A week after Ayame left, the front door creaked open just past noon, sunlight spilling into the cool hallway. Ren glanced up from the couch, a half-open book in hand, as his mother's voice carried in.
"Mika? You made it early!" his mom beamed, hurrying to hug the woman who stepped inside in a swirl of scent and style.
Mika Tanaka had always stood out. Today was no exception. Her short platinum-blonde bob framed her mischievous eyes perfectly. She wore oversized sunglasses, a white tank top under a cropped leather jacket, and jeans that hugged her in all the right places. Tattoos peeked from under her sleeves, and her suitcase rolled behind her with effortless chic.
"Had to bail on the afterparty—too many creeps in designer suits," she laughed, sliding off her glasses. Her gaze flicked quickly to Ren and paused. "Oh. Wow. Look who got tall."
Ren stood instinctively. "Hi, Mika. It's been a while."
She smirked and walked up to him, eyes trailing unapologetically from his face to his chest. "You used to be all knees and elbows. Now you're... well. Damn."
His mom chuckled, oblivious. "He's been helping me around the house before school starts again. And studying. A lot."
"A good boy and good-looking? Dangerous combo," Mika winked. Ren coughed and looked away, pretending to read the book in his hand.
"I'll go get your room ready," his mom offered. "You can rest before dinner."
"Thanks, babe." Mika waved her off and turned back to Ren as the footsteps faded upstairs. "So. College now? Or still torturing high school girls with that face?"
Ren smiled. "College. Literature major."
"Mmm, a reader. Figures." She slumped next to him on the couch, far too close. Her perfume was light, floral, intoxicating.
"Still designing?" he asked, trying to focus on anything other than her knee brushing his.
"Nonstop. I just dropped a whole collection in Osaka. Total chaos, but I survived. Thought I'd come crash here for a few days, clear my head, maybe sketch something new." She tilted her head. "You still skateboarding?"
Ren blinked. "Uh, yeah. Not that much but Sometimes."
"Shirtless, I bet. Girls must throw themselves at you now."
He laughed nervously. "Not exactly."
"Shame. If I were eighteen again..." She left the sentence dangling with a wicked smile and stretched out on the couch. Ren forced his eyes back to his book.
Mika nudged his knee. "Actually, I might need your help."
He looked up.
"I brought some sample outfits. Trying a new line—retro streetwear for guys. Want to be my mannequin for a bit? Just for fitting and some photos. No pressure."
His throat dried. "Photos? Like a shoot?"
"Yeah, but just me and you. Casual. You model it, I see what works. You're the perfect height now. And I hate hiring randoms."
He hesitated. "Sure. I guess."
"Good." Her smile softened. "You always had a good sense of balance. I bet you'd move well in front of a lens."
Later that evening, the shoot began in the spare guest room. Mika had unpacked a mix of bold pieces—graphic shirts, snug joggers, experimental jackets. She adjusted the light from the bedside lamp, made him stand against a plain wall, and started snapping photos with her phone.
"Relax. Less stiff," she said, stepping closer. "Here, arms like this. Chin up. There. Perfect."
Her hands grazed his shoulders, guided his posture, brushed the hem of his shirt. It was technical. Professional. Except it didn't feel that way.
She leaned in, fingers at the collar of one of the shirts. "This one fits too tight. But I kinda like it."
He swallowed. "You think it works?"
"Oh, it definitely works," she said, eyes lingering too long.
She stepped back and snapped another picture. Then another. Then, slowly, she lowered the phone. The silence between them thickened.
"Ren..." she said quietly. "You've changed so much."
He didn't move.
"You're not a kid anymore, are you?"
He met her gaze. It wasn't playful now. It was charged. Curious. Dangerous.
Before anything more could happen, a knock at the door broke the spell.
"Dinner's ready!" his mom called from downstairs.
Mika blinked, then smiled and turned away, camera in hand. "Saved by the bell. Come on, model boy. Let's eat."
But as they walked side by side to the table, Ren knew something had shifted. Something subtle. Something irreversible.
After dinner, Ren found himself lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Ayame's visit had left a storm in his chest. Mika's arrival had turned it into an inferno. And it had only been a few hours.
He heard a soft knock on his door.
He sat up. "Yeah?"
Mika peeked in, holding a small sketchpad. "You awake?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
She stepped in, closing the door gently behind her. "Can't sleep. Mind if I chill in here for a bit?"
Ren hesitated, then nodded again. "Sure."
She sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, flipping through her pad. "You've got that thoughtful face. The kind poets write about."
He smiled faintly. "Thanks."
They talked. About fashion. About her travels. About his classes. But beneath it all, the tension lingered—unspoken but thick like humidity.
Then, just as she stood to leave, she paused at the door.
"You know," she said, glancing back with a smirk, "that shirt looked better on you than on my model back in Tokyo."
And with a wink, she vanished into the hall.
Ren exhaled slowly.
Tomorrow was going to be even more complicated.
He lay back, trying to steady his thoughts, but Mika's perfume still clung faintly to the air. The images from the evening flickered through his head: the touch of her fingers, the closeness, her words hanging in the silence.
Ren rolled to his side and groaned. Sleep wasn't coming anytime soon. He reached for his phone to distract himself, only to find new notifications from Mika.
Mika: "I sent you the best shots "
Mika: "Promise me you won't let those abs go to waste."
His face flushed. He stared at the screen, unsure whether to laugh or bury it under his pillow.
He ended up saving the photos. All of them.
The next morning arrived far too early. Ren woke with a groggy head and a phone still in his hand. He shuffled into the kitchen, hoping for coffee and peace, but found Mika already there in an oversized hoodie, bare legs, sipping from his mom's favorite mug.
"Morning," she said, eyes twinkling.
He rubbed his neck. "Hey. You sleep okay?"
"Better than I thought." She padded over to the sink and rinsed her mug, then turned back to him. "Hey... remember what I said last night?"
Ren blinked. "About?"
"About you being perfect for my line. I wasn't just flirting. I want you to model for real."
His brows rose. "Like—professionally?"
She nodded. "I can set up a small feature shoot here, submit it with my portfolio. If you're into it."
Ren hesitated. This felt bigger. Riskier. More than just photos. But also… exciting.
"I'll think about it," he said finally.
Mika smiled. "Good. No pressure."
She brushed past him, the hem of her hoodie grazing his thigh, and left the kitchen humming softly.
Ren stood alone, heart racing.
This wasn't going to get any easier.
But maybe… that was the point.