the love that always stay

The rain had been falling since third period, a steady, indifferent curtain that turned the school courtyard into a blurred watercolor. Ren ducked under the eaves of the old apartment block, clutching the folder of printed notes Shu had thrust at him.  

“Kyo’s missed a week again,” the class president had said, pushing up his glasses. “since i need to do some stuff at the student council, i need to ask you for a little help. His address is in the file. Just drop it off, no need to stay—he hates people hovering.”  

ren remember kyo kaneko, the 2nd year who also in his specialize literacy class. average height, around 170 cm if he must guess, with bright blue hair with a strike of magenta and black stroke around his bangs. softer physically yet sharp on tongue. barely at class, but have a passable a little high score each times. rumor fly about why kyo never able to come to school, but the statement school saying was he has a medical urgency most of the times to the point people just giving him the benefit of the doubt. ren often imagine being his friend, like the two girl who is kyo friend. even though kyo can have the sharpest tongue exist, but he treat both his friends dearly and delicately, so ren always things that kyo is actually rough on the outside while soft in the inside.

Ren head nodded, easy as always. Now, looking at the rust-stained intercom, he felt the first tug of something less easy: the hallway smelled of boiled cabbage and antiseptic, a combination that made his tongue curl.

He pressed 3F. No answer. He tried again, longer. Nothing.  

The folder was getting damp, edges wilting like lettuce. Ren stepped back, craned up. One window glowed faint blue—television light, maybe. He checked the nameplate: kaneko, handwritten on a scrap of masking tape, the ‘y’ looping like a tiny fish.  

“Okay,” he muttered, “plan B.”

The front door was unlocked. It shouldn’t have been, but it yawned open at his touch, releasing a breath of warm, sour air—medicine, old noodles, something metallic underneath. Ren’s sneakers squeaked on the vinyl.  

“Kyo? It’s Ren—zotto, from class. I’ve got your notes.”  

No answer, just the tick of a wall clock louder than any teacher’s pointer. He slipped off his shoes, lined them up parallel out of habit. The apartment was a single corridor leading to a single room. He walked it like a plank.

Kyo lay on the couch, knees drawn up, blanket half on the floor. His face was turned away, hair sticking to his cheek in damp strands. The television flickered silent captions: …hospital…stable condition…  

Ren’s heart did a small, startled hop.  

“Hey,” he called, softer.  

Nothing. Not even the rise of breath he could usually hear in the quiet of the nurse’s office when Kyo slept through lunch.  

Ren crouched, fingers hovering. The skin of Kyo’s wrist looked paper-thin, veins violet. He touched two fingers just above the plastic bracelet every sick kid wore.  

No pulse under his cold pads.  

Wait—there, faint, fast like a bird’s. But maybe too fast?  

Ren’s mind filled with health-class diagrams: shock, seizure, coma. He fumbled for his phone, rain drumming on the window like fingers urging hurry.  

“119, what is your emergency?”  

“I—my classmate, he’s unconscious, I can’t wake him. He has—I don’t know—some chronic illness—”  

The operator’s calm questions felt like they came through cotton. Ren answered yes, yes, breathing, barely, address three times because his voice kept cracking.  

As he hung up, Kyo’s eyelashes fluttered.  

Ren froze.  

Kyo’s eyes opened—slits of storm-cloud grey—fixed on Ren’s face, then on the phone still glowing in Ren’s hand.  

ren zotto, kyo remember as clear as yesterday, the popular, obnoxious, and loud guy with the bright smile and fuck boy laugh that almost never failed to wake kyo up whenever he passed kyo class to lunch -since kyo class near the cafetaria-. 3rd years who also in the same specialized literacy class as him, the bullcrap program the school made for the child of the smart and the rich, so maybe they can bond and help each other so the school doesnt need to pull those money eating program about some kind of schoolarship for the smart, just gave them the source of the money. kyo might falls under the rich category, but ren the ultimate rich and smart category already, so kyo doesnt see the profit for ren to attend the class.

“You called the cops?” Kyo’s voice rasped like a radio between stations.  

“The ambulance,” Ren corrected, cheeks flooding hot. “You weren’t moving—”  

Kyo pushed up on an elbow, wincing. “Genius. I was asleep.”  

“You didn’t—your pulse—”  

“Ever hear of hypotension? Low blood pressure. Takes a vacation when I lie down.”  

He coughed, a dry leaf-rattle, and Ren suddenly noticed the apartment again: pill bottles lined on the low table like chess pieces, a half-eaten rice ball going stale.  

"your paren--"

before ren can even ask, kyo already answer.

"working, now can you shut the fuck up? your voice is killing me"

Sirens wailed outside, closer.  

Kyo closed his eyes. “Brilliant. Now I get to explain to paramedics I was napping.”  

Ren’s ears burned. “I’ll cancel them.”  

“Too late.” Kyo flopped back, arm over his face. “Whatever. You can tell them I died of embarrassment.”  

The paramedics were kind, professional, and amused in the gentle way that still felt like a slap. After vitals and questions, they left Kyo with a lecture about locking his door and a printout on orthostatic hypotension. Ren stood in the living room clutching the useless folder, water dripping from his cuffs.  

When the door shut, silence ballooned, heavy and damp.  

Kyo spoke first. “Notes, huh? Let’s see.” He held out a hand spotted with bruised needle tracks. Ren surrendered the folder.  

Kyo flipped pages, sniffed. “Shu’s handwriting looks like a robot sneezed.”  

Ren laughed before he could stop—one sharp bark that echoed. Kyo arched an eyebrow.  

“Sorry,” Ren said quickly.  

“For laughing so loud like a fuck boy or for waking me from the dead?”  

