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Nene hated getting sick.
She hated having to blow her nose every five seconds—loud, unglamorous honks she tried to smother in tissues, only for her ears to ring afterward. She hated feeling sticky from the fever-sweat clinging to her back, even though she’d changed shirts twice already. She hated how her bangs stuck to her forehead, and how any attempt to fix them made her arms feel like wet noodles.
But most of all, she hated that she couldn’t sing.
Every time she tried, even something tiny—a hum, a little scale—her throat felt like someone had dragged a rusty fork across it. Her voice cracked into a pitiful croak, and she’d end up glaring at the wall, offended at her own vocal cords.
Sure, lying in her beanbag chair wrapped in a blanket like an ailing gremlin and playing games uninterrupted was nice… but getting sick right after her big break as Princess Heart?
Not fair. Not even close.
She lost another round because she sneezed at the wrong time, and she let her head thunk back dramatically. Her nose was so clogged she could barely breathe, and her eyes were starting to sting again—great. More sick-day emotions.
Finally, she set her console aside and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. A low grumble in her stomach nudged her upright. Food. Something nice. Something warm, preferably. She sniffled, wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, immediately regretted using her sleeve, and shuffled toward her door.
The hallway felt colder than her room, or maybe she was just feverish. Her steps were slow, uneven, the blanket dragging behind her like a melancholy cape. She passed the framed photo of the four of them, pausing for a moment to look at her smiling self—bright, healthy, singing without a care.
“Ugh…” she muttered, pressing a hand to her forehead. She missed that version of herself.
As she reached the kitchen doorway, she stopped and leaned against the frame for a moment, catching her breath. Even walking this short distance had made her legs feel weirdly shaky. She swallowed, winced, then sniffled again.
Inside, Rui was quietly humming to himself, the soft, absentminded tune of someone deep in focus. He stood at the counter in one of his silly patterned aprons—one with pastel stars—and had some sort of dessert spread before him. A plate of various slices, each arranged like a piece of edible art. He was using tweezers on what looked like a decorative berry, muttering something about symmetry.
Nene stayed where she was for a moment, just watching. It felt… calming. She always liked seeing Rui concentrate like that—completely absorbed, precise, gentle. She didn’t know if it was because she was sick or because she was tired or because she was Nene, but the sight made her chest go warm and gooey.
She sniffled again.
Rui looked up immediately at the sound.
“Nene?” he said, eyebrows lifting. “You’re awake.”
She attempted a greeting but only managed a rough, tiny squeak. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and then—horribly—tears pricked instantly at the corners.
Rui set his tweezers down at once, wiping his hands on his apron as he approached. “Wait, don’t strain yourself. Come here.”
He walked over slowly, as if not to startle her, and she tried to make her face look less pathetic—but her lower lip wobbled anyway. She hated how easily crying came when she was sick; she wasn’t even that upset! She was just tired. And her throat hurt. And her nose hurt. And she wanted to be normal again.
Rui stopped in front of her, eye level soft. “You look exhausted.”
She tried to scoff. It came out as a congested wheeze.
“Here,” Rui said gently, guiding her to sit at the kitchen table. “Let’s get you settled.”
She let herself sink into the chair, blanket still bunched around her. Rui pulled another chair close—not opposite her, but beside her—and reached for something on the counter. He returned with a plate, setting it carefully in front of her.
On it was a slice of cake—light, pretty, decorated with tiny fruit pieces cut into little shapes. Her favorite.
“I saved a piece for you,” Rui said. “I thought you might want something comforting when you felt well enough to come out.”
Her throat tightened—emotion this time, not sickness. She stared at the cake, then at Rui, who was watching her with that quietly hopeful expression he got when he wanted someone to be happy.
Nene sniffled again. The tears pooled in her eyes before she could stop them.
“I—” she croaked, then winced at how awful her voice sounded. “S-sorry—” Her voice wobbled, and she covered her face with her sleeve.
Rui shook his head softly. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He reached into the nearby drawer for a napkin and gently nudged her sleeve down so he could wipe a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re sick. And you don’t have to talk if it hurts.”
That made more tears come for some reason.
Rui smiled, soft and patient. “I’ll make you some warm tea. Something mild so it won’t hurt your throat.”
He stood to move back to the counter, but Nene reached out and caught the edge of his sleeve, surprising even herself. Rui paused.
