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Ren sat on the library floor, cross-legged between the shelves. A worn book lay open in his lap, but his eyes weren’t reading. His fingers absentmindedly traced the page's edges, his thoughts a thousand miles away—or rather, one floor above, where Ric had said he’d be editing film in the media lab.
He hated how much he noticed now.
The way Ric’s voice always dropped when he spoke to him.
The way his hand would hover a second too long on Ren’s shoulder.
The way he’d look away only after Ren did first.
They weren’t doing anything.
But somehow, it felt like they were always one breath away from something they couldn’t name.
"Ren."
He blinked, startled, as a shadow blocked the sunlight slanting through the tall windows. Ric stood above him, his camera bag slung over his shoulder, a teasing smile on his lips. His hair was messier than usual, falling over his eyes.
“You look like you’re planning someone’s murder.”
Ren stared. “I’m… reading.”
“You’re staring at a blank page.”
He shut the book with a soft thump. “Maybe I’m planning yours.”
Ric laughed — that open, warm sound Ren had grown to crave.
“I brought you something,” Ric said, crouching down beside him. He reached into his bag and pulled out a paper cup.
Ren narrowed his eyes. “If that’s another one of your weird matcha-caramel monstrosities—”
“It’s cinnamon coffee. From your café.” Ric tilted the cup toward him. “Mali said to give it to you with a smile.”
“You saw my mom?”
“Yeah. I picked up the cake order. She also said if I mess with you, she’ll poison my cookies.”
Ren chuckled under his breath and took the coffee, their fingers brushing — barely, but it was enough. Enough to make Ric go quiet. Enough to make Ren feel his pulse echo in the tips of his fingers.
They sat there, side by side, saying nothing.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was thick — warm and restless, like something unspoken floating between them. Ric leaned back against the bookshelf, legs stretched out. Their shoulders brushed.
Neither of them moved.
“I like this,” Ric said finally, staring ahead at nothing.
“What?”
“You. Quiet. With me. Not running away.”
“I don’t run.”
Ric turned his head, and their eyes met. “No? Then why do I always feel like I have to catch you?”
Ren looked away, sipping his coffee to hide the tremble in his lips. Ric didn’t press. But he stayed close. Close enough that Ren could smell his cologne — a mix of orange peel and something woodsy. Close enough that when Ren tilted his head, it almost brushed Ric’s shoulder.
He didn’t lean away.
And Ric didn’t move either.
A soft buzz broke the moment. Ric pulled out his phone and checked it.
“Kao says Sun got caught in the rain walking home from photography club. He wants us to come pick them up.”
Ren blinked. “Us?”
“Yeah. I told him I was with you.”
“You told Kao we were together?”
“Not like that.” Ric smirked. “Though if you want me to…”
“Shut up.”
Ric’s laugh was soft this time. Not teasing. Just fond.
“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering a hand.
Ren hesitated. But then—like always—he reached up and took it.
Almost touching.
Always close.
Never quite enough.
But Ren was starting to want more.
And Ric… already knew it.
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