"R-en… Ren…"
His name reached him as if it had to swim through warm water first, muffled, patient, then suddenly far too close.
He made a noise that was meant to be a complaint, but came out as a weak, half-asleep groan, his cheek pressed into a pillow that still smelled faintly of soap and ironed linen, the kind Freya insisted on buying even when cheaper was available.
"Ren, wakey-wakey," she sang again, bright enough to hurt.
A fingertip prodded his cheek, not hard, just persistent, poking the same spot until his skin began to prickle.
He kept his eyes shut, not because he could sleep through it, but because the second he opened them he would have to face the morning, and the morning meant she could leave, she could change her mind, she could decide he was too heavy to carry, and he hated that his thoughts still jumped there first.
Freya's voice dropped into a conspiratorial lilt.
"Hmm… if you aren't going to get up, I think I'll join you in there, ehehe."
His eyes flew open so fast it made his head throb.
He jerked upright, hair sticking to his forehead, breath caught like he had been woken from a nightmare rather than a nap.
"I'm up."
Freya, crouched beside the bed with her hands on her knees, stared at him with an offended little pout that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else.
"Tch," she clicked her tongue. "Couldn't you have at least pretended to sleep a little bit longer?"
Ren forced a laugh that didn't match the cold sweat sliding between his shoulder blades.
"Aha…"
He tried to smooth his expression into something normal, something calm, because she always watched him for those tiny slips, the way a person watched a candle in a draft, pretending it was casual when it wasn't.
"Well, anyway," Freya said, as if she hadn't just threatened to climb into his bed, "I made breakfast, so let's eat together, okay?"
Her finger returned to his cheek, poking again, smaller and softer now, like she was testing whether she could pull him back into play.
"Sure," he said, and swallowed around the tightness in his throat, "I'll go down in a minute, so could you stop poking my cheek now?"
"Ehhh?" Freya whined, drawing it out like a child. "But it's so soft…"
Ren stared at her, taking her in properly, the loose ponytail thrown over one shoulder, the shawl she wore even indoors because she claimed it was comfortable, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, too bright, too easy, as if the world had never taken anything from her.
It was hard to believe the woman crouched in front of him was turning twenty-four this year.
He didn't say that aloud.
Freya's fingers shifted, pinching his cheek instead, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make him flinch.
"You just had a rude thought, didn't you?"
His mouth moved before his mind could catch up, the same instinct it always used with her, the one that tried to keep her happy, keep her laughing, keep her here.
"Not at all, I was just thinking about how lovable and perfect you are, Sister."
Freya coughed into her fist, overly dramatic, shoulders shaking as if she had been struck by a compliment.
"Ahem. Flattery won't get you anywhere."
Or so she said, but her lips curled up anyway, betraying her, and she stood in one smooth motion like a cat stretching.
"Come on, let's go eat," she declared, turning toward the doorway.
"Okay," he said, softer than her, and followed, because he always did.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
The kitchen smelled warm, eggs and toasted bread and something sweet he couldn't name, and for a brief moment, he could pretend the world was only theirs, a table set neatly, plates waiting, Freya humming to herself as she moved between counter and stove like it was her territory, like nothing outside these walls mattered.
She poured him tea before he even sat down.
His hands curled around the cup, soaking in the heat, and he ate because she watched him eat, because she always made too much and acted offended if he left anything behind.
When he finished, his stomach full in the way it rarely was these days, he set his utensils down carefully.
"Thanks as always, Sister, it was the best. I'll wash up."
Freya leaned on the table with her chin propped in her palm, eyes gleaming with mischief that felt rehearsed, as if she had chosen it on purpose.
"Hehe. If you're that thankful, why not gimme a hug?"
His shoulders went tight.
He didn't look away.
He didn't let his face twitch.
And he especially didn't let her see how quickly his thoughts leapt to that dark, sticky feeling that made him want to jump into her arms and never leave, because he had learned how to hide that part of him, at least enough that she didn't get suspicious.
Still, his voice came out a fraction too careful.
"…I'll wash up now."
Freya's expression crumpled into exaggerated tragedy.
"Boo-hoo-hoo. I'm going to cry. What happened to my cute little Ren who used to beg me to hug him? Give him back, you fiend!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaled, and forced himself to sigh like this was only annoying.
"Hah… will you shut up if I do?"
Freya's answer was immediate, far too eager.
"Mhmm!"
He stood, walked around the table, and when he reached her he paused, a tiny hesitation that felt like stepping off a ledge, then he wrapped his arms around her.
Freya made a pleased noise, burying her face against his shoulder, arms locking tight around his back like she planned to keep him there forever.
"There we go," she murmured, warm and smug, fingers stroking his hair with practised tenderness.
