Kiss The Boy [BL]

"Yes!" Renjiro declared, striking a triumphant pose. "Mission: kiss the Boy. Trademark pending."

"Then, why?"

Renjiro exhaled softly as he said, "I already told you—"

"I know." Sato added, "I meant, why are you willing to be a matchmaker?"

Renjiro paused. Then, he beamed warmly, "It's because I want to see the happy ending. Your happy ending with that annoying jerk—I mean, with Miura."

Sato sighed, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously committed," Renjiro corrected, already pulling a small notepad from his pocket.

"Step one: reconnaissance. I need everything you know about him—favorite food, favorite color, does he like cats? Or dogs? Wait, is he even into guys?"

Sato blinked. "I... I don't know."

Renjiro stopped scribbling and raised an eyebrow. "You don't know? Sato, please, intel everything in love warfare?"

"Isn't he... you're roommate?" Sato asked, his eyes blinking in curiosity.

Renjiro's expression turned stiff, pen pausing mid-air. "Nah, we're not even close."

Sato stared. "You never talked?"

"We did." Renjiro replied, "But more like arguing about who the real owner of the room."

Renjiro set down the notepad, sighing deeply. "Maybe I should befriend him. Casually. No, strategically. Like ninja romance."

Sato's eyes widened. "You'll what?"

He picked up his pen again, furiously jotting something down. "Operation Sub-Mission: Get Ken to talk."

Sato shook his head. He couldn't understand what Renjiro was getting at. Was he talking to himself? Or was he simply just a weird one?

A few days passed, and Renjiro still wasn't able to make any progress with his mission. Even the plan to talk with Ken was never near to success. 

He walked down the quiet corridor, deep in thoughts. Renjiro had passed by all the other classrooms and empty ones. Until he found himself standing in front of the faculty room. Was he supposed to be here?

The boy just stood there. He wasn't sure why he stopped. Maybe it was the silence behind the door or the faint hum of conversation muffled through the walls.

Renjiro shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

I should just return to class. I don't even know why I'm here.

As he was about to leave, suddenly the door slid open. Renjiro froze.

A tall figure stepped out—Mr. Kuroda, the literature teacher. His sharp eyes scanned the hallway before landing squarely on Renjiro.

"You're not skipping class just to loiter, are you?" Mr. Kuroda asked, his tone unreadable.

Renjiro straightened instinctively. "N-No, sir. I was just... walking."

Mr. Kuroda raised an eyebrow, then glanced over his shoulder into the faculty room. "You need something? Might as well come in, then."

Renjiro blinked. "Sir?"

But Mr. Kuroda was already turning away, holding the door open.

Something about the way he said it—it wasn't an invitation. It was a test.

With a quiet breath, Renjiro stepped forward.

The scent of old paper, stale coffee, and faint cologne drifted out as the faculty room door creaked open.

Renjiro hesitated at the threshold. He'd never been inside before. It felt like trespassing.

Mr. Kuroda stepped aside, waiting. "Well?"

Swallowing, Renjiro moved past him.

As he stepped in further, his eyes caught a familiar shiny brunette haired boy from a distant. He was standing out amongst the teachers inside the room.

When he poked his head out as if peeking over the other side, he met Renjiro's eyes.

"Ah!"

The face was too familiar—Renjiro could only widen his eyes from shock.

Sasaki sprang from his seat. He was wearing an excited look on his face.

"Good thing you're here too, Miura-kun."

Renjiro raised his brows—furrowing even in confusion. "Miura?" He said under his breath.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Sasaki-sensei."

Came a familiar deep, rough voice from behind.

Renjiro turned to the voice—he jolted up from seeing Ken's face.

"What the—why are you here?!"

He barked at him. But Ken ignored him, walking past Renjiro toward straight to Sasaki's desk.

"It's fine," Sasaki smiled, "I was actually going to call you too, Koizumi."

Renjiro shifted his head to Sasaki.

Wait, sensei?

"Tasuki," Renjiro said with a confused tone in his voice, "You're a teacher?"

Sasaki tugged a smile. "Oh, did I not tell you?" He slipped a sheepish laugh.

He told the boy, "I tend to be so busy with many things that I often forget introducing myself as a teacher."

