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“Y-You’re crazy-! Ah-! Wait, wait, not so rough…!” You barely get your words out through your panicked breathing before Riki’s shoving his hips up against you. He bullies his cock into you from behind at such an unforgiving angle. Deep, full thrusts that leave your poor cunt with no choice but to take it, walls stretched open from how thick and long he is, hole fluttering and drooling around him as your consciousness swims and blurs all around the edges.

“So fucking tight… Your body looooooooves this dick, doesn’t it?” There’s such a mocking whiff of glee in every syllable of his words. “She loooooooves it, looooooves gobbling up my cock. So greedy.”

You whimper helplessly. You want to shove your head back down and let his downy pillows swallow up all of your sloppy noises, but tears prick at the corners of your eyes. His grip on your hair is so relentless. 

Thrust. “Fuck- Ah- Riki!” 

Thrust. “You’re- you’re going to break me…!”

Thrust. “We’re not even close like that- There’s no need to be like this-!”

You’re scrambling to keep your sanity. Each snap of his hips has you seeing stars. Fuck, fuck- Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you’re going to cum at this rate. You don’t know where your inner thoughts end and your audibly mindless babbling begins. You’re flipping all over. Bargaining for mercy, appealing to logic, just crying out like a wounded animal as his cock rubs itself all over your insides. Lewd squelching noises echo around the room. Smack, smack, smack, as if the sounds of your rabid fucking exists just to break you down that much further. 

Shame burns at your face and exposed skin, but the unrelenting knot that’s been mounting inside your stomach burns harder. You hate just how right Riki is, how every demeaning thing he coos at you only proves him correct. 

You love how it feels, even with your brain screaming otherwise. You love the sting and burn of his fat cock shoving your cunt open. You love how he buries himself so deep into you, enough to make it feel like his tip is pressing up against your windpipe. 

“Riki!” You choke out. You’re more or less screaming at this point. Mortification and arousal are one and the same as you sob out his name. Over and over again, the only thing to ground you as Riki grips onto you possessively, making sure the foundation of the dorm and its thin walls quiver from just how good he’s making you feel. 

His command is singular. “Louder.” 

He yanks at your hair again, and your face careens upwards towards the ceiling. You’re leaking all over his cock at this point. Your juices are only making it that much easier for him to fuck into you. Animalistic thrusts, his base instincts wholly taking over with the singular goal of making you gush on his dick. It’s fast and sloppy and rough, and fucking hell—you just know you’re never going to get dick as good as Nishimura Riki’s for the rest of your life.

You’re close to tears. “Riki!”

You don’t think Riki was even your bias. “Riki!”

You don’t think Riki crossed your mind that much before. “Riki!”

You don’t think Riki was someone you cared about when you first got into the group. “Riki!” 

“Now all my hyungs know what I’m doing to you. That the pretty girl they’ve all been eyeing up is getting her pussy fucked out and bred by their youngest.” His words go straight to your cunt. You’re clenching around him for dear life. Your cunt cries out in refusal every time he moves his hips back, as if the two millisecond before he’s drilling back into you is a waste. 

He huffs in triumphant laughter under his breath, “Did that turn you on? You’re close, aren’t you? You’ve been leaking and squeezing me for so long… You keep saying shit like ‘ah, ah, ah, not so rough!’ but you actually like it when I pound into you like this.”

You’re going to lose your mind. You can’t take this anymore, but if you don’t get more of him, you might actually stop breathing. You barely eke out, “I’m gonna- Please- ‘m so close-! Need it so bad, Riki… Feels s’good…!”

“Yeah? So close to what?” He’s not one to give you what you want so easily. If you weren’t so fucked out of your mind, you think you might have thrown something at him for his sheer audacity. But god, right now, with crazy good dick fucking you out like tomorrow doesn’t exist, you’re not above caving. 

“I wanna cum! I wanna cum- wanna cum-,” you slur out, voice ringing out like clear morning bells through the debauched night. “Wanna cum on your cock! Your cock feels so good- Love having sex with you-! Love having sex with your cock- I can’t- I can’t hold on anymore!”

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s cracked that devilish grin. The one that’s gotten you acting so stupid to begin with, the one that got you trapped in his bed, the one that has you like putty in his hands.

He practically purrs, “There you go. Now you’re being just as honest as your pussy.”

The next thrust does you in. You nearly fall forward in a silent shriek as your orgasm rips through you. Pure heat claws at your core, and you stiffen, unconsciously clenching up all around him and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Ears blown out and eyes rolling back, you cum shamelessly all over his dick as he empties himself into you. Warmth explodes all inside of you as he fucks you through it until you’re a boneless mess.

When you droop like a wilted flower back onto his sheets, only then does he finally let you bury your head into his pillow. Well, it’s not like you’re actively burying your head in there; you simply don’t have the strength to move elsewhere. Not when you’re still buzzing with the high of your climax, not when he’s sapped your strength so thoroughly, not when your brain has given up on your body completely and all you can do is just lay there and struggle to process everything while Riki leers down at you victoriously, his sticky cum pouring out from between your thighs. 

You really, really can’t stand him. 

You made a mistake. 

Last night wasn’t supposed to escalate like that. 

You have enough self-awareness to come clean and admit that much to yourself. This isn’t just unique to Riki (which… you have quite a bit to debrief about, even if it’s only to yourself again). You’d like to think that you’re more mature than to have your shit rocked this thoroughly and then end up passing out in the bed of said-man-who-rocked-your-shit. 

But you did, and no amount of morning-after regret is going to change the fact that you woke up in Riki’s bed with a disturbingly sore body and a horrifying revelation that you won’t be able to look yourself or him in the face for a while. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, the room still dark and ambiently moody, and the mound breathing rhythmically next to you signals that Riki is still blissfully asleep. 

You take that as your cue to get out of there as fast as you can. Your body whines in protest, but you fight your way through the stiffness in your limbs and the undeniable ache settling in on your lower back and gingerly swing your feet to get up. You move as efficiently as you can, dressing with whatever you can find without trashing the room too much, while doing your absolute best not to disturb Riki. 

You’re not willing to gamble more of your pride to sleep in and stay longer. You’re not one to judge anyone after the position you’ve found yourself in today, but you highly doubt that Riki’s the type of person to wake you up with a kiss, a gentlemanly “good morning,” and send you on your way with an Uber and breakfast in your stomach. You’re not delusional enough to think that you’re anything special, not when he probably has a line of admirers spanning the world’s equator who’d kill to be in your place.

So objectively speaking, you know you shouldn’t linger. But for some reason, you hesitate right in front of his closet. Hand over your heart, you didn’t seduce Riki with the intention of stealing from him. If it was monetary wealth you were after, you’d fuck your way into Jeff Bezos’s will and hire a hitman to take him out. But your hands itch, and if Riki won’t treat you to at least a taxi and breakfast, then you might as well pamper yourself with something to make the aches and time lost worth your while.

His chains? No, that would be too expensive.

His shoes? No, that would be too weird for you to find any use out of.

His designer clothes? No, that would be too obvious.

You scan the room, ears perked and heart pounding for anything that might tip you off to the fact that you might be caught red-handed. But Riki continues snoring, and before your nerves can give out on you, you decide on your target. Like Atalanta scooping up her golden apples, you lurch forward and extend a hand. 

Your fingers curl around his Chrome Hearts beanie, and you slip out of his bedroom while rubbing your knuckles over the soft material. The hallway outside is dark, the rest of the members most likely asleep or cocooned up in their own respective rooms. Your footsteps are muffled as you carefully pad out over the main areas. You quiet your breathing, keep your mind honed, clutch the beanie close to your body like the purloined booty it is as you race towards the front door. Your thoughts are singular.

Get out.

Get out.

Get out.

“...Holy fuck-!”

You almost scream and eat shit when you nearly collide straight with someone. Red-hot panic flashes through you as you lurch forward, tripping over your own feet before barely managing to straighten yourself. Your eyes strain through the murky darkness of the dorm, only to come face-to-face with who you recognize to be a very frazzled Jay. His hair is a mess, and there’s a half-drunk glass of water in his hands, explaining why he’s sneaking around at this hour like you are. 

He blinks in your direction, and you angle your body to hide the beanie you stole. Your heart hammers inside of your chest—th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump—until Jay just settles on giving you a good-natured nod in acknowledgement and shuffling off. You stand there for a few breaths longer, fright still gripping your brain in full force. Only when you’re absolutely certain that you won’t be intercepted again do you bolt and finally succeed in escaping.

You don’t want to think too much about what might have gone wrong. You don’t want to think about how often Riki must hook up with other people for Jay to appear so unphased by your escape walk of shame. You don’t want to think about what might happen if Riki notices that his Chrome Hearts beanie is gone.

You’re not special enough for him to notice. That is your one saving grace, your light at the end of the tunnel, your lifeline in your sea of floundering mistakes. 

If Riki has noticed anything, he doesn’t show it. Days pass, and somehow, your paths end up intertwining. Don’t misunderstand—it’s not like he shows up Disney style with a diamond ring in his hand atop a white horse, but you run into him every now and then over the course of a few months. Some meetings are nothing more than amicable, with him peering over his costly sunglasses and giving you a jerky nod in greeting. 

Others are more intimate, and they end with your thighs smeared with loads of his sticky cum and a sore back for the following few days. You’re growing used to waking up with a dull pain flaring up there from how rough he always gets, but shamefully, you’re growing more used to the terribly addictive pleasure he sicks onto you with wicked delight. It’s escalating to the point that you’re slowly looking forward to each hook-up, desire and heat and want pooling deep in your belly whenever you think about how good the stretch of his thick, veiny cock feels. 

For better or for worse, your kleptomaniac tendencies continue. You don’t steal from him after every hook-up. That would be a rookie move, and the last thing you need to throw a wrench into the situationship you have with Riki would be for him to find out that you’ve been pawing through his closet. You always keep it small but profitable; though, the last part is only in theory since every time you do leave his dorm with his Chrome Hearts in tow, you never end up selling it.

The logical part of you knows that the risk is too high. Knowing your luck, he might end up stumbling across the listing and finding you out, or his company might find out and sue you with their brigade of impenetrable lawyers for artist endangerment or some shit. The emotional part of you is fond of your trophies, and because you feel bad that they’ve started collecting dust in your house, you’ve started to integrate some of the more mundane pieces into your wardrobe.

An earring to spice up your outfit on a night out in town with friends. The beanie that started it all when you’re making a quick trip to the grocery store and don’t feel like making your hair look presentable. Sunglasses for when you’re driving—just because you get a kick out of the thought of expensive designer shades being used for something so mundanely utilitarian. 

You never steal anything ostentatious, and you never wear anything ostentatious. Always something small and plain, with just enough plausible deniability that it could be something you acquired yourself organically. You always do your due diligence to make sure you don’t wear them on days you know for sure that you’ll run into Riki, but every now and then, you run into someone else you don’t expect. Like Jay, who you quickly discover gets up a lot earlier than you expected after continually bumping into him on your walks-of-shame out. 

But then you move onto bigger prizes, although that’s mostly with Riki’s permission. You wake up again with a thick layer of crusties in your eyes, and you spend about thirty seconds rubbing them all out. Your eyes are puffy and your throat is sore, undoubtedly from crying and sobbing and moaning after how much Riki overstimulated you last night, and you hobble out of his bed as if you’re a disintegrating scarecrow. You methodically get dressed, haphazardly yanking on your pants (your underwear has disappeared to god-knows-where with how vigorously he was ripping your clothes off last night) and socks before pausing.

Shit. Your top is nowhere to be found. You scour all around the bed and even take a peek around some of the more isolated nooks and crannies of Riki’s dorm room, but as if they’ve been carried away by a ghost, it’s nowhere to be seen.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You need to put something on and skedaddle. No matter how many times Riki’s fucked you and made you come undone in the worst ways possible, you don’t have it in you to face him the morning afterwards. Even more so knowing that this is when you steal from him. You shuffle around, debating if it’s worth stealing one of his shirts or if you should take a big towel from their bathroom to fashion into a makeshift toga, when Riki groans and shifts.

You stop dead in your tracks. Fucking hell—today genuinely was going to be a day where you weren’t actively going to steal from him. You think you might shit your guts out from the guilt alone, and you freeze right where you are. Breath held, stomach clenched, eyes trembling, you pray that he doesn’t wake up.

But life would never be that kind to you.

“...Mmh?” He mumbles sleepily, pushing himself upwards into a seated position. He blinks a few times groggily, and right when you’re debating on running for it while he’s still not fully conscious, does he recognize you. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs before flopping back down on his bed, “Why’re you in such a hurry to get out?”

You pause, and you gnaw on the inside of your cheek. What the fuck are you even supposed to say to that? Why does he have to be so casual about the fact that you two are so intimate? You hate that your heart flutters, hate that you were caught in such a preventable situation, hate that you even let this whole thing turn into a big ordeal. You should have kept it at one good hook-up and exit with no string attached, and now you don’t even know what the correct thing to do would be.

“I… have things to do,” you offer up. It’s only a partial lie. The thing in question that you need to do is leave, so you can lick your wounds and pretend that you’re not growing a little too comfortable with this arrangement. You muster up your courage, bolstered mostly by the pounding adrenaline in your head. “I can’t find my shirt. Can I take one of yours?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Riki gestures vaguely in the direction of his closet. “’s gonna be pretty cold today, I think. Sunoo-hyung kept ranting yesterday about his skin drying because the weather’s changing up. Take a hoodie or something.”

You tiptoe over and open up the closet. The holy grail of Depop resellers stares back at you as you squint through the darkness to mull over your pickings. “A hoodie seems excessive… I just need a t-shirt.”

“Take the fucking hoodie. I don’t need you bitching and moaning about how it’s my fault you caught a cold after going home in nothing but a t-shirt.” A muffled voice retorts from the sheets. “I can always buy another one. Do you fuck broke men on the regular? Why are you acting all prim and proper now?”

You want to roll your eyes. Only he could be this sassy after rearranging your guts. Would it kill him to let go of his whole nonchalant thing and just say that he cares about you enough to want you to stay warm? “I can go fuck said broke men instead,” you huff.

Riki responds with an audible snort. “You wouldn’t. You like my dick too much.”

A flare of embarrassment goes off inside your tight chest, and you physically bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from lashing out anymore. The atmosphere prickles with heated tension, and as much as you love getting your brains fucked out, you don’t think you have it in you to do it back-to-back. Or in what might as well be broad daylight. That feels too wanting, too forward, too everything. 

You need to get out. You run your hands over the hangers and pick one at random. The material is heavy and thick, and when you slip it on, it rests over you like a comforting backhug. 

It smells tantalizingly of him.

You don’t linger too long afterwards, but there’s an odd tug in your chest as you make your usual exit out of the Enhypen dorm. Something about this whole thing is too close to comfort, like a boyfriend sharing his clothes with you instead of you gaslight-gatekeep-girlbossing your way through making his incessant pussy battering worthwhile. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that he’s softening your edges just as much as you’re softening his.

When you walk out, you even give Jay a little greeting as you head out. He gives you a polite greeting back, though today, he stares the slightest bit longer than usual at the sight of you so openly in Riki’s clothes.

You made a mistake.

You knew better than to expect that you could keep your whole thing with Riki entirely under the table. You did everything you could to keep everything under wraps, but if you’re crazy enough to do what you do with him, the people who want to be the one doing what you do with him are even crazier.

It was only a matter of time before people would start finding out. The members were a given, and to an extent, some of the group’s sasaeng fans. You were under the impression that once enough people did find out, the company would serve you some papers and brush you under the rug and that would be it.

NI-KI OF ENHYPEN FINDS A GIRLFRIEND? UNKNOWN FIGURE SPOTTED WEARING MATCHING CLOTHES AND SNEAKING OUT OF KPOP IDOL’S DORM. 

What you did not expect was for a whole news article, complete with pictures, to be the reason why you’re pacing around the Enhypen dorm like a caged animal. Pulse drumming in your ears, limbs twitchy, dread thudding through your veins in a second heartbeat, saying that you’re full blown freaking out would be an understatement. Is there anything you can even do about something like this? About the fact that some anonymous tipper has more or less doxxed you? You had the foresight to immediately get rid of your phone and bolt from your current address the moment you found out, footsteps unconsciously bringing you to where Riki was in vain hopes that he might be able to help navigate this.

So here you are. Stuck in the dorm like a hostage, waiting for Riki to come back home, too scared to peek out the window in case a mob of rabid fans are outside waiting to pelt you with tomatoes. Or the company’s legal team. Both.

Jay, ever the gentleman, keeps you company the best he can. He’s already brewed you a cup of hot tea (which has gone untouched, mostly because if you drink anything, you think you’ll hurl it back up), phoned Riki an ungodly number of times for you (“He’s on his way,” Jay tells you over and over again, “He’s only a few minutes out.”), and tries to feed you something so that you’re not running on sheer adrenaline (which you once more refuse). 

“I know this is a shitty situation, especially for you.” Jay moves to pick up your untouched mug of now-stone cold tea, and he shuffles over to the kitchen to stick in the microwave. You gnaw on your already battered lower lips as he gives you what he probably intends to be a comforting smile. You don’t say anything until the microwave beeps after a while, and Jay returns with your tea.

“I’m scared,” you choke out through strained breathing. “How am I going to live after this? I won’t be able to show my face in public.”

“You’ll have Riki.” Jay takes your trembling hands and maneuvers the warm mug into your grip. The heat spreads against the inside of your palms, and though it’s only for a millisecond, it does make you feel better. Jay beams at you again. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. He’s lucky to have someone like you.”

You tense up at the mention of his name. Your tongue is thick and heavy in your mouth, and you swallow the growing lump that’s made home in your throat. “I… Me and Riki… We’re not like that.”

Jay cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. “Hm? Not like what?”

Good god. Having to spell it out with your own mouth is making you burn so much more with shame. You might as well be rubbing salt on your open wounds. Your nails drag against the hard surface of the mug, and you tear your gaze away from Jay’s earnest eyes.

“We’re not together. Not in a boyfriend-girlfriend way,” you manage out. You can’t help but start to chew on your mouth and lips again, nerves eating away at your burning insides. “We just hook-up like… a lot. That’s all. Really.”

If Jay was supposed to show any real emotion to that, he doesn’t get a chance to. The front door of the dorm flies open with enough force that it might as well have been kicked in, and you’re so strung up that you end up sloshing some tea over your hands. The tea isn’t hot enough to burn you, thankfully, but it’s enough to make Jay’s parental instincts kick in and swipe the mug from you like you’re a toddler that can’t take care of yourself.

Riki comes in, breathless, impeccably pretty face screwed over in worry. His eyes widen when he sees you, and you instinctively lurch forward in his direction, all of your prepped speeches and crash outs and everything going blank once he’s actually here in front of you.

He takes the words right out of your mouth. “We need to talk.”

A hand clamps down on your wrist, and before you can object, he’s yanking you in the direction of his room. You stumble with him, barely keeping up with his urgent footsteps, and a new wave of dread engulfs you as you cross the threshold from dorm to bedroom. It’s something you’ve done countless times, and yet, today feels as if you’re crossing the point of no return.

“Hey, be gentle!” Jay calls out from the common area. Riki pays Jay’s comment no mind and shuts the door behind him. It locks into place with a metallic ‘click,’ and only then are you finally alone with him. Face-to-face, just the two of you, a sobering realization that something that wasn’t supposed to get this far, has in fact, gotten this far. 

You should talk. You need to talk. You have to find the clarity amidst all the topsy-turvy chaos and straighten out your story with Riki before Belift pummels you into anonymity and silence. You should know better than to expect any real gentleness from someone like him. Happy endings don’t come out of mindless sex, and happy endings definitely don’t come to someone who might have gotten this whole thing busted from stealing out of his closet.

“Riki, I-,” you try to start. You don’t get far. You’re half-expecting him to be angry with you, to start screaming and yelling and acting unreasonable, but instead, what you find sends a completely different chill down your spine. 

It has to be your eyes playing tricks on you. 

There’s just no way, no fucking way, that he looks absolutely victorious right now.

Everything ends the exact same way it began.

“Riki, you’re being unreasonable-,” you stutter out as his hands start impatiently yanking at your clothes. You have a half a mind to try and calm him down, work some logic back into him so you can put out the bomb that’s landed squarely in your lap, but it’s so difficult to stay grounded when he’s actively cornering you against his bed and staring down at you as if he’s going to eat you whole. Your mouth goes dry as he shoves you against his bed, and soon enough, you’re performing the same song and dance of shedding your clothes while you half-heartedly argue with him.

His palm cups your clothed cunt. His voice is deep against the shell of your ear. “I saw that you were talking to Jay-hyung. Did you talk to him for a while?”

It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap. You stumble over your own words. “H-He was the only one home when I came by. He was just being polite and making sure I’m okay. Riki- Riki, fucking listen to me! There are news articles about us right now- This isn’t the time to have sex!”

He looks at you straight in the eye, his gaze sharp and unforgiving. “Everyone else knows we’re fucking now. What are you getting all shy about?”

Your words die out in the back of your throat at that. Riki gives a small huff, and the rest of your clothes are coming off of you like you’re shedding a second skin. You’re all too used to the rhythm of this. The sensation of his cool sheets under your body, the heat of his breath fanning against your neck as his lips bite and kiss and suck, the tight grip of his hands as he gropes at your chest and stomach and hips.

“Riki-,” you whimper out. Need builds up inside of your chest and core. You wish you had the fortitude to keep your thoughts straight and to get your ducks in a row, but with Riki on top of you and making it impossible for you to process anything other than him, you’re a lamb led to the slaughter. “Riki- We- I-”

“What are you so worried about? Your safety?” He licks at your cheek, and you shiver. He captures your lips in an open-mouthed, selfish kiss, and he moans obscenely into your mouth at how sweet you taste. “You have nothing to worry about. You have me.”

“I-,” you force out in between sticky making out, “-I won’t be able to show my face in public! Or get a job! How am I going to support myself?”

Riki stops dead in his tracks. You barely hold back a sigh, wondering if that was the reality check he needed to realize the gravity of the situation. But then he shifts downward, and when he opens his mouth to press a kiss to your chest, he instead bites.

And he bites hard.

You shriek. It can’t be more than a mere second, and yet the sensation of his teeth sinking into the curve of your soft chest emblazons itself into a dark part of your mind. It hurts, hurts so bad—even when being rough, Riki has always made sure to balance the pain with the pleasure. This was something he did to hurt you, to make sure you felt his capability to inflict it onto you, and for some fucking reason, you liked it. Deep down, you fucking liked it.

“You’re not listening to me,” he hisses, “Everyone already knows what we’re doing. Hell—I bet your polite Jay-hyung is piecing it together right now too. I said I’ll take care of you. Everyone thinks we’re together. So why don’t we?”

Getting shot in the head point blank might be less shocking. Your blood runs cold, and any cloudiness in your mind disappears with a snap. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I know you heard me.” He pushes up off of you, and your breath catches dangerously when his hands slide down to your hips. He drags your now-soaked panties down, tossing them behind his shoulder. He sits there, taking a second just to admire the sight of your naked body underneath him, quivering with the knowledge that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

There’s the sound of his belt coming undone and the shuffling of fabric as he drops his pants. You hold your breath as he pulls his cock out, the tip swollen and drooling. You want it inside you. You want him to come to his senses. You want him to fuck you like tomorrow doesn’t exist because tomorrow genuinely doesn’t exist for you. You want him to take this more seriously and figure out a more solid plan of action.

He catches you licking your lips. “You want it? Lay back down. I’ll give you the cock you love so much. The cock you’ve more or less ruined yourself over.”

Your face burns, and your stomach twists in on itself. “You don’t need to phrase it like that… I’m trying to be serious.” And yet, you find yourself complying. You sink back down into his bed, mattress against your back. You spread your legs, and it feels like a permanent shiver has made its home in your spine when the cool air hits your dripping slit.

“And you don’t think I’m being serious?” Riki asks. He slots himself in between your legs, the kiss tattoo on his pelvis flashing before your eyes before your thigh obscures it. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

He grips the base of his cock, and he slaps the heavy tip against your swollen clit. The wet sound from the simple action is so obscene, it makes your face burn all over again. Sparks shoot up your core, and you need more. He rubs his cock up and down your slit, moaning as your pussy lips envelop his thick length.

Your pride is the lump in your throat. Your pride is the humiliated tears threatening to well up in the corners of your eyes. Your pride is your hungry cunt betraying you, your juices coating Riki’s cock in an undeniable sheen.

“I know you want it.” He breaks the terse silence first. His cockhead rests right against your entrance, just catching against the tight ring of muscle. He watches you like a wolf stalking its next meal, the ghost of a smile hinging on the corner of his lips as your cunt pulses and shivers, clenching visibly around nothing. “You trust me, don’t you?”

How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? You hesitate, and Riki’s eyes narrow in displeasure.

“Trust me,” he urges, firmer. “Tell me you trust me, and I’ll give it to you. Three words. ‘I trust you,’ and I’ll take care of the whole fucking thing.”

You can’t trust him. You know for a fact you can’t trust him. But what other option do you have? You have no other real support system you can turn to. Belift is out of the question. Your own social circle is probably coming undone from the barrage of doxxing and incessant inquiries from fans and news reporters alike. Jay is patient and kind, but that’s it. He’s an acquaintance that’s being a good Samaritan and nothing else.

You really only have Riki.

Your lips tremble unconsciously. Even though this is a single, isolated moment in time, for some reason, this whole thing suddenly feels like it’s been long overdue, the climax to an exposition that’s been building for a long, long time.

“...I trust you.”

The delight is palpable on his face. “There we go. That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Now all you need to do is turn your brain off, and let me take care of you. I’ll fuck you nice and hard until you can’t even think about anyone other than me. Just trust me.”

He thrusts into you, one sharp motion that has his whole length embedded inside your weeping hole. You arch your back, and aching pain and electric pleasure shoot through your veins like a hit of a drug. It hurts, and it feels good, and true to his word, once he sticks his cock in you, it’s like the world melts away. He barely gives you any time to adjust, immediately pinning you down underneath him so you can’t move and snapping his hips into you. Deep and hard and fast, making sure you feel every inch and ridge so that the mind-numbing pace is all you can register.

“Fuck- so fucking tight-,” he grunts. He’s not even trying to hide that monstrous possessiveness of his anymore. He looks so goddamn pleased with himself, making you cry out and sob and go incoherent just from having him put it in. “See? We’re meant to be. There’s no need for us to go around tiptoeing anymore. All you need to do is just take my dick like you’re meant to. This cunt was made to be ruined by me. You were made to be fucked by me. I’ll make it so that you can’t live without my cock.”

“S-So rough…!” You whimper. Your mind is teetering on nothingness already. The tension building up inside of you is already too much, your body already having been worn out from being stuck in fight-or-flight. Now you’re stuck in fuck-or-fuck, and you somehow keep digging yourself into deeper and deeper graves. 

“Say it,” he demands in between each thrust, “Say that you can’t live without me. Say that you’ll have me forever.”

It’s torture. He’s hitting you in all of the best spots, making you gush around his thick base every time he bottoms out. He’s always manhandled you whenever you came over for his stupid booty calls, but this feels different. There’s genuinely something at stake here, and with Riki determined to escalate your relationship from misconstrued one to a real one, he’s railing into you with a single-minded purpose.

You’ve already promised yourself to him, haven’t you? Long before panic running to his dorm, long before the news article that led to the panic running to his dorm, long before stealing the clothes that led to the news article that led to the panic running to his dorm, he had worked you into his trap. You walked into his arms and gave him your body, and since when has Riki ever willingly let go of something he’s gotten a taste of?

Your sense of responsibility is long gone now. All you care about is the burning in your cunt, the heat that his cock stirs up inside your guts, the insistent and all-consuming need to turn into a mindless slut and live only for him. “I-I can’t live without you! I can’t live without your cock! Please- Riki- Please- I need to be with you!”

“Need to be with me for…?” He trails off mockingly. He gives a particularly sharp thrust, and his cockhead brushes into your G-spot at such a devastating angle that your body nearly convulses. The hot tears have started slipping past your waterline. Scalding rivulets mark your pathetic state.

You moan what he wants to hear most out. Each word is underlined by his thrusts, his pointed thrusts that make you feel like you’re both animals in heat, the world dissolving away into nothing but an amalgamation of limbs and sweat and sex. “I want to be with you- I need to be with you forever! Riki, ‘m so close- I think I’m gonna cum! So close- Please, need to cum on your cock…”

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess all over me? Gonna prove to me that my cock’s the only thing your cunt needs?” The undeniable sloppy sounds of bodies hitting each other punctuate his harsh words. “I know you’re almost there. Just a little more, and I’ll let you cum. See? I told you you could trust me. I told you I’d take care of you.”

You’re going to go mad with desperation. Your body’s at its limit. It’s been at its limit for a while. You only need a little bit more to get where you need to be. He’s stretching you out in all the right places, fucking you just right, making you cry out his name and have your brain melting out your ears with each passing second.

“Anything- Anything, Riki!” You babble out.

He repeats, faux incredulity spiking his voice. “Anything?” 

“Anything!” You reaffirm. You don’t even sound like yourself anymore. You don’t recognize the carnal desperation in your voice, the shameless wanton need that makes you sound all high-pitched and fucked out.

Riki leans in, and you moan again as he kisses you. His tongue slides over yours, all spit and wet and mouths sucking on each other. “Say that you love me. Say that much, and I’ll let you cum as much as you want.”

You’re going to die. You’re going to die in his bed. You’re going to die in his bed from getting railed by him. 

Nothing is sacred anymore. Nothing is off the table. Nothing is too much for you to store away as a last reserve. Nothing is to be hidden and stashed away from him, not when he’s demanding your everything to be laid out and claimed as his.

“I love you! I love you!” You cry out, full blown sobbing. “Let me cum- Please! Riki, I love you- Love you so much! I love you, I love you!”

You don’t remember how many times you’ve screamed it out. You just kept saying it over and over, until it satisfied him, until you could feel the knot inside your stomach snap violently and you’re cumming all over his dick. Squirting and making a mess, there’s no way to deny the fact that you’ve just orgasmed on his cock. 

That you’ve just came from telling him that you love him.

But you can’t think. Not with the haze covering your mind, not with your body feeling like jelly now that all the adrenaline and tension has left. Especially not when Riki presses another sickeningly sweet kiss to the crown of your head, and a flicker of heat flares back up inside your belly when you feel him draw his hips back. His cock is still hard, and he isn’t done indulging in you the way he’s wanted for all this time.

“That wasn’t so hard to say, was it?” He whispers. Another kiss to your forehead, and then he’s tucking away the sweaty strands of hair splayed across your face. A strangled cry worms its way out your throat when he gives an experimental thrust.

“I haven’t cum yet,” he murmurs, “But we can fix that. And it’ll be okay since we both know that we love each other now. No matter what happens after, I’ll take care of it all. Yeah?”

Can you even say anything to that? It’s been mistake after mistake for you, each one building up until they all bite their tails and turn into an inextricable Ouroboros to keep you trapped.

No, let’s not lie. This isn’t the result of your mistakes. This whole thing begins and ends with Riki.

He kisses your mouth, solemnly and adoringly and happily. 

“I love you too,” he whispers against your shaking lips, “And we’ll be so, so happy together.”

NI-KI POV

You think you’re so slick.

Riki has known the whole time that you’ve been stealing from him.

Scratch that. Minor correction.

Riki has been letting you steal from him.

It’s difficult for Riki to pinpoint what exactly about you has made him act in a way that is objectively foolish. It’s undeniable that he likes all of you. Everything you’ve shown to him, he’s devoured with relish. It goes beyond a mere infatuation with your body and the insane sex you have with him. It’s in your snark, your blasé attitude, the fact that you treat him like someone his age rather than a perfect idol atop a pedestal. It’s refreshing, and it makes him feel like he wants to be around you all the time.

Would it be such a bad thing to go that extra step, to make sure you can be with him forever? Maybe he’s taken the extreme option instead of the high road, but this is Riki we’re talking about at the end of the day. He’s never, ever been satisfied with doing things halfway. And between losing you entirely or doing whatever he can to tie you down for eternity, he’s picking the latter in a heartbeat. 

When he knows you’re coming over, he’s deliberately strewn about his things. Curiosity pricks at his brain when he imagines what you might take. A beanie he’s expertly placed “casually” in your path. Earrings “haphazardly” scattered about his desk. Sunglasses he tosses right by the door. Easy pickings, like Hippomenes rolling golden apples in front of a fleeing Atalanta.

It’s a slow process, but it’s a definite one for sure. He wants to make it so that everyone misconstrues your relationship with him. So that wherever you go, he’ll follow—his clothes, thoughts of him, his name dangling off of the end of yours. 

