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You had grown used to the ache of it, almost comfortable in its familiarity. Even so, some nights you still woke up reaching for a warmth that wasn’t there, cursing yourself for the weakness.

With that lingering emptiness came the decision to join the study; a well-paid psychological experiment on intimacy and cognition. Six hours. One stranger. Clinical detachment in silk robes and signed consents— maybe it was a way to prove to yourself that you could still be touched without falling apart.

Because what’s worse ? Never being known again? Or never being felt again, in the fear of it?

You’d found the ad late one sleepless night, scrolling through a forum for research participants. “Seeking emotionally mature adults for a paid study on human connection and decision-making under controlled conditions. Generous compensation. Strict confidentiality.” It felt gerneal enough to be safe, intriguing enough to tame the voice in your head that whispered you were only doing this because you were awfully lonely.

You’d hesitated, of course. For days you left the tab open, rereading the description, weighing the risk against the numbness that had settled in your bones since the breakup.

What if the stranger is awful?

What if their hands feel wrong?

What if being touched by someone who doesn’t know you only makes the emptiness louder?

The apprehension sat heavy in your stomach— being touched without being known sounded almost clinical, transactional; skin on skin with no history, no shorthand, no one who understood that you liked your neck kissed softly at first, then harder when you started to tremble. Just a body. A stranger’s hands mapping territory that once belonged to someone else.

And yet, here you were. Because after eighteen months of dating apps and god-awful dinners that led nowhere, the idea of feeling something— even if it was manufactured— felt better than feeling nothing at all.

In the sleek waiting room that felt more like a high-end spa than a laboratory— a calm woman in a white coat greeted you with a smile. “Good afternoon, y/n. I’m Dr. Ellis. You’ll be subject A today.”

All around you— it felt less like the reception area of a research facility and more like the lounge of an impossibly expensive wellness retreat. Soft amber light spilled from recessed fixtures hidden within the ceiling, casting a gentle glow over pale stone floors and curved ivory walls that were so seamless they looked sculpted rather than built. Minimalist furniture sat deliberately spaced apart— cream armchairs, glass tables with no visible joints, and a single arrangement of pristine white orchids that seemed almost too perfect to be real.

There were no reception desks cluttered with paperwork, no ticking clocks, no magazines left on tables; instead, sleek touchscreens were embedded discreetly into the walls, their displays dim until someone approached.

Everything about the space had been designed to soothe, yet its perfection felt strangely unsettling, as though every texture, every light, and every silence had been calcutated long before you arrived.

“Subject A?” you asked, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“It’s simply how we identify participants during the study.” the woman smiled oddly.

“So there’s a Subject B.”

“There is.” she fiddled with some papers, like this was all normal and nothing to be concerned about.

“Am I.. supposed to know who they are?”

“No.”

You considered the situation, what could go wrong, right? It’s not like you had anything worth celebrating in your life, you hadn’t taken any risks in a long long time— and surely this one was undeniably huge but the point still stands.

“Do they know who I am?” you asked.

“No they don’t.” she simply shook her head, “Before we begin, I need you to review and sign these consent forms.” She slid a tablet across the low table. “The session lasts six hours in a controlled environment. You’ll be paired with another participant— someone we’ve matched based on compatibility metrics. Instructions will appear on a screen, and remember ! You are free to give or withdraw verbal consent at each stage, but full participation is required to receive payment.”

You scanned the dense paragraphs, heart picking up speed. “And… what exactly is the goal of this? The real one, I mean.”

Dr. Ellis folded her hands. “We’re studying how prior emotional experiences influence physiological and psychological responses during guided intimacy. Arousal patterns, decision-making, emotional regulation. It’s part sexology, part attachment research really. Everything is recorded for data purposes— biometrics, audio—but visual privacy is maintained within the room. You’ll wear a silk robe provided and no personal information will be exchanged unless the protocol requires it.”

After a pause, you signed and surprisingly your hand barely trembled. You’d thought about it a lot, it seemed like the right path to take— as controversial as that sounds— you wanted, needed, to feel something.

“Excellent. There’s a changing room just through that door. Remove your clothing, put on the robe, and we’ll proceed once you’re ready y/n.”

You stood in front of the full-length mirror of the changing room for a long moment, letting the robe hang open. Your eyes traced the familiar lines of your body; the curve of your waist, the faint marks time had left, the places his mouth used to worship. He used to kiss right here, you thought, fingertips brushing your hip. Like he was memorizing me.

You closed the robe, tied the belt with deliberate care, and stepped back out.

Dr. Ellis waited with a black silk blindfold. “This is for the transition, it helps reduce pre-session anxiety.” She tied it gently behind your head.

The world went dark, soft and complete all the while her hand rested lightly on your arm as she guided you forward. “Breathe normally. The room is private— audio monitored for consent and safety, but no visual feed inside. You’ll be fine.”

With that lingering emptiness still wrapped around your ribs, Dr. Ellis guided you forward one last time. The blindfold stayed firmly in place as you were led through a final door and cool air brushed against your bare legs beneath the silk robe they had given you— thin, luxurious, and far too intimate for what this was supposed to be. You heard the soft click of another door closing behind you and tthe lock sliding into place.

You stood there, heart thudding slow and heavy, the world reduced to darkness and the faint scent of clean linen and warm skin. “We’ll proceed now,” she said quietly, and then her footsteps retreated. The door clicked shut.

Silence.

You sat there, nervousness making your fingers fiddle with the edge of the robe. The fabric whispered against your thighs as you crossed your legs, uncrossed them, heart hammering. Sensory deprivation made every sound louder: the air circulation, the mechanical click of something locking into place. Then footsteps approached from the opposite side of the room— measured, familiar in weight.

And … that scent— cedar and warm skin, with the faintest trace of the same cologne only he used to wear. You’d recognize it anywhere, god— even in a crowded room, even after all this time. It was all a cruel joke, a stranger wearing his scent like it was the most normal thing ever.

But it wasn’t possible, you didn’t believe in fate, kismet and whatnot.

So then, gently, almost carefully, you removed the blindfold from your eyes as you’d been instructed to do.

And the first thing you noticed— was a funny thing— there was no stranger, no unknown, because the man who sat before you, blond hair tousled, ditching his own blindfold— was only a person you knew too well.

Riki. Nishimura Riki.

The man you’d loved for so many years looked… healthy, the same way you’d always remembered him— his posture still effortlessly straight, shoulders broad beneath the silk robe, dyed hair had grown just enough to soften around his forehead, a few loose strands falling carelessly where you knew he’d brush them back without thinking.

Time had sharpened him in beautiful ways— his jaw a little more defined, the lines around his eyes ever so slightly deeper—but none of it was enough to make him unfamiliar.

He was still unmistakably Riki. The kind of face you’d once memorized in every light imaginable, from mornings to nights, now standing only a few feet away as if eighteen months had been nothing more than a badly remembered dream.

And somehow— it turned out that time had done everything except teach your heart who to belong to. You looked at each other the way abandoned homes remember their owners.

It was a peculiar kind of silence really —the kind reserved for funerals, churches, and people who had once known the shape of each other’s souls. No sharp breaths. No widened eyes in shock. No words at all actually. Just the heavy, crushing weight of recognition settling between you.

And somehow, despite everything, the years folded themselves away— and god, it was almost insulting how quickly it happened. Like someone familiar taking their old seat, you looked at him, he looked back— and there was no anger left. Only evidence that there had once been too much love.

Tears built slowly in your eyes, inevitable, blurring the sharp familiar lines of his jaw, the curse of his mouth.

His own eyes glistened in answer, water gathering there and a single tear tracing down his cheek before he brushed it away wordlessly, almost absentmindedly.

And you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

Even if the world had caught fire around you, your gaze remained locked on Riki’s face. The tears that had been building finally slipped free, tracing warm paths down your cheeks, but you made no move to wipe them away. He didn’t either— instead, a small, broken smile curved his lips through the tears— sad, aching, and so painfully familiar it twisted something deep inside your chest.

It wasn’t a happy smile, it was the kind of smile that carried every quiet moment when he must have wondered the same thing you did: What if we had fought harder?

God, this fucking hurt.

After a long silence, you lifted a trembling hand toward the mirrored wall without breaking eye contact with him. Your voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“There’s been a mistake…”

No response. No voice crackled through a hidden speaker. No footsteps outside the door.

Eventually, the large screen on the far wall lit up with soft white light and an automated, calm female voice filled the room, utterly detached:

“Subject A and Subject B have been paired based on compatibility metrics. You may not leave the room for six hours and you must follow every instruction in sequence. Refusal ends the session and forfeits payment. Verbal consent will be recorded at each escalation. Reiterate consent to proceed.”

The words landed like stones in still water.

You felt your breath hitch— this couldn’t be happening. A bitter, broken laugh almost escaped your throat, but it died before it could form, tears falling instesd.

Riki’s smile faded slowly, replaced by something else unguarded; he swallowed hard, jaw tightening, another drop slipping down his cheek and his hands flexed at his sides almost automatically, as if fighting the instinct to reach for you. He gave the smallest nod— barely there—his dark eyes never leaving yours. His voice, when it came, was low and rough, thick with emotion.

“I consent.” It’s almost as if he hadn’t even needed to think about it twice, an instinct, or more-so the lack of a survival one.

In response, you closed your eyes for half a second, overwhelmed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. When you opened them again, Riki was still watching you with that same devastating patience— the same intensity that had once made you feel like the only person alive.

You didn’t want to leave.

Even after all this, even with the clinical voice echoing in your ears and the weight of eighteen months crashing down in one devastating instant, the thought of walking out felt impossible. Because if you left now— if you said no and ended the session— there was no guarantee you would ever see him again. No guarantee that life would ever grant you this kind of impossible second chance. The universe had already been cruel enough to rip him away once.

What were the odds it would ever align like this again? Zero. None.

You thought about the empty months stretching behind you. The way every new touch from anyone else had felt like a pale imitation— the way you still reached for him in your sleep. Walking out might protect your heart in the short term, but it would condemn you to wondering what if for the rest of your life.

Because of that, staying felt like the only sane choice. Even if it destroyed you, even if it tore open every wound you had tried so desperately to stitch shut. At least here, in this sterile room with its one-way mirrors and biometric sensors, you would have six hours. Six hours of him. Six hours where science itself forced you close enough to breathe the same air, to remember what it felt like to be known.

Strangely enough, the mechanics of it all made the decision feel almost fated— the locked doors, the no-escape clause, the payment dangling like an excuse you could hide behind later. Because of course, you had bills to pay, you had a broken washing machine, and loans to pay off.

It wasn’t my choice, you could tell yourself. The experiment made me stay.

But deep down you knew the truth, so you drew in a shaky breath, eyes still locked on his. “I consent,” you whispered, voice cracking.

The automated voice responded immediately, neutral and efficient: “Consent recorded for both subjects. Stage one will begin in thirty seconds.”

Riki’s gaze softened further, that heartbreaking little smile flickering back to life for just a moment— sad, tender, as if he knew exactly what storm was raging inside you. As if he was fighting the exct same one.

The automated voice returned, slicing through the thick silence: “Stage one: Sit facing each other on the bed, two feet apart.”

Without hesitation, you moved first, your legs felt unsteady as you crossed the short distance to the large bed. The mattress dipped softly under your weight. Riki followed in one smooth motion, settling directly across from you. Exactly two feet.

Close enough to feel him, far enough to not reach.

You looked at each other and in response, his eyes— those dark, familiar eyes—held yours without flinching. You were shaking, you couldn’t stop it— your hands rested on your thighs, fingers curled tightly into the silk robe, trying to anchor yourself.

“Maintain eye contact for ten minutes while answering researcher questions aloud,” the voice instructed.

The first question appeared on the screen. “Describe your history with this person in one sentence.”

Riki went first— ever the bravest; he swallowed hard, throat working visibly and his voice came out hesitant, cracking under the weight of emotion.

“She was my… my first love.”

After a pause, it was your turn— inevitably you’d have to talk, to purge yourself of this unpleasant feeling. But god were you petty…

“He was someone I knew very well. We um… used to date.”

Even then, the words felt like a lie on your tongue, too small to contain the entirety of him. You didn’t date— you felt, and you broke, you crashed hundreds of times with each other like planets colliding— as dramatic as it all sounds. It had been nothing short of a destruction.

But the voice moved on to the next question. “What is your strongest memory of this person?”

You spoke first this time, the memory rising unbidden.

“The day we broke up,” you said slowly, voice trembling. “How quiet it got, i guess.”

Riki’s eyes shimmered as hi jaw tightened. When he answered, his voice was barely above a whisper,

“I remember watching her cry because of me.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks again but you didn’t bother wiping them. They were the same that had fallen that night, after what seemed like the hundredth fight.

“What do you still feel when you look at this person?”

That cruel voice stripped you bare until suddenly— you were there, saying things you’d never thought you’d say.

“The same thing I feel looking at someone I used to know… I don’t know, familiarity I guess… stuff I thought I outgrew.”

Riki looked surprised, not by your confession— but more by your stability, the way you kept walls all around you, walls he’d teared down long before and you’d quickly rebuilt.

“The happiest part of my life.” he answered.

You wanted to agree; god knew you wanted to, but you couldn’t. Agreeing would mean defeat and defeat would mean you had something to loose. The years you’d spent with Riki had been your happiest too, a lifetime of laughter, pleasure and complicity… but still, that had never been enough.

The questions continued mercilessly, like a vague health questionnaire. “Do you consider this person a part of your past, present, or future?”

“Past,” you said quickly, without giving it a thought.

Riki shook his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t think you can put someone like her in one category.”

Had he thought about it a lot? Had he spent hours staring at the ceiling wondering whether you were a thing of memories, or a constant? Because you had— but that wasn’t something you were ready to admit.

“Do you believe your feelings for this person are resolved?”

“No,” Riki answered immediately.

“Yes.” you said. He wasn’t even offended— because the thing with people who know you existentially, is that they can tell when you’re lying.

Riki knew you, knew how your tongue loved to tell tales, how you couldn’t even help it— that’s just the way you were, way too proud for your own good.

But thankfully, he was honest enough for the both of you.

“What part of your connection with this person do you not miss?”

You swallowed. “Feeling like I had to wait for someone who was always somewhere else.”

Riki’s expression crumpled slightly. “The moments when I made her feel alone.”

“And what part of your connection with this person do you miss the most?”

Too many possibilities tangled in your mind, where to begin? Would you be shameless enough to say you missed the way his hands fit against your cheeks? The way he knew your defence mechanisms like the back of his hand? The way he’d never blamed you for how loud and how inhibited you were?

There were an infinity of things to say— but all that came were grudges.

“The way I used to be before him.”

Riki’s voice softened, letting out a small breathy chuckle, truly amused by your ability to dodge the real questions. “I miss the ordinary things. Just… existing in the same space.”

“Do you believe this person knows you?”

“He used to.”

“Yes,” the man said without hesitation. “Still does.”

Did you though?

“What do you believe they should apologize for?”

“Nothing.” The word left your lips too quickly.

Riki took a shaky breath. “For thinking she had to leave before I could hurt her again.”

“Do you forgive this person?”

You nodded, “yes”

Dr. Ellis’s voice came through the speaker for the first time, gentle but probing. “Do you mean that, y/n ?”

You answered tightly, “I said yes.”

Lie.

Riki’s gaze was steady, full of sorrow. “I don’t have anything to forgive her for.”

He did— god he did, but he was so good, too good to say it.

“Did your physical response change when you first saw them?”

“No,” you said, but the heart-rate monitor attached to your chest beeped sharply, the line spiking on the screen.

Dr. Ellis spoke again. “Your monitor indicates otherwise.”

Maybe the monitor was right— your heart seemed to be beating out of your chest, but to your credit? It was hot inside that room, and your robe was too tight.

“Then it’s inaccurate,” you muttered, voice tight with frustration.

Riki’s answer? It was simple, “Yes.”

“And were you surprised by your reaction?” the voice prompted.

“No.” you shook your head.

Dr. Ellis asked, “Why?”

“Because I expected it to happen,” you replied, almost absentmindedly brushing a tear from your cheek.

That was a lie, (once again), you hadn’t even expected to be confronted to so many things today, you thought. you were in for a new experience, a way of feeling a little bit.

