Memories of The End (Ch. 18 – 39)

Aoi finally learns about Yui, and it changes how she sees everything—especially Ren. Kana tries to stay strong, but the cracks start showing. Kaito misses too many signs until it’s almost too late. And Ren begins to unravel in ways he didn’t expect. As old pain collides with new feelings, the group finds themselves tangled in moments they don’t know how to name. It’s messy. It’s quiet. But maybe it’s what healing actually looks like.

“Disclaimer: This story’s ideas, characters, plot, sequencing, and scenes are entirely my original creations. However, ChatGPT assisted in refining the wording, paraphrasing, and generating the illustration for the featured image. This narrative draws inspiration from the song ‘Memories of The End’ by UVERworld.“

Chapter 18: The Night After

The campfire crackled softly, its embers flickering like tiny ghosts against the dark. The night stretched out too quietly, too still, as if the air itself was afraid to disturb the silence lingering inside Kana’s chest.

She sat near the edge of the firelight, knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them. The glow of the flames cast a soft, golden hue across her face, but it couldn’t chase away the shadows inside her.

She wasn’t sure what she was feeling.

Not relief. Not closure.

Just… a hollow kind of exhaustion.

Her fingers twitched slightly against her leg. She wasn’t used to breaking.

She had thought she could handle this. She had thought she was strong enough.

But today—standing on the east trail, feeling time move forward without Yui in it—

Something inside her had shattered.

A log shifted in the fire, sending a burst of sparks into the night. The faint murmurs of the other club members echoed from the other side of the campsite, but Kana wasn’t listening.

Her mind was still back there.

Still on that trail.

Still with Yui.

A quiet movement beside her pulled her from her thoughts.

Shin.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down nearby, careful to keep space between them.

As if he knew she might not want someone there—but he sat anyway.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, finally, Shin asked, voice calm, measured—like he was making sure not to step too hard on broken glass.

“You okay?”

Kana let out a breath—a tired, brittle thing. Then, finally, she answered.

“That’s a stupid question.”

Shin exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of amusement there. “Yeah. It is.”

And that was it.

He didn’t push. Didn’t try to fill the silence with words that wouldn’t help.

He just sat there, staring into the fire with her.

And somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

* * *

After Shin left, the crunch of footsteps against the dirt caught Kana’s attention. A moment later, Aoi plopped down beside her, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“You know what’s worse than hiking?” she muttered.

Kana blinked at her, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Aoi pointed accusingly toward the group still gathered near the main fire. “The guys convince me we’re about to be mauled by some kind of wild forest monster.”

Kana stared. “…what?”

“They started with bears. Then wolves. And then somehow it escalated to a mountain demon that only shows up on moonless nights. I swear, they’re trying to kill me via paranoia.”

Kana blinked again.

Then—a small, tired laugh escaped her.

Barely there. Just a flicker of amusement.

But the first real laugh she had let out all day.

Aoi turned, looking at her with mock suspicion. “Wait. Did I just… make you laugh?”

Kana shook her head, pressing the back of her hand lightly to her mouth. “Yui used to say that too.”

Aoi’s grin faltered slightly. “Huh?”

Kana’s gaze drifted back to the fire, somewhere between nostalgia and ache.

“She was scared of wild animals,” Kana murmured. “Ren, Kaito, and I always teased her for it.”

A beat of silence.

Aoi didn’t say anything.

She just waited.

And then, softly, Kana sighed.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she murmured, finally looking at Aoi. “For breaking down.”

Aoi blinked. “Why are you apologizing?”

Kana exhaled slowly. “Because I don’t do that.”

Aoi tilted her head. “You don’t do what?”

“Break.”

The word felt foreign in her mouth.

Aoi studied her for a long moment.

Then, she shrugged. “Well. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m pretty sure bottling up grief for an entire year straight isn’t actually the healthiest coping mechanism.”

Kana huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Kana appreciated the way Aoi said that in a-matter-of-tone. She didn’t wonder how Aoi knew about her grief while they never told her. Campus’ gossips might have led Aoi to one or two stories about them. 

“Maybe,” she admitted.

The fire flickered. The conversation around them felt distant, like a world she wasn’t fully part of anymore.

Aoi hesitated, then asked, voice careful, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kana exhaled slowly, looking down at her hands.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I think you should know from one of us. You’re… basically in the group now. So maybe it’s for the best.”

Aoi blinked. “Whoa. That sounds suspiciously sentimental.”

Kana rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it.

She took another slow breath, steadying herself.

Then—she began.

* * *

The words came out steady.

But her fingers tightened slightly around her knees.

“She was nothing like me,” Kana murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “She was gentle. Soft-spoken. She wrote poetry, loved quiet places. We were always the ones dragging her into things. Ren, Kaito, and I… we were different. But somehow, we fit together.”

Aoi listened, not interrupting.

Kana inhaled slowly. “Ren loved her. Not like an ‘I think I like this girl’ kind of thing. He loved her. Like she was the only thing in the world that made sense.”

Her voice wavered slightly.

“And Yui… she loved him too. They were happy.”

Aoi didn’t breathe.

Kana exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face.

“That’s why I broke down today,” she admitted. “That place… the east trail…it’s where she died. It’s where she fell.”

Aoi’s heart dropped.

She had suspected something like this.

But hearing it out loud?

It was different.

Kana’s voice grew quieter.

“And today, I realized… the world moved on without her.”

Her fingers curled into her sleeves.

“People were laughing. Talking. Walking through that place like it was nothing. And I realized… Yui only exists in our memories now.”

Aoi’s throat felt tight.

For the first time, she fully understood.

Not just what happened—but what it meant.

For Ren.

For Kaito.

For Kana.

The fire flickered.

Kana let out a small breath, shaking her head.

“That’s it,” she murmured. “That’s the story.”

Aoi still didn’t know what to say.

But maybe—Kana didn’t need her to say anything.

She just needed her to listen.

So Aoi didn’t say anything. She just gave Kana a hug, hoping that this at least would give her the message that even if Aoi didn’t feel the same grief as Kana, but she cared. 

* * *

Chapter 19: The Weight of What’s Left Unsaid

Aoi sat on her balcony, legs curled beneath her, arms resting against the metal railing.

The night air was crisp, and the sky was painted with streaks of deep indigo and scattered stars. It should’ve been peaceful.

But her mind wouldn’t settle.

Kana’s words from the campfire were still echoing in her thoughts.

“And today, I realized… the world moved on without her.”

She had known grief before. But not like this.

Not the kind that wraps itself around people’s lives, twisting them into versions of themselves that barely resemble who they were before.

Not the kind that breaks friendships, turns love into guilt, and lingers in places no one else remembers.

She exhaled softly, rubbing a hand over her face.

Then—a sound.

A familiar, quiet melody floated through the night.

Ren’s guitar.

Aoi blinked, suddenly aware of the faint, familiar strumming coming from the balcony next door.

She turned her head, looking toward his side of the apartment complex.

He was there.

Sitting on his balcony, half in shadow, half illuminated by the dim city lights. Fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. Eyes closed.

Aoi had heard him play before, but tonight felt different.

Maybe because she knew now.

Maybe because she understood why there was so much weight in the way he played.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Just listened.

But eventually, Ren noticed her.

His fingers stilled against the strings.

“You’re staring,” he muttered.

Aoi blinked, realizing too late that she had been caught.

Normally, she would’ve snapped back. Normally, she would’ve mocked his tone and turned it into something playful.

But tonight, she didn’t.

She just let out a slow breath and looked away.

Ren frowned slightly, his fingers idly tapping against the wood of his guitar.

Aoi didn’t know what to say to him now.

Not after knowing what he lost.

Not after understanding that the version of him Kana had described—the one full of reckless energy, laughter, and life—was gone.

And maybe, never coming back.

For the first time, Ren seemed to notice the change in her.

She wasn’t fighting back.

She wasn’t pushing him.

She was just quiet.

Something about that made his grip on the guitar tighten.

But he didn’t say anything else.

And neither did she.

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it felt like they were both listening to something neither of them could name.

—

The club room was empty except for Shin and Kaito.

Kaito had stopped by just to kill time, but seeing Shin there, he figured he might as well ask.

“So,” Kaito said, leaning against one of the desks, arms crossed lazily. “How was the trip?”

Shin glanced up at him, considering his words carefully.

“It was a good trip,” he said evenly.

Kaito scoffed. “That’s vague. You a politician now?”

Shin didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he finished sorting through some papers on the desk, then added, just a little too casually—

“Kana broke down.”

Kaito’s easygoing posture stiffened.

Shin saw it.

The way Kaito’s fingers curled slightly against his sleeve. The way his jaw clenched for just a second before he forced a careless shrug.

“…Huh.”

Shin waited.

Kaito ran a hand through his hair, still keeping up the act. “Well, I mean… it was bound to happen at some point, right?”

Shin didn’t answer.

Because they both knew Kaito was only saying that to convince himself it was true.

He kept his tone light, casual, unaffected.

But his fingers still twitched against the fabric of his jacket.

And Shin caught the way he avoided looking directly at him.

“She’s fine now, though, right?” Kaito added, still playing it off. “Kana’s tough.”

Shin considered his next words carefully.

Then, without shifting his gaze, he said quietly—

“She shouldn’t have to be.”

Kaito froze.

For a brief moment, his mask slipped.

His expression turned into something barely guarded— something that looked a lot like guilt.

Shin wasn’t the type to press.

He wasn’t the type to confront someone outright.

But this time, he wanted Kaito to understand.

Kana is suffering, even if she won’t say it.

Kana is strong, but that doesn’t mean she’s okay.

Kana is carrying something too heavy for one person to hold alone.