He knows he’s succeeded on a seemingly random day. Dance practice is about winding down, and the rest of the members are all doing their separate routines, getting ready to go home. Jungwon is running through what he wants to talk about during his evening live, Jake is pawing through his bag for a change of clothes, Sunghoon and Sunoo are bickering like a married couple over probably nothing again…”

“Hey…,” Jay’s concerned voice breaks through Riki’s meandering thoughts. Riki turns to face him, eyebrow raised in a wordless response. Jay looks a little nervous, and he casts a wide glance around to make sure no one else is observing them.

“Can I talk to you for a second? Nothing super serious.” Jay scratches behind his neck. He gestures towards a back corner, and Riki obediently follows. The two slip away wordlessly, and only once Jay confirms that no one has noticed them going missing does he finally start speaking again.

“I… don’t want to pry. And you have every right to let me know if I’m overstepping,” he starts, sighing deeply through his nose. Riki thinks to himself that Jay looks like an anxious father about to give the birds-and-the-bees talk. Jay swallows and pauses, as if he’s mulling over his next words carefully, “But are you seeing someone? I kept running into a girl from your room, and she’s always wearing your things, and I just… I guess I wanted to say that there’s a bunch of administrative and bureaucratic stuff that comes with dating and being idols and yadda yadda, but I wanted to check in with you as a person. Like… I want you to be happy, Riki. So if you are starting to date, I’m telling you to treat your girlfriend well.”

Seeing someone.

Starting to date.

Girlfriend.

It takes everything in Riki not to crack the biggest grin of his life. Satisfaction blooms in his chest like a gulp of fresh air to a drowning man. How long has he spent, weeks and weeks purposefully arranging his room and luring you into his arms so that he can set things in motion? The countless nights he’s laid awake, wondering if this whole thing was for naught and your addictive presence was meant to be nothing more than a flash in the pan. But this is proof. Tangible, audible, physical proof.

His plan is working. You’ve been seen sneaking out of his room. You’re out and about while wearing his clothes. Jay wholeheartedly believes you to be his girlfriend and is giving him the big brother pep talk.

Riki raises a hand and pats Jay coolly on the back. “You worry too much, hyung. But don’t worry—

—I’ll treat her very, very well.”

you stand in front of your mirror for the third time, turning sideways to check how the skirt falls.

the angel costume had been an impulse buy, something you grabbed at the costume shop two days ago when you realized jay was actually going through with this party.

white lace everywhere, a bodice that hugs your chest more than youre used to, and a skirt that flares out in layers of tulle. it hits mid thigh, shorter than anything your parents let you wear to school, but youre eighteen now. youre an adult. you can wear what you want.

the halo sits on your head, held up by a thin wire headband, and the wings strap around your shoulders, white feathers that brush against your lower back when you move.

you look... you look pretty, actually. pretty and innocent and sweet.

which is exactly why jay is going to lose his mind.

but thats part of the appeal, isnt it? the thought of your older brothers face when he sees you downstairs, in his space, at his party. the way his jaw will tighten and his eyes will narrow. the way hell try to order you back upstairs like youre still twelve.

youre not twelve anymore. youre eighteen, youre legal, and you want to see what a real party looks like.

the music starts around nine, thumping bass that vibrates through your floorboards and into your bones. youve been in your room for two hours, listening to the sounds of people arriving, laughter echoing up the stairs, bottles clinking. you checked your phone forty minutes ago and saw a text from jay

jay

stay upstairs. seriously. dont come down

you didnt reply.

now its ten thirty, and the party is in full swing. you can hear shouting, someone singing badly to a song you recognize, the general chaos of too many people in one space. you take a deep breath, adjust your halo one last time, and open your bedroom door.

the hallway is dark, lit only by the orange string lights jay hung earlier. you pad down the carpet in your white ankle boots, heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your throat. halfway down the stairs, you pause and peek over the railing.

the living room is transformed. the furniture has been pushed against the walls, the coffee table is covered in red cups and bottles, and the floor is packed with bodies. someone brought a fog machine, and it pumps thick white mist that swirls around peoples legs.

the lights are dim, purple and orange and red, casting everything in strange shadows. strobe lights flicker in the corner, making the dancers look like theyre moving in stop motion.

you spot jay near the kitchen entrance, dressed as a vampire with a cape and fake blood dripping from his mouth. hes laughing at something, a cup in his hand, surrounded by his friends. he looks happy, relaxed, completely unaware that youre about to crash his night.

you take the last few stairs quickly, before you can change your mind, and slip into the crowd.

the music is loud, some remix with a heavy bass line that makes your chest vibrate. the air smells like sweat and cheap beer and someones vanilla perfume. you weave through dancing bodies, murmuring "sorry" when you bump into a guy dressed as a zombie, keeping your head down and your wings tucked close.

the kitchen is slightly less crowded, and you make your way toward the counter where someone set up a makeshift bar.

youre not planning to drink much, just enough to look like you belong. you reach for a cup, and thats when you hear it.

"well, well, well."

the voice is low and smooth and comes from directly behind you. you freeze, cup halfway to your lips, and turn slowly.

riki is leaning against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, looking completely at ease in a pair of black jeans and a black button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

hes drawn stitches across his cheeks and forehead in silver marker, giving him a frankenstein vibe, but the effect is less monster and more... something else. something that makes your stomach flip.

hes twenty now, only two years older than you, but sometimes he seems so much more grown up.

hes been jays best friend since middle school, has practically grown up in your house. youve known him for years, watched him go from a skinny kid to the tall, lean man standing in front of you now.

"riki," you breathe. "hey."

"hey?" he repeats, one eyebrow arching up. he pushes off the fridge and steps closer, and you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. theyre dark in the dim light, fixed on your face with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. "thats all youve got? hey?"

"what do you want me to say?" you ask, trying to sound confident even as your voice wavers.

"how about explaining why youre down here when jay specifically told you to stay upstairs?" he stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, something woodsy and warm.

"how about telling me why youre dressed like that, looking like a little lamb wandering into a wolves den?"

"i look fine," you say, lifting your chin.

"you look..." his gaze drags down your body, slow and deliberate, from your halo to your heeled boots. he takes his time, his eyes lingering on your chest, your waist, your legs. "you look like trouble, angel. like you walked straight out of a dream and into a nightmare."

"i can handle myself," you say, but the words dont sound as certain as you want them to.

"can you?" he reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek, and you freeze. his touch is warm, calloused, and he traces the edge of your jaw with his thumb. "look at you. all dressed in white. pure and sweet and innocent. do you have any idea what half the guys down here are thinking right now? do you know what they want to do to a pretty little thing like you?"

"riki," you whisper, your face heating.

"you shouldnt be here," he says softly, his thumb moving to trace your lower lip. he makes a low sound in his throat, almost like a purr, pleased and rumbly. "jay would lose his mind. hes already looking for you, you know. asked me ten minutes ago if id seen his sister. said he saw someone in white near the stairs and got worried."

panic spikes through you. "he saw me?"

"he saw someone," riki corrects, his hand sliding down to cup your jaw. "but he doesnt know it was you. not yet. hes making the rounds, checking the bathrooms. youve got maybe five minutes before he figures it out."

"what do i do?" you ask, your voice small.

riki studies you for a long moment, his thumb stroking your cheek. then he sighs, a soft sound that seems to come from deep in his chest. "come with me," he says, taking your hand. his fingers thread through yours, easy and confident. "ill keep you safe. but you have to do what i say. can you do that, doll? can you be good for me?"

the petname sends a shiver down your spine. "yes," you whisper. "ill be good."

"thats my girl," he murmurs, and that low purr rumbles in his throat again. he leads you through the crowd.

he keeps you close, his body shielding you from view, his hand tight on yours. he navigates the party like he knows every corner, every hiding spot, pulling you into the small space between the fridge and the wall where the shadows are thickest. from here, you can see the kitchen entrance, can watch jay as he moves through the room, his vampire cape swirling around him.

"hes going to find me," you whisper, pressing yourself against the wall.

"not if i can help it," riki says. hes standing in front of you, his arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. "but if he does, you let me do the talking. you dont say a word. you just look pretty and keep your mouth shut. can you do that, sweetheart?"

"yes," you breathe, looking up at him.

"good girl," he says, and that purring sound vibrates again, deeper this time. his eyes drop to your mouth.

he leans in closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. "you know," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, "you shouldve dressed up as a doll instead of an angel. wouldve suited you better."

you pull back slightly, confused. "what?"

"a doll," he repeats, his gaze roaming over your face. "all pretty and fragile, waiting for someone to pick you up and play with you. thats what you look like, isnt it? a little doll that wandered into the wrong toy box. my pretty little doll."

the words send another shiver through you, and youre not sure if its from the air conditioning or the way hes looking at you. "thats creepy, riki."

"is it?" he laughs, a low sound that you feel more than hear, almost like a growl. "maybe. but im not wrong. you look like you need someone to take care of you. someone to keep you safe and put you back on the shelf when the games over."

"and thats you?" you ask, your voice barely audible over the music. "youre going to take care of me?"

"if you let me," he says, his eyes serious now. "if you trust me."

before you can answer, jays voice cuts through the noise, calling for heeseung, and riki blinks, pulling back slightly. "hes getting closer," he murmurs. "stay here. dont move."

he pushes away from the wall and steps into the kitchen, intercepting jay before he can get too close to your hiding spot. you cant hear what theyre saying over the music, but you see jay gesture sharply, his expression frustrated, and riki nod, clapping him on the shoulder. after a minute, jay turns and walks back toward the living room, and riki returns to you, his expression unreadable.

"what did you tell him?" you ask.

"told him i saw you upstairs, in your room, asleep," riki says, taking your hand again. "bought you some time. but hes suspicious. hes going to check eventually."

"what do we do?"

riki looks down at you, his gaze softening slightly. "we get you out of here. come on."

he leads you through the kitchen, but instead of going toward the back door, he turns toward the living room. "riki," you hiss, pulling back. "jay is in there."

"exactly," he says. "hes looking in the bathrooms, the porch, the garage. he wont expect you to be in the middle of the crowd. sometimes the best hiding spot is right in plain sight."

he pulls you into the mass of dancing bodies, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind, shielding you from view. you can feel his chest against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder as he sways with you to the music.

"just relax," he murmurs in your ear. "look like youre having fun. like you belong here."

you try to do as he says, letting your body move with his, your hips swaying to the beat. his hands stay on your waist, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against the fabric of your skirt. you feel dizzy, overwhelmed by the music and the heat and the feel of him pressed against you. you can feel something hard against your lower back, thick and heavy even through his jeans, and your face heats as you realize what it is.

"thats it, angel," he whispers, grinding slightly against you, letting you feel how big he is. "just like that. youre doing so good."

you lose track of time, dancing with him, his body guiding yours. he gets you a drink, something pink and sweet in a plastic cup, and you sip it while he keeps his arms around you, his presence a wall between you and the rest of the world. he calls you doll when he thinks youre being cute, angel when he thinks youre being naive, sweetheart when hes being tender. the names blend together, wrapping around you like a blanket.

at one point, he spins you around to face him, his hands on your hips, and you look up at him, breathless. "youre beautiful," he says, his voice barely audible over the bass. "you know that? been staring at you all night. couldnt help myself."

"riki," you breathe, your heart hammering.

"my pretty little doll," he murmurs, his forehead dropping to yours. "my sweet angel. what are you doing to me?"

you dont get a chance to answer, because thats when you hear it.

"riki."

the voice cracks through the noise like a whip, and you both freeze. jay stands at the edge of the dance floor, his vampire cape slightly askew, his eyes wide and then narrowing dangerously as he takes in the scene. you pressed against riki, his hands on your hips, your empty cup on the floor beside you.

"oh, shit," you breathe.

"jay," riki says, his voice calm, almost lazy. he doesnt move his hands from your waist. "whats up?"

"whats up?" jay strides across the floor, ignoring the people who scatter out of his way. he stops in front of you, his jaw tight. "ive been looking everywhere for you. heeseung said he saw someone in white near the stairs an hour ago. i knew it was you. i told you to stay upstairs."

"i'm sorry," you start, but jay isn't listening.

"and you," he whips around to face riki, his voice rising. "i told you. i specifically told you. if you see her, if you see my sister at this party, you bring her upstairs. immediately. thats what you said youd do."

the area around you has gone quiet, people watching the scene unfold with the morbid fascination of drunk partygoers sensing drama.

riki straightens up, finally dropping his hands from your waist. he looks at jay, then at you, then back at jay. "what do you think im doing?" he asks, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

"youre standing here dancing with her!" jay explodes. "shes drunk, riki. look at her. and youre just... youre just..."

"i'm watching her," riki says. "keeping her safe. which is more than i can say for you, since you let her wander down here in the first place."

jay opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "just... just take her upstairs. please. throw her in her room or something. i can't deal with this right now."

"gladly," riki says.

before you can process what's happening, he moves. one second hes standing beside you, the next hes bending down and his shoulder is hitting your stomach. you let out a shriek as he lifts you, his arm wrapping around your thighs to keep you steady as he straightens up, dangling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"riki!" you gasp, your face burning as you realize your skirt has ridden up, your ass practically hanging out in your white lace panties. "put me down!"

"nope," he says, his hand settling possessively on the back of your thigh, his fingers dangerously close to where your skirt ends. "orders are orders."

"riki, please," you whimper, squirming, but he just tightens his grip.

"stop moving, doll," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "unless you want everyone to see whats under that skirt."

you go still, mortified, as riki turns and carries you through the crowd. you can hear jay calling after him, something about locking you in, but the words blur together with the music and the blood rushing in your ears. riki's shoulder digs into your stomach with every step, his hand warm and firm on your thigh, and youre dizzy from the alcohol and the upside down position and the feel of his fingers so close to...

"here we are," he says, and then youre being lowered, your feet touching the floor of your bedroom. you stumble, grabbing his arm for balance, and he steadies you with a hand on your waist.

the door clicks shut behind him.

you stand there, breathing hard, your halo askew and your wings bent. your skirt is still hiked up, and you hastily tug it down, your face flaming. anger bubbles up in your chest, hot and sudden.

"why would you do that?" you demand, your voice shaking. "you said he wouldnt come over. you said wed be safe down there. i was having fun, riki. i was actually having fun for once."

riki blinks, surprised by your outburst. "y/n..."

"no," you say, backing away from him. "you promised. you said youd keep me safe and let me stay at the party. but the second jay told you to do something, you just... you just obeyed. you didnt even fight for me. you just picked me up like a child and carried me away."

"thats not fair," he says quietly.

"isnt it?" you cross your arms over your chest, your eyes pricking with tears. "i thought you were different. i thought you actually understood. but youre just like him. you just want to control me too."

riki is quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "relax," he says softly. "wouldnt you rather have fun with me alone up here, instead of downstairs and being cautious of what youre doing?"

the question catches you off guard. "what?"

"wouldnt you rather be up here," he repeats, stepping closer, "away from all those people, away from your brother watching your every move, away from having to hide and sneak around... just you and me? wouldnt you rather that, doll? no rules. no jay. just us."

you stare at him, your anger faltering. "youre staying?"

"if you want me to," he says, stopping in front of you. "i can go back down. can tell jay im checking on you, make sure youre asleep. or..." he reaches out, his fingers tracing your jaw. "or i can stay. keep you company. make sure you dont get lonely. show you how much fun we can have, just the two of us."

your breath catches. "youd do that?"

"for you?" he pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "id do anything for you, angel. havent you figured that out yet?"

you stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. the anger is gone now, replaced by something warmer, heavier. "okay," you breathe. "okay. stay."

his smile is slow, spreading across his face like honey. he makes that purring sound again, low and pleased. "thats my girl," he murmurs. "thats my good girl."

he pulls something from his back pocket with one hand and pulls out two small bottles of pink lemonade, the kind that comes in the glass bottles. then he reaches into his other pocket and produces a small baggie, the contents dark and pungent.

you eyes widen. "riki. is that...?"

"just a little something to help you relax," he says, his voice casual. "you ever smoked before, princess?"

"no," you admit. "ive been around it. but i never... i was always too scared."

"scared of what?"

"of losing control," you say quietly. "of doing something stupid."

riki is quiet for a moment. then he squeezes you gently. "you wont do anything stupid," he says. "not with me here. ill take care of you. i wont let anything bad happen. you trust me?"

you think about it. you think about all the years hes been in your life, all the times hes been kind to you, protective of you. you think about the way he looks at you, like youre precious, like youre his.

"yes," you whisper. "i trust you."

"good," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "thats my sweet girl. well start slow, okay? just a little. enough to take the edge off."

he finds your lighter in your desk drawer, the one you use for candles, and rolls the blunt with practiced fingers. he lights it, the tip glowing orange, and holds it to your lips.

"just inhale a little," he instructs. "hold it. let it out slow."

you do as he says, the smoke burning your throat, making you cough. he laughs softly, a warm sound that vibrates against your back, and rubs circles on your arm.

"easy," he murmurs. "try again. smaller this time."

the second hit is easier, and by the third, youre holding the smoke in your lungs like he showed you, letting it out in a slow stream toward the ceiling. he takes a hit himself, his chest expanding against your back, and then offers it to you again.

"time for a drink," he says, opening one of the bottles and handing it to you. "thisll help with the burn."

you sip, the sweet liquid coating your throat, and he opens his own bottle. the two of you pass the blunt back and forth, sipping your drinks, and slowly the tension drains from your body. you feel floaty, warm, safe in the circle of his arms.

"how you feeling, angel?" he asks, his lips brushing your ear.

"good," you sigh, your head lolling back against his shoulder. "really good."

"yeah?" his hand slides down your arm, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "you look good. look relaxed. look pretty."

"you think im pretty?" you ask, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

"i think youre beautiful," he says, his voice serious. "think youre the prettiest girl ive ever seen. been thinking about you for years, you know. watching you grow up. waiting."

"waiting for what?"

"for you to be ready," he says. his hand moves to your thigh, his fingers tracing the hem of your skirt. "for you to want me like i want you."

your breath catches. "you want me?"

"so bad," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he makes a low growling sound, like a puma staking claim. "so fucking bad, doll. you have no idea. seeing you tonight, in this little outfit... do you know how hard it was not to drag you out of that party the second i saw you? how hard it was to keep my hands off you?"

"why did you?" you ask, turning your head to look at him. "why didnt you just...?"

"because youre jays sister," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "because youre younger. because you deserve better than some guy pawing at you in a dark corner. but mostly..." he swallows hard. "mostly because i wanted you to choose me. not because you were drunk or scared or caught up in the moment. but because you really wanted me."

"i do want you," you whisper, the words coming out braver than you feel. "i choose you, riki. i want you."

his eyes darken, his hand tightening on your thigh. "you dont know what youre saying, baby. youre high. youre drunk."

"i know exactly what im saying," you insist, turning more fully in his lap so youre facing him, your knees on either side of his hips. "i want you, riki. ive wanted you for so long. please."

for a moment, he just stares at you, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling rapidly. then he groans, a sound torn from deep in his chest, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a kiss.

its not gentle. its not sweet. its hungry, desperate, his tongue pushing past your lips to taste you, his fingers tangling in your hair, knocking your halo to the floor. you whimper into his mouth, your hands clutching his shoulders, and he growls, standing up with you in his arms.

he carries you the three steps to your bed and drops you onto it, following you down, his body pressing you into the mattress. he kisses you until you cant breathe, his hands roaming over your body, pushing your wings aside, tugging at the zipper of your costume.

"wait," you gasp as he drags his mouth down your neck. "riki, wait. ive never... i mean, i have, but only once. and it was... it wasnt good. i dont really know what im doing. im sorry."

he pauses immediately, lifting his head to look at you. his pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen, but his expression is soft. tender. "hey," he says, his voice gentle. he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "hey, its okay. its okay, princess. well go slow. ill take care of you. i promise."

"okay," you breathe, your heart slowing slightly. "okay. just... tell me what to do."

"ill tell you everything," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your nose, your lips. "ill show you. just relax for me. can you do that? can you relax and let me make you feel good?"

"yes," you whisper. "yes, please."

"good girl," he says, his smile sweet. "such a good girl for me."

he sits back on his heels and slowly, carefully, peels your costume off you. the zipper slides down, the fabric parting, and he lifts it over your head, leaving you in just your white lace bra and panties. his breath hitches, his gaze raking over you with something like reverence.

"look at you," he breathes. "fuck, baby. look at you."

you try to cover yourself, embarrassed, but he catches your wrists, pinning them gently to your sides. "dont hide from me," he says softly. "youre perfect. so perfect. let me look at you, angel. please."

you let your arms fall, letting him see you, and his eyes darken even more. he leans down, pressing kisses to your collarbone, the swell of your breast, the valley between them. he unhooks your bra with one hand, tossing it aside, and then his mouth is on your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh until youre arching off the bed, moaning his name.

"riki, please," you whimper, your hips bucking up, seeking friction.

"what do you want, sweetheart?" he asks, his hand sliding down your stomach, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. "tell me. use your words."

"i want you inside me," you gasp, the words shocking you even as you say them. "please, riki. i need you. i need you so bad."

he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he makes that purring sound again, deep and rumbling, vibrating against your skin. "fuck. okay. okay, baby. ive got you."

he strips quickly, his shirt and jeans and boxers hitting the floor in a pile, and you stare, your mouth going dry. hes beautiful, all lean muscle and smooth skin, and between his legs... your eyes go wide. hes huge, thick and long and heavy against his stomach, standing hard and proud. youve never seen anything like it. the guy youd been with before was nothing compared to this.

riki catches you staring and smirks, that cocky grin youve seen him give jay when he wins at video games. "like what you see, doll?" he asks, his voice dripping with confidence. he wraps his hand around himself, stroking slowly, showing off. "yeah, im big. bigger than you expected, isnt that right?"

you nod, unable to tear your eyes away. "riki, i dont know if... if youll fit..."

"ill fit," he says, his voice low and sure. "trust me, angel. ill make you take every inch. gonna stretch you out so good. gonna make you feel me for days." he crawls back over you, his cock dragging against your thigh, hot and heavy. "you want that? want me to fill you up? make you feel how big i am inside you?"

"yes," you whimper, your face flaming at his words. "please."

he reaches out tentatively, your fingers wrapping around him, and he hisses, his hips jerking forward. hes thick in your hand, impossibly so, and you stroke him slowly, marveling at the size of him.

"careful, doll," he grits out, but hes smirking, clearly loving the attention. "been dreaming about this for too long. wont last if you keep that up. especially not with your pretty little hands on me like that."

"sorry," you whisper, pulling your hand back.

"no," he says, catching your wrist. "dont be sorry. touch me. i want you to touch me. just... go slow. gotta get you ready first. dont want to hurt you."

you wrap your hand around him again, stroking slowly, watching his face. he groans, his eyes falling closed, that purr rumbling in his chest.

"thats it," he breathes. "just like that, baby. youre doing so good."

he lets you explore for a few minutes, his hips rocking into your touch, his breath coming faster. then he gently removes your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm.

"lay back," he says softly. "spread your legs for me, angel. let me see you."

you do as he says, lying back against your pillows, your thighs falling open. he kneels between them, his hands sliding up your legs, his thumbs hooking in your panties. he drags them down slowly, his eyes locked on yours, and tosses them aside.

"beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your most intimate place. "so beautiful. so perfect. youre wet for me, arent you, doll? wet and ready?"

"yes," you whimper, your face flaming. "please, riki. please touch me."

"im going to do more than touch you," he says, his voice rough. he lowers his head, his tongue dragging up your center, and you cry out, your back bowing off the bed. he eats you like hes starving, his tongue circling your clit, his fingers pressing inside you, curling to find that spot that makes you see stars. he adds another finger, stretching you, preparing you for his size.

"riki, riki, please," you chant, your hands fisting in his hair, your hips rolling against his mouth.

"you taste so sweet," he murmurs against you, the vibration making you gasp. "just like i knew you would. my little angel. my pretty doll. my perfect baby."

he keeps going, his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue relentless, until youre teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling. "gonna come," you warn, your voice high and breathy.

"come for me," he commands, his fingers curling harder, his tongue flicking faster. "come on my tongue, doll. let me taste you. give it to me, sweetheart."

you shatter, crying out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. he doesnt stop, working you through it, his mouth gentling as you come down, his hands stroking your thighs, your hips, anywhere he can reach.

when you finally go limp, he crawls up your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "good girl," he whispers. "so good for me. you did so good, baby. now youre ready for me. ready to take all of me."

"please," you whimper, your hands tugging at his shoulders. "please, riki. i need you inside me. please."

he reaches over the side of the bed, grabbing his jeans and pulling out his wallet. he extracts a foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth, and you watch, fascinated, as he rolls the condom down his length. even sheathed, he looks massive, and a flutter of nervousness goes through you.

"you sure?" he asks, positioning himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. "tell me if it hurts. well stop. we can stop anytime, okay?"

"i dont want to stop," you say, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i want you. please."

he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. hes big, so big, filling you up until you feel like you might split apart. you gasp, your nails digging into his back, and he pauses, his jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead.

"okay?" he asks, his voice strained. "fuck, youre tight. so fucking tight around me, doll."

"yes," you breathe. "dont stop. please dont stop. youre so big, riki..."

"i know," he says, that cocky smirk back on his face. "feels good though, doesnt it? feels good to be stretched out on my cock? tell me how it feels, baby. tell me how big i am inside you."

"so big," you whimper, your head falling back. "youre so big. i can feel you everywhere."

"thats right," he groans, starting to move. "gonna make you take it all. gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name."

he starts moving, slow thrusts that gradually speed up as you relax around him. he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, and you moan, your head falling back against the pillow.

"there?" he asks, his voice rough.

"there," you confirm, your hands gripping his arms. "right there, riki. harder. please, harder."

he obliges, his hips snapping forward, driving into you with force that makes the bed creak. the room fills with the sounds of skin on skin, your moans, his grunts, the wet slide of him moving inside you. he makes that low purring growl with every thrust, the sound rumbling in his chest like a puma claiming its mate.

"you feel so good," he groans, his forehead dropping to yours. "so tight. so perfect. fuck, y/n. been dreaming about this. about you. my pretty little doll. my sweet angel. you taking my cock so good, baby. look at you. look how well you take me."

his hand finds your throat, his fingers wrapping around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just holding, and you gasp, your inner muscles fluttering around him.

"like that?" he asks, his thumb stroking your pulse point. "you like my hand here, baby?"

"yes," you whimper, the feeling of being held, being controlled, sending sparks of pleasure through you. "please. a little tighter, please."

his fingers tighten, just enough to restrict your airflow, and the world narrows to the point where hes touching you, where hes inside you, where hes holding you. you feel safe, cherished, owned. he growls, low and possessive, the sound vibrating through both of you.

"youre mine," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. "this tight little pussy is mine now. say it. say youre mine, doll. say you belong to me."

"i'm yours," you gasp, your second orgasm building fast, coiling tight in your belly. "riki, i'm yours. please. please, i need to come. please let me come."

"come with me," he demands, his hand tightening just a fraction more. he makes that purring sound again, deep and constant now, like a cat thats found its favorite spot. "come on my cock, baby. now. squeeze me tight. let me feel you."

you explode, your vision whiting out, your whole body convulsing around him. he keeps fucking you through it, his hand finally leaving your throat to grip your hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. he thrusts twice more, three times, and then hes coming too, his head thrown back, a growl tearing from his throat as he spills into the condom.

he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot and fast against your neck. for a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant thump of the party downstairs.

"are you okay?" he finally asks, his voice muffled against your skin. he lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. "did i hurt you? was i too rough?"

"no," you say, your voice hoarse. you touch your throat, feeling the phantom pressure of his fingers. "that was... that was perfect. you were perfect."

he smiles, soft and sweet, and presses a kiss to your forehead. he purrs, low and content, nuzzling against your neck. "good," he murmurs. "thats good, angel. you did so good for me. took me so well. my good girl."

he pulls out carefully, tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash can by your desk. he finds his boxers and pulls them on, then grabs your discarded costume, using the soft fabric to gently clean between your thighs. you blush, trying to close your legs, but he tsks, his hands gentle but firm.

"let me take care of you," he says softly. "you did so good for me. let me make you feel good after. thats my job, isnt it? taking care of my girl?"

when hes finished, he tucks you into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. he finds your discarded halo on the floor and places it on your nightstand, then sits on the edge of your bed, his hand stroking your hair.

"you should sleep," he says quietly. "youve had a long night."

"are you leaving?" you ask, your heart sinking.

"i should," he says, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. "jay will notice im gone. hell ask questions. i should go back down, make an appearance, then slip out."

your heart sinks. "no," you say, reaching out to grab his hand. "please. dont go. stay with me. i dont want to be alone."

"y/n," he sighs, his expression conflicted. "baby, i cant. your brother will..."

"please," you whisper, and your voice cracks, tears suddenly pricking at your eyes. the alcohol and the weed and the aftershocks of your orgasm have left you raw, vulnerable. "please, riki. i dont want to be alone. please stay. just until i fall asleep. please."

he stares at you, his jaw working, his hand tightening on yours. he makes a low sound, almost a whine, conflicted and wanting. "fuck," he mutters under his breath, his eyes closing. "fuck. youre killing me, you know that?"

"please," you whisper again, a tear slipping down your cheek.

he opens his eyes, and the look in them is so tender, so full of longing, that it takes your breath away. "ill just tell your brother you were tipsy and couldnt sleep alone," he mumbles, more to himself than to you. "hell understand. he has to understand."

he stands, pulling back the covers and climbing in beside you. you immediately curl into him, your head on his chest, your arm draped over his waist. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head. he purrs, low and steady, the vibration rumbling through his chest against your ear.

"thank you," you whisper, your eyes already drifting shut.

"anything for you, angel," he murmurs, his hand stroking slow circles on your back. the purring continues, a constant rumble of contentment. "anything for my girl. go to sleep now. ive got you. im right here."

"promise?" you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.

"promise," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair. he growls softly, possessive and satisfied. "im not going anywhere. ill be here when you wake up. i promise."

you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat and his purring, safe in his arms, dreaming of halos and hands around your throat and a boy who finally made you his. the party rages on downstairs, but up here, in your little room, with riki holding you close, youve never felt more at home.

⋆˚✿˖°

You looked up. “Do you know the context?”

“Does context—”

“Soo. Do you know why?”

She hesitated. “Does it change what it says?” You looked back at the screen. At the charge, the victim, the sentence. Looked at it and thought about Riki’s hands on your face that morning and felt the ground do something unsteady under you.

“I need to think,” you said.

“Y/N—”

“I’m not — I’m not dismissing it.” You pushed the phone back. “I need to think.”

You didn’t go back to Riki’s. You went home, sat on your kitchen floor with your back against the cabinets because the floor felt more than the couch right now and opened your laptop and searched.

You found the same record Soo had. Found a brief local news article from four years ago — two lines, not detailed, just his name and the charge and the outcome. You found nothing that explained why. The victim wasn’t named, the circumstances weren’t described and the article was the kind that covered the verdict and nothing else. Victim: Female, 28. You closed the laptop. Opened it again. Searched differently — Studio 13, Heeseung. You found the shop’s Instagram, four years of posts, nothing personal. Found a mention of Riki in a piercing forum, someone raving about his work, the date two years ago — which lined up with him being at the shop post-probation.

You found nothing that told you why a nineteen-year-old had put a woman in hospital badly enough to serve fourteen months. You thought about the things he’d said; I spent a long time in situations where things got taken. It’s a me thing. I’m working on it. He’d said not yet. And that meant there was something to tell. You’d known that. You’d been waiting without pushing, the way you waited for everything with him, letting him come to things in his own time. Now you had half a story and no way to read it and something cold sitting in your chest where the warmth had been this morning. He texted at six.

Riki: you good?

You stared at it. Thought about what to say. Thought about asking him directly — just asking and felt the coldness in your chest. You couldn’t. Not because you thought he’d lie but because you didn’t know what you’d do with the answer yet. Because you needed to know how you felt about the question before you heard the response.

you: yeah, just tired. going to have an early night.

A pause. Longer than usual.

Riki: okay.

Riki: you sure you’re good?

you: yeah. talk tomorrow.

Riki: okay. night Y/N.

You put your phone face down on the kitchen floor and sat in the quiet for a long time.

Monday you had a seminar at ten. You went, sat in the back, heard approximately nothing. Your pen moved across the page making notes that you’d look at later and not recognize. Daniel was across the room. You felt him looking at you twice and you did not look back. Afterwards he caught you in the corridor. “Hey,” he said. Careful. “Did Soo talk to you?”