Instead you were feeling way too damn much.

When it was his turn, Riki answered, “Yes… I thought i was over it.”

The final questions landed like blows. Too much, too precise.

“Do you still love them?”

You didn’t even think about it— maybe if you had you would’ve said the truth, “No.”

Riki’s voice broke completely on his answer. “Yes.”

“If this person asked you to stay, would you?”

“No.”

Your ex lover looked at you for a long moment, eyes glistening. “I don’t know.”

Dr. Ellis prompted gently, “You don’t know?”

“Because I’d want to,” he finished, voice barely holding together.

See, anyone listening could think you were indifferent— cold, but youd spent eighteen months learning how to live without him, not eighteen months learning how to stop feeling. This was more or less your way of removing pieces of yourself before anyone else could touch them, before it could cause actual damage.

You refused to give the past anything soft to hold onto, because once this was over— once the 6 hours were done, there would be no excuses for you and Riki to be alone in a room dancing around feelings.

“Stage two: Touch only hands and arms. Trace each other’s arms, shoulders, and face. Maintain eye contact. Answer all questions aloud.”

After a long silence, you both moved toward the center of the bed like an evidence. You told yourself it was for the money but in all honesty?

You’d die if Nishimura Riki didn’t touch you right now.

As if any sudden motion might shatter the fragile tension holding you together, you sat facing each other, knees almost brushing. Riki lifted his hands first, palms up in quiet offering and you placed yours over his wordlessly.

The moment your skin met, everything got louder in your head.

Riki’s fingers trembled against yours— the old electricity was instant and terrifying, familiar, dangerous and terribly alive. It raced up your arms like lightning remembering its favorite path home.

Fuck, you thought, breath catching. This is too much.

The screen lit up with yet another invasive question.

“Rate your current arousal 1-10.”

Riki answered first, almst absentmindedly stroking his thumb across your palm.

“Eight,” he murmured. Then, softer, “Maybe nine.”

You swallowed hard, your skin was already burning where he touched you. “Seven,” you whispered.

The heart-rate monitor betrayed you instantly, the line spiking on the distant screen and in turn, the next question appeared.

“Does their touch feel different from strangers?”

You let out a shaky breath, his fingers tracing your palm slowly, carefully, following every line like he was reading a map he had once memorized by heart. There was no adequate answer; of course? obviously? definitely?

All you knew was that you hadn’t felt alive in months and his touch had given you that long-searched feeling.

“Yes,” you admitted, voice barely holding. “It feels… good.”

Riki’s eyes darkened, almost automatically, his fingertips moved to your wrist, tracing the delicate veins there with heartbreaking gentleness— his touch was warm, slightly calloused in the way you remembered, sending shivers racing across your skin.

“It feels like the only touch that’s ever made sense,” he said quietly.

Even then, the sensors were drinking it all in—pulse racing, skin conductance rising, pupils dilating. The room felt smaller; the silk robes suddenly too thin as his fingers continued their journey, slowly gliding up your forearms, tracing the sensitive inner skin with such tenderness it made your chest ache.

You followed, your hands moving to his arms. The muscle you found beneath your palms was warm and solid; yoou traced the veins on his forearms, remembering how you used to fall asleep with your head on this exact spot. God, you’d missed it, and you hated how much you’d missed it.

After a pause, the screen asked again:

“Rate your current arousal 1-10.”

“Nine,” Riki breathed, voice cracking slightly as his hands moved higher, brushing over your shoulders— his thumbs stroked along your collarbones with aching care.

You were trembling harder now. “Eight,” you managed. The lie tasted bitter— it was definitely a good old twenty.

His hands eventually moved to your face; in one smooth motion, he cupped your cheeks with both palms, thumbs brushing away the fresh tears that had fallen. You did the same, cradling his jaw, feeling the faint stubble beneath your fingertips.

The touch was so intimate, so full of history, that it hurt.

Somehow, despite everything, the electricity between you only grew. Terrifying. Addictive. Making it impossible to let go even for a breaths moment. Riki’s forehead nearly rested against yours, his breath mingled with your own, “Still you,” he whispered, so softly the microphones might not have caught it. “Even after all this time… still you.”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. You simply kept touching him— tracing the line of his jaw, the shell of his ear, the slope of his neck, as if your hands were trying to memorize him all over again before the experiment could take this away too.

The automated voice cut through the charged air again, “Stage three: Remove robes. Kneel facing each other. Kiss only.”

You sat there for a long moment, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest. Riki’s hands were still cradling your face, thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin like he was afraid you might regret thi.

Even then, despite the clinical detachment of the room and the monitors quietly tracking every spike in your pulse, heat pooled low in your belly.

You looked around the room— making sure there were no cameras, or maybe you knew there weren’t any, but you just wanted to take a breath without feeling like the whole world was pressing inside your chest.

With that, you reached for the belt of your robe first, fingers trembling only slightly as you untied it. The silk whispered open, cool air kissing your bare skin and Riki watched you, dark eyes drinking in every inch like a man starved. Almost out of pure unbidden instinct, he mirrored you, shrugging the robe from his shoulders in one motion. The fabric pooled around your knees on the bed, forgotten.

God, he looked exactly the same— broad shoulders, the lean muscle that had always made you feel safe and wild at once, the faint trail of hair leading down from his navel. Your gaze traced lower before you could stop yourself, and heat flooded your cheeks.

You both shifted, kneeling now, facing each other in the center of the large bed. Knees brushing, close enough that the warmth radiating from his body made the air between you feel electric.

Then the voice prompted again: “Begin kissing. Maintain contact. Describe aloud what you missed most about the other’s body.”

It felt so silly— but you’d take anything, to feel his touch again.

Riki leaned in first, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away— but you didn’t. You met him halfway, and the first press of his lips was soft—hesitant, almost reverent, just a brush, warm and familiar, tasting faintly of salt from the tears still dying on both your cheeks.

Eventually your hands found his chest, palms flat against the steady thud of his heart. The kiss deepened gradually, his mouth opening against yours, tongue tracing your lower lip with care. A soft sound escaped you, half sigh, half whimper, and he swallowed it like it belonged to him.

“Describe it,” the voice reminded neutrally.

You pulled back just enough to speak against his mouth, breath mingling. “I missed… your hands. The way they’re big enough to cover so much of me at once.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going, fingers tracing down his arms. “And your mouth. And… and the way you used to kiss me like you were trying to crawl inside my skin.”

He made a low, wrecked sound in his throat and kissed you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a slow, devastating rhythm that made your toes curl. His hands stayed on your face for now, but you could feel the tension in them, the restraint.

Against his will, he broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “You’re so pretty. Still so goddamn pretty it hurts to look at you, my girl—” He froze, eyes widening slightly as the old endearment slipped out. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t— fuck.”

Tears welled up again in both your eyes, mixing into the kiss as your lips met once more. Salty and desperate now, the tenderness fracturing into something raw- you tasted the apology on his tongue, felt the way his breath hitched when your hands slid up to grip his shoulders.

Even so, the kiss didn’t stop— it grew deeper, hungrier, slow drags turning into wet, open-mouthed presses that left you both breathing harder. Your nipples tightened against his chest as you leaned closer, skin on skin for the first time in eighteen months, the contact earth shattering.

Riki’s hands slid into your hair exactly the way they used to— fingers threading through the strands at the nape of your neck, tugging just enough to tilt your head how he wanted. The familiarity of it made your stomach flip as h pulled you impossibly closer, forehead pressed to yours between kisses, breath hot against your swollen lips.

“This is so fucking unfair,” he whispered, voice breaking.

The screen lit up again almost immediately, the automated voice cutting in: “Subject B: Explain why you left.”

Riki stilled against you, hands still tangled in your hair and you felt his heartbeat stutter under your palm. For a long silence, he just breathed with you, eyes closed, lips brushing yours like he was gathering strength.

Oh God. . .

Finally, he spoke, strained, each word pulled out like it cost him something vital. “I left because I was terrified I’d ruin you. Because every time we fought, I saw how much it broke you, and I convinced myself you’d be better off without me fucking it all up again. I thought… if I stayed, I’d only hurt you more. So I ran like a coward. And every single day since, I’ve regretted it.”

You swallowed hard, tears slipping free again, but you didn’t pull away— instead, your fingers traced down his chest slowly, deliberately, finding the spots you knew would make him shiver— nails grazing lightly over his nipples, then lower, following the lines of his abdomen.

In turn, Riki’s hands moved too, one staying in your hair while the other slid down your back, palm warm and possessive against your spine. He knew exactly how to touch you— still. The perfect pressure, the exact rhythm that had always undone you. His fingertips danced along your sides, then lower, cupping your ass and pulling you flush against him so you could feel how hard he already was.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, kissing you deeper, tongue stroking yours with devastating precision. He knew you like no one else ever had— the way a firm tug on your hair made you melt, the way being held tight while you trembled always pushed you closer to the edge.

And you knew him just as well. Your hand slipped between you, wrapping around his cock with a slow stroke that made him groan against your lips, hips jerking forward instinctively. You weren’t even sure if you could— or if you had to follow instructions, but undoubtedly, it would be okay.

Nobody could see what you were doing anyway, how your hand moved on his length, tugging just the way he liked, thumb swiping over his tip like it had countless times before.

Somehow, despite everything, the years apart only made the knowing dangerous,evry touch loaded with memory. Every kiss felt like coming home and setting the house on fire at the same time.

The voice returned, a third wheel in the whole situation : “Stage four: Oral exploration phase. One gives, one receives. Then switch. Maintain eye contact at all times. Verbal consent required to proceed.”

You knelt there, still pressed close to Riki, his cock hard and hot against your stomach, your own arousal slick between your thighs.

After a long silence, he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes fully. “I consent,” he whispered, voice hoarse’ his thumb brushed your lower lip, tender despite everything.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering against your ribs. “I consent,” you managed.

“Excellent. Subject B will give first. Subject A, lie back. Subject B, position yourself between her legs. Begin slowly.”

With that, Riki guided you down onto the bed, the sheets were cool against your overheated skin, a stark contrast to the fire licking through your veins and you lay back, propped slightly on your elbows so you could keep eye contact.

Riki moved with are, settling between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders pushing your legs wider. He looked up at you the entire time, eyes locked on yours.

His hands slid up your inner thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there, parting you open for him. You were already wet, embarrassingly so, and the cool air made you shiver.

Riki leaned in slowly, pressing a soft kiss to the crease of your thigh first, then another higher up. His breath ghosted over your core, making your hips twitch.

“Describe what you feel, Subject A,” the voice prompted.

You hated it, you wanted it to shut up so you could focus on his mouth. But it dragged the honesty out of you, things you would’ve never said unprompted.

You bit your lip, “I feel… i feel attraction, like i want him closer.”

Riki’s eyes softened, and then his mouth was on you. A slow, broad lick from your entrance up to your clit, warm and wet and devastatingly familiar until your back arched instinctively, a broken gasp escaping your lips.

“Fuck— Riki…”

“Tell him how it feels,” the voice instructed calmly.

“It feels so good,” you whispered, voice trembling as he licked you again, slower this time, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue. “So… good.”

It made you hate how much you’d missed it. Like your body had never forgotte his.

He moaned against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. With that, he settled in deeper, arms wrapping under your thighs to hold you open, hands gripping your hips.

Riki ate you out like a man starved— long, luxurious strokes of his tongue, savoring every drop of your arousal; he alternated between broad licks that covered your entire pussy and precise flicks right against your swollen clit, sucking gently, then harder.

“Subject B, how does it feel?” the voice cut in.

Riki pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your wetness, “She tastes so good, so sweet and tangy and so fucking addictive. I hate how much I need this— still so fucking perfect for me.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for leaving you empty like this pretty girl.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he dove back in, tongue thrusting inside you now, fucking you with it in shallow, deliberate strokes while his nose nudged your clit. You reached down, fingers threading through his hair, not pulling, just holding on as your own tears started to fall. The overload hit like a wave— love, resentment, all consuming need all crashing together.

Itd be a lie to say the pleasure didn’t build in slow, relentless waves. Riki knew exactly what to do: how to flatten his tongue and drag it up slowly, how to suck your clit into his mouth and hum, how to press two fingers inside you and curl them just right against that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. But he didn’t rush. He drew it out, edging you, pulling back whenever you got too close.

“Subject A, how does this make you feel emotionally?” the voice asked, pushing deeper into the wound.

“It makes me feel known,” you sobbed, hips rolling against his face despite yourself. “Like he still owns every part of me. It hurts— god, it hurts so good because I love him… and… and I fucking resent him and I need him so much it scares me.”

Riki whimpered against your core, the sound muffled and desperate. Tears mixed with your slick on his cheeks. as he licked broader, messier now, devouring you with filthy, wet sounds that filled the room. “My girl… you’re dripping for me. Still so responsive. I missed this pussy so much. Missed making you fall apart on my tongue.”

He didn’t even bother correcting himself this time— that’s what you were at the end of the day, his girl. No matter how far, no matter how close.

The voice continued its relentless probing: “Subject B, does performing this act stir unresolved feelings?”

“Yes,” Riki gasped between long licks, tongue circling your clit relentlessly. “It makes me remember every time I made her come like this and then held her after. It twists the knife because I threw it all away.”

You cried harder, the intimacy almost unbearable— the clinical voice forcing you to confront every sensation, every buried emotion, while Riki’s mouth worshipped you.

Your thighs trembled around his head as he slid three fingers inside you now, pumping slowly, curling, scissoring, stretching you open while his tongue flicked fast and light over your clit.

“Fuck…,” you moaned, voice wrecked. “I’m so close…”

You didn’t want it to end, you were desperate for it to last a lifetime, even as your legs shook.

Riki doubled down, sucking your clit firmly, fingers thrusting deeper, faster. The wet, obscene sounds mixed with your sobs and his muffled apologies. “Come for me, baby— please. Let me have this.”

The orgasm built like a tidal wave, slow and inevitable. He coaxed it, drawing it out for long minutes, edging you right to the brink and then easing back, only to push you higher again. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tears streamed down your face in an incoherent mess.

Love, pain and pleasure braided together so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“It’s too much— too deep. I’m gonna —fuck, Riki—”

He moaned encouragement against you and finally let you tip over. The orgasm crashed through you in powerful, rolling waves, your back arched off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as you came hard on his tongue, pulsing around his fingers. He licked you through it, gentler now, savoring every aftershock, murmuring praise and apologies into your soaked flesh.

You lay there panting, tears still falling, as the voice spoke again: “Switch. Subject A will now give. Subject B, lie back.”

God, give a girl a break.

After a long recuperation pause, you moved, limbs shaky. Riki lay back, cock achingly hard and leaking against his stomach and you knelt between his spread legs, eyes locked on his tear-streaked face. He looked wrecked already—beautifully so.

You started slowly, pressing kisses along his inner thighs, nuzzling the crease where leg met hip. His cock twitched in anticipation and you licked a long stripe up the underside, savoring the salty taste of him.

“Subject A, how does it feel,” the voice demanded.

“It feels good” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Bitter because I know exactly how he likes it.”

Riki’s hand came down to cup your cheek, thumb stroking gently even as fresh tears slipped from his eyes. You took him into your mouth gradually —first just the head, swirling your tongue around it, sucking softly; then deeper, inch by inch, until he hit the back of your throat. You hollowed your cheeks and bobbed slowly, one hand stroking what you couldn’t fit.

“Fuck— yes, just like that,” he groaned, hips twitching but staying controlled. “Look at you… baby…”

The voice interrupted: “Subject B, describe the sensations and emotions this evokes.”

“It feels like… fuck— i can’t, s’too much” Riki panted, eyes never leaving yours. “Her tongue is driving me insane— I missed her mouth so fucking much.”

You took him deeper, relaxing your throat, nose brushing his pelvis as you swallowed around him. Tears blurred your vision too— resentment flaring because he left, love swelling because he was here, raw need making you suck him with devotion. You pulled off to breathe, stroking him firmly with a twisting motion while your tongue laved his balls, sucking one into your mouth gently.

It made you feel so powerful and so small at the same time. Like you could ruin him and he could ruin you.

Riki moaned quietly, hand in your hair now, you returned to his cock, sucking harder, faster, but still deliberate— drawing it out. Long, slow bobs interspersed with teasing licks along the vein underneath, paying special attention to the sensitive head.

