Chapter 8
Emilia wakes up already annoyed.
Her throat is worse, her head feels heavier, her body is warm in that unpleasant, restless way that makes sleep useless.
She stares at the ceiling it is not serious, it is not dramatic, it is inconvenient.
She sits up slowly.
The room tilts slightly.
She steadies herself with a breath.
Fine.
Temporary.
Manageable.
She checks her phone.
Three messages from Yui.
Two from Hana.
One from Kaito.
None from Ren.
Her chest tightens in an irrational way.
He doesn't need to text.
He was already there yesterday.
That's sufficient.
That's practical.
That's—
She sets the phone down sharply.
She does not require validation.
She stands.
Her legs feel heavier than usual again.
Her mother is already in the kitchen.
She looks up immediately.
Emilias's Mother: "No."
Emilia stops.
"What."
Mother: "You are not going to school." her mother says firmly
Emilia: "I am." she says
Mother: "You are not." mother says
Emilia: "I am fine." emilia says
Her mother raises an eyebrow.
"Say something else."
Emilia hesitates.
"...I am prepared."
Mother: "You are sick." her mother observes
Emilia: "I am recovering."
Mother: "You are pale."
Emilia: "It is winter."
Her mother steps closer.
Presses a hand to her forehead.
Warm.
Too warm.
Mother: "You are not going."
Emilia: "I have to review sessions."
Mother: "You have a fever."
Emilia: "It is mild."
Mother: "It is not."
Emilia stiffens.
"You cannot keep me home."
Her mother smiles gently.
"Watch me."
Silence.
Emilia crosses her arms.
This is humiliating.
She is not a child.
She is top of her class.
She does not miss school for "mild fevers."
Her mother's phone buzzes.
She glances at it.
Smiles slightly.
Emilia narrows her eyes.
"What."
Her mother turns the screen slightly.
A message.
Ren Takahashi.
How is she this morning?
Emilia's heart stops.
"What is that."
Her mother smiles innocently.
"He asked."
Emilia: "You gave him your number."
Mother: "He was polite."
Emilia: "That is not consent."
Her mother's smile widens.
"He was concerned."
Emilia's face heats.
"He is overreacting."
Her mother types calmly.
She's worse.
Emilia lunges slightly.
"Do not."
Her mother presses send.
Done.
Emilia stares in horror.
"You cannot involve him."
Mother: "He involved himself."
Emilia: "That is different."
Mother: "How."
She has no answer.
Her mother gestures toward the couch.
"Sit."
Emilia does not sit.
"I can study."
Mother: "You can rest."
Emilia: "I do not need—"
Her cough interrupts her.
Stronger this time.
Deeper.
She hates that it sounds fragile.
Her mother watches quietly.
"Sit."
This time, Emilia does.
Reluctantly.
An hour later, Emilia is on the couch with a blanket laptop open, notes spread she is studying... proving a point.
Her head throbs with every paragraph.
Her eyes blur slightly over the text.
She refuses to slow down.
She refuses to let Ren be right.
Her phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
She answers without thinking.
"...Hello?"
"Why are you studying."
Her entire body freezes.
Ren.
His voice is calm.
Even through the phone.
Emilia: "How do you have my number."
Ren: "Your mom."
Her stomach drops.
"That is a violation."
Ren: "You're studying."
It's not a question.
She glares at the ceiling.
"I am resting."
Ren: "You're typing."
She looks down.
Her fingers are indeed on the keyboard.
She slams the laptop shut.
"I am not."
Ren: "You are."
She exhales sharply.
"You are not my supervisor."
Ren: "I'm not."
Emilia: "Then stop acting like it."
Ren: "I'm not acting."
The repetition feels familiar now.
Comfortable in a frustrating way.
Silence.
Then—
Ren: "Did you take medicine."
Emilia: "Yes."
Ren: "Drink water."
Emilia: "Yes."
Ren: "Stop studying."
Emilia: "No."
Ren: "Yes."
Emilia: "No."
Ren: "You'll fall asleep in five minutes."
Emilia: "I will not."
Her eyelids droop slightly.
Traitor.
Ren exhales quietly.
"You don't have to win everything."
Her chest tightens.
"It is not about winning."
Ren: "It is."
Emilia: "It is about discipline."
Ren: "It's about control."
Silence.
That hits closer than she likes.
She shifts on the couch.
"You think you understand everything."
Ren: "No."
Emilia: "You do."
Ren: "I understand enough."
Her pulse spikes.
Enough.
That word again.
Emilia: "What is that supposed to mean."
Ren: "It means you don't have to prove anything to me."
Her throat tightens unexpectedly.
That was not teasing.
That was not competitive.
That was—
Dangerous.
Emilia: "I am not proving anything."
Ren: "You are."
Emilia: "I am not."