“Yeah.” You kept walking.

“I just thought you should know—”

“Daniel.” You stopped. Turned. “Why did you look him up?”

He blinked. “I was worried about you, Y/N.”

“You were jealous,” you said. “There’s a difference.”

His jaw tightened. “I found out your boyfriend has a criminal record for assaulting a woman and I thought—”

“You thought it would change things.” You looked at him. “Between me and him. You thought I’d find out and run away from him. To you.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t.” You held his gaze. “Don’t pretend this was about me.”

You walked away. He said something behind you — your name maybe, or something else and kept walking. But the record was still there. That was the thing, whatever Daniel’s motives, the record existed. The charge existed. Victim: Female, 28 existed on a public database and you couldn’t unknow it, but you didn’t have the context to read it and every time you thought about calling Riki the coldness in your chest got in the way.

You called Ria instead. She listened without interrupting, which was how you knew she was taking it seriously. “Okay,” she said, when you finished. “What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.” You were quiet for a moment. “Scared,” you said. “I’m scared of what it means and I’m scared of asking and I’m scared of—” You stopped. “I’ve never been this far in with someone, Ria. And now there’s this thing sitting there that I don’t understand and I can’t—”

“Ask him,” Ria said.

“What if the answer is bad?”

“Then you deal with it.” Her voice was gentle. “But Y/N— you know him. You know what he’s like. Does this fit?”

You thought about everything he’d done for you in all the time you’ve known him, and god it doesn’t fit. “No,” you said. “It doesn’t fit.”

“So ask him.”

“I will,” you said. “I just need — I need a minute.”

“Okay,” Ria said. “Take your minute. But don’t take too many.”

You took too many. Three days of quieter texts and shorter replies and I’m busy’s which were technically true yet completely dishonest. Three days of Riki’s responses getting more careful, more measured, the way he got when he was reading something in the air and didn’t know what it was.

Riki: coming in Wednesday?

you: might be a bit late, I have stuff

Riki: okay

You went in at four instead of two on Wednesday. Jay handed you your coffee with a look that he converted quickly into nothing. Riki was at the counter, he looked at you when you sat down and the reading-you expression was fully deployed. Taking in the way you were sitting and the way your eyes weren’t quite landing on his and whatever else he always saw that you didn’t know you were showing. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” You wrapped your hands around the coffee.

“Late today.”

“Yeah, I had—”

“I know, you said.” He paused. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Y/N,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’ve been fine three different ways this week and none of them were actually fine.”

You looked at your coffee. “Riki—”

“Talk to me. Whatever it is. Please just— talk to me.” You looked up. His face was open and vulnerable and there was something behind his eyes that looked like it already knew something was coming. You opened your mouth. And then your phone lit up on the counter between you and you both looked at it at the same time.

Daniel: I think you deserve to know the full story from me. Can we meet?

The silence that followed was very loud. You looked at the message, then at Riki. His eyes were on the phone. On Daniel’s name, something in his face went very still. “Who’s that,” he said more controlled that was somehow more intense than loud. “Daniel,” you said.

“The guy from your seminar.”

“Yes.”

A pause. “What full story?”

You looked at him. He looked at you and you could see him doing the calculation — the name, the message, your quietness for three days, the full story — and watching it land. “Riki,” you said.

“What did he tell you.” Not a question.

“He didn’t tell me anything. He told Soo and she—”

“What did she tell you.”

You looked at him. He looked back, jaw set, eyes very dark and very steady. “I found the record,” you said. The stillness that moved across his face was different. This was recognition. The specific, braced quality of someone who had been waiting for something for a long time.

He looked at the counter yet said nothing. “Riki.” Your voice was careful. “I don’t have the full picture. I know that. I want you to—”

“What does it say.”

You sighed. “You know what it says.”

A long pause. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.” He wasn’t going to explain. You could feel it — the door closing, firmly shutting. The part of him pulling all the way back.

“Can you tell me—”

“No.”

“Riki—”

“Not right now.” He stood up from the stool. His face was even, controlled, everything locked up behind the professional expression he used for strangers. “I need to—” He stopped. “I need a minute.” He went into the back.

You sat at the counter. Jay appeared from somewhere and looked at you. His face had none of its usual brightness. “You okay?” he said quietly.

“No,” you said honestly. He sat down across from you. Didn’t say anything but just stayed.

Riki came back out ten minutes later. Stood on his side of the counter, and looked at you with the closed expression, the one you’d never seen directed at you before, only strangers. “I think you should go home,” he said.

Your chest tightened. “Riki—”

“Not forever.” His voice was careful. Controlled. “Just— I need to think.”

“We could just talk—”

“I can’t right now. I can’t do it right now, Y/N. Please.”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then you picked up your bag, your coffee and stood up. “I want to understand,” you said. “That’s all I want.”

He looked at the counter. “I know.”

“Riki. Look at me.” He looked up. And for just a second the control slipped and what was behind it was not guilt or anger, but something older than both of those. Something that looked like a person waiting. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly.

His jaw shifted. “Go home,” he said. “Please.”

And You went.

He didn’t text that night. For the first time in weeks you were met with nothing. You lay in bed and looked at your phone and thought about the expression on his face when you’d said you found the record and all the things he’d almost said that he’d swallowed back down. At midnight you texted him.

you: I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere.

The ticks went blue immediately. He was awake just no reply. You put your phone down. Outside the window the city was quiet and somewhere across it Riki was in his flat or the shop or somewhere thinking about the nineteen-year-old version of himself.

Daniel found you on Tuesday. He was waiting outside the library at half three where you’d mentioned once, weeks ago in passing, that you spent Tuesday afternoons. He’d remembered. You came out with your bag on one shoulder, headphones around your neck and saw him and stopped. “Hey,” he said like this was normal.

“Daniel. What are you doing here.”

“I wanted to talk. About Riki.”

“No.”

“Y/N—”

“You went to Soo.” You started walking. He fell into step beside you and you didn’t stop because stopping felt like giving him something. “You dug up his record and framed it as concern and sent it to my friend. That’s not—”

“He assaulted a woman.” His voice sharpened slightly. “That’s not framing, that’s what happened.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“It’s on public record—”

“The outcome is on public record.” You stopped, and faced him. “You don’t know the circumstances. You don’t know why. You know a charge and a sentence and you took it straight to Soo because you thought it would—”

You stopped yourself.

“Because I thought it would what?” he said.

You looked at him. “You know what I was going to say.”

His jaw tightened. Something moved across his face — not guilt which annoyed you even more. “I like you,” he said. “I’ve liked you for months. That’s not a crime.”

“Pursuing someone who’s told you no multiple times is a problem,” you said. “Digging up information on their partner because you’re jealous is a bigger one.”

“I’m trying to protect you—”

“I don’t need you to protect me.” Your voice came out harder than you intended. “I need you to stop. Okay? Just stop.” You walked away. He didn’t follow but you felt him watching you go and it sat uncomfortably between your shoulder blades the whole way to the bus stop.

On Wednesday you went in to Studio 13 at two, your normal time. Trying to act like the last week hadn’t happened, like you could walk back into the shop and sit at the counter and it would just reset. Jay was at the front. He looked up when you came in. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” You unwound your scarf. “Is he—”

“In the back.” Jay paused. “He’s been — he’s fine. Just— you know.” You didn’t know, exactly, but you nodded like you did.

Riki came through from the back three minutes later. He saw you and he came to the counter, sat on his stool and looked at you across the surface that had always been a comfortable distance but felt like too much of one now. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” You sat. Wrapped your hands around the coffee Jay had already put in front of you. “How was your week?”

“Fine.” A pause. “Your?.”

“Fine.” The word sat between you. You looked at him. He looked at you. “Riki,” you said. “We can’t just—” You stopped. Started again. “I don’t want to sit here and say fine to each other.” His jaw shifted. “I know.”

“Then talk to me.”

“I’m not—” He stopped. His thumb pressed against the counter. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“It’s been a week.”

“I know how long it’s been.”

“Riki—”

“I’m not ready. I need more time.”

You looked at him. “How much more time?” He didn’t answer. You picked up your coffee. “Okay. Okay, take your time. But I need you to know that I’m still—”

“I know,” he said. Fast. Like he needed to cut that sentence off before it finished, like hearing it would make the shutting-down harder.

Across the shop Jay was doing something very focused with a drawer. “I saw Daniel today,” you said. You didn’t plan to, it just came out. Riki went very still.

“Where?” he said.

“Outside the library. He was waiting.”

“He was waiting for you?”

“Yes.”

“He knew you’d be there.”

“I mentioned it once, weeks ago. He remembered.” The silence that followed was the specific kind that Riki produced when something was being held very tightly. His hands were flat on the counter, jaw was set and his eyes had gone somewhere dark and focused.

“What did he say,” he said. Each word careful.

“The same things. That he was concerned. That you—” You stopped.

“That I what?”

You looked at him. “That I should be careful.” Riki’s hands pressed harder against the counter. His rings scraped against the surface.

“He’s going to keep doing this,” he said quietly.

“I can handle Daniel.”

“I know you can handle him.” His voice was still controlled but something was pushing at the edges of it. “That’s not—” He stopped. Exhaled. “He’s going to keep putting himself in front of you and saying things and I can’t say anything because we’re—” He gestured vaguely at the space between you.

“We’re what?” you said quietly.

He looked at you and the something that was usually behind his eyes was right there — the possessive, the quietly desperate thing that he usually kept on a short leash. Except the leash was frayed right now, between the record and the distance and Daniel and all of it. “I don’t know what we are right now,” he said which was raw and honest and meant more than anything right now. But but landed like something physical.

“We’re the same thing we were two weeks ago,” you said. “Nothing changed that.”

“Something changed,” he said. “You went quiet.”

“Because I found out something and didn’t know what to do with it.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last word and you hated it. “I didn’t go quiet because I wanted to leave. I went quiet because I was scared and I didn’t know. I was waiting for you to—” You stopped.

He was looking at you. Fully, openly, the guard down for a second. “Waiting for me to what?” he said.

“Tell me yourself,” you said. “Whatever it is. Just tell me yourself.”

His guard came back up. His eyes went to the counter, leaving yours. “I can’t,” he said.

“Riki—”

“Not yet.” Still looking at the counter. “I’m sorry. I’m not — it’s not you. I just can’t—”

“Okay,” you said your voice steadier than you expected. “Okay. That’s okay.” It wasn’t okay. You both knew it wasn’t okay but you didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t push him further behind the wall. You were scared, actually scared of what would happen if you pushed too hard.

You stayed for an hour despite everything and the conversation found easier ground eventually. You talked and it was almost normal but underneath it the almost-normal was sad. When you left he walked you to the door. “Y/N,” he said. A pause. “I’m not — I’m trying to figure out how to—” He stopped, started again. “Give me some time.”

“I’m giving you time,” you said. “I’ve been giving you time.”

“I know.” His jaw. “I know you have. I just need—”

“Riki.” Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. “I’m scared.”

He went very still. “Of what? Of me?” he said quietly.

“No. Of this.” You gestured at the space between you. “Of the distance. Of you not letting me in.” Your voice was steady but only barely. “I’ve never—” You stopped. “I’ve never let someone matter this much to me before and I don’t know what to do when it gets complicated. You’re shutting me out but I still don’t have the full story and Daniel keeps—”

You felt his hands before you saw him move. He crossed and his hands came to your face, palms at your jaw, tilting you up. He looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before, open and wrecked and raw. “Hey,” he said. “I’m here. I’m right here.” His thumbs moved across your cheekbones.

“You’ve been far away all week.”

“I know.” His forehead dropped to yours. “I know. I’m sorry.” You put your hands on his wrists, holding on. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, like he needed you to hear it. “I need you to know that. Whatever the record says, whatever Daniel tells people. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

“I know that,” you said and you did, you knew deep down he would never hurt you. But that wasn’t your fear.

“Then what is it?” he said.

“I told you.” You looked up at him. “I’m scared of losing this. Of you shutting down so far that I can’t reach you.”

“I do that,” he said. “Shut people out. I know I do that. I’m—” He exhaled. “I’m trying not to.” You looked at each other in the doorway of Studio 13 in the dark and the cold. He kissed your forehead, his mouth there for a moment. “Come back Friday. I’ll talk. Or I’ll try.”

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay.” He pulled back. His hands dropped slowly from your face like he didn’t want to let go. “Text me when you’re home.”

“Yeah.” You walked away and made a point of not looking back.

—

Daniel was in your seminar, this was normal he was always in your seminar. But he kept looking at you throughout and after when the room emptied he cut across to you before you reached the door. “Y/N. Just listen.” He held his hands up. “Two minutes. That’s all.”

You stopped because causing a scene in the seminar room felt worse than two minutes. “Fine.”

“I know you’re angry,” he said. “About Soo. About me going to her. I get it.” He paused. “But I need you to know that what I found. It’s real. He went to jail for hitting a woman, he put her in hospital. And you’re scared of losing him, of course you are. But what if that’s not the thing you should be scared of?”

You looked at him. “You don’t know him,” you said.

“Neither do you. You said yourself you don’t have the full story.”

“That’s between me and him.”

“What if there is no full story?” His voice was quiet, almost gentle, the worst version of this because it sounded like concern. “What if the record is the story?”

Your stomach turned over not because you believed him but because the fear was already there. He’d found it and pressed on it and you hated him for it. “I need you to leave me alone. I mean it. Stop waiting for me, stop texting Soo, stop — just stop.”

“Y/N—”

“Stop, Daniel.” Your voice came out hard. “I’m not asking.” You left. You were halfway across campus when you heard footsteps behind you. Fast ones. You turned and there was Daniel, walking fast to catch up, hands in his pockets, that stupid earnest expression.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay—”

“I’m fine—”

“You don’t look fine—”

“Daniel.” You stopped walking. “What is this? What do you think is going to happen here?”

“I think you’re in a relationship with someone dangerous and you’re too close to him to see it—”

“You don’t know anything about him—”

“I know what he did—”

“You know a charge on a database.” Your voice was rising but you didn’t care anymore. “You know nothing. You don’t know him, you don’t know his life, you don’t know why—” You stopped. “And even if you did this isn’t about protecting me. This is about you not being able to handle that I’m not interested in you.”

His jaw tightened. Something flickered in his eyes. “I’m trying to help,” he said.

“You’re not. Stay away from me. Please.” You walked away. This time he didn’t follow. Your hands were shaking slightly by the time you reached the bus stop and you stood in the cold, breathed and thought about what he’d said — what if the record is the story — and felt your fear do something in your chest.

You called Ria from the bus. “Daniel cornered me again,” you said when she picked up.

“What?” Her voice sharpened. “Where?”

“Campus. Twice just now.” You pressed your forehead against the cold window. “He followed me out of the seminar building.”

“Y/N, you need to tell Riki.”

“Riki and I are barely—”

“I don’t care.” Her voice was firm. “You need to tell him. Not because he needs to fix it but because you’re scared and he should know. He should be there for you.”

You were quiet for a moment. “What if it makes things between us worse. He’s already—”

“This thing with Riki is separate from a guy following you around campus,” Ria said. “Tell him.” Y

ou looked out the window at the city going by. “He said what if the record is the story,” you said quietly.

Ria was quiet for a moment. “Do you believe that?”

You thought about Riki’s hands on your face last night. Your Riki. “No,” you said. “I don’t believe it.”

“Then don’t let Daniel put it in your head.”

“But It’s already in my head.”

“I know.” Her voice softened. “But you know him, Y/N. You know Riki, know what he’s like. Hold onto that.”

You went to Studio 13 at six on Friday like he’d asked. The shop was quieter in the evening, winding down, the last client of the day leaving as you arrived. Jay waved on his way out, Sunghoon nodded. Then it was just you and Heeseung in his office and Riki at the front counter. He looked up, hit face when he saw you was careful, prepared. Like he’d been thinking about this all day and had gotten himself to a place where he was going to try. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” He came around the counter, all the way to you and put his hands on your face, looked at you for a long moment. “You okay?” he said. “You look—”

“Daniel followed me today,” you said.

Everything in him went still. “What.”

“After my seminar. He cornered me in the building and then followed me out across campus.” You kept your voice steady. “I told him to leave me alone. He did eventually. But—”

“He followed you.” His voice was very quiet. Very even.

“Yes.”

His hands were still on your face, jaw was set. His eyes had gone somewhere very dark. “Are you okay?” he said.

“I’m fine. A bit shaken.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No. He was — he kept saying he was concerned. That he was trying to help.” You looked at Riki’s face. “He said—” You stopped. You looked at Riki. “He said that what if the record is the story,” you said. “What if there’s no explanation. What if that’s just — what you are.”

The silence that followed was very loud. Riki’s hands dropped from your face and he stepped back. The loss of his hands was immediate and cold. He looked at you. “Do you believe that,” he said. Quiet and careful.

“No,” you said immediately. “No, Riki, I don’t—”

“But it’s in your head.”

“He put it there—”

“But it’s there.” He looked at the counter. Away from you. His jaw was set hard now and his hands were at his sides and something had closed up in his expression that hadn’t been there a minute ago.

“Riki, look at me—”

“I think—” He stopped then started again. “I think I need to tell you. About what happened.” He said it like it cost him something just to get to the edge of it. “I’ve been trying to get there all week and I keep—” He stopped again.

“Take your time,” you said softly.

He looked at you. “I had a brother,” he said. “Have. He’s older. He married young, and had two kids.His wife— she had a temper and it was bad for a long time before I knew how bad. The kids were young.” You went very still. “I found out that she’d been hitting them,” he said. “Found out what she’d been doing. Not from him but from the kids. From things I saw. The marks and bruises on them.” His jaw moved. “I went there. I wasn’t— I wasn’t thinking. I just went there and it happened and I don’t—” He looked at the wall. “I don’t regret it. I should probably regret it but I don’t.”

“Riki,” you said quietly.

“I pled guilty.” His voice was flat now, the way it got when he was keeping emotion at arm’s length through sheer force. “Didn’t want the kids to have to testify, to have it go longer. So I pled guilty and I did the time and I came here. Heeseung gave me a chair and that’s— that’s the story.”

The shop was completely quiet. You looked at him, he was looking at the wall. His profile, the set jaw, his earrings catching the light. A nineteen-year-old who had walked into a situation to protect two small children and paid fourteen months for it and never defended himself publicly because defending himself would have meant the kids had to stand up in a courtroom. “Riki,” you said.

“You don’t have to—”

“Come here,” you said. He looked at you. You crossed the space between you. Put your hands on his face the way he always did to you and tilted his face down toward yours. “Listen to me,” you said. He looked at you, his eyes dark and tired. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I need you to hear that.”

His jaw moved under your hands. “I heard you the first time,” he said.

“I know. I’m saying it again.” You held his face. “I’m sorry it took me this long to ask. I’m sorry I went quiet instead of just—”

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.” His hands came up and covered yours on his face. “You found half a story and you were scared. That’s— that’s allowed.”

You looked at each other. Then he pulled you in with both arms around you, your face against his chest, his chin on top of your head and he held on. You felt him exhale, long and slow and releasing. “I’ve got you,” you said into his chest. His arms tightened.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

You stayed until midnight. Heeseung appeared at some point, looked at the two of you on the back room couch, and said nothing but made two cups of tea, left them on the counter. You didn’t talk about Daniel. You didn’t talk about the record. You talked about other things — small things, and his hand was in your hair and your legs were across his and the distance of the last week had mostly closed. Mostly. “He’s going to keep coming,” Riki said quietly into the dark. “Daniel.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I really don’t like it.” His hand moved in your hair. Slow. “I’m going to need you to tell me when he does it. Every time.”

“Riki—”

“Every time,” he said. Not asking. You looked up at him. His jaw was set. His eyes were on the ceiling.

“Okay. Every time.” You said.

“Okay.” His hand kept moving. “And I’m going to need you to not shut me out when you’re scared. I know I do it. I know I’m doing it right now to some extent. But I can’t—” He stopped. “I can’t have you going quiet for a week again. It’s— It’s bad. For me. I don’t do well with it.”

“I know,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m sor—” You stopped. “Okay.” He looked down at you. The corner of his mouth moved. A smile. Although small and tired but real. You pressed your face into his chest. “We’re okay,” you said.

His arm tightened around you. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re okay.”

But Daniel had planted something. You felt it that night on the bus home — not about Riki, not about the record, you believed him completely and that wasn’t the issue. It was the other thing Daniel had said, the quieter thing: you’re too close to see it.

You were close. That was true. Closer than you’d ever been to anyone. Close enough that a week of distance had felt like something being removed from your chest. Close enough that his hands on your face in the shop doorway had steadied you more than anything you’d told yourself all week. That was a lot to be. For someone. You sat with it on the bus and didn’t know what to do with it and got home and texted him.

you: home safe.

Riki: good.

Riki: I’m glad you came tonight.

You stared at that for a long time.

you: me too.

You put your phone on the charger. Lay in the dark. The fear was quieter now. But Daniel was still out there.

—

Daniel tried again on a Monday. Not on campus this time. That was the thing that made your stomach drop when you saw him in the coffee shop two streets from your flat. The one you went to every Monday morning before your seminar, the one you’d never mentioned to him, which meant he’d either followed you or asked around, and both options sat badly. You were at the counter waiting for your order when you felt someone beside you. Daniel.

“Hey,” he said, like his was an accident.

You looked at him for a long moment. “How do you know I come here?”

A pause. Just long enough. “I didn’t. Coincidence.”

“Daniel.”

“I just wanted to—”

“No.” You picked up your coffee when it appeared and turned to face him fully. “This is the coffee shop near my flat. You’ve never been here before. This isn’t a coincidence and we both know it.” You kept your voice low and even. “This needs to stop.”

“I’m not doing anything—”

“You’re showing up everywhere I am.” Your hand tightened around your cup. “That’s something.”

His face did the earnest thing. The concerned thing. The thing that was starting to make your skin crawl because it looked like caring and absolutely wasn’t. “I’m worried about you,” he said. “After everything I found out—”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“He has a violent history, Y/N. He put a woman in hospital. And I know you think you know him but—”

“I do know him.” Your voice was steady. “I know the full story. Which is more than you do.”

Something shifted in his face. “What full story?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“So he told you something. Something that made it okay.” He said it like it was naive, like you were a person who’d been talked into something. “Don’t you think that’s convenient? That he has an explanation that—”

“Daniel.” You looked at him. “I need you to hear me. This is the last time I’m saying it directly, so listen.” You held his gaze. “I am not interested in you. I am with Riki. I know who he is. What you’re doing — the waiting, the following, the texts to Soo, my friend. It’s not concern. It’s harassment. And if you do it again I’m going to make a formal complaint to the university.”

His face went through several things. “I’m trying to help you,” he said, the performance dropping slightly.

“You’re not,” you said. “Goodbye, Daniel.” You left.

You told Riki that evening. Every time, you’d agreed. You texted him from the bus.

you: Daniel was at the coffee shop near my flat this morning. Not a coincidence. I told him if he does it again I’m going to the university.

Riki: which coffee shop

you: the one on Mercer St. why?

Riki: okay. you alright?

you: fine. annoyed. he’s getting bolder.

Riki: I know. Come in tonight?

you: yeah. see you at 7.

The session that evening was fine. Better than fine — easier than it had been in weeks, the distance of the last fortnight mostly gone, his hand finding yours across the counter, Jay pointedly finding somewhere else to be. Riki was quieter than usual though. Not the bad quiet — not the shut-down, wall-up quiet. More like thinking quiet. The kind where something was moving behind his eyes and he was letting it move without acting on it. You noticed.

You left at ten. He kissed you at the door, thorough and warm, his hands on your face. “Text me when you’re home,” he said.

“Always,” you said.

—

You didn’t find out what happened until Tuesday afternoon. Ria called you while you were in the library. You declined it — library, silent zone and she immediately texted.

Ria: call me NOW

Ria: Y/N I’m serious

Ria: IT’S RIKI

You packed your bag and went outside and called her. “What happened,” you said.

“Okay.” Her voice was weird. Controlled in the way of someone managing their own reaction. “So Jake told me. Apparently last night after you left, Riki— Riki went to find Daniel.”

You stopped walking. “He what,” you said.

“He found out where Daniel lives — I don’t know how, someone at the university probably, Jay has a friend who—” She stopped. “That’s not the point. The point is he went there and Daniel opened the door and Riki— he hit him, Y/N. More than once apparently. Daniel’s got a split lip and a bruised eye and he’s telling people Riki attacked him.”

The street was very loud suddenly. Or maybe it was just that everything in your head had gone very quiet. “Is Riki—” you started.

“He’s fine. Nothing came back on him, Daniel didn’t call the police but Y/N he just—” Ria’s voice was frustrated and worried in equal measure. “He went and beat up a university student.”

You stood on the pavement outside the library and felt something cold move through you. Not fear of Riki. That wasn’t it, that wasn’t what the cold was. It was something else, something that understood exactly what he’d done and why and was still furious about it. “Where is he now?” you said.

“The shop, I think.”

“I’ll call you later, Ria.” You hung up and started walking in the direction of the shop. Then you pulled up Riki’s name.

you: I need you to tell me what you did last night.

Riki: I handled it.

you: That’s not an answer.

Riki: Come in. We’ll talk.

you: Tell me now.

Riki: I went to see Daniel.

you: And?

Riki: And I made sure he understood.

Studio 13 at four in the afternoon and the shop was quiet, midweek lull. Jay looked up when you came in and the expression on his face was complicated — not quite guilty, not quite sorry, somewhere in between. You looked at him. “Did you know,” you said.

“After,” Jay said carefully. “I found out after.”

“Where is he.” Jay nodded toward the back. Riki was in the piercing section. Cleaning equipment, routine, his back to the door. He heard you come in and turned. His face when he saw you was not defensive but resigned. Like he’d known this was coming since last night and had been waiting for it. His right hand, you noticed. The knuckles slightly swollen.

“Hey,” he said.

“Don’t hey me.” You crossed your arms. “What did you do.”

“What I told you. I went to see him.”

“You went to his house, Riki. You went to his house and you hit him. More than once.”

“Yes.” You looked at him. He looked back, steady, not apologizing, not performing remorse he didn’t feel. “He was following you, showing up at your coffee shop. He was—”

“I know what he was doing.” Your voice came out harder than you meant. “I was handling it.”

“He wasn’t stopping.”

“So your solution was to go beat him up.” You exhaled. “Riki—”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“You can’t just—” You pressed your fingers to your mouth for a second. “You just proved everything he’s been saying. You know that? He’s been telling people you’re dangerous, that you have a violent history, and now he has a split lip and a black eye and he can point to it and say see—”

Something moved across Riki’s face. Not guilt — something more complicated than guilt. An awareness, maybe. “I know,” he said.

“You know?”

“I knew when I went.” He said it quietly. “I went anyway.”

You stared at him. “How is that— how does that make any sense to you?”

“He was going to keep doing it.” His voice was even but there was something underneath it, something that had been building since the first time you’d mentioned Daniel’s name. “He was escalating. You said you were handling it and I believe you were handling it but I couldn’t—” He stopped. “I couldn’t sit here and keep hearing about it and do nothing.”

“So you did that.”

“Yes.”

“Riki.” You looked at him. “He could call the police. He could go to the university. You have a record. If he presses charges—”

“I know the risk. I calculated it.”

“And you went anyway.”

“Yes.”

You looked at him for a long moment. The complete absence of regret in his face, which was its own kind of infuriating. “I’m not scared of you,” you said. “I want to be clear about that. This isn’t me being scared of you. I’m furious with you. You had no right—”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

“Then why—”

“Because he was scaring you.” His voice was still controlled but something had pushed through at the edges. “Because you went to a coffee shop near your flat and he was there, you texted me and I could feel it even through the screen — that you were done, that you were shaken. I sat here last night after you left and I thought about him being anywhere near you and I—” He stopped. Pressed his lips together. “I made a bad decision. I know that.”

“A bad decision.” You repeated it. “A very bad decision.”

His eyes met yours. “I’m not going to pretend I regret going. I regret the way it looks for you. I regret what it hands him. I don’t regret that he’s not going to come near you again.”

You looked at the ceiling briefly. Looked back. “You don’t get to do that,” you said. “You don’t get to make decisions about my safety that—”

“I know.”

“Stop saying I know like that makes it—”

“What do you want me to say?” His voice was still even but something had frayed at the edge of it. “I went. I’m not made of the right stuff to sit here and do nothing when someone is— “ He stopped. “When someone is scaring you and escalating and I can feel it every time you text me about it, the way it’s getting into your head—”

“That’s not your call to make—”

“No.” He took a breath. “No, it’s not. You’re right. It’s not my call.” He looked at the counter. “I’m wired wrong in this specific way, Y/N. I know that. I’m not using it as an excuse. I’m just — that’s what happened and I can’t undo it.” You stood there. The fury was still there. Real and solid and not going anywhere. But underneath it was the other thing — the thing that understood, even while it was furious, that he had sat in this shop after you left and thought, something in him had simply decided and moved, the way he moved toward everything he cared about.

That didn’t make it right. It didn’t make it safe — for him, for you, for the situation Daniel could now build out of this. But it was him, completely nd entirely him. “Sit down,” you said. He sat. You stayed standing with arms still crossed. “Daniel could go to the police, the university. Could use this to make the narrative about you instead of what he was doing. You understand that.”

“Yes.”

“If he does — you have to let me handle it. You don’t go near him again.”

“Agreed.”

“I mean it, Riki.”

“I know you mean it.” He looked up at you. “I won’t go near him again. There won’t be a next time. Not like this. And if there is a next time I come to you first,” he said. “Before I do anything. I come to you and we handle it together. I can’t promise the feeling goes away but I can promise what I do with it.”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then you uncrossed your arms and sat down across from him. “Your hand,” you said.

He looked at his knuckles. “It’s fine.”

“Let me see.” He put his hand on the counter. You took it — turned it over, examined the swelling across the knuckles, pressed gently to check nothing was broken. His fingers curled slightly around yours when you touched the worst of it. “You’re lucky nothing’s cracked,” you said.

“I’m aware.”

“Idiot,” you said.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” You held his hand on the counter between you.

“I’m still furious,” you said. “This isn’t — me holding your hand isn’t me saying it’s okay. It was a terrible decision.”

“Genuinely terrible,” he agreed.

“With real consequences that we will have to deal with.”

“Yes.”

You looked at his face. The evenness of it, the acceptance. No defensiveness, no excuses beyond the one real one. “I’m going to be annoyed about this for a while,” you said. “And you’re going to have to actually talk to me when things like this are building. Before they get to the point where you go do something like this.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know. I’m working on it.”

“Work faster,” you said.

The corner of his mouth moved. Just barely. “Okay,” he said. You looked down at his hand in yours. His rings and swollen knuckles.

“He’s going to use this,” you said quietly. “Whatever happens next, he’s going to use it. And when he does it’s going to look exactly like what he’s been saying. That you’re dangerous. That I should be scared.”

“I know.” His hand turned under yours. His fingers between yours. “Are you? Scared.”

You looked up at him. “No,” you said. “I’m not scared of you. But I’m scared of what this opens up. I’m scared of what Daniel does with it. I’m scared of what people think when they hear it. I’m scared of—” You stopped. “You could have just proved his whole narrative and I don’t know how to—”

“Hey.” His hand tightened around yours. “We deal with what comes. Okay?”

“Together,” you said. “We deal with it together.” From the front of the shop Jay appeared in the doorway, took one look at your joined hands and Riki’s face and your face, and retreated without a word. You sat at the piercing station with Riki’s hand in yours and the red light low and the playlist drifting through the walls and the storm that Daniel was going to build out of this sitting somewhere on the horizon. It was coming. You just didn’t know yet what shape it would take.

It took four days. Friday afternoon, your phone lit up with a number you didn’t recognize. You almost didn’t answer. “Is this Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“I’m calling from the university’s student conduct office. We’ve received a complaint from a student — Daniel —regarding an incident involving a non-student. We understand you may have relevant information.” A pause. “Would you be available to come in on Monday?”

You stood in your kitchen and looked at the wall. “Yes,” you said. “I’ll be there.” You hung up and texted Riki.

you: Daniel went to the university. They want to see me Monday.

Riki: I’ll come with you.

you: You can’t, you’re not a student.

Riki: I’ll wait outside.

You looked at the message. Then at the ceiling. Then back at the message.

you: okay.

Riki: I’m sorry. For making this your problem.

you: It became my problem the second Daniel decided it was his business. Not yours.

Riki: come over tonight?