You knew every spot: the way he liked your hand twisting at the base, the way humming around him made his thighs tense.

Minutes stretched and yes, the voice kept prompting— “Subject B, does receiving this act make you confront why you left?”—forcing words between moans and sobs.

Riki’s answers grew more broken: “I left because I was scared I’d need her forever and fuck it up. Now I know I do.”

Your jaw ached a you poured everything into it— love, anger, longing— sucking him deep, stroking, worshipping. His hips started shallow thrusts, meeting your mouth.

“I’m so close but I don’t want it to stop,” Riki spoke, unprompted this time.

You redoubled your efforts, taking him as deep as possible, swallowing around him, one hand massaging his balls. Long, thorough minutes of wet heat and tight suction until his breathing grew ragged, thighs trembling.

Only when the tension became unbearable did he finally tip over, with your name on his lips and tears in his eyes. He came hard, pulsing thick and hot down your throat and you swallowed every drop, milking him gently through the long, shuddering orgasm, not pulling off until he was spent and oversensitive.

You crawled up his body afterward, both of you crying, clinging.

The voice announced a brief pause for biometric reset, but you stayed tangled together, foreheads pressed, breaths shared, the knife still twisting deep.

The automated voice returned after a brief, “Stage five: Full penetration. Timed pauses enforced. First position: Subject A on top, controlling pace. Answer researcher questions aloud. Consent required.”

Riki’s eyes met yours, dark and desperate. His cock was still hard, slick from your mouth, resting heavy against his stomach.

“I consent,” he rasped.

“I consent,” you echoed.

“Begin.”

You moved first, crawling over him with shaky limbs; straddling his hips, you braced your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. Riki’s hands settled on your thighs, thumbs stroking soothing circles even as fresh tension coiled in his muscles. You reached down, wrapping your fingers around his thick length, stroking him once, twice, lining him up at your entrance.

He didn’t thrust up, he waited, eyes locked on yours, giving you control. Slowly, you sank down.

You didn’t stop until he was at the hilt, so snug where he resided, overwhelming— burning, perfect, familiar. Syllables were left to die in your mouth, falling into the back of your throat as it clogged with a shaky inhale. You sat fully seated, pelvis flush to his, trembling as your walls fluttered and clenched around every inch of him.

“Fuck… Riki,” you whispered.

The voice prompted immediately: “Do you forgive them?”

There it was, the big question. With him so deep inside of you, you couldn’t even tell if your thoughts were real or implanted by the raw pleasure. You thought about it— in the limits of your own imagination— because if you were giving him your body right now, it had to mean something, right?

You rolled your hips experimentally, a slow grind that made stars burst behind your eyes. The drag of his cock inside you, thick and hot and hitting every sensitive spot, stole your vry breath. You rose slightly and sank back down, setting a deliberate, torturous pace.

“That’s right, beautiful… take this cock.. fuck, just like that.. you’re doing so good.” he praised, thrusting up just a tiny bit.

“It feels… so full.” you gasped, tears slipping free again as he throbbed inside.

Riki groaned beneath you, hands sliding up to grip your hips, not guiding yet— just holding. “Do you forgive me?” he asked, voice breaking, echoing the researcher’s question even as the voice waited.

You rode him slower, grinding deep on every downstroke, anger and longing twisting together. Your palm came down on his chest in a sharp slap, not hard enough to truly hurt but enough to sting. “I want to,” you sobbed, rising and sinking again. “I do and I don’t. You left me empty for eighteen months.”

The indecency of the words, the shame coming with them, made you forget the very setting you were in. The pleasure taking over your entire body, submerged in everything Riki gave you until you had no choice but to shake.

He thrust up to meet you on the next drop, deeper, and you moaned loudly. “Mine,” he whispered fiercely, eyes glistening. “Even if you hate me, you’re still mine.”

You clenched around him involuntarily at the possessiveness, and he hissed. “Shh baby, I’m not going anywhere. Give me a little breathing room,” he murmured, voice strained with pleasure.

Tears streamed down your face as you alternated between presses to his chest and leaning down to kiss him like you’d die without his mouth on yours.

“Subject A, rate your emotional state,” the voice demanded mid-thrust.

Oh fuck off.

“I… fuck,” you cried out, bouncing harder. “Riki I need you to fuck me deeper— ah—until I forget you ever left.”

Riki sat up slightly, wrapping one arm around your back to pull you closer, mouth latching onto your nipple as you rode him. He sucked hard, tongue flicking, while his other hand guided your hips in a punishing rhythm. The new angle made him hit that spot inside you relentlessly— pleasure coiling tight and vicious.

The first orgasm built fast and vicious, you thighs shook as you bounced harder.

“Ah, there you go. There’s my baby. Poor thing, it’s okay, you can come,” he murmured, pushing your hair back behind your ear.

You shattered around him with a broken cry, walls pulsing and fluttering wildly as pleasure ripped through you, your nails dug into his chest, tears streaming freely. But the orgasm didn’t stop at waves of clenching— it crashed harder, sudden and wet.

You squirted around his cock for the first time in months, soaking his abdomen and the sheets beneath you in hot, pulsing gushes. The release left you shaking violently, as the pleasure blinded you.

Still, you kept moving, overstimulated and desperate, fucking yourself on his cock like you could erase the past somehow.

Riki sat up, wrapping strong arms around you, mouth latching onto your breast. He sucked hard, tongue flicking your nipple as you rode him faster.

One of his hands slid up to your throat, wrapping gently but firmly, applying just enough pressure to make your head spin in the most delicious way, vision blurring at the edges with overwhelming sensation.

“So fucking good for me… look at you, soaking my cock like this. My perfect girl.”

Riki flipped you suddenly, moving you onto all fours in one smooth motion, he knelt behind you, gripping your hips possessively. He rubbed his slick cock along your folds once, then pushed in deep.

The new angle stole what little air remained in your lungs. He felt even deeper like this— you were going to loose your mind.

Riki started thrusting immediately, possessive strokes that rocked your entire body, one hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just right, while the other wrapped around your throat from behind, choking you lightly as he fucked you. The combination made your eyes roll back, pleasure so intense it felt like drowning and dying at the same time.

“Mine,” he moaned against your ear, fucking you harder. “Still fucking mine. Such a good girl, taking me so deep.”

You pushed back to meet him, messy and frantic, tears dripping onto the sheets below and hee reached around to rub your clit in tight, relentless circles, never slowing his punishing rhythm.

“Look at you, creaming all over my cock. So fucking pretty when you fall apart like this. My baby— always so perfect.”

“Does this feel like love or just lust?” the voice demanded, reminding you of y the current setting.

You couldn’t even answer, incoherent babbles tumbling out of your pathetic mouth but Riki grabbed your jaw, whispering in your ear, “Answer baby, come on.”

“Both,” you sobbed, voice hoarse “ah, fuck—right there. I’m gonna— fuck—”

Another orgasm tore through you without mercy . Your body convulsed, another rush of wetness flooding out around him as you squirted harder, thighs quaking uncontrollably. Riki’s praise never stopped, filthy and tender all at once. “That’s right, baby… fuck, just like that.. you’re doing so good. Let it all out for me.”

The peak left you shaking, barely holding yourself up on trembling arms, your body gave out completely, collapsing forward. Riki followed you down, chest pressed to your back, still buried deep.

His thrusts grew erratic, desperate, and impossibly deeper. You could feel every twitch and throb of his cock inside you as he chased his own release; hiss breathing turned ragged against your ear, hot and uneven, broken groans vibrating through his chest.

The hand in your hair tightened, the one on your throat loosened into something almost protective as his hips snapped forward one final time, burying himself to the absolute hilt.

Riki came with a shattered, guttural moan of your name, his entire body seizing against yours. Thick, hot pulses of cum flooded deep inside you, each powerful spurt accompanied by a helpless roll of his hips, as if he couldn’t stop trying to push even deeper.

You felt every single jet filling you until it started to leak out around his cock with every tiny after-thrust. His cock twitched and pulsed for long, drawn-out moments, the release seemingly endless as he poured months of pent-up longing into you. His thighs trembled violently against the backs of yours, muscles locked tight, a full-body shudder ripping through him as the pleasure wrung him dry.

“Fuck— baby… still you,” he gasped brokenly against your neck, voice cracking with as the last weak spurts emptied him completely. He stayed buried to the hilt, grinding slowly through the aftershocks, savoring the tight, wet heat of your pussy still fluttering around his oversensitive length.

Fresh tears slipped from his eyes onto your skin as he held you close, body draped over yours like he was afraid you’d regret the second he pulled out.

See… studies show a lot of things, for example that long-term partners can remain neurologically significant long after a breakup. They say it’s often a question of whether unresolved emotional attachment predicts involuntary sexual responsiveness between old partners.

But what it doesn’t say though, is how easily that same attachment can twist into something far more dangerous— how six hours in a sterile room can hook itself so deeply under your skin that it becomes impossible to ever truly pull free again.

The experiment ended exactly on schedule, six short hours later, the doors unlocked. Dr. Ellis’s voice offered neutral congratulations and payment confirmations.

You and Riki dressed in silence, eyes lingering too long, hands brushing with the kind of accidental-on-purpose touch that said everything words couldn’t.

When you finally stepped out into the real world, the city lights felt too bright, the air too cold, the absence of his body against yours already unbearable.

Somehow, that single night cracked you both open wider than the original breakup ever had. But it’s not like you hadn’t expected it just a little bit.

In the weeks that followed, the addiction set in slowly at first, then all at once. You told yourself it was just closure, just one text to check if he got home safely. Just one late-night call because you couldn’t sleep without hearing his voice.

But soon the messages grew longer, the calls stretched into early mornings, and the excuses became paper-thin.

Riki? He was no better.

He started “accidentally” showing up at places he knew you frequented— the cafe where you took your coffee exactly the way he still remembered, the bookstore you loved on quiet afternoons.

Each encounter left you both raw and starving for more and more and more.

Even then, you tried to fight it. You blocked his number once, only to unblock it three hours later when the emptiness felt louder than any self-respect.

He showed up at your door at 2 a.m. one night, eyes hollow, whispering that he just needed to see you. You let him in. That night turned into another desperate, tear-soaked reunion against your hallway wall, his hand around your throat and your nails down his back, both of you chasing that same devastating intensity the experiment had forced upon you.

Undeniably, the codependency only deepened. You became each other’s secret again— sneaking into hotel rooms, fucking in the back of his car like teenagers, meeting in abandoned parking lots just to feel his hands on you. The sex grew darker, more possessive, he’d choke you a little harder, hold you down a little longer, whispering “mine” like a vow and a curse while you cried and came and begged for more— addicted to the way he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him sane.

Months blurred together. You stopped dating other people entirely and so did he.

Friends noticed the change— how distracted you were, how you’d disappear for hours with no explanation. But nothing else filled the void.

The experiment had proven what your heart already knew: no one else would ever jnow your body the way he did. No one else could make you break and sob and feel so painfully alive.

Eventually, the sneaking stopped being enough.

One evening he showed up with a suitcase and the quiet admission that his apartment felt like a tomb without you in it. You let him stay the night, then the week and then… indefinitely.

The dangerous liaison wrapped around both of you like chains you no longer wanted to escape. Fights still happened— ugly, tearful, screaming matches that ended with him fucking you against the nearest surface until the anger melted into desperate “I love you”s and “never leave me again”s.

You were linked now, deeper than before, codependent in the most beautiful and terrifying way.

The study had been meant to observe intimacy, istead, it had created an obsession neither of you could—or wanted—to break.

In the quiet moments after sex, when his cum was still leaking down your thighs and his arms held you like a fragile thing, you sometimes wondered if this was ruin or salvation.

But even then, with his heartbeat steady against your back and his whispered praises in your ear, you knew the truth: you were his, and he was yours.

And that felt like the only kind of knowing worth having

Eventually, there comes a point where you stop asking who's right and who's wrong because the years blur the details until only the feeling remains. You no longer remember the first offense—only the certainty that if a room catches fire, you'll check whether Nishimura Riki is still inside before you leave.

After all, neither of you ever fought fair— honestly, why would you?

See, mercy is naturally reserved for people you love and indifference is for strangers. Hatred, on the other hand— real hatred—is far more intimate. It learns your habits, memorizes your weaknesses, and waits until you're already bleeding before deciding exactly where to press.

That's the part people never seem to understand.

They like to believe hatred has humble beginnings because it reassures them that it can also be undone; they tell themselves that, given enough patience, enough time, someone will eventually show forgiveness.

But leniency is reserved for those who believe the other deserves it.

You never did.

Nishimura Riki never deserved— nor earned—that leniency.

There's this thing called irony. You've had enough of it, yet it just keeps coming back anyway— unwanted, unprompted—as if it simply can't help itself. As if its sole purpose in life is to ruin yours every single time it decides to show up.

Funnily enough, today is no exception.

The automatic doors of Incheon airport slide open, spitting you and the rest of R3SET into the humid Seoul air. Cameras flash somewhere in the distance— paparazzi already swarming your arrival; Hye-ri walks on your left, Mina on your right, and Sera trails a step behind with her hood pulled low.

You're finally— finally—done with the world tour.

By now, every city has bled into the next; hotels all smelled the same, airport lounges became second homes, and every day dissolved into the same cycle of soundchecks, stages, and performances so loud you had to get your hearing checked on a regular basis. Somewhere along the way, you'd forgotten what it felt like to wake up in the same bed twice.

But today, for the first time in months, you're home.

Which, as irony would have it, is exactly where everything is about to go wrong.

You’re clutching a water bottle in your hand, trying to make sure your face is shielded from the flashes with the other yet your pathetic little instinct says it’s a good idea to reach for your phone when it buzzes in your pocket.

As you glance down to the screen— expecting a welcome-back email from your manager or something absolutely useless like that— you see instead the HYBE logo staring right back at you.

Subject: Year-End Special Collaboration Project – Confirmed Pairing

Your thumb hovers but you already know. Deep in your gut, you fucking know.

But you open it anyway.

...R3SET's Y/n will be paired with ENHYPEN's NI-KI for the 4-minute original dance performance piece. Joint choreography development begins immediately. Mandatory attendance at all scheduled practices, filming days, and rehearsals. Non-compliance will result in...

The rest blurs, it doesn't even matter.

"Fuck." The word slips out under your breath, low and venomous.

Your fingers tighten around the phone until your knuckles crack hard— nails digging crescents into your palm. You keep squeezing until the skin breaks and warm little lines of pain bloom.

Hye-ri notices, her eyes flick to your white-knuckled grip, then away, and Mina's shoulders stiffen. None of your members speak, hah, they know better. Everyone knows talking about the devil is a no-go.

See, some people pray before they sleep, some people do skincare, or meditation. You? You rehearse arguments with Nishimura Riki, you plot his downfall, and you clench your teeth so hard they might break in your mouth.

It's become routine, really, and now you can already hear his stupid voice in your head— sharp, accented, dripping with disgust. "Ugly bitch. Always ruining shit for everyone else."

The same things he's muttered under his breath every time your paths crossed at award shows. The same venom you've always returned by feeding your private hate account the most unflattering behind-the-scenes clips you could find of him.

Usually, if he dared looking smug on stage, you made sure someone clipped the moments he stumbled or looked exhausted.

Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Abso-fucking-lutely.

A staff member in a Hybe windbreaker rushes past, nearly colliding with you and your shoulder slams into his. Pain flares, but you barely register it, you're too busy being angry.

"Shit— sorry," you mutter automatically, voice flat. The staff blinks at you, startled, but you're already moving again, eyes burning holes into the floor.

Mina finally breaks the silence, voice low enough that only the group can hear. "You good?"

"No." Your laugh is bitter, barely a sound. "They paired me with that fraud, of course I'm not good."

Sera's hand brushes your arm in silent support, but she doesn't say anything. What is there to say? Erm...Good luck? Don't kill each other? The company doesn't care if you hate Riki, they want the drama and the numbers— the "tension" that fans already whisper about in forums.

You force your fingers to unclench, blood dots your palm in tiny red half-moons but you wipe it discreetly on your sweatpants.

