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Emu didn’t like to inconvenience people.
She had learned early on that the people in her life were busy, moving toward their own goals, and didn’t have time for her small worries. Her family ran the theme park, her partners were absorbed in their projects… and over time, she had learned to swallow her thoughts before they could become a burden. If it wasn’t important, she didn’t have to say it.
Lightning struck outside, splintering the night with a sudden flash. Emu’s body tensed instinctively. She pressed her pillow harder against her face, trying to smother the scream that threatened to escape. The rumble of thunder rolled through the walls, echoing in her chest.
She lay there, counting the seconds between flashes, trying to convince herself it was all in her imagination. She told herself she was being silly. She told herself no one needed to know.
It’s not important. No one needs to know.
Another crash of thunder rattled the windows. Emu’s fingers gripped the pillowcase tighter, her nails pressing into the fabric. She tucked herself further under the blanket, willing her heartbeat to slow, willing the storm to pass, willing herself to be invisible.
Minutes dragged. She tried to focus on her breathing — in and out, slow, careful — but every boom of thunder made her flinch. Her mind wandered to everything she had been holding back: the small anxieties, the fears she didn’t think anyone wanted to hear. I shouldn’t bother anyone. It’s nothing.
Lightning flickered again, painting the room in stark white light, and for the first time, she heard it: a faint shuffle outside the door. Her heart skipped. Maybe it was just the apartment settling. Maybe it was just the wind.
And then she heard it: soft footsteps in the hall, tentative, measured. Someone was coming closer.
A soft, gentle voice broke the silence. “Emu… are you okay?”
Her heart thudded, her grip on the pillow tightening. I shouldn’t… I can’t…
“I’m coming in, okay?” the voice added, tentative but steady, when no reply came.
The door creaked open slowly. Nene stepped inside, holding herself perfectly still, calm and poised. Her posture was careful, upright, a quiet kind of strength. She didn’t know what was happening — only that Emu might need her. She didn’t sit on the bed immediately. She just leaned lightly against the doorway, letting her presence be steady and reassuring.
“Mind if I sit?” Nene asked quietly. “I don’t want to crowd you… I just want to stay here.”
Emu peeked out from behind the pillow. “O-okay…”
Slowly, Nene lowered herself to the edge of the bed, careful to leave plenty of space. Her hand rested lightly on the mattress, close enough that Emu could reach it if she wanted, but not touching unless she chose. The soft lamp glow highlighted Nene’s calm, steady presence.
“You don’t have to hide,” Nene said softly. “You can… tell me, if you want.”
Emu’s fingers twitched against the pillow, the tremor lingering, but Nene’s quiet presence made her feel… safer. She inhaled shakily and let a small, nervous laugh escape.
“I… I don’t want to bother anyone,” Emu admitted, voice barely audible.
“You could never bother me,” Nene said gently. “I’m here. That’s enough.”
“I… the thunder…” Emu whispered, voice trembling. “It… scares me.”
Nene nodded softly. “I see… and that’s okay. You don’t have to face it alone.” She paused, her eyes warm. “You can tell me anything… and if you need to, you can lean on Rui and Tsukasa too. We all care about you.”
Emu let out a shaky breath and leaned back slightly, easing against the headboard. She wasn’t ready to say more yet, but with Nene there — calm, strong, and patient — she felt… less alone.
Emu shifted slightly under the blanket, a small twinge of guilt knotted her stomach. ‘It’s the middle of the night… I shouldn’t have made her come in… she’s probably tired too.’
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the pillow, tracing invisible patterns against the fabric as her mind replayed every detail: the flash of lightning, the boom of thunder, the way she had frozen, clutching the pillow like it could keep the storm from reaching her… and Nene, stepping into the room, calm, steady, patient. I always overreact… why did I need to wake her?
Her eyes flicked toward Nene’s hand on the mattress, so close and reassuring, and for a moment, Emu’s breath caught. The warmth of her presence was steady, a quiet anchor against the storm, and yet… the guilt persisted. ‘I’m being selfish. It’s the middle of the night. I shouldn’t…’
A small part of her wanted to reach for that comfort, to let herself lean on Nene just a little, even if the guilt gnawed at her. And in the quiet intimacy of the room, with the storm outside raging and Nene quietly waiting, Emu felt the first flicker of something she hadn’t felt in hours: maybe it was okay to need someone.
Tentatively, Emu shifted closer, just enough that her shoulder brushed Nene’s side. She froze, heart thudding loudly in her ears. The small contact was terrifying and comforting at once. I shouldn’t… but it feels… okay.
Nene’s hand on the mattress didn’t move, but she subtly leaned just a fraction closer, a silent encouragement. Her warmth and steady breathing were a quiet invitation, and Emu felt her panic soften into something manageable.
“I… I’m sorry,” Emu whispered, voice barely audible, her cheeks warming. “For waking you… for bothering you.”
“You’re not bothering me,” Nene said softly, voice calm and unwavering. “I’m here… and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be by your side as long as you need me.”
Emu let out a shaky breath, her shoulder brushing a little more firmly against Nene’s side. She didn’t say anything else, but the movement alone was a small surrender, a quiet acknowledgment that she could lean on someone. Nene’s presence was steady and patient, offering comfort without forcing words or action.
The storm outside raged on, but inside the room, with the soft glow of the lamp and Nene quietly at her side, Emu felt a fragile kind of peace. Her hands unclenched the blanket, her shoulders relaxed fractionally, and she allowed herself to simply rest — even if just a little — against someone who cared.
“Maybe it’s okay to need someone… maybe it’s okay to be cared for,” she thought, the guilt still whispering, but fading slightly in the warmth beside her.
Emu’s shoulder pressed a little more firmly against Nene, and for a moment, she let herself simply breathe. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she tilted her head, resting it lightly against Nene’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay to need someone… just a little…’
Nene didn’t flinch. She felt a quiet ache seeing Emu so small and anxious, yet a swell of warmth rose inside her. ‘She trusts me, even just a little… I need to stay strong for her.’
Her posture remained calm and relaxed, her hand brushing the other’s back gently, careful to give reassurance without forcing anything. Her chest tightened with quiet protectiveness, and she fought the urge to speak too much, knowing her stillness was as important as any words.
‘She’s so small… so careful… always trying not to be a burden. And still… she let me in, even just a little. That… that takes courage. I understand that more than anyone else.’
The storm outside rumbled, distant and harsh, but inside the softly lit room, Nene could feel the weight of Emu’s trust, fragile but real. ‘It’s just a small thing — a head on a shoulder, a little leaning in — but it’s everything right now.’
She shifted ever so slightly to make Emu more comfortable, careful not to disturb her, and let herself take in the quiet. ‘Being here, just like this, is enough. I don’t need to fix anything. I just… need to stay. To be steady. To let her know she’s not alone.’
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips. ‘I’ll stay. I’ll be here, as long as she needs me. And I’ll wait — quietly, patiently — because she deserves that. She deserves to be cared for, even when she’s scared.’
‘On the other hand, Nene 1 — Storm 0. Take that, Zeus.’ She smirked as she finally closed her eyes, letting sleep take her.