You were still annoyed. You were going to be annoyed for a while, you’d meant that. But you were also his. And he was yours. You knew rhe storm was coming soon and you didn’t want to be on separate sides of it.

you: yeah. I’ll be there at 8.

—

The university meeting was on Monday at two. You wore the kind of outfit that said I am a serious person who is being harassed — which you were, and which you needed whoever was sitting across from you to understand immediately. Dark trousers, neat top, your hair back. Ria had approved it over video call that morning.

Riki was waiting outside the building when you arrived. He’d said he’d wait outside. He was outside, leaning against the wall across the street with his hands in his jacket pockets, rings on, looking like himself which was to say looking like the kind of person that student conduct offices probably didn’t love — sleeve visible where his jacket cuff ended, earrings, the particular stillness of him that read as intensity until you knew him and then just read as Riki. He pushed off the wall when he saw you and he put both hands on your face, tilted and kissed you once. “You good?” he said.

“Ask me after,” you said.

He nodded. His thumbs moved at your jaw once before dropping. “I’ll be here.”

“I know.” You looked at him. “Don’t do anything.”

“I’m going to stand on the pavement.”

“I mean it.”

You went.

The student conduct office was on the second floor of the admin building. The woman who’d called you — Ms. Park, fiftyish, the expression of someone who had seen every variety of student drama and was not easily impressed — sat across a wide desk with a folder in front of her and a younger colleague beside her taking notes. Daniel was not there. That was the first thing you noticed. Separate meetings, apparently.

“Thank you for coming,” Ms. Park said. “I want to be clear that this is an informal information-gathering stage. Nothing you say today constitutes a formal statement. We’ve received a complaint from Daniel regarding an assault by a Mr. Nishimura Riki, understood to be your partner. Daniel alleges that Mr. Nishimura attended his residence last Tuesday evening and physically assaulted him.” She looked at you over her glasses. “Can you tell me what you know about this?”

You had thought about this. How to tell the truth without burying Riki and without minimizing what Daniel had been doing. “Riki went to Daniel’s,” you said. “I found out after. I didn’t know he was going to do it and I was angry when I found out. What I also know is that Daniel had been following me for several weeks. Waiting outside my seminars, outside the library, outside the coffee shop near my flat. He’d been told directly, multiple times, that I wasn’t interested and to stop. He didn’t stop.”

Ms. Park’s expression shifted slightly. “Can you document any of this?”

“I have texts. From him, from my friend Soo who he also contacted. I have—” You pulled out your phone. “I can send you screenshots.”

The colleague with the notepad wrote something. “Did you report the incidents to the university at the time?” Ms. Park said.

“No.” You held her gaze. “I was handling it directly. I told him clearly. I didn’t think I’d need to escalate.”

“And Mr. Nishimura was aware of the incidents.”

“I told him. We’d agreed that if Daniel did it again I would take it to the university.” You paused. “Riki acted before I could. That was not what we’d agreed and I was angry about it. But I want to be clear about the sequence of events. Daniel had been escalating and Riki’s response was wrong. Both of those things are true.”

Ms. Park looked at you for a moment. Then she wrote something. “The university’s concern,” she said, “is primarily for student safety. That means your safety as well as Daniel’s. What you’re describing — the waiting, the following — if documented, is a matter we take seriously.”

“I know,” you said. “I should have come sooner.”

“You’re here now.” She closed the folder slightly. “I’d like those screenshots. And I’d like to speak with your friend — Soo, you said?”

“Yes. I’ll ask her.”

“We’ll follow up with both parties separately.” She looked at you over her glasses again. The assessing kind of look. “Are you safe, Y/N? In your current relationship?”

You looked back at her steadily. “Yes,” you said. “I am.”

“You’re certain?”

“Completely.”

She held your gaze for another second. Nodded once. “We’ll be in touch,” she said.

Riki was exactly where he’d said he’d be. Same wall, same position, hands in his pockets. He saw you come out and read your face before you’d reached him. “Okay?” he said.

“I think so.” You stopped in front of him. “They’re taking the harassment seriously. I’m sending them the texts. They’ll want to talk to Soo.”

You looked at him. “They asked if I was safe. With you.”

“What did you say?”

“I said yes.” You held his eyes. “Because I am.” Something moved through his expression. The tight thing loosening slightly.

“The complaint against me,” he said. “What happens.”

“I don’t know yet. Depends what Daniel does.” You paused. “He might back down. If the harassment comes out clearly it makes his complaint look retaliatory.”

“Or he pushes it.”

“Or he pushes it,” you agreed.

Riki looked at the building. Back at you. “I’ll deal with whatever comes.”

“I know you will.” You stepped into him. His arms came around you automatically, his chin dropping to the top of your head, and you stood outside the admin building and let the tension of the last hour go somewhere. “Thank you for being here,” you said into his jacket.

“I was just standing on the pavement,” he said.

“You were here,” you said. “That’s not nothing.” His arms tightened.

Daniel went quiet after that. Not immediately — there was a week where you didn’t know which way it was going to go, where you checked your phone with a specific dread and told Riki about it and he listened and said nothing and the listening was itself a thing, a change from the silence of two weeks ago.

Then Ms. Park emailed. The university had reviewed the documentation. Daniel’s conduct had been found to constitute harassment under the student code. He’d been issued a formal warning and a no-contact order. The complaint against Riki had been noted but the university had no jurisdiction over non-students and the matter would rest with Daniel if he chose to take it further. He didn’t take it further. You read the email twice and then texted Riki.

you: Daniel backed down. University issued him a warning.

Riki: good.

you: he still could have called the police, Riki. This doesn’t mean it was okay.

Riki: I know. come in tonight. I want to see you.

you: yeah. I’ll be there.

That night at Studio 13 after close. The red light, the playlist, the familiar smell of ink and clean soap. You were on the back room couch and Riki was beside you and the last three weeks were sitting somewhere behind you, not gone, but behind. “It’s over?” he said.

“For now.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Daniel’s not going to do anything else. He got scared when the harassment documentation came out.”

“Good.”

“You got lucky,” you said.

“I know.”

“If he’d pushed it—”

“I know, Y/N.” His arm around you. His hand at your shoulder. “I know what it could have been.”

“And?”

A pause. “And I’m not going to do it again. I told you that.”

“You told me you’d come to me first.”

“Yes.”

You looked up at him. “I need you to actually do that. Not just say it.”

He looked down at you. “I know the difference,” he said quietly.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” His eyes. Steady, direct, no performance. “It snapped this once and I won’t let it happen again. Also I’m not proud of it but I know the difference between what I said and what I did.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “Don’t let it snap again,” you said.

“I’m trying.” Honest and simple.

“Try harder.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

You put your head back on his shoulder. His hand moved in your hair. Slow, absent, the thing he did without thinking. “I was scared,” you said quietly. After a while. “When Ria told me. Not of you — I keep saying that because I need you to understand it. But scared of what it meant. Of the pattern it looked like.”

“I know,” he said.

“It looked like the record,” you said. “It looked like proof that Daniel was right.” Riki was quiet for a moment.

“I know what it looked like,” he said. “I knew when I went and I went anyway. That’s the part I have to sit with.”

“Yeah.” You closed your eyes. “Yeah it is.” Silence. The playlist. The red light. “I need to ask you something,” you said. “Your brother. The kids. Do you still see them?”

A long pause. “The kids, sometimes,” he said. Finally. “My brother and I—” He stopped. “It’s complicated. He didn’t want me to do what I did. Even though it was happening and he knew. And then I went to jail and he felt guilty and he never really reached out. Still hasn’t. We don’t talk much.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Don’t be.” His hand kept moving in your hair. “I’d do it again.”

“I know,” you said softly. “The kids are okay,” he said. “That’s the thing I hold onto. They’re okay.”

You pressed closer to him. His arm tightened. “You can talk about them to me if you want. Whenever.”

“I know. Thank you.” Small but from Riki, enormous.

Three days later he stayed at yours for the first time. Not the shop couch, not his flat but yours. He showed up at eight with food and the record he’d been meaning to return and a toothbrush that he put in your bathroom without comment, which you’d looked at it on the shelf and felt something warm and permanent move through your chest.

He cooked. In your kitchen, with the focused competence of his own space, moving around yours with the careful awareness of someone learning where things were and intending to remember. You sat on the counter and watched him and thought about the first night — the tiny dress, the red light, the card sliding across the counter. Come back when you’re sober. I’ll take care of you.

He had. He’d been taking care, in his particular language of hands and presence and showing up, since before either of you had named it. “What,” he said. He’d caught you looking.

“Nothing.” You smiled. “Just thinking about the first night.”

He glanced over. “Drunk and demanding a piercing.”

“You were staring at my tits within thirty seconds.”

“They were right there,” he said simply, and turned back to the pan and you laughed — real, loud, the kind that surprised you and he smiled at the pan. “You gave me your card,” you said.

“Efficient.”

“Heeseung said you’d never done that before.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I hadn’t.”

“Why me?” He looked at you. The pan, the kitchen, the domesticity of it all dropped away for a second and it was just his face and the question.

“Because you leaned on my counter in that dress,” he said, “and looked at me like you already knew, and I thought — that one.” Simple. Certain. “That one.”

You looked at him. “That one,” you repeated quietly.

“Yeah.” He looked back at the pan. “That one.” You sat on your kitchen counter and felt the unnamed thing — named now, lived in now, worn soft around the edges now — settle into something that felt like it had always been there. Like it was always going to be this.

—

The thing about Daniel going quiet was that it didn’t fix everything. Riki knew that. You knew that. The university warning didn’t undo the split lip, didn’t undo the record that Daniel had shown Soo, didn’t undo the way Soo had looked at you in that coffee shop with the screenshot on the table. Soo had texted since. Apologetic, careful, not quite sure how to land.

Soo: I need you to know I was trying to protect you.

you: I know that.

Soo: Are you okay? With him?

you: Yeah, Soo. I am.

Soo: I don’t fully understand it.

you: You don’t have to. I do.

Soo: okay. I trust you.

you: thank you.

You’d shown Riki the exchange. He’d read it once. Put your phone down. “She loves you,” he said.

“Yeah. She was wrong about how she did it, though.”

“She didn’t know the context.” His jaw shifted. “Nobody did. That’s what happens when you don’t explain yourself.”

“Why didn’t you?” you said quietly. “Ever. You could have — when it happened, you could have told them why.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Because it wasn’t mine to tell,” he said. “The kids. My brother. If I’d made it public—” He shook his head slightly. “They’d already been through enough.”

You looked at him. “You protected them twice,” you said. He didn’t answer. But his hand found yours and his thumb moved and that was answer enough.

A week after Daniel went quiet, Riki’s brother called. You were at the shop. Riki had stepped into the back to take the call and you’d stayed at the counter with Jay, and Jay had looked at the back room door and then at you and said quietly: “That’s the brother.”

“How do you know?”

“Riki gets a specific face.” He paused. “It’s been a while since he called.” You looked at the door.

Twenty minutes later Riki came back out. His face was even, controlled, but there was something behind it — something that had been moved and put carefully back. You looked at him. He looked at you.

“You okay?” you said quietly.

“Yeah.” He sat back on his stool. His hand found his coffee, cold by now. “He wants to meet.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “First time since I got out.”

You looked at him. The weight of that — four years. “Do you want to?” you said.

“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly.

“Okay.” You covered his hand on the counter with yours. “Whatever you decide I’m with you.”

He turned his hand over. His fingers between yours. “Will you—” He stopped. Started again. “If I go. Will you come.”

You looked at him. Riki who didn’t ask for things. Riki who gave his card across a counter, his art on your skin and asked for almost nothing back. “Yeah,” you said. “Of course I will.”

His hand tightened around yours. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

Later that night in your flat. He was on your bed, on his back, looking at the ceiling. You were beside him. The lamp on low. “What are you thinking about,” you said.

“My brother.” A pause. “How to say what I need to say.”

“Which is?”

He turned his head. Looked at you in the low light. “That I don’t regret it,” he said. “That I’d do it again. But that I’m sorry for what it did to him. Those two things at once. They’re both true and they’re hard to say together.”

“You can say both,” you said. “They don’t cancel each other out.”

He looked at you for a moment. “No. They don’t.”

You reached over and found his hand in the dark. “You’ve been carrying this a long time,” you said. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he turned toward you, his arm coming around you, pulling you in. His face pressed into your hair. Warm and solid and present. “I know,” he said. Low. “I know that now.”

You lay in the dark and felt him breathe and thought about a nineteen-year-old who made a choice and paid for it and rebuilt himself quietly and carefully in a studio with red lights and black walls and never asked anyone to understand. And then you’d walked in drunk in a tiny dress and leaned on his counter. And he’d slid a card across and said come back when you’re sober. And here you were.

“Riki,” you said into his chest. “I’m glad I kept the card.”

Then, quietly, with the particular warmth of someone who didn’t say things easily and meant everything he said: “Me too.”

Three days after Riki’s brother called, things were good. Better than good. The Daniel situation had settled, the university had closed its informal inquiry, Soo had come around slowly and you’d had coffee with her and it had been careful and warm and the beginning of something repaired. Riki had texted his brother back — not yes but not no, just I’ll think about it which for Riki was enormous. Things were good.

Which was exactly when Heeseung asked to talk to you. It was a Wednesday. You’d arrived at two, normal time with coffee in hand. Riki had a client in the piercing section and Jay had let you in and you’d settled at the counter with the easy familiarity of somewhere that had become yours. Heeseung appeared from his office twenty minutes in. He looked at you. Looked at Riki’s closed partition. Looked back at you. “You got a minute?” he said. Something in his tone made you put your coffee down.

“Yeah,” you said.

His office was small and deliberately organised — reference books, a drawing desk, flash art tacked to the wall in a way that looked casual and wasn’t. He sat on the edge of the desk. You sat in the chair across from it. He looked at you for a moment in the quiet assessing way he had. The way that felt like being read by someone who was very good at it. “I’m going to tell you something,” he said. “Riki doesn’t know I’m doing this. He’d probably be annoyed.”

“Okay,” you said carefully.

“He’s not annoyed easily,” Heeseung said. “But this is his thing to tell and I’m telling it anyway because—” He paused. Something moved across his face. “Because I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him like this. With you. And I think you should have the full picture.”

You held his gaze. “I know about his brother. He told me.”

Heeseung was quiet for a moment. Something shifted in his expression — not quite surprise, more like relief. “He told you himself,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He exhaled slowly. “That’s — that’s good.”

“Is there more?” you said carefully.

Heeseung looked at his hands. At the desk. At you. “When he came here,” he said, “he was nineteen and he’d just finished fourteen months and he had nowhere to go. His brother wasn’t — the relationship was complicated, like he probably told you. He didn’t have much. Probation requirement was community hours. A friend of mine knew his case and asked if I’d take him on.” He looked at the wall. “I almost said no. I had a shop to run, I didn’t want the complication.”

“But you said yes,” you said.

“I said yes.” A small pause. “Because he came in and he sat down and he was — he wasn’t what I expected. He was quiet. Careful. He looked at everything in this shop like he was trying to figure out how it worked. Like he wanted to understand it.” Heeseung’s jaw shifted. “I put him on front desk for the first month. Filing, cleaning, nothing complicated. By week three he was reorganising the jewellery inventory in a way that made more sense than the system I’d had since I began.”

You said nothing.

“He asked if he could watch me work,” Heeseung said. “Tattooing. Then piercing. He just — watched. Never asked to touch anything until I offered. When I offered he learned fast. Faster than anyone I’ve taught.” A pause. “He didn’t talk about what happened. I didn’t ask. What I knew was what the file said and what I could see, which was a kid who was trying very hard to build something out of nothing and wasn’t asking for anyone to make it easier.”

“The sleeve,” you said quietly. “You started it when he came on properly.”

Heeseung looked at you. “First piece, yeah. His idea. He said he wanted something that was his. That nobody could take. I drew it for him. We’ve added to it over the past years.”

You looked at the desk. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because of what Daniel did,” Heeseung said simply. “Because some stranger with bad intentions found half a story and used it and I watched it do damage and I wanted—” He stopped. “Riki won’t defend himself. He never has. He accepted the charge and he did the time and he’s never once explained himself publicly and he’s not going to start.” He looked at you. “But you’re not the public. You’re the first person he’s let in. Properly. Since I’ve known him.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. “I know the full story,” you said. “He told me. The sister-in-law, the kids—”

“I know he told you,” Heeseung said. “Jake told me. Jay told me. The whole shop knows because Riki came in the morning after and was—” A brief pause. “Different. The kind of different that happens when you put something down you’ve been carrying.”

You looked at the wall. The flash art. A small framed drawing in the corner that you recognised — botanical, precise — the reference sketch for your collarbone piece. “He drew that for you,” Heeseung said, following your gaze. “Before. He spent two evenings on it.”

You looked at it. “He didn’t tell me that,” you said quietly.

“No. He wouldn’t.” Heeseung’s voice was dry but warm underneath it. “He shows things. Doesn’t say them. You probably know that by now.”

“Yeah. I know that.”

“He’s going to meet his brother,” Heeseung said. “He asked you to come.”

“Yeah.”

Heeseung looked at you for a long moment. The assessing thing had shifted — not gone, but warmer now, like whatever the assessment had been looking for had been found. “Good,” he said simply.

You looked at each other. “Why?” you said. “Why are you telling me all this. I already know the story.”

Heeseung was quiet for a moment. “Because knowing the story and understanding what it cost are different things,” he said. “And because—” He paused. “Because he went quiet for a week when you found the record. And I watched him in this shop every day of that week and it was bad. In a way I haven’t seen in a long time.”

You held his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said.

“I know,” Heeseung said. “I can see that. I just wanted you to know what it means. To him. What you going anywhere would—” He stopped. “He doesn’t show that either. But I’ve known him two years.”

The office was very quiet. “I know,” you said again. Softer.

Heeseung nodded once. “Okay.” Back to practical, the warmth tucked back under the surface. “Don’t tell him I said any of this.”

“He’ll know,” you said. “He always knows.”

The corner of Heeseung’s mouth moved. “Yeah,” he said. “He will.”

You were back at the counter when Riki finished with his client. He came through the partition, gloves off, and looked at you. Then at Heeseung’s closed office door. Then back at you. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” you said. “He said nothing.” You picked up your cold coffee. “We talked about the flash art.” Riki looked at you for a long moment. The reading-you expression fully deployed. He came around the counter and sat on his stool. His knee found yours under the counter — the casual contact, the absent thing, the language he’d always had. You looked at the closed office door. At the sketch on the wall inside it that you couldn’t see from here but now knew existed. Two evenings.

“Hey,” Riki said. You looked at him. “You’ve got a face,” he said.

“I have lots of faces.”

“This specific one. What’s up?”

You looked at him — the rings, the earrings, the tongue piercing catching the light, the sleeve, all of it that had become so familiar you sometimes forgot what he’d looked like before he was just Riki, just yours — and felt everything Heeseung had said settle into something permanent. “Nothing,” you said. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

He looked at you. “Okay,” he said quietly. Like he’d heard more than those words. His knee pressed against yours. You pressed back.

Jay left at seven. Jake had already gone. Sunghoon’s last client was finishing up and he came through to say goodbye twenty minutes later with his jacket on and his bag over his shoulder and he looked at you both at the counter and said: “I’m going.”

“We can see that,” Riki said.

“I’m just—” Sunghoon gestured vaguely at both of you. “Saying.”

“Goodnight, Sunghoon,” you said. He grinned and left.

Heeseung appeared from his office at half seven. Put his jacket on and looked at Riki. “Lock up,” he said to Riki.

“Always do,” Riki said.

Heeseung looked at you once more. Nodded, once, the small thing that meant something from him. Then he was gone and the door swung shut and Studio 13 exhaled into quiet. Just you and Riki and the red light and the playlist. You looked at him across the counter. He looked back.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi,” he said. Something in the air shifted. He stood up from the stool and came around the counter and you got off yours and met him and his hands found your face and he looked at you with the open, unguarded expression — the one that only existed in empty rooms. “What did Heeseung actually say,” he said.

“I told you—”

“Y/N.” You looked up at him. His thumbs at your jaw. The rings.

“He told me what it cost,” you said quietly. “What you were when you came in. What you built. The sketch.”

Something moved in his face. “He showed you the sketch,” he said.

“I saw it in the office. He didn’t — I just saw it.”

Riki was quiet for a moment. Looking at you with something that was past the usual steady certainty — something more open, more exposed. “Two evenings,” you said softly.

His jaw shifted. “It needed to be right,” he said simply. You looked at him. Everything Heeseung had said. Everything Riki had given you in his particular language — the key, the card, the sketch, the bud on the stem. The toothbrush on your shelf. That one.

You kissed him. Not the desperate kind or the heated kind. Something slower than both of those, something that had the full weight of everything behind it, the weeks and the usual Wednesdays and all the distance coming back. He kissed you back the same way. Slow and complete, his hands steady on your face, like this was something he wanted to take his time with.

When you pulled back he kept his forehead against yours. “I should have told you myself,” he said. Quiet. “The record. Before you found it.”

“Yeah,” you said.

“I was going to.” His thumb traced your cheekbone. “I kept almost getting there.”

“I know.” You put your hand flat on his chest. “But you got there.”

“Not fast enough.”

“You got there,” you said again. He exhaled. His hands moved from your face to your waist. Pulled you in. His mouth found your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

“Stay,” he said. Into your skin. “Tonight. Here.”

“The back room couch?” you said.

“The back room couch.” His lips. “And maybe the front counter again.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “You’re shameless.”

“I’m practical,” he said, and kissed you properly, and the playlist shifted to something slower and the red light was low and everything else was very far away. He walked you back against the front counter.

His hands under your top, warm and certain, spreading against your bare waist — the rings, always the rings, cold and present — and you pulled at his shirt and got it off and put your hands on his chest and felt him exhale. “You have no idea,” he said into your throat. “What Heeseung talking to you about me does.”

“Tell me,” you breathed.

“Knowing you know.” His mouth moved. Your collarbone. Your tattoo with his mouth on it, deliberate, and your head went back. “Knowing you have the full picture and you’re still here.”

“Still here,” you confirmed. Your hands in his hair.

“Good girl,” he said against the tattoo. Low and warm. “Always so—”

“Riki—”

“I know.” He pulled back to look at you — dark eyes, composed coming apart at the edges, the way it always did. “I’ve got you.” He got your top off. Looked at you in the red light with the particular patience of someone who had learned you and was using the knowledge — his eyes moving over you, the tattoo, the piercings, all of it his in the specific way that wasn’t possessive about ownership but about care.

“What do you want,” he said.

“You. I want—” You reached for him. “Come here.”

He came. The front counter, then the back room couch, then the front counter again because you’d both started laughing about it and laughing had turned into kissing and kissing had turned into everything else. He was thorough. He was always thorough — the same focus he gave his work, the same patience, but underneath it tonight was something else, something that had the weight of Heeseung’s conversation and the sketch and that one and two months of Wednesdays all pushed into it. “Look at you,” he said, low, his hands on your thighs. The red light. The empty shop. “Look at you, you’re so—”

“Don’t stop,” you said. “Please, Riki, don’t—”

“I’m not stopping.” His mouth found your inner thigh and the bar of his tongue and you grabbed the edge of whatever surface was nearest and held on. “I’m nowhere near stopping.” The tongue piercing. Every time. Devastating every single time, the cool metal and the warmth of his mouth and the specific focus he brought to it — thorough, patient, reading every sound you made and using it.

“Riki—”

“Yeah.” Into your skin. “Yeah, I’ve got you.”

“I need—”

“Tell me.”

“You,” you said. “I need you, please—” He came back up your body and kissed you deep and you tasted yourself on his mouth and it did something embarrassingly good to you which he felt and made a low sound.

“Good girl,” he said against your mouth. “You’re always so—”

“Riki.” His name like that, that register, and he shuddered slightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

When he pushed inside you the slowness of it was deliberate. Not teasing — something else. The kind of slow that was about feeling everything. His hands on your face, your hands on his jaw, eye contact that lasted longer than was comfortable and then became the most comfortable thing. “Hi,” he said quietly.

You laughed softly. “Hi.”

He moved. Deep and slow and you felt every bar of the ladder and the sound that came out of you was embarrassingly reverent. “Every time,” he said, low. “You make that sound every time and I—” His forehead dropped to yours. “Fuck, Y/N.”

“Don’t stop,” you said. “Don’t stop, don’t—”

“I’m not.” His rhythm. The pace building by degrees, slow becoming less slow, both of you breathing differently. “I’m never—” His jaw set. “You feel so good. Every time. Like you’re—” He stopped himself. The same place he always stopped.

“Like I’m what,” you breathed.

He looked at you. Eye contact, real and direct, the composure mostly gone. “Mine,” he said quietly. “Like you’re mine.”

“I am,” you said. Something in his face — opened, just opened, wide and unguarded — and his pace shifted, deeper, and your head fell back and his mouth found your throat and he said your name in the short sharp way that meant he was close and you were already—

“Riki—”

“I know,” he said. “I know, cum for me, come on—”

His hand between you, your clit, the pressure—

“That’s it, good girl, that’s—” You came with his name in your mouth and your hands in his hair and your whole body saying yes and he followed with his face in your throat and the broken sound, the helpless one, the one that was yours.

After the two of you lay on the back room couch. His heartbeat under your ear. The playlist through the walls “Heeseung’s going to know,” Riki said. Into the quiet.

“Know what?”

“That we—” He gestured vaguely at the shop around you.

“He already knows,” you said. “The front counter, Riki.”

“The front counter is clean.”

“That’s not the point.”

He made the almost-laugh sound. His hand in your hair. “The sketch,” he said, after a while. “I didn’t want you to know about that.”

“Why not?”

A pause. “Because it’s—” He stopped. “It’s a lot. To know someone spent two evenings drawing something for you.”

“Is it too much?” you said.

“No.” He said immediately. “No, it’s just—” His hand moved. “I don’t know how to be small about you. I’ve never been able to. Since the first night. You walked in and something just— settled. And I’ve never been able to be small about it since.”

You lay on the couch and listened to his heartbeat and thought about that one and the card and the key and the sketch and all the enormous quiet ways he’d been telling you the same thing for months. “Riki,” you said. You lifted your head. Looked at him in the low light. “I love you,” you said.

The shop was very quiet. He looked at you. His face doing several things at once — surprise, the kind that comes from hearing something you’d started to believe but hadn’t dared expect — and underneath it something that had been waiting. “Y/N—”

“You don’t have to say it back,” you said. “I know you show things. I know that’s—”

“I love you,” he said. Simple. Immediate. Like it had been waiting right behind his teeth.

You looked at each other. “Oh,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Oh.” His arm pulled you back down. Your head on his chest. His heartbeat, faster than before. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it for a while.”

You laughed at that.

—

The meeting with his brother was on Saturday.

It was Friday afternoon and Riki had been fine all week — or performing fine, which with Riki looked almost identical and you’d learned to tell the difference by the way his jaw sat and how often he went quiet mid-sentence, trailing off somewhere internal before coming back. He’d been doing it since mid-week.

You’d been watching it build and not pushing because you knew him well enough now to know that pushing before he was ready just moved the wall further back. You let him come to things. You were there when he got there.

Friday at three you came into Studio 13 with coffee and an idea. Jay was with a client. Jake was sweeping the back. Heeseung was in his office. Riki was at the front counter with the appointment book open in front of him and the expression of someone who was looking at an appointment book but not seeing it. He looked up when you came in. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” You put his coffee on the counter and sat down. Looked at him. “You’ve been in your head all week.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know what fine looks like on you,” you said. “This is the other thing. You’re nervous about tomorrow.”

A pause. “I’m not nervous. I’m—” He stopped. Put the pen down. “It’s been four years. I don’t know who he is now. I don’t know how it’s going to go.”

“You don’t have to know how it goes,” you said. “You just have to show up.”

“I’m good at showing up.”

“I know you are.” You held his gaze. “And I’ll be there.”

“I know,” he said. You looked at him for a moment. At his jaw and the appointment book he hadn’t been seeing and the four-years-of-complicated sitting behind his eyes.

“I want a new piercing,” you said. He blinked. The shift in the conversation visibly making him recalibrate.

“What?”

“New piercing.” You kept your voice easy. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Where,” he said. Automatic, already clinical, already the piercer.

You held his gaze. “Nipples,” you said.

His clinical expression lasted approximately one more second. Then it did something else entirely. “Y/N,” he said.

“Both of them.” You picked up your coffee. “I’ve wanted them for a while. You said that I should come to you for everything.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Something was happening behind his eyes — the professional and the personal running into each other at considerable speed. “That’s—” He stopped.

“Nipple piercings,” you said helpfully. “Standard procedure for a professional piercer.” You smirked.

“I’m aware of what it is.”

“So.” You raised an eyebrow. “Can you do it?”

He held your gaze. The corner of his mouth moved despite him. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he said.

“I want my nipples pierced,” you said innocently.

“You want to distract me.”

“I want my nipples pierced and I want to distract you. Both things.” You put your coffee down. “Is it working?”

He looked at you. The at the appointment book, to the back room then back at you. “Chair,” he said. “Ten minutes.”

You were in the piercing chair in less than ten minutes. Riki came in with the tray — jewellery already selected, two small barbells, gold because he’d chosen without asking and he knew your taste — and he set it up with the focused precision he always had and then he turned to look at you and the precision got complicated. “Top off,” he said.

“Professional,” you said. A smile on your face.

“Very.” His voice was even. His eyes weren’t. You got your top off, unclipped your bra and set it on th chair beside you. Riki looked at you. He’d seen you like this — more than this, with considerably less clothing. But the context of this; the chair, the tray, his professional capacity colliding head-on with four months of otherwise. “Right,” he mumbled to himself.

He snapped his gloves on. Came to stand in front of you. Professional. His hands came up — and then instead of the marking pen following he just cupped the weight of your tit in both gloved hands, gently, thumbs moving in slow careful circles across the flesh, assessing placement. Clinically. Completely clinically. “Riki,” you said.

“Checking the anatomy,” he said. His thumbs kept moving. Slow, warm and even through the gloves and your nipple hardens. “The placement depends on—”

“You’re not checking anatomy.”

“I’m absolutely checking anatomy.” He looked up at you. Dark eyes, completely straight face. “You want these done right?”

“I want—” You stopped.

“Thought so.” His thumbs, slow circles continued. “You have good anatomy for this. Flat enough that the barbell will sit right.” His right thumb brushed your nipple directly and your breath caught audibly. “Sensitive. That’s relevant information.” But the professional expression had developed a crack in it. His jaw was set in the specific way, thumbs kept their slow movement across the weight of your tits and he was looking at his hands and then at your face and then at his hands again. “You look—” he started. Stopped himself.

“Say it,” you said. He looked up. The crack in the professional expression was wider now — something underneath it, warm and dark and entirely unprofessional.

“Fuck,” he said quietly. “You look so good. I’m trying to work,” he said, hit thumbs hadn’t stopped though. “You’re not making it easy.”

He made a rough sound and his hands moved; the gloves came off, one then the other, dropped on the tray and then his bare hands replaced them, warm and ringed and careful, the rings were cold against the warmth of your skin which made you exhale. “God,” he said, looking at his hands on you. “Look at you.”

“You keep saying that,” you breathed.

“Because I keep meaning it.” His thumbs brushed your nipples again and your hips shifted slightly in the chair. “Every time. You’re so—” His jaw set. “I need to actually pierce you.”

“After,” you said.

“After what—”

You pulled him down by his shirt and kissed him. He made a sound into your mouth that started professional and ended nowhere near it, his bare hands still holding the weight of your tits, thumbs moving, and you kissed him slow and thorough and felt him lean into it.

“Y/N,” he said against your mouth.

“I know,” you said. “But you’ve been in your head all week and you needed—”

He pulled back half an inch. Looked at you. His hands were still on you, warm and present, his eyes were dark, jaw set and the professional composure was somewhere on the floor amongst his gloves. “You’re a problem,” he said.

“You love it,” you said. Something moved across his face. The word, love, sitting warm in the room.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

He kissed you again — deeper this time, one hand moving up to your jaw, the other still cupping the weight of your tit, his thumb moving slow across your nipple and the sensation of it went straight through you and you made a sound into his mouth and he swallowed it and pressed closer—

The partition curtain moved. “Riki, Jay’s client is asking about—”

Jake stopped. You in the piercing chair, top off, Riki’s hands exactly where they were, both of you looking at Jake with entirely different versions of the same expression. Jake went completely red from his collar to his hairline.

“I—” he started.

“Jake,” Riki said.

“I didn’t — the curtain was — I knocked—”

“You didn’t knock, you can’t knock on a curtain," Riki said.

“I thought I—”

“Get out.”