The roar of fans and cameras grows louder as you approach the arrival gate— bright lights, screaming voices chanting your name and phones held high are waiting for you. You pull your black facemask up over your nose and mouth in one smooth motion and roll your shoulders back, lift your chin, to let the practiced smile bleed into your eyes even if it never reaches your mouth.

Hye-ri links arms with you on cue, Mina waves with both hands, bright and bubbly and you all fall into formation like muscle memory.

"Y/n unnie! Welcome back!"

"R3SET fighting!"

You bow slightly toward the crowd, eyes crinkling above the mask in the perfect illusion of gratitude. Let's just say, inside, your mind is a storm of curses in three languages.

Nishimura fucking Riki.

You can already picture the first practice: his tall frame taking up way too much space in the studio, that stupid frown, the way he'll deliberately step on your timing just to watch you fail. The way his hands will have to touch you during lifts and turns because the choreographer will demand chemistry you'll never have.

You want to break something. Preferably his ugly nose.

But the cameras are rolling, the fans are watching and on top of everything, the company email has made it very clear— this project is non-negotiable. So you keep smiling behind the mask, waving with one hand while the other stays clenched around your bottle.

'Let's see how long we last before one of us actually tries to kill the other', you think as you move toward the waiting vans.

You already know the answer.

Not long.

You might wonder what brings a woman and a man to such lengths of hatred. And the difficult part is that there's no real explanation; it's just an accumulation really— tiny cuts over years that fester into something grotesque.

One day you're both wide-eyed trainees sweating through sixteen-hour days, and the next you're fantasizing about drop-kicking Nishimura Riki off a stage mid-performance while smiling for the fans.

That's the thing, it's not dramatic movie-villain origin shit. It's the slow poison of shared survival in an industry that chews up kids and spits out Barbie dolls.

A stolen practice slot here, a whispered rumor there, a public meltdown that paints you as the problem while he plays the misunderstood genius, and a TV scandal that ruined everything. Add in sleep deprivation, pressure, and the fact that you both watched each other's dreams nearly die, and boom— they created the perfect nemesis.

By now, you've replayed every second so many times it feels like a greatest-hits album in your brain. Riki’s smug little smirk when he nailed a combo you'd been killing yourself over. The way he'd mutter "amateur" just loud enough for you to hear during evaluations. Your secret satisfaction when his group's early promotions hit minor bumps.

It's all so stupid and so fucking deep at the same time. Because that's the problem with hatred— it doesn't have to make sense to become permanent. Some people have childhood trauma... you just have Nishimura Riki.

The flashbacks hit you sometimes like a bad smell you can't escape. It always starts the same way; elimination day on I-LAND; the lights were way too bright, the cameras too close, and the air felt thick enough to choke on. You remember the way the eliminated trainees stood in that sterile line, faces blank or streaked with tears. Riki's japanese hyung Hajime —his only real anchor in that cutthroat dorm—didn't make the final cut. The announcement echoed through the hall like a death sentence and even now, years later you can still hear it.

The kid had talent, sure, but the system didn't care. It pushed and pushed and pushed until even the strongest cracked under the weight of evaluations, rankings, and endless comparisons.

You were just trying to survive too, right? Everyone was. Thats why you did what you did that day, and why you kept doing it out of pure pettiness.

The company fed you lines about "growth" and "teamwork," when talking about the trainee program, but really it was a meat grinder dressed up in sparkly dresses. Children— literal teenagers—breaking down in practice rooms at 3 am., vomiting from exhaustion, smiling for the livestreams like nothing was wrong. Friendships formed and shattered in the span of a single ranking drop.

Loyalties? Laughable.

You did what you had to do: submitted the feedback that protected your own team. Cold? Maybe. Necessary? In that hellscape, yes.

Riki, though, didn't see it that way. He exploded in the hallway afterward, voice cracking with rage, calling you out in front of everyone. That moment branded him "difficult" and nearly cost him everything. You watched his dream wobble on the edge while yours steadied and the industry kept spinning, indifferent to the bodies it left behind.

Some debuted. Some didn't.

But we’ll get to that story another time.

Back in the present, a couple days passed since you came back to Seoul— you're now sitting in a Hybe conference room turned temporary press hall, legs crossed tightly under the table so no one sees your knee bouncing like it's trying to escape your body.

It's the kickoff press conference for the year-end special collaboration, cameras are everywhere and so are reporters with microphones poised like weapons. Your members are seated a few chairs down, shooting you sympathetic glances when they think the cameras aren't looking.

Across from you, flanked by his members, sits the devil himself: Nishimura Riki.

He looks disgustingly repulsive in his all-black fit— sharp jawline, dyed blond hair styled just right, that stupid tall frame slouched like he owns the room. You want to throw your mic at his head and watch it split open.

The MC, some overly enthusiastic guy in a suit two sizes too tight, beams at the crowd. "Welcome everyone! Today we're excited to announce this groundbreaking collaboration between R3SET and Enhypen! Let's hear from the groups themselves!"

Forced applause ripples through the room and you plaster on your idol smile— eyes bright, lips curved— the works. Inside your head it's a completely different scene:

'Smile wider, you fraudulent prick. I hope your next flip lands on your neck.'

Riki mirrors your expression perfectly. To the cameras, you two look like respectful colleagues but up close? His eyes scream 'I hope you trip on stage and eat shit in front of twenty thousand people.'

The MC shoves a mic toward you first. "Y/n! How do you feel about partnering with Riki for this high-stakes piece?"

You lean forward slightly, voice honey-sweet and professional. "I'm really honored to be working with someone as talented as Riki. We're both dedicated to this, so I know we'll deliver something amazing for the fans."

Translation: 'I would rather gargle battery acid than spend one minute in a practice room with that entitled dance prodigy asshole.'

Riki's turn comes. He chuckles lightly, the sound obviously practiced, but you catch the micro-twitch in his jaw. "Yeah, same. Y/n has great stage presence. Looking forward to creating something cool together."

'Cool?' you think. 'I'll create a crime scene, maybe.'

The MC eats it up. "Ah, such great chemistry already! Let's do a quick joint Q&A. Reporters, go ahead."

A reporter stands. "There have been past rumors of some tension between you two from trainee days. How will you overcome that for this project?"

The room goes a little quieter— your smile doesn't falter, but your nails dig into your thigh under the table.

Riki answers first, voice calm. "Trainee days were tough for everyone. We've both grown a lot since then. Right, Y/n?"

You nod, locking eyes with him. "Absolutely. Water under the bridge, we're focused on the performance now."

Water under the bridge? More like gasoline on a bonfire.

Another reporter asks, "Riki, what's your first impression of working with Y/n?"

He tilts his head, pretending to think. "She's very... determined. Always gives 110%. I respect that."

Determined. Just a way of saying 'ruthless backstabber,' for him.

You jump in before he can enjoy his little jab. "And Riki's technique is insane. It'll be fun pushing each other, right?" Your tone is light, playful even and the audience laughs appreciatively.

The press conference drags on like a hostage situation— they make you do a short segment where you both stand up and demonstrate a basic partner hold for the cameras. His hand lands on your waist— firm and professional, but you can tell he’s dying to take it off. Your skin crawls but you place your hand on his shoulder like the choreographer instructed earlier in rehearsal. Up close, he smells like expensive cologne and it makes nausea rise so violently in your throat that you want to throw up on the spot.

"Relax your grip," he mutters under his breath, smile still plastered on for the flashing cameras. "Or are you trying to claw me in front of everyone?"

"Shut the fuck up and smile, giraffe," you whisper back, voice sugary.

His fingers press harder into your waist— just enough to bruise, not enough for anyone else to notice. You dig your nails into his shoulder in return and the cameras click wildly.

You both separate after the pose, returning to your seats— of course, your members are trying not to laugh nervously while Jake leans over to whisper something to Riki that makes his jaw clench. Good, you hope it breaks.

The MC claps. "Wonderful! Now, let's hear some fan questions!"

A staff member reads one aloud: "What's one thing you're excited to learn from each other?"

You go first this time. "I'm excited to learn Riki's precision in footwork. He's known for it."

And you're also excited to learn how far you can push him before he snaps on camera.

Riki's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "Y/n's charisma in performance is next level. I'll definitely pick up some tips on audience connection."

The back-and-forth continues— every compliment laced with venom only the two of you can taste. The audience eats up the "tension" as chemistry.

Oh God, if only they knew you'd spent the van ride here mentally drafting apology tweets for the hypothetical day you actually murder him.

At one point, they project concept art for the performance on a big screen behind you— dark, intense, sensual choreography planned; close partner work, lifts and prolonged eye contact. The MC gushes about it and you nearly choke on your own spit.

Great. Just what you need—his hands all over you while yours fantasize about elbowing him in the ribs until he throws up his organs.

Riki's expression stays neutral, but you swear you see his eye twitch— he probably imagines the same thing in reverse.

Halfway through, they bring out small gifts— matching bracelets symbolizing the collaboration. You have to clasp one on his wrist while cameras zoom in; his skin is warm, you hate it— but he’s obligated to return the favor, fingers brushing yours with shameless disgust.

Then the press conference wraps with more applause and photo ops; you stand side-by-side for group shots, shoulders barely touching but close enough that you can feel his body. His hand brushes your lower back as you pose— publicly supportive, privately a threat.

"After this, I'm blocking your number again," you mutter as the cameras flash.

"Already did that months ago, ugly bitch," he whispers back cheerfully.

As the event ends and staff start herding everyone out, you catch his eye one last time across the room— needless to say, it's pure murder, zero remorse.

You smirk behind your polite nod.

Game on, Riki. Someone's going to break. You just hope it's him. (though if it's you, at least you'll take him down with you.)

The van ride back to the dorm is quiet, your members chat lightly about the schedule while you stare out the window, palm still stinging from earlier, replaying every micro-interaction. His grip. His whisper. That fucking ugly smirk.

Oh god— hatred has turned you into a creature of rage and despair, it’s starting to become pathetic.

You pull out your phone and open the secret hate account; it's time to upload that one blurry shot you sneaked during the photo op where he looks slightly constipated under the bright lights.

Petty? Yes. Therapeutic? Immensely.

For your sake— somewhere across the city, Riki's probably doing the same thing, so it’s only fair. You log into your @nishimurafraud aka “that bitch gotta go” and do your thing, quickly posting the ridiculous picture with the caption, ‘thank you to the fan who snapped this horrible shot of dickimura’.

You laugh to yourself— it’s true that it’s childish and ridiculous but no one will ever know it was you anyway.

Nishimura Riki needs to die.

Not in a cute "hahaha i hate you" way. You mean it in the bone-deep, stomach-churning, 'if I had a knife I'd turn him into human barbecue meat' kind of way.

Every time you picture his stupid face your blood pressure spikes so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. He's not even attractive to you anymore— years of hatred have warped him into this tall, lanky, smug-faced asshole who moves like he's God's gift to dance but looks like a little bitch when he's off-guard.

Ugly on the inside, ugly on the outside. Perfect match.

And now —a few days after— the locked studio on the fifth floor of the Hybe building feels like a prison cell designed specifically to torture you. Soundproof walls, mirrors on every surface, no windows, and a door that clicks shut with a sound that makes your skin crawl.

Just you, him, the choreographer who already left a couple times for a "quick break" (though he’s probably hiding from the murder vibes), and four hours of mandatory choreography creation time.

You stretch in the corner, trying to ignore how his presence sucks all the oxygen out of the room— Riki’s scrolling on his phone like he has all the time in the world, legs spread obnoxiously wide on the floor, he’s wearing a pair of ugly oversized sweats and a chrome hearts tank.

He probably thought he looked oh so good that morning when he got dressed— fun fact, he doesn’t.

"You gonna stand up or just sit there?" you snap, not even bothering to look at him.

"Don't talk to me, just do your job and shut up." he clicks his tongue, knee bouncing, annoyed.

You let out a breathy chuckle, "I don't care about what you want, just stand up and let's get to work. Try not to be a lazy slop for once."

"Oh give me a break," he hisses the second the choreographer is gone, not even looking up. “Start alone if you’re so eager to work.”

What you’re gonna do is start throwing punches.

You laugh humourlessly. "Keep throwing your little fits and maybe they'll finally send you back to Japan, dickface."

His head snaps up, those dark eyes narrowing into slits. "At least I have talent worth exporting. What do you have? Average face, average moves, and a shit personality."

"Fuck you," you spit, stepping into the center of the room. "Let's just get this over with."

The choreographer left a rough structure: heavy partner work, intense eye contact, sharp isolations into fluid lifts. Of course. Because the company wants chemistry. What they're going to get though, is a motherfucking homicide report.

You start with the basics— mirroring footwork. Riki's annoyingly precise, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking impressed, instead, you mutter under your breath, "Stiff as a fucking board. Do you even bend or is your spine made of rebar?"

Riki stops mid-count, turning to you with a glare that makes you want to punch his teeth in. "Stop looking at me and then maybe you’ll realise how off-beat you are… no wonder they paired you with me— someone actually good."

"Good?" You step closer, hands on your hips. "You're sloppy as shit. The only reason it works is because you're young and pretty and the delusional fans like that overgrown baby face. One day that shit's gonna catch up and you'll just be another weirdo doing Tiktoks in your mom's basement."

He barks a laugh that sounds like it hurts. "Coming from you? That's rich. You're mid at best on a good day, repulsive on every other."

The insults fly faster as you run the first section again, every correction turning into verbal evisceration.

"You're rushing the transition, can't keep up, ugly ass?" he sneers during a spin combo.

"Shut up," you fire back. "Fix your damn posture before I break it for you."

By the time you reach the partner lifts, the air is drenched with venom; he has to grip your waist and lift you into a hold, his fingers dig in hard—bruising, punishing. You retaliate by digging your elbow into his shoulder as you balance.

"Watch it," he growls, voice low.

"Make me, bitch."

The lift goes up— for three seconds it's almost beautiful—technically. But then you shove off him harder than necessary on the dismount, and he pushes you back just enough that you stumble.

"You fucking—" You whirl on him, fists clenched.

"What do you want now?" His chest is heaving, face inches from yours. Up close he's even uglier— that stupid mole, the way his lip curls like he smells something rotten. You. "You know what y/n? I hope this stage is where your career dies, that'll finally shut you up. I think you’ve gotten way too comfortable.”

You shove him hard in the chest and he shoves right back. For a split second you're both seconds away from throwing actual punches— knuckles white, breathing ragged, eyes screaming murder. Your heart is pounding with rage and something sickeningly close to adrenaline.

The studio door clicks open before you can use your fists— a staff member walks in, freezing at the sight of you two practically snarling at each other.

"Everything... okay?" the staff asks hesitantly.

You step back first, forcing that professional mask on. "Perfect. Just working through some difficult transitions."

Riki wipes sweat from his brow, smiling like an angel for the staff. "Yeah. Great progress."

The staff nods awkwardly and leaves after reminding you of the schedule— the door locks again and you both exhale like you've been holding your breath for an hour.

"Stay the fuck away from me until we have to touch again," you mutter, grabbing your water bottle.

"Gladly."

The session drags like that for hours— insults layered between actual choreography notes, every touch turning into a power struggle. By the end you're both exhausted, bruised, vibrating with hatred and you leave without a word, slamming the door behind you.

Later that night, in the Enhypen dorm, Riki's sprawled on the couch scrolling through his phone with a scowl that could curdle milk. Jake walks in from the kitchen, humming, clearly in a good mood. He clears his throat, trying to sound casual at first. "So... choreo with Y/n today? I caught some of the teaser clips from the press conference earlier. She looks really good..."

Riki doesn't look up immediately, but his eyebrow twitches. "You're kidding, right?"

Jake continues, slower. "I mean... no, and you're probably gonna laugh but I've been thinking about her a lot lately. I don't know, man, I might... have a bit of a crush. Like, actually considering shooting my shot after this project wraps. She seems cool."

Jungwon, from the hallway, goes, "Oh shit, here we go..."

Riki slowly lowers his phone, staring at Jake like he just confessed to arson— the silence stretches for a beat before he explodes with disbelief "There's 7 billion people on this planet and you chose her? Good job man... nah, good job."

Jake chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Come on, she's not—"

Jay, overhearing from the other couch, jumps in. "She's not all that bad come on... you're lying to yourself it's dramatic."