“...Stay?” she managed in a whisper so small it barely counted as a word.
His expression melted. He returned to his seat without hesitation.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll stay.”
She relaxed a little, letting the blanket slip off her shoulder so she could lean toward him. Rui shifted just enough so she could rest her head lightly against his arm if she wanted—which she did.
“Would you like me to read something to you while you eat?” Rui asked quietly. “Or just sit together?”
She thought for a moment, then nudged her head against him in answer. Rui nodded as though he understood perfectly.
They sat there for a while—Nene nibbling slowly at the cake, Rui keeping her company in gentle silence. Every now and then he’d check her expression, adjust the blanket around her shoulders, or refill her water glass without being asked.
And although her throat still hurt, and her nose was still stuffy, and she still felt far from glamorous… sitting here with Rui made everything feel a little less miserable.
Just a little, but enough.
By the time Nene finished the last soft bite of cake, her eyelids had grown heavy—too heavy for someone supposedly just “tired.” Rui noticed long before she said anything; her blinking had slowed, her head had gradually leaned further against his arm, and her sniffles had taken on that sluggish rhythm that only came when she was on the edge of falling asleep.
Rui set the plate aside, his movements slow so he wouldn’t jostle her. “Nene,” he said softly. “Are you getting sleepy?”
She made a tiny hum—not quite a yes, but definitely not a no. Her head slid slightly against his arm as she rubbed at her face with the back of one hand.
“You should rest,” he said. “Properly this time. In bed, not half-slumped over a kitchen table.”
She wanted to argue. A little. Mostly because the thought of getting up felt like climbing a mountain. But her throat protested the idea of talking, and Rui was already rising from his chair with that smooth, purposeful motion he always had when he’d made up his mind.
He held out both hands to her. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
Nene hesitated, then placed her hands in his. His grip was warm and steady. He pulled her up gently, careful not to make her dizzy. When she wobbled, he stepped closer, his hand sliding to her upper back for support.
“Easy,” he murmured. “No need to rush. Just lean on me.”
And she did. She bundled her blanket around herself again, gripping one corner like a child holding onto a security item, and leaned into Rui’s side as he guided her down the hallway.
Their steps were slow—Rui matching her pace perfectly, making sure she didn’t stumble or sway too much. Each time she sniffled, he glanced down to check on her. Each time her breath hitched like she might cry again, he tightened his hand at her back just slightly, grounding her.
When they reached her room, he nudged the door open with his shoulder.
Her beanbag chair was still there in the middle of the floor, game console half-buried in blankets—but Rui steered her gently toward the bed instead.
“You’ll rest better here,” he said softly.
She let out a tiny, hoarse whine in protest—she liked her beanbag—but Rui only smiled.
“I know,” he said, “but your body will thank you.”
She huffed, giving him the most pathetic pout her stuffy face could manage. Rui chuckled under his breath, but without teasing—just warm.
“Come,” he said, patting the edge of the mattress.
She sat down with a sigh, and Rui helped ease the blanket off her shoulders so she could adjust it properly once she lay down. He tugged her pillow into a better angle, smoothing it with his hand before gesturing for her to lie back.
Nene did, sinking into the softness with a groggy exhale. Rui lifted the blanket and pulled it over her gently, making sure her feet were covered, then folding the top edge near her chin.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
She nodded. Then sniffled. Then nodded again, as though the second one made it more convincing.
Rui brushed a bit of her hair away from her forehead, careful not to touch anything sweaty or feverish. “I’ll bring your tea in a little while. Something warm for your throat.”
Nene reached out suddenly, grabbing his sleeve with the same small, tired urgency she’d shown earlier.
“Stay…?” she rasped.
Rui froze for only a heartbeat before his expression softened completely. He pulled the chair from her desk and set it beside her bed, close enough for her to see him clearly without turning her head.
“Of course,” he said, lowering himself into the seat. “I’ll stay right here.”
Nene relaxed, her eyes drooping almost immediately now that she knew he wouldn’t leave. Rui folded his hands in his lap and watched her quietly, calmly—just making sure she drifted off without discomfort.
Her breathing slowed. Her face smoothed. Sleep crept in gently.
And Rui stayed exactly where he’d promised, a quiet presence in her dim room, keeping watch while she finally got the rest her body had been begging for.