Under One Roof: Riku's Romantic Ruckus

The gray haze of Tuesday morning draped Yamato High in a muted stillness, the post-festival buzz giving way to a sluggish return to routine. Riku trudged through the gates, his sneakers scuffing the pavement, the weight of last night's dinner still clinging to him like damp fog. Hana's reluctant acceptance—and Haruka's quiet confession on the rooftop—twisted together in his mind, a knot he couldn't untangle. Aiko walked beside him, her smirk a steady beacon, though her eyes carried a flicker of concern she wouldn't voice.

"Rough night?" she asked, nudging his arm as they neared the lockers.

"Rough brain," he muttered, forcing a grin. "Too much thinking."

"About Haruka?" she guessed, her tone light but her gaze sharp.

"Yeah," he admitted, shoving his bag into his locker. "And Mom. Everything."

Aiko's smirk softened, her hand brushing his—a fleeting anchor. "We'll figure it out. Always do."

He nodded, but the unease lingered, a thread pulling tighter with every step into the day.

---

### Homeroom Heartache

Class 2-B was a subdued hum when they slipped in, the festival's adrenaline replaced by the grind of midterms looming on the horizon. Haruka sat at her desk, her pencil scratching slow circles in her notebook, her usual warmth dimmed to a faint glow. Mika was already lost in a novel, her presence a quiet constant, while Yuna sprawled across her chair, her grin undimmed by the Monday slump.

"Morning, chaos crew!" Yuna chirped, waving a crumpled candy wrapper. "Ready to conquer the post-festival blues?"

"Barely," Riku grumbled, dropping into his seat beside Aiko. Her knee nudged his under the desk—a silent *we're okay*—and he managed a faint smirk.

Haruka glanced up, her smile small and strained. "Hey, Riku. Aiko. Good weekend?"

"Good enough," Aiko replied, her tone casual but her eyes flicking to Haruka's sketch—a tangle of lines that looked more like chaos than art. "You?"

"Fine," Haruka said, too quick, her pencil stilling. "Just… tired."

Yuna leaned over, peering at the sketch. "Ooh, emo vibes. Spill, sunshine—what's got you doodling despair?"

Haruka's cheeks pinked, and she flipped the notebook shut. "It's nothing. Just messing around."

"Sure," Yuna teased, winking at Riku. "Bet it's about our knight here."

"Shut up," Riku snapped, his face heating, but Haruka's laugh—soft and forced—cut through the jab.

"It's not," she said, her eyes meeting Riku's briefly before darting away. "Just… stuff."

Aiko's smirk faltered, her hand brushing Riku's under the desk—a signal to let it go. But before he could say anything, Emi slipped in, her steps hesitant, her smile cautious as she took her seat. The air shifted, a ripple of tension threading through the group, though she kept her gaze down, avoiding the spotlight.

Mr. Tanaka strode in, his clipboard a shield against the subdued mood. "Alright, folks," he said, tapping the desk. "Festival's over—time to buckle down. Midterms next week, so no slacking."

Groans rippled through the room, and Riku sank lower, the day's weight piling on. Aiko nudged him, whispering, "Think we can bribe him with haunted house leftovers?"

"Worth a shot," he murmured, grinning despite himself. But his eyes lingered on Haruka, her pencil now still, her silence louder than the class's complaints.

---

### Lunchtime Revelations

The rooftop at lunch was their sanctuary, though the gray sky cast a pallor over the concrete. Aiko sprawled beside Riku, her bento open, her legs stretched out as she tossed a rice ball into her mouth. Yuna lounged nearby, regaling Mika with exaggerated tales of festival heroics, while Haruka sat apart, picking at her food with a distant look—mirroring yesterday's unease.

Riku nudged Aiko, keeping his voice low. "She's still off."

"Yeah," Aiko murmured, her gaze sharpening. "Can't let it fester."

She stood, brushing off her skirt, and sauntered over to Haruka. "Hey, sunshine," she said, plopping beside her. "What's eating you? And don't say 'nothing'—I'm not buying it."

Haruka blinked, her chopsticks pausing midair. "It's… complicated."