"I'm not. She's ugly, bitchy, and dumb. What the fuck could he even see in her." Riki sits up straighter, fully committed and disgusted. "You're seriously just going to forget everything she did? All that... for a mid, ridiculous bitch?"

Sunoo intervenes, rolling his eyes, "You don't need to say all that Riki, don't call her a bitch. Honestly it's not that deep, we were young and..."

"Aaaand i don't care." Riki cuts off. "Good luck Jake, you're gonna regret this. You're gonna get herpes all over your dick— gonna start shooting your intestines straight out of your ass."

Jake is half-chuckling, half-horrified. "Dude... what the hell are you even saying."

"What im saying is, if you pursue that, I'm disowning you as a member. Find someone else. Anyone."

Jay wheezes from the couch. "Let him do whatever he wants to do. Y/n isn't even bad, she's sweet and pretty"

"You're dead wrong," Riki says, dead serious. "While you're at it Jake, do me a favor and take my place in rehearsal so I won't have to lift her disgusting ass again."

The words feel good, cathartic even, he pictures your face during that final shove in the studio and smiles spitefully at the ceiling. The satisfaction slandering your name brings him is unmatched.

Okay, you really didn’t make much of an effort these past few weeks— you’ll admit it. But, to your credit, pretending to tolerate Nishimura Riki was already taking more restraint than you possessed. The company wanted chemistry but come on— let’s be honest, subtlety had never been your strong suit when it came to him.

Back in the R3SET dorm, you’re sprawled across the couch in oversized sweats, phone glowing in your hand like a bomb that just went off. The email from Hybe sits open on the screen, the words burning into your retinas. Hye-ri pads in from the kitchen with two iced americanos, sliding one onto the coffee table before dropping down beside you.

“Oh shit, man, I’m in deep trouble,” you mutter, shoving the phone toward her.

Hye-ri leans over, reading quickly. “What happened?”

You snort despite yourself. “Company just sent me an email… apparently people all over social media are saying me and Nishimura look like we despise each other. Like… hello? Duh? Tell me something I don’t know.”

Hye-ri winces, sipping her drink. “They really need to media train you, oh my god. You need to retake the whole class.”

You chuckle coldly, “This hatred cannot be media trained out of me, Hye-ri,” you say, half-laughing, half-serious, “I’ll drag that motherfucker down, whatever it takes. No one can convince me to stop.”

“Okay but at least be slick about it, Y/n.”

“Hell no. If I start behaving normally these crazy ass fans might start—” you gag dramatically, “—shipping me with him.”

Hye-ri hesitates, then pulls out her own phone with a sympathetic grimace. “Umm… I hate to break it to you, Y/n. Don’t be mad okay? But like… they already do.”

She types quickly, and turns the screen toward you. A random tweet stares back: “Oh i know that angry enemy sex must be sooo good. #yn #niki”

Oh fuck these people, come on.

“Ew what the heck???” You recoil, shoving the phone away like it’s contagious. “Ugh I’m gonna throw up, hold my hair.”

Hye-ri laughs, rubbing your back as you dramatically fake-heave into a pillow. “It’s just delusional fans, unnie. They ship anything that breathes in the same zip code. But yeah… the company’s not wrong about the optics.…”

You sit up, running a hand through your hair. Every interaction with Riki these past weeks had been a masterclass in restraint— smiling for the cameras while imagining shoving him off a balcony— and now Hybe was sniffing around like you’d personally ruined their precious brand synergy.

“They want me to play nice,” you say bitterly, staring at the email again. “But every time I’m in the same room as him it feels like my skin’s on fire. Like my body remembers every shitty thing he’s ever said or done and just… revolts. Literally what do they want me to do for a whole month ?”

Hye-ri lets out an awkward laugh, she knows that topic is highly sensitive and she doesn’t really know how to talk about it. “Well, just don’t talk to him, try to be neutral and don’t bother arguing with him.”

It’s so hard not to argue when Nishimura Riki is another level of messy. The kind that makes your stomach turn and your skin want to peel itself off just from sharing the same air— he’s the toxic spill that contaminates everything it touches.

And since the company doesn’t give a damn about your mutual revulsion— here you are, dragged into another locked studio at 9 PM for a forced 12-hour overnight practice because the higher-ups decided “chemistry needs time” and deadlines don’t care about your desire to see him drop dead.

It’s been a week since the talk in the dorms with Hye-ri, and you tried— god you really tried to follow her advice, but it’s impossible.

The mirrors probably make it worse— every angle reflects his repulsive presence. You can’t escape him. Your skin prickles the second the door locks and it’s just the two of you under the cold lights.

Riki’s already there, scrolling on his phone with that bored expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but near you. It’s a good thing you feel the same way.

The choreographer dips out around midnight with a vague “review the footage yourselves.” Leaving you two in hell. You start the first run-through in silence; during a simple mirroring sequence, his arm brushes yours accidentally and you jerk away like he’s diseased, skin crawling violently.

“Try not to fucking touch me,” you snap. “Are you spatially impaired or something?”

“That’s not even a thing, you idiot. And you think I wanna be touching a backstabbing bitch?” Riki’s lip tighten. “Don’t think i forgot everything you did back then.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh for fuck’s sake, just shut up for once.”

The tall man snaps, he turns to you and looks down with hatred, “No, everyone’s forgetting your little bitch act but I won’t. You sold out Hajime just to save your own ass cause you’re an egoistic idiot… Should I continue or do you actually feel guilty for once?”

The words hit like acid, your blood boils and you whip around, hatred flaring. “And your little public tantrum right after? Exploding in the hallway, screaming at me in front of everyone, nearly tanked my entire evaluation. Don’t act like you were some saint, Riki. We both know you’re the bitch here.”

He stares at you with pure loathing, “Whatever you say, one day you’re gonna have to face it y/n, let’s just finish this shit so I don’t have to look at your face anymore.”

Some time after; the micro-sabotage starts small but vicious. In the next lift sequence, he “missteps,” his foot catching your ankle just enough to make you stumble hard.

Pain shoots up your leg but you recover by raking your nails subtly down his arm as you catch yourself— leaving red lines under his sleeve. Riki hisses but keeps moving, eyes burning.

Your skin crawls every time his hands land on your waist for the holds. It feels violating, wrong. You dig your fingers into his shoulder harder than needed, hoping it bruises deep.

“Disgusting,” you mutter under your breath during one close turn.

You force some semblance of work conversation because the company is monitoring progress, but even that doesn’t work.

“Your count is off on the transition,” you say through gritted teeth, skin prickling as you reset positions.

“Yeah, because you’re rushing it like an amateur,” he replies.

It keeps going until you both have no saliva and inspiration left and around 5 am, during the most intense partner sequence— close holds, prolonged eye contact, bodies pressed together for balance—you both mistime the transition.

Your foot catches his, and his arm wraps around you instinctively as momentum pulls you down. You crash to the practice floor in a tangle of limbs, his body half-covering yours, chests heaving.

For a second, neither of you moves.

His face is inches from yours, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes. You can feel the heat of him everywhere—thighs, chest, the press of his hand still on your waist.

“Get off me,” you whisper, but your voice comes out rougher than intended.

He doesn’t immediately, his eyes flick down to your mouth with disgust, then back up. “You’re the one still holding my shirt.”

You are, your fingers are fisted in the fabric. You release it like it burned you, bile rising in your throat.

You scramble up, heart pounding with rage— you both avoid eye contact, but the image of his body over yours lingers like a scar until you’re seconds away from throwing up.

Around 6 am, another company email hits and obviously yours is brutal: Y/n’s sections lack conviction. Visible panic affecting flow. Fix immediately or risk replacement.

You read it in the corner, alone, hands starting to shake as the pressure, exhaustion, and years of fighting catch up. Panic claws at your throat so you turn away, trying to breathe through it, hating that you’re cracking even a little.

Riki notices from across the room, of course, he doesn’t comfort— he stays in his corner of the room, a mocking smirk creeping onto his face despite the exhaustion. This, is his favorite sight, he thrives whenever he sees you break even a little.

So all he can do is laugh coldly, he despises you, hates how you get under his skin, hates that he can’t stop seeing images of your younger self betraying him over and over.

But what he loves though— is that you could be begging on your knees and he’d still want you dead.

You push open the studio door a couple hours later, legs like lead and eyes burning from the all-nighter; every muscle screams, your ankle still throbs from that “accidental” trip, and your brain is a delightful cocktail of rage and exhaustion.

You’re thinking about the long nap you’re gonna take as soon as you’re home, when you spot Sim Jake leaning against the wall a few meters down, looking unfairly fresh for this ungodly hour. He’s holding a small paper bag, shifting his weight like a nervous puppy.

“Hey y/n,” he says, offering a shy smile as you approach. “I… uh, grabbed some pastries earlier. Got extra ones I won’t finish. Want some?”

He holds the bag out and you blink at him, brain too fried to compute kindness immediately. Extra my ass, those look suspiciously hand-picked.

Before you can answer, the studio door swings open again— Riki steps out right behind you, tall frame radiating pure irritation— his eyes land on Jake, the pastries, and you standing there and his jaw tightens so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t crack. He huffs loudly- dramatic as ever—shoves his hands in his pockets, and stalks off down the hall without a word.

Jake watches him go, then glances back at your narrowing eyes as they stare at Riki’s retreating back.

He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… about those pastries. And, um… would you maybe wanna grab lunch sometime? When we’re not both half-dead from schedules.” He glances around quickly, making sure no staff is lurking.

So it wasn’t about the pastries at all.

You raise an eyebrow, suspicion kicking in instantly. Is this a trap? Is Riki putting him up to this so he can watch you crash and burn? Some elaborate plot to humiliate you?

“Is there a catch?” you cross your arms.

He shakes his head, sincere. “No catch. Just me.”

You let out a tired but genuine little chuckle. “Mhh okay then. Okay. Lunch sounds good.”

His face lights up like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket and you take a pastry from the bag— still warm—before waving him off to head toward the van waiting downstairs.

Cute. Annoyingly wholesome. The anti-Riki.

Back at the dorm you collapse onto your bed for approximately three seconds before your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. Right. Food.

You drag yourself to your laptop, intending to quickly google whether that leftover kimchi jjigae in the fridge is still safe or if it’s entered its “biohazard” era and fingers moving on autopilot, you hit the search bar.

And remember what we said about irony? Well it seems that bitch is the main character in your life— it lives and thrives on your embarrassment.

Your search history pops up first on your phone, snapping you back to reality. Oh well.

nishimura riki dance technique, nishimura riki dancing fancam, nishimura riki best moves, enhypen niki choreography breakdown, nishimura riki footwork analysis

You stare, then you stare harder. Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

You’ve forgot to mention this part of the hatred— the one where, no matter how many times you make yourself throw up, you still can’t stop yourself from analyzing the enemy— studying his technique so you can dismantle it during practice.

Riki precision really is…. insane— it hurt to admit but it’s the truth. The way he isolates his movements, the control in those lifts, the ridiculous height giving him lines you had to match or exceed… You’ve been rewatching his clips more than you care to admit, picking apart what makes him good so you could be better.

So you could beat him.

“Fucking hell,” you groan, slamming the laptop shut and face-planting into your pillow.

Stockholm syndrome probably. Yeah.

Needless to say— a few days later you find yourself sitting next to Sim Jake while he talks about different foods he misses from Australia. Interesting— but also existentially confusing, because here’s this cutie pie of a man rambling sweetly about meat pies and Vegemite like it’s the pinnacle of human cuisine— and your brain keeps short-circuiting back to someone’s dancing skills.

“—and honestly the Tim Tams are killer, but nothing beats a proper Aussie burger with beetroot,” Jake says, his knee brushing yours under the table as he leans in a little closer. “You ever tried any of that stuff? I’d love to make you my infamous version sometime.”

You blink, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Is that an invitation?”

His eyes crinkle, clearly pleased. “It’s definitely an invitation. I make a mean one.” He steals a fry from your plate, holding eye contact the whole time like it’s a dare.

And it’s nice— really nice. Jake feels nice, and safe and everything in between. A good friend.

You laugh, reaching over to snag one of his own fries in retaliation, letting your fingers linger just a second longer than necessary. “Bold move. I see how it is— you lure me in with pastries and now you’re offering private cooking lessons.”

He chuckles, low and easy, shifting so his arm rests along the back of your chair. “What can I say? I like spoiling good company. And you…” His gaze flicks over your face, appreciative. “You make it easy to want to spoil.”

Oh. Oookay. Sim Jake’s got game.

Your stomach does a stupid little flip despite yourself— it’s been so long since anyone looked at you without layers of politeness or pure venom, that the attention feels almost foreign.

“Yeah? Keep talking like that and I might start thinking this lunch is less ‘casual hang’ and more ‘date,’” you tease, tilting your head as you take a sip of your drink, watching him over the rim. You don’t even mean it at first, it just slips out, friendly and teasing.

Much to your surprise Jake doesn’t miss a beat. “Would that be so bad?” he asks, voice playful but with a genuine edge underneath. “Because I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, schedules be damned.”

You feel heat creep up your neck but play it cool, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Ah… dangerous territory, Mr. Australia. I might actually say yes to that burger night you know?”

“Deal then,” he says immediately, his smile widening into something brighter and flirtier.

And who knows? This could be good, right? There’s not shame in wanting to hang out with sweet Jake and get a taste of normal life, burgers and all.

Mid-project evaluation hits like a goddamn truck— and honestly everyone expected it (everyone = you and your own brain).

The conference room feels narrower than usual, air thick with disappointment— suits from the creative team sit across the table like judges at an execution, projecting footage of your latest run-through on the big screen.

The choreography looks technically good in moments— your footwork clean, his lines ridiculous as always—but the notes flashing across the slide are brutal: Lacks cohesion. Emotional disconnect visible. Partner chemistry reads as forced tension rather than intentional fire. Fix by weekend or we reevaluate the performance slot.

You clench your jaw so hard it aches, nails digging into your thighs under the table. Of course it’s not cohesive, how the fuck do they expect magic when every touch makes your skin crawl like you’re hugging a venomous snake?

Riki sits a few seats away, face blank like he’s above it all, but you catch the micro-twitch in his jaw— he hates this as much as you do. Good.

The exec in the middle drones on, voice flat and disappointed. “We’re seeing potential, but the audience needs to feel something. Right now it looks like you two are tolerating each other at best.”

Tolerating? You almost laugh out loud. Try actively plotting each other’s demise between counts.

Your manager shoots you a warning glance, so you force a polite nod, but inside you’re screaming. Even in your twenties, this makes you feel like a kid getting grounded all over again—stuck in detention with the one classmate who ruined every group project. No phone, no freedom, just endless practice until you “get it right.” The infantilizing tone of it all makes your blood boil. You’re professionals… sort of— but sure, they should lock you in a room like misbehaving toddlers.

The meeting is short and soul-crushing. “We’re locking the studio for the full weekend,” one exec says flatly. “No outside schedules. Fix it.”

You don’t even look at Riki as you leave. You don’t need to— the tension follows you both like a shadow.

48 hours to manufacture chemistry out of pure hatred is a flawed way of proceeding. Give it a lifetime— and then maybe just maybe it’ll be enough.

The studio door clicks shut 7 pm that next Friday, the lock engaging like a prison cell. No choreographer. No staff. Just the two of you, mirrors on every wall as you stretch in the corner, trying to ignore how his presence sucks the oxygen out of the room. Riki’s already there, him and that obnoxious slouch.

There’s something you have yet to admit— it’s that you learned Nishimura Riki the way soldiers learn battlefields— every weakness mapped, every tell memorized, every micro-expression a potential opening for attack. You could recognize his silhouette before your own reflection: the tall frame, the slight tilt of his head when he’s about to strike, the way his shoulders tense right before a difficult transition. But no matter how much you study him, you could never pin point why you loathe him so much.

It’s like your ambition had slowly borrowed his face— every late-night practice, every ranking you clawed for, every mirror check— his standard was burned into your brain. This comes from the principle that, there are people you love because they understand you— and then there are people who understand you because they’ve spent years trying to defeat you.

Hatred kept you facing one another long after affection would’ve looked away.

It’s better this way.

Two ugly souls like yours could never be more than rivals.

The first run-through starts in heavy silence— you move into position and Riki does the same. No words are uttered, just eyes tracking every shift of weight, every breath, every subtle adjustment.