And Kaito wasn’t there.

A muscle in Kaito’s jaw ticked, his gaze dropping slightly.

Then, just as quickly as the crack appeared in his mask, he covered it back up.

He forced a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Well. Good thing she had you guys there then, huh?”

Shin didn’t respond.

Because he wasn’t going to let Kaito fool him.

Not this time.

Kaito turned to leave, but his steps weren’t as lazy as before.

And as Shin watched him go, he knew one thing for certain—

Kaito was going to think about this.

—

Chapter 20: The Weight of Not Being There

Kaito wasn’t thinking about it.

He wasn’t.

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he walked down the quiet campus street, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets.

Shin’s words still echoed in his head.

“Kana broke down.”

“She shouldn’t have to be.”

Kaito scoffed to himself, shaking his head.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Of course Kana was strong. She had always been the one holding them together.

The one making sure Ren didn’t disappear completely.

The one keeping Kaito from spiraling too far.

Kana was fine.

Wasn’t she?

Kaito sighed, kicking a stray pebble down the pavement.

He should’ve been there.

He knew that now.

But knowing didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t.

—

Without thinking, Kaito’s feet carried him somewhere familiar.

The music room.

The place where Kana sometimes practiced violin when she thought no one was watching.

The room was dark when he got there, empty.

Good.

Because he wasn’t sure what he was doing here anyway.

He leaned against the doorframe, exhaling slowly.

His mind kept drifting back—to a different time, a different version of themselves.

Back when Yui was still alive.

—

“Oh my god, Kaito, stop moving!”

Kana’s exasperated voice rang out across the music room.

Kaito was spinning on one of the rolling chairs, grinning.

“What? I’m enhancing the experience!” he said, throwing his arms out dramatically.

Yui, sitting beside Kana, laughed. “I think he’s just distracting you, Kana.”

Kana groaned. “That’s exactly what he’s doing.”

Kaito smirked. “Listen, if you didn’t want an audience, you should’ve locked the door.”

Kana shot him a withering look before lifting her violin, exhaling sharply.

She played.

And for once, Kaito shut up.

Because as much as he loved teasing Kana, he had to admit—she was amazing.

The notes filled the space effortlessly, wrapping around them like something untouchable.

Yui smiled softly, eyes closing as she listened.

And Kaito—

He had glanced at Yui then.

Watched the way she leaned into the music, completely at peace.

He had loved her, even back then.

And he had known, even back then—

She didn’t belong to him.

—

Kaito let out a breath, coming back to the present.

He ran a hand through his hair, staring into the empty room.

The ghosts were still here.

Yui, laughing softly as she listened to Kana play.

Kana, exasperated but smiling anyway.

Ren, rolling his eyes at Kaito’s antics but still showing up.

They had all been different people then.

And now—

Now they were just remnants of what Yui left behind.

Kaito sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He should’ve gone on the hike.

Maybe he wouldn’t have changed anything.

Maybe Kana still would’ve broken down.

But at least he wouldn’t feel like this.

Like he had let her carry something too heavy alone.

Shin was right.

She shouldn’t have to be.

—

Kaito left the music room, heading toward his apartment.

But as he passed by Kana’s place, he hesitated.

The light was still on.

He could knock.

Ask if she was okay.

Tell her that he should’ve been there.

But what would she say?

Would she tell him that it didn’t matter anymore?

That it was too late?

Kaito let out a breath, stepping away from her door.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

Because saying “I should’ve been there” wouldn’t change the fact that he wasn’t.

And Kaito wasn’t sure if he was ready to face that yet.

—

Chapter 21: Conversations We’re Not Ready For

Aoi stretched out on her balcony, letting the city air fill her lungs.

It had been a long weekend.

The kind of long where even sitting still felt like work.

She leaned against the railing, absentmindedly tapping her fingers against the metal.

And like clockwork—the sound of guitar strings drifted from next door.

Aoi turned her head slightly.

Ren was playing again.

His usual quiet, melancholic strumming.

The kind of sound that made the world feel a little heavier.

She listened for a while, letting it settle into the night air.

Then, without really thinking, she called out, “You know, you only ever play sad songs. You ever try playing something happy?”

The music stopped.

A beat of silence.

Then—Ren let out a flat sigh.

“If I played happy songs, you’d find something else to complain about.”

Aoi grinned, leaning forward over the railing. “Oh, absolutely. But at least then I’d have variety.”

Ren rolled his eyes, adjusting the guitar in his lap. “I don’t play for entertainment.”

Aoi smirked. “You play to be dramatic, then?”

Ren plucked at a string, not looking at her. “You talk too much.”

Aoi gasped, placing a hand over her chest. “Wow. Ren Takumi, known for his long-winded speeches, thinks I talk too much?”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Just kept idly strumming, gaze fixed ahead, as if he wasn’t listening.

But Aoi knew better.

She exhaled, letting her chin rest against her arms. “You know,” she murmured, “I kind of like this. The whole ‘late-night guitar’ thing.”

Ren raised an eyebrow. “You like something?”

Aoi ignored him. “It’s got that mystery protagonist with a tragic backstory vibe. Very cinematic.”

Ren sighed. “I regret opening my door last night.”

Aoi grinned. “No, you don’t. I make your life interesting.”

Ren gave her a look.

Aoi just smirked.

And for the first time in a while, the weight between them wasn’t unbearable.

Just quiet.

Almost normal.

—

Kaito wasn’t the kind of guy to sit still when something was bothering him.

And right now—something was definitely bothering him.

He should’ve gone home. Should’ve grabbed a drink or put on some stupid movie and ignored his thoughts like he always did.

But instead—

He was standing outside Kana’s apartment.

Again.

Except this time, he knocked.

A pause. Then, the sound of footsteps.

When the door opened, Kana blinked up at him, looking tired but composed.

“Kaito?”

He let out a casual grin, but it felt thinner than usual. “Yo. Busy?”

Kana raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “You never ask that before barging in.”

“Yeah, well. I’m growing as a person.”

Kana gave him a look. “Doubtful.”

Kaito smirked. “Fair.”

She stepped back, wordlessly inviting him in.

He took a moment to scan the space. It was clean, organized—but somehow, it still felt like a place someone rarely let themselves relax in.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“So,” he started, “Shin told me you had a fantastic time on the hike.”

Kana stilled.

Kaito noticed.

Then—just as quickly, she exhaled, sitting on the edge of her couch. “You know Shin. Always exaggerating.”

Kaito scoffed. “Yeah? ‘Cause he made it sound like you literally collapsed in the middle of the trail.”

Kana’s fingers twitched slightly against her knee.

Kaito watched her closely.

She wasn’t denying it.

And for some reason—that made something in his chest feel weird.

“Kana,” he said, voice softer than he expected, “you could’ve told me.”

Kana exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Told you what? That I wasn’t okay? That I—” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together.

Kaito stared.

Something clicked in his mind, too fast for him to stop it.

The way Kana was always watching out for him and Ren.

The way she was always putting them first.

The way she never asked for anything back.

And suddenly—he knew.

She’d liked him this whole time.

Kana Takahashi, his best friend, had feelings for him.

And he had been too stupid to see it.

The realization made something twist in his stomach.

Not in a bad way.

Just in a way he didn’t know how to handle yet.

Kana must’ve seen the look in his eyes, because she shifted.

“Don’t,” she said quietly.

Kaito blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking.”

Kaito hesitated.

Then, in typical Kaito fashion, he covered the moment up with a grin.

“Bold of you to assume I think at all.”

Kana rolled her eyes, but he saw the way she exhaled just a little too shakily.

Neither of them said it out loud.

But something between them had changed.

And Kaito wasn’t sure what the hell to do about it.

—

Chapter 22: Lines We Can’t Ignore

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue across the campus as Kana walked up to Shin, her expression carefully neutral.

He was sitting near the club’s meeting area, casually flipping through a notebook, but she knew better.

He wasn’t reading.

He was waiting for her.

Kana exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. “What did you tell Kaito?”

Shin didn’t look up. “I told him the truth.”

Kana narrowed her eyes. “Which was?”

Shin turned a page in his notebook, completely unfazed. “That you broke down.”

Kana’s jaw tightened. “Shin.”

He glanced up then, studying her. “Am I wrong?”

Kana huffed, shifting her weight onto one foot. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Shin let out a soft breath—a tired, knowing kind of sound.

“Kaito should’ve known,” he said simply.

Kana’s fingers curled slightly against her arms. “I can handle myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Shin replied. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

There it was again.

That quiet, steady concern of his.

The one that made her want to push him away.

Because if she let him in—if she let anyone in—then she wasn’t as strong as she needed to be.

“You don’t have to do this,” she muttered. “You don’t have to—”

“Watch?” Shin finished, his tone even. “Stand on the sidelines while you pretend you’re fine?”

Kana froze.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I tried, Kana. I really did. But I can’t—” He paused, struggling for the words. “I can’t just watch anymore.”

Kana swallowed, looking away.

Because if she met his gaze, she wasn’t sure what she’d see.

And that scared her more than anything.

—

The pool was quiet, the faint ripples of water the only sound.

Aoi took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders.

Her muscles were still sore from the hike, but she had needed something.

A way to clear her head.

A way to process everything.

So she dived in, letting the cool water drown out the noise in her mind.

But she had skipped warming up.

She had pushed herself too fast, too soon.

And now—her leg cramped.

A sharp, searing pain shot through her calf, locking her muscle.

Her arms flailed, her breath caught—

She couldn’t move.

The surface seemed too far.

The air was too distant.

And then—a splash.

—

Ren wasn’t supposed to be there.

He had only been passing by the pool, his mind far from everything.

