By Monday, Kaito didn't show up to class.
Ren noticed immediately.
The teacher barely glanced up when taking roll, but Ren's gaze had flicked to the empty seat before the name was even called.
No Kaito.
No silent nods. No half-smiles. No glances that meant more than they should.
Just an absence.
At lunch, Ren stared at the empty rooftop, a triangle rice ball growing warm in his hand.
By the end of the day, he couldn't take it.
He asked quietly. Casually. A muttered "He's not feeling well?" to one of the girls in their group project. She shrugged and said, "He texted he's got a fever or something. Maybe the flu."
Ren nodded like it didn't matter.
But he left school faster than he ever had.
Kaito's apartment was a quiet little place tucked above a laundromat, with a nameplate on the door that still read "Sakamura." Ren stood there for almost a minute before knocking.
It was Kaito's mom who answered. Her hair was tied back, sleeves rolled, worry in her eyes.
"Oh—are you a classmate?"
Ren bowed slightly. "Ren Hayashi. Sorry to bother you."
She looked him over, then smiled a little. "He's being dramatic. It's just a fever. But he's stubborn, so maybe you'll be better company than me."
Ren followed her inside. The apartment smelled like ginger and miso. Warm. Lived-in.
Kaito's room was dim, curtains drawn. He was curled under a blanket, hair a mess, face flushed with heat and sweat. When the door creaked, he blinked through fevered haze.
"…Ren?"
Ren knelt by the bed, setting a hand on the blanket instead of his skin. "You look like hell."
Kaito gave a weak, raspy laugh. "Thanks."
"I brought this," Ren said, holding up the rice ball. "Figured you missed lunch."
"You brought me food?" Kaito blinked slowly. "That's kind of romantic."
Ren's heart stuttered.
Kaito's eyes slipped closed again, like the fever had made him too honest, too tired to care.
"…I didn't mean to push you away," Kaito murmured, barely above a whisper.
Ren sat beside the bed, arms resting on his knees.
"I know," he said.
There was a pause. The room hummed with silence and shallow breathing.
Then Kaito said, "I was scared."
Ren looked at him. Really looked.
"Of me?"
"Of what I feel when I'm near you."
Ren's chest tightened. He swallowed once. "What do you feel?"
Kaito's eyes opened slowly, fever-glazed but clear enough. "Like I'm about to fall."
Ren leaned forward.
Kaito didn't move.
And in that silence—full of all the things they hadn't said—Ren kissed him.
It was soft. Careful. Like a promise wrapped in uncertainty. Kaito's lips were warm with fever and salt, but he kissed back, slowly, like his body knew what his heart had been trying to say for weeks.
When they parted, Kaito let out a small breath.
"…I'm not dreaming, am I?"
Ren's voice was soft. "No. You're just sick and bad at pretending you don't want this."
Kaito smiled, eyes fluttering shut. "Stay a little?"
Ren took his hand, finally.
"I'm not going anywhere."