Makoto and Ren

Ren and Makoto sat across from each other at a burger joint, while {{user}} was seated next to Ren. It was an odd trio, each connected individually rather than as a group. Ren had his usual burger and fries in front of him, while Makoto had double the amount, quietly devouring his food like it was just another Tuesday.

After a few bites, Ren glanced up, curious about how Makoto and {{user}} had crossed paths. He leaned forward slightly.

"So... how did you two meet?" Ren asked, his voice calm but with a hint of curiosity.

Makoto, unfazed, continued chewing before answering, "We met at university. Just happened." He took another bite, his eyes locking onto Ren's as if to silently return the question.

Ren paused, meeting Makoto’s gaze before responding. "We met at a coffee shop nearby," he said, glancing briefly at {{user}}. "I was working there part-time."

Makoto gave a small nod, acknowledging the shared coincidence. There was a quiet moment as Ren noticed {{user}}’s slightly puzzled expression. Deciding to offer more clarity, he added, "And I met Makoto during one of those burger challenges. We both happened to be there at the same time. I lost by... what was it? Ten seconds?"

Makoto nodded again, this time with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Yeah. Ten seconds."

The initial introductions now out of the way, the atmosphere gradually softened. The conversation flowed naturally, Ren taking the lead in keeping it afloat, while Makoto, though quieter, occasionally chimed in with brief but thoughtful remarks. It was an unlikely pairing, but the dynamic worked—at least for now.

But as time passed, the conversation began to slow. Both Ren and Makoto seemed to run out of things to say, the comfortable silence turning awkward. They exchanged a glance, both hoping that {{user}} might have something to bring up next.

The moment Makoto and {{user}} stepped out of Harajuku Station, they were hit with noise, color, and crowds moving in every direction. Fashionable teenagers wandered the sidewalks in outfits that looked straight out of magazines, music spilled from storefronts, and every other person seemed ready for a photoshoot.

Makoto barely reacted to any of it. Hands in his pockets, expression unreadable as always, he scanned the street beside {{user}}.

Then he stopped walking.

A small crowd had gathered near the curb ahead, phones raised, people whispering excitedly while a photographer crouched low with a camera. In the middle of it all stood Ren. Or—at least they were pretty sure it was Ren.

He wore a fitted black jacket with silver buttons and sharp shoulders over a white blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted shorts, the outfit somewhere between street fashion and military chic. Sheer tights disappeared into polished boots, and dark gloves covered his hands. The whole look was clean, stylish, and unfairly natural on him, like he belonged in the middle of Harajuku chaos more than anyone else there.

Someone nearby gushed about getting him for a street snap feature while another begged for a picture. Ren handled it all with relaxed ease, offering small smiles and casual poses like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Makoto stared for a long second.

“...Amamiya?”

Ren turned at the sound of his name. His eyes landed immediately on Makoto and {{user}}, and instead of looking embarrassed—or even remotely concerned at being caught—his expression brightened with amusement.

Right there in front of the growing crowd, Ren lifted a hand and blew them a playful kiss.

Several people around him lost their minds.

Makoto blinked once, visibly processing what he had just witnessed. “...I don’t know how to respond to that,” he admitted flatly.

Meanwhile, Ren just laughed under his breath as the photographer excitedly demanded another shot.

The neon lights of Kichijoji reflected against the rain-damp pavement outside as the three of them stepped into Penguin Sniper. The familiar clatter of billiard balls and low chatter filled the club, mixed with soft jazz humming through the speakers. Along the far wall, a row of dartboards blinked beneath dim amber lights, the occasional thunk of darts striking cork cutting through the noise. Ren handled the payment with casual ease while Makoto quietly scanned the room like he was evaluating enemy positioning instead of finding an empty table.

A staff member handed over the cue sticks, and soon enough the three of them were gathered around one of the pool tables near the back corner. Ren rolled the cue stick between his fingers lazily, one hand tucked into his pocket, while Makoto adjusted his gloves and leaned over the table to line up the opening shot.

Unfortunately for him, his stance was... questionable. Very questionable.

Makoto bent forward slightly, focused entirely on the cue ball, completely unaware of the angle he was presenting to the two people standing behind him.

Ren rested his hand against his chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowed with exaggerated concentration before he finally spoke in the driest tone imaginable. “Wow,” he muttered. “Didn’t realize the view would be this... leveled.”

There was a brief silence.

“...What?” Makoto glanced back over his shoulder, visibly confused for exactly half a second before realization started creeping onto his face. “Wait, are you talking about my—”

CRACK.

His cue jerked at the wrong moment, shot sideways across the table, completely missing its intended target before ricocheting off the bumper and slamming directly into another ball near the corner pocket.

A nearby player let out an offended. “Hey!”

Makoto straightened immediately, horrified. “That wasn’t supposed to—”

Ren quietly snorted beside {{user}}, clearly fighting back laughter. “You’ve got incredible aim,” he deadpanned. “Just not for the right ball.”

.