But then—he noticed.

The sudden halt in movement.

The way Aoi’s body jerked unnaturally.

The way she wasn’t surfacing.

Before he even realized what he was doing—he was in the water.

The cold hit him like a shock, but he didn’t hesitate.

He reached for her, pulling her up, breaking the surface.

Aoi gasped, coughing, gripping onto him instinctively as he dragged her to the edge.

His arms shook, but he held onto her until she was safe.

Then—

He didn’t let go.

Aoi felt the grip on her tighten.

Felt Ren’s arms come around her, pulling her close.

Felt his fingers dig into the fabric of her soaked shirt.

His breath was shaking.

And then—his voice.

Low. Unsteady. Almost broken.

“Yui.”

Aoi froze.

Ren buried his face into her shoulder. His hold on her was too strong, like if he let go, she would disappear.

“Yui,” he whispered again, this time softer, almost pleading.

Aoi’s heart stopped.

Because it wasn’t just a slip of the tongue.

It wasn’t a mistake.

For that moment, Ren wasn’t here.

He wasn’t with her.

He was somewhere else.

Somewhere in the past, holding onto someone who wasn’t there anymore.

Aoi’s throat tightened.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t push him away.

Because what was she supposed to do?

Tell him she wasn’t her?

Tell him Yui was gone?

He already knew.

And yet—he was still holding on.

Her fingers hovered slightly before hesitantly resting against his back.

Not because she wanted to pretend.

But because for the first time since she met him, Ren Takumi wasn’t hiding.

He was breaking.

And he didn’t even know it.

—

Ren’s breath hitched.

Slowly—too slowly—he pulled back.

And then, his grip immediately vanished.

Aoi barely registered the cold air hitting her skin again before she saw the look in his eyes.

Shock. Realization. Horror.

Like he had just woken up from something he didn’t even realize was happening.

His hands were still hovering like he wasn’t sure if he had actually done it.

Like he was still feeling the ghost of something that was already gone.

His jaw clenched.

He stepped back.

And then—he turned and walked away.

No words.

No explanations.

Just the crushing silence of a man who realized he had held onto a memory instead of reality.

Aoi watched him go, the weight of his arms still lingering around her.

She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t say anything.

Because for once—

Ren Takumi looked more lost than anyone she had ever met.

—

Chapter 23: The Truth Aoi Never Expected to Carry

Aoi sat on the edge of her bed, a towel draped over her shoulders, her hair still damp from the pool.

She hadn’t moved much since she got back.

Hadn’t tried to process what happened.

Because how could she?

How do you process someone holding onto you like you were a ghost of their past?

Her fingers curled into the fabric of the towel, her breathing steady—too steady, like she was forcing it to be.

Then—a knock at the door.

Aoi blinked, looking up.

She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Another knock.

Then—Kana’s voice.

“Aoi. You there?”

Aoi hesitated for half a second.

Then, quietly, she got up and opened the door.

Kana stood there, arms crossed, brows drawn slightly together.

She didn’t look worried—Kana never looked worried.

But her sharp gaze was scanning Aoi.

Checking.

Assessing.

Aoi swallowed. “…Hey.”

Kana’s lips pressed together. “Are you okay?”

Aoi blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kana exhaled. “Because Ren showed up at my place out of nowhere and told me to check on you.”

Aoi’s stomach dropped.

“He what?” she said.

Kana raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t explain. Just said to find you.”

Aoi felt her throat tighten.

Of course he didn’t explain.

Because how could he?

Aoi hesitated.

And Kana caught it immediately.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Aoi. What happened?”

Aoi looked away.

Her heart was beating too fast now, the weight of what had happened pressing down on her.

Ren’s grip. His breath. The way his voice—low, broken—had whispered the wrong name.

Yui.

Aoi swallowed, forcing herself to meet Kana’s gaze.

And then—she told her.

—

Kana listened without interrupting while Aoi told her everything.

About how she had gone swimming alone.

About the cramp.

About how Ren had been the one to save her.

And then—about the name.

Yui.

The second Aoi said it, she saw Kana tense.

It was subtle, but it was there.

The way her shoulders dropped slightly, as if carrying an invisible weight.

The way her lips parted—then pressed together again.

The way her fingers curled against her sleeve.

Then, just as quickly, she exhaled.

Aoi hesitated. “…Kana?”

Kana gave her a small, tired smile.

But it wasn’t dismissive.

It wasn’t cold.

It was warm.

And for some reason, that made Aoi’s chest ache even more.

“He’s never done that before,” Kana said softly.

Aoi blinked. “What?”

“Ren,” Kana murmured. “He’s never… let himself break like that. Not since Yui.”

Aoi’s breath caught.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

Kana nodded.

And suddenly—the weight of what had happened felt even heavier.

Because Ren hadn’t just broken.

He had broken with her.

—

Aoi looked away, her fingers tightening around the edges of the towel.

She felt unsteady.

Because now, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with this.

“I don’t know what to say to him,” she admitted quietly.

Kana sighed. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Aoi hesitated. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

Kana was silent for a moment.

Then, softly, she said, “Just be patient with him.”

Aoi blinked.

Kana’s voice was gentle. Warmer than Aoi had ever heard before.

“Ren’s been frozen for a long time,” Kana continued. “He doesn’t let himself feel things. Not really.”

Her gaze softened.

“But with you… he let something slip.”

Aoi swallowed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

“He called me Yui,” she murmured. “That means he was seeing someone else—not me.”

Kana gave a small nod.

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was finally letting himself feel something—even if it wasn’t the right thing.”

Aoi let out a shaky breath.

“So what do I do?” she asked again.

Kana smiled—not because it was funny, but because she understood.

“Just don’t run away from him.”

Aoi looked up.

Kana’s expression was steady.

“That’s all you have to do, Aoi,” she said softly. “Be patient. And don’t run.”

—

Chapter 24: The Distance We Create

Aoi wasn’t expecting things to be normal after what happened.

Not after the way Ren had held onto her like she was something slipping through his fingers.

Not after he had called her Yui.

But she wasn’t expecting this.

She saw him in passing—at the café, on campus, once outside the library.

And every time, he changed directions before she could even think about saying something.

Every time, his gaze would flicker to her for the briefest second—then immediately turn away.

Every time, he left before she could even decide if she wanted to talk to him.

Aoi wasn’t used to this.

Ren wasn’t friendly, sure.

But this was different.

This wasn’t cold indifference.

This was deliberate.

Intentional.

And she knew—it wasn’t about her.

It was about what he let slip.

About what he didn’t want to face.

—

Ren wasn’t avoiding everyone. At least not completely.

Which is why Kaito found him on the rooftop of the old gym, sitting on the ledge like he had nothing better to do.

Kaito leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “You gonna throw yourself off or just mope dramatically?”

Ren exhaled through his nose. “If I wanted to be left alone, I wouldn’t have come here.”

Kaito smirked. “Yeah, yeah. You say that, but somehow, I always end up being your unpaid therapist.”

Ren didn’t respond.

Kaito eyed him for a moment before sitting next to him, stretching his legs out.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was too familiar.

Both of them occupied by their own thoughts.

Both of them lost in different versions of the same grief.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then—Kaito broke it first.

“You notice something about Kana lately?”

Ren blinked. “What?”

Kaito tilted his head back, staring at the sky. “She’s not okay.”

Ren didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at him.

Kaito continued, voice lighter than it should’ve been. “Shin told me she broke down on the hike.”

Ren’s fingers twitched against his knee.

Kaito wasn’t watching him, but he didn’t have to.

He already knew that got a reaction.

“You think she’s fine because she never says anything,” Kaito muttered. “But you and I both know—not saying anything doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

Ren exhaled, long and slow.

“…She went on the hike,” he said quietly.

Kaito blinked, turning to him. “What?”

Ren’s eyes weren’t on him but were somewhere far away.

“She went back to the trail,” he murmured. “We didn’t.”

Kaito hesitated. “Yeah.”

Ren was silent for a moment.

Then—a quiet confession.

“I thought she was stronger than us.”

Kaito stilled, because it wasn’t a cold remark.

It wasn’t indifference.

It was something closer to guilt.

Ren had never let himself think about it before.

Kana had been the strong one. The unshakable one. The one who held everything together.

And she had gone back.

And she had broken.

And Ren had done nothing.

Kaito let out a dry chuckle, but it was empty.

“Guess no one really won the ‘who handled Yui’s death better’ contest, huh?”

Ren didn’t answer.

But he didn’t have to.

Because they both knew the truth.

None of them had handled it.

None of them had healed.

All they had done was find different ways to run from it.

Kaito leaned back, exhaling. “So. You gonna talk to Kana?”

Ren finally looked at him, eyebrows pulling slightly together. “Why would I?”

Kaito rolled his eyes. “Right. ‘Cause emotional intelligence isn’t your thing.”

Ren didn’t respond.

Kaito sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

“You and I both know she won’t say anything first,” he muttered. “She’ll just keep acting like she’s fine until she isn’t.”

Ren was quiet.

Then, barely above a whisper—

“I don’t know what to say to her.”

Kaito turned to him, a little surprised.

Because for all of Ren’s avoidance — all his silence, all his coldness — he had never admitted that before.

Kaito let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, well. That makes two of us.”

For a moment, they sat in silence again.

But this time, it wasn’t quite so heavy.

Because for the first time in a long time—they weren’t just avoiding the truth.

They were finally acknowledging it.

Even if they didn’t know what to do with it yet.

– – –

Chapter 25: Confrontation & Unexpected Moments

Aoi had never been one for patience.

She could handle annoying people, ridiculous situations, and Ren’s usual coldness.

But being ignored?

Being actively avoided?

