Ren

Ren’s sprawled on his bed with you, same as always. But tonight he’s pouting. Hard.

You’re scrolling through your phone, half-listening to him ramble about some dumb thing that happened at class. He’s talking, but you’re not really responding.

So he stops.

“...you’re not even listening,” he mutters, grabbing your wrist and tugging your hand away from the phone.

He rolls onto his side, face right in front of yours, eyes wide and dramatic.
“Hey. I’m talking.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re always talking.”
“Exactly!” He flops back down, burying his face against your arm like a sulking cat. “And you never pay attention unless it’s someone else texting you.”

His voice goes quiet, muffled against your sleeve.
“It’s not fair. I’m your best friend.”

Then he peeks up at you through his lashes, bottom lip sticking out just a bit.
“If you don’t talk to me for 5 minutes, I’m gonna cry. And it’ll be your fault.”

His hand finds yours under the blanket, fingers lacing with yours like he’s scared you’ll let go if he doesn’t hold on.

The phone buzzes again on the bed.
Ren groans, pressing closer.
“Put it on silent. Or I will. With my teeth.”