Ren grabbed a few towels from the nearby bathroom, his movements careful so as not to jostle Noelle. She still leaned weakly against the couch, shivering slightly, hair damp and sticking to her pale cheeks.
"It's okay," he murmured, pressing a warm towel to her lips so she could rinse and clean herself. She let him, barely resisting, eyes half-closed, vulnerable in a way that made his chest ache.
He cleaned her gently, moving with deliberate care. Every small motion, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face, holding the towel steady, was charged with an unspoken tenderness. She shivered again and without thinking, he draped another towel over her shoulders.
"Drink some water," he said softly, handing her a glass. Her fingers trembled as she took it and he stayed close, hand hovering to steady her if she wobbled. She sipped quietly, barely a sound and leaned back against the couch once more.
Ren exhaled slowly, surveying the mess of the evening. Her flushed cheeks, the faint smell of alcohol, the towels damp and soaked and yet nothing about it repelled him. If anything, it heightened the quiet intensity of the moment. She was fragile, messy, human and entirely in his care.
Noelle's eyes met his for a brief second, filled with embarrassment and shame. "I'm… sorry," she murmured, voice small.
He shook his head gently. "Don't apologise. You're not in control of this."
He lay still, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing. Part of him wanted to stay and to keep pretending this quiet moment meant something more but the other part knew better.
He gently moved her hand aside and sat up, careful not to wake her. The night had left his clothes rumpled and soiled, his eyes heavy but his mind clear. He'd done the right thing by staying, though the temptation to read meaning into it ached all the same.
Noelle stirred, her brow furrowing. "Ren?" Her voice was hoarse, uncertain.
"Don't go," she mumbled, eyes half-closed. "Please stay." Holding on to his hand as she clasped it to her chest.
He froze. The instinct to pull back was immediate but the look on her face was not playful or flirtatious, just scared and tired.
"I'll stay right here," he said softly. "But you need to sleep."
When he tried to stand up from the couch, she tugged again, her grip surprisingly strong. With a sigh, he carried her to her bed. She shifted closer, resting her head against his chest with a faint sigh.
Ren lay still, unsure whether to breathe too deeply, afraid to wake her. Slowly, the tension drained from her body. Her breathing evened out and the lines of worry eased from her face.
He laid on the bed with her as she held on to his hand in her sleep. He stayed like that, holding her loosely, staring into the dark until sleep finally claimed them both; not as lovers but as two broken people finding quiet in the same space.
Noelle stirred awake, her head heavy and her body sinking into warmth that wasn't her own. It took her a moment to realise the firm rhythm beneath her ear wasn't a pillow, but a heartbeat, steady and solid. Her eyes blinked open to find herself resting against a bare chest, Ren's chest, his arm draped protectively around her waist. For a breathless second, she couldn't move.
Memory trickled back in fragments: the laughter, the drinks, the blurry ride home. Then the awful wave of nausea, and... oh no. Her stomach twisted again but this time from embarrassment rather than drink. She remembered getting sick, the mess, the mortification.
Her gaze darted down, catching sight of the clean shirt folded neatly by the bedside, her own clothes missing and a faint pink crept into her cheeks. Ren's clothes, however, were also nowhere to be seen likely a casualty of her drunken disaster.
He must have taken care of everything. Of her.
The thought made something flutter inside her chest, warm and complicated.
Noelle's eyes lingered on his profile. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the faint crease in his brow even in sleep. He looked peaceful and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply breathe him in.
Then his body shifted beneath her. She froze, heart skipping. Ren murmured something low, still half asleep and instinctively pulled her closer.
Startled but unable to move, Noelle buried her face back into his chest, hoping he wouldn't notice her flushed cheeks. His arms tightened just a little, as if reassuring her that she was safe.
And in that quiet, tangled moment of embarrassment, gratitude, and something sweeter all blended into one gentle thrum in her heart.
Ren's breathing shifted before Noelle felt the subtle rumble of his voice above her head.
"Are you still pretending to be asleep," he murmured, his tone low and teasing, "or are you just too embarrassed to wake up?"
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She didn't dare look up at him, choosing instead to trace lazy circles against his chest with her fingertip.
"I'm awake," she mumbled. "Just… trying to disappear from shame. Thank you for sending me back."
Ren chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her palm. "You really don't have to thank me so many times," he said, sensing her unspoken gratitude, "though your apology for ruining my shirt has been noted."
That made her groan. "Ren…"
He tilted his head slightly, his breath stirring her hair. "But since you've caused me such suffering," he continued, feigning a dramatic sigh, "you'll have to take responsibility for me."
Her head snapped up then, eyes wide but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.
Ren opened his eyes at the same time, startled but calm. "Hey," he said quietly, voice still rough from sleep.
Noelle pulled back at once, face flushing. "Oh my God— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
He shook his head. "You were cold. You just… kind of held on." His tone was gentle, no trace of judgment.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes, still dazed. "You should've pushed me off or something."
"I tried," he admitted with a small smile. "Didn't have the heart."
Her laugh came out nervous but it softened the moment. "You must think I'm ridiculous."
He turned back, offering a small, careful smile. "No, not at all. How are you feeling?"
She blinked, taking in the scene; the basin, the towels, the evidence of the night before. "You… stayed to clean me up?"
"I wasn't going to," he smirked. "But you wouldn't let me leave. You were half-asleep and holding onto my arm like it was the only thing keeping you safe."
Her cheeks flushed as memory began to piece itself together. "Oh, God… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make things—"
"Don't apologise," he interrupted gently. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes softening. "You didn't have to, Ren."
"I know," he said quietly. "But I wanted to."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward this time. Just two people, raw from too much emotion, finding a small moment of peace in the morning light.