Yuki Aihara didn't believe in fate. He believed in bad timing, delayed buses, and coffee that was always just a bit too hot.
Monday morning was no different.
He sprinted across campus, his bag bouncing wildly against his hip, sketchpad tucked under one arm, and a half-bitten piece of toast between his teeth. His class started in less than five minutes and he hadn't printed his project.
Again.
The printer in the dorms was dead. Again.
He swore softly as he nearly tripped over a curb and scrambled into the Humanities Building, his breath fogging up his glasses. "Please don't be full, please don't be full…" he muttered, racing into the fourth floor print lab. To his surprise, the room was nearly empty. Only one guy sat in the corner—quiet, still, staring into the hum of the printing machine.
Yuki slowed his pace, trying to catch his breath as he reached for a computer. His fingers trembled slightly as he inserted his USB.
"You're late," a soft voice said.
Yuki jumped and turned.
The boy in the corner hadn't moved, but now his eyes were on Yuki—sharp, dark, unreadable. He had an unnerving way of looking, like he was cataloging everything: the sweat on Yuki's neck, the state of his wrinkled clothes, the smudge of graphite on his cheek.
Yuki blinked. "Uh… yeah. I guess I am."
The boy's lips curled into a small smile. "You always are."
"…Excuse me?"
"You're always late on Mondays. You run across the quad at 9:56. You go for toast even when you don't have time to eat. You print your assignments last minute." He tilted his head slightly. "It's kind of cute."
Yuki stared at him.
He looked… normal. Average height, slender frame, a simple white hoodie with black jeans. His hair was a soft brown, falling slightly over his eyes, and his face was almost too pretty to be real—delicate features, flawless skin. He was probably the kind of guy who could walk through a fashion magazine unnoticed just because he looked too designed.
But something in his eyes was wrong.
They didn't shine. They didn't blink often.
"I… do I know you?" Yuki asked cautiously.
The boy finally stood. He walked over with quiet steps, reaching out—not to Yuki, but to the printer. He picked up a stack of papers and gently handed them over.
"You dropped these last week. Outside the art hall. I meant to give them back, but I didn't want to bother you."
Yuki looked down.
His old sketches.
He hadn't even realized they were missing.
"…Oh. Thanks."
The boy smiled again, more genuinely this time. "I like your work. It's got emotion."
"Uh… thank you."
A long silence passed.
Yuki awkwardly glanced back at his computer, trying to hide his blush. Was this guy complimenting him or profiling him? And how did he know so many weird details?
"I'm Ren," the boy said.
Yuki looked up. "Yuki."
"I know."
Yuki paused.
Ren chuckled softly. "You're in my art theory class. Second row, three seats from the left. I sit in the back."
Yuki gave a nervous laugh. "Guess you're observant, huh?"
Ren's smile didn't change. "Very."
The printer spat out the last page of Yuki's project. He grabbed the sheets, tucking them into his folder with a quick nod.
"Well, thanks for returning these. I should get to class before I'm actually locked out."
Ren stepped aside politely. "I'll see you around."
"Yeah… sure."
As Yuki left the room, a strange shiver traced down his spine. He chalked it up to lack of sleep and nerves. Nothing more.
But behind him, Ren stood in the center of the room, watching the door for a long time after it closed. His fingers ran gently over the edge of Yuki's old sketch—particularly the one where Yuki had drawn a lonely figure staring out a rain-covered window.
He whispered, just for himself, "I missed you yesterday."