Amelia's POV:
It has been a few days since my brother started walking again.
At first, he used to fall every few steps—his legs trembling so much that I was scared he'd hurt himself again.
Each time he fell, I ran to him in a panic, yet he only smiled, stubbornly pushing himself up with those shaky arms.
Day by day, the trembling lessened.
His steps steadied.
And now, he could walk properly—slow, but sure, without wobbling or fear.
I still remember the first time his fingers twitched that day.
My heart had nearly stopped.
For a moment, I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Seeing even that tiny movement—after all those hopeless days, all those years—was enough to make my eyes sting.
But it wasn't just his fingers.
It was the expression on his face.
That faint, fleeting look of surprise… then disbelief… then something soft, like he wanted to cry but couldn't.
I could never forget that look.
It was precious—like watching light return to a world that had gone dark.
Ever since his paralysis, my brother had become… distant.
Not completely cold like those edgy characters—no. He still talked to me, still smiled, still tried to act normal.
But I could hear it in his voice—the guilt.
Every word carried the weight of his frustration, his helplessness. He thought he was a burden. Thought I was taking care of a deadweight.
I wanted to shake him and yell at him that he wasn't a burden, that he was precious to me. But instead, I kept quiet and smiled as if everything was fine.
Because I didn't want to add more pressure to him when he was already breaking inside.
Then came that night.
The night I saw him cry for the first time in a very long while.
He said it was just a nightmare.
But that wasn't it. His tears weren't from fear—they were from pain, something deep inside.
After that night, he changed.
He started spacing out, staring blankly into the air as if searching for something—or someone.
And his eyes… those once gentle eyes had started to look hollow sometimes.
I still recall that one time—how he looked at me, his gaze trembling, almost terrified. It was as if he was scared of losing me.
'He's been acting strange lately… like he lost something very precious to him.'
The first time I saw him standing without support, I nearly dropped the food tray in my hands. My heart leapt to my throat—half from joy and half from fear.
He was standing.
On his own.
No chair, no wall, no cane—just his will.
I wanted to scream and cry and hug him all at once, but instead, I ended up scolding him.
My hands trembled as I yelled,
"What if you fell again, idiot!? Why didn't you call me?!"
He just laughed softly and said,
"Sorry, I just wanted to surprise you."
And of course, I forgave him immediately. How could I stay mad at that face?
But two days later, when I found him on the floor—trembling, his body shaking uncontrollably—I lost it again.
I shouted at him, screamed at him, because I was terrified, angry, and helpless.
He wasn't listening.
What if something wrong happened to him again? What would I do then?
He just looked down, guilt written all over his face.
I forgave him again, of course. I always do.
I can't stay angry at him for more than a minute.
But that day, I noticed something strange.
When I hugged him, he looked at me—his expression was dark, his eyes lifeless yet… intense.
It wasn't the same look as before.
It was deeper.
More… possessive.
He quickly looked away, pretending nothing had happened, but I saw it.
And since that night, I've caught him looking at me that way more than once. Not all the time—but often enough that I couldn't ignore it.
That quiet, almost desperate look that made my chest tighten for reasons I couldn't explain.
'Is my brother turning into a Yandere?'
I tried to laugh it off, but the thought made me shiver.
Not from fear, but from something else I didn't understand.
One night, I decided to sleep beside him, because… I was scared for him.
He'd been pushing himself too hard lately, and I didn't know what reckless thing he might do next.
He fell asleep quickly, his breathing deep and steady. Fatigue must have caught up to him.
In the dim light, I noticed the faint dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well, and now I could see why.
His body was relaxed, but his face twitched slightly.
His fingers clenched and unclenched, as if gripping something invisible.
Then, I heard it.
Soft murmurs escaping his lips.
He was dreaming—no, having another nightmare.
He trembled in his sleep, sweat beading on his forehead, and I leaned closer, trying to hear what he was saying.
His voice cracked softly.
"Mo… m… m-mom pl.. ease don't le.. ave.…"
I froze.
My heart skipped a beat.
Mom?
He used to call our parents' father and mother.
So, who was he calling mom?
It was a small detail—but I caught it.
My breath caught as countless thoughts flooded my mind all at once.
'Is he… remembering something? His past? Someone important to him? His real—'
My hands went cold.
If he was remembering his past, then… what would that mean for me?
Would he leave me once he found out? Would he forget about me?
My mind spun wildly.
The room felt smaller, heavier.
My chest hurt.
What if he remembers everything?
What if he finds out I'm not really his sister? Would he still look at me the same way?
Would he still smile as he does now?
Or would he be disappointed… that I never told him?
I didn't know.
And I didn't want to know.
I didn't want to lose him.
Before I realised it, my body moved on its own. I leaned closer and wrapped my arms around him, resting my head against his chest.
His trembling stopped.
His breathing steadied.
The warmth of his heartbeat pulsed against my ear—and that alone was enough to calm the storm in my heart.
I don't know how long I stayed like that, listening to his heartbeat.
When I lifted my head slightly, his face looked peaceful—free from the pain haunting his dreams.
I smiled faintly and reached out to caress his cheek.
"Don't… don't leave me, please," I whispered, my voice trembling.
Then, something unexpected happened.
His hand—warm and slightly trembling—moved. It reached up and gently patted my head.
I froze. My eyes widened.
Was he awake?
I stared at his face anxiously, but his expression didn't change. His eyes were still closed, his breathing calm and deep.
A small sigh escaped my lips as the tension left my shoulders.
He wasn't awake.
Just an unconscious reaction.
Still… that gentle touch lingered in my hair, warm and soft—like he was telling me not to cry.
I stayed there, my fingers clutching his shirt lightly.
I didn't know what tomorrow would bring—whether he'd remember everything or forget it all.
But for now… this moment was enough.
Because even if the past came back to steal him away—
I'll hold him tighter.
And I'll never let go.
NEVER.