---
She stopped replying again.
Not in the dramatic way.
Not in the "I'm spiraling, help me" way.
Just… quiet.
Dull.
Like someone dimming a light instead of flipping it off.
---
No good morning message.
No playlist update.
No sarcastic commentary on how my jazz addiction is a cry for help.
Just one empty seat on the train. Again.
I waited.
One day. Two.
On day three, I stopped waiting.
---
I told myself I wasn't worried.
I was just "curious."
You know. The way people stare at disasters out of curiosity.
But the truth sat somewhere between her last smile and the shape of her name in my messages:
I missed her.
And I wasn't going to let her vanish again.
---
It was raining.
Because of course it was.
I found her house using the group project chat from two months ago. She'd once joked about living "ten minutes from hell and seven from the station." I did the math.
Her apartment was smaller than I expected.
Older too.
The kind of place that creaks when it's alone too long.
---
I stood outside for ten minutes.
Hand hovering over the doorbell.
Running simulations in my head:
She opens the door. Laughs. "Stalker much?"
She opens the door. Slams it shut.
Her mom opens it. Files for a restraining order.
High risk, low confidence.
But still I rang.
---
No answer.
I rang again.
Still nothing.
---
I pulled out my phone.
> [Minato] "I'm outside. Not to scare you. Just… worried."
A few minutes passed.
Then the door opened.
She didn't look surprised. Or mad. Or even tired.
She looked blank.
The worst kind of expression.
Because it meant she didn't have any left.
---
"You really came," she said.
Not a question.
I nodded. "You really disappeared."
She opened the door wider. Stepped back.
Didn't say anything else.
---
Inside was quiet.
Not in the peaceful way.
In the someone hasn't spoken to anyone in a while way.
Curtains drawn. No lights. Dishes in the sink.
And the fox mask hanging on the closet handle like it was watching me.
---
"I skipped school," she said.
"I noticed."
"Didn't want to see anyone."
"But I'm not 'anyone,' right?"
She hesitated.
Then finally said:
> "You're the only one who'd notice if I wasn't there."
---
That hit harder than I wanted it to.
Because it was true.
No one noticed the quiet ones until they were too quiet.
---
She sat on the edge of her bed, legs pulled up like always.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore."
"That makes two of us."
"I feel like... everything's moving and I'm just watching."
"Sounds like a Monday."
She gave a soft laugh. Just a puff of air.
Then turned to me.
Eyes dull. Voice honest.
> "Don't let me vanish again."
---
It wasn't a command.
It was a plea.
The kind people like us don't usually say out loud.
Because admitting you want someone to stay means you've already imagined what it looks like when they don't.
---
I sat beside her.
Close.
But not close enough to make her flinch.
And said the only thing I could.
> "I won't."
She rested her head on my shoulder again.
Just for a moment.
---
Outside, the rain softened.
Inside, something cracked open.
Not all the way.
But enough to let some light in.