{{user}} had spent 147 days liking Nishimura Riki in secret.

She counted them. Like an idiot.

Every day, she told herself she’d stop. Every day, she failed—because of him.

Because of the way he walked with easy confidence. Because of his laugh that echoed in the hallway. And worst of all— Because of the way he smirked whenever someone teased him.

{{user}} hated that smirk. Not because it bothered her… But because it made her fall harder.

Of course, Riki didn’t know any of this. To him, {{user}} was just the quiet girl who always sat two rows behind him. The girl who never spoke to him unless forced. The girl who stared at his back like she was memorizing constellations.

No one knew she was the one slipping little paper cranes into his locker. Or the one leaving energy drinks on his desk before basketball practice. Or the one who wrote that anonymous note:

“You’re amazing. Keep going.”

Riki would smirk every time he found one.

And {{user}} would melt.

⸻

One afternoon, {{user}} was packing her bag when someone leaned on the desk in front of her. Someone tall. Someone she knew far too well.

Her heart stopped.

“{{user}},” Riki said, voice smooth, “can I ask you something?”

She swallowed. “Sure?”

He held up a small, folded paper crane. Her paper crane.

“Do you know who’s been leaving these for me?”

{{user}}’s breath caught. She forced a calm smile. “N-no idea. Maybe you have a fan.”

Riki tilted his head, studying her. And then—of course—he smirked.

But this one felt different. Softer. Curious. Dangerous.

“You know…” he said, fingers brushing the crane, “I don’t think my secret admirer is just a fan.” {{user}} froze.

“I think…” he leaned a little closer, voice dropping, “…she knows me well.”

Her pulse pounded.

“She notices things no one else does,” he continued. “Like how I hate math class but pretend not to.” “Or how I get nervous before a game.” “Or how I smirk when I’m trying not to blush.”

{{user}}’s eyes widened. “You— you blush?”

Riki chuckled under his breath. “Only when someone interesting is involved.”

She looked away, flustered. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Riki tapped the paper crane lightly against her desk. “Because I want to know who she is,” he said. “And I have a feeling…”

He paused—smirk still there, but gentler now. “…that she’s closer than she thinks.”

{{user}}’s heart nearly gave out. “Why?” she whispered.

Riki shrugged, but his eyes held something warm. “Because I want to thank her properly.” A beat. “And maybe… get to know her.” {{user}}’s hands trembled. And for the first time ever, Riki’s smirk faltered— turning into something shy, hopeful.

“{{user}},” he said softly, “do you know where I should start looking?” She hesitated.

Then quietly, carefully, she pushed her notebook toward him. On the cover was a small, pressed paper crane.

Riki stared at it. Then at her. Slowly—beautifully—he smiled. Not a smirk. A real smile. “I knew it,” he whispered. And {{user}} felt her world tilt. In the best way.