“Both?” then ren eyes bigger, realisiing kyo just called his laugh fuckboy laugh "hey, i dont laugh like a fuckboy!"

Kyo’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, almost. “Sit if you want. Couch is old but doesn’t bite.”  

Ren sat. The cushion sagged, springs singing. Rain tapped the glass like code.  

Kyo rubbed his temple. “You’re soaking. Towel’s on the chair.”  

Ren hesitated, then fetched it—faded pink, embroidered with a crooked elephant. He dabbed his hair, watching Kyo from the corner of his eye. The omega looked smaller under the blanket, shoulders sharp as coat hangers.  

“So,” Kyo said, “popular alpha delivers homework. Community service?”  

“Shu asked. I said sure.”  

“Ever hear of no?”  

Ren shrugged. “Didn’t seem like a big deal.”  

Kyo studied him, gaze slow and clinical. “You always say yes?”  

“Mostly.”  

“Must be exhausting being everyone’s sun.”  

The words stung, but Ren found himself grinning. “Better than raining on parades.”  

Kyo snorted—an actual snort—and the sound cracked something open in the room.  

Ren slipped his phone from his pocket. “You like music?”  

“I like silence.”  

“Silence can be music.” Ren scrolled, chose a playlist labeled “rain days.” He offered one earbud.  

Kyo eyed it like it might explode. “I’m not contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ren joked.  

“More worried your taste sucks.” Still, Kyo took the bud.  

The first track was soft indie—guitar plucks like water dropping into a tin cup, voice husky. Ren watched Kyo’s face. A minute in, Kyo’s shoulders loosened a fraction.  

“Not entirely tragic,” Kyo admitted.  

Ren beamed. “Told you.”  

They listened through two songs. Ren mouthed lyrics he knew by heart; Kyo kept his eyes on the ceiling, but his foot under the blanket started a tiny, almost invisible sway.  

Third track began—faster drums, synth. Kyo frowned. “This one sounds like a microwave having an existential crisis.”  

Ren burst out laughing. “That’s the best description ever.”  

Kyo’s lips curved, proud of his own cruelty. Ren stored the line away like a souvenir.  

The song ended; the next autoplayed—piano, minor key.  

Kyo’s fingers clenched the blanket. Ren noticed the knuckles whitening, a tremor traveling up the thin arm.  

“Hey,” Ren murmured, “you okay?”  

Kyo’s breath hitched. “Flare,” he whispered, like admitting defeat. “Give me a sec.”  

Ren wanted to ask what hurt, how bad, if he should call someone again—but Shu’s warning echoed: he hates people hovering.  

So Ren simply pulled the bud from Kyo’s ear, paused the music, and sat back. He tucked his hands under his thighs to keep them from fluttering uselessly.  

Minutes stretched, measured by the clock’s dull tock. Kyo’s eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading at his temple. Ren felt each second like a grain of hot sand dropped down his shirt.  

He spotted a hot-water bottle on the floor, half-full and lukewarm. Without asking, he emptied it into the kettle beside the sink, clicked the burner. The flame hissed blue. While it heated, he found a clean towel folded under the pill bottles. He wrapped the bottle when it was ready, carried it back.  

Kyo’s gaze tracked him, glassy, but he didn’t protest when Ren slid the bottle under the blanket near Kyo’s abdomen.  

“Thanks,” Kyo breathed.  

Ren resumed his seat, leaving a careful hand-width of space between them. He stayed quiet, counting breaths until they slowed, matching his own.  

Outside, the rain eased into mist. A delivery scooter buzzed past, tires slicing puddles.  

Eventually Kyo’s fists uncurled. He exhaled a long, shuddering sigh. “You can talk,” he said, voice thin. “Just… not about pain, okay?”  

Ren nodded. “What should we talk about?”  

“Anything. Distract me.”  

Ren cast around. “I tried cooking curry last week. Almost set the kitchen on fire.”  

Kyo huffed a weak laugh. “Natural disaster alpha.”  

“Hey, the recipe said ‘high heat.’”  

“Did you at least salvage the potatoes?”  

“They were… recognizably potato-shaped charcoal.”  

Kyo’s smile stayed small, but it stayed.  

When the clock chimed five, Ren startled. “I should go. My mom’s expecting me for dinner.”  

Kyo’s expression shuttered, quick as a window slamming. “Right. Notes delivered, good deed done.”  

Ren stood, then hesitated. “Can I come again tomorrow? Same time?”  

Kyo blinked, surprised into honesty. “You want to?”  

“Yeah. I—” Ren scratched his damp nape. “I like your normal. It’s… real.”  

Kyo looked away, but Ren caught the faint flush rising on his cheeks. “Suit yourself. Door’ll be locked, so ring.”  

Ren grinned, warmth flooding his chest. “Lock it tonight, promise?”  

“Bossy.”  

“Just caring.”  

“Same thing, different packaging.”  

Ren slipped his shoes on. At the threshold he turned. “Hey, Kyo.”  

“Mm?”  

“The microwave song? I’m deleting it from the playlist.”  

Kyo’s laugh was soft, cracked at the edges. “Do that, and I might forgive you the ambulance.”  

Ren stepped into the corridor, heart lighter than the rain-heavy sky. Behind him, the door closed, but not before he heard the click of the lock sliding home—small sound, huge victory.  

Downstairs, he paused under the eaves, breathing air washed clean. His phone buzzed: a message from Shu.  

Notes delivered?  

Ren typed back: Delivered. And tomorrow too.  

Shu replied with a thumbs-up emoji.  

Ren pocketed the phone, looked up at the faint blue window. For the first time all day, the rain felt like background music—quiet, constant, bearable. He hummed the indie guitar riff, adjusted his bag, and walked into the wet evening, already tasting tomorrow’s conversation.