Yuuji hated that his routine felt... off.
His morning walk to school, which was usually filled with podcasts about productivity and entrance exam strategies, now had a quiet buzz behind it—like static. Ren static. Ever since that moment in the library, where Ren had caught the ladder and their eyes had lingered too long, something had changed. Not on the surface—they still exchanged jabs and maintained their truce of mutual irritation—but underneath?
Something was shifting. Yuuji didn't like things that shifted.
He arrived at the classroom early again, trying to reclaim control of his day. His usual seat—the seat—was empty, thank god. He exhaled, relieved, and pulled out his notebook. The room was quiet, sunlight stretching lazy across the floor tiles.
Then came the unmistakable sound of gum popping.
Yuuji glanced up and froze. Ren had just walked in, headphones slung around his neck, tie loose, and blazer halfway on. But this time... something was different. He looked tired. Not the usual "bored rebel" kind of tired, but genuinely worn out, like he hadn't slept properly in days.
"You're early," Ren said, voice rough like sandpaper.
"So are you," Yuuji replied cautiously.
"Couldn't sleep," Ren muttered, heading to his desk—which, against all logic, was now permanently the seat beside Yuuji's. He dropped his bag with a thud and slumped into the chair.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Yuuji, without looking up, said quietly, "You smell like... oranges."
Ren blinked. "That's—random."
"It's not a compliment," Yuuji added stiffly. "You're not supposed to wear scented things in school. It's distracting."
Ren chuckled under his breath. "Wow. You really are the poster child for the student handbook."
"I'm serious."
"You would be."
There was another pause. Then Yuuji glanced sideways. "It's not just oranges. It's... smoke too."
Ren tensed almost imperceptibly.
Yuuji noticed.
"Do you smoke?" he asked, less out of accusation and more out of... curiosity. Concern, maybe.
Ren didn't answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like he was somewhere else.
"Not usually," he said eventually. "Only when I can't shut my brain up."
Yuuji studied him quietly. There was something raw in the way Ren said it—unguarded, not like his usual teasing front.
Yuuji didn't push further. Instead, he turned back to his notebook.
The bell rang.
But that smell lingered—citrus and smoke—like an odd metaphor for the boy sitting beside him. Bright but bitter. Sweet, but burned around the edges.
---
Later that day, in the library for detention, they worked mostly in silence. But it wasn't hostile anymore. It was something else. Tentative. A strange kind of peace.
At one point, as Yuuji was shelving books again, Ren leaned against the cart and asked softly, "You ever do something reckless?"
Yuuji frowned. "I don't do reckless."
Ren smiled without humor. "Exactly."
Their eyes met.
And for a brief second, Yuuji wondered what it would feel like... to stop being perfect.