It all makes sense now. Those weird looks he got from other students the other night had a reason.

Calling a teacher by his first name does sound disrespectful.

Renjiro blinked. "You don't even look like teacher Tasu—I mean, Sasaki-sensei. No offense, though, sir."

Mr. Kuroda, who was standing beside them, chuckled softly. He seemed amused by Sasaki being mistaken as a student.

"Well, I suppose that's one way to say you haven't aged a day." His tone was teasing, but there was a glint in his eye—almost too sharp to be casual.

Sasaki beamed, but his smile was tight. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said smoothly.

"So, you've always been a baby face, huh?"

Sasaki cleared his throat as he shifted the conversation with a practiced ease. "Anyway," he said, straightening his coat.

He turned to Renjiro, his smile now measured. "I would like to speak with you two. I just remembered that you two still don't know each other, right?"

Both Renjiro and Ken gave a quick glance at each other. Their eyes both scrutinized, silent and analyzing.

Ken gave the faintest tilt of his head and, in turn, seemed to be sizing Renjiro up, his gaze steady, unreadable.

Sasaki reached out his hand as he opened his mouth, "This is Koizumi... and Koizumi-kun, this is Miura-kun."

"..."

"Renjiro. Koizumi Renjiro," he said at last, breaking the silence with a slight nod.

Ken looked stoic and only stared at Renjiro's face.

Sasaki clapped his hands lightly, interrupting the moment. "Now that you guys are introduced," he said, "I hope you two get along from now on."

That earned a raised eyebrow from Ken, who clearly found the idea ridiculous.

"Don't you think it's a bit too late for that now." His tone sounded flat—measured—but there was a sharpness behind it like a blade hidden under a silk.

Renjiro narrowed his eyes. "You just don't like the idea, do you jerk?

Ken glanced at him sidelong, wearing that smug little grin.

Sasaki stepped in before the tension could thicken. "Alright, that's enough." He softly exhaled.

"But don't worry, Sasaki-sensei." Renjiro said as he gave a light laugh, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"We'll try to get along, eventually."

"Can't you two just get along, then." Sasaki said almost above a whisper.

Soon, Renjiro was on his way back to the dorm. He walked down the hallway but was deep in his own thoughts.

His footsteps echoed off the quiet walls, but his mind was elsewhere—on Ken.

It wasn't friendship he was after. Not really. What he wanted was access. A way in.

If he could just get close enough to Ken, learn what his type is like, maybe even earn a little trust, then he could figure out how to draw him out of his shell. That way, Sato getting close to him wouldn't be a problem.

As he reached for the doorknob, the door suddenly swung open.

[!!]

Ken was standing right in front of him. He shifted his weight as he looked down to Renjiro, his expression unreadable—calm, maybe, but guarded. Always guarded.

For a split second, Renjiro froze. All those thoughts about getting close suddenly became quite impossible to achieve, knowing how guarded and annoying Ken can be.

Still, he hadn't expected to see him so soon, and definitely not like this—so close, so abruptly.

He forced a quick smile, casual, like he hadn't just been mentally unraveling a strategy to get inside this very moment.

"Hey," Renjiro said, his voice light, maybe too light.

Ken didn't respond right away. His gaze flicked over Renjiro as if assessing him—measuring not just his presence but his intent.

Then, finally, a nod. Barely noticeable. Before Renjiro could even open his mouth to speak, Ken had already taken a step away from the doorway.

Renjiro's smile slowly faded, turning into more of a pout. He exhaled roughly as he watched Ken's back fade into the shadow.

"And there he goes..." He muttered under his breath, "Cold as always."

How exactly are we going to get close if he's so distant?!

Then, something popped into his head. The thought hit him like a jolt—simple, obvious even—but it made his heart beat faster.

Getting information like this won't work—if he really wanted to, he had to go out of his way to resort into something that involved him being hated even more.

Renjiro sighed heavily just by the thought of it alone. "I guess I have no choice," he said, tone more of a whisper.

The hallway was silent again, Ken already long gone. Renjiro stood there for another moment, letting the weight of his decision settle in his chest like a stone.

Whatever it takes.

At lunchbreak:

The low murmur of voices and clatter of trays filled the cafeteria the next morning. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting pale rectangles across the tables, but Renjiro barely noticed.