"Uncomplicate it," Aiko pressed, her tone gentle but firm. "We're here."

Haruka sighed, her shoulders slumping. "It's not just you and Riku—I swear it's not jealousy. It's… everything. The trip, the festival, midterms. I feel like I'm falling behind."

Riku joined them, his voice steady but careful. "Behind what?"

Haruka's smile was faint, her eyes glistening. "You two—you're so sure, so together. And I'm just… stuck. I don't know what I want anymore."

Aiko's hand rested on Haruka's shoulder, her smirk gone. "You're not stuck. You're figuring it out—same as us."

"Yeah," Riku added, sitting beside her. "You're not falling behind—you're part of this mess with us."

Haruka laughed softly, the sound fragile but real. "Thanks. I just… needed to hear that."

Yuna swooped in, her grin breaking the tension. "Aw, group therapy time? I'm in—spill your soul, sunshine!"

Haruka swatted her away, laughing harder, and the rooftop eased into a lighter hum—though Riku caught the lingering shadow in her eyes.

---

### After-School Ambush

The day dragged on, classes blurring into a haze of notes and midterm prep. After the final bell, Riku and Aiko lingered in the classroom, stacking chairs, when Emi approached, her steps hesitant but determined.

"Hey," she said, clutching a notebook. "Can we talk?"

Aiko's smirk tightened, but she nodded. "Sure. What's up?"

Emi's cheeks flushed, her voice low. "I heard about Haruka—and Ren. I wanted to say… I'm sorry again. For stirring things up."

Riku waved it off, keeping his tone gentle. "It's done, Emi. We're good."

She nodded, then hesitated. "And… I meant what I said. Friends only. I'm not trying to—I just want to fit in."

Aiko's smirk softened, a rare flicker of warmth breaking through. "You're already in. Just stop sneaking."

Emi laughed, relief softening her features. "Deal."

As she left, Riku turned to Aiko, grinning. "You're getting soft."

"Shut up," she teased, shoving him lightly. "I've got standards."

Their laughter echoed in the empty room, a brief reprieve—until the door creaked open, and Ren sauntered in, his smirk smug as ever.

"Thought I'd find you here," he said, leaning against a desk. "Heard you've been talking smack."

Aiko's eyes narrowed, her tone icy. "Only what you deserve. Keep your mouth shut, Ren."

He chuckled, stepping closer. "Or what? You'll sic your knight on me again?"

Riku bristled, but Aiko beat him to it, closing the gap with a glare. "No need. I'll bury you myself."

Ren's smirk faltered, the third-year bravado cracking under her intensity. "Whatever," he muttered, backing off. "Not worth it."

As he slunk out, Aiko turned to Riku, her smirk triumphant. "Told you I'd handle him."

"Badass," he said, grinning, and pulled her into a quick, fierce hug. "My hero."

She laughed, shoving him off. "Don't get used to it."

---

### Homefront Heat

Dinner was a minefield. Hana's gaze was a laser as she set out plates, her tone deceptively calm. "Heard about some trouble at school," she said, eyeing Riku and Aiko. "That Ren boy again?"

Riku's fork paused midair. "It's nothing, Mom. Just talk."

"Talk that follows you everywhere," she countered, her eyes flicking to Aiko. "You two attract it like flies."

Aiko's smirk stayed steady, her foot brushing Riku's under the table. "We handle it, Aunt Hana. No big deal."

Hana's lips pressed thin, but his dad grunted from behind his paper. "Let 'em sort it, Hana. They're fine."

"Fine," she echoed, her tone skeptical. "Just keep it that way."

The meal passed in tense quiet, the threads of their lives—family, friends, foes—tangling tighter.

---

### Nighttime Unraveling

Later, in the hallway's dim light, Aiko leaned against her door, her pajamas loose, her smirk warm. "Haruka's tougher than she looks," she said, brushing Riku's cheek.

"Yeah," he agreed, catching her hand. "And so are we."

She pulled him into a slow, steady kiss—a knot unraveling into something stronger. "Night, knight," she murmured, slipping inside.

"Night," he replied, the tangles easing as her door clicked shut.

The threads were fraying, but they'd weave them back—together.

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