An Old Sweet Story About Rebirth

Shane’s voice was gentle.
“For instance… I wanted to tell you yesterday — you draw really well.”
Tyler blinked. “...Huh?”

“Your sketches,” Shane continued, “even though I only saw a little, I could already tell — they have imagination, heart. There’s warmth in them. Like little stories that stay with you, the way that comic you love does.”
Tyler’s face flushed, slowly, steadily.
He lowered his head and mumbled, “It’s… it’s not that good…”

He had just made it all up, really.
Just wanted to come up with something to cheer Emily up…
Shane said quietly, “So don’t worry whether this kind of thing is written into our agreement.”

“Meeting an artist with real spark — it’s my privilege.”
And with that, Shane left.
Tyler sat alone on the bench, arms curled around the insulated soup jar, replaying Shane’s words in his mind.

Imaginative. Warm. Comforting.
He... he really thought that highly of it?
Could my drawings… really make someone feel warm?
The thought made his lips twitch — tentative, uncertain, but with the faintest trace of delight.
Like a baby bird, freshly hatched, fluttering its wings for the very first time.

 
In the days that followed, Shane truly did come by every single day.
He never stepped into the hospital room — just exchanged a few words with Tyler in the hallway, then disappeared again just as quickly.

What they talked about...
Sometimes it was random, far-flung, whimsical.
Other times it was painfully practical.
But all in all — Tyler didn’t mind talking to him.
He didn't mind at all.

Soon, the day came for Emily to be discharged.
Shane didn’t come that morning. Instead, Uncle Liu arrived alone to pick up the siblings and drive them to the new apartment.
On the way there, he explained it like casual conversation: Shane owned two apartments in the complex — side by side. He lived in one himself. The other had sat empty for a while, so he figured Tyler might as well borrow it for now.
Emily lit up when she heard that.
“So now you have a neighbor to play with! That’s so great!”

Tyler just smiled — a little helplessly.
They drove clear across Greenville, through busy traffic and city streets, before pulling into the underground parking lot of a gated high-rise complex.
It was the kind of neighborhood that hugged the edge of Greenville University — high-end, tightly secured, real estate priced by the square inch.

And the apartment they were borrowing?
Right in the heart of it all.
As soon as the front door swung open, they were met with a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight pouring through in clean, golden streaks.
Outside the glass stretched a view of the university’s hundred-year-old clocktower, nestled in a grove of rich green trees.

Tyler held back the gasp that almost escaped.
Emily, on the other hand, kicked off her shoes and bounded to the window in a single breath:
“Whoa! Tyler! It’s the clocktower — the really pretty one!”
“It looks just like the postcards!”

That clocktower was something of a landmark in Greenville. It showed up in nearly every tourist postcard, framed by trees, standing proud in its deep red stone.
Tyler came to stand beside her, gazing out at the towering green canopy and the clocktower’s signature brick walls.
“…Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s really close to the university…”
Uncle Liu picked up the thread smoothly:
“There’s an entrance to the complex that leads straight to the west gate of the university. Walk a bit further and you’ll hit the middle school attached to it. Easy access, both for you and for Miss Emily.”
Neither Tyler nor Emily had ever been comfortable being called sir or miss, so Uncle Liu had quickly adapted.

The calm, dependable man stepped to one side and opened the door to a study. “Mr. Shane used this place as a reading room back in the day, so it’s a little full.”
“If it’s too cluttered for you, we can clear it out.”
Tyler, still thinking of this place as just a temporary loan, instinctively shook his head.
“No, no — it’s fine.”

He followed Uncle Liu into the study almost on autopilot — and stopped short.
The room was around 300 square feet, with a sunlit window and walls lined with bookshelves.
The shelves on the left…
They were filled with every “must-read” book Tyler had heard teachers talk about in school. The ones °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° his classmates had passed around, discussed, dog-eared.

The shelves on the right…
They were packed with comic books and illustrated storybooks — the kind Tyler used to crane his neck to peek at through the windows of comic stores he couldn’t afford to walk into.
These books…
These were Shane’s?

Wasn’t he supposed to be the type who read, like, business manuals or management theory?
Why did this study…
Why did it look like the exact reading room Tyler had always dreamed of having?
Uncle Liu smiled softly beside him and, as if on cue, delivered the line Shane had asked him to:

“Mr. Shane used to come here to read when he was in high school… That’s why the room looks the way it does.”
…High school?
Tyler still thought it was a little strange — but somehow it made sense.

Uncle Liu moved on. “Go check out your rooms. Your things have already been moved in. Let me know if anything’s missing.”
Nothing was missing.
Their rooms were clean, fully furnished.
Bookshelves, desks, cozy bedding — all pristine.

Tyler’s room had a bit more:
A laptop.
A few books clearly meant for incoming college freshmen.
The laptop wasn’t some old, clunky desktop.
It was the kind Tyler had only ever seen in glossy newspaper ads — the kind that probably cost as much as Emily’s heart surgery.
Had Shane… gotten this for him?

But why?
Wasn’t this apartment supposed to be just a prop for their performance?
Right then, Tyler’s phone buzzed.

He shut the door to his room and awkwardly fumbled to answer.
“…Mr. Shane?”
“...Mm?”
“…Shane…?”

The way Tyler said those syllables — soft, with a natural lilt — it had the unintentional tone of something tender, almost like a child calling out.
He didn’t realize it himself.
But Shane went quiet on the other end.

