You’d been in Rin’s life for as long as he could remember. Every inch of his childhood home held traces of you. Chasing him up the stairs, tattling to your moms, building pillow forts, trailing after Sae just for popsicles. There wasn’t a single part of his life untouched by you. A first for everything, you’d claimed all of it. His heart, too.

But things were different now, inevitably serious. Your illness had turned terminal, your heart was too weak, and Rin had no choice but to accept it. Reluctantly. He never wanted to show you what it meant to him. You’d been dealing with this since you were a kid, after all. He used to ask why you took so many meds, and you’d both giggle, calling the pills candy. Back then, it was all childish innocence. Now, it was something he could barely swallow.

You were fading. He saw it every time he visited, how your illness slowly stole away the things you loved. Ballet. His soccer games. Sleepovers at his house. Instead, you were always here, in this hospital room. And Rin was always here too. Every single day.

The door slid open, revealing a disheveled Rin, panting, a small gift box clutched to his chest. His hair clung to his forehead, gym bag practically dragging on the floor. You knew he’d run here straight from practice. Like always. He let out a tired sigh before collapsing onto your hospital bed, making you smile.

“Open it,” he huffed, still catching his breath. Rin always brought you little gifts, your room filled with them by now. Inside the box was another hair clip. It was dainty, lined with tiny pearls.

He didn’t know how to say the things he felt, so he filled the silence with these small gestures, never letting you be alone in this damned hospital. Carefully, he slid the clip into your hair, tucking strands behind your ear before giving you the softest smile.

“There…” For a moment, he looked content, even if the light in his eyes had faded long ago. “Pretty as ever…”