That was where she drew the line.

And Ren Takumi had been avoiding her for days.

She had given him space. Had waited.

But she wasn’t going to pretend nothing happened.

Especially not when they had to work together.

Which was exactly why she found herself marching toward Ren’s apartment.

She knocked. Firm. Unapologetic.

No answer.

Aoi narrowed her eyes.

Oh, hell no.

She knocked again—louder.

Still nothing.

She scowled. “Ren, I swear, if you don’t open this door—”

The lock clicked.

And then—the door opened.

Ren stood there, expression unreadable, gaze sharp.

But Aoi wasn’t intimidated.

She crossed her arms. “Took you long enough.”

Ren exhaled through his nose. “What do you want?”

Aoi raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

Ren didn’t answer.

Aoi let out a sharp breath. “Okay. Fine. Since you clearly need help processing basic human interaction—you’ve been avoiding me.”

Ren’s jaw tightened.

Aoi saw it.

Saw the way his fingers twitched slightly.

Saw the way his shoulders stayed tense.

“You’re overthinking,” he muttered.

Aoi snorted. “Really? Because last I checked, we’re supposed to be working on a project together. Hard to do that when you’re literally running away every time I so much as exist in your line of sight.”

Still—Ren said nothing.

Aoi inhaled sharply, crossing her arms.

“Ren,” she said, this time quieter. “I’m not asking you to talk about what happened. I just—”

She hesitated.

Then, finally, she said what had been sitting in her chest since that night.

“You called me Yui.”

Ren’s entire body went still.

Aoi swallowed, watching him carefully.

“You called me Yui,” she repeated, softer now. “And then you ran. And now you’re acting like if you just avoid me, it’ll erase what happened.”

Ren’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

For a long moment—too long—he said nothing.

Then—barely above a whisper—

“I know you’re not her.”

Aoi’s breath hitched.

Ren’s fingers twitched slightly. “I know that, Aoi.”

Aoi held his gaze. “Then why are you acting like this?”

Ren let out a slow, shaky breath.

Then—finally, he looked at her.

Really looked at her.

And what she saw wasn’t the cold, detached Ren that the world knew.

It wasn’t the Ren that pretended not to care.

It was a man standing in the middle of something he didn’t know how to escape.

Aoi swallowed.

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmured. “I just—I don’t want you to run, okay?”

Ren was silent for a long time.

Then—he exhaled.

A quiet, tired sound.

“Okay.”

Aoi blinked. “Okay?”

Ren’s shoulders dropped slightly.

“I won’t run,” he said. “Not from this.”

Not from her.

Aoi let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

And for the first time since that night, Ren wasn’t avoiding her anymore.

—

Kana was not on a date.

She was absolutely not on a date.

Except—it sure looked like one.

She and Shin had been sent out to pick up supplies for the club.

Which had somehow turned into grabbing food at a market festival.

Which had somehow turned into walking side by side, eating skewers, and casually bantering.

Kana took a bite of her food, side-eyeing him. “This is suspiciously close to a date”

Shin raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who wanted food.”

Kana smirked. “I can multitask. Chores and snacks.”

Shin huffed a soft laugh. “You’re in a good mood today.”

Kana tilted her head. “And you sound surprised.”

Shin gave her a look.

Kana rolled her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I’m letting loose a little. Is that a crime?”

Shin watched her for a moment, then shook his head. “No. It’s nice.”

Kana raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Shin looked at her, voice quieter now.

“You should let yourself do this more often.”

Kana paused.

Something about his tone made her chest feel warm.

She cleared her throat, looking away. “Are you always this secretly sentimental?”

Shin smirked. “No. Just with you.”

Kana blinked.

Her grip tightened slightly around her food.

She wasn’t sure if it was teasing or something else.

But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t mind.

She let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“Careful, Shin,” she said, voice light. “People might think you actually like me.”

Shin smirked.

“Maybe.”

And Kana didn’t know how to respond to that.

—

Chapter 26: The Spaces Between Us

Aoi wasn’t sure when silence between them started feeling like this.

It used to be annoyance.

It used to be her trying to push past his walls and him refusing to budge.

Now—it was something else.

Something uncertain.

Something that felt too heavy to name.

They sat across from each other at the library, their project notes scattered across the table.

Aoi tapped her pen against the page. Too aware of the quiet.

Ren was focused on his book, but she could see it—the tension in his shoulders, the way he hadn’t looked at her properly since their last conversation.

She sighed, finally breaking the silence.

“This is ridiculous.”

Ren didn’t look up. “What is?”

“This,” Aoi gestured vaguely between them. “Are we gonna pretend like everything’s normal?”

Ren stilled.

Aoi leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “Look, I’m not expecting some deep heart-to-heart. But we’re working together, and this—” she waved her hand around— “this weird, awkward thing we’re doing isn’t working.”

Ren finally lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable.

“It’s not weird,” he said.

Aoi scoffed. “Oh, it’s so weird. It’s unbearably weird. And you know it.”

Ren exhaled, closing his book. “Fine. What do you want me to say?”

Aoi tilted her head, eyes sharp. “I want you to stop treating me like I’m something you need to run from.”

Ren’s jaw tensed slightly.

Aoi didn’t let up.

“You said you wouldn’t run,” she reminded him. “So don’t.”

Ren stared at her for a long moment.

Then—he sighed.

“…Alright.”

Aoi blinked. “Wait, really?”

Ren rolled his eyes, picking up his pen. “Yes. Now shut up and focus.”

Aoi smirked.

The awkwardness wasn’t completely gone.

But at least—they weren’t ignoring it anymore.

—

Kaito had always known how to talk to Kana.

They’d been friends for so long that conversations never needed effort.

But lately—it was different.

It wasn’t bad.

Just… not the same.

And Kaito wasn’t sure why that unsettled him so much.

They sat outside the campus café, Kana sipping her drink while Kaito leaned back in his chair.

Normally, he’d be grinning, teasing, poking fun at something she said.

Instead, he found himself watching her.

Noticing things.

Like how she always looked a little tired these days.

Like how Shin had been around more often.

Like how for the first time in a long time, Kaito wasn’t sure what to say.

Kana arched an eyebrow. “You’re quiet.”

Kaito blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. “What? No, I’m just—”

She smirked. “That’s a first.”

Kaito rolled his eyes, but his usual comeback didn’t come.

Because the truth was—he felt like he was seeing her differently now.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

—

Ren wasn’t good at talking.

Especially not about emotions.

But he still found himself standing next to Kana, hands in his pockets, trying to figure out how to start.

“You should’ve told me,” he said finally.

Kana glanced at him. “Told you what?”

Ren exhaled, looking ahead. “That you weren’t okay.”

Kana was quiet.

Ren continued, his voice lower.

“I was so caught up in—” He stopped, adjusting his grip in his pockets. “In my own grief. I didn’t notice.”

Kana studied him for a moment, then smiled softly.

“This is the first time you’ve actually acknowledged that something was wrong after Yui,” she said.

Ren tensed slightly.

Kana’s voice was warm, but not mocking. Just… understanding.

Ren exhaled. “Yui wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Kana nodded. “No. She wouldn’t.”

They stood there for a moment, the weight of unspoken things finally being said.

Then—Kana placed a hand on his arm, just briefly.

“You’re opening up,” she murmured. “That’s a good thing.”

Ren didn’t say anything.

But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel completely frozen.

—

Kana wasn’t sure why she wasn’t surprised when Shin found her again.

It was casual. Effortless.

“Need another excuse to get out of club work?” Kana teased as she noticed him approaching.

Shin smirked. “I just figured you had such a great time last time, I’d be doing you a favor.”

Kana rolled her eyes. “So considerate of you.”

Shin tilted his head. “Is that a yes?”

Kana huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “Fine. But I’m picking the place this time.”

Shin smirked. “Deal.”

Kana turned toward the exit, but before she moved, she caught herself smiling.

She hadn’t realized she was looking forward to this.

Not until now.

– – –

Chapter 27: The Fever, The Care, and The Unexpected Guests

Aoi knew she had pushed too hard.

Her body felt heavy, sluggish, burning up from the inside out.

But did that stop her from going all out at the pool?

Of course not.

Because Aoi did not learn from her mistakes.

She groaned as she stepped into the convenience store near her apartment block, gripping a bottle of water and trying to ignore the way the world tilted slightly.

She just needed some electrolytes. Maybe something light to eat.

And then she could sleep this off.

At least, that was the plan—

Until she heard a familiar, irritated voice.

“You look like hell.”

Aoi sighed deeply. “Not this again.”

She turned, already knowing who it was.

Ren stood behind her, arms crossed, expression flat, looking at her like she was an inconvenience just for existing.

Aoi blinked at him, too exhausted to snap back immediately.

Ren frowned slightly. “…Are you sick?”

Aoi rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“That’s a lie.”

“No, it’s called optimism.”

Ren exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Aoi grumbled under her breath, trying to step past him, but her body betrayed her.

Her vision blurred for half a second, and her balance tipped just slightly—

Before she could even process it, Ren caught her arm.

His grip was firm, steady.

Aoi stiffened. “…Seriously?”

Ren didn’t let go. His other hand reached up, pressing against her forehead.

The moment his fingers touched her skin, he froze.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“You’re burning up.”

Aoi tried to wave him off. “I just need—”

“You need to shut up and let me carry you home,” Ren muttered, already pulling her toward the exit.

“Wait—what?!”

And just like that, Aoi’s dignity was gone.

—

Aoi didn’t know how this happened.

One moment, she had been trying to convince Ren she was fine.

The next—she was being carried.

By Ren Takumi.

Like it was nothing.

