By Tuesday, Kaito was back at school.
The fever was gone, but the warmth in his chest hadn't cooled. If anything, it had settled in deeper—right behind his ribs, quiet and steady.
Ren walked with him to school that morning.
They didn't talk about it. Didn't plan it. But they left the convenience store at the same time, and Ren adjusted his pace to match Kaito's without a word.
Their arms didn't touch.
But they could have.
In class, things didn't look that different on the surface. Ren still sat beside Kaito. Still passed him notes during history. Still rolled his eyes at the teacher's dry jokes.
But it felt different.
Their desks weren't just close anymore—they were connected by something unspoken. And people noticed.
By lunch, two of the girls from their group project were whispering behind their textbooks.
In gym, one of the guys nudged Ren in the ribs and raised an eyebrow. Ren didn't answer. Just shot a glance toward Kaito, who was stretching alone by the wall, pretending not to notice.
He noticed.
A lot.
Like how Ren's eyes lingered longer when Kaito spoke, even if it was just about math.
Or how Ren stopped him from walking into the street without looking, fingers brushing Kaito's wrist like it was second nature.
Or how, when someone new from another class leaned a little too close to Kaito during lunch, Ren stiffened.
It was subtle—but there.
Kaito had been telling himself what he felt wasn't obvious. That no one could see it.
But now?
Now he wasn't so sure.
"Who was that guy?" Ren asked later, after school, when they were packing up their bags.
"Huh?" Kaito blinked. "Oh—Shun? He's in my old cram school class. He asked about homework."
Ren nodded too quickly.
Kaito smirked. "Why?"
"No reason."
Kaito slung his bag over his shoulder. "Are you… jealous?"
Ren gave him a dry look. "Of some guy with gelled hair and a backpack full of physics flashcards? Definitely not."
Kaito raised an eyebrow.
Ren sighed. "Fine. Maybe a little."
Kaito didn't say anything.
But he smiled.
That night, while they sat again in Kaito's room—this time both healthy, this time both quiet in a new kind of way—Ren reached out, laced their fingers together without asking.
And this time, Kaito didn't let go.
Not when his mom knocked with snacks.
Not when the wind shook the window.
Not when they sat in silence, listening to the faint hum of the city outside.
Because people could notice.
People could whisper.
But whatever this was—
It was theirs.