The walk home with Ren was exactly how Shiori expected it to be: a series of conversational threads she threw out like lifeline ropes, only for Ren to let them slip through his fingers.
He walked with his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. To anyone else, he looked like a cool, aloof protagonist. To Shiori, he looked like a puzzle she had been trying to solve for three years—one where the pieces changed shape every time she got close.
"So, the biology project," Shiori said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk with a practiced skip. "I was thinking we could do the ecosystem display together. I already bought the moss and the miniature trees."
Ren didn't look up. "Moss? Sounds like a lot of work, Shiori."
"It's not work if it looks cool, right? Plus, I know you hate the write-ups. I'll handle the essay part. You just have to help me glue the terrain."
She was doing it again—offering a deal that was 90% her labor and 10% his presence. It was the currency of their relationship. She bought his time with her effort.
Ren finally turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers for a fraction of a second.
"You're too hardworking. It makes me look bad."
"Then work harder to keep up," she teased, though her chest felt tight.
"Nah," he exhaled, a small, lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I think I'll just let you lead the way. It's easier."
It's easier. The words echoed in her mind. For Ren, everything with Shiori was easy. He didn't have to reach out because she was always there. He didn't have to check his phone because her name was always at the top of his notifications. He was the sun, and she was a planet locked in an orbit she couldn't break—not because he was pulling her in, but because she didn't know how to stop spinning around him.
Suddenly, a sharp, cold sensation flared in Shiori's chest. It wasn't the usual ache of unrequited love; it was physical, like a needle pressing against her lungs. She faltered for a half-step, her hand instinctively flying to her sternum.
Ren stopped, noticing the sudden silence. "Something wrong?"
Shiori forced a breath, tasting a faint, metallic tang in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing the sensation down into the dark corners of her body where she kept her secrets.
"Just a cramp," she lied, brightening her expression until it hurt. "I think I ran too hard to catch you this morning."
Ren rolled his eyes, but there was no malice in it. "I told you, don't rush. I'm not going anywhere."
But you aren't staying either, she thought. You're just... present.
They reached the corner where their paths diverged. Usually, this was where Shiori would linger, dragging out the goodbye with one more question or a funny story she'd saved up. But today, the weight in her chest was turning into a dull, heavy throb.
"See you tomorrow, Ren. Don't finish that manga without me telling you the spoilers."
"No promises," he called back, already turning away. He didn't look back to see if she got home safe. He didn't need to. In his world, Shiori was a permanent fixture, as reliable as the sunrise and just as easy to ignore.
Shiori watched his retreating back until he disappeared around the bend. Only then did she let the smile drop. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and coughed—a harsh, ragged sound that seemed too loud for the quiet street.
When she pulled the tissue away, there was no blood, not yet. Just a pale, trembling hand that looked thinner than it had a month ago.
She looked up at the darkening sky, the deep ink of evening bleeding into the horizon.
She turned toward her house, her footsteps heavier than they had ever been. She was a chaser who was finally starting to lose her breath, and the boy she was following hadn't even noticed she was lagging behind.