Like she wasn’t a whole person with autonomy and personal space.

She grumbled against his shoulder. “I can walk, you know.”

Ren didn’t even glance at her. “No, you can pass out on the sidewalk. Big difference.”

Aoi groaned. “This is humiliating.”

Ren sighed. “For who? Me or you?”

“For—” Aoi paused. “Okay, maybe both of us.”

By the time they reached her apartment, Aoi had fully given up arguing.

Ren kicked open her door, stepping inside like he owned the place.

Aoi scowled. “You could at least pretend to be polite.”

Ren ignored her. “Sit.”

Aoi tried to stand up, but Ren shoved her back down onto the couch.

“Stay,” he muttered, walking off toward the kitchen.

Aoi huffed. “I’m not a dog.”

“Then stop acting like one and listen.”

Aoi scowled harder. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Ren grabbed a cold plaster from the first aid kit and pressed it against her forehead.

Aoi flinched. “It’s cold!”

Ren sighed. “That’s literally the point.”

Aoi sighed dramatically, sinking into the cushions.

Then—she heard Ren dialing someone.

She peeked at him. “…Who are you calling?”

“Who do you think?”

Before she could protest, Kana’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Ren?”

“Aoi has a fever,” Ren said, straight to the point. “Bring some medicine.”

Aoi groaned. “Really? Kana?”

“You’d rather I leave you alone and get it myself?” Ren shot back.

Aoi froze.

Because—no.

Actually, she didn’t want to be alone.

Ren ended the call, placing the phone down.

Then, without a word, he walked to the kitchen.

Aoi frowned. “Now what are you doing?”

“Making porridge.”

Aoi blinked. “…You cook?”

Ren sighed, exasperated. “Believe it or not, I have basic survival skills.”

Aoi smirked despite herself. “Huh. The more you know.”

And just as Aoi was finally relaxing, she heard it—

The sound of the front door opening.

Then—

“Kana,” Ren called. “Get in here.”

Aoi turned her head and saw Kana..with Shin.

Kana stepped inside first, holding a bag of medicine, and immediately spotted Ren hovering in the kitchen.

“You actually called me for help?” she teased.

Ren rolled his eyes. “She’s your friend. You deal with her.”

Aoi opened her mouth to protest—but then she saw Shin.

Standing next to Kana, casually stepping into her apartment like this was normal.

And judging by the way Kana didn’t seem bothered at all—

This wasn’t weird for them.

Ren’s eyes flickered toward Shin.

Shin nodded at him, casual as ever.

Ren’s jaw tensed.

Aoi felt the shift immediately.

This was the first time Ren had actually seen Kana with Shin.

And even though Ren didn’t say anything—

The look in his eyes said a lot.

—

Kana tossed Aoi the medicine. “Take this after you eat.”

Aoi groaned. “Why is everyone forcing me to do things?”

Ren placed a bowl of porridge in front of her. “Eat.”

Aoi stared at the porridge, and then at Ren. 

“Are you trying to poison me?”

Ren exhaled sharply. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Eat it.”

Aoi huffed, but picked up the spoon.

Kana sat across from her, while Shin leaned against the wall, watching.

Aoi took a bite.

Paused. Then—slowly blinked.

“…This is actually good.”

Ren rolled his eyes. “You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised.”

Kana smirked. “Wow. Domestic Ren. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

Ren glared. “I will throw this at you.”

Aoi smirked. “Now that, I would pay to see.”

Shin chuckled softly, but Aoi didn’t miss the way Ren kept glancing at him.

There was something there.

—

Chapter 28: The Fever, The Care, and The Words That Linger

Kana checked the time, sighing as she gathered her things.

“I have to go,” she said, standing. “I have an abnormal psych assignment due tomorrow.”

Aoi, still curled up on the couch with a blanket over her, waved weakly. “Go, go. I’m not dying.”

Kana arched an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure.”

Aoi scowled. “Wow. Such faith in me.”

Kana smirked before turning to Ren, expression shifting into something more serious.

“Ren.”

Ren looked up from where he had been pretending to ignore the whole conversation. “What?”

“Stay here tonight.”

Aoi and Ren both froze.

Aoi blinked. “Wait, what?”

Ren frowned. “No.”

Kana crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“I am not babysitting her.”

“I’m fine,” Aoi muttered. “Really.”

Kana sighed, clearly unimpressed. “Ren, just in case her fever gets worse—”

“It won’t,” Aoi cut in.

Ren nodded. “See? She said it won’t.”

Kana gave them both a flat stare.

“Okay. Then let’s say—hypothetically—Aoi passes out in the middle of the night, and there’s no one here to help.”

Aoi groaned. “I won’t pass out.”

Ren rolled his eyes. “That’s a dramatic hypothetical.”

Kana tilted her head. “Oh? Like how she definitely wasn’t sick earlier today?”

Ren’s jaw tightened slightly.

Aoi huffed. “Kana, I can take care of myself.”

Kana gave her a look. “Can you?”

Aoi hesitated.

Ren sighed heavily.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

Aoi scowled. “I didn’t agree to this.”

Kana smirked. “Oh, you two are gonna be fine.”

Aoi let out a long, suffering sigh as Kana grabbed her bag.

It was then that Aoi noticed Shin, standing near the door, watching all of this with mild amusement.

He had been silent this whole time, just observing.

And if Aoi wasn’t mistaken, he looked vaguely entertained.

Kana patted Ren’s shoulder. “Try not to let her die.”

Ren scowled. “I’m not making any promises.”

Aoi glared weakly. “I hate both of you.”

Kana just smiled and waved.

Shin chuckled under his breath, falling into step beside Kana as they left.

“That was impressive,” he murmured.

Kana glanced at him. “What?”

Shin smirked slightly. “How easily you control your friends.”

Kana rolled her eyes. “It’s not control. It’s called being right.”

Shin hummed. “If you say so.”

Kana sighed. “You could’ve helped, you know.”

Shin raised an eyebrow. “And interrupt? That was entertaining.”

Kana shook her head, but she was smiling.

Shin just watched her quietly.

—

The streets were quieter at this hour, a comfortable kind of silence settling between them.

Kana adjusted her bag, exhaling. “Sorry you got dragged into my friends’ mess.”

Shin glanced at her. “Did I look like I minded?”

Kana huffed. “No. But still.”

Shin shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s okay.”

Kana looked at him, eyebrows raised. “That’s it? Just ‘it’s okay’?”

Shin tilted his head. “Would you rather I lie?”

Kana let out a breath of laughter. “No. But I guess I owe you one.”

Shin’s gaze softened slightly. “Kana.”

She blinked at him.

He wasn’t looking at her this time, just staring ahead, voice quieter now.

“I don’t really want to watch from the sidelines again.”

Kana paused mid-step.

Shin continued, his tone light, but something underneath it felt heavier.

“If there’s anything I can do,” he said, nonchalantly, but sincerely, “I’d rather help.”

Kana swallowed.

Shin wasn’t the type to say things just for the sake of it.

And somehow, that made it mean more.

“…Shin,” she started, hesitating.

He glanced at her, smirking slightly. “I like watching you smile more often lately.”

Kana’s breath caught.

Because that was flirting.

Not playful teasing.

Not casual banter.

It was flirting.

And she didn’t hate it.

She quickly looked away, clearing her throat. “Be careful, Shin. People might think you actually like me.”

Shin smirked. “Maybe I do.”

Kana froze for half a second.

Then—she kept walking, choosing not to react.

But her heart was doing something weird.

And somehow—she didn’t mind that either.

—

The room was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of the TV screen left on mute. Aoi had fallen asleep in her room hours ago, her breathing steady at first, curled into herself under the thin blanket Ren had tossed over her.

Ren had dozed off on the sofa, in a position that would definitely punish his back in the morning. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, only that the dull buzz of exhaustion had finally pulled him under.

Until—

“…Dad… don’t go…”

The words were barely audible. Faint. Broken.

Ren stirred, his eyes cracking open groggily. The TV flickered silently in front of him, casting light and shadow across the room. He blinked, still half-asleep—until he heard her again. 

“Please… just stay…”

Aoi’s voice. Muffled. Tight with something sharp and fragile.

Ren sat up slowly. He went into Aoi’s room. 

She was still asleep. But her face was scrunched in pain—eyebrows drawn, a slight tremble in her lip. And then—

A tear rolled down her cheek.

Ren froze.

He didn’t know what to do with that. With any of this.

This wasn’t the Aoi he knew. The one who rolled her eyes at him. Who got into arguments over nothing. Who acted like everything bounced off her.

But right now… she looked small. And lost.

Another tear slipped down. Reflexively, almost without thinking, Ren reached out.

His fingers hesitated mid-air.

Then, slowly, almost awkwardly, he brushed the tear away with the back of his hand.

Aoi stirred.

And then—her hand moved. Sleepily. Searching.

Her fingers brushed his wrist. Then wrapped around it.

Ren didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He stayed kneeling there, half-crouched beside her bed, her fingers curled weakly around his wrist like she was trying to anchor herself to something. Or someone.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t know what he could say.

So he just sat there. Quiet. Still.

And when her breathing finally evened out again, when her hand slowly slipped from his wrist, Ren stayed a little longer.

Long enough for the warmth of her touch to linger longer than it should have.

– – –

Chapter 30: The Morning After & The Thoughts That Linger

Aoi woke up feeling strangely warm.

Her fever had settled slightly, but there was still a dull ache in her limbs.

She blinked groggily, squinting at the sunlight filtering through her curtains.

Something felt… off.

Like she had dreamed something strange.

Something that wasn’t just a memory—but something real.

And then—the smell of food hit her.

She frowned, slowly sitting up.

