The following week, the "fluff" became a shield.
Shiori brought him a limited-edition melon soda every morning, the condensation on the bottle chilling her hands until they felt numb. She laughed louder at his dry, one-word jokes. She volunteered to carry his gym bag, claiming she needed the "strength training," even as her own heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Ren accepted it all with a lazy, comfortable grace. He was like a cat—content to be petted, but never once reaching out to pull the hand closer.
One afternoon, they stayed late in the library. The sun was dipping low, casting long, orange bars across the wooden tables. Ren was slumped over his desk, fast asleep with his head resting on his arms. Shiori sat beside him, ostensibly doing her math homework, but her pen hadn't moved in twenty minutes.
She watched the way his hair fell over his eyes. She watched the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders. In this light, in this silence, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. It felt like a romance. It felt like the kind of moment that deserved a soundtrack.
Slowly, tentatively, she reached out. Her fingertips hovered just millimeters above his hair.
If I touched him now, she thought, would he wake up and finally see me? Or would he just move away in his sleep?
She pulled her hand back, curling her fingers into a tight fist. The metallic taste was back, stronger now. She felt a cough building in the back of her throat, a violent, jagged thing that threatened to shatter the quiet.
She stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. Ren stirred, blinking his eyes open, looking dazed and beautiful.
"Shiori?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "Going already?"
"I... I forgot I have an errand," she choked out, her hand clamped over her mouth. "See you tomorrow, Ren. Don't... don't wait for me."
She ran. She didn't stop until she reached the gender-neutral restroom in the far wing of the building. She locked the door and collapsed against the sink, the cough finally tearing its way out of her.
When she finally pulled her hand away, the porcelain was splattered with small, dark rubies.
She stared at the blood, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. She wasn't scared; she was mostly just tired. She washed the sink clean, scrubbed her hands until they were raw, and looked at herself in the mirror.
She looked the same, but her eyes were glassy, like a reflection in a window that was about to break.
"Just a little longer," she whispered to the empty room. "Just until he notices."
But as she walked out of the school, she saw Ren through the gate. He was already walking home, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted back to look at the first few stars. He hadn't waited. He hadn't even looked back at the library window to see if she was coming.
He was fine without her. That was the most painful part of the fluff—knowing that while she was dying to be near him, he was perfectly content just being.