Renga Oneshots

Too Close for Comfort

The group had been laughing and arguing all morning, trying to find a hot spring that wasn't overcrowded. Cherry had insisted on the traditional inn; Miya was more interested in the food, and Reki... well, Reki was distracted by the scenery and the fact that Langa walked beside him with that calm, steady air, looking impossibly perfect even in the crisp Japanese winter.

Now, finally, they were in their rooms—tiny, tatami mats covering the floor, a single futon squeezed into a corner. Cherry's eyes widened as she glanced between the futons and then at Reki and Langa. "So... apparently, the inn overbooked. You two," she said, pointing at them, "are sharing. It's tiny, so... close."

Reki froze. "What?!"

Langa tilted his head, calm as ever. "Sharing... a bed?"

"Yes!" Miya clapped enthusiastically. "It's a futon! Cozy! You'll manage."

Reki groaned dramatically. "Manage? Langa, this is literally—physically impossible! That's—" He flailed his arms. "We can't fit two people on that!"

Langa blinked, expression unreadable, before kneeling at the other side of the futon. "I think we can manage," he said simply.

"Manage?!" Reki shrieked. "Your 'manage' is literally me being crushed against you!"

Langa raised an eyebrow. "It's warm," he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes.

Reki's face went bright red. "Warm? You mean... too warm."

"Then you can lean a little," Langa suggested, voice calm.

Reki froze. "...Lean?!"

"Yes."

Before he could protest further, the futon betrayed them. A slight roll, a shift in balance, and suddenly Reki was pressed flush against Langa's chest.

"Oh my gosh!" Reki gasped. "Langa! We—!"

Langa's arms wrapped around him gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You're not falling," he murmured softly.

Reki's heart did a flip. "...I'm not falling," he whispered.

"You're safe," Langa said, chin resting lightly on Reki's shoulder. "You can relax."

Reki's brain short-circuited. "...I... I can't relax!"

"You can," Langa murmured, brushing a warm hand down Reki's arm. "Lean into me."

Reki froze. His mind was a whirlwind of what the heck am I supposed to do and oh no my heart is melting. "...Okay," he whispered finally. "I will."

And he did, just a little.

The futon was tiny, but the warmth of Langa behind him, the steady weight of his arms, and the soft cadence of his breathing created a bubble that shut out the rest of the world. Outside, Cherry and Miya were probably messing around somewhere else, laughing. Outside, snow fell softly on the inn's roof. Inside, nothing existed but the small, perfect closeness of the two of them.

Reki couldn't stop himself from mumbling, "You... always do this... calm me down even when I'm panicking."

"Mm," Langa murmured, tilting his head so it brushed slightly against Reki's. "You trust me, right?"

"Yes," Reki admitted, heart thudding. "I... I do."

"Then you can relax," Langa whispered. "I'm here. Always."

Reki felt the tightness in his chest ease, his breathing slow. "...You really mean that?"

"Yes," Langa replied softly. "Always."

They stayed like that for a long moment. No teasing, no joking—just warmth, just steady presence. Reki's cheek pressed to Langa's chest, and he realized he didn't want to move, didn't want to untangle himself, didn't want this moment to end.

"I... I like this," he admitted softly. "...Being close to you."

"Mm," Langa murmured back. "Me too."

Reki's heart thumped painfully in his chest. "Really?"

"Really." Langa's hand shifted slightly, tracing circles lazily on Reki's arm. "You can stay like this."

Reki exhaled, leaning even closer, letting the tension drain from his body. "...I'll stay," he whispered.

The room stayed quiet except for the soft crunch of snow from the inn's roof and the faint murmur of friends elsewhere. The world felt distant. The futon felt too small. But somehow, in that closeness, in that warmth, it was perfect.

Hours passed—or maybe only minutes; Reki had lost track. He felt Langa shift slightly, pressing closer. He froze, wondering if Langa meant to tease him, but the warmth of his arms and the soft, steady heartbeat against his back told him otherwise.

"You're really... warm," Reki admitted, voice barely audible.

"You're warm too," Langa said softly. "Better stay like this."

Reki's ears burned, and he buried his face further into Langa's chest. "I... I'm fine with that," he whispered. "...Actually, I like it."

Langa hummed, a soft, approving sound that vibrated against Reki's cheek. "Me too," he murmured, shifting slightly so their legs tangled more naturally under the blanket.

The rest of the night passed like that—soft breathing, faint warmth, and the comforting, quiet presence of the other. There was no teasing, no awkwardness, just a closeness that made Reki's heart feel full in a way he couldn't put into words.

By the time morning came, Reki woke to the sunlight filtering softly through the paper windows, and Langa was still holding him, arms wrapped gently around his waist. He froze. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

Langa stirred, blinking sleepily, blue eyes soft as he smiled. "Morning," he said quietly.

"Morning..." Reki whispered, heat rushing to his cheeks. "...We're... still... close."

"You're warm," Langa murmured again, tugging him slightly so their faces were closer. "Stay."

Reki groaned, hiding his face in Langa's chest. "...Fine. I'll stay."

And in that moment, the futon was tiny. The room was small. But for Reki, it didn't matter. Because the warmth behind him, the steady arms holding him, and the quiet, steady presence of Langa made everything else irrelevant.

And he knew he wouldn't have it any other way.