Her apartment was not supposed to smell like food in the morning.

Still hazy with sleep, she turned toward the kitchen—

And froze.

Ren was standing there.

Cooking.

Like it was normal.

Like he belonged here.

Aoi blinked again, half-convinced she was still dreaming.

Ren, noticing movement, glanced over his shoulder. “You’re up.”

Aoi stared.

Then, still raspy from sleep—”What are you doing?”

Ren turned off the stove, moving to plate the food. “Making breakfast.”

Aoi narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Ren sighed like she was exhausting. “Because you’re sick, and I’m not letting you pass out on an empty stomach.”

Aoi groaned, rubbing her face. “You really stayed the whole night?”

Ren set the plate down in front of her. “Kana told me to.”

Aoi scowled. “And you always do what Kana says?”

Ren shot her a look. “When she threatens to kill me? Yes.”

Aoi huffed, but didn’t argue.

She hesitated before taking a bite.

Chewed.

Paused.

Then—slowly blinked.

“…Why is this actually good?”

Ren exhaled through his nose. “I swear to god, if one more person acts surprised that I can cook—”

Aoi smirked, still half-asleep. “You’re weirdly domestic.”

Ren scowled. “Eat.”

Aoi grinned but listened.

The awkwardness of last night still lingered between them, but neither of them brought it up.

Not yet.

Not when they weren’t sure what to do with it.

—

Ren finished cleaning up, grabbing his things to head out.

Before he reached the door, he paused.

“Don’t go out today.”

Aoi frowned. “Excuse me?”

Ren turned to her, expression unreadable.

“I told Kaito to come after his morning class. He’s bringing groceries and lunch,” he said simply. “You’ll only be alone for two hours.”

Aoi blinked. “You what?”

Ren gave her a flat look.

“Kana would kill me if anything happened to you while you’re sick.”

Aoi groaned. “You didn’t have to drag Kaito into this—”

“Yes, I did,” Ren cut in. “Because if I didn’t, you’d do something stupid like go swimming again.”

Aoi opened her mouth to argue—

But Ren’s stare shut her down immediately.

She exhaled dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “Fine. Whatever.”

Ren gave a small nod, grabbing his bag.

Before he left, he added, “Kana said she’d come by after lunch.”

Aoi groaned louder. “You’re all treating me like a child.”

Ren smirked. “Then stop acting like one.”

Aoi grabbed a pillow and threw it at the door as he walked out.

She heard his quiet chuckle as he disappeared down the hallway.

—

Ren walked toward the campus, his mind quieter than usual.

But not empty.

His fingers curled slightly in his pocket.

Last night—Aoi’s voice.

“Dad… don’t go…”

He had assumed Aoi had a normal family.

Had assumed that she didn’t carry the same kind of loss that he did.

But the way she had whispered those words—the way she had cried in her sleep—

She had lost something, too.

Maybe not to death.

But abandonment was a different kind of grief.

And somehow, that realization sat uncomfortably in his chest.

Ren let out a slow breath, shaking his head.

This wasn’t his problem.

This wasn’t—

But he had stayed.

He had held her hand.

And that was the part he didn’t know how to explain.

—

Aoi leaned back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut.

She was still drowsy from the medicine, but her mind wouldn’t stop drifting back.

To her dream.

To her father’s back, walking away when she was seven years old.

She hadn’t thought about it in years.

Had pushed it down, buried it deep, told herself it didn’t matter anymore.

So why now?

Why did it feel so fresh again?

Why did she wake up with the faintest memory of—

She hesitated.

Had Ren… been there?

Had she imagined it?

Aoi touched her cheek where she swore she had felt something.

Had it been part of the dream?

Or had Ren actually—

Her face warmed.

She shook her head. “No way.”

She must’ve dreamed it.

Right?

But still—the lingering feeling wouldn’t leave her.

Even as she dozed off again, she swore she could still feel the warmth of his hand.

Chapter 32: Letting Go & Holding On

Aoi sighed, rubbing the back of her head as she leaned against the doorframe.

Her fever had finally gone down, and while she still felt weak, she wasn’t about to let them hover over her forever.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered, looking at Kana, Kaito, and Ren standing in her apartment like overprotective bodyguards. “You can all go now. I promise I’ll rest.”

Kana crossed her arms. “You sure?”

Aoi groaned. “Yes. I don’t want to be a bother anymore.”

Kaito smirked. “Too late. You’re already a burden.”

Aoi threw a pillow at his face. “I hate you.”

Kaito grinned. “No, you don’t.”

Aoi rolled her eyes before turning toward Ren, who had been quiet.

“You too, Ice Prince,” she said, forcing a smirk. “Your services are no longer required.”

Ren exhaled slowly. “Just—call if anything happens.”

Aoi huffed. “Fine, fine. But nothing will happen.”

Kana sighed, grabbing her bag. “Alright. We’ll get out of your way. But you better actually rest, Aoi.”

Aoi nodded, pushing them toward the door. “Yes, Mom.”

Kana snorted, shoving her lightly.

Finally, the three of them left, the door clicking shut behind them.

—

Outside Aoi’s apartment, Ren stretched his arms above his head, letting out a long sigh.

“Okay,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I’m done being social. See you guys.”

Kana snorted. “You lasted longer than I expected.”

Ren gave her a deadpan look. “Barely.”

Kaito smirked. “You’re evolving.”

Ren scowled. “Don’t push it.”

With that, he turned and headed toward his own apartment, hands shoved in his pockets.

Kana and Kaito watched him disappear around the corner before Kaito turned to Kana, his smirk shifting into something softer.

“You up for coffee?” he asked. “Before heading home?”

Kana blinked, then shrugged. “Sure.”

Kaito grinned. “Great. Let’s go.”

—

The café was quiet, warm, and familiar.

Kana stirred her coffee absently, watching the ripples spread across the surface.

Kaito leaned back in his chair, sipping his caramel macchiato, watching her.

It had been a long time since it was just the two of them like this.

After a moment, Kaito broke the silence.

“Aoi told me,” he said, tone casual, but his gaze steady.

Kana looked up. “Told you what?”

“That you told her about Yui.”

Kana nodded, not surprised. “It felt like the right thing to do. She saw me break down. She’s not just someone who’s passing through our lives anymore.”

Kaito tilted his head. “You mean because of the shift between her and Ren?”

Kana hummed. “That, and because… she’s here. She cares. It’s different.”

Kaito tapped his fingers lightly against his cup. “Yeah. It is.”

Kana studied him for a moment.

Then, softly, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Kaito blinked. “What?”

Kana exhaled. “You never talk about Yui either. But maybe that’s what we need to do. Talk. Be open. Let people in.”

Kaito let out a small chuckle, but it lacked his usual lightness.

“For a while,” he muttered, “it was just easier that way.”

Kana watched him carefully.

She knew that feeling.

The weight of holding something in so tightly, convincing yourself it’s fine.

But it wasn’t fine.

Not for Kaito.

Not for Ren.

Not for her.

“You know, Kaito,” she said gently, “you have the right to grieve too.”

Kaito stilled.

Kana’s gaze was warm, steady, unwavering.

“I know you loved her,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just as much as Ren did.”

Kaito swallowed.

For a second something in his expression cracked.

But then, just as quickly, he smiled.

It was small. A little sad. But real.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I did.”

Kana reached across the table, resting her hand over his for just a brief moment.

Kaito didn’t pull away.

And for the first time in a long time, they let themselves sit in the silence without running from it.

Chapter 33: Thoughts We Can’t Escape

Ren walked down the empty corridor of his apartment building, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his mind refusing to settle.

Aoi’s voice from last night still lingered.

“Dad… don’t go…”

It had been raw, broken—the kind of thing you didn’t just say in a fever dream unless it was buried deep inside you.

Ren exhaled sharply, pushing open his apartment door.

He kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag by the couch, and rubbed a hand over his face.

He didn’t get it.

Aoi wasn’t like him.

She was loud, impulsive, reckless.

She wasn’t buried under grief—wasn’t someone who let the past control them.

But maybe… maybe she was just better at hiding it.

Ren sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall.

He thought about how small she looked last night, mumbling in her sleep.

How her fingers twitched against the blanket, reaching for something that wasn’t there.

How she whispered his name like she expected him to leave too.

Ren’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t like how that made him feel.

Like he was suddenly responsible for something he didn’t ask for.

Like he was seeing a part of Aoi she hadn’t meant to show him.

He shook his head, letting out a slow breath.

It didn’t matter.

She was fine now.

And Ren wasn’t the kind of person to get involved in things that weren’t his problem.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

—

Kaito walked aimlessly after leaving the café, his mind too busy to go straight home.

Kana’s words wouldn’t leave him alone.

“You have the right to grieve too.”

Kaito scoffed under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Of course he knew that.

He had always known that.

But hearing it—actually hearing someone say it out loud?

It was different.

It made something ache.

He had loved Yui. In the quiet, patient way that never asked for anything in return.

And when she died, it was easier to push it down.

Easier to let Ren be the one to fall apart.

Easier to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Because if he let himself really feel it—

If he let himself admit how much it still hurt—

Then what?

Would it change anything?

Would it bring her back?

Kaito stopped walking, staring blankly at the street in front of him.

No.

It wouldn’t change a damn thing.

Maybe Kana was right.

Maybe grief wasn’t something you could ignore forever.

And maybe he was finally starting to realize that.

— 

Chapter 34: A Tune That Lingers

The soft, soaring notes of a violin concerto filled the empty music room, each sound resonating with effortless control and deep emotion.

Kana stood near the center of the space, eyes closed, her bow gliding over the strings with precision and fire.

She had chosen Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor—a piece filled with intensity, but also deep, expressive longing.

