Chapter 17: Mika’s Gift

Rehearsal was a blur of clanging props and Aiko's barked orders, but Riku survived—barely. By the time he got home, his arms ached from wielding the plastic sword, and his head spun from Aiko's mixed signals. She'd hovered closer than necessary during their scenes, her hand lingering on his arm as she "adjusted" his stance, her breath tickling his ear when she whispered cues. It was maddening, and he couldn't tell if she was acting or… not.

He collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, when a soft knock pulled him back. "Riku?" Mika's voice, muffled through the door. "Are you there?"

He sat up, surprised. "Uh, yeah. Come in."

Mika slipped inside, her school bag clutched to her chest, her glasses slightly askew. She'd swapped her uniform for a sweater and skirt, looking softer, more vulnerable without the festival bustle. "I hope I'm not bothering you," she said, hovering by the door.

"Nope, I'm free," he said, gesturing to his desk chair. She perched on it, folding her hands in her lap, and he waited, curious. They'd worked together twice now—library notes and festival books—but this felt different, more deliberate.

"I made you something," she said finally, pulling a small package from her bag. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine, and she handed it to him with trembling fingers. "For helping me so much. You didn't have to, but you did, and… I appreciate it."

Riku took the gift, his own hands unsteady. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to," she insisted, her cheeks pink. He untied the twine, peeling back the paper to reveal a handmade bookmark—thick paper painted with delicate cherry blossoms, his name calligraphed in elegant strokes. "I thought… since you like manga, you might use it."

"It's beautiful," he said, genuinely touched. "Thank you, Mika."

She beamed, her shyness melting into a smile. "I'm glad you like it. I… um…" She hesitated, then stood, stepping closer. "There's something else."

"Else?" He looked up, and she was right there, her face inches from his, her breath hitching. Before he could react, she leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. It was feather-light, barely a brush, but it sent sparks through his skin, his heart slamming into overdrive.

"M-Mika?" he stammered, jolting back. She pulled away, her face crimson, and bolted for the door.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked, fumbling with the knob. "I just—thank you again!" She fled, leaving him stunned, the bookmark clutched in his hand and his cheek burning where her lips had touched.

He sat there, dazed, until footsteps thumped up the stairs. Aiko burst in without knocking, her eyes wide. "Was that Mika leaving? What happened?"

"Nothing!" he yelped, shoving the bookmark under his pillow. "She just—uh—dropped off a thank-you gift. For helping."

Aiko's gaze narrowed, flicking to his flushed face. "A gift, huh? And why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

"I don't!" he protested, but she stepped closer, peering at him like a detective.

"Something's off," she muttered, then her eyes widened. "Wait—did she *kiss* you?"

"What? No!" he lied, badly. Aiko's jaw dropped, then she smirked, a laugh bubbling up.

"Oh my god, she did! Little miss shy planted one on you!" She cackled, flopping onto his bed. "This is gold! Wait till I tell—"

"You're not telling anyone!" he shouted, lunging to cover her mouth. They wrestled, her laughter muffled as she squirmed, until she bit his hand, and he yelped, releasing her.

"Ow! Aiko, seriously—"

"Relax," she said, still grinning. "Your secret's safe. For now." She poked his cheek—the exact spot Mika had kissed—and he swatted her away, blushing harder. "Just remember, knight—you're still mine for the play. Don't let your fan club distract you."

"Stop calling them that," he groaned, but she just winked, sauntering out with a sway that made his stomach flip. Riku sank back, the bookmark crinkling under his pillow. One kiss, one smirk, and his quiet Sunday was shot. Again.