“Yeah, absolutely, sorry, I’m—” Jake was already backing up, looking at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere that wasn’t you. “I’ll just— your client— I’ll handle it, I’ll—”

The curtain swung back into place. His footsteps retreating very fast. Then from the front of the shop, muffled: “Jay. Jay I just — I need you to know I’m never going in the back room again.”

Silence from Jay’s direction. Then, very clearly: “What did you see.”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know. I need a minute.”

You looked at Riki. Riki looked at the curtain. The corner of his mouth displayed his almost-laugh. Then his actual laugh real, surprised, the one that changed his whole face. You followed, the two of you in the piercing chair with your top off and his hands warm on you, laughing. “He’s going to be traumatised,” you said.

He looked at you. “You distracted me.”

“You were checking anatomy,” you said innocently.

“I was,” he said. “Very important work.”

You looked at each other and the laughter settled into something warm and easy and his hands were still on you and the brother meeting was tomorrow and the shop was around you and it was — easy. For the first time all week, easy. His forehead dropped to yours. “Better?” you said quietly.

He exhaled, long and slow. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, so much better.”

His thumbs moved once more, gentle, and then he stepped back and picked up his gloves. “Now, let me actually do what you came here for.”

He was thorough. Of course he was. He was always thorough. The marking, the placement check — legitimate this time, clinical focus back in place — the brief press of his gloved thumb to confirm the mark. “Breathe in,” he said.

You breathed in.

“Out.”

The needle was quick and precise, a sharp bite of pressure and then the jewellery following and his hands immediate and steady. “Good girl,” he said quietly. “One down.” The second was the same. His hands the same. His voice the same.

When he was done he stepped back and let you see in the mirror and the two small gold barbells sat exactly right, perfectly symmetrical, and you turned slightly to catch the light and felt his eyes on you from behind.

“Well?” he said. You looked at them. At your reflection. At the collarbone piece above them, his work, all of it his work on your skin.

“Perfect,” you said.

“Obviously,” he said. You looked at him in the mirror. He was looking at you with the open expression — not the smirk, not the professional focus, just his face and everything it said when he let it say things.

“Thank you,” you said. “For these. And for—”

“Don’t,” he said gently. “You don’t have to. I know. You’re welcome.” He picked up the aftercare card. Slid it across to you. “Same process as before.”

“You’re going to check them in four weeks.”

“Obviously.”

You looked at the mirror again. At the barbells. At the tattoo. “You’ve put a lot on me,” you said softly.

He was quiet for a moment. “Not nearly enough,” he said. You looked at him. He looked back, steady, completely certain.

“Tomorrow,” you said. “It’s going to be okay.”

His jaw shifted. The complicated thing moving through his face. “Yeah, probably.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I know.” His hand found yours briefly. Warm and ringed. “I know you will.”

From the front of the shop, Jake’s voice floated back. Still clearly processing. “Jay I’m serious. I’m never going back there without a hazmat suit.”

Jay’s response was immediate and deeply unhelpful. “What were they doing?”

Jake’s voice came “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Riki closed his eyes briefly. Opened them. “I’m going to have to talk to him,” he said.

“You’re going to have to apologise to him,” you said.

“I don’t apologise. He should have knocked, even if it was on a curtain.” You looked at him. He looked at you. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll apologise.”

You kissed his cheek. He turned into it slightly before he caught himself. “Tomorrow,” you said again.

“Tomorrow,” he said. He squeezed your hand once and let go and went back through the curtain and you heard him say Jake’s name and Jake’s immediate I accept your apology I don’t need to hear it and Jay’s laughter filling the shop and you sat in the piercing chair and touched the new barbells gently and smiled at your own reflection.

Saturday morning you woke up in Riki’s flat at eight and lay in the grey light listening to him breathe beside you and thought about the day. He was already awake. You could tell because his breathing was the wrong kind of even, the controlled kind, and he was lying very still in the specific way of someone whose brain had been going for hours. You rolled toward him. Put your hand on his chest. He covered it with his immediately. “Hey,” you said quietly.

“Hey.”

“How long have you been awake?”

A pause. “A while.”

You pressed closer. His arm came around you. “It’s going to be okay,” you said.

“You said that yesterday.”

“Still true.”

He was quiet. His hand moved on your back. Slow. “I don’t know what to say to him,” he said. Into the ceiling. “I’ve thought about it for four years and I still don’t know what to say to him.”

“You don’t have to have it planned,” you said. “This isn’t a piercing. You can’t mark the spot first.”

The corner of his mouth moved. “That’s very wise,” he said.

“I have my moments.”

His arm tightened slightly around you. “What if he’s angry,” he said.

“Then he’s angry. Riki.” You put your hand on his jaw and turned his face toward you. He let you. His eyes found yours, dark and tired and complicated. “Whatever he feels is his to feel. You can only show up and say what’s true. Same as always.”

He looked at you. “Same as always,” he repeated quietly.

“You’re good at showing up,” you said. “I know that better than anyone.”

He pressed his mouth to your forehead. Held it there. “Okay,” he said. Into your skin.

They were meeting at a café forty minutes from the flat, neutral ground — Riki had been clear about that when he’d texted his brother back.

You took the train. Riki sat beside you with his forearm on his knee and his rings on his fingers and his eyes on the window and you sat close enough that your shoulder was against his and didn’t try to fill the quiet. He was wearing the jacket. The dark one, the good one. He’d looked at himself in the mirror this morning for slightly longer than usual and you’d said nothing and handed him his coffee and he’d looked at you in the mirror and something had passed between you that didn’t need words.

On the train he took your hand, fingers finding yours without thinking. This was deliberate. He picked up your hand and held it in both of his on his knee and looked at your joined hands and said nothing. You held on.

The café was small with big windows, the kind of place that stayed quiet on Saturday mornings. You arrived five minutes early and found a table near the window and Riki sat with his back to the wall — habit, you’d learned, always the seat with the clearest sightline to the door and you sat across from him and he looked at the entrance. “You want coffee while we wait?” you said.

“No.” His eyes on the door. “I won’t taste it.” You put your hand on the table between you. He put his on top of it.

Three minutes later the door opened. The man who came in was older than Riki — late twenties, broader through the shoulders, with the same dark eyes and the same jaw and something in the way he moved that was similar enough to make your chest tighten slightly. He was wearing a grey jacket and he looked tired in the specific way of someone who had been nervous about something for longer than today.

He saw Riki. They looked at each other across the café. You felt Riki’s hand tighten on yours. Then his brother — Jungwon, Riki had told you his name, crossed the café and stopped at the table. “Hey,” Jungwon said.

“Hey,” Riki said. A pause. Four years of it, sitting in the two syllables. Jungwon looked at you. Not unkindly — just registering your presence. “This is Y/N,” Riki said.

“Hi,” you said. “I’m going to get coffee.” You stood up. Riki’s hand released yours slowly, reluctantly, and you squeezed his fingers once before letting go. “Take your time.” You went to the counter. Ordered slowly. Added a pastry you didn’t want to give them as long as you could.

When you looked back they were both sitting. Jungwon’s hands on the table. Riki’s hands on the table. Not talking yet — just sitting in the same space for the first time in four years, adjusting to the fact of each other. You turned back to the counter saying you forgot something to give them a bit more time.

You came back fifteen minutes later. The atmosphere had shifted. Jungwon’s shoulders were lower. Riki’s jaw was less set. You sat down. Put a coffee in front of each of them without asking. They both looked at the cups and then at you. “Thank you,” Jungwon said.

“Of course.” He looked at Riki. Then at you. Then back at Riki with an expression that was still complicated but had something underneath it that was — not quite forgiveness, more like the beginning of the road toward it.

“She seems good,” Jungwon said to Riki. Like you weren’t there. Like it was the most important data point available.

Riki looked at you. The expression on his face in that moment was open and certain and quietly enormous — it was something you were going to carry for a long time. “Yeah,” Riki said. “She is.”

They talked for two hours. You were there for most of it and absent for some of it — twice you found reasons to step away, to the counter, outside to answer a phone that hadn’t rung, giving them space to say things that needed to be said without an audience.

What you heard, in pieces: Jungwon saying I didn’t know how bad it was. I didn’t let myself know. His voice flat with the weight of that. Riki saying I know. I’m not putting that on you. Jungwon saying you went to jail. For my kids. You spent fourteen months. Riki saying; I’d do it again. I need you to know that and I need you to stop apologising for it. That’s not what today is for. A long silence. Then Jungwon’s voice, lower: what is today for. And Riki, after a pause that had everything in it: Starting over. If you want.

When you came back from your third unnecessary trip to the counter Jungwon was showing Riki something on his phone. Photos, you realised. You sat down quietly and Riki looked at the screen and something moved across his face that was— a lot. Too much to name. His jaw was tight and his eyes were doing something he wasn’t going to acknowledge and he looked at the photos for a long time.

“They’re big,” he said. “Chaerin’s eleven now, Minjun turned nine in October.”

Riki looked at the photos. “They’re okay?” he said.

“Yeah.” Jungwon’s voice was careful. “They’re good. They’re really good, Riki.”

Riki nodded once. You put your hand on his under the table. He turned it over. Held on. “I want to see them, when you think it’s right. When it makes sense. I don’t want to—” He stopped. “I don’t want to push.”

“I know,” Jungwon said. “I know you don’t. I’ll talk to them. They know they have an uncle.” Riki looked up. Jungwon met his eyes. Something passing between them — complicated and old and moving toward something newer.

“Okay,” Riki said. His voice wasn’t fully steady.

“Okay,” Jungwon said.

Outside the café, forty minutes later. Jungwon shook Riki’s hand and then pulled him into something that started as a handshake and became something else— brief, awkward in the way of two men who didn’t know how to do this and were doing it anyway— and Riki stood very still and let it happen. Jungwon looked at you before he left. Held out his hand. You shook it. “Thank you for coming,” he said.

“Thank you for reaching out,” you said. He looked at Riki one more time. Something passed between them — unresolved and honest and the beginning of something.

“I’ll text you,” Jungwon said.

“Okay,” Riki said. Jungwon walked away. You stood on the pavement beside Riki and felt him exhale — long and slow and releasing something enormous. You didn’t say anything.

He stood there for a moment. Looking at the corner where his brother had turned. Then he turned to you. His face was — open. Undone in a careful way, the way things come apart when something has finally been put down after a very long time.

You opened your arms and he walked right into them. His face in your hair, his arms around you, and he held on with the specific tightness of someone recalibrating what the world felt like. You held him back. Your hands on his back, just there. “Hey,” you said quietly.

“Hey,” he said muffled in your hair.

“You did it.”

“We did it,” he said. You pressed closer.

The street was quiet around you. Saturday morning, pale winter sun. Somewhere across the city Studio 13 was dark and locked and his toothbrush was on your shelf at home and two small gold barbells sat on your skin that his hands had put there. “The kids,” you said quietly. “They’re okay.”

His arms tightened. “Yeah, they are.” You stood on the pavement outside the café for a long time. Neither of you in any hurry to move. His heartbeat under your ear. His rings against your back.

When he finally pulled back he looked at your face. His hands came up — the familiar thing, both palms at your jaw, that way he had of tilting you toward him like you were something he wanted to look at properly. He looked at you for a moment. Then he kissed you, slow and thorough and with all of today behind it — the train and the waiting and the photos of two kids who he loved and were okay.

When he pulled back his forehead stayed against yours. “Home?” he said.

“Home,” you said. His hand found yours. He held on the whole way to the train and didn’t let go and you didn’t either and the afternoon was cold and clear and felt like the beginning of something instead of the middle of something for the first time in a long time.

SIX WEEKS LATER.

Things had the texture of something settled, not perfect— nothing was perfect, Riki was still Riki and you were still you and there were still moments where he went quiet a beat too long and you had to say talk to me. And moments where you pushed, when you should have waited and had to say sorry, I know, your timing not mine.

Still moments where the possessive thing flared; a look across a room, a hand at your back that pressed slightly harder than usual when someone stood too close and he caught himself, you saw him catch himself and that was its own kind of progress.

But the texture of it was settled. Lived in. The way good things felt when they’d been through something and come out the other side and knew what they were. His things were at your flat. Your things were at his. Nobody had discussed this. It had simply happened the way most things between you happened.

Rikis record player was at yours now. He’d brought it over three weeks ago to play you something and hadn’t taken it back and you hadn’t asked him to and it sat in the corner of your living room and played every evening and that was that.

Studio 13, Wednesdays at two o’clock you came in with coffee. Jay was at the front desk. He looked up, looked at the coffees, looked behind you. “Solo today?” he said.

“Ria’s coming later,” you said. “Is Riki—”

“Back room.” Jay’s expression was the specific one he got when he knew something and was enjoying knowing it. “He’s been waiting since one-thirty.”

“His shifts at two.”

“Uh huh,” Jay said. In the tone that meant his appointment is you and you both know it.

You went through to the back. Riki was at the piercing station. Cleaning the tray — he was always cleaning the tray, the most covered-up version of waiting that existed — and he looked up when you came in. The smile happened. Immediate and real. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

You put his coffee on the counter. “You started at one-thirty?”

“I was in the area.”

“You work here.”

“Exactly.” He picked up the coffee. Looked at you over the rim. “You said you had something you wanted.”

“I do.”

“Piercing?”

“Piercing,” you confirmed.

He put his coffee down. The professional focus assembled itself — but warm underneath it, the way it always was, the two things not in conflict anymore. “Where.” You pulled the collar of your top down slightly. Your collarbone, the three stems, the bud. Then you pointed to the space just above it. The small hollow at the base of your throat. “Throat?” he said.

“Surface piercing,” you said. “Just here.” He looked at the spot. Then at your face. Then back at the spot with the assessing expression, the one that was reading placement and anatomy and his own instincts all at once.

“It’ll suit you,” he said.

“I know.”

“I knew you’d say that. Sit.” You sat in the chair. He stood in front of you and tipped your chin up with two fingers and examined the hollow at your throat, pressing gently to feel the tissue. “Good placement,” he said, mostly to himself. His fingers moved. “Flat enough, no major vessels—” He was talking through it, the work-voice, and you watched his face in the mirror — focused and calm and right here.

“Riki,” you said. “I want to ask you something.”

“You can ask while I mark the spot.” He reached for the pen.

You looked at him in the mirror. “Move in,” you said. His hand stilled. He looked up from the hollow of your throat to your eyes in the mirror.

“What?” he said.

“Move in with me.” You held his gaze. “Properly. Stop leaving things in installments. The record player’s already there. Your good jacket’s been in my wardrobe for a month. Your coffee is always in my kitchen. So just move in. I know it might be fast.”

“It’s not fast,” he said immediately. Then seemed to hear himself. The corner of his mouth.

“So,” you said. He put the marking pen down. Turned you in the chair so you were facing him instead of the mirror. His hands on the armrests, leaning in, looking at you from close range with the expression that had no performance in it — just open, just his face.

“You want me to move in,” he said.

“I want you to move in,” you confirmed.

“Okay.” Simple and certain. Like it had always been going to be okay. “Yeah, Y/N. Okay.”

You looked at him. He looked at you. “Good,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He kissed you — brief, warm, his hand coming up to your jaw for just a second and then he stepped back and picked up the marking pen. “Now,” he said, professional again, mostly, “let me get to work.”

The throat piercing was the most careful he’d ever been. Which was saying something because he was always careful — but this was a surface piercing, more sensitive, more particular, and he went slower than usual, checked the mark three times, talked you through every step in that low steady voice. “Breathe in,” he said.

You breathed.

“Out. Slow.”

Out. The needle went quick and precise and then the sting, sharp and clean, and his hands already steady and sure moving the jewellery through. “Good girl,” he said quietly. “Really good. Almost done—”

His hands were the most certain thing in the world. “Done,” he said. “Look.”

You looked in the mirror. A small flat-back surface bar, sitting in the hollow of your throat, exactly centred, exactly right. Just visible, subtle, perfect. Above it the collarbone piece. His work. All of it his work, accumulated on your skin over months. “Riki,” you said.

“I know,” he said. Quietly pleased.

“It’s good.”

“It’s good,” you said.

He was looking at you in the mirror — at the hollow of your throat, the bar, the stems, all of it together with an expression you recognised now. The specific one that was about more than the work. “I put a lot on you,” he said. Quiet.

“I said that before,” you said. “And you told me—”

“Not enough,” he said. You looked at him in the mirror. He looked back. “Still not enough,” he said simply.

You reached up and covered his hand where it rested on your shoulder. He turned it over, fingers between yours. “Move in,” you said again. Just to say it.

He pressed his mouth briefly to the top of your head. “I heard you the first time,” he said.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you,” he said. Immediate, he pressed his mouth into your hair. The playlist rolled over. The red light under the door. Studio 13 went quiet around you both. And the card he handed you that first night was there in your bag.

Still there.

Always there.

all rights reserved to @/jaypetals

Ravenchrest Academy, the most elite school in the country, only the richest, smartest students are accepted. Including you, Student Council Vice President.

People tend to use the word “bossy” or “demanding” when talking about you, which isn’t entirely false, you just like getting your way

So why does Nishimura Riki, the Student Council President think it's okay to boss you around, while you have to hold your tongue through it, even though most of the time you don't.

Truth is, he sees it as a power imbalance, in the end you have no choice but to listen, you two have a…complicated relationship.

Even though its the most luxurious School in the country, you still have to work in the same office as him, irritatingly so.

“So you're saying you haven't printed, nor made the sign up sheet for the student leadership conference?” Nishimura says, not even bothering to look up from his papers

“That's what I just said.” You say from your desk, the space isn't too cramped but it wouldn't be able to fit another person, your desks are nearly across from each other.

“And you think you deserve being in this position?” You hate the way he talks to you like you're beneath him.

“I was voted for among the students, and teachers. I think I'm perfectly capable of being in this position.” You say resisting the urge to throw your keyboard at his face

“Well I think you are too, but you can't even perform a simple task like making a sign up sheet, it's pathetic really.” He says, that “nonchalant” attitude radiating off him

You inhale and exhale, trying to calm yourself down before speaking “I'll work on it right now.” You say through your teeth, biting back the long list of insults you’re holding back

“Good.” He simply says 

Honestly, he acts unbothered and everyone around him believes it. Anyone would bend their backs just to do what he wants. Does he abuse the power? Yes. But there's only one person who can’t seem to back down, and it's you. No matter what he does, no matter how much he establishes his authority over you, no matter how much he punishes you, you still don’t respect him the same way the other students do.

He tries to hide his shock at the way you didn't insult him, opening his mouth to make a smart ass comment before a knock on the door cuts through the silence

“Come in.” You both say at the same time, glaring at each other

A shorter girl comes in, black hair cut in a short bob, she looks nervous. You're too focused on her to notice the way Nishimura's gaze immediately goes to her.

“Hi–I um, you emailed me to come here” She says, voice quiet

“Do you need help with something?” You ask, brow raising

“Sori, we can speak outside.” Nishimura says, standing up, you don't miss the way his hand guides her, resting on her lower back

You've noticed, he likes the shy ones, the girls who are willing to do anything for him at any time, you also notice the way he seems so gentle with them, almost like they're fragile. The complete opposite of how he treats you.

You also don't miss when he comes back, 20 minutes later, tie disheveled, lips slightly plumper than before.

“What did she need?” You press, your eyes focused on the computer

“Why? Jealous she took away from our precious alone time?” He says, watching your face for a reaction

“I just wish she would have kept you longer so I could enjoy my precious alone time.” You say calmly

You don't see the way his eye slightly twitches, annoyed with your need to be a walking disobedience to him. But he doesn't say anything, because he knows he'll eventually break you too.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

Since your school is known for its large charity events, and fundraisers, you're not surprised when the reporters come around to ask you about it.

So here you are, standing outside in the irritatingly hot air with Nishimura's hand on your back, and a reporter who won't shut the hell up.

“Hm..Can you two scoot closer together? This is going on the front page of the Academy's newsletter." The one holding the camera says

You look at Nishimura, he looks down at you before pulling you flush against his side, his hand splayed at the waistband of your skirt

“Perfect! And smile!” 

You take a deep breath before putting on that performative smile you always wear around teachers, and classmates

“Thank you, the letter should arrive later this week!” You and Nishimura just nod as they walk away

Pushing him from your side slightly “They’re insufferable.” You say using your hand to fan yourself

“Taking a picture with me is really that bad?” He says smirking

“Do you really want me to answer that?” your attitude spiking from the heat

his eyes lock on yours, an intensity you know so well glinting in them

“Careful, don't forget your place y/n.” He says, walking back to the door

You just stare at him in confusion as he walks away like the cocky asshole he is

Later that week you decide to go to school a little earlier than everyone, walking to the student council office, pausing when you see him already there

You step in, setting your bags down “Shocker that you're here.” you say, he doesnt even look up- is he laughing at you?

You stride to his desk to see what he's looking at before snatching the paper from his hands

“What the fuck!?” You practically yell and he bursts out laughing

Nishimura Riki is laughing. Which is odd considering what an uptight asshole he is

“I think they got it right” he says watching your face as you study the newsletter’s cover

“Nishimura Riki Student council President, and L/n Y/n The Vice president are the ultimate duo, chemistry unmatched as they work together to lead the Academy to greater heights–” You look at him eyes wide

“Is this official?” you ask, tone serious

He looks up at you through his black framed glasses

“It's already been given to the teachers to pass out” He checks the time “And right about now they should be given to the students.”

You look back down at the paper in horror

“Do you know what this means Nishimura?” You say, he asked you to use his first name before, but you refuse to call someone who you despise that

“That we have great chemistry? That we lead the school to greatness?” sarcasm leaking in his tone

“It means all your little girl toys are going to come for my throat.” You say slamming the paper on his desk in aggression

“Girl toys? Really y/n?” he says, brow raising, with that obnoxious smirk you want to slap off his perfect face

“That's what I just fucking said!” you yell, anger filling in your voice 

He stands up, towering over you, the only thing between him and you being his desk

“I suggest watching your tone, especially if you don't want me to tell the headmaster that your skirt is 3 inches shorter than the required length, breaking the dress code. I'm sure they wouldn't want their star student– well besides me, to be known for being a slut who flashes her light pink lace panties, now do they?” He says, tone calm

You swear your face is red, and someone definitely turned up the heater.

You don't know what to reply to first- the fact that he knows so much about how long your skirt is, or the fact that he knows what color underwear you’re wearing right now.

“You fuck-” You stop when someone knocks on the door

He just looks at you, that stupid ass smirk on his face “Come in” He says, a little too calm for someone who just practically violated your entire ego.

A boy you recognize from the student council meetings comes in, pausing in the doorway looking at the both of you standing up

“Um- Sorry did I interrupt something?” He says fidgeting with his clip board in his hands

“No, you didn't." You walk over to him

“Well I have the list of places to go for the student leadership conference-” he hands them to you

“This is good.” you say, scanning the papers

Nishimura sits back down, watching the way the boy nervously picks his nails “Ill review them and let you know if we need to make any changes.” Nishimura says, holding his hand out for the papers

You hesitate a beat before giving them to him

He watches as the boys eyes linger on your skirt before snapping back to your face when you turn to face him, making him scoff under his breath. That was his last straw.

“Thank you. You can leave now.” He says watching the boy shut the door behind him

“Fix the skirt issue, it's clearly distracting for your classmates.” He says, writing on the paper

You let out a sour laugh "You're still on that? Are you fucking serious right now?” 

His eyes snap up to your face “You think it's okay to talk to me like that?” 

“Yeah, actually. Considering you're wrong.” You say crossing your arms over your chest in defiance

“y/n, I would suggest cutting this attitude of yours off before I do something I wont take back.” He says, eyes testing

“Oh please, you’re not going to do shit—just because you’re literally one rank higher than me doesn’t make you any better.”

No one is able to get on his nerves as bad as you.

He stands up, walking around his desk till he's directly in front of you, reaching behind you to grab a ruler

“You really want to test me right now?” He says holding the ruler up

Now you’re doubting yourself, you watch as he holds the ruler up to your skirt

3 inches too short.

He tsks looking at you “y’know, you've been testing my patience this whole semester, but it's been even worse this past week.” 

He stands up to tower over you again “How should I punish you then?” he says, letting the ruler trail down your arm, letting the words sit. you don't know why you can't talk right now– maybe shock?

“Speechless now? Interesting.”

“You're a pervert.” you say through your teeth

He chuckles, pushing his glasses up his nose

“Bend over the desk.” He says, eyes locked on yours

“What?” you're not sure you heard him right

“Bend.Over.The.Desk.” spelling it out like you're a child.

“Nishimura-im not–” You don't even register when he pushes you down onto the desk, the edge of it digging into your stomach, before lifting up your skirt

“Pink lace, I knew it” He chuckles, almost to himself

“What the fuck are you doing-” he doesnt let you finish your sentence before landing a sharp slap to your ass with the ruler causing you to nearly yell

“That's for having such a dirty mouth.” He watches the way your ass reddens 

He hits your other with the ruler, making you let out a whimper on his desk

“Oh? Don't tell me you're actually enjoying this?” He says rubbing your ass with the ruler, as if to sooth the burn

“I knew you were a slut, but this is just- filthy” He says using the ruler and his hand to spread your ass 

You whimper as the ruler grazes over your wet cunt through your panties

“F-fuck you” you let out through uneven breaths

He doesn't hesitate before bringing the ruler up and slapping it right onto your pussy making you choke on a moan

“Still acting like a spoiled brat even when I have you like this? You're going to need some work hm?” 

Both your eyes move to the sudden ring of the school phone on his desk

He lets out a breath of frustration before he grabs the phone, answering, hand resting on your back to keep you from standing up, you don't bother standing up either because some sick, twisted part of you likes this. 

You hate it when people try to put you in your place, so why does it feel so good when Nishimura Riki does.

He moves his hand from your back to pick up the ruler again, petting your ass with it, letting it tease your cunt, multitasking. Another reason why he’s so good at what he does.

“No, we haven't decided on a city yet.” he says tone clipped

“Yes and we'll get to it right away. I'm aware it's due soon” He says, angling the ruler corner to rub against your throbbing clit, making you bite back a moan

“Yeah, you too.” He says sharply before hanging up and setting the phone down

He retracts the ruler looking at it, the corner of it soaked with your slick. “Making a mess on my supplies now?” He says looking down at your pathetic state

“Stand up. Start looking for the best hotels in the cities from the list. Narrow them down and report back to me when you've finished.” He says, putting the ruler on the table and walking back around his desk

“Go on, I need my desk to work on my own things” He says, You use your arms to lift yourself up, pulling your skirt down

He just watches you, the blush on your cheeks, your hair a mess, a tear threatening to fall from your eyes.

“You’re still an ass.” you mumble under your breath, walking around your desk to sit down

He sits down as well, getting his pencil to write something

“You’re lucky we both have work to do, after all it is our duties as President and Vice president of the student council.” He says looking at you, reminding you yet again of your ‘place’

You try not to wince at the slight sting as you adjust yourself in your seat, or the wetness that's still pooled in your panties. 

Fine. If he wants to act like nothing just happened, you can do that too. You’ve always been good at pretending anyway.

“Ill have the papers on your desk at the end of the day, Nishimura.” You say, tone cold as ice

He tightens his lips. How can someone act so normal after what he just did– he needs you to be affected, apparently bending you over the desk and spanking you wasn't enough. He needs you begging for more, he needs you to feel humiliated. 

⋆༺♱༻⋆

You don’t bring up what happened, neither does he. With having to deal with community service day, and the upcoming student leadership conference, you don't even have time to. 

During times like this you get snappy, impatient, He doesn't like that. 

But when you do listen, and you dont talk back, he fucking loves it. He likes seeing the defiance in your eyes, when he tells you to do something, and you can't say a damn thing to him. Especially in moments like these, where you're proposing the final cities for the trip in front of the whole student council body, and he interrupts saying he's already come to a decision. 

You can't disagree with him either, so he watches as you open your mouth to speak then shut it

This is almost a mere experiment for him, he wants to see how far you will go so he knows exactly how to push you. 

He speaks up, and everyone quiets down “New York, it's the perfect city for it. I've already talked to the headmaster, and the other Student Council Presidents from Thornewood, and Redmont. It's been approved.”

You watch from beside him as their smiles light up, and they begin talking amongst each other

“Well get the room situation dealt with later this week.” He says over the talking, making everyone quiet again

“Thats all, feel free to stop by our office if you have any questions.” He says, not sparing you a glance before walking out of the classroom

You follow him, slamming the office door behind you

“How come you didn't confirm with me about the city?” You say, your nails digging into the flesh of your palm

He looks up at you from his desk chair with a smug smirk

“I don't need to confirm anything with you y/n. Do you need a reminder of who’s in charge here?” He says, brow raised over his glasses

“Last time I checked we’re supposed to work together on this whole thing–you can't just go and make decisions and claim we decided-”

“Who are you to tell me what, and what not to do? As Student Council President, the final decision was New York, and im not changing it regardless-”

“That's not fair! You didn't even let me know prior to the meeting with the rest of the student council! It made me look unprofessional in front of them!” You say, watching the way he rubs his forehead in frustration 

“Do you think it's okay to interrupt me y/n?” He says, watching your movements intensely

You swallow, he watches your throat bob

“So when I ask you a question you suddenly can’t speak?” He says calmly

“Come here.” He watches you walk around his desk till your standing beside him

“Get on your knees.” He says, scooting his chair back slightly

“You can’t be fucking serious Nishimura– I swear-” He holds his hand up

“You keep opening that mouth of yours, even when you're told to shut it. I think it just needs to be filled. So get on your knees.” He says, pushing his glasses up so their resting on his head

You don't know why you listen, it’s like something takes over your body when you lower yourself on the rough carpet beneath you

He looks down at you, leaning to move a stray hair out of your face, swiping his thumb across your lip, you part them slightly and he smirks at that, you’re stunning.

He moves his hand to unbuckle his belt, and pulls down his pants and boxers waisting no time. his dick hits his stomach with how long, and thick it is, and flushed red at the tip, who knew Nishimura Riki was packing, but you don't admit that.

He watches as you look at his cock, your facial expressions being so easy to read make him chuckle before he strokes himself slowly

“Open.” He says, tapping his dick on your cheek

You hesitate a second before opening your mouth slightly

“Go on, show me what else you can do besides run your mouth.” He says looking down at you, eyes almost siren like

You wrap your lips around the tip, the taste of his precum coating your tongue

“Mmm.. such a good little slut for me huh?” He says pushing your head down a little so you can take more of his cock in your mouth, making you gag 

“Fuck–” He lets out through a deep groan 

“You look so much better like this baby, taking my cock so well” He says looking down at the way your head moves in attempt to take him fully in your throat, the nickname he occasionally gives you making your heart skip a beat

You brace your hands on his legs to steady yourself 

“Your mouth is so fucking small for all the big talk you do-” He says before biting his lip

You mumble something, the vibration making him groan louder

He wraps his hand in your hair, moving your head for you, making you take him deeper, His tip hitting the back of your throat, as your saliva seeps out the corners of your mouth 

You curl your toes to try and not gag as he speeds up, interlocking both hands on the back of your head

“Im gonna cum y/n– swallow it for me” He says through uneven breaths before bringing your face down till it touches his navel and shooting his thick load in your mouth, he lets out the most deep, broken sounds as your throat milks him dry

You lift your head, looking up at him before licking your lips

He laughs “You’re a little cum slut huh? Only good girls take my load like that.” He says standing up and pulling back up his pants, fixing his belt, not sparing you a glance before he walks around you

“Where are you going?” You say, using his chair to help you stand up

“I still have important manners to attend to, did you forget we have the assembly in–” He checks his watch “Less than 10 minutes?” he says adjusting the end of his sleeve

He takes in your state “I would suggest cleaning yourself up, can’t have everyone knowing what a pathetic little slut you are.” He says, tone way too calm for your liking before he walks out, shutting the door behind him.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

Fuck Nishimura Riki. Fuck his stupidly hot hair. Fuck the stupid way his glasses fit his face perfectly. And fuck him for being at your favorite convenience store at 11:43 pm.

You’ve never seen him outside of school, and this is ultimately the last place you think he’d be. With your house being just 15 minutes away of course you’re going to stop by when your hungry. After all your parents seem to think you’re top chef with the ingredients they left before they went on their fancy weekend trip.

Typical, considering they’re practically never home.

You curse yourself for going out in your pajamas and a hoodie. The outfit being something you would never wear out unless you were desperate. And right now with your stomach growling at the thought of eating, you sure as hell are.

