Hookup [MikhAiah] [Book #3]

19

—🦊—

MIKI's POV

I wake up feeling like I haven't slept at all, and I can't bring myself to care much about it. I groan as I sit up, a wave of memories from last night hitting me. Aira's lying there beside me, completely bare under the covers. I'm left in my tank top, but it's the memory of everything else—the way she let herself be so vulnerable—that keeps my mind turning. I lay my head down, feeling the weight of what happened. A stranger, her first time, and... with me. A girl. My mind is swimming with it.

I ease myself out of bed, taking each step carefully. She's still asleep, her face relaxed, peaceful even. I reach down to pull the blanket up over her, hiding her delicate frame from the chill. There's something about her like this, so... innocent. I catch myself smiling.

Turning away, I spot our clothes scattered across the floor. Her dress, my polo. I pick them up, tucking them into my laundry basket. I don't want her going home in someone else's clothes, especially not if she has to explain herself. I grab a few fresh items from my wardrobe and set them on the bedside table, just in case.

I toss the laundry in, set it to wash, and grab a towel. A quick shower might clear my head. As I let the water run over me, I press my hands against the wall, just breathing. "How do you even face someone the morning after?" I mutter. This isn't you—Miki.

I dry off and throw on a sweater and sweatpants, leaving my towel on my head. Cooking breakfast feels weirdly out of character, but I take out two eggs, a pack of bacon, and a liter of juice I haven't even opened since I bought it. Is it fresh? I hope so. A small cube of butter goes on the pan, melting in the heat. I crack the eggs, adding the bacon. While it cooks on low, I grab some painkillers and pour a glass of water. She'll need it.

When I walk back to the room, she's still sound asleep, her chest rising and falling slowly. I place the water and meds on the bedside table and head back to the kitchen to plate the food. I can't remember the last time I cooked for someone else.

I sigh, my mind racing with what comes next. Should I wake her? She probably has people waiting for her, and the last thing I want is for her to get in trouble. But as I'm standing there, she stirs awake, blinking at me, clearly startled.

"Good morning," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. She's processing what happened, her expression unreadable, the silence stretching. I nod toward the water and painkillers. "You should take the meds and water—it'll help with your hangover."

"Thanks," she mumbles, her voice soft, and drinks. Her eyes dart around the room, her fingers fiddling with the sheets. I can tell she's nervous, and it's making me tense too.

I clear my throat, the question coming out before I even think about it. "Do you... regret it?"

She pauses, her gaze distant. Then she bites her lip, almost like she's weighing the words. "No," she says, voice steady. "I don't regret it."

I nod, feeling a weird, unexpected relief. "Neither do I," I say, meaning it.

She looks down, a slight blush rising to her cheeks. "I... uh... I've never done this. Wala talaga akong experience."

"I figured," I say gently, watching her. "Why did you do it, then? Last night, you seemed.. parang something's pushing you."

Her eyes lower, voice quiet. "I guess I was just... tired. Tired of feeling like I'm always missing out. My friends, they've had all these experiences—relationships, hookups—and I've been stuck, focused on studies, my career... never..." She trails off, biting her lip. "It sounds so stupid."

"It's not stupid," I assure her, keeping my tone calm. "You don't have to justify anything to me. I'm sure everyone has a reason for doing something different naman."

She nods, as if grateful, and then I ask, maybe pushing my luck, "Do you feel any different?"

"I don't know," she admits. "But maybe that's okay." She shrugs, but there's a little smile, almost as if she's at peace with her answer.

I smile back, moving closer to the bed. I stop at the edge, and for a moment, we just look at each other. She's easy to read, with her nerves showing plainly in the way she grips the sheet. "We don't have to talk about it further na," I say, patting her hand softly. "Take your time,"

I leave the room, giving her some space.

—🦊—

The quiet that settles over us during breakfast is heavy, filled with everything unspoken between us. I can tell her thoughts are drifting back to last night, a soft blush rising every so often as she glances down at her plate.

I break the silence, keeping my tone light. "Here, I charged your phone habang tulog ka," I reach over and hand it to her, watching as the screen lights up with missed calls and messages. She scans them, eyes widening at the names—her friends, family, and... her dad. She lets out a shaky sigh, pressing her fingers to her temple.

"I— I need to go na pala," she says suddenly, standing up, her voice a little too quick.

I nod, standing as she moves. "One sec." I head to the laundry room, grabbing her now-dry dress and bringing it back to her. "You can change in the room," I say, offering her a smile.

She takes it, hurrying back to the bedroom. I can't help but wonder what she's thinking, seeing her in the doorway, just out of reach.

She returns soon after, her expression caught between gratefulness and hesitation. I offer her a small smile. "I could drive you home if you want."

Her reaction is instant. "N-No, it's okay, I'll book a grab na lang." Her fingers grip her bag, her eyes darting around nervously. "Thanks again for last night. And for taking care of me, I—" She hesitates, then nods. "I appreciate it."

I reach out instinctively, almost wanting to say something that would keep her here a little longer. "Aira—" But she's already stepping out, and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving me standing there, hand still outstretched.

My gaze drifts to the nightstand, where a small silver necklace catches the light. I pick it up, the delicate chain slipping through my fingers.

The apartment feels... different. Emptier. I stare at the closed door, my thoughts whirling with everything I didn't say, everything I still want to tell her.

For some reason, I just got a feeling of Déjà vu.