It took Yuuji three tries to fold the sketch properly.
His fingers fumbled over the crisp corners, the fresh graphite still a little smudged along the cheekbones. He tucked the drawing into a plain paper envelope, sealed it without a name, and slid it into the front pocket of his bag.
He didn't know why he was doing it—only that he had to.
For once, there wasn't a list or a reason. Just a quiet pull inside him that said: Go.
---
The next morning, Yuuji arrived early.
Too early, even for the library. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above him as he sat at the long desk, heart tapping uneven rhythms against his ribs. His eyes drifted to the door every time someone passed.
At 7:48 AM, it opened.
Ren stepped in, hair slightly damp from the mist outside, school bag slung over one shoulder, hoodie rumpled like he hadn't slept properly. When his eyes landed on Yuuji, he paused—but didn't smile.
Yuuji expected the smirk, the comment, the usual teasing glint.
But Ren looked guarded. Careful. Like someone who'd been burned one too many times.
Yuuji stood up slowly.
"I—" he began, then stopped. His throat closed up, nerves crawling like vines around his chest.
Ren tilted his head, watching. "You don't have to say anything."
"I want to," Yuuji said. He reached into his bag, fingers brushing the envelope like it might disappear if he hesitated too long.
He held it out.
Ren blinked. "What's this?"
Yuuji shrugged, trying to sound offhand but failing. "You said you wanted to know me. That's… a start."
Ren took the envelope with both hands, oddly reverent. "Should I open it?"
"Later," Yuuji said quickly. "Not here."
Ren nodded, a little slowly. "Okay."
The silence that followed was warm, not awkward. A shift. Small—but real.
Yuuji sat back down. "I don't really know how to do this."
Ren dropped into the chair across from him. "Do what?"
"Talk to someone. Like… this. Not with rules or distance."
Ren's smile was soft this time. No edge. "You don't have to get it right all at once."
"I'm not good at people."
"You're good at me," Ren said.
Yuuji flushed so suddenly he wanted to vanish.
"Take it back," he muttered.
Ren grinned. "Never."
---
For the rest of the morning, they shared the library table in silence—not heavy like before, but companionable. Ren pulled out a manga, Yuuji finished his chemistry worksheet. Occasionally their knees bumped under the desk, and neither of them pulled away.
By lunchtime, the shift had taken root.
And by the end of the day, when Yuuji passed Ren in the hallway, their eyes met for a moment—brief, deliberate—and Ren smiled.
Yuuji didn't smile back.
But he didn't look away either.
---
That night, Ren sat on his bed and stared at the envelope.
He hadn't opened it all day.
Not because he forgot—but because it felt sacred. Yuuji giving him anything that wasn't cold, sharp, or defensive felt like watching a door open in a locked house.
When he peeled back the flap, his breath caught.
Inside was a single pencil sketch.
It was him—Ren. Caught in mid-turn, a quiet moment, the corner of his mouth soft like an almost-smile. Hair messy. Eyes a little tired. But not dramatic. Not stylized. Real.
It wasn't perfect—some lines were faint, the shading unfinished near the collar.
But it was intimate. Gentle. Honest.
He stared at it for a long time, heart thudding louder than it should.
And then, carefully, he folded the sketch and slid it beneath the pages of his journal.
Safe.
---
The next day, things weren't perfect. They didn't talk about feelings. They didn't touch. They didn't sit together at lunch.
But they looked.
They caught each other in passing—Ren giving a lazy wave during morning assembly, Yuuji nodding when their eyes met through the glass doors after homeroom.
Small things.
But after everything, the small things felt enormous.
---
On Friday, Ren cornered Yuuji beside the vending machines after school.
"You're walking home, right?"
Yuuji hesitated. "Yeah…?"
Ren offered his can of coffee like a peace offering. "Come with me."
"To where?"
"My side of the neighborhood."
Yuuji blinked. "Isn't that the opposite way?"
Ren shrugged. "So?"
Yuuji opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Something inside him softened.
He took the can. "Fine. But if I'm late, I'm blaming you."
Ren grinned. "Deal."
They walked in silence at first. The sky above them was the kind of warm gray that promised rain but never delivered. Ren kicked a loose pebble down the sidewalk. Yuuji watched the shifting clouds.
"You're quieter than usual," Ren said after a while.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"…You."
Ren stopped walking.
Yuuji took a few more steps before realizing he wasn't being followed. He turned around slowly.
Ren looked stunned. "What?"
Yuuji's ears went pink. "Don't make it weird."
Ren smiled, but it wasn't teasing—it was soft. Grateful. "I won't."
And just like that, the distance between them felt smaller.
Like maybe—just maybe—trust could grow from broken pieces.