Opening the door to the store, you flinch at the bell above it that rings before swiftly make your way to the ramen section, Nishimura is on the other side—plus he doesn’t seem like the type to even eat ramen at midnight-

“Y/n?” you hear the smooth voice you recognize too well say

You sigh before turning to face him in the cramped aisle

“Nishimura.” you say, trying to take in his outfit, baggy jeans, black long sleeve..who the fuck wears jeans for a midnight convienence store run-

He looks down at your outfit with obvious distaste

“hm..interesting.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” you say crossing your arms over your chest

His eyes snap to yours, that look of authority glinting in them

“What did I say about your tone when talking to me? Or do I need to teach you another lesson?” He says, brow raising

You scoff at his words “Seriously? It’s midnight. Im tired, hungry, and you’re actually talking to me about that right now?”

“Y/n, I dont care if we’re off school hours or not, you still have to respect me regardless.” He says tone clipped

“Yeah okay sorry Mr. Student council president.” you say turning back around, and grabbing two of your favorite ramen

He shakes his head, tongue pushing against the side of his cheek, watching as you walk towards the cashier to pay

Coming beside you immediately he places his item down, the cashier scans it

“What the hell are you doing?-“

He hands the cashier the money, and gives you your bag before leaning down to whisper in your ear

“Thats for the other day, im not a total monster y/n. You deserve some sort of award for sucking dick that good.” He straightens before heading towards the door, leaving you with a dumbfounded look on your face

“See you on Monday Mrs. VP.” He says before walking out.

Even as you watch the water boil, you still think about the way his lips ghosted your ear when he whispered that to you, your mind drifting to the odd moments you two have shared over the past few weeks—what the fuck is going on.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

“I mean seriously you two would make a really hot couple.” One of the two girls who came to the office claiming they had important manners to talk about says. You don’t even remember their names

“You’re sure you two aren’t like you know..” the other one says

You look at both of them, eye brow raised

“I mean with the news letter and all- great chemistry? More like sexual tension.” The first one says casually

Nishimura stops at the cracked door to listen closer

“I promise you it’s nothing like that. Nishimura is hardly even my friend.” You say eyes going back to your laptop

“Well you’re better than the both of us, if Riki was by my side all the time id be on that di-“ she stops when he clears his throat and pushes the door open

He looks at them confused as if he hadn’t just eavesdropped on the whole conversation “Are you here about the student leadership conference?” He says, setting his bags down on his desk before walking around to sit down

“Uh no—wait yeah we were just asking y/n about it” One of them says before mumbling something like “have a nice day” rushing out, shutting the door

You both busy yourselves with your assignments for your classes before he interrupts the silence “Hardly even your friend huh?” He says eyes on his computer, you look up at him

“You were listenting to that?” You say foot tapping on the ground

“Yes, this is our office.”

“Well yeah—but its true, are we not mere.. acquaintances?” you say testing

He laughs at that. “Do all your acquaintances get you wet?”

Your face flushes red when he looks at you “Nishimura thats not-“

“Riki.” He says, tone assertive

“I want you to call me Riki. Enough of this professional, formal shit you pull. We both know its all just a mask to cover up what a pathetic slut you are.”

“Fine. Riki.” You say before looking back at your computer

He smirks before going back to his work

“asshole.” you whisper under your breath

He cocks a brow “Do you really want a punishment that bad y/n?”

You don’t respond.

He rolls up his sleeves before standing up and coming to your side of the desk, you turn your head, not quite looking at him, he moves your chin to look at him instead

“Spread your legs for me” He says, you dont even hear his next words with how loud your heart is beating. He could probably hear it too.

“Are you playing stupid now?” he snaps in your face

“Huh-?” you say looking up at him

He crouches down before placing both his hands on your thighs “I said, stop fucking hiding yourself.” He says before spread your legs for you to see your most intimate part

He drags a finger up the middle to collect the slick soaking your panties “I knew it.” He says before spreading them wider and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, eyes locked on your as he does.

He watches you bite your lip, smiling against your skin before bringing his lips to your cunt, you don’t expect him to but he flattens his tongue against your clothed core making you moan right at the contact

“Look at you. What would all those who voted for you to be in this chair say if they knew how wet you got from a few words hm?” He says before flicking his tongue over your clit through your panties

“Fuck Riki-“ You whisper, hands gripping the chairs armrest

He presses feather light kisses to your cunt, his lips being exactly what you need to feel yourself getting closer

“You want me to take these off baby?” he says, teeth at the top of your panties waistband

You nod, eyebrows furrowed

He pulls them off your legs, before bringing them to his nose to smell, dick hardening at the scent of your arousal

You watch as he stands up, putting your panties in his pocket

“What?” He says tilting his head at your confused look

“You really think I’d eat your pussy here of all places?” He says like you weren’t just taking his cock in your mouth last week

“You literally-“

“Im not doing that here y/n. I have to finalize the hotel situation with the headmaster.” He says before bringing your legs down, and fixing your skirt

“Just in case someone comes in. I don’t want anyone knowing how desperate you get for me okay? So keep your legs closed.” You watch as he walks out, leaving you yet again with more confusion in your head and an ache between your legs.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

“Tommorow we leave at 7:00 am for the train, Remember we will be there for the weekend so pack accordingly. The room situation is figured out, I have the papers here of who your roommate will be, requests were accepted as well.” You say before passing them out to the other student’s

Riki watches from the front as you perform your required duties, he can't help but let a smirk show at knowing how hard you try to keep up this ‘good girl’ facade

With you two being in the positions you are, its natural that you where allowed to have your own rooms, so you don’t have a roommate thankfully.

That night you packed your bags for the trip, formal wear for the actual leadership events, casual clothes, pajamas, mentally preparing yourself for what you know is going to be a long weekend. And not because of the convention, but because you would have to be by his side the entire time.

You watch as the students board the train, checking off their names as Riki talks to the headmaster beside you.

“And one thing I want both of you to make sure doesn’t happen is room crossing, Im trusting that you will enforce that rule as well.” The headmaster says

“Yes sir” You say before focusing back on the students

“There will be photographers and such at the venue, considering this is an important event for the school, so I need you two to play the part of hardworking partners, which shouldn’t be an difficult. Your teamwork is not overlooked.” You hear him say to Riki before walking back towards the teachers

“Shouldn’t be difficult huh?” you say as Riki comes to your side and you check off the last name

“Are we not compatible y/n?” He says looking down at you with that knowing smirk

You feel your cheeks beginning to flush “Shut up—we’re going to be late” you say before mumbling something and boarding the train

You walk to your seat, passing by the other students before you find two empty seats at the back—fuck.

He watches you pause

“Get used to it, Well be by each others side this whole trip. I call aisle seat.” He says as he watches you sit down by the window. Fine. You wanted window seat anyway.

Since this is a long trip, 5 hours exactly, you obviously brought the book you need to read for one of your AP courses. The chatter had died down a bit, the classmates around you seemed to be sleeping or locked on their phones.

Riki is on his phone, scrolling uselessly. You hate that he doesn’t even have to try to be one of the top students in the Academy’s rankings.

You don’t miss the way his hand rests on your bare thigh, his thumb rubbing mindless circles, as if this was some everyday occurrence.

“What are you doing.” you whisper

He glances at you, and down at your book resting above his hand on your lap

He doesn’t say anything before bringing his hand under your book, and letting his hand graze your inner thigh, you gasp at the contact before he leans closer to you

“Keep reading, don’t want you to lose second place in the rankings.” He says watching your face as irritation washes over you

But you listen. Picking up your book and starting where you left off, trying to ignore his thumb inching closer to your heat

“Fuck—“ he breathes out when he makes slight contact with your clothed core “Does being touched like this in a train full of your classmates really turn you on that much?” He whispers into your ear quietly

“You want me to finger your pretty pussy infront of all them? Make you come so hard you wont even care that they’re watching?” He says, pressing the pad of his finger against your warmth making you bite your lip

Realisation dawns when you hear laughing from a few rows up. You’re in a train for fucks sake, you suddenly stand up making a few eyes go to you, before chuckling awkwardly and walking to the bathroom of the train.

You come back 10 minutes later, looking down at Riki on his phone, who doesn’t spare you a glance as you sit back in your seat. The rest of the ride is quiet, at least between you two..Did you make it awkward? Is he upset with you? But you brush those thoughts aside before picking back up your book and reading.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

Once everyone got situated at the hotel, rooms were found, and bags were unpacked, you sent a message to the student council group chat

“We are going to the main venue for the conference at 4:00, the other academy’s should be there at the same time. The dress code is formal, remember to make a good impression, this reflects the whole academy. We will meet in the lobby at 3:30” You send the message and shut off your phone to worry about what the hell you were going to wear

Settling for some dress pants and a blouse from an expensive boutique back home, you put your hair in a half up half down, before making your way to the elevator and stopping when you see Riki. spam clicking the down arrow button, you look at his attire, from the black business pants he’s wearing to the black formal long sleeve before coming beside him.

“If you keep clicking it, it resets it. Shouldn’t that be obvious?” You say giving it 5 seconds before clicking it yourself, watching as the door opens

He lets his eyes roam down your body, from the way your blouse hugs your chest, to the pants that fit your ass perfect, he doesn’t hesitate before guiding you in the elevator like you couldn’t do it yourself, his hand dangerously low on your back.

“Im not going to check you for your tone, only because you look sexy as fuck in this” He says before trailing his hand down further to cup your ass in his hand making you gasp slightly

“You wearing these to impress someone?” He says, looking at your face when you don’t move to look at him

“These are just regular pants.” You say when the elevator dings, stopping on the 4th floor to pick up a few of your classmates, his hand makes its way back to his side

You make room in the elevator for your classmates, trying not to take too much space, but also trying not to touch him

You’re half listening to their conversation when you feel him, pressed behind you “Riki what the hell-“ you whisper so only he can hear

“Shhh” he whispers before subtly placing his hand on your waist and pressing his front into your back, claiming it’s too cramped in the elevator—if you make any sudden movements your classmates attention will be on you—

Your eyes flick up when the door opens and you practically jump out the elevator, smiling when you see everyone in the lobby on time, once again putting on that mask. Riki follows behind you, shaking his head with a smirk on his face

⋆༺♱༻⋆

“Yeah, I think the work of student councils vice president is severely underrated, it always gets pushed aside by everyone. So I try to give as much credit to ours as possible” Says the boy infront of you, Yang Jungwon, Student Council President of Thornewood Academy.

“Well she’s definitely lucky..” you say admiring the way he talks so passionately about it

“You see that guy over there?” You say subtly pointing at Riki, making Jungwons eyes go to him

“You probably already knew but hes the Student Council President at Ravenchrest.”

“The one who keeps looking at you?” He says, eyes back on you when Riki glances in your direction again

“Yeah..Hes got this like weird possessive thing..”You say, before turning back to Jungwon

“Right, I gathered that” He says nervously, making you laugh

Riki watches from the table hes seated at, the words of the girl talking to him going in one ear and out the other, whats so fucking funny? Is he really making you laugh that hard? How about you go and be vice president of that school instead since you’re already so buddy buddy with him.

He excuses himself from the conversation hes in, and walks over to you and Jungwon

You two are too busy talking about how your schools are extremely wealthy, yet you still have one office to work in, when Riki suddenly interrupts

“Y/n, you dont enjoy our shared space? because I could have sworn—“ you cut him off

“Nishimura, this is Jungwon!” you say a little to cheerfully

Riki glares at the use of his formal name

Jungwon holds out his hand “Nice to meet you, in person” He flashes a smile, dimple evidently clear, Riki shakes his hand before facing you

“I need to speak to you about student council.” He says turning to you

“Can you wait a few min-“

“Now. Its important.” He says eyes lowering on you

You hesitate before turning back to a very uncomfortable looking Jungwon

“Im sorry Jungwon, duty calls. Maybe we can talk over breakfast sometime yeah?” You say offering a small smile

He nods “I’d like that y/n” he says before Riki practically drags you across the venue to the side of the stage, where its dark and secluded

“You won’t be meeting him for anything.” His hand splayed on your waist possessively

“I will-“

“you wont.”

“Thats an order, as Student Council President. And you will listen to me.” He says, tone sharp like a knife

“You can’t do that, thats not fair-“ You say

His eyes drop to your lips “Do you want me to punish you here y/n? Of all places? Make you take my cock so deep you wont-“

“Riki?” you hear a small voice say, and he immediately pulls himself from you when a girl rounds the corner, the one from a few weeks ago, short hair, small frame

She pauses when she sees you, looking between you two, voice stammering as she speaks

“Um-the reporters are looking for you..They said they wanted a picture of all the student council presidents together but I can just tell them you’re busy-“

“Thats not necessary Sori, Thank you for coming to get me.”

You watch as he smiles sweetly, tone suddenly gentle like he’s talking to a baby deer who’ll run away from him the second he makes a sudden movement, it makes you scoff

He hands you a card before whispering in your ear “Nine. Since you’re looking to be put in your place so bad.” He says before looking back at Sori, placing his hand on her waist as they walk back to where everyone is, she hasn’t done anything to you but you want to pull her by her stupid hair so fucking bad right now.

You look down at the card in your hands—the hotel key card to be exact, with his room number on it, biting your lip as you put it in your pocket

The rest of the afternoon is a blur, from people asking you questions about the school, to students asking you permission for every little thing, like yes the food on the table is there for you to eat. You even decided to get Jungwons number so you can make breakfast plans, since Riki rudely interrupted you two.

Its not like he’s your boyfriend so it doesn’t even matter if you get food with another guy anyway.

But your mind cant stop replaying the interaction between you and Riki earlier, your heart beating at the thought of what would happen if you actually went, I mean his room is on the same floor so theres no harm in it..right?

⋆༺♱༻⋆

You’ve been back at your room since 8:15 pm, contemplating actually going, pacing around like an idiot. Its 8:52 now. Why is time moving so much faster right now!

Sitting on your bed in your bra and underwear, matching set..for no specific reason. Trying to figure out what to put on, maybe sweatpants? No that feels to casual, but is this not casual?

You settle for some shorts and a sweater, after second guessing it five times. Looking at your phone “Shit!” 9:08. You lock your room door behind you, awkwardly waving at one of the housekeeping ladies before making your way to his room

“715..710…705.” You whisper as you approach the door, knocking on it, waiting for any type of response

You lift the key card to the door and it unlocks, the cold handle biting your skin when you open it.

“Riki..?” you whisper before taking off your shoes and walking further in the room, shutting the door behind you quietly, like someone will know you’re here if you close it too loud. He’s sitting on the bed, scrolling on his phone as you approach him, he’s wearing some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Casual. Because this is all casual right?

“You’re late.” He says looking at you, glasses resting low on his nose

“It’s only like 10 minutes-“ you start

“I don’t want your pathetic excuses.” He says before putting his phone down next to him

You look like a deer in headlights, just staring at him, the silence is brief. “You we’re talking to him again.” He says, eyes locked on yours

“Who?” You say, knowing exactly who.

“Jungwon.”

“Am I not allowed to talk to him now?” You say brow raising, that familiar temper rising

“I don’t like when you don’t listen.”

“Come here.” He says, and you walk over, stopping at the side of his bed

“Are you going to listen to me now y/n?” he says, eyes trailing down to your legs

“Depends what you ask-“

“Take off the shorts and sweater, I want to see if im right.” He says watching your face

“Right about what?”

“I’d bet my position as Student Council President you’re wearing one of those little matching sets underneath your clothes right now. So I want to see if im right.”

You can feel your face flush. because he is right. your expression is all he needs to know for that.

You lift your sweater off your body, letting it fall limply to the ground, watching as his eyes drop to your chest in the white bra you chose, before you pull your shorts down, stepping out of them to reveal your white panties with a pink bow on the front

He lets out a knowing chuckle, “You wore that for me y/n?”

“No-“

He pulls you to his lap, his chest against your back before whispering in your ear “I don’t want your pathetic lies either.” He says, using his hand to spread your legs as the other trails across your collar bone

You watch as his hand inches closer to your core, his finger brushing it slightly making you gasp

“Sensitive are we now?” He says before pulling them to the side, the cold air making you whine as it hits your bare cunt

He brings his middle and ring finger to your mouth urging you to open

“Suck” He says before you take his long fingers in your mouth, sucking them as if they were his dick

“Look at you, you really miss my cock that much?” He says before pulling them out and bringing his hand back down to your core

He gathers the slick, mixing it with your saliva and making slow, agonizing movements on your pussy

“Riki-“ you let out through a breathless moan

He uses his two fingers to spread your pussy open more, and uses his middle finger to flick at your puffy clit, making you gasp, his other hand slides down to cup your tit in his hand

Your head is thrown back against his chest, your eyes rolling at the sensation, but his eyes are locked on the way your legs twitch everytime his finger makes contact with your sensitive bud

You’re moaning gets slightly louder when we rubs your clit with two fingers, pinching it between them, he smiles at that

“Are you gonna come just from me touching you like this?” He says, voice mocking

You try closing your legs but he brings his hand down from your chest to hold you open

“Yes- fuck im close” You let out as he rubs fast figure 8’s on your pussy, he watches your breath pick up, and how your hole clenches around nothing

“You wanna come baby?” He says, somehow his fingers are moving faster

“R-riki im gonna-“ you let out a moan that turns into a sob as he moves his hand from your pussy to slap your thigh

“You think you deserve to come from my fingers? After the shit you pulled tonight?” He says, rubbing the spot he hit softly, watching as your clit practically throbs at the loss of contact

“Little brats like you don’t get to come so soon.” He says before landing a sharp slap on your pussy, making your hips jolt, you let out a choked moan at the sting

“L-let me come—“ you say before he lands another sharp slap to your clit before rubbing it again, picking up his pace, bringing you closer to the edge and then stopping again

You swear you feel a tear slip from your eyes “Aw, are you crying?” he says, bringing his hand that was on your thigh up to wipe the tear

“I-I cant—“ You let out through a whine

“Thats too fucking bad.” He says before slapping your pussy again, with more force, your hands claw at his arm

He watches as your sensitive pussy flushes at the harsh contact, yet somehow you’re even more wet

“I-I wanna come..Riki” You say looking up at him, eyes watery

He begins rubbing small circles again, teasing you

“You’re going to have to beg.”

You hesitate and he notices immediately. Landing another slap to your cunt making you practically yell

“Fuck!- Please Riki!” You say when he traces your pussy lips with his fingers

“Please what?” He says knowingly

“Please..make me come from your fingers” You say, that pleading tone in your voice making him bite his lip before he plunges his two fingers in your hole, sliding in with how wet you are

You let out a sharp moan as he curls them just right—your eyes threatening to close from how good it feels to be filled

“Open your eyes. Look at how good your pussy takes my fingers.” He says, trying to hold his own composure as your walls flutter around his fingers

He makes a scissor motion in you, stretching you more, moving his fingers in and out, and curling them

“mm y..yes im gonna- come—“ you say through whimpers, your arms hugging the one hes using to finger you

“Yeah you wanna come baby?” He says curling his fingers deeper in you, making you hug tighter on his arm as he hits the perfect spot, he watches as you throw your head back, using his fingers to ride out your orgasm, his dick hardening at the sight

But he doesnt stop. Instead of curling his fingers he thrusts them in and out, pushing your arousal back in you, his palm hitting your clit over and over again as he pounds his fingers ruthlessly into you

“F-fuck! Riki!” You say through a string of moans

“You’re not done. I want to see if your pussy can squirt for me.” He says, fingers reaching deeper at each thrurst, the sendation of your clit being hit making it even more euphoric

“I-i have to-“ You scream- actually fucking scream as the clear liquid comes out of you, soaking his hand- your legs- the bed beneath you, he’s fucking his fingers in and out of you, trying to milk every last drop your willing to let out, you’re nothing but a pathetic whimpering mess when he finally stops moving his fingers, he inches them out slowly “I knew you could do it, you’re a good little slut right baby?”

“Y-yes Riki-“ you say, trying to catch up to your breathing as you come down from your high, your legs are practically limp, he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them to taste you, he closes his eyes as your flavor hits his tastebuds

“I want-“ He starts and then stops at the sudden ring from your phone, eyes glancing to the nightstand at the sound

He used his other hand to reachover and pick it up and his movements still. You sit up to see what he saw and your heart drops at the reminder you had set earlier

Make reservations for breakfast with Jungwon

and right under that is a text message

Jungwon: Hey it’s Jungwon, im exited to talk soon without any interruptions lol :)

Riki hates the way he added that stupid fucking smiley face, your frozen between his legs, glancing between his unreadable face and your phone.

He moves you off him to stand up, pushing his glasses higher up his nose, before finally making eye contact with you

“I want you to shower, and then get the fuck out. When I come back you better not be fucking in here y/n” He says, not even giving you time to reply before grabbing his own phone and shoes and closing the hotel door behind him.

You feel like theres a wire around your throat, restriciting your breathing as a tear falls from your eye, why do you feel so guilty right now—was it wrong to get Jungwons number and make plans?

You force yourself up, not daring to look in the mirror as you walk to his shower, cleaning yourself, putting back on your clothes that lay beside the bed. You walk to the door, putting on your shoes, and make your way back to your own room.

You force yourself not to cry. Even if the pain in your heart right now wants nothing more than that to relieve it. After changing into your pajamas you curl into the hotels blankets, trying not to think about tomorrow. The fact that you still have to remain professional, by his side the entire time. You still have to act like nothing happened, put on that stupid fucking mask yet again.

Riki cant help but feel the dissapointment wash over him when he walks back into his hotel room an hour later, with a bag full of convenience store ramen, because part of him hoped you would keep that stubborn attitude and stay here, waiting for him to get back just to call him an asshole, he can’t help but feel like he fucked up instead.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

The morning was hell. Getting ready felt like a chore when it was supposed to be one of your favorite things. You put on a similar outfit to yesterdays, just with a white blouse, and black pants instead, you don't know why you decided to wear heels either when there a pain.

Riki hasn’t even looked in your direction this whole time. He didn't sit with you on the way to the venue, he didn't even touch you when you two had to take a picture for the “Most successful StuCo President and Vice President” award. Was he really this fucking mad over a text?

You’re helping one of your classmates prepare for their speech, as one of the best event planners in student council, when you see Riki, laughing with that girl. Sori. How can he be so unbothered right now? Why does your chest hurt at the sight of her touching his arm. The same arm you were clinging to last night. You should just go over there and tell her exactly what-

“Y/n?” Your classmate says

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was asking if I should just bring the note cards with me just in case?” She says looking at you with a worried look 

“Um- yeah, just do that” You say before excusing yourself, you need to talk to Riki. Now. You're walking closer, when someone stops infront of you, Jungwon.

“Hey, you didn't answer my text last night, are you okay?” he says observing the intense expression your face

You fully turn to face him “Yeah im just nervous I guess” You say chuckling to ease the tension

“You? Nervous?” he says brow raising

“Well yeah..?” you let out awkwardly

“Do you want to come sit with us? Not like one of those weird rival schools kind of way- it's just, you look like you could use a friend.” He says offering that kind smile

You look past his shoulder, Riki’s eyes locked on you. But his hand is on Sori’s back. You look back at Jungwon before smiling and nodding.

“And then he tripped- actually tripped over his own shoe after that whole ridiculous lecture” Thornewoods vice president says through a laugh

Jungwon can't help but laugh too, which makes you let out a giggle 

“It was truly humiliating..” he says rubbing the back of his head

Riki glances at you every few minutes, jealousy boiling in his chest, but you can't see it because you're faced away. You did that on purpose though, the sight of him touching another girl used to not bother you but in that moment, it made you want to throw up the appetizers that where passed out earlier.

Maybe it was a friendly interaction you needed, you open your mouth to say something when someone from the podium speaks

“Everyone please head back to your assigned school areas, we have a few more things to get through.” 

You smile at Jungwon and his friends before going back to your assigned section, looking down at the chair that says your name, and then the one next to it ‘Nishimura Riki’ plastered on it under the Student Council President title.

You sit down, crossing your legs, trying to seem less tense, even when you feel the shift in the air as Riki takes his seat beside you.

After what feels like 3 hours of speeches, awards, pictures, they finally pass out the dinner, the food was truly rich, which makes sense with how wealthy each of these schools are. You try to ignore his presence beside you, making conversation with your classmates instead, The only time you acknowledge eachother is when the woman who was speaking at the podium comes over to compliment you and Riki's work ethic, him claiming “he couldn't have done it without you.”, then going back to ignoring eachother. 

By the time the event was fully over, you said your goodbyes to Jungwon and his friends, thanking them for letting you join them earlier. 

On the ride back to the hotel, you check off the names of the student council members, making sure you didn't leave anyone, once you were finished you sat down, satisfied. But you could feel his eyes on you. Two rows back diagonal from you. 

Thanking God as you get to the elevator first, 7 other of your classmates joining, looking exhausted, you watch as the elevator doors begin to close when a hand stops it, making it open back up. Riki.

“What floor?” He asks the boy next to him

“Level two” He says, voice small, and Riki clicks it

The short ride is silent except for the whisper from your classmates next to you.

You watch as the elevator door opens and resist the urge to pull them back in there with you when 5 of them get off on this level.

“Im floor 3” One of the girls says, before clicking the 3 button

You look down at your feet, silently praying that the other girl is magically on the same floor as you, when the door dings open again your heart drops to your ass as they both get off. Leaving you and him here, alone. 

He doesn't click the 7 button on the elevator keypad. Instead, he settles for the ‘close door’ one, before turning to face you

“Y/n” He says looking down at you

“Look at me” He steps closer, lifting your chin, watching the way you cant even look at him

“Fuck- baby..” 

You swat his hand away “Dont fucking touch me- y-you spent the whole night glued to her side, touching her even after last night” You say, the words tumbling out of your mouth without a thought

“Well you spent the whole night practically eye fucking Jungwon so you're not completely innocent!” He says voice louder than intended

“He’s my friend! You don't get to take that away from me.” You say pushing him back, trying to make space in this small ass elevator

“A friend doesn't look at you like that y/n.” He says, hands resisting the urge to touch you

“Like what?!” You say, practically yelling even though you two were already close

“Like they want you as bad as I do.” He whispers, vulnerability leaking through his tone, a tone you haven't heard before until now

You look up at his face before letting out a sour chuckle sound, making his eyes snap back to you

“Thats bullshit- Riki you can’t even fucking kiss me.” You say, watching the way his eyes darken 

“Yeah?” He says, tone low before he steps closer to you, you step back, cursing the elevator for being to damn small when your back hits it

“Yea-” Your words are gone when he cups your face in his hands and presses his mouth to yours, you're frozen, in shock.

He pulls back looking at you with the most desperate look in his eyes, before you pull him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him again, your lips move like they were made for one another, his tongue brushes your bottom lip, before he pushes in, groaning into your mouth, his hand slips down to your waist, pulling you against him, but also pushing you against the wall more, as if it was the only thing grounding the two of you.

He steps back for a moment before clicking the ‘7’ button and then his lips are back on yours, your hand lifts his glasses so they rest on his head, even as the elevator door opens he's still trying to savor your lips on his, reaching into his back pocket to get his key card out, opening the hotel door and shutting it as he pushes you against it

He lifts your leg over his hip, rolling his hips into yours, making you both moan at the contact, you blush at the sound of him being so vocal, he pulls back, both of you breathing for a few seconds before he finally speaks again 

“Ive been wanting to do that y/n- I was just..” He sighs looking down then looking back at you

“I was scared.” The Nishimura Riki just told you he was scared. The same person who takes what he wants and nothing more is opening up to you..

You respond by pressing a soft kiss to his lips

“Fuck–you’re going to kill me” 

Then his lips are back on yours, the same passion leaking in from earlier, you both kick off your shoes, and clumsily try to remove the clothing off of each other's bodies without tripping, you fall softly onto the bed, he climbs on top of you, before kissing your neck, leaving sloppy kisses down your half naked body before unclasping your bra, his lips are on your nipple instantly, his hand coming up to knead the other one

Your back arches off the bed when he sucks your nipple between his teeth, gasping at the feeling of it, before he focuses on your other one with the same precision, your hands go to tangle in his hair when he kisses his way down to your core, watching as he slides your panties down with ease 

“Riki-” You breath out when he takes the glasses off his head

He looks up at you

“Want you to keep them on-” You say through a breathless moan

He chuckles “You want me to eat your pussy with my glasses baby?” He says kissing your thigh

“Please-” You manage to say, he puts his glasses back on before attaching his lips to your clit, sucking and licking, the same way he was kissing you earlier

He flicks his tongue over your clit, watching the way your eyebrows furrow at the stimulation

“Mm- tastes so good” He mumbles into your pussy making your hips jolt up, he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the sight alone could make you come right now

“W-wait” you say and he pauses, breathing heavily on your pussy

“Hm?” He says tilting his head

“Want to come on your cock..” You say shyly when he smiles up at you

He doesn't hesitate one bit before pulling his boxers off and guiding his tip to your entrance, smearing his pre cum on your pussy, hitting your clit just right

“Stop teasing-” You whine

“Why? Its fun” He says laughing at the way you squirm beneath him

Your legs move to lock around his hips when his hand stops you “Stop being greedy y/n” that tone of authority seeping in

He positions himself, hands gripped on your thighs before he pushes the tip of his cock in “Fuck- loosen up for me baby” his hand moving to rub slow circles on your clit, making you moan 

He slides in deeper, bottoming out, groaning at the warmth of you around him. He pulls out halfway before slamming back into you, making you let out a high pitched sound

“Riki–It f..feels so good” You make a wrecked sound as your fingers claw at his shoulders, he repeats the same motion, moving his hips and rolling them into you, his cock hitting you so deep you know you're going to be sore in the morning.

“This pussy was made for me baby- You’re taking me so well” He says kissing your shoulder, and gripping the pillow beside your head as he fucks in and out of you faster

He kisses your cheek, before his lips attach to yours, swallowing your moans, drinking them like water as he feels himself getting closer

“I-im gonna come ki..” legs locking around his hips, pulling him impossibly closer

“Fuck y/n-” He lets out before his thumb slips between the two of you and he presses your clit, your hole flutters around his cock as you ride your orgasm out, his thrusting doesnt slow down as he reaches his high, using your pussy to milk every last bit of come inside you, letting out the most desperate groans

His forehead rests on yours, you're both breathing heavily against each other before he pulls out slowly, the sensitively making you both wince

He moves to lay down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. You two stay like that, in each other's embrace.

You don't know how long after, but you eventually got up to clean yourself, before he stopped you. Hand tight on your arm before he got up saying he wanted to help you this time, yes he rinsed your body in the shower, kneeling down, watching the water wet your hair as he looked up at you, before lifting your leg up and pressing gentle kisses to your core, the words "I'm making up for how many times I should’ve done this” rolling off his tongue

⋆༺♱༻⋆

Riki’s hand slides to your waist as the headmaster takes a spot next to him

“1..2..3, Alright, perfect!” The photographer says looking at the photo on his camera, before the headmaster turns to you and Riki

“I wanted to congratulate the two of you for the conference, the outcome was amazing- I mean the publicity too, the people truly see you two as the ultimate power duo, Great Job on your hard work.” He says smiling at the both of you

“Thank you” You nod

“I couldn't have done it without her” Riki says looking at you, because he truly does mean it

“Glad you're aware.” You say smartly, making the headmaster laugh before he walks away to talk to the photographer

Riki leans down to whisper in your ear “Careful y/n, I have no problem putting you in your place again.” He says before looking down at you

Your heart races at his words before you smile sweetly “I’d like to see you try” You say before walking back to the main building, he just watches, smiling because he knows he's going to do a whole lot more than ‘try’.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

Thank you guys for reading!

Also, Thank you for 500 followers! 😊 if you guys have any requests on what you want to see next, I would love to hear it <3

when you come back up after the fruitless search, your friends have finally arrived. they’re mid laugh, sipping on some exorbitantly-colored boba drink, eyes widening when they see you come up the stairs. 

megan nudges your shoulder, offering you a sip from her cup. “hey, tell your boyfriend thanks for the drinks!” 

“my boyfriend?” you blink, blindly taking the drink she shoves into your hand. several of the others echo the thanks, but you’re stuck on the ‘boyfriend’ part another minute before james comes bustling in, balancing a pastry bag on top of a drink carrier full of the same beverage that’s currently in your hand. 

he grins when he sees you, taking his wired headphones off his shoulder as he sets everything down. “hey! sorry i’m late, i saw your messages but my hands were kinda full.” 

normally you’d crack a joke or tease him about his uncharacteristic tardiness, but you’re still thrown off by megan’s comment. 

“i picked up that new drink they have at the cafe by my place, the one you said you wanted to try?” he continues, effortlessly passing around the drinks and pastries to your friends while he talks. “figured it’d be good study fuel, especially since you have all those exams coming up.”