You’ve been hanging out a lot with Jake this past week— as often as the schedule allowed, and you’ve started to wonder if giving him a chance was a good think. Technically speaking— Jake was a total sweetheart, he carried his heart on his sleeve, offered amazing advice and had good cooking skills.

But— and here it comes— you really weren’t ready for anything serious. Common excuse really, but that wasn’t an excuse, you just really didn’t have time to waste on trying to flirt with a man. Busy life, it seemed.

Now currently in a very busy session, you watch the precise snap of Riki’s isolations, the way his long limbs cut through the air with infuriating control. Bastard. How does he make it look so effortless?

Your body mirrors him instinctively now— years of obsession making your muscles anticipate his timing even as your mind screams to disrupt it.

Riki circles you during the mirroring sequence, gaze sharp on your footwork— and damn it if you don’t feel it like a physical touch— analyzing, cataloging, judging. When your ankle wobbles slightly from exhaustion, his lip twitches.

The partner section begins a while after, his hands land on your waist for the lift, the contact burning. Your skin crawls with disgust, but your body betrays you— muscles relaxing into the hold for a split second before you catch yourself.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper viciously, bodies pressed together.

“Like what? Like I wanna throw you out the window?” he mutters back, fingers flexing on your waist. “Because that’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

“Liar, your hands are shaking.”

“They’re not shaking, they’re restraining themselves from choking you.”

This is vile. You dig your fingers into his shoulder harder than necessary as he lifts, feeling the muscle tense under your grip and Riki adjusts his stance minutely, correcting for your weight without missing a beat. It’s almost like he knows exactly how you balance, how you breathe through the strain.

You dismount with a shove and and he pushes back just enough on the next turn to throw your timing. Still absolutely no words are uttered, there’s just a silent war in the mirrors— your reflection showing the way your eyes narrow when his hand lingers a fraction too long on your back during a spin.

His reflection shows the tight set of his jaw when your thigh brushes his during a close hold.

You break the moment by “accidentally” stepping on his foot hard enough to make him curse— and from there, insults get more creative and more personal.

“You’re nothing without the company propping you up,” he spits out.

“Says the overrated dance prodigy who throws tantrums when he doesn’t get his way,” you fire back. “Hajime would be embarrassed.”

His eyes flash dangerously. “Leave him out of your fucking mouth.”

The air crackles, you’re both breathing hard, circling each other like fighters in a ring by then. You wouldn’t be honest if you didn’t mention that every lift brings unwanted awareness: the heat of his chest against yours, the strength in his arms that you catalog despite yourself, the way your bodies slot together technically perfect even as your minds revolt.

Your stomach twists with nausea and something worse— betrayal by your own nerves firing at his proximity. You hate this, you hate how the body remembers his grip like muscle memory. You want him to be a shadow, something you never notice, someone who never crosses your mind, but life’s unfair it seems.

The next sequence brings you chest to chest. His hand slides up your back for the hold— punishing. Your body reacts again, traitorous warmth spreading despite the nausea. You hate it. You hate him, you hate him you hate him. You hate yourself more for the split-second where your fingers curl into his shirt like they belong there.

“Get your hands off me properly,” you hiss.

“Make me.”

So you shove him and he shoves right back— petty as always. For a moment it looks like you might actually come to blows— fists clenched, eyes locked in pure murderous intent. You notice the vein in his neck when he’s holding back from shoving you harder— and it’s fascinating how loathing changes a person’s body.

A particularly difficult lift leaves you pressed right against him for balance. His breath fans hot across your collarbone and your heart hammers.

For three terrifying seconds your bodies move in perfect sync, like they understand each other better than you do. Disgust floods you immediately after and you shove away harder. Riki releases you like you’re poison, but not before you feel the slight tremor in his hands.

Betrayed by your own fucking bodies.

Around 2 am., you both call for a break, collapsing on opposite sides of the studio. Your muscles burn like thousand fires. When your phone buzzes, you pick it up, expecting a check-in from Hye-ri.

It’s Jake instead.

Jake: Hey… someone sent me a tweet from your account. Look, I know we’ve only hung out a couple times but I thought things were good. This doesn’t seem like you but the screenshot looks real. I’m pretty disappointed. Maybe we should just… not do lunch anytime soon. Sorry.

You click fast on the screenshot, heart hammering, and when you open it, your mouth drops. It’s a tweet, a singular tweet… of yours???

“i’m gonna break Sim Jake’s heart and he doesn’t even know it 😈😈”

You stare at the screen, dumbfounded.

What. the. fuck?

The tweet is so obviously fake— ridiculous wording, wrong tone, obviously poorly edited. You almost start giggling maniacally, because it definitely lacks effort, but Jake, sweet gullible Jake, bought it.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper, stuck between laughing and crying. Is he really that stupid to think you’d ever be that obvious?? You might need to step up your game.

You: can’t you see it’s edited??? how stupid can you be Jake please 😭😭

Jake: no i took editing classes and that’s not edited.

You stare at the message, blinking hard.

You: tell me you’re joking please.

Jake: no, im not. Take care y/n.

The chat goes quiet and you lower your phone slowly, the pieces clicking into place with icy clarity. That wording, that timing. The way it conveniently blew up your one decent thing right in the middle of this hell.

Nishimura fucking Riki.

Would anyone be surprised? He’s the only one who’s childish enough to attempt to ruin your relationships like that. Absolute lack of skills.

Rage explodes in your chest like a grenade, because who else would be this stupid? Who else would try to ruin every attempt at happiness you made?

You stand up so fast the room spins for a second, storming across the studio toward him. He’s still sitting against the wall, looking annoyingly unbothered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, shoving your phone in his face.

Riki glances at the screen, then back up at you with zero remorse, and no intention of hiding. “Didn’t even make anything up. Everyone knows you have a loud mouth… you would’ve said it eventually.”

Your blood boils. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you? I actually liked him.”

“Well i don’t really care about what you like,” he says flatly, pushing himself up to his full height. “So get over yourself.”

He towers over you, but you don’t back down an inch, tilting your chin up defiantly. “You’re so self-centered it’s insane. This had nothing to do with you, Nishimura.”

“Keep talking, Y/n. I don’t give a fuck.” Riki clenches his jaw. “If you wanna be a homie hopper go do that somewhere else, far away from my friends.”

Oh. Now he crossed a hard line. The motherfucker is gonna have to pay.

The slap happens before you can think, your palm connects hard with his cheek, the sound cracking through the empty studio like a whip. Riki’s head snaps to the side and for a second he stills, contemplating his options, his hair falling on his face.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he nods, trying to hold himself back.

Then he grabs your wrist in a vice grip, yanking you closer. It looks like you might actually stab each other— both of you burning with rage, chests heaving, bodies practically vibrating with it. His fingers are tight around your wrist, heat pouring off him and you glare up at him, breath ragged, pulse hammering in your ears.

“Don’t put your hands on me.” Riki says, fingers leaving a white mark on your skin.

“Well next time you call me that, i’ll make sure i’m putting my hands on your lifeless body instead.” you try to escape his grip, but he doesn’t let go.

“Watch it,” he warns, voice low and dangerous, “before I actually lose it.”

“Wouldn’t you love to?” you tilt your head.

“Oh I would.”

The air shifts— you feel it deep down pressing on your ribs as your words hang between you like a challenge

“Then hit me, come on.” Your voice drops, eyes locked on his. “Hit me.”

The second you say that, something ignites in Riki’s gaze— it’s impossible to miss. And god if you don’t love the way you destabilise him.

The grip on your wrist tightens, then loosens by fractions. You’re breathing the same air, faces inches apart, and it’s so filthy— so disgusting. His eyes drop for a split second before snapping back up.

But then Riki lets go of your wrist like it burns him, shoving you back a step as disgust twists across his face, but it doesn’t quite hide the way his breath catches.

“Get out of my face,” he spits, turning away sharply.

Without hesitation, you turn on your heel and storm out of the main studio toward the attached bathroom, slamming the door behind you. The lock clicks and you twist the faucet on full blast before you start scrubbing your wrist like you can erase the ghost of his grip.

The water’s ice-cold but you don’t care. His touch is still there. Burning. Disgusting. You scrub harder, nails digging into your own skin, until your hands are raw and red.

Even then, your stomach twists. Part of you wants to throw up right into the sink— purge the memory of his body against yours, the way your wrist fit perfectly in his hand, the split second where rage had twisted into something darker and heavier.

But beneath the nausea sits an ache low in your gut, something warm and unwelcome that you refuse to name.

No. Absolutely not. I’d rather die.

Eventually you step back into the break room because the company’s made it clear: no leaving the premises. Two couches, a mini-fridge, and dim lights are the only things between you and the devil.

Riki’s already sprawled on the far couch, one arm thrown over his eyes like he can pretend you don’t exist— so you take the opposite one, kicking your shoes off and lying down with your back to him.

Neither of you naps. How could you?

The air is thick with the knowledge that the other person is right there, close enough to stab, close enough to—

You stare at the wall, eyes wide open, hyper-aware of every shift on the other couch. He’s probably plotting how to smother you with a pillow— that would be the most logical thing. Despite the fatigue clawing at you, heavy and bone-deep after the all-night practice, your body stays wired.

Adrenaline and hatred make for terrible bedfellows.

After a long silence, Riki’s voice cuts through the dark. “You know, I thought you’d finally grow up someday and accept that what you did was wrong.”

You don’t turn around. “I don’t really care what you think. I’m trying to rest, so shut up.”

“You’re not.” A pause. “You’re not gonna be able to sleep with me here.”

You huff, “And whose fault is that?”

“Mines.” His tone is almost smug. “You’re scared, right? Scared I’ll hurt you in your sleep. Well just know I wouldn’t hesitate, not even for a second.”

You roll over to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Oh and what would you do? Ruin my relationships like a childish bastard? Or what?”

Riki sits up slowly, manspreading on the opposite couch with deliberate arrogance, he looks almost manly— a shame he’s such an asshole. His eyes lock onto yours across the dim room.

“Oh come on, get over it. You really thought I was gonna let you go out with my friend? You’re funny, Y/n. Really fucking funny.”

“No, I didn’t think so either,” you snap back, sitting up fully now. “But now you’re just gonna have to pay. Im not gonna let a weak boy like you step on me like that.”

“Funny.” He leans back further, maintaining eye contact like it’s a challenge. “What are you gonna do then?”

In one smooth motion you pull out your phone, digging through your photos with angry swipes and you turn the screen toward him, a petty little smile tugging at your lips. It’s a screenshot of a pretty compromising video of him to say the least…

“I got this from a telegram group chat a while back. Didn’t think I’d ever use it but oh well… You wouldn’t want this to get out, right? I mean… everyone knows you’re a disrespectful cunt but this? Oh this is awful.”

You play the first few seconds just to taunt him— it shows young Riki, stressed and exhausted, swearing at staff member during a meltdown— the audio is grainy but clear enough. Deep down you know he was just a kid under crushing pressure, but right now you’re too greedy for revenge to care for ethics.

Riki’s expression hardens instantly. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh I would, Nishimura.”

“You’re doing all that for some dick?” He laughs, but it’s sharp and bitter. “Damn, I knew you were desperate but wow…”

“Don’t play with me. I’m seconds away from handing that video to a hate account.”

“Goddamnit Y/n, if you’re so eager to get dicked down you could’ve asked anyone else that isn’t my friend. And you sit here and act so surprised like you didn’t have it coming.”

You scoff, you’re not bruised— far from it, but he’s touched a sensitive spot. It’s not like you were ever planning to sleep with Jake, come on, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“Well good job, Nishimura.” Your thumb hovers over the screen. “You and your loud mouth have just earned yourselves another controversy.”

Riki jolts from the couch almost immediately, lunging toward you. You scramble back but he’s faster— in seconds you’re tangled aggressively on the couch as he tries to snatch the phone from your hand. You push, hit him in the chest, elbow him wherever you can reach but he desperately grabs for the device, long limbs pinning you down in the struggle.

“I’ll kill you, Y/n. I swear to god if you posted that shit—”

“I thought you didn’t care about it?” you taunt breathlessly, still fighting him. “You were so confident two seconds ago?”

He grabs your wrist hard then, you push back with everything you have until somehow you’ve got him pinned beneath you on the couch, breathing ragged.

“Do not. Touch me.”

Riki freezes— perhaps he’s an asshole, but even he knows a hard no when he hears one. His hand drops away instantly. “Delete that video,” he warns, voice low and dangerous, “before I ruin your whole life.”

“You already ruined my life by existing, you self-centered prick.”

“Watch me ruin it more. If you post that video, Y/n…”

“Oh god, you’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes, feigning indifference. You turn off your phone with a deliberate click. “Relax, will you? Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Riki stares at you for a long moment, chest still rising and falling sharply, before he pushes himself up and returns to his own couch. “You better delete that shit—I swear if you—”

“Oh shut that thing up.”

The moment fades after that, leaving only heavy silence, you both try to rest again— you lie back down, pulling a thin blanket over yourself, but your eyes refuse to close. You’re too aware of his presence, too on edge.

He’s going to kidnap you in your sleep or something. Poison your water. Smother you. Anything.

But despite every instinct screaming to stay vigilant, exhaustion tugs at the edges of your mind. You breathe slowly, deliberately, trying to force your body to relax. And yet, against all reason, you become hyper-aware of his breathing across the room.

It’s steady at first, then hitches slightly every few minutes— like he’s replaying the fight, or the slap, or the way your bodies had tangled just minutes ago. You analyze it without meaning to, noting the rhythm, the occasional sharp inhale, the way it deepens when he shifts on the couch.

Somehow, despite everything, the sound of Nishimura Riki breathing becomes the only thing you hear in the dark.

You hate it. You listen anyway.

“Oh girl, Nishimura Riki wants to fuck you. Hard.” Hye-ri says from her chair, legs crossed as a makeup artist dusts highlighter across her cheekbones.

It’s been a few days since the whole weekend …thing— it’s gone excessively slow but time pays off, or whatever people say when they’re trying to sound wise. The locked studio torture finally ended, the performance notes improved just enough to satisfy the company, and now here you are— back in the comfort of your group’s dressing room at the company building, getting dolled up for tonight’s award show.

Your members are scattered around the mirrors in various states of glam, chatting and laughing like the weekend from hell never happened.

At least on the surface.

You nearly choke on your coffee. “Hye-ri, what the actual fuck?”

She grins at you through the mirror, completely unbothered, while the makeup artist dabs at the corner of her eye. “I mean, you gotta admit he looks like he wants to eat you up.”

“You’re so gross, I don’t even know why we’re friends…” you mutter, tilting your head so your own artist can blend the eyeshadow.

Even then, the memory of that charged weekend—his grip on your wrist, the way your bodies tangled on the couch, the unwanted ache that still lingers—makes heat crawl up your neck.

Disgusting.

Hye-ri laughs, “Cause we’re both freaked out, duh… but the problem with you is that you draw the line at enemies. Like come on, be young and free— what’s so wrong about a little bit of hate sex?”

Oh, so now she’s resorted to saying these freaky things in front of the staff? Oh my.

“Hye-ri what the fuck??” You whip your head toward her, much to your makeup artist’s annoyance. She gently guides your face back forward with a soft sigh.

“Just face it, Y/n,” Hye-ri continues, waving a hand dramatically. “That man wants you. Bad. But he’s just too… angry all the time. A shame.”

“No he doesn’t. Stop making stuff up.” You glare at her reflection. “And stop talking about him. I’m trying to focus.”

“Yeah yeah you’re avoiding the topic as always, but you’re right— focus on not breaking your legs with those high heels. I swear to god, this company is evil.” She turns toward the makeup artists with a sweet smile. “No offense, you’re a sweetheart.”

“None taken,” the artist replies with a chuckle, carefully applying gloss to your lips. “I know they push you guys a lot. God, I wouldn’t even know how to walk in these heels, Y/n.”

“I don’t even know how I do it either…” you sigh, staring at the deadly stilettos waiting by your chair. “I’m gonna break my legs one day.”

A while after, once the final touches are done, you slip into the high heels. In one smooth motion you stand, testing your balance— strangely enough, the confidence hits almost immediately; the heels make your legs look endless, powerful, like you could conquer the entire red carpet and still have energy left to step on someone’s neck.

