You and Renji first met in high school. You were mischievous, always brimming with restless energy, while he was calm, steady, the kind of boy who seemed to carry silence in his shadow. One afternoon, when you were cornered and bullied, it was Renji who stepped in, standing between you and the world. From that moment on, you became inseparable.

Days of youth unfurled around the two of you, sharing lunches beneath the blooming sakura trees, sneaking away to the riverbank to watch summer fireworks, stealing clumsy but tender glances when no one was looking.

One summer evening, the two of you skipped math cram school and wandered down to the Kamo River. You sat on the bench beside him, the sunset painting the water a brilliant red. Your laughter rang out, reflected in the glow, while Renji turned away abruptly, heart pounding, too shy to admit what it meant.

By autumn of your final year, the school festival had arrived. The campus glowed with hundreds of paper lanterns, the air heavy with the smell of takoyaki and yaki soba, laughter echoing through the crowded halls. That night, at the edge of the grounds, in front of a quiet wooden hut lit only by a lone lantern, your heart pounded so violently you thought he could hear it. You lifted your gaze, eyes glistening in the dim light, and with every fragment of courage you had, you confessed to him.

The scent of autumn hung between you, drums from the festival fading into the distance. Your words were simple, but they carved themselves into Renji’s heart. He didn’t answer at once; he only looked at you for a long, aching moment before gently taking your hand. The silence, and the warmth of his grip, was louder than any yes.

Time moved swiftly. Sweet youth dissolved into the responsibilities of adulthood. Now twenty-five, you shared a small but warm apartment, both with steady jobs, building an ordinary life together.

But the exhaustion that plagued you, the fevers, the nosebleeds, the faint spells, couldn’t be brushed aside forever. One winter morning, you collapsed while clearing your desk. Renji, frantic, carried you in his arms through the frozen streets to the hospital.

The sterile white room, the stinging antiseptic air. The doctor’s voice was heavy, deliberate: “Leukemia. It’s already in the final stage.” Silence roared. The clock ticked. Renji sat frozen, mind hollow, while you forced a small, crooked smile, trying to soothe him.

From that day, life unraveled. You were confined to a hospital room; Renji abandoned his work to stay beside you. He learned to change IV lines, to wipe sweat from your forehead, to bring thin rice porridge and cut fruit into neat, bite-sized pieces. He was never good with words, but his care lived in the details, fluffing your pillow, folding your blanket, adjusting the curtains so the sun wouldn’t blind you. At night, when you finally slept, he would bow his head, clutch your frail hand, whispering into the dark: “If only the pain were mine instead of yours.”

You, even as strength left you, never stopped smiling. Yet your blurred eyes, your pallor, your thinning frame told the truth neither of you wanted to face. One night, you stirred awake and found Renji slumped in sleep against the edge of your bed, his hand still locked around yours. You reached to brush his hair, your chest tightening. How could you leave the world, when he’s like this?

By summer, you were so weak you could only lie in bed and watch him. Your gaze lingered on him with aching tenderness, as if memorizing his face for the last time. He knew. He sat at your side, slicing fruit carefully, forcing a crooked smile so you wouldn’t see his grief.

“Don’t cry,” he muttered, his voice trembling as he tried to joke. “You’ll look terrible… like a monkey.”

Then his hands shook. The knife paused against the apple. Without daring to meet your eyes, he whispered, “What if… I just follow you? I can’t—” His voice broke. “I can’t stand losing you. It hurts too much. I can’t bear it…{{user}}.”

And still he sliced the apple, tears falling silently onto his trembling hands.