
"You can go to your room if you need to," her mother says softly.
"I don't."
But she stands anyway.
In her room, she sits cross-legged on her bed.
Phone in hand.
Still no reply.
She stares at the last message.
Why?
It shouldn't be complicated.
Medicine is medicine.
Rest is rest.
But with him—
Everything is wrapped in responsibility.
Her phone buzzes.
Finally.
Because Mina hates the taste. She won't take it if I don't either.
Emilia stares at the screen.
That's—
Ridiculous.
And completely in character.
She exhales slowly.
Elle va mieux.
(She's better.)
Yes.
Alors prends-le.
(Then take it.)
Long pause.
Okay.
Her shoulders relax slightly.
Then—
You don't have to manage me.
Her breath stills.
She reads it twice.
You don't have to manage me.
She types carefully.
Je ne te gère pas.
(I'm not managing you.)
Immediate reply:
You are.
She frowns.
Je te rappelle juste que tu es humain.
(I'm just reminding you that you're human.)
Longer pause.
Then—
That's worse.
Her heart tightens.
Why worse?
Because being reminded he's human means he can fall?
Because it means someone sees him when he's not steady?
She doesn't respond immediately.
She doesn't know how.
Across town, Ren sits on the edge of his bed.
Room dim.
Desk lamp on.
Mina asleep in her room.
House quiet.
The fever hasn't fully settled.
He can feel it in the heaviness behind his eyes.
In the way the ceiling seems too bright.
In the way his thoughts feel slightly delayed.
He stares at his phone.
At her last message.
Reminding you that you're human.
He exhales slowly.
That scares him more than exhaustion.
Because if she sees him like this—
Not steady.
Not reliable.
Not in control—
What does that change?
He rubs his eyes.
Closes them briefly.
The room tilts.
Just slightly.
He lies back.
Phone still in hand.
Emilia stares at the conversation.
No new messages.
She types:
Tu es couché ?
(Are you lying down?)
No response.
She waits.
Three minutes.
Five.
Ten.
Her jaw tightens.
She types again:
Ren ?
Nothing.
Her stomach tightens.
He wouldn't ignore her.
Not right now.
Not after that conversation.
Her brain starts building scenarios she doesn't want.
She exhales sharply.
Il dort.
(He's sleeping.)
That's logical.
Reasonable.
Likely.
She sets her phone down.
Picks it up again.
Her mind replays the hallway scene.
The way his eyes unfocused.
The way he sat down without arguing.
The way he said:
"I'm tired."
Not masked.
Not strategic.
Just true.
Her chest tightens.
She types:
Ne me fais pas attendre.
(Don't make me wait.)
She stares at it.
Almost deletes it.
Sends it anyway.
Immediate regret.
That was too vulnerable.
Too exposed.
Too close to meaning more.
She throws her phone onto the bed beside her and flops backward dramatically.
Ridiculous.
She is ridiculous.
Her phone buzzes.
She bolts upright.
Sorry. I fell asleep.
Relief crashes into her so suddenly she laughs under her breath.
Tu devrais.
(You should.)
I know.
Silence.
Then:
Thank you.
Her fingers pause.
Pour quoi ?
(For what?)
For not letting me drift.
That line again.
It feels heavier tonight.
More fragile.
She swallows.
Je ne te laisserai pas.
(I won't let you.)
Long pause.
Then—
Don't promise things like that.
Her breath catches.
Why?
Pourquoi ?
The typing indicator flickers.
Stops.
Starts again.
Then—
Because you don't know how long I'll need it.
The message feels different.
Not dramatic.
Not tragic.
Just honest.
He doesn't know when he'll feel steady again.
Emilia stares at the screen.
Her pride wants to deflect.
Her teasing wants to respond lightly.
But something deeper answers instead.
Alors je resterai.
(Then I'll stay.)
The moment she sends it, her heart pounds.
Too real.
Too clear.
Three dots appear.
Stay.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Then—
You don't have to.
She exhales sharply.
Je sais.
(I know.)
Long pause.
Then—
Okay.
Two letters.
Simple.
But final.
She sets her phone down slowly.
Her pulse still racing.
She just said she would stay.
And he didn't push her away.
Across town, Ren reads the message twice.
Then a third time.
Then locks his phone.
He stares at the ceiling.
Fever still humming beneath his skin.
But something else is louder.
She'll stay.
He doesn't know if that comforts him.
Or terrifies him.
Because if she stays—
He can't afford to fall.
And yet—
He's already starting to.
Emilia lies back on her bed.
Staring at the dark ceiling.
The house quiet.
Her phone beside her.
She tells herself she won't check it again.
She does.
No new messages.
She exhales slowly.
"Tu es vraiment idiot..." she murmurs softly to the empty room.
(You're really an idiot...)
But her voice is gentler than the words.
Outside, the night is calm.
Too calm.
Like something is waiting.