He sat alone at the far end of the room, eyes scanning the crowd with sharp intent.

He had a plan. A reckless, uncomfortable plan. And it all started here.

Not a second long, Renjiro's gaze flicked toward the movement—a familiar figure weaving through the maze of tables. Ken.

He moved with the same casual confidence as always, tray balanced effortlessly, eyes set on the far end of the room. The seat behind Renjiro. Just out of reach.

Renjiro's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of his tray. Now.

He shifted in his seat and straightened his posture. His throat felt dry, but he forced his voice to sound steady.

It wasn't loud, barely above the hum of conversation, but it cut through the noise like a thread pulled taut. Ken paused, eyes narrowing as he turned slightly.

Renjiro gestured with a nod to the seat across from him. "Sit here."

A beat of hesitation. Ken's brow lifted, tray still in hand, clearly caught off guard. Renjiro held his gaze, calm and unreadable on the surface, but every heartbeat thundered with the weight of his decision.

This was it—the first step.

Ken blinked, then scoffed under his breath. Still, for some reason—maybe curiosity, maybe boredom—he stepped around the table and dropped into the seat across from Renjiro with a loud clatter of his tray.

He leaned back lazily, as if the conversation had already bored him.

"I don't remember making plans to eat with you." Ken said, popping a piece of bread into his mouth.

Renjiro ignored the jab, watching him closely. "I know! But why not, right?"

Ken's expression didn't change, eyeing Renjiro up, slow, and measured, as if trying to figure out what kind of game this was. His brows crept down just slightly.

"So," Renjiro continued, voice lighter now, "do you like melon bread?" He beamed warmly.

Ken blinked as he raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Melond bread," Renjiro said, still smiling. "You always buy one in the morning from the vending machine every day."

Ken smirked, chewing slowly. "So, you're stalking me now?" He leaned an elbow on the table.

Renjiro gave a small shrug. "I notice things."

Ken narrowed his eyes, and with a straight serious face, he said, "I don't like it when people watch my every move. If you have enough energy, stalk someone else."

"I thought it'd be nice," Renjiro said simply. "You like melond bread. I do, too. It's a start."

Ken snorted, shaking his head with a grin that didn't reach his eye.

"You're really something, you know that?" He said, "You sitting here acting all friendly like we're buddies. You seriously think this is gonna get you anywhere?"

Renjiro's jaw tensed, but he didn't take the bait.

His smile didn't waver, though there was something sharper behind his gaze now—focused, steady.

"Oh, come on now, man. I just want us to get along. Or become friends, y'know."

Ken let out a scoff, grabbed his drink, and muttered, "Well, leave me out of it."

Renjiro's fingers drummed lightly on the table, his smile thinning just a bit at the edges. For a second, just one, he let his eyes drop to the table—then back up, gaze cool and unreadable again.

I figured he'd say that. But that doesn't mean I'm going to give up just like that.

Renjiro thought to himself.

Ken stared at him, brows pulling together.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and taut.

Then Ken stood, picking up his tray with a grunt. "Whatever."

He started walking away—but just before he was out of earshot, he added over his shoulder:

"And for the record... it's melon pan, not melon bread."

Renjiro blinked. Then his smile returned, smaller this time, but real.

Got him.

It might've looked like he failed to become friends instantly. But he was successful doing the first step.

After all, everything has its steps. This made Renjiro realize that not all people can be as easy to approach—some had walls so thick, they didn't even realize they were still building them.

And Ken? His walls weren't just for show. They were defense, sharpened with every smirk, every mocking word.

But Renjiro wasn't deterred.

For the next few days, Renjiro continued without fail.

Every lunch break, he claimed the same seat at the far end of the cafeteria—and without needing to look up, he'd know the moment Ken walked in. His greetings never changed.

"Yo, Ken! Over here."

Sometimes with a wave, sometimes with a grin. Rain or shine, mood or no mood, Renjiro said it like clockwork. Loud enough for Ken to hear, never loud enough to make a scene.

Ken would glance over, tray hand, expression unreadable. Some days, he ignored him completely. Other days, he paused, rolled his eyes, and chose a table one row behind, as if pretending not to hear.

