Class 2-A's presentation day began with stiff chairs, nervous throat-clearing, and the faint smell of marker ink. The front of the classroom had been turned into a battlefield: desks cleared away, a projector flickering weakly against the whiteboard, and twenty-seven students waiting for their turn to face humiliation.
Yuuji sat near the back, trying not to chew the end of his pen.
Ren sat beside him, bouncing his knee.
They weren't going up first—not even second. Two other groups had been slotted ahead of them. Yuuji tried to focus on their classmates' presentations, but his mind kept wandering.
We should've practiced once more.
What if Ren goes off-script?
Why did he wear his shirt unbuttoned at the collar?
"Relax," Ren whispered under his breath. "You're clenching your pen like you're about to strangle someone."
"I might," Yuuji muttered.
The first pair—Misaki and Toru—stumbled through their slides, talking too fast, interrupting each other twice. Their topic was stress coping mechanisms, but their own anxiety made the irony painful. The teacher didn't comment, but she scribbled a lot on her clipboard.
The second pair, Reika and Sota, were smooth. A little too smooth. They read almost everything off their notes, barely looking up. By the end, the classroom was beginning to sag under the weight of boredom.
Then, finally: "Ren Sakamato and Yuuji Aikawa. You're up."
Yuuji felt the blood drain from his face.
Ren stood first. "Let's knock 'em dead."
"Please don't ad-lib," Yuuji hissed, standing stiffly beside him as they approached the front of the class.
"No promises," Ren grinned.
They turned to face the room.
Lights dimmed.
Their title slide glowed on the whiteboard:
Navigating Emotional Development in Adolescents
Ren clicked to the first slide. "Hi. I'm Ren. This is Yuuji. If this presentation flops, blame him—he wrote the outline."
A few chuckles broke the silence.
Yuuji didn't even blink. "And if it succeeds, I take all the credit."
More laughter.
He hated how natural this felt—this back-and-forth, this rhythm only the two of them shared.
They moved through the early slides quickly, covering peer pressure, friendship bonds, and hormonal shifts. Yuuji watched the class more than the screen, noting nods, stifled yawns, and the teacher's raised eyebrows.
When it was his turn to speak solo, his throat tightened for a second. But then he saw Ren standing a step back, arms crossed, watching with that lopsided grin that made everything inside Yuuji rattle.
He pressed forward.
"Adolescence isn't just chaos and rebellion," he said. "It's a period of emotional patterning—how we begin to recognize, manage, and trust our feelings. And sometimes, how we mess that up, too."
He glanced at Ren for just a second. Their eyes locked.
Ren gave a subtle nod, like I see what you did there.
By the time they wrapped up—Ren summarizing their key points with surprising clarity—something shifted in the classroom. Students were actually paying attention. The silence wasn't just polite; it was engaged.
When the final slide faded, the teacher said nothing for a few seconds.
Then: "That was excellent. Good pace, clear structure. And… unexpectedly cohesive for a pair I didn't expect to cooperate well."
Yuuji bowed stiffly. Ren beamed. "We contain multitudes."
They returned to their seats just as the next pair was called up.
Yuuji felt strangely winded.
He didn't usually care what people thought. But standing beside Ren had felt like walking a tightrope—with half the class watching to see if they'd fall or flirt their way to success.
"Hey," Ren whispered, nudging him. "You didn't stumble once."
"I had to balance your chaos," Yuuji replied, but it came out too softly to sound harsh.
Ren leaned in, lips near Yuuji's ear. "I wanted to kiss you when you said 'emotional patterning.'"
Yuuji elbowed him so hard he nearly toppled.
---
After class, they ended up outside on the school rooftop. The sky was washed with gray clouds, the wind tugging at their blazers.
"Do you think they know?" Yuuji asked, staring out over the tennis courts.
Ren leaned on the railing beside him. "Who?"
"The class. The teacher. Everyone. About us."
Ren shrugged. "What is us?"
Yuuji didn't answer right away.
He watched a bird glide across the sky, free and steady. Then he turned his gaze to Ren.
"You scare me sometimes."
Ren blinked. "Me?"
"Because you make me want things. That's not safe."
Ren's expression softened. "Wanting something isn't the same as having it all figured out. You don't have to name it yet."
Yuuji looked at him—really looked at him—and said, "I like standing next to you. That's all I know."
Ren grinned. "That's enough."