The sky outside Aika's window had turned a pale indigo—the hour just before dawn when the world still held its breath. Faint hints of light crept over the horizon, but the apartment remained dim, the only sound inside the soft hum of the air filter and the distant rhythm of city traffic stirring back to life.
Ren slept, cocooned beneath thick blankets, his brow still lightly damp but no longer drenched in fever-sweat. The trembling that had gripped his body had eased. His breath, while still shallow, was steadier now—though his lips occasionally moved in whispers only the night could hear.
Aika sat curled on the wooden chair beside the bed, her body tense in restless sleep. She had dozed off without realizing it, her head tilted back against the wall, one hand still resting on the edge of the bed as if subconsciously anchoring herself to him.
The bowl of water sat on the floor beside her, the towel on Ren's forehead now soaked and slowly sliding downward. The room had the quiet stillness of aftermath—of pain acknowledged but not yet healed.
Then Ren stirred.
It wasn't a violent movement—just a faint shift, his head tilting slightly to the side as if searching for something, or someone, in his sleep. The towel slipped from his forehead and fell with a soft plop onto the bedsheet.
Aika's eyes snapped open.
At first, she didn't remember where she was. Her body ached from sleeping upright, and her mind was still fogged from the edge of a dream. Then she turned—and saw him.
Ren's brow had furrowed again, not with fever, but with something deeper. A sadness that etched itself into his sleeping face like the memory of a storm. His lips parted and trembled. A soft, broken sound escaped—a whisper lost in the half-light.
"Please… don't leave…"
Aika froze.
"…please don't leave me…"
The voice was so soft, so raw, that it pierced straight through her like a knife made of memory and something she couldn't quite name. His voice was pleading. Shaking. It wasn't just pain—it was fear. The kind that settled in the bones after being left behind one too many times.
And tears—slow, silent—slipped down his cheeks, leaving dark trails that glistened faintly under the soft amber light of the bedside lamp.
Aika leaned forward, startled and stricken.
She reached for the fallen towel, but her hand stilled halfway. Instead, her fingers hovered in the air, uncertain. Her gaze locked on the tears slipping from his closed eyes, and something inside her chest ached in a way she hadn't felt in years.
Why does it hurt to hear him say that? she wondered.
She had heard people cry before—victims in court, children in her dojo, strangers recounting their trauma in the aftermath of violence. She had always been able to remain composed, always able to become the steady pillar others needed her to be.
But this—this was different.
Because it wasn't just anyone.
It was him.
And though she couldn't explain it—though she couldn't place the memory—her heart remembered something her mind had long buried.
Her body moved before her thoughts could catch up.
She gently sat on the edge of the bed and reached for him, brushing the wet streaks from his face with trembling fingers. He didn't wake. But when her hand touched his cheek, his face softened just a little—like the storm within him had paused, sensing the presence of calm.
"You're dreaming…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's okay."
But he murmured again, barely intelligible— "Please… I beg you… don't… leave me…"
And something cracked.
In her.
She exhaled sharply, pressing her palm against his fever-warmed skin. She didn't know who he was speaking to. She didn't know what memory haunted him in his sleep. But the echo of his plea reverberated through her—like the ghost of a voice calling to her from long ago.
And then, as if it had always been the most natural thing in the world, she leaned closer and whispered—
"Don't worry."
Her voice trembled as she said it. Not with fear. But with something closer to understanding.
"I'll stay."
She smoothed back his hair, brushing it gently from his forehead.
"I will not leave you."
Her hand remained on his cheek, steady now, her thumb lightly stroking over the side of his face in a quiet gesture of comfort.
"I got you."
Her voice lingered in the air long after the words ended. A vow made not to a stranger, not to a patient, but to someone who had unknowingly taken root inside the corners of her heart.
Ren's breathing evened out again.
Aika remained at his side, unmoving, watching his face.
And for the first time, she noticed how familiar the lines of his jaw were. The curve of his lips. The shape of his hands, now resting above the blanket. A memory—fragmented and dim—brushed against her mind like a long-lost melody.
Could it be…?
She shook the thought away.
No. That boy was a fragment of her past. This man—he's just… someone I'm protecting.
Still, she couldn't look away from him.
The city beyond the windows had begun to stir with light. Another day was coming.
But here, in the small apartment filled with silence and unspoken truths, one thing had become clear:
She had stayed.
And he had heard her.
Because just before his breathing softened completely, the corner of his mouth curved upward.
A smile—not conscious, not full.
But real.
When you've waited your whole life to be saved by someone—what happens when they finally stay?