But Renjiro kept doing it anyway.

In the dorms, it was the same.

He'd pass Ken in the hallway and throw a casual. "Heading out? Don't forget your umbrella—it's supposed to rain."

Or, "You ever finish that math assignment? I swear ours is cursed!"

Ken would grumble something noncommittal, sometimes not even looking up from his phone, sometimes offering a single, dry word in return—"No." "Whatever." "Why do you care?"

Still, Renjiro never lost that steady tone, that spark of warmth in his voice. He never pushed. He never mocked. He just... stayed.

Ken still didn't smile and still threw up his verbal walls.

He wasn't sure what exactly Renjiro was after—doing all this. Was it for attention?

Was he simply just desperate to become his friend?

Ken found it hard to believe someone could be that... consistent. That patient. That genuine. Without an ulterior motive.

No one did that kind of thing without expecting something back. No one just cared.

So he watched.

And in the back of his mind, a darker thought festered:

What if he was hired by them?

Ken stopped mid-step. The thought alone made him consider the possibility of Renjiro being his hired watcher.

A heavy sigh slipped out from his lips as he whipped his head behind him.

"Can you stop following me?" He said, tone low and sharp, laced with something dangerously close to accusation.

Renjiro blinked, clearly caught off guard. He halted a few paces back, holding nothing but a convenience store drink in one hand and a confused half-smile on his face.

"I wasn't following you," he said, "We're literally heading the same direction."

He tugged a smirk. "Roommates, remember?"

Ken turned fully to face him, eyes cold as he said, "Don't play dumb. You're always just there. At lunch. In the hallway. In the dorms. You keep acting like we're friends, like we're supposed to be close or something—but I don't buy it."

He took a step closer, voice lower now, almost a growl.

"So tell me—did they send you? Did they tell you to be this awfully friendly with me, to get my guard down?"

Renjiro's expression faltered. The warmth drained from his eyes—not entirely, but enough to show he understood now.

It was also the same question he asked back then.

He looked at Ken, really looked, and something softened in his features.

"No," he said, simply. No protest. No dramatic denial. Yet, at the same time, he was confused.

A strange quiet settled between them.

Ken lift a brow—not surprised, flustered, and just utter disbelief. He wasn't sure whether to believe Renjiro's words or not.

His jaw tightened and glanced away for a second too long.

Renjiro let out a deep sigh before taking another step forward.

"I don't know what you mean by that." He gently walked past Ken, "But you won't believe me no matter what I say, right?"

He moved past him without waiting for a response.

Ken stood there all quiet—alone. 

Soon, the night came.

The hallway felt heavier with every passing second. The distance hum of chatter from other rooms didn't reach him. He blinked a few times, then finally turned and made his way back to the dorm room.

The door creaked softly as he pushed it open.

Inside, Renjiro was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his laptop propped up on the low table.

A half-open bag of chips, soda cans, and a pack of cookies were scattered nearby. The glow from the screen lit up his face as he looked up.

"Yo," Renjiro said, a grin spreading across his face. "Welcome back, Ken."

Ken didn't respond and just let the door click shut behind him.

Renjiro patted the floor beside him. "C'mon. Sit down. I just started this movie—it's dumb, loud, and exactly what you need right now."

"No thanks. I'd rather read some books than watch stupid movies and make a mess out of the room with all these junk foods."

Ken barked. His brows, as usual, meeting at the center, forehead scrunched.

"That's what I thought," Renjiro said with a smirk, tossing him a cookie.

[!!]

"Hey—"

He pulled out his phone and pushed the screen up toward Ken.

"Does Mr. Kuroda know, you use the old gym to skip class every third and fourth period?"

Ken's eyes widened, "How'd you...!?"

"Now shut up and watch this masterpiece of cinematic garbage with me."

Great. First, he was being followed and pestered all day, and now this?

Ken hesitated for a second, then walked over and dropped down beside him without a word.

When both had settled down, Renjiro hit the play button—the movie began.

Yet, Ken wasn't paying much attention to the movie. His mind and thoughts were wandering elsewhere—jumping from the confrontation earlier to the quiet weight he'd been carrying for months.

The screen flickered with explosions and over-the-top dialogue, but it felt miles away—loud and ridiculous from the first scene.

