The robe was folded.
Perfectly.
Laid gently on the cushion just outside her room, with a single plum blossom resting on top. Not lavender. Not one of her playful touches. Plum. Like the tree near the river, the one Sensei always said marked the beginning of spring.
Yuzume stared at it for a moment too long.
She picked it up and held it to her chest.
There was no scent left. He hadn't worn it long enough. But something in the folds felt warm. Maybe just the sun. Maybe something else.
She walked out to find him near the main shrine steps, sweeping with one hand and holding his tea with the other, like he'd been doing it for years. It should have annoyed her. She was the shrine keeper. She was the one with the flowing robes and the clumsy history.
Instead, it made her heart feel strange.
"I see you returned my sacred garment," she said, arms crossed, hiding the way her tail twitched.
"I folded it properly," he replied with mock pride. "Didn't even wrinkle it."
"Barely qualifies you as a novice."
He smiled. "A novice with good taste."
Her tail fluffed slightly. She turned quickly to hide it.
"Don't let it go to your head."
"I won't." He hesitated. "Thanks. For lending it."
She glanced back over her shoulder.
"It looked better on you than it ever did on me."
The words slipped out before she could catch them.
Riku tilted his head.
Yuzume cleared her throat. "Anyway. The steps are dusty. You missed a spot."
He leaned the broom dramatically. "Am I being graded now?"
"Of course. The spirits keep a chart."
"Where's mine?"
She tapped her head. "In here."
"Biased spirits."
She bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. The air felt warm again, but not just from the sun. Something softer settled between them. Not heavy. Not spoken. Just… felt.
Later that day, as she rearranged charms in the offering hall, she realized she'd placed them all upside down.
She blamed him.
Clearly, he was the distraction.
She told herself that again when she caught herself humming a happy tune without realizing it. And again when she walked past the plum tree and slowed, fingers brushing a low-hanging blossom.
Something was happening.
She wasn't sure what.
But it felt nice.
And terrifying.
And she absolutely wasn't thinking about his smile.
Not at all.
Definitely not.