The location shoot was chaos.
It was hot. Too hot. The air was sticky, the mic battery died twice, and someone stepped on the tripod—again.
Noa was running on caffeine and sarcasm, when she noticed something strange.
Ren was quiet.
That alone was alarming.
He wasn't making dumb jokes. Wasn't teasing anyone. He wasn't even touching the snack table.
Then she saw him—sitting on the curb, head down, face pale.
She walked over, cautiously.
"You look like hell."
Ren blinked slowly, like her voice took a full second to register.
"I think I'm dying again," he muttered.
"You have a thing for dramatics, don't you?"
He didn't answer.
Noa crouched, and for the first time, actually saw it. The way his hands were shaking. The sweat on his neck. The dull haze in his eyes.
"Okay. That's not a bit," she mumbled.
—
Ten minutes later, they were in a cab.
Ren leaned against the window like a corpse, muttering something about "cool air being God."
Noa sat beside him, holding his backpack and wondering—*why is this always me?*
She could've called someone else. The team leader. A paramedic. A fellow intern.
But the second she saw him falter, her legs just moved.
Stupid legs.
—
His place was a mess. Again.
Noa dumped his stuff on the floor and helped him collapse onto the bed.
"You're lucky I didn't just leave you there."
Ren groaned. "Would've made a great story, though."
She handed him water. "Drink or I pour it on your face."
"Romantic."
"I will murder you."
He drank.
Then flopped back.
"You're always here when I'm falling apart," he said, voice low.
Noa looked away. "I don't do it for fun."
"I know."
Silence.
Then he looked at her—eyes half-lidded, weak smile.
"You're kind of the only one who shows up, you know that?"
Noa didn't answer.
She just sat there, watching him fade into sleep, hoodie clutched like a security blanket.
And something in her chest shifted.
A small, stubborn warmth.
The kind that didn't ask for permission.
—
She cleaned up his table. Threw out two mystery energy drinks. Wiped down a mug. Found instant soup and boiled water.
She didn't know why.
Didn't stop to think.
She just... didn't want to leave him alone.
—
Before she left, she scribbled something on a sticky note from his desk and stuck it on the wall.
**"Don't die. The team needs you. Unfortunately, so do I."**
No name.
No heart emoji.
Just honesty, the Noa way.
As she closed the door behind her, she hated how hard her heart was beating.
Because now she couldn't pretend anymore.
Not even to herself.