Ren wasn't there.
No hoodie. No bad jokes. No slouching in the hallway with a vending machine sandwich and that stupid grin.
Just… absence.
Noa noticed it the second she walked into the studio. It wasn't even lunch break yet, and she already caught herself scanning the room for him.
Then she hated herself for it.
"He's probably late," she muttered under her breath, as if saying it would make it true.
But hours passed. Still no Ren.
—
By midday, the office felt louder.
The fluorescent lights harsher. The clicking keyboards more annoying. Even the coffee machine seemed to wheeze louder without him around to call it "an old man dying slowly."
Noa sat alone during lunch. She didn't mean to, but her usual seat by the window just felt… empty.
"He's probably sick," Minami said, sliding into the chair across from her. "Or ghosted the job. Wouldn't be the first intern."
Noa poked at her food. "He's not the type to flake."
Minami smirked. "Aww, look who knows his type now."
Noa didn't rise to it. She just kept staring at her tray.
"You're worried."
"No."
"Sure."
Pause.
"…Maybe."
—
By 4 PM, she gave in.
She opened her phone, thumb hovering awkwardly over Ren's chat.
Nothing new. Just the old thread, ending with:
> No. Obviously not.
She sighed. Typed:
> You alive?
Then deleted it.
Typed again:
> Skipping work now?
Deleted.
Finally, she just sent:
> ?
A few minutes passed.
Then her screen lit up.
**[Ren Kurosawa]**
> Dead inside, but physically functioning.
> Fever. Slept through alarms. Sorry.
Noa exhaled longer than she meant to.
Then typed:
> Okay.
Pause.
> You need anything?
Another pause.
**[Ren Kurosawa]**
> A new immune system. And maybe... tea?
Noa rolled her eyes. Smiled.
Typed:
> I'll bring something.
Hit send before she could change her mind.
—
That evening, she stood in front of his tiny apartment door with a paper bag of meds and warm bottled tea.
When Ren opened the door, he looked like a soggy mop—hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess, face pale.
"Well," he croaked, "if this is the afterlife, I'm disappointed."
"You look like a rejected towel," Noa said, stepping inside anyway.
Ren flopped onto his bed dramatically. "Is this pity?"
"This is logistics. I don't want to carry the team alone tomorrow."
"You care," he whispered dramatically.
"I don't."
"You *so* do."
She handed him the tea, trying not to look directly at his bare legs under the blanket.
He took it with both hands like it was holy.
"Thanks, Noa."
She looked away.
"…Don't mention it."
And for the first time since the internship started, her chest felt a little too warm.
And it had nothing to do with the tea.