A few minutes in, Renjiro leaned back on his palms and glanced sideways at him.

"You know," he started casually, "I've been wondering about this for a while now. You kept asking me about 'them' hiring someone or something... but really, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Ken blinked and turned his head slightly.

"I honestly just wanted to be your friend. But you're always in guard and so suspicious of me."

"..."

He looked directly at Ken.

"I want to know why." Renjiro said, his tone becoming more gentle now. "I know we're not close enough for you to open up to me, yet..."

"So, please, can't you tell me. I'm listening, Miura." Renjiro gave a bitter smile, almost as if he was shy.

Ken stiffened. He looked away. His fingers curled slightly on his knee.

Renjiro waited, letting the movie chatter on in the background.

After a pause, Ken exhaled through his nose. "She's relentless."

Renjiro tilted his head. "She?"

Ken nodded. "My mother. Controlling as hell. Has been all my life."

His voice was low, quiet. "Every choice I made had to go through her. Friends. Clothes. Classes. Everything."

He paused, his eyes fixed on the table.

Ken thought, if he could get far enough away, maybe he could breathe. So, he picked the most distant high school that would take him to move into the dorms.

He didn't even tell her until everything was final.

"Damn," Renjiro muttered.

Ken's jaw clenched as he continued to tell the story.

"But she didn't let go. She never does."

She started hiring people—students, adults, anyone willing—to watch Ken. Get close. Feed her updates. And if he let his guard down enough, she'd find a way to drag him back.

He looked up at Renjiro, eyes clouded.

"She doesn't want a son. She wants a puppet."

It was something Ken had realized as he grew up.

Eventually, Ken grew to hate trusting anyone and even avoid getting himself involved with any classmates. Which resulted in him becoming friendless—different rumors started spreading around.

It became so hard for him to put his trust in any person he'd meet.

That's why, every time Renjiro waved him over, every dumb little comment in the hallway, every time he asked if Ken had eaten or if he was heading to class—Ken studied him, waiting for the cracks to show.

Waiting for the real reason to slip away. Just like what happened to others who approached him first before.

Renjiro was quiet for a beat, the colorful blur of the movie painting shadows across his face.

He didn't know that Ken's wall were built to protect himself—not just to avoid people purposely. His actions up until now were just armor, a way to survive when trusting had only led to betrayal.

But Renjiro was persistent in the quietest way. He'd showed up—every single time despite being avoided and hated.

That was the part Ken didn't understand. The consistency. The kindness without strings.

It was terrifying.

Ken found himself waiting—for the familiar signs: a sudden cold shoulder, a joke made at his expense, the indifference visible in their eyes. That's how it always went. The kindness was a mask. It always slipped eventually.

So why hadn't it slipped yet?

The colors from the movie flickered in Renjiro's eyes, making him look half-dream, half-truth. Ken shifted in his seat, every muscle taut, bracing for the moment when this, too, would go wrong.

Ken hated that it made him want to believe Renjiro was different.

He didn't say anything for a while.

The movie's light danced on their faces, all bright colors and loud music, but in the quiet between them, something unspoken hung in the air—dense, heavy.

He glanced at Ken, who sat stiffly beside him, not really watching the movie. Not really relaxed.

And that's when it clicked.

All the times, Ken responded to his kindness with suspicion. The cold way he'd respond when Renjiro called out to him in the halls.

How he never quite let their conversations go too deep, like he was keeping one hand on the escape hatch, just in case.

He looked at Ken again, this time with a different kind of understanding.

Renjiro's chest tightened with the realization. Every casual wave, every dumb hallway joke, every warm smile—it might've felt safe to him, but to Ken, it might've looked like bait.

Not long after, Ken suddenly sprung up from his seat as if he had snapped back to reality.

He looked surprised. He had no idea why he opened up like that or told those things to Renjiro.

Ken sighed heavily as he ran a hand to his hair.

"What's wrong?" Renjiro asked, quite startled by Ken's sudden movement.

Ken didn't answer right away. Then: "That's enough watching. Let's go to bed."

His tone had gone back to being cold and firm once again.

Renjiro didn't say anything. But soon, he obliged without any usual comeback or complaints.