The next few days passed quietly. Aika and Riku settled into an unspoken rhythm—attending school, meeting up after class, and pretending things hadn't changed. But beneath the surface, Aika could feel it.
Something was different.
Riku still smiled. He still laughed at her jokes. He still played the piano, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys whenever they visited the music room. But there was something else there now—something Aika couldn't ignore.
A weight behind his eyes. A hesitation in his movements.
And most of all, a silence that lingered just a little too long when she asked him how he was feeling.
---
It was after school when she found him alone in the music room.
The sun streamed through the large windows, casting golden light over the polished wooden floor. The faint scent of dust and old sheet music filled the air.
Riku sat at the piano, his fingers resting lightly on the keys. He hadn't noticed her yet.
Aika stepped inside quietly, watching him.
He wasn't playing.
Usually, the moment Riku sat at a piano, music followed. It was instinctual—his hands would move before he even thought about it, filling the space around him with melody. But now… he just sat there, staring down at the keys.
Aika's chest tightened.
She approached carefully. "Riku?"
His shoulders tensed. He turned his head slightly, forcing a small smile. "Hey."
Aika frowned. "You okay?"
Riku hesitated. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
She studied him. His fingers trembled slightly where they rested on the keys.
"About what?" she asked softly.
Riku looked down. A long silence stretched between them.
Then, barely above a whisper, he spoke.
"Sometimes… I wonder what it would feel like if I couldn't play anymore."
Aika's breath caught.
Her heart pounded as she took a step closer. "Why would you think that?"
Riku exhaled slowly, his fingers curling slightly. "Because I feel weaker lately. Like my body isn't listening to me the way it used to."
Aika clenched her fists.
She had been trying so hard to pretend things were fine. To pretend that his collapse wasn't a sign of something worse. But now—
Now, Riku was saying it himself.
She forced a shaky breath. "But you're okay now, right? The doctors said you could go back to normal."
Riku smiled faintly. "Yeah. They did."
Aika stared at him. "Then why are you saying this?"
His fingers pressed a single key, letting the sound ring through the empty room. "Because I don't know how long 'normal' will last."
The note hung in the air between them.
Aika swallowed hard.
She hated this.
She hated that he was thinking like this. That he had to think like this.
That he was afraid.
She moved closer until she was right beside him. "Then let's make today count."
Riku blinked, looking up at her. "What?"
Aika forced a smile. "If you don't know how long 'normal' will last, then let's enjoy it while it's here. Play something for me."
Riku hesitated.
Then, slowly, his hands settled on the keys.
And he played.
Aika closed her eyes as the familiar, soothing melody filled the room. It wasn't a song she recognized, but it felt like Riku—gentle, warm, but tinged with something deeper.
She sat beside him, resting her chin in her hands as she listened.
For now, the fear could wait.
For now, they had this.