Chapter 26: The Truth Slips Out

Riku barely slept. Aiko's words—*"What if it wasn't all fake?"*—bounced around his skull like a pinball, keeping him awake until the sky outside his window turned gray. Was she serious? Teasing? Drunk on festival leftovers? He replayed every fake kiss, every exaggerated "babe," searching for a hint of truth, but all he got was a headache and a tangle of nerves. By the time his alarm buzzed, he was a zombie, dragging himself downstairs with bags under his eyes.

Aiko was already in the kitchen, pouring tea into a mug with a calm that felt forced. She wore her uniform, tie knotted sloppily, and avoided his gaze as he shuffled in. "Morning," she mumbled, sipping her tea like it was a lifeline.

"Morning," he echoed, grabbing a rice ball from the counter. The silence was deafening—his mom was out early for a meeting, his dad still asleep—and it stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Finally, he couldn't take it. "Aiko," he said, setting the rice ball down untouched. "Last night—what did you mean?"

Her hand froze mid-sip, tea sloshing slightly. "Huh?" she said, too casual. "What about last night?"

"You know," he pressed, his voice tight. "That thing you said. About it not being fake."

She laughed—a sharp, nervous sound—and waved a hand. "Oh, that. Just messing with you, Riku-poo. Don't overthink it."

His stomach twisted. "You sure? Because it didn't sound like a joke."

Her eyes flicked to his, then away, her smirk faltering. "Drop it, okay? Let's just get to school."

He wanted to push, but her tone—brittle, almost pleading—stopped him. He nodded reluctantly, and they left in silence, the usual arm-linking and pet names conspicuously absent.

---

Yamato High was a battlefield of whispers when they arrived. The rumor mill hadn't died—it'd evolved. Snippets floated past as they walked the halls: *"They're fighting now!"* *"Guess the lovebirds crashed."* *"Haruka's got a shot again!"* Riku kept his head down, Aiko striding beside him with her chin up, but the tension between them was palpable.

Class 2-B was worse. Taro greeted them with a grin, "Trouble in paradise, huh?" while Kenji muttered, "Told you it was fake." Haruka sat at her desk, sneaking glances at Riku, her expression a mix of hope and hurt. Mika was absent—sick, someone said—and Yuna lounged by the window, smirking like she'd predicted this all along.

Aiko dropped into her seat, pulling out her phone and ignoring everyone. Riku sank beside her, his bento unopened, his mind churning. He had to talk to her—really talk—but not here, not with the whole class watching like vultures.

The chance came at lunch. Aiko slipped out to the courtyard, and Riku followed, dodging Haruka's "Hey, Riku!" and Yuna's knowing wink. He found her by the fountain, leaning against the stone edge, staring at the water with an unreadable look.

"Aiko," he said, stepping up beside her. "We need to—"

"Stop," she cut in, turning to face him. Her voice was low, urgent. "Just stop. This whole fake thing—it's done, okay? We tried, it flopped, let's move on."

"But last night—" he started, and she groaned, running a hand through her hair.

"Forget last night! I was tired, I said something stupid, that's it!" She crossed her arms, her cheeks pink. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because it's messing with my head!" he snapped, louder than he meant. A few nearby students glanced over, and he lowered his voice, stepping closer. "You can't just say stuff like that and act like it's nothing. Were you serious, or not?"

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, her jaw tight. "What if I was?" she shot back, her voice trembling. "What then, Riku? You'd freak out? Run away? Tell me I'm crazy?"

He froze, caught off guard. "I—I don't know," he admitted, his throat dry. "But I need to know. For real."

She stared at him, her breath uneven, then laughed—a bitter, shaky sound. "Fine. You want the truth? Here it is." She stepped closer, her face inches from his, her hazel eyes blazing. "Maybe it wasn't all fake for me. Maybe I liked it—liked you—more than I should. Happy now?"

Riku's brain short-circuited. His mouth opened, but no words came out, just a strangled squeak. Aiko's confession hung between them, raw and exposed, and he couldn't process it—couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

Before he could respond, a gasp broke the silence. Haruka stood a few feet away, her bento slipping from her hands, rice scattering across the pavement. "You—what?" she stammered, her voice shaking. "Aiko, you… you really like him?"

Aiko whirled, her face paling. "Haruka—"

"No!" Haruka shouted, tears welling up. "You said it was fake! You lied!" She turned and ran, her footsteps echoing as she disappeared around the corner.

Riku snapped out of his daze, guilt slamming into him. "Haruka, wait!" he called, but she was gone. He turned back to Aiko, who was staring at the spilled rice, her hands clenched into fists.

"Great," she muttered, her voice cracking. "Perfect."

"Aiko," he said, reaching for her arm, but she jerked away.

"Don't," she snapped, her eyes glistening. "Just… don't. I shouldn't have said anything." She spun on her heel and stormed off, leaving him alone by the fountain, his head spinning.

---

The rest of the day was a blur. Riku stumbled through classes, avoiding Aiko's empty seat—she'd skipped out after lunch—and dodging Haruka's red-rimmed eyes. Yuna cornered him by the lockers, her grin sharper than ever. "Heard the drama," she said, twirling her hair. "Your cousin's got guts, spilling that. What's your move, cutie?"

"I don't know," he mumbled, shoving his books into his bag. "Leave me alone."

She laughed, patting his shoulder. "You're in deep now. Good luck!"

He trudged home alone, Aiko nowhere in sight. The house was quiet—his parents out again—and he paced the living room, replaying her words: *"Maybe I liked you more than I should."* His heart thudded, a mix of panic and something warmer, something he couldn't name.

The door creaked open hours later, and Aiko slipped in, her uniform rumpled and her eyes puffy. She froze when she saw him, then headed for the stairs without a word.

"Aiko, wait," he said, stepping into her path. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't," she said, her voice flat. "I said too much already."

"But I didn't," he insisted, his hands clenching. "You dropped that on me and ran—what am I supposed to do with it?"

She laughed bitterly, brushing past him. "Figure it out yourself, knight."

He grabbed her wrist, stopping her mid-step. "No. You don't get to walk away after that." She turned, startled, and he pulled her closer, their faces inches apart. Her shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing a sliver of her waist, and his grip faltered, heat rushing to his face.

"Let go," she whispered, but she didn't pull away, her breath hitching.

"Not until you hear me," he said, his voice shaking. "I don't know what I feel yet—not exactly. But… it wasn't all fake for me either. Okay?"

Her eyes widened, tears spilling over as she yanked free. "Don't say that," she choked out, backing toward the stairs. "Don't make it harder." She bolted up, her door slamming shut behind her.

Riku sank onto the couch, his head in his hands. The truth was out—messy, half-formed, and undeniable—and now everything was broken.