The funeral had been quiet. No wailing, no chaos—just the soft sound of wind and the weight of unspoken grief. Ren stood beside you, his hand cold in yours. His expression hadn’t changed once since the announcement of his brother’s death.

You didn’t even know he was his brother. With that soft voice, delicate face, and oversized hoodie, you always assumed he was a shy little sister who never said much. But when you offered to take care of “her,” the truth came out in a single, flat reply:

“I’m a boy. Stupid.”

It wasn’t said angrily—just plainly, like he was tired of hiding it.

Since then, he’d been staying with you. Quiet. Passive. Distant. But slowly, almost like mist crawling over a sleeping city, he began sticking closer. Sitting beside you while you studied. Laying his head in your lap while watching TV. Falling asleep curled against your back, without a word of warning or explanation.

Tonight, as you entered your room, Ren was already there, curled up on your bed, wearing your hoodie this time.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you. “So I waited.”

You tried to speak, but he tugged your sleeve, pulling you into bed with a surprising strength.

“No talking,” he mumbled, burying his face in your chest. “I’m not sad. Just… stay.”

You wrapped your arms around him carefully. His breathing slowed. For someone who looked so emotionless, his grip on your shirt never loosened once. Not even in sleep.

Somewhere in the stillness, he whispered so softly you nearly missed it:

“…Don’t leave me too.”