It suited her.

Strong, unwavering, yet layered with something unspoken.

As she played, she let go.

She let the music carry her, let it speak for her.

She didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t notice the pair of eyes watching her.

Not until the last note faded into silence.

A slow clap followed.

Kana’s eyes snapped open, her heart skipping for half a second.

Shin stood by the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“If you played like that all the time,” he said, voice smooth, “people would fall for you instantly.”

Kana blinked.

Then—heat rushed to her face.

Her ears burned.

She scowled, gripping her violin tighter. “You—Shin! How long have you been standing there?”

Shin tilted his head. “Long enough.”

Kana groaned, rubbing her temple. “You’re unbelievable.”

Shin grinned. “What? You’d rather I pretend I wasn’t impressed?”

Kana huffed, turning away, trying to compose herself.

Stupid Shin.

Stupid casual compliments.

Stupid butterflies that had no reason to exist.

She exhaled sharply. “You’re here for the climbing gear, right?”

Shin chuckled. “Yep. You ready?”

Kana nodded quickly, putting away her violin far too fast before striding past him.

“Let’s go,” she muttered.

Shin smirked, following behind.

“Still blushing, huh?”

Kana whipped around. “I AM NOT.”

Shin laughed, clearly enjoying this.

Kana stomped ahead, refusing to look at him.

Stupid, stupid Shin.

And his stupid ability to make her feel things.

—

The campus walkway was busy as students moved between classes, laughter and chatter filling the air.

Kana and Shin walked side by side, their conversation light, easy.

Kana had long since recovered from her embarrassment, now arguing with Shin about the best climbing shoes.

Shin smirked. “So you’re saying comfort is more important than durability?”

Kana rolled her eyes. “If you can’t feel your feet, what’s the point?”

Shin huffed a laugh. “Fine. Fair argument.”

Kana grinned, victorious.

She didn’t notice the pair of eyes watching them from afar.

Kaito stood near one of the benches, drink in hand, his usual smirk absent.

His gaze was fixed on Kana.

Or more specifically—

Kana and Shin.

Something about the way they moved together, talked so easily, fell into step like they had done this a hundred times before—

It made Kaito pause.

Made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t like.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered to himself.

And yet—

His grip on his drink tightened slightly.

And he didn’t look away until they disappeared from view.

—

Chapter 35: The Things We’re Not Ready to Admit

Being with Shin was easy.

Kana hadn’t really thought about it before.

Hadn’t really let herself acknowledge the difference between being with him and being with Ren or Kaito.

But now, as she sat across from Shin in the climbing gear shop, watching him test out some ridiculous-looking gloves, the thought crept in.

She didn’t have to be careful with him.

Didn’t have to tiptoe around memories, around grief, around things left unsaid.

With Kaito and Ren, there was always a weight.

An unspoken history of loss that loomed between them.

But Shin?

Shin wasn’t part of that past.

She could just be Kana when she was with him.

Not the girl holding everyone together.

Not the one who had to be strong.

She could break a little.

And he wouldn’t look at her like she was fragile.

She watched as Shin flexed his fingers, frowning at the gloves like they were personally offending him.

“This is a scam,” he muttered. “Thirty dollars for fingerless gloves? What’s the point?”

Kana snorted. “Style, obviously.”

Shin sighed dramatically. “Society is doomed.”

Kana shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips before she could stop it.

And that was another thing.

She smiled more when she was with Shin.

It wasn’t forced.

It wasn’t a way to reassure someone else.

It was just… natural.

Easy.

And she wasn’t ready to think about what that meant.

—

Kaito had never really paid attention before.

Never really noticed things about Kana that weren’t just normal parts of their friendship.

But now?

Now, it was all he could see.

The way she smiled when she was with Shin.

The way she seemed lighter.

The way she never looked like that when she was with him.

And Kaito didn’t know why that unsettled him.

It wasn’t like it mattered.

It wasn’t like Kana was his.

She was his best friend.

She was Ren’s best friend.

They had all been a mess together after Yui.

So why did it feel like something was shifting?

Kaito exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Was this just because he suspected Kana had feelings for him?

Was that why he suddenly started noticing everything about her?

Or was it something else?

Something he wasn’t ready to face?

Kaito clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

No.

It didn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter.

Right?

—

Ren sat on his bed, his elbows resting against his knees, staring at the framed photo on his desk.

Yui’s face smiled back at him.

Soft. Gentle.

Like she had never doubted him for a second.

Like she thought he would be okay.

Ren exhaled slowly.

“Yui…” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

It had been a long time since he had said her name out loud like this.

A long time since he had let himself speak to her, even if she wasn’t there.

“Oh, Yui… we’re a mess without you.”

His fingers curled slightly.

“How could you leave? How could you—”

He swallowed.

“I don’t even know what I should be feeling anymore.”

The grief wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.

Maybe because of Kana’s breakdown.

Maybe because of Kaito finally talking about her again.

Maybe because of Aoi.

Ren didn’t know.

Didn’t know what was changing, what was shifting.

But thinking about Yui now didn’t feel like drowning.

Not like it used to.

And somehow, that realization scared him more than the grief itself.

Because if it didn’t hurt as much anymore…

What did that mean?

—

Chapter 36: Unimportant Things & The Questions That Matter

Aoi felt human again.

No fever. No dizziness. Just pure, unfiltered energy ready to annoy someone.

And as she walked across campus, her target appeared.

Kaito stood near one of the benches, stretching, looking entirely too relaxed for someone who was always dramatic about life.

Aoi smirked. Perfect.

“Well, well,” she called out. “If it isn’t my unpaid nurse.”

Kaito glanced up, grinning immediately. “Aoi! Back from the dead!”

Aoi huffed. “Barely. You know, I expected better service. No one spoon-fed me soup.”

Kaito mock-gasped. “I offered to bring more snacks, but somebody threw a pillow at my face.”

Aoi crossed her arms. “That was a fair reaction.”

Kaito smirked. “No gratitude, huh? Ren put up with you all night, you know. Must’ve been a nightmare for him.”

Aoi rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. He survived. Barely.”

They both laughed, the conversation easy, effortless.

It had been a while since Aoi felt this normal.

Since she didn’t feel like she was carrying something heavier than she could name.

The weather was nice.

The sun was warm.

And Kaito was… well, Kaito.

It was easy to talk to him.

But then—the shift.

—

Kaito stretched his arms behind his head, tilting his gaze toward Aoi.

“So,” he said casually, “how are things with Ren?”

Aoi blinked, caught off guard.

She hadn’t expected him to bring it up.

“…Fine?” she said, though it sounded more like a question.

Kaito smirked. “That convincing, huh?”

Aoi exhaled, rubbing her neck. “I don’t know. He’s… complicated.”

Kaito chuckled. “Understatement of the year.”

Aoi shook her head. “It’s weird. I feel like I see more of him than most people do. But at the same time, I don’t really know him.”

Kaito hummed. “Sounds about right. Ren’s like a very stubborn cat. He won’t come to you unless he wants to.”

Aoi snorted. “That’s disturbingly accurate.”

Kaito smirked but said nothing.

Then, just as Aoi was about to change the topic—

“How are things with Kana?”

Kaito stiffened.

Aoi raised an eyebrow, watching as he hesitated for half a second.

Then, too casually, he shrugged. “Same as always.”

Aoi narrowed her eyes. “Liar.”

Kaito scoffed. “Excuse me?”

Aoi smirked. “You hesitated.”

Kaito rolled his eyes. “That means nothing.”

Aoi tilted her head. “So you’re totally fine with Shin being around her all the time?”

Kaito froze again.

Then, voice a little too forced, he muttered, “I don’t care about that.”

Aoi grinned. “Oh, wow. You really hesitated this time.”

Kaito scowled. “You’re annoying.”

Aoi leaned in. “You’re deflecting.”

Kaito groaned, rubbing his face. “This is not how I wanted this conversation to go.”

Aoi laughed. “Too bad, because I’m having a great time.”

Kaito exhaled dramatically.

Then, after a pause—he muttered something.

Aoi blinked. “What?”

Kaito rubbed his temple. “I don’t know, okay?”

Aoi tilted her head.

Kaito let out a breath, his smirk gone now.

“I don’t know why I even care about it,” he admitted. “I just do.”

Aoi watched him carefully.

For all of Kaito’s joking, his carefree attitude—this was the first time he actually admitted he felt something.

And for some reason—that made Aoi’s teasing pause.

She exhaled, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Well. That’s progress, at least.”

Kaito huffed. “Yeah, yeah.”

They sat there in comfortable silence.

Not pushing. Not forcing.

Just… existing.

—

Chapter 37: Somewhere Along the Way

Kana wasn’t sure how they got here.

Not to the coffee shop, specifically—she knew how that happened. Shin had casually asked, “Coffee?” after they finished something for the club, and she had said “Sure.”

But when had this started happening?

When had Shin gone from being just someone in the club to someone she saw more than most people?

It had started with club errands.

Then it was, “Wanna check out that climbing gear?”

Then, “What are you doing for lunch?”

Then, “I need a place to read—wanna go to the library?”

And somehow, he started showing up at her practices.

Not in an obvious way.

Not in a Kaito crashes everything kind of way.

Just being there.

He’d sit quietly, flipping through a book, listening while she played.

Once, when she asked him about it, he had simply shrugged and said, “I always need more of that violin.”

And now—coffee.

A completely normal, simple, nothing-special coffee.

Except—

Kana wasn’t sure it was nothing anymore.

And maybe that was the problem.

—

Shin sat across from her, fingers wrapped around his cup, watching the steam rise.

Kana sipped her drink, watching him over the rim.

