The rain had thinned to a quiet drizzle by the time Mikoto left the school gates, his umbrella tilted lazily over one shoulder.
The faint warmth of Riko's smile still lingered in his chest, soft and stubborn.
He could've taken the bus, but he didn't feel like sitting in a cramped seat surrounded by strangers. Not tonight.
His feet turned toward the long way home without much thought — a winding route through quiet neighborhoods and narrow alleys, where streetlights hummed and puddles shimmered under the glow.
He didn't mind the extra time.
Being alone gave him space to breathe, to let the ache in his chest settle.
But after a few blocks, his phone buzzed.
Nanami.
He paused under a tree and checked the screen:
[Nana: Did Riko get home safe? I had to run so fast I forgot to check!]
Mikoto typed a reply with numb fingers.
[Me: Yeah. Her brother picked her up. She's fine.]
Her reply came a second later:
[Nana: Good. Also — THANK YOU for helping us. You saved our asses.]
He smiled faintly.
[Me: Any time.]
There was a pause.
Then:
[Nana: You like her, don't you?]
Mikoto's breath caught in his throat.
The rain hissed softly on the pavement.
He stared at the message, heart pounding.
She hadn't said who — but she didn't have to.
It was obvious.
Nanami wasn't dumb.
But she also wasn't cruel.
So he hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen… before typing:
[Me: Yeah.]
[Nana: Thought so.]
He waited for more — a warning, maybe. A judgment. But nothing came.
Just that.
Thought so.
He stood there for a moment longer, watching the screen until the light dimmed.
Then he put his phone away and started walking again.
⸻
He didn't make it more than five blocks before a voice rang out behind him.
"Oi! Mikoto! You ghostin' us now or what?!"
He turned to see Satoshi jogging up, his long coat flapping behind like a cape. Kenji and Yuuji followed in half-hearted pursuit — Kenji grumbling about the rain wrecking his hair, while Yuuji trailed behind, chomping on something suspiciously karaage-like wrapped in tissue.
"What are you guys doing out here?" Mikoto asked, caught off guard.
"We could ask you the same thing," Yuuji said, popping another piece of chicken in his mouth. "You vanished after class. We waited, you know."
"Like actual losers," Kenji muttered. "Satoshi even asked a teacher where you went. A teacher, bro."
"I was worried, okay?" Satoshi said, throwing up his hands. "Sue me for caring."
Mikoto scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Sorry. I had something to do…"
"Let me guess," Kenji said, smirking. "Starts with an R, ends with iko?"
Mikoto looked away.
All three groaned in sync.
"You owe us details," Yuuji said. "And a snack."
"I already owe Yuuji a snack for breathing next to him too loudly last week," Mikoto muttered.
"You did sneeze aggressively," Yuuji replied, mock serious.
⸻
They walked for a while, their umbrellas overlapping, voices echoing between the shuttered shops and narrow alleys.
At one point, Kenji tried to leap over a puddle and landed ankle-deep in water. He cursed loudly while the others burst out laughing.
"Graceful as ever," Satoshi said, clapping him on the back.
"I swear this rain is out to get me," Kenji groaned, wringing out his sock.
"It's karma," Mikoto offered. "For roasting my umbrella doodle."
Kenji rolled his eyes. "It looked like a potato with a stick. Be honest."
"It was charming," Yuuji said. "Very abstract. Like… sad vegetable noir."
⸻
They rounded a corner near a closed bookstore when a sharp, scared voice cut through the air.
A little kid — no older than ten — was being pushed around by two middle schoolers. One had yanked the boy's backpack while the other laughed, pointing at his muddy shoes.
"Oi!" Satoshi shouted, already striding forward. "You think that's funny?"
The bullies froze, eyes wide.
Yuuji cracked his knuckles theatrically. "Man, I haven't been in a good moral fight in weeks."
Kenji sighed dramatically. "Here we go again."
The two kids bolted as soon as the group closed in — clearly not interested in fighting four older boys, even if only one looked intimidating.