He stared over her shoulder at the kitchen wall, at the neat hooks where Freya hung her keys, at the little scuff mark on the paint from the time she had slammed the door too hard and laughed about it afterwards.
"Do you really enjoy it that much?" he asked, trying to sound flat, like he didn't care.
"Of course I do," Freya said, as if he had asked something silly, "I'm getting a hug from my cute little brother after all. Don't lie, you like it too."
Soren's throat tightened.
He didn't answer because if he answered honestly it wouldn't come out normal; it would come out wrong, too heavy, and he couldn't give her that weight.
He simply held on.
A knock sounded at the front door, sharp and proper, and Soren felt Freya's body tense in his arms, just for a moment, before she smoothed it away.
They stayed like that for an extra breath, the hug turning from a joke into something that anchored him, and he hated that a part of him immediately feared the knock meant someone taking her away.
Soren loosened his arms first, reluctantly, as if he was the one making the decision.
"…Shouldn't you get that, Sister?"
Freya exhaled through her nose, annoyed.
"Tsk."
"Sister?"
"…Fine," she grumbled, and shoved him lightly back by the shoulder like she needed space to move, still smiling, still wearing that bright, clingy sister act like a comfortable cloak.
Soren watched her walk to the door, watched her roll her eyes as if she wasn't already bracing for something, then the latch clicked and the door swung open.
A man in a courier's uniform stood on the step, holding a letter with a crisp wax seal.
"Letter for a Miss Freya Arden," he said.
"That's me," Freya replied, cheerful, easy.
"Ah, great. Here you go. I'll be on my way now."
Freya took it, thanked him, and shut the door with a little more force than necessary.
She didn't turn around immediately.
Soren's gaze fixed on the wax, on the shape pressed into it, and something in his chest began to sink, slow and heavy, as if his body had recognised danger before his mind caught up.
Freya walked back to the table and sat down, holding the letter like it weighed more than paper should.
Her smile faded as if someone had pulled a string.
Soren stepped closer without thinking, peering over her shoulder.
"Who's it from, Sister?"
Freya's fingers tightened around the edge.
"…Home."
The word landed in the room like a stone dropped into water, the ripples immediate, the air suddenly thinner.
Soren's mouth went dry.
Home was a place that lived in his skin, not in his memories, because his memories never dulled, never softened, never became distant enough to ignore, and even now, even here, it only took one word to drag him back to halls that were too big and too cold, voices that praised and cut in the same breath, hands that touched only to correct.
His fingers curled into his palm so hard his nails bit.
Freya's hand reached out before he could stop it, sliding into his hair, stroking gently at the crown of his head, the way she did when she thought he might shake apart.
"It's okay, it'll be fine," she said softly, her voice dropping, the teasing sister tone slipping just a fraction, "You go back to your room for a bit while I read this. It shouldn't take too long."
Even when she was upset, she still reached for him first.
Soren swallowed.
He wanted to say, "Let me see."
He wanted to say, "Tell me."
He wanted to demand that she stop shielding him like he was a child, but the idea of the seal breaking open, the words inside spilling into their home, the one the two of them had made theirs, made his stomach twist.
He didn't know how to help.
He already knew how useless he was when it came to things like this, the things that mattered, the things that hurt her.
So he did the only thing he could think of, the thing she always pretended to want, the thing he could offer without being asked.
He leaned in and hugged her again.
Freya stiffened in surprise.
"Ren…?"
Soren's voice came out quiet, pressed against her shoulder.
"Thanks for everything, Sister, I love you."
Freya's cheeks flushed so fast it almost looked comical, and for a second the act returned, flustered and loud.
"Ren?! What are you saying?!"
But her arms tightened around him anyway, squeezing like she couldn't help herself.
"I'm always here for you," he murmured, and forced the words to stay steady, to sound normal, to sound like a little brother trying to be sweet rather than someone clinging to the only person who made the world bearable.
Freya trembled.
It was small, barely there, but he felt it, felt the shake in her breath, and for just a moment, he thought he saw the cracks in her mask, the fatigue underneath, the fear she never let him witness properly.
"Ah… thank you, Ren," she whispered, voice rough at the edges, "I love you too…"
Soren held her a second longer than he should have, then let go because she would tell him to, eventually, and he didn't want to make her.
He backed away, pretending he hadn't noticed her eyes shining.
Freya lifted the letter again, staring at it as if it might bite.
Soren turned toward the hallway.
He took two steps, then paused, because leaving her alone felt wrong, like abandoning her, but staying felt like hovering, like being in the way.
In the end, he walked to his room, slow, and sat on the edge of his bed without moving, listening to the quiet of the house, the small sounds of Freya shifting in the kitchen, the faint scrape of paper, the soft exhale that sounded too unsteady to be casual.
Soren stared at the wall until his eyes blurred.
When he blinked, he told himself it was only from tiredness.
————「❤︎」————