The weekend brought a heavy, gray rain that blurred the edges of the city. For Shiori, the rain was a relief; it gave her an excuse to be pale, an excuse to move slowly.
She spent Saturday morning texting Ren.
"Found a cafe that sells that weird blue matcha you liked. Want to go? My treat for helping with the bio project (even though you mostly just held the glue bottle)."
She waited. One hour. Two. The "Read" receipt mocked her from the corner of the screen. When the reply finally came, it was four words:
"Maybe later. Playing Rank."
Shiori stared at the screen until the light dimmed and her own reflection stared back. She didn't get angry. She didn't have the energy for anger anymore. Instead, she tucked the phone under her pillow and closed her eyes, listening to the wet hum of the world outside.
Monday morning, she was back at her post by the school lockers. She had used a bit of tinted lip balm to hide the ghostliness of her mouth. When Ren walked in, shaking droplets from his umbrella, she held out a warm canned coffee.
"You look like you stayed up late again," she said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her lungs.
Ren took the can, the warmth of her fingers briefly transferring to his. "Level 50. Had to hit it."
"Was it worth it?"
"Yeah," he said, popping the tab. "Feels good to win something."
They walked to class, the "fluff" of their routine resuming. She told him about a stray cat she saw; he hummed in response. She mentioned a movie coming out; he said it looked "alright." It was a comfort to him—a background noise he had grown fond of, like a lo-fi playlist he never turned off.
During the afternoon break, the sky cleared, leaving the rooftop damp and smelling of ozone. Shiori found him leaning against the chain-link fence, staring out at the horizon.
"Ren," she said softly, stepping up beside him.
"Hmm?"
"If I... if I wasn't here one day. Like, if I just didn't show up. Would you look for me?"
It was the most direct she had ever been. She felt her pulse thrumming in her throat, a frantic, rhythmic warning.
Ren didn't turn around. He just tilted his head back, watching a distant plane cut through the clouds. "Why wouldn't you be here? You're always here, Shiori. You're the most 'here' person I know."
He said it like it was a fact of nature. Like gravity. Like the sun rising in the east. He didn't say he would look for her; he said it was impossible for her to be gone.
"But what if?" she pressed, her voice trembling just a fraction.
Ren finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. He reached out and lightly flicked her forehead—a casual, brotherly gesture that felt like a needle to her heart.
"Stop being weird. You're overthinking again. Come on, let's go. I'm hungry."
He walked past her, his shoulder brushing hers for a brief, electric second.
Shiori stayed by the fence. She watched his back as he headed for the stairs. She wanted to scream, to tell him that her "here" was a finite resource, that she was spending her very life force just to stand in his shadow.
But instead, she just coughed into her sleeve, a wet, muffled sound. She looked at the white fabric, now stained with a deep, ink-like red that refused to be ignored.
"I'm here," she whispered to the empty roof. "For now."
She followed him down the stairs, a half-step behind, just like always. The chaser, running on a track that was rapidly running out of ground.