The younger kid sniffled, staring up with big, wet eyes. "Th-thank you…"
"You okay?" Mikoto asked, crouching beside him.
The boy gave a slow nod. "They just took my pudding…"
Without missing a beat, Yuuji dug through his bag and pulled out a pudding cup and a plastic spoon. "Here. Emergency dessert protocol."
The boy's face lit up.
⸻
They sat for a while on a bench beneath a small awning. The boy — Haruki — happily devoured the pudding while the group chatted and munched snacks. He even showed Kenji his bug sticker collection, explaining each one in endearing detail.
Eventually, Haruki's frantic parents arrived, bowing repeatedly and thanking them.
"You boys are saints," his mom said, eyes misty.
"We're not saints," Satoshi shrugged. "Just guys with too much free time."
After they left, the four sat in thoughtful silence.
"…That was kinda nice," Yuuji said. "Wholesome."
"Better than scrolling aimlessly all night," Mikoto added.
"Still owe me a snack though," Yuuji muttered.
Mikoto groaned.
⸻
They eventually split ways — Kenji and Satoshi heading for the station, Yuuji turning off toward the river with his headphones on.
Mikoto veered toward the convenience store near his apartment, more out of habit than necessity. The bell above the door jingled as he stepped in, the comforting scent of oden and microwaved noodles welcoming him.
The clerk barely looked up.
He wandered the aisles, idly picking out a canned coffee, melon bread, and — on impulse — a small carton of strawberry milk.
He hadn't touched one in years.
But Riko liked them.
He'd seen her sipping one just last week in the cafeteria, a faint pink mustache left on her upper lip.
God.
He was hopeless.
⸻
When he stepped back outside, the city felt quieter.
The kind of quiet that stretched too wide for just one person.
He walked slower now, sipping his canned coffee and letting the night soak in around him.
Headlights in the distance. The distant rumble of a train. The shrill cry of a confused cicada breaking the stillness.
As he passed the little park by the bridge, something made him stop.
The swings were wet from the rain, motionless in the dark.
Still, he sat.
The metal seat was cold against his uniform slacks, creaking slightly beneath him.
He took another sip of coffee.
Maybe it was foolish — sitting here thinking about a girl who might never feel the same.
But today had felt different.
Small, maybe. But different.
She'd smiled at his dumb umbrella doodle.
She'd asked him to walk her home.
Even if nothing ever came of it… she'd asked.
That had to count for something.
Didn't it?
⸻
By the time he got home, his shoes were soaked through and the sky had turned ink-black.
The apartment was still and quiet when he stepped inside.
He lived alone — had for a while now.
His parents worked overseas, sending money, checking in when they could. Their lives had drifted into a different timezone years ago.
He didn't mind.
Most of the time.
He peeled off wet socks and jacket, tossing his bag on the couch, and headed to the kitchenette.
The strawberry milk was still cold.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then, with a soft laugh, he raised it slightly.
"To baby steps," he muttered.
And drank.
The taste was sweeter than he remembered.
Almost like her.
⸻
His phone buzzed again — this time, a call.
Mom.
He blinked, surprised. She didn't usually call this late.
"Hey, Mom," he said, flopping back onto his futon.
"Mikoto! I didn't wake you, did I?"
"It's not even midnight. What's up?"
"I need a small favor. Your dad left some important documents at the Shinjuku apartment — tax stuff, contracts. I asked the landlord, but they said only family can collect it."
"Oh. Okay… I can swing by tomorrow."
"Are you sure? It's a bit of a trip."
"It's fine. I've got the day off. What time?"
"I'll message you the address and where to send them after. Thank you, sweetheart."
"…You still call me that?"
"I'll stop when you're thirty. Maybe."
He chuckled. "Fine. But I'm raiding the fridge when I visit."
"There's cheesecake."
"Deal."
"Be safe, okay?"
"I will."
⸻
He didn't bother turning the lights on.
Just dropped onto the futon, one arm flung over his eyes as the rain picked up again outside the window.
He was exhausted.
But smiling.
For now — just for tonight — that was enough.
⸻