“right, thanks!” you manage, your laugh coming out with a nervous tinge that makes you wince internally. james doesn’t seem to notice, tearing off a piece of his croissant for you to try. he holds the piece of bread to your mouth with that same easy smile, and you feel your cheeks heat up as you lean forward to bite it. 

boyfriend…

“it’s good, right?” james insists, laughing at your mouth-full nod. as you sit back down, your eyes trace the lines of his whisker-dimples, the way his eyes close when he laughs. you keep staring from behind your laptop screen as he sets up his things, completely unaware of your unwavering gaze. 

your boyfriend… what a concept. 

-ˋˏ ✄┈ TWO

YOUR PHONE IS RINGING. you wince when you see your mother’s contact light up the screen. it’s been way too long since you called her, but exam season has you going absolutely insane. 

“heeeyyy,” you greet, trying not to sound as guilty as you feel. (it’s not working). 

“she’s alive!” your mother jokes, and you sigh as you fall back into the pillows on your bed. 

“i’m so sorry, i promise i meant to call! it’s just with exams, i haven’t had any free time between studying and test prep, ugh, i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

“remember to keep taking care of yourself,” she chides, “don’t neglect your health just for some grades!”

“it’s not just grades, it’s my entire future.”

she clicks her tongue. “you’re too young to be worrying about your future. wait until your greys start to come in.”

“i’m going to put you on with my guidance counselors and see what they have to say about that.”

when she laughs, you do too. 

“well,” she says, static crackling in your speaker, “how’s everything else? are you remembering to have fun and not just study? are you still seeing that guy?”

your nose wrinkles in confusion. “what guy?”

“the one you’re always talking about!”

“mom, the only guy i ever hang out with is james.”

“james! yes, that was it. you’re still together?”

“james and i are not dating,” you snort. “he’s my best friend.”

“you talk about him all the time. he drives you around, gets you coffee, takes you out to eat, he’s in every picture you send us!”

“that doesn’t mean we’re together,” you insist, rolling over on your side. true to your mother’s words, nearly every picture on the wall beside your bed is of you and james. 

she gives a low hum, full of that motherly-knowing. “whatever you say, dear.”

she switches topics after that, but your mind lingers on her words from before, and your gaze on the photo wall. 

-ˋˏ ✄┈ THREE

THE BIG ONE IS DONE. your ill-fated chemistry exam, the one you’d been studying for the entire last month, was finally over. you didn’t know how it turned out, but your chest felt lighter just getting the damn thing turned in. 

you’d raced to james’ apartment, bypassing the knock and instead fumbling for the spare key he’d given you a few months back as you let yourself in. 

“it’s over!” you yell, barging in after throwing the door open and tossing your book bag to the ground. “i’m free!” 

an empty living room greets you. your lips pull into a pout. where was james for the celebratory hug and scream-cheering session? where was your sweet reward matcha latte and k-drama binge night? 

you walk over to the calendar he keeps near the kitchen, every aspect of his schedule planned out in detail, complete with little spider-man doodles and positive manifestations. 

hockey practice, tuesday 6pm. 

great. you check the clock. 6:24 pm. he’d be gone at least another hour and a half if not more. 

your mood sours just a little, but you move on to plan b. you go into james’ room, slide into whatever hoodie he’d left on his desk chair, and climb into his bed where you promptly fall asleep. 

─────

james unlocks his door and heaves a great sigh, stretching his sore limbs after dropping his gym bag. 

juhoon looks up from the couch, his eyes going wide at the volume of the subsequent groan james lets out. 

“dude, you didn’t tell me your girlfriend was crashing here! keep it down, you’ll wake her.”

“girlfriend?” 

juhoon gestures to where the door to james’ room is still open. you’re still fast asleep under his comforter, in his university hoodie, mouth open and snoring. 

james covers his mouth to keep from laughing. when he drops it, a fond smile has taken over his face. juhoon gives him a knowing look. 

“are you ever gonna ask her out?”

james shushes him immediately, shooing the younger boy off as he goes in the bedroom and closes the door behind him. 

he approaches the bed, where you’ve shifted to curl up in the corner, one pillow clutched in your arms. he perches on the mattress beside you, and your stir at the movement. 

your eyes open to find his smile, so wide his eyes are nearly closed. “good morning.”

you punch his arm weakly, speaking through a yawn. “i waited for you.”

“clearly,” he replies, scooting back on the bed to lean against the wall. “so how was the big exam?”

you shrug, sitting up a little. “won’t know until next week, but i’m just glad that thing is over.”

he laughs. “i’m sure you did great.”

“how was practice?” you ask, cheek smushed against the pillow. 

“boring. coach made us run drills almost the entire time ‘cause some guys were late.” 

his fingers idly brush the hair from your face. the touch is so casual, nothing different than normal, but it makes your heart leap in your chest. 

you burrow deeper into the covers, tugging on his sleeve. “come nap with me.”

“you won’t sleep tonight,” james chides, but he’s still smiling. 

“i can sleep for ten days after that exam,” you retort, continuously tugging at his sleeve. “come on.”

james lets you pull him down beside you, laughing when his back hits the mattress.

“you smell good.” you cuddle closer, ditching the pillow to clutch his arm to your chest instead. 

“i showered at the gym.”

you hum, falling into comfortable silence, feeling the residual energy of his strong heartbeat so close to you. 

“goodnight, jjami.” 

“goodnight,” he answers, grabbing for his phone with his free hand. your eyes are already closed, so you don’t see the text from juhoon that james opens. 

girl + friend = girlfriend

-ˋˏ ✄┈ FOUR

THE BEACH WAS PACKED. it had been full-house all day, the waves crashing and sun beating down even though it was barely a few weeks into spring. 

your friend group had decided on a bonfire once the sun set, and you and james had run out to pick up s’mores supplies — except that when you returned, there was almost no place for you to sit. 

your hair was still damp from the water, smelling of sunscreen and tanning oil, and you were in cutoff jean shorts and james’ hockey team hoodie. you’d just finished unloading the snacks and look up to him with a questioning glance. 

your friends are caught up in the fire and the food, not a care in the world for your little seating issue. you could just sit in the sand, but then it was already getting cold and you’d have to worry about the embers flying in your eyes and such. 

you stand around for a while, but nobody gets up. and then james, ever the gentleman, gestures for you to sit first on the tiny sliver of log that wasn’t taken. you grin, grabbing him by the shoulders and plopping him down before settling comfortably on his lap, legs thrown over his without a care. 

his cheeks are warm, either from the proximity or the fire, but his hands are strong and steady around you. 

the firelight glints off his copper eyes. “you okay?” 

you nod, gaze returning to the fire. you squeeze his hands, locked around your middle to keep you in place against him. “never better.”

the laughter and conversation keeps coming, and so do the toasted marshmallows. 

some especially toasty, in your case. 

“holy shit!”

you blow frantically on the squishy thing to extinguish the flame, to no avail. you nearly tumble off james’ lap in all the commotion, but he takes the skewer from you with a smirk and blows it out in one breath. 

you make playful cutting eyes at him, but he’s redeemed as he holds the stick steady while you assemble the s’more around the burnt confection. 

james laughs when you present it to him proudly and obediently takes a bite. 

“it’s good,” he says through a mouthful of graham cracker, and you snort as you take a bite yourself. 

you’re so caught up with the smoky taste of the treat that you don’t notice the way james is looking at you. 

what you do notice, however, is that across the circle your friends and pointing and whispering and giggling. you can tell it’s all in good nature, that they’re probably on about “how cute you and james are” like they have been for weeks now, but it doesn’t bother you even one bit. 

they could think what they want. you were just happy to be there with james. 

-ˋˏ ✄┈ FIVE

THE PARTY WAS IN FULL SWING. it was one of the few times you’d managed to drag james out of his apartment on a friday night, and you were enjoying every second of it — until he ran off. 

(an exaggeration. he’d only wandered off to get you another drink, but he was taking longer than normal and you were starting to miss him). 

you’re too busy wallflower-ing to notice the guy that comes up to you until he begins to speak, leaning in to be heard over the music. 

“you look a little lonely.”

he’s handsome, tall, good smile. not james, but still handsome. 

“just waiting for a drink,” you reply coyly, nearly shouting as well. he holds up his cup, but you shake your head. “no thanks.”

“suit yourself,” he winks, taking another swig. “so, you having fun?”

“music could be better,” you admit. “but it’s a good time. you?” 

he starts to answer but trails off when a pair of strong arms encircle your waist. you feel the familiar warmth and steadiness of james’ chest against your back, the sharp line of his chin settling on your shoulder. 

the guy — the poor guy who hadn’t even gotten the chance to introduce himself — starts to back away. 

“my bad,” he says, lifting his drink in salute. “didn’t know you were taken.”

james doesn’t say anything, just stares with that stone-cold gaze, and you’re too flustered to speak up either. the guy turns and leaves without another word, and you finally get up the bearings to pull away and shove james in the chest. 

“you’re always scaring guys off from me!” you complain. 

he barely budges from your actions, his eyes still fixed on the other guy’s retreating back. “i didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“he didn’t even get a chance to look at me!”

“he wasn’t good enough,” james insists, leaning back against the wall. 

you roll your eyes. “you say that about every guy.”

“it’s true about every guy,” he shrugs. he offers the can to you, taking it upon himself to fix up the little details in your outfit as you take a sip. he fixes a stray strand of hair, adjusts the strap on your top, tugs down at your skirt to ensure full coverage. he’s like a helicopter-best-friend. “and what was that with the drink? that’s dangerous.”

“i didn’t take it,” you huff. “i can look after myself.”

“i know you can,” he says. “but what’s wrong with letting someone help out?” 

you huff again, but you don’t say anything else. you don’t want to ruin the night arguing, especially when you know he has the best intentions and went out of his way to come with you tonight. 

“let’s just…enjoy the party, okay?” 

james gives a resolute nod. “i can do that. you want to dance?” 

that gets a smile out of you. “let’s do it!”

─────

it’s not like james to leave you alone, especially anywhere as crowded as this party. but the car was parked far down the dark street, and it was getting later and colder, and you insisted you’d be fine waiting on the porch while he went to go get it. 

he shouldn’t have left you. 

because when he pulls up to the driveway, ready to get out and walk you back to the car, there’s somebody in his place by your side. 

it’s a different guy this time. bigger, stupider, and clearly not backing off. 

you’re against a corner, smile stretched uncomfortably tight. your knuckles are paling around the can in your hand. 

then the guy leans in, way too close for comfort, and you smile drops completely. 

james sees the way your pupils dilate with panic, the way you try to duck away from the contact, and he explodes like a firecracker out of the car, keys still swinging from the ignition. 

you yelp when the douchebag in front of you is yanked backwards, hands clapping over your mouth when you see james appear behind him and then—

WHAM!

his fist cracks against the guy’s jaw with scary precision. 

shouts erupt from the partygoers who’d spilled outside, watching the fight break out. 

you watch in horror as james shakes out his hand, easily ducking the retaliation punch the other guy swings out of instinct. 

“what the fuck is your problem?!” the guy yells, advancing, but james is too quick. he shoves him again, eyes burning with rage, but a group of frat guys gets between them before things escalate even more. 

“stay the fuck away from her!” he yells as the partygoers push him back towards the car. 

james almost never curses. he never gets in fights. and he certainly doesn’t get into fights over you. 

“what the hell were you thinking?!” you demand, anger rising in your voice. the fury vanishes from his eyes as soon as james looks at you, his gaze softening but eyes still wide with shock when you shove him in the chest too. 

“i— i was—”

“are you insane?! you could’ve gotten hurt!”

your clenched hands fall weakly against him, your arms having begun to shake already. your vision is going blurry with tears and your resolve gives out, anger giving way to the fear and panic from before.

when you collapse forward into his arms, you’ve already started to cry. your arms clutch tight to his back, fists balled into his jacket as your shoulders shake. 

“i’m sorry,” james murmurs quickly, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other tight around your waist. “i won’t do it again. i just didn’t want you to get hurt, and i was worried, and i saw him lean in like that and i just lost it—”

“thank you,” you whisper, and he falls silent. his arms wrap around you even tighter, and it’s like he’s the only thing holding you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 

the party rages on behind you, the fight long forgotten, but james keeps you wrapped up in his arms as he leads you back to the car. 

he may not be your boyfriend, not exactly, but he sure as hell won’t let anything happen to you. not while he’s around. not on his life. 

-ˋˏ ✄┈ THE ONE

SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING. not really, anyway. 

it wasn’t a crime to sit too close, or to touch his arm while apologizing for nearly spilling her drink on him (even though the cup was miles from touching him), or to sneak less-than-subtle glances out of the corner of her eye. 

she wasn’t the first one, and something told you she wouldn’t be the last. and that wouldn’t have bothered you normally, but this time you can’t escape the deep ache in your gut. 

because it’s james. your james — sweet, oblivious james who had no idea he was being hit on and subsequently no idea why you were absolutely pissed. 

except he’s not yours, which you had to remind yourself of, and had only served to further sour your mood. 

that, james noticed. 

what he didn’t notice was when he went to get his jacket after you told him with flushed cheeks and a delicate scowl, that you wanted to go — was that the girl apologized to you for not realizing he was your boyfriend. and you didn’t say one word to the contrary.

he just took your hand as you walked out like nothing had happened.  

the fresh air feels good on your face, hot from anger and embarrassment and some guilt you were trying hard to push down. 

“is everything okay?” james asks, ever thoughtful, ever patient. his pace matches yours, though with his longer legs it takes him half the effort — whereas you’re walking like you’re trying to run away from something. 

“i’m fine,” you reply unconvincingly, arms crossed over your chest as your shoes knock against the pavement. you don’t look at him when you speak. you can’t. he’d see right through you. 

james doesn’t press the issue. he just drapes his jacket over your shoulders, opens the car door for you, and takes you home. 

when you get in the door, he stops you in the entryway. “you sure you’re okay?” his hands find your cheeks, hot under his touch as he smoothes the hair back from your face. “you didn’t have too much to drink? you’re all flushed.”

there’s no malice or judgement in his tone. just warm concern, and a hint of exasperated fondness underneath it. it does nothing to help your state. 

“i told you i’m fine!” you insist, pulling back even though your body yearns for his touch. it’s true, your burning jealousy hadn’t allowed for much drinking. you weren’t exactly in a festive mood, then or now. 

you go to the kitchen to get a glass of water, hoping for some reprieve to this ugly feeling. a soft quiet settles, the tension bleeding from the room as the frenzy subsides. 

james sinks into the couch, just as home at your place as his. 

you walk over slowly, dreading the question before it even leaves your mouth. 

“james, can i ask you something?”

not jjami. uh oh, it’s serious. 

he sits up straighter. “yeah, of course.”

“what are we?”

the questions hangs in the air a while before he can muster the breath to reply. “what do you mean?”

“i mean…you act like my boyfriend. everyone around us is convinced we’re madly in love. and…you look at me like…” you trail off, unsure of how to continue. “like that,” you reply helplessly, gesturing to his face. to his brown eyes, soft like melting copper in that way he only ever looks at you. 

“so…so what are we?”

james swallows hard. “whatever you want us to be.”

“what do you want?”

his response is breathless, immediate. “you.”

that surprises you. it shouldn’t, but it does. by now, his fingers have laced into yours and you’re having trouble focusing.

“you…what?”

“i was scared it was obvious.”

“i…” it was. to everyone else, and maybe even to you too. but you were too scared to put your eggs in one basket, to let yourself think it was anything more than it was. “i don’t know.”

it’s too much. too many possibilities, too much change. you’d never been good at change. the only reason you could ever stand it was with james by your side. but now it’s different. now, the change is between you.

“that’s okay,” he says, quickly, softly. “you don’t have to know anything. we can pretend nothing happened. it’s still me.”

“it’s not that,” you whisper back. “it’s just…”

you’re flustered again, almost too embarrassed to bring it up. too late now. 

“just what?” he asks gently. his hands are still warm in yours. 

“those girls!” you burst out before you can stop yourself. you fight the urge to clap your hands over your mouth, mortified by the outburst. 

james blinks. “what girls?” 

you drag your hands over your face, your cheeks warm under the touch. “james, you can’t possibly be that blind.” 

“from the party?”

“yes, from the party! they couldn’t have been more obvious!”

his only answer is a puzzled glance. you’d be infuriated if he wasn’t so beautiful. 

“and it’s not just them, james,” you sigh, pressure building behind your eyes. “it’s every girl that passes you by, the baristas that put hearts on your cups, the gym receptionist that giggles when you say ‘good morning’, it’s everyone!”

“are you…you’re jealous?” 

like it’s just dawning on him. 

your face burns. “maybe.”

it takes a moment for him to reply — and to wipe the tiny smile off his face and get serious. 

“i don’t see other girls. i mean, i see them with my eyes, but not…not with my heart.” he’s pulling you in with every word, like you were made to be in his arms. “you’re the only one i feel when i’m around you. my heart only beats for you.”

god, you could die. your heart thumps pathetically against your ribs like it’s about to combust. you wouldn’t be surprised if it did. 

“you’re going to kill me,” you whisper, close enough now that your nose is practically touching his. 

“not before i get a chance to kiss you,” he murmurs back, the ghost of a laugh escaping him as he pulls you in, in, in even closer, until you’re practically in his lap. 

you could die. your hands are squeezing his shoulders for purchase so tight you’re sure it’s painful, but there’s nothing in his eyes but bliss. 

“so…can i?”

his thumbs are tracing circles around the skin exposed on your waist where he’s shirt’s ridden up. you’re having trouble even following his words. “what?”

“kiss you,” he replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

it’s all you can do to nod shakily, and then you can’t even think at all. 

it’s like fireworks exploding. it’s the kind of kiss where if you were in a movie, some grand piano and strings theme would be playing, and the audience would be cheering, and the screen would turn pink and red with flower petals. 

but it’s more than a blown-out fantasy. because it’s james, which means that it’s real. 

the warmth of his body under you is real. the smoothness of his skin, the soft hair on the back of his neck beneath your fingers is real. his lips on yours, the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks when he kisses you — it’s all real. 

and it’s better than you ever imagined. because it’s james. your james.

then, now, and probably forever. 

💭 — i really hope the anon who requested this finds it!! <3 thank you so much for the ideas and inspo, 100% of the cred belongs to ur beautiful brain. i think it really came together and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!

© mytwinsung ♥︎ do not copy, translate, repost, feed to ai, etc. — comments + reblogs always appreciated!

There were already six pairs of shoes scattered by the front door, music playing quietly from a speaker somewhere in the living room, and at least three different conversations happening before you’d even taken your jacket off. Someone waved at you from the kitchen, another person you vaguely recognized from college smiled in your direction before going back to whatever story they were telling, and the smell of garlic and takeout filled the apartment.

“She’s here!” Mina called the second she spotted you. She was balancing two bowls in her hands, somehow managing not to drop either of them as she crossed the room. “Finally. I was about to tell everyone you bailed.”

“I said I’d be late,” you laughed, slipping your shoes off. “Some people have actual jobs.”

“So do I.”

“Then act like it,” you joked harshly. “I have you at 10am on a Wednesday asking me to bring ice cream. Sounds very unemployed to me.”

“It was an emergency.” You raised an eyebrow. “The convenience store only had one tub left and you know I need to host perfect hangouts, okay?”

“Yeah, I know you’re a control freak.”

“See?” Mina pointed at you before turning to the rest of the room. “She gets me.”

Haeun looked up from where she was sitting on the floor beside the coffee table, her legs crossed underneath her. “No,” she said, completely unimpressed. “She enables you.”

You laughed as you walked over, dropping onto the empty spot beside her before kissing her cheek.

“That’s what real love means,” Mina said like it was obvious.

“It’s definitely not what it means.” Haeun rolled her yes. Mina disappeared back into the kitchen, already distracted by someone asking where the serving spoons were. “You came empty-handed?” Haeun asked.

“I brought dessert.”

“Where?”

You reached into your tote bag and pulled out two tubs of ice cream, probably already melted. Mina immediately reappeared. “I KNEW I invited the right people.”

“You invited everyone,” you looked around to your friends who all raised an eyebrow. “What? It’s true, I love you guys but really I can’t believe everyone agreed to hangout a Wednesday night. Do you guys need a job or a reference? I can help you with…”

“This is why we leave early when you come to the hangouts.”

“Hey!”

“Agreed.”

An hour later, dinner had turned int a bit of a mess. Half the food and dessert were empty and every plate on the table was being shared whether the person who ordered it liked it or not. You’d barely managed to keep more than three fries on your own plate before Mina reached over to steal another one. She had always being a pain in the ass, specially the days you met her in college together with Haeun— at least the one was more generous and didn’t steal your fries.

“I don’t know why I even bother ordering food for myself.”

“You don’t,” she answered easily, popping the fry into her mouth. “You order food for the community.”

“The community can buy its own.”

“It could.”

“It should.”

“It won’t.” Haeun smiled into her drink. “You promised once you’d became rich you were always going to invite dinner.”

“I’m not rich, even Mina makes more money than me.”

“Doubtful,” your friend smiled.

“You manage the biggest singer in Korea right now, I know you’re making bank.” You pointed at her accusatory.

“I’ve never said I wasn’t making bank,” she said immediately. “I’m just saying probably not as much as you. You had been making big deals later.”

“That’s true,” Jiho said— another close friends of yours— suddenly everyone was having interest in the same conversation. He leaned back in his chair, “how’s work? The glamorous fashion world.”

You laughed. “Doesn’t feel glamorous at all. I spend more time looking at calendars than clothes.”

“What were you working on this week?” Haeun asked.

“A campaign for a luxury brand. I’m working now with some actor I’m not legally allowed to tell yet.”

Mina immediately leaned forward with interest. “I love hearing about celebrity gossip.”

“You literally work for IU. That’s the biggest it can get.”

“She’s too nice, she never reveals anything,” she pouted.

“Maybe because there’s no actual gossip going around,” you tried again.

“You work with more celebrities than me you have to have some.” She insisted.

“I work with their managers,” you corrected. “Literally I’m mostly coordinating schedules between the brand, photographers, stylists, management… making sure everyone’s available on the same day.”

“That sounds significantly less fun.” One of your other friends said. “I thought you just picked pretty outfits.”

“I wish.”

“You don’t even get free clothes?”

“I get emails.”

“I’d rather have the clothes.”

“So would I,” you sighed dramatically and everyone laughed. “But it’s still fun,” you admitted after a moment. “I get to see campaigns come together from the beginning, and when everything actually works it’s really satisfying.”

“You always sound happier talking about work than dating,” Mina pointed at you.

“Maybe because work doesn’t suck as much as dating,” you stated.

“I don’t know what that says about you.”

“Probably something concerning,” Haeun nodded.

Before you could answer, Soomin let out the longest sigh you’d ever heard. “Speaking of dating…” Everyone turned toward her. “I finally went out with that guy from Hinge.”

“The accountant?”

“The accountant.”

“And?”

Soomin stared into the distance for a second. “I don’t think he asked me a single question.”

Haeun frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he spent an hour talking about himself.”

“That’s annoying,” you commented.

“He showed me a spreadsheet.”

There was a beat of silence. “A what?”

“A spreadsheet.”

“For work?”

“No. He tracks every restaurant he’s ever been to.”

Mina blinked and you tried not to laughed with Haeun “Actually…”

“No,” Soomin interrupted before she could finish. “Don’t even start.”

“I was going to say that’s kind of organized.”

“There was a section for him to rate the lighting!” she exclaimed frustrated.

“…Never mind.”

“I spent forty minutes pretending I cared about overhead lighting.”

You couldn’t help laughing. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s a good story.”

The table dissolved into laughter, and once everyone had recovered, the stories started coming one after another. One date had ended with someone accidentally running into their ex halfway through dinner. Another had spent the entire evening talking about cryptocurrency. Someone else admitted they’d been ghosted after what they thought had been the most amazing date ever.

“It feels impossible lately,” Soomin complained, reaching for another slice of pizza. “Either they’re creepy, they just wanna fuck or they’re trying to use you to make their ex jealous.”

“Usually all at once,” Jiho added.

“What about you?” Mina looked over at you. “Any exciting romantic developments?”

You looked up from your plate. “Not really.”

“None?”

“I’ve been on exactly one date this year.”

“The guy from the bookstore?” You nodded. “What happened to him?”

“He was nice but… I don’t know,” you thought about it for a second before shrugging. “He didn’t made me nervous or excited. I guess… he just wasn’t my person.”

“How do you know after one date?” Jiho asked.

“I don’t know.” You smiled a little. “You can usually tell if you actually want to see someone again and I didn’t.”

“So you’re taking a break from dating?” Haeun asked.

“I think so.”

“For how long?” she asked curious.

“I don’t know,” you said simply.

Mina rested her chin in her hand. “I’ve been saying this for years.”

“What?”

“You expect too much for a first date.”

You laughed. “I really don’t.”

“You do.”

“I have standards.”

“You have requirements.”

“I have normal requirements.”

“You eliminated a guy because you thought he was checking his reflection in every window you walked past.”

“He was.”

“You eliminated another one because he called every woman ‘female.’”

“That one was justified.”

“Okay, fair.” She frowned. “But one time you left a date because he was too perfect.”

“He was. He could definitely do better,” you nodded thoughtful.

“You know what?” Haeun grinned. “I support you for that one.”

“But,” Mina continued, refusing to give up, “my point still stands.”

“What point?”

“You’ve built this perfect imaginary man in your head,” she pointed at you. “After your ex boyfriend you’ve just put excuses for every new guy.”

“Not true and I really haven’t.”

“You have.”

“I just don’t want to date someone for the sake of dating.” The room quieted a little, everyone listening now. “I’ve done that before,” you admitted. “You convince yourself maybe the attraction will grow or maybe you’ll eventually have more in common, and then three months later you’re wondering why you stayed. I’d rather be single than settle because everyone thinks I should have a boyfriend.”

Haeun nodded. “I actually agree.”

“You always agree with her.”

“Because she’s right.”

Mina rolled her eyes dramatically. “Fine. I support healthy standards.”

“Thank you.”

“But you need to be a little more open,” she accused you.

“Sure, I’ll try.” You said without making it a big deal.

“I can help if you want me to. I can put you out with some friends.” Her smile started getting bigger.

You already knew where this was going. “No, thank you.”

“I absolutely can. I’m great at matchmaking...”

“Mina.”

“I know a lot of people who would be perfect for you,” she insisted.

“You know people who you think would be perfect for me.” You corrected her.

She ignored you completely. “What about my coworker?”

“No.”

“My cousin’s friend?”

“No.”

“The photographer I met last month?”

“You’ve run out of people already?”

She frowned, pretending to think. “Hm…” Then her face lit up. “Oh.”

“No.”

“What about Jin?”

You looked at her blankly. “…Which Jin?”

“Kim Seokjin.”

You stared at her for a second before laughing. “The idol?”

“Yes, the idol.” She said obvious.

“Mina,” you looked at her incredulous.

“What?”

“I’ve said hello to him, like… three times.”

“So you’ve met,” Mina took it as a win.

“I’ve greeted him.”

“Close enough.”

“It’s really not.”

“You literally worked with Taehyung,” she reminded you.

“I work with brands that hire Taehyung,” you corrected. “Those are two very different things.”

“But you’ve met Jin.”

“I’ve been in the same room as Seokjin.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

Haeun smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t even think he’s spoken more than five words to her.”

“He made me show him where the coffee station was once,” you told her. “And I think one time I probably bumped into him accidentally.”

“There you go,” Mina replied triumphantly. “You’re basically family.”

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink. “I don’t even think he’d recognize me if we crossed paths tomorrow.”

“He might.”

“He absolutely would not.”

Mina insisted. “He’s a really nice person. Very shy but I know he would be perfect for you!. Ugh, I need to find an excuse to invite him to some hangouts now…”

“I’ll pass. Thank you.”

Your friend sighed dramatically. Like she had lost the war. “Fine. I tried.”

“You really did,” you said sarcastically.

“I’ll keep looking.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late.”

By the time someone suggested opening another bottle of wine, the conversation had already moved on to something completely different. Jin’s name disappeared from the room as quickly as it’d come up, buried beneath complaints about work, arguments over which movie they should watch after finishing the dinner and if the next hangout would be this same month or the next one, trying to match schedules.

You didn’t think about him again that night. There wasn’t any reason to. After all, he was just someone you’d crossed paths with a handful of times through work— a polite face attached to brief greetings backstage or at brand events before you both disappeared back into your own schedules. The joke was exactly that: a joke. One of dozens exchanged over dinner that evening, forgotten almost as quickly as it had been said.

At least, that’s what you thought then.

——————————

Your apartment was completely dead by the time you arrived there. You dropped your keys into the ceramic bowl by the front door out of habit, kicked your shoes off somewhere behind you, and stood there for a second, stretching and feeling the weight of the day finally catching up to your body. After spending the last five hours surrounded by people talking over one another, laughing across the dinner table and arguing about movies nobody was actually going to watch, your own apartment almost felt unnaturally still. But you weren’t tired yet. Comfortably full, maybe. Socially exhausted definitely.

You changed into an oversized T-shirt, took your makeup off, tied your hair into a messy bun and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water, your phone tucked underneath one arm. There were already three new messages in the group chat but you were too lazy to check, maybe it was just Mina planning the next hangout already.

By the time you crawled into bed, the digital clock on your nightstand had already slipped past one in the morning. You should definitely needed to sleep, however, sleep didn’t seem nearly as interested in finding you. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about some words that didn’t left your mind the entirely night after the conversation. Mina wasn’t entirely wrong, probably that was the most annoying part.

You really hadn’t been trying. For a while, you’d blamed it on work. Luxury fashion PR wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five job, especially once campaign season picked up. Some weeks you barely had time to eat lunch before someone called to tell you a fitting had been moved, a photographer had cancelled, or a celebrity’s schedule had changed for the third time in two days. It was easier to tell people you were busy than admit dating had quietly slipped to the bottom of your priorities.

But work wasn’t the real reason… or at least not completely. If you were honest with yourself, it had started long before your calendar became impossible. Your last relationship had ended almost two years ago. It didn’t really end in a dramatic way, nobody cheated and nobody threw plates across the room or begged anyone to stay, it had simply stopped working. Between different priorities, missed conversations and the slow realization spending time with someone was actually a big part for it to work, the relationship had quietly unraveled until one day you both admitted what you’d been avoiding for months.

Of course it hurt but the worst part hadn’t even been the breakup itself, it was everything that came after. Friends insisting you “just needed to get back out there,” blind dates, dating apps, conversations that felt more like interviews than actual conversations. Men who spent the entire evening talking about themselves. Men who seemed offended that you actually liked your career. Men who confused confidence with arrogance… Eventually, somewhere along the way, you’d stopped opening the apps, stopped agreeing to dates, stopped looking altogether.

It wasn’t that you’d decided to stay single forever. You’d simply gotten… comfortable in your own world, comfortable with your own routines, comfortable with dinners by yourself, comfortable enough that dating started feeling like another task to squeeze into an already busy week…. But Mina had been right, maybe you had checked out.

You reached for your phone on the bedside table and almost without thinking, you opened Hinge. Your profile was still there with the same pictures of months ago, the same prompts and a handful of likes waiting from weeks ago. You stared at the screen for maybe ten seconds before quietly laughing to yourself.

“Fuck no.” You closed the app.

You turned your phone over in your hands before another thought floated back into your head.

What about Jin? You actually laughed out loud this time. Mina’s ridiculous, you thought.

Of all the people she could’ve named… It wasn’t even that the suggestion was impossible— although it obviously was— it was just… random. You’d met him before… technically. The same way you’d “met” dozens of celebrities through work. A greeting backstage before a fitting, a polite nod while waiting for a meeting room to open, someone introducing you in passing before both of you were immediately pulled in opposite directions.

If you passed each other on the street tomorrow, you doubted he’d recognize you. You weren’t even sure you’d recognize him immediately either. Celebrities always looked different once they were standing three feet away instead of behind professionally edited photos.

Still… Why Seokjin?

You frowned slightly, unlocking your phone again. Purely out of curiosity you typed his name into Instagram. His account appeared immediately. Millions of followers and likes. Well, you couldn’t exactly say Mina had terrible taste. He was ridiculously handsome, that much was obvious.

You spent a minute absentmindedly scrolling through his feed, expecting to lose interest almost immediately. Instead… there wasn’t actually that much to see. A few campaign photos, brand collaborations, professional shoots, some travel and some silly pictures on tour. He looked exactly how you’d expect someone like Kim Seokjin to look. Polished, expensive and almost intimidatingly good-looking.

