A Language of Silence

The days passed in quiet repetition, a rhythm that felt almost comforting amidst the crumbling world around them.

Each morning, Asahi woke up early, rubbing his eyes as he glanced over at Ren, who was still curled up in Haruto’s sleeping bag. The boy stirred but rarely woke on his own. Asahi had started to recognize the patterns.

Ren slept lightly, like someone who was used to being on constant alert and danger, but when he did sleep, it was deep enough that even sudden noises didn’t wake him up.

By now, Asahi had also picked up on something else – Ren’s breathing. On most nights, it was steady, calm, but sometimes it would quicken just a little, like he was having a bad dream. On such nights, Asahi would sit beside him and comfort him by patting his head.

The world outside was broken. But for now, in this quiet corner, they had something close to normal.

After a simple breakfast – protein bars and whatever scraps they could scavenge – Asahi would venture outside, scanning the streets for any signs of Haruto or Aoi. The first few days had been spent out their names, retracing their last known locations, but with each passing moment, the city felt emptier.

He had regretfully begun to accept the worst.

The creeping realization. The weight settling in his chest.

But Ren was still here.

At first, Ren had been hesitant and he barely engaged with Asahi aside from slight nods or shakes of the head. Even eye contact had been rare.

But as time passed, Asahi noticed small changes.

The way Ren started sitting just a little closer to him when they ate. The way he hesitated less before responding. The way he watched Asahi more, as if he slowly began to trust him. And when Asahi had pulled out his canvas to sketch one evening, Ren pointed at it as if he too wanted to paint something.

Ren’s hands, despite their small size, moved with a certainty that surprised Asahi. Before long, an image began to form.

A house. A tree beside it. Then, slowly, Ren added figures.

A mother.

A father.

A sister.

That was how Asahi realized that Ren had a family before all of this.

With each passing day, Asahi learned more about Ren.

Through Ren’s paintings, he pieced together a past that the boy himself could barely verbalize. It took days of slow, patient gestures to understand that Ren’s mother had died at the time of his birth and his father had abandoned him.

His sister, Aoi, was the last family he had left.

Asahi tried teaching him words, but it was difficult. Speech wasn’t easy for Ren, but Asahi quickly realized something else – Ren was far sharper than he appeared.

His mind worked in ways Asahi hadn’t expected.

When given a problem, he didn’t struggle with logic or understanding. He processed things fast. It was only words that failed him.

Their days fell into a pattern.

In the mornings, Asahi would scout the city for supplies.

In the afternoons, he would continue searching for Haruto and Aoi, only to return empty-handed.

In the evenings, he would sit together with Ren and paint in the dim light of the candle and the illumination of the moon in the starry night sky.

Ren had started responding in his own way. He would nod when Asahi spoke, tilt his head when he was confused, and even furrow his brows when he disagreed. It was almost like he had become Ren’s babysitter.

One particular morning, Asahi decided to take Ren out with him.

They wove through the abandoned buildings, Asahi keeping a careful watch for any movement. The city had fallen into a fragile stillness, the kind that made every noise seem louder than it was.

At a deserted storefront, Asahi broke a rusted lock with the heel of his boot. The door creaked open, revealing a small convenience store with half-looted shelves covered in dust.

“Stay close,” he whispered to Ren.

Ren nodded.

They moved cautiously, sweeping the aisles for anything useful. Asahi was about to pocket a few cans when he heard a distant rustling.

His body tensed.

Signaling to Ren to hide behind the counter, Asahi slowly made his way toward the noise. His grip tightened on the metal pipe in his hand. As he turned the corner, he saw it – a stray cat, rummaging through a pile of debris.

He exhaled, relaxing his shoulders.

Turning back, he saw Ren watching him with his head slightly tilted. The boy’s expression seemed almost amused.

“Not funny,” Asahi muttered.

Ren let out a small breath – a sound almost like a laugh.

It was the first time Asahi had seen anything close to a smile on his face.

A week had passed after Haruto’s disappearance and Asahi had started feeling the weight of his choices.

Every night, before sleeping, he sat awake – thinking. Wondering.

The longer he stayed in this place, the more pointless it felt. After all, he had to reach there – the safe haven.

That night, as they packed away their supplies, Asahi finally voiced something he had avoiding for a while.

“I think… we should leave this place.”

Ren stopped what he was doing. He blinked up at Asahi, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t think we’ll find Haruto or Aoi.”

Ren’s fingers tightened slightly around the paintbrush in his hands.

But he didn’t shake his head.

Asahi could see it in his eyes – Ren had slowly started to accept the truth too.

And yet... Asahi hesitated. Maybe it was guilt.

Maybe it was a sense of some unfinished business.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “I’m going out to do one more round tonight. You stay here and get some sleep. We’ll be leaving tomorrow after all.”

Ren didn’t respond, but Asahi could tell that Ren didn’t want to be left alone.

Still, he had made up his mind.

After finally putting Ren to sleep, Asahi grabbed his jacked and stepped out into the cold air, venturing deep into the darkness of the night.