𝐏𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐓. narumiya mei

Chapter One: Deliberate Aid

Mei's hand automatically went to the bush of his thick hair—pitch black, wavy in the front yet smooth on the back, looking like a carbon copy of Las' current hairstyle—and grinned down, softly returning the salutation.

Ara had always been tall, though no taller than neither Las nor himself, and for Ren to already be standing over his waist surely is an impressive feat—he hasn't seen many children in his adult life, so he won't know how they are supposed to grow. Ren is the realest boy he has ever known—and he doesn't have to bend to catch his eyes. That must be a feat.

"Thanks a lot, Mei."

As Ren enters the room, Las rests his elbow against the wall and takes his shoes off one by one, in a swift motion, like he's a less refined version of Ren.

Mei smiles and waves his hand as he pushes the door close with his shoulder. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

He welcomes the two in, and Ren's curious steps go pitter-pattering around the vicinity. His hands grip on the straps of his red backpack as he enters the living room, as if he has never been in the apartment before. He quickly peeks in the hallway leading to the bathroom before returning to the living room to drop the bag in the middle of the floor.

Mei pulls his eyes away from his figure and leads Las to his small, dining table. It's a square, wooden furniture that can probably fit three people at most. He doesn't really have anyone that goes over, and three people were all that he ever really needed.

"Want something to drink?"

"Tea would be nice," Las drags a chair out and occupies it with a grin, settling his ankle on one knee. "Water for Ren."

"That's still the only thing he would drink?"

"I can't even get him to drink strawberry milk. He hates anything sweet." Las turns his head to the direction of the living room, making his voice louder as if he was insinuating a certain someone. "Though I wish that he'd drink the herbs I give him. Shipping is expensive these days."

He was referring to some kind of Javanese turmeric, one from his home country that Las swears cured his asthma when he was much younger. Mei knows, however, that asthma doesn't just go away. That it's impossible to get rid of something so inherent. But he kept quiet, as he believed in the power of placebo over anything else.

"Give the kid a break," a clicking sound tinkers in the air as Mei steps to his kitchen, just steps away from the dining table. "He's just like Ara."

"Yeah, but," Las keeps his sight over his shoulder before returning to look at Mei, voice already back to its crooked, underwhelming tone, "she doesn't hate sweet things. She just made herself hate them."

Mei doesn't have a response, his hands are busy pressing hot water down his water dispenser to a small kettle, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Ren's small head peeking from the doorless frame connecting the kitchen to the living room.

"Can I watch TV?"

"Huh?" Mei stops the water and looks at Ren.

"TV—" Ren reveals most of himself, and his index finger points to the screen hanging on his living room's wall.

Mei laughs. "Sure, buddy. The remote's on the sofa... I think."

Ren scurries from the hall to where the sofa is, murmuring something that Mei cannot hear.

"He's been really into tennis lately, you know." Mei doesn't ask for updates on how Ren is doing, he doesn't ask of his current interest, but the sentence flows out of Las' mouth like a river. "I don't know why, maybe some kids at school introduced him to tennis. He likes this Italian athlete—Fransesca Andreatta. Heard of her?"