Ren didn't expect it to bother him.
He really didn't.
But it did.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling again, replaying one small detail from Yuna's message.
I made a friend.
It shouldn't have felt heavy.
It was good. It was healthy. It meant she was adjusting.
So why did it feel like something shifting beneath his feet?
His phone buzzed.
Aio: You look like you swallowed a storm cloud today.
Ren groaned. "I'm fine."
Aio appeared in his doorway anyway. "You're not."
Mio followed more quietly, leaning against the frame. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened," Ren insisted. "She just… met someone."
Aio blinked. "Oh. So we're jealous."
"I'm not jealous."
"You're absolutely jealous."
Ren sat up. "It's not that. I just—"
He stopped.
Mio's voice softened. "You're afraid she'll need you less."
The room went quiet.
Ren didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
—
Across the city, Yuna lay on her stomach, kicking her feet absentmindedly as she texted Hana.
The conversation was light. Funny. Easy.
It felt good.
But when her phone lit up with Ren's name, her heart reacted differently.
Faster.
Stronger.
She opened the message.
Ren: So this Hana… is she cool?
Yuna smiled slowly.
Yuna: Are you interviewing her?
Ren: Maybe.
She laughed softly.
Yuna: She's nice. Loud. Honest. Reminds me of someone.
Ren: If you say Aio, I'm blocking you.
She stared at the screen, debating.
Then she typed—
Yuna: She doesn't replace anyone.
Ren read that three times.
His chest tightened—but not in a painful way.
In a steady one.
Ren: I know.
She hesitated before sending her next message.
Yuna: I don't want you to feel like I'm moving on.
The words felt vulnerable.
Exposed.
Back in his room, Ren swallowed.
He hadn't realized she could see through him that clearly.
Ren: I don't want you to stop moving forward.
It wasn't the same thing.
But it was close enough.
Yuna rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling above her.
"I'm not leaving you behind," she whispered to herself.
On the other side of the distance, Ren sat by his window again.
The ocean was calm tonight.
No crashing waves.
No dramatic wind.
Just quiet.
Maybe jealousy wasn't about ownership.
Maybe it was about fear.
Fear of becoming less important.
But importance wasn't a limited space.
It could stretch.
Expand.
Grow.
Like summer light spilling longer across the evening sky.
Summertimes were coming.
And love—whatever shape it took—was learning how to breathe without holding too tight.