Ren was the kind of person who made noise just by existing.
Not loud in an annoying way—loud in a life way.
The classroom felt different the moment he walked in, chair scraping loudly as he dropped into his seat, backpack half-zipped, energy already overflowing before first period even began.
"Good morning, victims of education," he announced.
Several students groaned.
Ren grinned like he'd won something.
Tobi watched him with mild amusement. "You're going to get kicked out one day."
Ren leaned over, whispering loudly, "Worth it."
Iruka didn't even look up from his notebook. "Statistically, you're more likely to fail from boredom than expulsion."
Ren gasped. "That was personal."
---
Ren liked mornings.
Not because he enjoyed waking up early—he didn't—but because mornings still felt open. Like the day hadn't decided yet whether it wanted to be good or bad.
He liked that uncertainty.
Between classes, Ren dragged Tobi and Iruka into conversations about nothing important.
Food rankings. Which teacher would survive a zombie apocalypse. Whether ghosts would get bored haunting the same place forever.
Tobi laughed more than he realized.
That mattered.
Ren noticed things like that.
---
At lunch, Ren sat cross-legged on the bench, chewing loudly.
"You know," he said between bites, "when I transferred here, I thought this place was cursed."
Iruka raised an eyebrow. "You still think that."
Ren shrugged. "Yeah, but now it's our cursed place."
Tobi nearly choked on his drink.
Ren patted his back. "See? Bonding."
Sumi sat nearby, quiet as usual, listening more than speaking. Ren glanced at her once, then twice.
"…You okay?" he asked casually.
She blinked, surprised. "Yes."
Ren nodded. "Cool."
He didn't push.
That also mattered.
---
After school, Ren insisted they walk together.
"No excuses," he said. "Friendship requires maintenance."
Iruka sighed. "We just ate lunch."
"Exactly. Emotional digestion."
They walked through streets lined with small shops, evening light turning everything gold.
Ren pointed at random things.
"That café? Overrated." "That dog? Main character energy." "That vending machine? Definitely haunted."
Tobi smiled, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.
For a while, Ren walked a step ahead, then slowed until he was beside Tobi.
"…Hey," Ren said, quieter.
Tobi glanced at him. "Yeah?"
Ren scratched the back of his head. "You ever feel like… things are about to change, but you don't know how?"
Tobi paused.
"…Yeah."
Ren laughed softly. "Right? Hate that feeling."
Iruka watched them from a short distance behind.
He didn't miss the way Ren's smile lingered a little too long, or the way his eyes sharpened when he thought no one was looking.
---
Later that night, Ren lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
His room was messy. Posters half-falling off the wall. Clothes everywhere.
Normal.
He liked normal.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Tobi.
> Thanks for today.
Ren stared at it for a moment.
Then smiled.
> Anytime, man.
He locked his phone and turned onto his side.
The smile faded—not completely, but enough.
"…Just stay like this," he muttered to the empty room.
Outside, the city hummed.
Somewhere unseen, threads shifted.
And Ren—who laughed first, who joked loudest, who made things feel lighter—
slept without knowing how tightly the story had wrapped itself around him.
That night didn't end in their rooms.
It never really did when Ren decided it shouldn't.
A message popped up in the group chat just past eight.
> Ren: Boys' night. No excuses.
Ren: Meet at the convenience store near the bridge.
Ren: If you say no, I'll assume you're afraid of fun.
Iruka replied first.
> Iruka: That's not how logic works.
> Ren: Sounds like fear.
Tobi stared at his phone for a second, then typed:
> Tobi: I'll come.
Three dots appeared immediately.
> Ren: YES.
---
They gathered under buzzing fluorescent lights, the convenience store glowing like a tiny island in the dark street.
Ren came out first, arms full of snacks. Chips, canned drinks, cheap candy, something wrapped in foil that definitely wasn't healthy.
"I chose democracy," he said proudly. "Everyone gets something terrible."
Iruka eyed the pile. "This is nutritional sabotage."
Tobi picked up a drink, cold against his palm. "It's fine."
Ren pointed at him. "See? The chosen one understands."
They laughed, the sound spilling into the street, unnoticed by anyone who passed.
---
They walked without direction.
That was the point.
Across the bridge. Down narrow streets. Past closed shops and quiet houses where light leaked from curtains. The city at night felt slower, softer, like it wasn't watching as closely.
Ren sat on the railing near the river first, legs dangling.
"Okay," he said. "Rule one. No talking about school."
Iruka frowned. "That removes ninety percent of conversation."
"Exactly."
Tobi leaned against the railing, looking at the water. The river reflected the lights in broken lines, stretching and folding with the current.
Ren cracked open a drink and handed one to each of them.
They clinked cans together.
No ceremony. No meaning.
Just habit.
---
They talked about nothing important.
Movies they half-remembered. Childhood injuries. The dumbest things they'd ever believed.
Ren told a story about thinking traffic lights were controlled manually by someone in a booth.
Iruka admitted he used to apologize to furniture when he bumped into it.
Tobi listened more than he spoke—but when he laughed, it was real.
At some point, Ren lay back on the concrete, hands behind his head, staring at the sky.
"Stars are overrated," he said. "Too far away. Never answer back."
Iruka sat beside him. "You're projecting."
Ren shrugged. "Maybe."
Tobi looked up too.
The sky was clear. Calm.
No cracks. No distortion.
Just dark blue and distant light.
For the first time in days, his chest didn't feel tight.
---
"You ever think," Ren said suddenly, voice quieter, "that this is the kind of night you remember later?"
Iruka turned his head slightly. "Because it's fun?"
"No," Ren replied. "Because it's simple."
Tobi felt something settle at those words.
Simple.
No swords. No pressure. No expectations pressing in from unseen places.
Just friends sitting by a river, sharing bad snacks and worse jokes.
"I'd like that," Tobi said softly. "To remember this."
Ren smiled without looking at him. "Then you will."
---
They stayed until the drinks were empty and the air grew colder.
When they finally stood to leave, Ren stretched dramatically.
"Same time next week," he said. "Unless the world ends."
Iruka adjusted his bag. "If it does, you're still late."
They walked home together until the road split.
Ren waved lazily. "Don't disappear, okay?"
Tobi nodded. "I won't."
Ren held his gaze for half a second longer than necessary.
Then turned and jogged off, hands in his pockets, whistling off-key.
Tobi watched until he was gone.
The night felt quiet again—but not lonely.
Just… fragile.
And somewhere deep inside him, something unseen took note of that fragility.
Not to break it.
But to remember what was at stake.