Specifically a certain tall asshole’s.

You pull out your phone, snap a quick mirror pic—legs for days, sleek black dress hugging every curve, hair and makeup sharp enough to cut glass— and post it on Twitter with a caption that makes you smirk: “I step on mean boys for a living.”

A bit risky, sure. But you like the thrill of posting something just controversial enough to make people talk.

You put your phone down and turn toward the girls. “Selfie time. We look too good not to.”

Hye-ri and the other girls crowd in happily, striking poses in the mirror; you snap a few group shots— arms around each other, and save it for the staff to post on the group account later.

Eventually, you all gather your things and head out; you strut toward the waiting cars in formation, heels clicking against the floor. Inside the vehicle— you’re chatting with Sera about tonight’s award show— the KGMAs—leaning forward despite the seatbelt as the city lights streak past the tinted windows.

“I’m telling you, if we dont take anything home tonight I’m actually gonna cry. Not on camera, obviously, but later? Full breakdown. We’ve been killing it this year.”

Sera nods, adjusting the strap of her dress. “Same. You especially. That solo stage last month? Insane. They better recognize it.”

With that, your phone buzzes in your lap— you glance down and nearly laugh out loud.

@nriki.mura liked your tweet.

The notification glows mockingly for half a second before vanishing.

Oh my god. Caught him lacking.

You can practically picture it— his thumb slipping, the immediate panic, the frantic un-like. The mental image of Nishimura Riki, Mr. Untouchable himself, accidentally simping over a picture of you is almost too good.

Amused, you open your messages without hesitation.

You: You know i saw you like my tweet right?

Mina, ever the nosy one, leans over your shoulder almost automatically. “You’re talking to Nishimura?”

“Yeah,” you say, chuckling. “He accidentally liked my tweet.”

Hye-ri, from the seat across, perks up immediately. “See??? I was right. He does wanna fuck you.”

“Oh drop it, Hye-ri,” you laugh, shaking your head even as heat creeps up your neck.

Riki texts back almost immediately.

Riki: wtf are you talking about.

You: you just liked my tweet then deleted it, pathetic 😭

Riki: shut your mouth. I thought it was someone else for a second.

You: so you’d like the pic if it wasn’t me?

Riki: Everything you do is ugly because you make it ugly. You’re repulsive, so yeah i’d like if it wasn’t you.

You: Yeah i bet. Even my dancing’s ugly right? Must be why you’re always analyzing it.

Riki: what are you even talking about. Get a grip.

You: I think deep down you’re very jealous of me.

See, that’s a personal conviction you’ve had for years— Riki hides behind all that hatred but there’s a deep respect there. Something he’s never been able to accept but you’ll shove it in his face ever so often.

Riki: Youre funny.

You: yeah yeah, it was envy all along wasn’t it?

Riki: Shutup y/n

You: Shhh, answer me. You want to be me, right?

You: actually don’t answer, i already know the answer.

You drop your phone in your lap with a satisfied smirk as the van slows to a stop at the venue. Got him. Hye-ri glances at you, eyebrow raised. “That whole exchange looked tense as hell. You good?”

“Peachy,” you reply, stepping out carefully.

The heels are already murdering your feet, but you make it look effortless because that’s the job. Paparazzi flashes explode around you as you wave, smile, bow politely toward the chanting fans, all while your mind replays the text thread.

Pathetic, indeed.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzes— you spot Enhypen across the hallway and Jake nods awkwardly in your direction, the unresolved drama still hanging between you like an awkward third wheel.

You have to admit you didn’t really try to fix things or clarify things— if a man jumps to conclusions like this? He’s not worth the hassle.

Riki, standing beside him, glares with professional precision— polite smile for the cameras, murder in his eyes when they flick toward you. You return the energy with a sweet wave.

Eat shit, giraffe.

A little while later you’re called on stage with the girls for a quick pre-award segment. You sit gracefully on the tall stool, bare legs crossed in front of you, the dress riding up just enough to show the deadly heels. You tap your foot distractingly as you chat with the MC, answering questions about your group’s comeback with charm.

“There’s so many things happening for you guys this year! A string of collaborations, new album coming soon, are you excited?” The MC asks you.

“We’re super excited, and we’re sure the fans are gonna love it, we’ve been working hard on it. We can’t wait !” you answer with a gentle smile, looking out at the audience.

All the while, from his seat in the venue, Riki’s forced by the idol image to look at the stage. He’d rather do anything else, but it’d make him look really bad if he didn’t pay attention— unnecessary drama. So he looks, half-listens and nods, almost like he gives one too many fucks. His eyes trace the backdrop, the stage floor, anything really— to not have to look at you.

But after a while, he’s run out of things to observe, so he lets his eyes drop to your hands, the ones clasping the mic like it’s a hammer. You look graceful, a complete opposite of the girl he knows privately— you smile and nod gently, speaking with a calm and polite tone.

No curse words, no filthy mouth.

Then Riki’s attention shifts down, to where your heels are tapping on the floor, rather distractingly. Your legs are classily crossed in front of you, slightly extended, creating a vision of horror in his mind, they’re smooth, reflecting the lights of the venue— and the heels— they’re evil. High, black with a red sole, they look absolutely illegal; not to him though, he doesn’t really care.

But his eyes trail down your ankles, to the way your foot bends, taps and goes back up again. It’s hypnotic, better than having to stare at your face at least. Then your legs uncross, stretch, and Riki’s breath catches for a split second— he straightens in his seat, pinching his thigh through his slacks, and forces his gaze upwards.

Mistake, big one. Because the second he does, he’s looking at your thighs, right where the hem of your dress hikes up. And soon enough— he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away, captivated by the way they lead like a path all the way down to your footwear. Ironic, right?

He keeps telling himself it’s anatomy, bone. Muscle. Fabric. Leather. Anything.

But the first mistake was looking, the second was realizing he wanted to look again.

He slips out during the commercial break almost automatically, heading straight for the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind him and he braces against the sink, stomach churning.

Riki throws up, harsh and sudden, the taste of bile burning his throat. Disgusting. He’s disgusted by the way his body reacts— knows it’s excessive, knows it’s pathetic, but he can’t help it. He needs to throw up in hopes of getting your out of his body, his system.

He couldn’t stop looking at your stupid legs tonight. Ever since that picture you posted.

Heels are something that links to you— you’ve always worn a lot of heels—and he can’t deny that your legs do look aesthetically pleasing in them.

But he despises that he feels this way.

The bathroom mirror reflects someone he doesn’t recognize— a man repulsed not by what he’s seen, but by what he’s felt. It’s to wonder if revulsion and desire are closer relatives than anyone likes to admit.

Riki splashes water on his face, gripping the edges of the sink until his knuckles turn white. Against his better judgment, his mind replays the image: the endless line of your legs, the sharp heel, the way you tapped your foot almost absentmindedly while talking. Clinical, he tells himself. Just observation. Professional obsession. Nothing. more.

And yet, even now, the image lingers.

Heeseung finds him a few minutes later when he returns to the seats. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Riki mutters, forcing a neutral expression. “I’m fine.”

He sits back down, but the thoughts don’t stop. He keeps wondering what it means to feel like this about a part of your body. The hatred is still there, burning strong— but somehow, despite everything, so is something else he refuses to name.

Irony has caught you in its nettles once again. A few days after the award show, you trip on the stairs at the company building, miss a step like a clumsy idiot, and sprain your ankle badly enough that the world tilts sideways. The pain shoots up your leg like fire, sharp and unforgiving. Of course. Because the universe clearly isn’t done laughing at you yet.

Physical therapy becomes your new hell. You can’t come to rehearsals anymore, which means blessed silence from Nishimura Riki for a little while— instead of dealing with his bullshit, you spend the days propped up on your dorm couch, ankle elevated, ice packs rotating, and your nose buried in self-help books.

Atomic Habits. The Body Keeps the Score.

Anything to understand why your brain keeps betraying you with unwanted thoughts about that asshole— his grip, his breathing in the dark break room, the charged way he looked at you after the slap.

Maybe you’re the one who needs fixing, you think bitterly, flipping another page. The books talk about trauma bonding and nervous system regulation, but none of them have a chapter titled “What to do when your mortal enemy makes your stomach ache in ways you refuse to name.”

Eventually the company, with its infinite lack of mercy, decides you’re “habilitated enough.” They shove you into another industry event— heels and all.

Fans lose their minds, flooding social media with concerned threads: “Y/n’s ankle is clearly injured, why is she in stilettos again???”

“Protect her at all costs!!”

“Hybe is evil, make it make sense.”

You see the posts but say nothing. Complaining would get you labeled irresponsible or difficult— so you smile through the pain, walk like everything’s fine, and silently curse the entire system. One day I’ll burn it all down. Preferably while wearing flats.

A couple of hours after that specific event, back in the dorm with your ankle throbbing, your phone lights up.

Riki: is the injury gonna impact our rehearsals

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

You: don’t worry you’ll get your 5 minutes of fame eventually just let me fucking heal my leg first

Riki: i’m just asking goddamn

You: yes it is, i can’t dance for a while

Riki: ok well i’ll talk to the choreographer to change the pairs

You: ok

There’s a pause before he sends another message.

Riki: did you leave your charger in the dance studio ?

You: no i didnt ?

Riki: oh okay

You: why the fuck are you even talking to me istg it’s all you do these days

Riki: i’m not i’m just asking stuff about work

You: well you know i never bring my charger

Riki: no i don’t

You: yes you do asshole

Riki: ok and what’s your point?

You: my point is stop talking to me

Riki: no

You: are you trying to make me mad?

Riki: no, is your leg okay?

You: and why do you care

Riki: i don’t. i’m asking if it’s gonna take long to heal because im trying to finish the dance. and why were you even in heels today, are you stupid?

You: cause company told me to.

Riki: and why didn’t you defend yourself

You: cause i can’t hello??

Riki: yes you can, you’re such a pussy sometimes, your legs’ fucked up and they got you walking in heels, and somehow that’s fine with you. It’s stupid.

You: you’re stupid

Riki: you need to stop wearing heels

In response, you snap a quick photo of the heels you’re still wearing— bare legs in the frame, nothing crazy, just skin and straps and the faint bruise blooming around your ankle. You caption it simply: “how about no?”

Riki: why are you sending me this??? wtf y/n delete that shit

You: they’re just legs chill. I know you think i’m disgusting and all but these are just motherfucking legs.

Riki: it’s not that, just delete it. it’s weird

You: nah, deal with it, throw up for all i care

Jokes on you, he did the other day. And because you love pissing him off more than is probably healthy, you send another photo. This one riskier not necessarily explicit though— leg extended, heel dangling from your feet, the angle deliberately provocative.

You: there u go, one more so you can really really throw up

He takes a bit to answer.

Riki: stop sending me that shit

You: aw, is nishimura scared of throwing up or something?

Riki: i don’t even want to. i’m gonna block you

You: don’t even want to what?

Riki: throw up

At the same moment in Riki’s dorm room— it’s quiet except for the hum of the airco. He was sprawled on his bed, phone in hand when the first picture came through. With that, something in his stomach flipped hard— he told himself it was disgust. Pure, simple disgust.

But his body betrayed him completely.

Right now? The second photo hits harder. Your bare legs, the sharp line of the heel, the way it dangles teasingly from your foot makes Riki’s mouth open, he throws the phone on the bed like its burned him, and he smacks his palms on his face, tugging at the roots of his own hair. He loathes it— loathes how quickly he is to replay it in his head, to try and remember every detail because he can’t be caught dead looking back at it.

It’s just goddamn legs. Goddamn heels.

So why is blood rushing south almost immediately? Maybe because irony is the biggest factor in this story— he’s hard within seconds. Riki doesn’t even know why. He’s not a teenager anymore, he can’t just get boners from stupid photos like that— especially not from someone he despises.

Horror slams into him like a truck. What the fuck is wrong with him? He detests it. Detests you. Detests the way his cock twitches at the sight of your stupid legs in those stupid heels.

Riki locks his bedroom door without thinking, breathing ragged. He blames it on the stress, perks of being mister worldwide famous, and grabs his phone to delete the picture— screw that, the whole chat.

He tries to look away. He really does. But against his better judgment, his eyes keep drifting back— and images burn into his retinas.

See, heels have always been your thing — long before this, you wore them constantly, strutting around like you owned every room.

Now? They’re weaponized against him.

Riki opens the chat again, scrolling through the two photos guiltily. Over and over. His hand moves almost absentmindedly to palm himself through his sweatpants, breath hitching.

This isn’t about you. It’s the heels. Just the heels.

He then pulls up pictures of other models in heels, random Instagram posts, anything to convince himself it’s not you. Riki stares at these women’s legs, analyzing their footwear like an expert.

But it doesn’t work.

His mind betrays him completely. The images shift— his brain being the most traitorous creature in the whole world, shows him your heels digging into his back, your legs wrapped around him, plays the sharp click of stilettos against the practice room floor while he fucks you senseless-

“Fuck… you,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

In seconds he’s up and running to the bathroom to throw up for the nth time this month.

Riki relieves himself, hating you more than ever. Hating himself even worse.

The company building feels eerily quiet on your break day as you hobble through the familiar halls with your sprained ankle still wrapped and aching, clutching a thin folder of paperwork you came to retrieve. The quick meeting with the exec goes smoothly enough— some signatures on scheduling adjustments, a few polite nods about “taking it easy,” and the usual nonsense about image management. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times before.

You’re almost out the side entrance, already dreaming of crashing on your dorm couch with takeout and zero responsibilities, when you bump straight into Jake.

Literally.

Your good foot catches on the edge of the hallway carpet and you stumble— Jake’s hands shoot out instinctively, steadying you by the elbows before you face-plant. For a second, both of you freeze.

“Shit— sorry,” you mutter, stepping back carefully. Your ankle throbs in protest.

Jake’s eyes drop almost automatically to your injured leg, the careful way you favor it. “Hey… you okay?” His voice stays soft, concerned, but the awkwardness between you thickens the air like smoke.

You haven’t spoken properly since the fake tweet disaster, not a single text, not a single clarification. You can’t say it wasn’t convenient, you’d hate to admit you find no interest in explaining yourself to Jake.

“Yeah. Just… clumsy,” you say, forcing a half-smile. “What are you… erm, doing here on a break day?”

“Picking up some lyric sheets for next week.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing around the empty hallway. After a pause, he adds quietly, “We’ve… um, never really talked about what happened. With the tweet and all.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the wall to take pressure off your ankle. Here we go. “Yeah. About that, you didn’t even let me explain, it was Riki.”

Jake blinks, tilting his head like you spoke another language. “What?”

“It was Riki,” you repeat, irritation already bubbling. “The whole thing was fake, he made it up to fuck with me.”

Jake stays silent for a long moment, processing. Then, almost gently —like he explains something to a child—he says, “Well… I think we gotta talk about this at some point, Y/n.”

“About what?”

“About your obsession with him.”

You stare at him, disbelief shooting through you “Excuse me?”

He can’t be serious right now.

“Y/n, seriously.” Jake’s voice stays calm, patient, which only pisses you off more. “Why would you even come to the conclusion that he’s the one who invented some kind of grand scheme…”

“Because he told me, for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t know… why would he even do that?” Jake sighs, rubbing his temple. “And if you hate him that much, why’s he all you ever talk about then?”

And there you thought Jake was sweet, turns out he’s just clueless.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” you scoff.

Right because when has it ever been his business?

“Yeah.” He meets your eyes steadily. “It’s honestly… obvious how Riki’s occupying all your emotional life. You were too caught up in your hatred that you didn’t even notice me, I’m pretty sure.”

“Um? Yes I did. I went out with you, didn’t I?” You laugh, sharp and humorless. “I thought you’d understand that with everything Riki’s done to me, it’s obvious I’m gonna hate him.”

It feels like you’re being scolded for some reason, and you don’t like that. Not one bit.

“You’re obviously hurt and you feel things deeply,” Jake continues, still in that gentle, patronizing tone. “But you gotta wake up and realize how fucked up it all is.”

You feel irritated as fuck, he’s talking to you like you’re a two year old, spelling out basic emotional logic as if you haven’t lived it for years.

The day was going smoothly and now some totally out of line weirdo is making it hard for you to be patient.