Ren: "You are."
She presses her fingers to her temple.
The headache pulses again.
"Stop."
Ren: "Then rest."
She closes her eyes.
Just for a second.
The couch feels warmer.
Softer.
Her body sinks slightly.
Her breathing slows.
She jerks herself upright.
"I am not sleeping."
Ren: "You are."
Emilia: "I am not."
Ren: "You are."
Her voice weakens slightly.
"...I am not."
Ren's tone softens.
"Emilia."
Her name lands differently when he says it like that.
Not teasing.
Not competitive.
Just steady.
"Rest."
Her chest tightens.
She hates that he sounds like he cares.
She hates that she wants him to.
"...Fine."
The word is barely audible.
She lies back slowly.
Phone still at her ear.
"You'll call later," she says weakly.
Ren: "Yes."
Emilia: "You will not forget."
Ren: "I won't."
Silence.
Then—
"...Tu es... stupide."
(You're... stupid.)
Her voice is softer now.
Sleepy.
Ren pauses.
Then answers in English.
"I know."
Her lips twitch faintly.
That answer feels different today.
She doesn't analyze it.
She can't.
Because sleep pulls her under.
Mid-call.
Her breathing evens out.
Ren listens for a moment longer.
Then quietly hangs up.
Evening.
Emilia wakes to darkness.
Her head is clearer.
Her body still warm.
But less restless.
Her mother sits nearby reading.
"You fell asleep mid-sentence."
Emilia: "I did not."
Mother: "You did."
She sighs.
"...Did he call back."
Her mother smiles faintly.
"Yes."
Her heart stutters.
"What did he say."
Mother: "He said he'll bring your notes tomorrow."
Emilia freezes.
"What."
Mother: "He insisted."
Her stomach flips.
"You told him not to."
Mother: "I didn't."
Emilia: "You should have."
Mother: "Why."
She has no answer.
Her mother closes her book.
"He's a good boy."
Emilia glares weakly.
"He is insufferable."
Her mother smiles knowingly.
"Mm."
Emilia turns toward the wall.
Pulls the blanket up slightly.
Her chest feels warm again.
Not from fever.
From something quieter.
More dangerous.
Ren is coming tomorrow.
Into her house.
Again.
And she does not know whether she is more afraid of being sick—
Or being seen.
Present
The doorbell rings at exactly four in the afternoon.
Emilia hears it from upstairs.
Her heart reacts before her brain does.
It is ridiculous.
She is on medication.
She is wearing a hoodie that is too large.
Her hair is half-tied because she gave up midway.
She is not prepared for visitors.
Especially not him.
Her mother's voice floats up the stairs.
"He's here."
Emilia squeezes her eyes shut.
Of course he is.
Of course he arrives precisely when he said he would.
He is infuriatingly reliable.
She sits up slowly.
The room spins slightly, but less than this morning.
Fine.
Manageable.
She adjusts her hair quickly.
Too quickly.
It tangles.
She gives up.
She walks downstairs.
Each step feels like a countdown.
When she reaches the living room—
Ren is standing near the entrance.
Shoes neatly placed aside.
Notes in hand.
Calm.
As if this is normal.
As if he hasn't been in her bedroom twice in one week.
He looks up when she enters.
His eyes soften immediately.
"You look better."
Emilia: "I was always fine."
He blinks once.
"Sure."
Her jaw tightens.
"You're repetitive."
"You are."
Her mother laughs lightly from the kitchen.
"I like him."
Emilia feels heat rise in her face.
"Mother."
Ren bows slightly again.
"Good afternoon."
Her mother smiles warmly.
"Thank you for coming."
Ren: "It's no trouble."
Emilia folds her arms.
"It is unnecessary."
Ren steps forward slightly and holds out the folder.
"It's done."
She takes it.
Their fingers brush again.
Not electric this time.
Warm.
Steady.
Grounded.
She hates that it feels... safe.
They sit at the dining table.
Again.
It is becoming routine.
That thought unsettles her.
Ren opens the folder.
"I rewrote your third section."
Her eyebrows rise slightly.
"You rewrote it."
Ren: "You'd hate the first draft."
She narrows her eyes.
"Show me."
He slides the paper toward her.
Leans slightly closer so they can both see.
Shoulders nearly touching.
Not quite.
She reads.
It is structured perfectly.
Organized the way she would have done it.
Precise.
Emilia: "You copied my formatting."
Ren: "Yes."
Emilia: "You're predictable."
Ren: "You are."
She almost smiles.
Almost.
He notices.
Of course.
"You're less pale," he says quietly.
Emilia: "Stop saying that."
Ren: "You are."
She exhales.
She feels steadier today.
Not strong.
But not spinning either.
Her cough has softened.
She doesn't feel like collapsing.
Just tired.
Ren studies her again.