You were just about to close the app when your thumb drifted to the side to see his tagged posts. There were dozens of pictures and videos he was tagged from fans… One clip couldn’t hurt. It was only twenty seconds. A compilation of him throwing flower petals over him in award shows. You chuckled at his confidence and attitude, he was pretty funny.

“Cute,” you mumbled before catching yourself.

No, not cure. Funny. Endearing. There was a difference.

You scrolled a bit and another reel played. One that looked like it came from some variety show. He was laughing so hard he had both hands over his face, shoulders shaking as someone off-camera kept teasing him about something you didn’t understand. But he was so red and he laughed so loud it was really annoying.

You smiled. Then watched another… and another. One where he was stubbornly refusing to lose a game. One edit where he was winning a game and looked really hot. Another where he somehow managed to make everyone around him laugh within thirty seconds. One where he was confidently explaining something before immediately proving himself wrong.

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. He was… really funny. Not in the polished, media-trained way celebrities sometimes were, just naturally funny, comfortable in his own skin, a little too dramatic. The kind of person who didn’t seem embarrassed about laughing at himself or do something cringe just for the fun of it.

Later you were lying in the exact same position, phone balanced against your knees, smiling at a man you’d exchanged maybe three greetings with over the course of your entire career. You hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed until Instagram reminded you you’d reached your three hours of the day. Your thumb hovered over the screen.

“Holy shit.” You’ve spent three hours watching videos of Kim Seokjin. You lowered the phone onto your chest and stared at the ceiling. “Ah, fuck.”

Now you understood why Mina had said it. Not because he was famous or because he was objectively attractive. From the little you’d seen… He actually seemed exactly like the kind of person you would’ve liked if he’d been anyone else.

Shit.

——————————

The next time you saw Seokjin was not really your doing. It was, for once, the universe deciding to be surprisingly generous. Well… generous was probably a strong word. Convenient, that sounded way better.

The invitation had landed in your inbox earlier that week, forwarded by one of the stylists your agency worked with every few months. It wasn’t a launch party or a brand event, nothing that required speeches, photographers or carefully prepared guest lists. Someone had wrapped up a successful campaign, someone else had just gotten back from a tour overseas, and somewhere along the way the excuse had turned into come over, bring whoever you want and let’s have a drink. Half the people attending knew each other from the entertainment industry, the other half from fashion, and after working in luxury fashion PR for long enough, you’d realized the two worlds overlapped far more than most people imagined. So you decided to attend for once since Mina was going too.

By the time you arrived, the apartment was already buzzing with conversation. Music drifted through the open balcony doors, low enough that people didn’t have to raise their voices over it, and every surface seemed to be covered in bottles, half-empty glasses and small plates of food that everyone kept picking at without remembering what was theirs. Someone from a magazine you occasionally coordinated shoots with greeted you on your way in, another stylist pulled you into a quick conversation about Paris Fashion Week before disappearing again, and not five minutes later you spotted Mina standing near the dining table with a wine glass in one hand, laughing at something a singer beside her had just said.

She noticed you almost immediately. “There you are,” she said, reaching over to squeeze your arm as you walked up. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“I almost didn’t,” you admitted with a smile. “I spent all afternoon fixing a schedule because one actor suddenly decided he’d rather shoot in Milan than Seoul.”

Mina winced sympathetically. “Please don’t remind me what was working with actors. I still have PTSD.”

“You’re lucky you got yourself a nice boss.”

“Still stressful sometimes,” she grimaced. “Today I’ve answered twenty-five phone calls since six o’clock.”

“You counted?” You raised your eyebrows, not really surprised.

“I was angry enough to.”

You laughed, taking the glass she silently offered you.“Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Fine now. Everyone was losing their minds because they thought she wasn’t making it in time to a big event after a rehearsal fit. Bitch, I did her schedule, she was going to make it on time.”

“Only took twenty calls.”

“Twenty-five,” she corrected, like it was something it needed to be remembered.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed dramatically before taking a sip of her wine. “I’ve accepted that this is my life now.”

The two of you stayed where you were for a while, talking about work the way people only could when they understood each other’s jobs. Mina complained about artists changing their minds at the last minute, you complained about luxury brands insisting every campaign was somehow the most important project of the year, and somewhere between those conversations someone joined in to tell a story about a photographer who’d accidentally shown up to a shoot in the wrong country. You weren’t sure if he was joking. With this industry, it was genuinely difficult to tell.

At some point your conversation broke apart naturally as people wandered off into smaller groups, and you found yourself listening more than talking, occasionally adding a comment before someone else picked up the thread. It was comfortable, you liked those kinds of gatherings, nobody expected anything from anyone. People drifted between conversations, disappeared onto the balcony, returned twenty minutes later carrying dessert as if they’d never left. People knew each other.

You were halfway through listening to a stylist passionately explain why silver jewelry was making a comeback when the front door opened again. Someone greeted the newcomers loudly enough for half the apartment to glance over.

You looked up too. And there he was.

Kim Seokjin stepped inside with an easy smile, greeting the host before taking a moment to shake hands with someone near the entrance. He looked almost exactly the way you remembered him from the handful of events where your paths had crossed over the years, except this time your brain supplied far more information than it had any right to.

He really giggles like that. The thought appeared before you could stop it… But he really did.

The laugh you’d heard through your phone speakers more times that you would ever admit out loud, it was unmistakable, warm enough that it carried across the room for being too loud. It was strangely disorienting, recognizing something so familiar about someone you barely knew.

You looked away almost immediately. Not because you’d been caught staring— he hadn’t even looked in your direction yet— but because it suddenly felt ridiculous that your first instinct had been to compare him to internet clips.

Get a grip.

You took another sip of your drink and forced yourself back into the conversation happening beside you, although it lasted all of three minutes before your attention wandered again. It wasn’t intentional, not that you would admit anyway. You simply… noticed him more this time.

You noticed that he never interrupted people when they were speaking, even if they were telling a story that was clearly going nowhere. That when someone walked over to say hello, he turned his whole body toward them instead of trying to keep talking to someone else at the same time. Every now and then someone would laugh at something he’d said, but he never seemed interested in becoming the center of the room. If anything, he looked happiest standing slightly off to the side, listening.

It was odd. A month ago you probably wouldn’t have registered any of it. Now every little habit felt strangely familiar, as though you’d skipped several chapters of a book and were only now catching up.

You were still mentally scolding yourself for finding this amusing when someone asked if anybody wanted another drink. You looked down at your empty glass. “I’ll grab one,” you said.

The kitchen was thankfully quieter than the living room. Someone had left the balcony door open just enough for the cool evening air to drift inside, carrying the faint sound of conversation from outside. You set your empty glass beside the sink and reached for one of the bottles lined up along the counter, only realizing someone else was doing exactly the same thing from the opposite side. Your hands bumping into each other a little hard.

You looked up. “So, you finally found your way to the beverage station without any help?.”

The words slipped out before you thought about them. For a second Jin looked almost confused. Then recognition settled across his face and he laughed softly as he blushed slightly.

“I did it all alone.”

“So I’m not imagining it.”

“No,” he smiled, reaching for another glass. “The first time was over coffee, right?.”

“Oh.” You pointed at him. “You asked where it was and then your manager made me guide you to the station.”

“Yeah… that happened.” He chuckled nervously.

“Don’t worry, I know the importance of coffee in the morning.”

Jin nodded in complete agreement. “Thank you. Coffee is the most important thing to survive.”

“And now alcohol. We’re upgrading.” You joked and he smiled.

For a brief moment the conversation settled into a comfortable silence while the two of you poured your drinks. It wasn’t really awkward, just a bit weird.

He glanced toward the living room before looking back at you. “You still work at Étoile?”

The question caught you pleasantly off guard. He knew that?. Maybe he remembered you working with Taehyung a lot. “I do.”

“I wasn’t sure. I thought I recognized you at the Cartier event a few months ago. I wasn’t completely certain.”

“I spend most of those events trying not to look stressed so I probably had a completely different face.” You said truthfully and Jin chuckled.

“You hide it well.”

“I absolutely don’t.”

“You do.”

“I promise I don’t.”

“I’ve only ever seen you looking very calm.”

You laughed. “That’s because if I panic, everyone else starts panicking.”

“So you’re secretly panicking,” he hummed.

“Almost constantly.”

“That actually makes me feel better. I thought everyone in fashion had their lives together.”

You stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “I’m sorry… Who told you that?”

“A lot of people?” He obviously lied.

“They lied.”

“So none of you know what you’re doing?” He asked jokingly.

“Oh, we know what we’re doing.” You leaned against the counter with an amused smile. “We just happen to be doing it while answering twelve phone calls, rewriting schedules and praying nobody changes their outfit thirty minutes before a campaign. So we are always panicking while making everything work.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“What keeps you there then?”

You thought about it for a moment. “I like watching everything come together.”

“The campaigns?”

You nodded. “People only ever see the finished product, but there are so many people behind them. Stylists, assistants, lighting teams, producers, makeup artists… I like being part of that.” He listened without interrupting, his attention resting entirely on you in a way that felt unexpectedly rare. “I don’t know,” you continued with a small shrug. “When something goes well, it’s satisfying.”

“I get that.”

“I would thought so,” you smiled slightly. “Fashion it’s a performance so you should know about that.”

He smiled at that. You liked his smile. “I do. And I know the feeling when people assume performing is only the two hours you’re on stage.”

“But it isn’t.”

He shook his head. “It’s months before that. Rehearsals, meetings, recordings, planning… by the time people finally see something, you’ve been living with it for a long time.”

“I never really thought about it like that,” you hummed.

“I guess we’re both in jobs where everyone only notices the finished product.”

You smiled. “I like that.”

“So do I.”

The conversation wandered from there almost effortlessly. Somehow it turned into travel after he mentioned how often work had him living out of a suitcase, which became a debate over whether airport coffee was actually drinkable, which then led to food recommendations in different cities and also about what was the best dessert to have after a big dinner, and before either of you realized it, the glasses you’d filled at the beginning of the conversation were nearly empty.

You found yourself laughing far more than you’d expected to. Not because he was trying particularly hard to be funny, but because talking to him felt very easy and comfortable.

He listened just as much as he spoke, asked questions that made it obvious he was genuinely interested in the answers, and had a habit of smiling halfway through your stories that somehow encouraged you to keep talking. Every now and then he’d tell one of his own, usually ending it with an expression that suggested he still couldn’t believe it had happened, and you understood almost immediately why people seemed so comfortable around him.

“Hey.” Both of you turned at the sound of Mina’s voice. She was standing in the doorway with an amused smile, looking between the two of you before raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said, directing the comment at you. “Apparently someone wants to talk to you about a campaign you did last year. Hey Jin,” she greeted him with a smile he returned.

You blinked a bit confused. “How long have I been in here?”

“I don’t know.” Mina glanced at Jin before looking back at you. “Long enough that I assumed you’d gone home already.”

You laughed, setting your empty glass on the counter. “I should probably go save my professional reputation.”

“Probably.”

You looked back at Jin. “It was really nice talking to you.”

“You too,” he said with an easy smile. “Hopefully next time it won’t be around coffee or water.”

“I can’t promise anything. I like drinks.”

“I guess we’ll find out then.”

You smiled once before following Mina back toward the living room, already letting yourself get pulled into another conversation before you’d made it halfway across the apartment.

The rest of the evening passed with too many conversations happening at once, people arriving and leaving whenever they pleased, someone ordering late-night food nobody needed but everyone ate anyway. You spoke to Seokjin once more before leaving, nothing more than a quick goodbye as people gathered near the front door, and by the time you stepped into the elevator you were convinced that was all the night would become.

It wasn’t until you were driving home with the windows cracked open and the music playing quietly in the background that you realized something had changed. It wasn’t that you’d spent the evening talking to someone super famous, that part genuinely didn’t matter. It was that, somewhere between discussing airport coffee, impossible work schedules and the strange satisfaction of seeing a project finally come together, you’d completely lost track of time.

You couldn’t remember the last conversation you’d had with someone new that had felt so effortless.

And, much to your own surprise, you caught yourself wondering what the two of you would’ve talked about if someone hadn’t interrupted. That thought stayed with you all the way home, quietly settling into the back of your mind.

For the first time in a long while, you found yourself hoping your paths crossed again. And, for the first time ever, you just knew it will happen again.

——————————

You could dress it up however you wanted, tell yourself you were simply becoming more social or that it had been nice meeting new people outside of work, but somewhere between leaving that apartment three weeks ago and accepting yet another invitation you normally would’ve declined, you’d become painfully aware of one very embarrassing fact.

You were trying to see him again. Not in a creepy way, of course… At least, that’s what you insisted every time the thought crossed your mind.

It just so happened that after that night you’d kept in touch with a few of the people you’d met. One of the photographers had sent you a meme after discovering you shared the same hatred for some kind of food, a stylist had invited you to lunch with a couple of mutual friends, and before long you found yourself in a group chat that seemed to organize dinners, birthdays and last-minute gatherings every other weekend.

You said yes to all of them.

Was it because you’d genuinely enjoyed everyone’s company? Absolutely. Was it also because every invitation carried the tiny possibility that Jin might be there? …That part didn’t need to be examined too closely.

By the third invitation you had accepted, even Mina had started looking at you suspiciously. “You’ve become weirdly available lately.”

You looked up from where you were digging through your wardrobe. “I’ve always been available.”

“You canceled dinner with me two weeks ago,” she reminded you.

“I had work.”

“You left work at six.”

“Then I was tired.”

Mina crossed her arms, watching as you held two nearly identical sweaters up against yourself before putting one back on the hanger. “And yet,” she continued slowly, “you’re apparently not too tired to drive forty-five minutes across the city for a casual hangout hosted by people you’ve known for…” She pretended to count on her fingers. “…Roughly three weeks?”

You didn’t even bother turning around. “I’ve known them more time, silly. We just started talking more since the hangout. We connected.”

“Right. I’m sure you did.” She said suspiciously.

“They’re fun.”

“Mhm.”

“And it’s good to make new friends.”

“Mhm.”

You sighed, finally looking at her. “Okay, what? What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything.”

“You’re humming like a bitch, just say it.”

Mina smiled into her coffee before taking a sip. “I just think it’s interesting.”

“What is?”

“That you suddenly have a thriving social life.”

“I’ve always had a social life.”

“You absolutely have not.”

“I did.”

“You’ve spent the last year declining every invitation that wasn’t work-related.”

You opened your mouth to argue before stopping halfway through. “…Okay, you’re right. But I’m just trying something different now.”

“I think that’s great.”

“I knew you’d understand,” you pointed at her with a cheeky smiled, turning around to keep looking for an outfit.

“I do.” She smiled sweetly. “I also think it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that a certain someone might be there tonight.”

You froze for a second before reaching for the nearest cushion and threw it at her. “Shut up.”

She caught it without much effort. “I knew it”

“You don’t know shit.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth ruined whatever annoyance you were trying to perform. “I cant believe I was right. Do you like Seokjin?”

“Of course not!” You laughed despite yourself, dropping onto the edge of your bed. “I barely know him.”

“But you wanna see him again,” she pointed out.

“… Yeah.” You couldn’t lie. “I don’t even know him enough to know if I like him but… I don’t know. He’s cute.”

“I haven’t see you interested in someone in so long!” She said excitedly. “I’m so happy. I’m sure he’s interested in you too.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can feel a vibe.”

“I bet he barely remembers our conversation. He was probably being just polite.” You shook your head.

“Nah, people usually remember conversations. At least he had to remember a word or something.”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face in your hands. “You’re the worst person to ask for reassurance.”

“I don’t think he dislikes you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all!.”

“Okay, okay. I’m serious.” She set her coffee down before looking at you properly. “From what I saw that night, he looked comfortable talking to you.”

“He also looked comfortable talking to literally everyone.”

“Thats true but because he knew everyone. Usually with new people he’s very shy. So the fact that he was talking to you comfortably I think it says a lot.”

“So?”

“So go and find out. Talk to him more, see if you actually like him.”

You chuckled. “Okay, sure. Whatever I’ll just go. Worst-case scenario, I spend an evening with nice people.”

“And best-case scenario?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you about it if it happens,” you said with a smirk.

Mina groaned so loudly that she nearly spilled her coffee laughing.

——————————

The gathering was even smaller than the last one. Someone had volunteered their apartment, someone else had ordered enough food to feed twice the number of guests, and by the time you arrived most people were already spread around the living room, talking over one another while music played quietly from the speakers. You recognized almost everyone this time. Not well enough to call them close friends, but enough that conversations started easily

The photographer from the previous party greeted you with a hug before immediately pulling you into a discussion about an impossible decision he had to make for his career, an stylist insisted you try whatever dessert she’d brought, and before long you found yourself laughing at stories from a recent campaign shoot that had apparently gone catastrophically wrong. It felt surprisingly natural and comfortable being with these people you never really had the chance to get closer to.

You were halfway through telling someone about a model who’d accidentally boarded the wrong train during Milan Fashion Week when the apartment door opened. You didn’t look immediately because you obviously weren’t waiting for anyone.

Then someone near the entrance said, “Jin!”

Your head turned so fast you almost broke your beck… Very subtle.

He stepped inside carrying a paper bag from a bakery, apologizing for being late before greeting the host. There was something oddly familiar about watching him move through the room now. A month ago he would’ve blended into the evening like everyone else. Now you found yourself recognizing little things almost unconsciously— the way he smiled before saying hello, the habit of slightly bowing his head when someone older greeted him, how he always seemed to listen before speaking.

You hated that your brain had memorized all of it.

He spotted you a few moments later. There was the smallest pause before recognition crossed his face, followed by an easy smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You made it.”

The words were so ordinary that you almost laughed. “So did you.”

“I almost didn’t. Work really keeps you busy.”

“Were you actually working, or is that the excuse everyone in our industry uses?”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Both.”

“Fair enough.”

Someone called his name before either of you could continue. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said apologetically, nodding toward the group waiting for him.

“Yeah, of course.”

He disappeared almost immediately and you watched him walk away before frowning slightly. You weren’t entirely convinced if he was just being nice of if he also felt that weird vibe going between you two. Maybe you were just too delusional.

Over the next hour your paths kept crossing in the strangest ways. Every time you thought maybe you should walk over, someone else was already talking to him. When he finally looked free, another friend dragged you into a conversation on the balcony. Then, just as you managed to excuse yourself, Jin was helping someone carry drinks into the kitchen.

It was becoming almost comical.

You couldn’t help smiling when he finally made his way over, balancing two glasses in one hand after what felt like an entire evening of narrowly missing each other. It had almost become a running joke in your own head; every time one of you looked free, someone else inevitably appeared to steal the other’s attention. By now it was honestly impressive.

“I was starting to think this apartment was cursed,” you said as he stopped beside you, accepting the glass he held out. “Every single time I thought about coming over to talk to you, somebody got there first.”

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Of course,” you didn’t shy away, trying not to make the situation uncomfortable. “We had a nice chat last time.”

A laugh escaped him, quieter than the ones you’d heard from across the room but just as genuine, and he shook his head before taking a sip of his drink. “Me too. And I thought that was only happening to me,” he admitted. “Twice I walked over because I figured everyone was finally done talking to you, and then someone else started another conversation before I made it halfway across the room.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm.” He smiled, looking almost sheepish. “At one point I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

You looked at him for a second before laughing “I thought you were avoiding me.”

For a moment he simply stared at you, almost as if he was trying to decide whether you were joking, before the corners of his mouth lifted again. “So we’ve both spent the last hour being wrong.”

“I guess we have.”

Whatever awkwardness had followed you around since he’d arrived seemed to disappear with that exchange. It wasn’t some magical shift where suddenly everything became effortless, but the uncertainty you’d both apparently been carrying dissolved enough that the conversation no longer felt like something either of you had to force. Instead of wondering whether you were interrupting him or whether he was only being polite, you found yourselves walking toward the quieter side of the balcony almost without thinking, making room for another group squeezing through the doorway while continuing exactly where you’d left off.

“So, what do you do for work?” You said almost jokingly.

He looked genuinely caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean? You already know.”

“I don’t know,” you laughed. “Everybody always asks what you do for work, but work is only part of your life. So I don’t know, maybe tell me something you like to do that is not working.”

He thought about it for a second, absentmindedly turning his glass in his hands. “I sleep.”

You looked at him. “That cannot be your final answer.”

“I’m serious.”

“I believe you. I just refuse to accept it.”

“It takes up a surprising amount of my free time.”

“I’m trying to discover your hobbies, Seokjin.”

Jin smiled to himself before giving in. “I play video-games.”

“You play video games?”

“I do,” he nodded confidently even when his neck started getting red. “And I’m really good at them. Computer games, play station. Everything.”

“That’s nice,” you nodded with a little chuckle trying to scape out of your lips. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“It’s pretty fun.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the way you talk about it.”

He laughed quietly, and there was something strangely endearing about how easily he laughed at himself. Most people, especially in your line of work, had a habit of polishing every story until they sounded impressive. Jin seemed to do the opposite. Every time he talked about something he’d done well, he somehow ended up mentioning the part that had gone wrong too, as though he didn’t really see the point in pretending otherwise.

“So what about you?” he asked. “What do you like to do?”

You smiled. “I like to read.”

“What kind of books?”

“Anything that makes me forget to check my phone.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I like movies like that.”

“The ones where you forget you’re watching one?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh my god. I actually have a section in my Letterbox like that. ‘Movies that feel like movies.’” You said excited.

“I’m gonna need you to send me your account then,” he said seriously.

The two of you ended up lingering near the balcony more minutes, just talking. Around you, people drifted in and out of the apartment with the same relaxed rhythm the evening had carried from the beginning. Someone stepped outside to answer a phone call, another group squeezed past on their way to refill drinks, music floated faintly from the living room, but none of it seemed to interrupt the conversation anymore. It simply became part of the background.

“I know this is going to sounds ridiculous.” He looked almost embarrassed. “But I’m not great with new people,” he admitted. “So I’m glad you’re easy to talk to.”

“Really? You said, shaking your head as you leaned against the railing. “You seem so in ease.”

“Nah. Two years ago you probably would’ve had to carry the conversation by yourself.”

“I feel like I already do that sometimes.”

He looked at you, amused. “You?”

“I overshare when I’m nervous.”

“I would’ve never guessed.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem, I just talk to much.”

Jin smiled to himself before taking another sip of his drink. “I get quieter.”

“So we’re opposites.”

“Maybe.”

“I fill every silence.”

“I wait for the other person to.”

“So we are a match made in heaven.”

“Exactly.”

You both laughed, and for a second you simply watched the people inside the apartment. Someone had convinced half the room to play some card game that looked increasingly chaotic with every passing minute. A girl was already arguing about the rules despite the game having barely started.

“You know,” you said, “It’s kind of funny. I would’ve guessed the complete opposite.”

“About me?”

You nodded. “I don’t know… I think because you’re around people all the time, I just assumed talking to strangers came naturally.”

“It doesn’t, at all.” He shook his head. “I still overthink almost every conversation.”

You frowned. “Seriously?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“But you seem…” You searched for the right word. “…Comfortable.”

“I pretend.”

“So you’re acting?”

He laughed. “I don’t know if I’d call it acting.”

“What would you call it?”

“I just… remind myself that nobody else knows I’m nervous.”

You looked at him for a moment, surprised by how simple the answer was. “I’ve never thought about it like that.

“It helps.”

“I usually assume everyone can tell.”

“I think everyone assumes that.”

You smiled. “I’ve spent half my career convinced people can see me panicking.”

He looked genuinely confused. “I thought you were one of those people who had everything under control.”

You laughed so suddenly you nearly spilled your drink. “I don’t think anyone who’s worked with me would describe me that way.”

“They would.”

“They absolutely wouldn’t.”

“They would.”

“Seokjin.”

“I’m serious.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only talked to me like twice.”

“I would say more.”

“Mm, not really.”

He nodded. “There was a campaign dinner last winter where we talked a bit.”

You blinked a little taken aback. “You remember that?”

“You were trying to find someone’s assistant. I remember because in that event you were working with Taehyung too.”

“Ah, yes. I was trying to find a missing garment bag.” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

He shrugged almost apologetically. “I remember weird things.”

“Apparently.”

There was something about that answer that stayed with you. Not because he’d remembered the event itself— that wasn’t impossible— but because he’d remembered you in it. You hadn’t been the client, you hadn’t been the center of the evening. You’d simply been another person running around making sure everything worked. Most people never noticed those things.

“You know what’s strange?” you asked after a moment. “I’ve spent years assuming nobody notices the people behind events.”

Jin tilted his head. “Some do.”

“You do.”

“People behind the scene make everything happen. It’s impossible not to notice.”

You smiled, a little uncertainly. “Most people only remember the face wearing the clothes.”

“I think that’s normal.”

“I know.”

“But…” He paused for a second, as though trying to explain something he hadn’t really put into words before. “I think once you’ve worked around enough productions, you start noticing the people who keep everything moving. You can usually tell who’s solving problems. I guess that’s why I noticed you.”

You looked down at your glass for a second before smiling. “I don’t think anyone’s ever complimented me like that.”

He looked almost surprised. “It was a compliment?”

“Yeah. For me it is.”

“I was just telling the truth.”

The conversation wandered somewhere else after that, not because either of you tried to change the subject but because that seemed to be how talking to him worked. One thought naturally led to another. You ended up discussing the strange satisfaction of crossing things off handwritten to-do lists, the fact that both of you still preferred carrying notebooks despite having every reminder imaginable on your phones, how much you hated the smell of beer, how much he loved snowboarding and the ridiculous amount of time people spent pretending to enjoy networking events.

“So you don’t like them either?” you asked.

“I like leaving them.”

You laughed out loud. “That’s such an honest answer.”

“I always tell myself I’ll stay for an hour. Then I look at the time and it’s three hours later.” He shook his head. “Every time.”

“Why don’t you leave?”

Jin smiled. “Because then I meet someone interesting.”

You felt your heart give one annoyingly noticeable beat. “Does that happen often to you?.”

“It doesn’t.” Before you could think of a response, someone called his name from inside. He turned instinctively. “What?”

“Your food is getting cold! Are you eating?”

“I’ll be there!” He looked back at you almost immediately. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“You were saying?”

The fact that he’d come back to the conversation instead of letting it die made something warm settle somewhere in your chest.

“I honestly don’t even remember.”

“You were probably making fun of me.”

“I probably was.”

“I think you were.”

“I’ll continue after you get food.”

He smiled. “Deal.”

And he did.

Five minutes later, after grabbing two slices of pizza and somehow convincing someone else to stop stealing olives off his plate, he walked right back over and picked up the conversation as though nobody had interrupted it in the first place. It happened again later. Someone asked him to settle an argument in the kitchen, another friend pulled him into a group photo. Every single time, he came back. Not tired or with some grand excuse, just quietly returning to where you’d been standing before asking, “Where were we?”

By the end of the night you realized you’d talked about almost everything and almost nothing. Childhood hobbies, the fact that both of you hated talking on the phone but would happily send ten-minute voice notes, how neither of you understood people who enjoyed going out every weekend to party, the weird satisfaction of grocery shopping late at night. You talked about the best convenience store snacks, whether pineapple belonged on pizza and more. The conversation never felt like it needed to impress the other person, it just kept going.

When people finally started putting on their jackets, you were genuinely surprised to see the apartment had emptied without you noticing. “I should head out too,” you said, slipping your phone into your bag.

Seokjin nodded. “Me too.” For a second neither of you moved. “I had a really good time,” he said, smiling in that same quiet way he always seemed to.

“Me too.” You stayed in your place, waiting for him to ask for your number.

“I’ll…” He hesitated just enough for you to notice it. “…I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

“Right,” you said, almost disappointed. “Yeah, I hope so.”

He smiled once more before following his friends toward the door. You watched him leave, waiting until the apartment had almost emptied before saying your own goodbyes.

The drive home was spent replaying conversations you hadn’t meant to memorize. Not because anything extraordinary had happened. He hadn’t flirted with you, he hadn’t asked for your goddamn number. Seokjin hadn’t looked at you in some life-changing, movie-worthy way. If anything, the evening had been remarkably ordinary. And maybe that was exactly why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You liked talking to him, like a lot. There had been no awkward pauses to fill, no pressure to sound clever, no moments where you found yourself wondering what you should say next. Somehow the two of you had managed to spend hours discussing the most ridiculous, everyday things, and you’d still walked away feeling like there were another hundred conversations left to have. That should have been exciting. Instead, it left you hopelessly confused. Because Jin was nice. Painfully, consistently nice. He listened to everyone, he smiled at everyone, he remembered details about people that most would’ve forgotten. So how were you supposed to tell whether any of tonight had actually meant something?

Maybe he talked to everybody like that, maybe every person who left one of his conversations went home thinking they’d been understood, maybe this was just who he was. You couldn’t read him. Every time you thought he’d given you a sign, your brain immediately found another explanation for it, and by the time you pulled into your apartment building you were somehow even more confused than when the evening had started.

The only thing that wasn’t confusing anymore was yourself. There wasn’t any point pretending this was simple curiosity, that excuse had expired somewhere around the conversation about how much you loved strawberry cheesecake.

You liked him. Entirely, inconveniently and undeniably.

You smiled all the way upstairs because the realization was somehow equal parts embarrassing and exciting. And later, before you’d even finished getting ready for bed, you found yourself opening the group chat from the party. Your thumb hovered over the upcoming plans someone had mentioned earlier. A birthday dinner next week. A movie night the weekend after. A barbecue if the weather stayed nice. You stared at the messages for a moment before smiling to yourself. A month ago, you would’ve checked your calendar first or invent another excuse to not show up. Tonight, you were already trying to figure out how to make sure you didn’t have any plans at all so you could see him again.

——————————

Monday mornings at HYBE building looked exactly the way you imagined a music company would. Stylists hurried down the hall balancing garment bags over one shoulder while trying to answer phone calls at the same time, assistants walked briskly between meeting rooms carrying stacks of documents that somehow looked urgent regardless of what was inside them, and every few minutes someone you vaguely recognized from a campaign, a magazine shoot or an awards show passed by with a polite nod before disappearing around another corner. It was organized chaos, the kind that somehow managed to function despite looking as though everything was happening at once.

You’d been there often enough over the years that the receptionist greeted you by name before you’d even reached the desk. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you smiled, accepting the visitor’s badge she handed over. “I’m here for the ten o’clock.”

“They’re already waiting for you.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Luxury fashion PR had a funny way of making every company building start to feel familiar. One month you were spending every afternoon at a magazine headquarters preparing a campaign, the next you were coordinating fittings at a fashion house, and then suddenly you were sitting in entertainment agencies discussing contracts between artists and brands. It meant learning hundreds of names, remembering dozens of schedules and somehow keeping track of who was available on which side of the world.

By the time you reached the conference room, three people from HYBE’s partnership team were already seated around the table, laptops open and coffees untouched.

The meeting itself was surprisingly straightforward. The agency had recently signed a new rookie group whose first luxury campaign was already attracting attention from several international brands, and your company had been hired to coordinate the negotiations and oversee the campaign schedule. Most of the creative decisions had already been approved weeks earlier, which meant your morning was spent going over travel dates, confirming fitting appointments, discussing possible magazine covers and making sure nobody had accidentally scheduled three different events in three different countries on the same day… It happened more often than people realized.

“I’ll send over the updated timeline this afternoon,” you said, closing your notebook once everyone seemed satisfied. “As long as the group’s comeback date doesn’t move again, everything should stay on schedule.”

One of the managers laughed. “Please don’t say that out loud.”

“I’m choosing optimism.”

“We’ve learned not to.”

You smiled. “Fair enough.”

Another hour disappeared into emails and final revisions before the meeting finally wrapped up. By the time you stepped back into the hallway, your shoulders already felt lighter. There were still a dozen things waiting for you back at the office, but the most complicated part of your week had gone considerably smoother than you’d expected.

You had just slipped your notebook and laptop into your bag when a familiar voice called your name from the other end of the corridor. You turned just in time to see Taehyung walking toward you, sunglasses hooked onto the collar of his T-shirt despite being indoors. For a second you simply stared.

“Well, that’s a face I haven’t seen in forever.”

He laughed. “I was about to say the same thing.” The two of you met halfway down the hallway, exchanging a quick hug before stepping back. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought your office was like 3 hours away.”

“It is. We were meeting with the partnership team.”

“For the rookie group?” You nodded. “Please tell me they’re behaving.”

“So far.”

“So they haven’t started changing schedules every six hours yet?”

“It’s only Monday.”

“There’s still time to run.”

You laughed. “You sound like you’ve been traumatized.”

“I’ve worked in this building long enough. Rookie groups are starting to be a nightmare.”