She was too aware of this.

Too aware of how easy it felt.

“How’s your practice going?” Shin asked.

Kana blinked. “You were there yesterday. You tell me.”

Shin smirked slightly. “It sounded good.”

Kana arched an eyebrow. “Just good?”

Shin tilted his head. “I think you’re waiting for me to say something dramatic.”

Kana smirked. “Maybe.”

Shin exhaled, setting his cup down. “Fine. It sounded great. Like something that stays with you long after it stops playing.”

Kana paused.

She had expected sarcasm, teasing.

Not… that.

Shin leaned back, his gaze flickering toward the window. “That’s why I show up, you know.”

Kana blinked. “What?”

Shin’s fingers drummed lightly against his cup.

“I mean, yeah, I bring a book,” he admitted. “But that’s just an excuse.”

Kana stared at him.

Shin glanced at her then, calm, unreadable—but honest.

“You should play more often,” he murmured. “People need to hear it.”

Kana felt something shift in her chest.

She cleared her throat, looking away.

“That’s a lot of faith in my skills,” she muttered.

Shin smirked. “Well, when I believe in something, I don’t do it halfway.”

Kana exhaled sharply. “You’re dramatic.”

Shin shrugged. “Only when it’s true.”

—

The café wasn’t crowded, but the sound of quiet conversations filled the space.

Kana stared at her cup, fingers curling around the warmth.

“You seem happier lately,” Shin said suddenly.

Kana glanced up. “Huh?”

Shin was watching her.

Not in a way that demanded an answer.

Just… watching.

Kana huffed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t remember ever being particularly miserable.”

Shin tilted his head slightly. “Not miserable. Just… carrying too much.”

Kana’s grip on her cup tightened slightly.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

She had always been carrying something.

Shin looked down at his coffee, voice lower now.

“It’s nice to see you smile more,” he said. “It suits you.”

Kana felt her heartbeat pick up slightly.

She forced a smirk. “Are you flirting?”

Shin smirked back, shaking his head. “No.”

Then, after a pause—

“But I’m being honest.”

Kana stilled.

Shin leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table.

“You’re beautiful, Kana,” he said, tone even, certain—not teasing. “But when you smile?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers against his cup.

“You’re radiant.”

Kana’s breath hitched.

She blinked at him, completely thrown off.

Shin didn’t smirk.

Didn’t look like he was expecting a reaction.

He had just said it.

Like it was a simple fact.

Like it wasn’t something that was supposed to shake her entire composure.

Kana looked away too quickly, pretending to check her phone.

“You should stop talking,” she muttered.

Shin chuckled. “Noted.”

But he was still watching her.

Still letting the words sit between them.

And for the first time, Kana wasn’t sure what to do with them.

—

Chapter 38: Things We Can’t Run From

Ren had one goal today.

Avoid Aoi Suzuka.

That was it.

Simple.

Except it wasn’t.

Because Aoi was a relentless force of nature, and she wasn’t letting him get away with it.

The moment he saw her coming down the hallway, he turned sharply in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately, Aoi saw him.

“Oh, hell no.”

Ren barely made it two steps before Aoi grabbed the back of his hoodie, yanking him back.

He scowled. “Let. Go.”

Aoi crossed her arms. “No. You’re avoiding me.”

Ren sighed heavily. “You’re imagining things.”

Aoi’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Because last I checked, you were the one who decided to be all concerned when I was sick, and now you’re acting like I don’t exist.”

Ren gritted his teeth. “Aoi—”

“And don’t even try to deny it,” Aoi cut in, poking his chest. “You’re either hovering over me or running away. Just pick one!”

Ren snapped.

“I don’t know!”

Aoi froze.

Ren exhaled harshly, hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t understand what or why I do things,” he admitted, voice sharp, raw. “I let go of my emotions one time, and now you—”

He let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair.

“You make me feel things, and I hate it,” he muttered. “I hate that I can’t just—just bury it all like before.”

Aoi blinked at him.

Ren was…

Ren was actually admitting this.

She tilted her head, studying him, before saying, calmly, simply—

“At least we’re heading somewhere now.”

Ren stared at her.

His jaw clenched, his breath uneven, his pulse too loud.

And Aoi—

Aoi just smiled.

Not mocking. Not victorious.

Just understanding.

And somehow, that was worse.

—

Kaito felt lost.

And Kana being with Shin was making it worse.

Didn’t Kana like him?

Hadn’t he always known that?

Then why—

Why was she pulling away?

Why did it feel like, suddenly, she was slipping out of his reach?

He thought about how easy it was for her to smile with Shin.

How she looked brighter, lighter.

And for the first time—it unsettled him.

Because Kana had always been there.

Strong, steady, constant.

Kaito never realized how much she resembled Yui.

Not in looks. Not even in personality.

But in the way they made him feel.

If Yui was the moon—gentle, quiet, comforting—

Kana was the sun—bright, strong, radiant.

And Kaito never realized how much he had relied on that shine.

Never realized how much he had held onto it without thinking.

Never realized that now that he was losing it—losing her—

It felt like something inside him was slipping away, too.

—

Chapter 39: The Weight of Today

The music room was empty, except for her.

Kana stood in the center, violin in hand, bow steady as she played.

She wasn’t performing.

She wasn’t practicing.

She was remembering.

Today was Yui’s birthday.

And this—this was how Kana knew how to grieve.

She played all of Yui’s favorite songs.

Each note was a memory, a piece of Yui that still lingered.

Soft. Gentle. Quiet.

But also aching.

As if the music itself knew that the person it was meant for wasn’t here anymore.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t break.

She just let the music carry her.

And somewhere in the room, Shin sat silently, watching her.

Not speaking.

Not moving.

Just there.

—

Ren didn’t usually drink.

Neither did Kaito.

But today—they both did.

Separately.

Not because they wanted to be alone.

But because they didn’t know how to be together.

Ren sat at the bar, staring blankly at his half-empty glass.

Kaito was somewhere else, parked in a random lot, his fingers gripping the wheel, liquor burning in his throat.

Neither of them called each other.

Because what was there to say?

“She would’ve been 22 today.”

“She should be here.”

“We shouldn’t be like this.”

But none of that would change the fact that she was gone.

So instead, they drank.

And for a moment, it numbed everything.

Until Kaito decided to drive.

And until Ren drank too much to stand.

—

Chapter 39: The Night Everything Fell Apart

The burn of alcohol lingered on Kaito’s tongue, but it wasn’t enough.

Not to drown out the weight in his chest.

Not to silence the thought that had been eating at him all day.

Yui should be here.

She should be laughing, complaining that birthdays were overrated.

She should be with them.

Not just a memory that refused to fade.

Kaito sighed, rubbing his temple as he leaned against the hood of his car, the cool night air doing nothing to clear his head.

His keys felt heavier than usual in his hand.

He knew better.

Knew he shouldn’t be driving.

But he also knew he didn’t want to sit in this silence anymore.

Didn’t want to be alone with the ghosts of his past.

So he got in.

Turned the key.

And pulled out onto the empty road.

The first few minutes were fine.

The city lights blurred past, and he let the motion carry him forward, mind empty, hands steady.

But then—

A sharp turn.

A miscalculation.

The sudden blare of a horn.

Headlights flashing too close.

Kaito’s breath caught—

And then—

Metal against metal.

Glass shattering.

The world spinning—tilting—crashing.

The impact sent his body forward, his seat belt locking against his chest.

A sharp, searing pain shot through his side.

Then—

Nothing.

Only the ringing in his ears.

The distant sound of voices.

A faint, distorted siren in the background.

And the overwhelming, suffocating thought that hit him even harder than the crash itself.

“Yui, I think I finally get it now.”

Then—darkness.

—

Ren had lost count of how many drinks he’d had.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want to care.

The bartender had been watching him for a while now.

Probably wondering if they should cut him off.

Probably wondering why some guy who looked half-dead was drinking like he was trying to disappear.

Ren didn’t usually drink.

Not because he couldn’t handle it, but because he didn’t like the way it unraveled him.

Didn’t like the way it made his mind wander—

Didn’t like the way it made him feel.

But tonight—what else was he supposed to do?

It was Yui’s birthday.

And she was gone.

Ren let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair.

The bartender sighed, eyeing his phone on the counter.

The screen was dimmed, but a few missed calls were visible.

Kana (No Answer)

Kaito (No Answer)

Aoi Suzuka

The bartender frowned, hesitated—

Then tapped the most recent number.

A few rings.

Then—

“…Ren?”

A voice.

Sleepy. Confused.

The bartender exhaled. “Hey. You need to pick up your friend.”

Silence.

Then—Aoi’s voice, sharper now.

“Where is he?”

And just like that—Aoi was wide awake.

—

Kana’s fingers hovered over the violin strings, her breath steady, her mind somewhere else.

She had been playing for what felt like hours.

Playing because it was the only way she knew how to face today.

Shin sat nearby, quiet, just watching.

Just being there.

And then—her phone rang.

Kana frowned, pulling it from her pocket.

An unknown number.

She hesitated, then answered.

“Hello?”

A voice, professional but firm.

“Is this Kana Takahashi?”

Her breath hitched slightly. “Yes.”

“This is General Hospital. We have a patient here—Kaito Arata. He was in a car accident.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t real.

The kind of silence that was about to shatter.

Then—

Kana inhaled sharply.

“I’ll be there.”

She hung up.

Stared at her phone.

Didn’t move.

Shin watched her, immediately catching the shift in her expression.

“Kana?”

She swallowed.

“Kaito,” she murmured. “He—”

She didn’t even finish.

Shin was already grabbing his coat.

“Let’s go,” he said.

And they ran.

—