Several seconds passed before he said, “If you need anything for the apartment, just tell Uncle Liu. Or tell me.”
Tyler hesitated. “It’s… it’s all fine.”
He paused again. “Um… why was there… extra stuff in my room?”

“The laptop?” Shane asked.
“...Yeah.”
“It’s for your tutoring.”

“The contract said clearly — ‘excellent academic performance’ is part of the role.”
“You understand?”
Shane had spoken with the tone of someone issuing a formal business directive — as if Tyler’s grades were destined to be entered into the quarterly reports of the Xie Group.

Tyler let out a soft “Oh.”
And just like that, the tight knot of discomfort inside him unraveled, vanishing without a trace.
He gripped the phone a little tighter.
“I understand. I’ll work hard.”
“Good,” Shane said.

He didn’t seem to have anything more to say — but he didn’t hang up either.
And neither did Tyler.
He bit his lip, then bit it again. Drew a slow breath, held it in his chest. He wanted to ask — Can Emily and I read the books in the study?

But the words just wouldn't come.
He didn’t know when it had started — this habit of silence. After hearing “no” too many times. After too many rolled eyes, too much mockery. He had just… stopped asking for things.
On the other end of the line, Shane sat in a sleek lounge chair inside the airport’s VIP waiting room, phone in hand, listening patiently.

That apartment — that study — he’d had it all arranged, just for this.
He knew Tyler would love it.
The sunlight streaming through the windows. The rustle of pages in a quiet room. A place where Tyler could curl up for hours and forget the rest of the world.
And he knew, too, that Tyler — being Tyler — would never touch a single book unless he had explicit permission.

So he waited.
Waited to see if Tyler would ask.
But all that came through the receiver was the sound of uncertain breath — and a hesitant voice, saying, “Um… that’s all I needed, I guess…”
Shane gave a small, wry smile.

“My study…”
“Hm?” Tyler perked up, caught off guard.
“I haven’t been there in a long time,” Shane said casually. “It seems like it’s still full of books?”

“There’s a lot, yeah.”
“If you think they’re worth reading, go ahead. If not, have Uncle Liu clear them out. No need to keep anything that’s just in the way.”
“They’re not in the way — not at all! I want to read them!”

Tyler’s voice pitched up without him realizing — almost frantic, as if Shane might change his mind at any moment and order the shelves emptied.
Shane chuckled. “Then read whatever you like.”
“Just… don’t get too carried away.”

Don’t get too carried away.
The words ricocheted in Tyler’s mind, echoing and reshaping until they sounded like this:
Don’t waste time on silly books. Don’t let your grades drop. Don’t embarrass Shane.
He nodded vigorously, even though Shane couldn’t see him.
“Don’t worry. I’ll study hard. I promise I won’t fail any classes!”

 
And Tyler meant it.
That very night, once Emily had gone off to bed, he sat down with the thick, intimidating manual and tried to figure out how to turn on the laptop.

Every click of the trackpad, every press of the keys — it all felt new.
Unfamiliar.
Exciting.
Like a kid with his first real toy, he poked and explored and fumbled his way around, eyes wide with cautious wonder.
He didn’t even realize it was past midnight.

Back in Milltown, he would’ve been fast asleep by now.
But here…
Tyler slowly pushed open the door to the study.

Unlike Tyler, Emily hadn’t shown much interest in the room.
She’d poked around earlier that evening, made one round along the bookshelves, and declared, “I still like the stories you draw better.” Then she’d frowned, added, “There aren’t even any middle school prep books,” and finally walked off hugging a copy of Alice in Wonderland to go study English in her room.
But for Tyler, this room was a treasure hoard.

He stood in front of the wall of manga, picked a volume with the most intriguing title, and pulled out the first issue.
Just one, he told himself. Just one volume. Then I’ll sleep.
But the story ended on a cliffhanger.
How could he stop there?

One more volume.
Just one.
Okay… last one.
This is really the last one…
Eventually, after countless "last ones," sunlight began to stretch through the windows.

Tyler rubbed his eyes and glanced over at the alarm clock.
Wait — it was 7:00 a.m.?
Emily would be up soon. He had to get breakfast ready.

He shot to his feet and hurried toward the kitchen to make porridge.
But the moment he stepped out of the room, a wave of dizziness swept over him. His vision blurred. The hallway tilted slightly under his feet.
Low blood sugar.

He wasn’t alarmed.
This had happened before — after pulling long shifts at the factory, or handing out flyers all day in the summer heat. It was manageable.
That’s why he always kept a bottle of sugar water in his shoulder bag — something he mixed himself.

A few gulps, a few minutes of rest, and he’d be fine.
He slowed his steps, aiming for the kitchen. He’d just get some sugar water first.
And then — the doorbell rang.

Who…? This early?
Still half-dazed, Tyler shuffled to the door and peered through the peephole.
Shane.

Right. Uncle Liu had said Shane was technically their neighbor now.
Tyler fumbled with the lock, dizzy and sluggish, intending to say, “Mr. Shane, what brings you here so early?”
But the words never made it out of his mouth.

His legs gave out — soft and limp like overcooked noodles — and the next second, his body pitched forward, entirely out of his control.
He collapsed into Shane’s chest.
Tyler leaned against the solid warmth of the man’s body, eyes closed, forehead damp with cold sweat.

The only thought flashing through his spinning mind was:
The contract said I had to maintain good health.
Does fainting from low blood sugar count as breach of contract…?