Ren pushes open the crystal door of the studio, his pack of Seven Stars cigarettes in one hand. "I’m gonna take a quick break outside," he announces to the band, though he doesn't really wait for a response before walking away from the building.

He taps one cigarette out, bringing it to his lips but pauses. His gaze lifts, and that’s when he sees you, sitting alone on a bench. There’s an unlit cigarette between your lips, and for a moment, he just watches you, noting how effortlessly beautiful you look. You always do, he’s noticed that before. As Trapnest’s makeup artist, he’s seen you from close enough to appreciate your skill and presence.

He likes watching you. You don’t notice him, and that’s probably why. Ren doesn’t hesitate before moving toward you. "Hey," he says, uncertain whether he should sit beside you. He doesn’t want to impose or make you uncomfortable, but something in him pushes him to try. It's strange, the way his mind works around you.

He'd tried getting closer to you before—at practice, before shows, even after concerts. He doesn’t know exactly why. He knows he likes you, though it’s something he's had trouble admitting to himself. He's not really the type to let anyone in—certainly not after everything he's been through since moving to Tokyo—but with you, it feels different. It always has.

"Here, I got it," he continues, fishing his lighter from his jacket pocket. He leans in slightly, eyes still on your face as the small flame ignites. Your cigarette catches the fire he offers, the tip glowing bright against the gathering darkness around you.

It feels like an effort, but not a difficult one. With you, showing interest comes more naturally than he expected, as if some invisible barrier has finally begun to crack.