It had been three days since that quiet morning on the beach.
The sunlight still poured gently through the curtains, the waves still whispered across the shore —
but inside, everything had changed.
Hanaya no longer smiled the way she used to.
Her laughter felt… rehearsed.
Her eyes, once soft and kind, now looked through MK as if he were fading from her world.
MK noticed every small thing —
how she pulled her hand away when their fingers brushed,
how she spoke less and less during breakfast,
how Rheon's voice had become the only one filling the house.
That afternoon, MK sat on the balcony, sketchbook in his lap.
He drew the sea — calm, endless, beautiful — but every stroke felt heavier than the last.
> "Maybe I did something wrong,"
he thought.
"Maybe she's just tired. Maybe…"
But even as he tried to believe it, he heard Rheon's voice through the half-open door.
> "He's been sitting out there all day," Rheon said.
"Doesn't he have anything better to do?"
Hanaya's reply came softer, unsure.
> "He's just… quiet. Maybe he's thinking."
> "Thinking?" Rheon's tone twisted slightly.
"Or pretending to be pitiful so you'll feel sorry for him again?"
There was silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Then, Hanaya whispered — too low for MK to hear clearly —
but the sound of Rheon's gentle laugh afterward told him enough.
That night, MK couldn't sleep.
The shadows on the ceiling moved like waves,
and every sound in the house felt sharper — footsteps, doors, whispers.
He got up and went to the kitchen for water.
As he passed by Hanaya's room, he heard her voice.
> "I know, Rheon… but he's sick. I can't just ignore him."
Rheon's voice followed, calm but firm.
> "You're not ignoring him. You're helping him realize his place.
He needs to stop depending on you for everything."
> "But he—"
> "Hanaya," Rheon interrupted, his voice lower now,
"you're too kind for your own good.
If you keep letting him stay, he'll never let go."
MK froze.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
The glass in his hand trembled — then slipped, shattering against the floor.
The noise startled them both.
The door opened.
Hanaya looked at him — guilt flashing in her eyes.
"MK… what are you doing up?" she asked softly.
He forced a smile. "Just… thirsty."
Rheon stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
"Careful next time," he said. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."
The words sounded kind —
but MK could feel the edge beneath them, sharp as glass.
Later, back in his room, MK stared at the ceiling.
He could still hear their voices in his head —
"helping him realize his place,"
"he'll never let go."
> "I'm not trying to hold on," he whispered to himself.
"I just… didn't want to be alone anymore."
His hand tightened around his sketchbook.
On the open page was a drawing of Hanaya smiling —
the way she used to smile, before Rheon came between them.
A single tear fell on t
he page,
blurring her face into something unrecognizable.