Not critically.
Carefully.
"You shouldn't come tomorrow."
She looks up sharply.
"I will."
Ren: "You won't."
Emilia: "I will."
Ren: "You're not ready."
Her pride flares immediately.
"I am."
Ren: "You fell asleep on the phone."
Emilia: "That was... strategic."
He raises an eyebrow.
"You were mid-insult."
She freezes.
"...You noticed."
Ren: "Yes."
Her throat tightens slightly.
He remembers everything.
Every small moment.
Every soft word.
She looks down at the paper again.
"You didn't have to call."
Ren: "I know."
Emilia: "Then why did you."
He pauses slightly.
"Because you wouldn't have."
That answer lands gently.
But firmly.
She has no argument.
Because he's right.
She wouldn't have.
Her mother enters with tea again.
This is becoming a pattern.
"You two are quiet today."
"We're studying," Emilia replies immediately.
Ren nods.
"We are."
Her mother smiles knowingly.
"You look comfortable."
Emilia stiffens.
"We are not."
Ren blinks.
"We're not uncomfortable."
Silence.
Her mother laughs softly.
"Good."
She leaves again.
Emilia stares at the tea like it betrayed her.
"You're too comfortable here," she mutters.
Ren glances around.
"It's a house."
Emilia: "It is my house."
Ren: "Yes."
Emilia: "You fit too easily."
He pauses.
That comment lands differently.
Not teasing.
Not competitive.
Something vulnerable slipped out of her.
She regrets it instantly.
"That was poorly phrased."
He watches her.
Carefully.
"I don't want to be uncomfortable," he says simply.
Her pulse stutters.
She doesn't know what to do with that.
So she attacks the paper instead.
"You misaligned this margin."
He looks down.
He didn't.
She knows he didn't.
He knows she knows.
He lets her adjust it anyway.
Silently.
An hour passes.
They revise small details.
Occasional quiet comments.
Small corrections.
Domestic.
Easy.
Too easy.
At one point she coughs again.
Softer now.
He automatically slides the water glass closer.
No words.
Just action.
She notices.
"...Merci."
(Thank you.)
The word slips out before she can stop it.
He looks at her.
For a second longer than necessary.
Then answers—
In English.
"You're welcome."
Her chest tightens slightly.
He could have answered in French.
He didn't.
He never does.
Not yet.
The pattern holds.
She hates that she is waiting for it.
Later, as the light outside fades, he begins packing his notes.
Ren: "I'll come by tomorrow."
Emilia: "You will not."
Ren: "I will."
Emilia: "You don't need to."
Ren: "You'll say you're fine."
Emilia: "I will be."
Ren: "You won't."
She exhales slowly.
The repetition is almost comforting now.
She stands slowly.
Walks him to the door.
Her body feels steadier than yesterday.
But still softer.
He notices.
Of course.
Ren: "You're leaning slightly."
Emilia: "I am not."
Ren: "You are."
She glares.
"You're insufferable."
Ren: "You're improving."
That catches her off guard.
"...What."
Ren: "You're less stubborn when you're tired."
She stiffens.
"That is not true."
Ren: "It is."
She steps closer unintentionally.
"Tu exagères."
(You exaggerate.)
He watches her.
Quiet.
Then answers in English.
"You trust me more when you're tired."
Her breath catches.
She hadn't thought about it that way.
But he's right.
When she's exhausted—
She stops fighting.
Stops hiding.
Stops pretending she doesn't need help.
That realization feels exposed.
She steps back immediately.
Emilia:"I do not."
Ren: "You do."
Emilia: "I do not."
Ren: "You do."
The rhythm again.
But softer now.
Less sharp.
More... familiar.
Her mother appears again.
Like she sensed the emotional temperature rising.
Mother: "Going already?"
"Yes," Ren replies politely.
She smiles warmly.
"Come anytime."
Emilia nearly chokes.
"That is not an open invitation."
Her mother pats her shoulder.
"It is."
Ren bows slightly.
"Thank you."
He steps outside.
Pauses.
Looks back at Emilia.
Just once.
"Rest," he says quietly.
She lifts her chin slightly.
"Win finals."
His lips twitch faintly.
"Not yet."
Her heart skips.
That phrase again.
She narrows her eyes.
"Coward."
He smiles slightly.
"Not yet."
Then he leaves.
The door closes softly.
Emilia stands there longer than necessary.
Her mother steps beside her.
Mother: "You like him."
Emilia: "I do not."
Mother: "You do."
Emilia: "I do not."
Her mother smiles knowingly.
"You do."
Emilia exhales.
Walks back upstairs slowly.
Her body is still warm.
Still tired.
But her chest feels different.
Lighter.
Calmer.
And for the first time in days—
She doesn't feel like she's fighting something.
She feels like she's waiting.