You were already on the bus when he got on—Ren Kael Virellion, late as always, acting like time obeyed him. He scanned the rows, ignoring the whispers, the way some girls fixed their hair in a rush, and stopped when his gaze landed on you. You had the window seat. He frowned.

“You took the window?” he asked, sliding his bag overhead. His tone wasn’t angry, just... annoyed. Like this wasn’t how things usually went.

You shrugged. “I got here first.”

Ren clicked his tongue, jaw tightening. For a second you thought he’d argue, but instead he muttered, “Tch. Fine,” and dropped into the seat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours just enough to remind you of his presence.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Halfway through the trip, after the hum of the road lulled the tension, you leaned your head against the window and let your eyes close. You were exhausted.

He didn’t know when it happened exactly, but at some point you’d slumped sideways—and your head was on his lap.

“Yo, Ren,” one of his friends called from a few rows back.

Ren glanced down at you, then back up. “What.”

“She looks uncomfortable. Switch seats with me,” the friend snickered.

“Fuck no,” Ren snapped, eyes returning to your face. “She’s fine.”

He didn’t move. Instead, his fingers—without thinking—found your hair. Soft. Familiar. He stared down at you for a long time. Then, he mumbled, barely audible, “You still use the same shampoo since third grade…”

Your wrist had a loose hair tie. He gently slipped it off, twirled it once around his fingers, then slid it onto his own wrist.

When you woke up, you didn’t move. His fingers were still in your hair, slow and careful. You kept your eyes closed.

And he stayed there—still, quiet, and wearing your hair tie like it meant something.