“Like, if I ask about your day, you answer in three words,” Jake continues, almost absentmindedly gesturing with his hands. “But if someone mentions him, you suddenly have a whole thesis. He’s said awful things to you and so have you. I just don’t get why you still bother.”

“Well I’m sorry that bothers you, Jakey,” you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. You tap his shoulder lightly, ironic and vain. “Have a great day, yeah?”

You turn to leave, but Jake’s words keep echoing as you limp down the hallway. He speaks facts, deep down, you know it— come on you’re not that dumb; but what you are though, is too proud to admit out loud.

Even after all this, part of you feels attracted to the violence. Used to it. Addicted, maybe. The constant flight mode becomes your normal— at least it feels more alive than any soft conversation with Jake ever could.

Hatred feels familiar, secure in its own twisted way. It demands nothing soft from you, no vulnerability. That’s just the way things are.

Some people like their food sweet, others don’t like it at all— and prefer eating nails.

Riki’s a master at pretending nothing’s bothering him— he wears indifference like second skin— untouchable, the golden dancer who smiles for cameras and carries the weight of millions without flinching.

He knows something’s essentially missing inside of him, knows he’s looking for something that’s not here, and that will never be. But he constantly tones that part of him down.

That’s why, tonight, in this high-end hotel suite with its dim lights and silk sheets, he tries to slip into that role again.

The girl beneath him is pretty, sweet, all soft curves and gentle laughs, she kisses him back eagerly, fingers threading through his hair as he presses her into the mattress. Her skin is soft, her dimples press against his cheeks when she kisses— and for a while it works.

His hands roam her body, lips trailing down her neck until she sighs his name like a prayer; and he tells himself this is what he wants. He deepens the kiss, hips rolling against hers, heat building in a way that should feel right.

But something shifts.

With that, sudden unease crawls up his spine like ice water, his stomach twists and the air feels wrong. Riki tries to push past it, kissing her harder, hands gripping her waist almost automatically. Focus. She’s pretty. She’s lovely even. She’s not—

It just doesn’t work.

He pulls away after a long silence, considers telling her the usual excuse of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, but when he opens his eyes it is not her face he sees.

It’s your sharp eyes glaring up at him. Your mouth twisted in that familiar sneer, your hands gripping his forearms.

Riki jumps back like he’s been burned, heart slamming against his ribs. What the fuck.

He’s definitely going crazy, he concludes, the room spinning slightly as panic claws at his throat.

“I— sorry,” he mutters, voice hoarse. He stands up in one smooth motion, running a hand through his messy hair. “I need a minute.”

The girl sits up, confusion flickering across her pretty features, she looks hurt. “Riki… are you okay?”

He forces a soft smile, the one he saves for people who deserve his leniency, sweet. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Got a lot on my mind tonight. Work stuff. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I’m not into this.”

She watches him carefully as he walks to the mini-fridge and grabs a bottle of whiskey. He twists the cap off and takes a long swig, the burn grounding him for half a second.

“It’s fine,” she says quietly, already reaching for her clothes. “I can go if you want.”

Riki feels a pang of guilt. She’s sweet, too sweet for a walking shit-show like him. “No, you don’t have to… I’m really sorry. You’re great. This is on me.”

She dresses slowly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. Really. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

He nods, watching her leave with gentle eyes, the door clicks shut behind her and the silence rushes in like a wave. Riki collapses back onto the bed, bottle in hand, he stares at it for a second like he’s gonna start confessing his sins to it, then he drinks.

He drinks. And drinks. And drinks some more until the edges of the room blur and his thoughts turn hazy.

Tipsy now, he turns on the Tv for noise, he hates the silence, he needs something to focus on. A commercial flashes across the screen— some luxury brand, a model’s legs strutting in high heels. The camera zooms in and Riki instantly buries his face in the covers with a groan.

Eventually, when he’s proper drunk and the world is tilting pleasantly, he decides it’s enough, his stomach hurts.

His phone feels heavy in his hand as he tries to text Heeseung— something incoherent about needing to talk or needing someone to pick him up.

Riki recoils, embarrassed even through the alcohol haze.

He doesn’t need any fucking help.

Or does he? Maybe he does need therapy—

But his thumb slips as he tries to figure that out, and by some force of nature— he ends up calling the very ghost that haunts him instead.

You pick up after a few rings, voice dry and annoyed. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

Riki tries to click the ‘hangup button’ but his fingers are shaking with adrenaline.

Screw that, on second thought, he doesn’t really try to hang up all that hard…

He laughs instead , low and miserable, rolling onto his back until the ceiling spins. “Are you so mad at me, Y/n?”

You scoff on the other end, “When am I not? Anyway let me repeat myself— why did you call me?”

“Yeah but you’re different mad, I should’ve known…” His words slur together incoherently as he closes his eyes, the room still turning.

“Huh?” your thoughts are a mess of ‘whatthefuckishesaying’

“You don’t even fight with me anymore.” Riki’s voice comes out as a whisper, almost like he knows he’s stepping in a dangerous zone.

He hears you scoff on the other line, all superior and bitchy— and he has to fight not to laugh in your face, because honestly with that level of alcohol in his blood, it would sound much more like a happy giggle than anything else. He doesn’t want that now, does he?

“Are you… drunk?” you suddenly seem to come to your senses.

“Yeah…” He nods stupidly at the ceiling. “But you didn’t insult me today.”

It sort of reminds Riki of when he was a kid— staying underwater in his parents’ swimming pool until there was not an ounce of air left in his lungs. He would push himself deeper, lungs burning, vision spotting, just to see how long he could last before breaking the surface gasping.

That same reckless thrill sits in his chest now, however unrelated— talking to you while drunk feels like holding his breath too long. Dangerous. Addictive.

He knows he should come up for air, but he stays under, waiting for the moment you push him harder.

“Are you a masochist or something? You want me out of your life but here you are basically begging me to insult you.” you huff on the other end.

“I’m not. I kept waiting.” he shakes his head like you can see him.

“Waiting for what, you weirdo?”

Riki’s waiting for the moment you’re finally going to be done with his bullshit and hang up— because he couldn’t possibly bring himself to be the one to do it— blame it on the whiskey.

“For you to start a fight.” he answers solemnly.

“Oh god, you’re so weird. You’re drunk, you’re not even making any sense… just hang up and go fuck yourself.”

“Don’t ignore me. Don’t ignore what I said.” Riki’s voice goes lower, a little firmer maybe.

“I didn’t even see you today, what the fuck are you even talking about?” he can hear you anxiously slap your thigh in annoyance.

“I don’t like it when you ignore me. You piss me off, I piss you off and—”

“Stop conjugating verbs, Nishimura. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” you cut him off, proper angry.

“You know, normal people don’t live like this.” He rolls over clumsily, nearly dropping the phone; he’s not even making any sense, just casually assembling random thoughts that have been in his head and mashing them together in hopes you’ll understand his point.

“Good job genius, thanks for pointing that out. Now call Heeseung or Jay, I’m gonna block you. Or don’t call anyone, I don’t give a fuck if you choke in your sleep or something.”

That’s it, that’s the moment you’re finally done with his bullshit and you’re about to hang up and he’s… confused?

“Don’t block me Y/n wait—” Riki groans, not even realising how pitiful he sounds.

“Literally what the fuck is wrong with you.” you snap. “Why are you being like this, you sound so pathetic.”

After a beat, his mind drifts to different topics he’d like to address, but the only thing he can think of is that little stunt you pulled. “The post you made. Was it about me?” he asks, naively.

You almost laugh, incredulous and also very much embarrassed for him, “What are you even talking about?”

“The one with the heels.”

“No it wasn’t.” you say immediately, hating that he thought it was about him (although it clearly was).

“It waaaas,” he sing-songs, burying his face in his pillow. He’s half trying to hide how affected he was, and half trying to tease you.

“You’re so self-centered it’s insane, it wasn’t even about you.” you chuckle mockingly, “God Nishimura you’re being my little bitch right now, you know that?”

“Stop calling me that. I’m… mean to you. So you step on mean boys. So it was about me,” Riki goes on, persuaded.

“Well do you want me to step on you or something? Cause it sounds like you’re begging for it.”

That’s it. A couple words— he doesn’t even count how many— and he’s sent back to the state he was in a couple days back.

It’s all so pathetic, and he’s drunk out of his mind, but at the same time it’s you. It’s your fault, you’re doing this to him, you’re making his blood spike like a pervert, you’re dissecting him unknowingly, revealing things he didn’t even know about himself.

Notwithstanding, it’s impossible that it could be you, it has to be something else.

It’s like teenagers when they suddenly discover they have a penis and they wanna jump everything and anything; that’s probably what’s happening. He’s discovered he may or may not have a tendency to… enjoy women wearing heels, and he’s totally projecting.

“Fuck.” Riki throws his head back, palming his forehead. “Don’t say that.”

But his tone of voice only pumps you meaner, “Get off my phone then if you’re not happy. What’s your problem anyway? Can’t handle a little bit of alcohol? You’re a pussy.”

“See? I like you better when you’re like this. Mean.” he breathes out.

“Well get help.”

“I know I should.”

“Yeah you should. Now bye, I’m blocking you.” You hang up without a second thought and it’s over just as fast as it started.

Riki stares at the ceiling, phone still pressed to his ear even after the line goes dead. What the fuck are you doing with his head?

Eventually he grabs his phone again, thumbs clumsy as he opens his notes app— his writing is messy, drunk letters stumbling across the screen.

She blocks peple (people) when it starts to get a little bit intse (intense).

He stares at the words for a long time, the screen blurring. Even drunk, even miserable, he cannot stop cataloging you. Cannot stop thinking about you. And cannot stop adding to the list of things he’s noticed about you.

The hatred burns hotter though. Always has.

Kwn is an amazing artist you know? Especially in that one video clip where she kisses Kehlani near the car and all— that’s just a fact. You love her tracks, her voice, everything. But right now? You beyond hate her.

The past week’s been a blur of physical therapy, awkward silences, and the lingering ghost of Riki’s drunk phone call. He never mentioned it afterward and neither did you; it just sits between you like an unexploded grenade— ignored, but always there. A moment of vulnerability that echoes with a lot of ‘what ifs’.

What if he was under the influence all the time? Would he be softer, funnier with his words? More honest?

Your ankle’s better now, enough for light practice, but the company wastes no time dragging you back into the studio. No mercy. No rest. Just endless work.

That’s why now, you stand in the practice room, mirrors reflecting your slightly stiff posture, the choreographer flipping through self-tapes on his tablet with a deep frown. Riki leans against the wall a few feet away, fiddling with the strings of his sweatpants between his spread legs, looking as unbothered as ever.

The choreographer sighs heavily. “It looks stiff. The company’s not gonna like this at all.” He rubs his temples. “Come on Y/n, you’re usually excellent. I’ve worked with you for years and I’ve never seen you so out of it.” He turns to Riki. “And you, Riki— what’s going on?”

What’s going on, is that a leech is sucking out every ounce of talent out of you and leaving a distracted woman hollowed out by rage.

That’d be the appropriate answer but instead you say force a neutral expression. “It’s just stress.” and you make the mistake of adding, “It’s the song. It’s probably too fast.”

The choreographer looks at his tablet for a beat, thumb hovering over it, then nods slowly. “Well, how about we try something else, yeah? This choreo’s pretty simple. Get a good view, learn it, and I want you guys to prepare it for the end of the evening. I’ll come back when you’re done. Just work through it. This one’s slower and it’ll get you in the right headspace.”

He hands you the tablet but Riki snatches it from your hands almost immediately— ever the childish one. He’s a little bit too confident for someone who called you begging you for insults…

You doubt he even remembers it, but you want to rub it in his face. Instead— because workspace doesn’t allow it— you stay professional, snatching it right back and pressing play.

The opening notes fill the room. ‘Touch Myself’ by Kwn. You let it play for a bit, the rnb beat mellow and nice but when she starts singing it’s a whole different story.

See, the thing is, the lyrics are extremely explicit, pornographic arguably— or maybe you’re just being dramatic but that’s what being too close to Nishimura Riki does to one.

You glance up at the choreographer, wondering if he even speaks enough English to understand “I touch myself just thinking about you.”

Probably not.

Riki’s English is trash, but he knows that much and you see it in the way his jaw tighten.

The other man leaves with a casual wave, dismissing your obvious discomfort and the door clicks shut behind him.

You hate Kwn and her stupid song.

You stand up immediately, crossing your arms, “I’m not doing that.”

“Erm, yes you are,” Riki says flatly, like he’s talking to a toddler.

“Fuck no.”

At that, he rubs his temple, letting out a long exhale.

“They should terminate your contract. Can’t even get over yourself for the sake of your job...” he lets out a small huff, looking down at you like you’re the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen.

“Have you seen the choreo? Are you really agreeing to this?” you tilt your chin towards the tablet. “That shit is vile. I’m not doing that.”

“Well it’s not like we have a choice. Trust me I’d rather be eating nails right now, Y/n. So get over yourself and just learn the goddamn thing.” he snaps.

You sit back down with a huff and get a good look at the choreo on the tablet. It’s heavily sensual—nothing insane certainly, but paired with the nature of the lyrics… damn. Slow body rolls, close proximity, lingering touches, prolonged eye contact. The kind of performance that sells sex and tension— definitely not something you’d like to be doing with that smug prick. But either way you need to get over yourself, it’s not like you have a choice…

So after a while of sitting there, hearing his annoying breathing, you finally get the hang of it, it’s not really complicated, just an easy routine; the complicated part is the tension you need to bring to it, something you don’t have. Or rather, not in the adequate form.

You stand up and move to the center with him, the mirrors reflecting you both as you start running it. You rehearse a few steps, tablet in hand, trying to figure out the footwork while he watches through the reflection.

“Your other foot, dumbass.” he goes, pointing at your left foot.

You listen, because unfortunately, he is right— it was the left foot; and you move along, following the movements of his body in the glass.

The tension simmers immediately— albeit it not being the required one, it’s still tension right? Every brush of his hand on your waist feels deliberate, every step brings you closer and the lyrics pulse through the speakers like a taunt.

Every now and then, you deliberately sabotage the whole thing, pushing a little on the left until he fumbles it, stepping on his foot while maintaining a neutral stance.

The thing is, and you’ve admitted it— you don’t just hate Riki. You need him to hate you back. It’s that or you’d rather die.

So you push and push, until his pupils drown in anger and he’s seconds away from pinning you to the nearest wall— devoid of any good intentions.

During the chorus is the part when you have to look at each other the most, it’s prolonged eye contact.

You unconsciously lipsync the words “I touch myself just thinking about you” as you focus on the dance and miss a count, distracted by the little something in his eyes.

You’re stupid.

Riki looks right back, eyes dropping your lips as you mouth those filthy words— and he messes up his part a little bit.

“Stop fucking looking at me. Just dance,” he says defensively, voice low.

“Am I supposed to just look at the goddamn ceiling?” you spit back, rolling your eyes.

Riki stops dancing all of a sudden, gets closer, towering over you. “Well I don’t care. Just don’t look at me.”

You follow, the song still playing but you’re both unmoving, “Why does that bother you so much?”

“It doesn’t. You’re just annoying.” His dyed blond hair falls on his forehead, sweaty and so awfully disgustingly delicious you want to die.

Wait what?

“It clearly does if you’re bringing it up.” you distract yourself with counter attacks, it’s easier this way.

“Just stop arguing and listen to me before I—”

“Before you what? Huh?” You get closer, menacing even though hes taller.

He snickers, looking down at you like you’re a crumb under his shoe. “Who do you even think you are, acting like that? You know it’d take me two seconds to make you trip and faceplant right?”

He’s so infuriatingly mocking it sends a chill down your spine, it’s not even the words, it’s the tone itself— like he could push you right now and feel nothing but contempt.

That’s the way things have always been, so why does it feel so confusing?

“Stop talking to me like that.” you glare at him, titling your chin like you can somehow surpass him in height.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do?” he’s so smug it drips with it.

“I swear, Nishimura, I’ll punch you right now.”

Riki looks down at you, a small cruel smirk tugging at at the corner of his mouth, “Go ahead, brat. All yours. Hit me.”

The words shouldn’t sound like this, they shouldn’t sound so dirty. But it’s like lately, all he says has a subtle undertone to it— and why is his voice so goddamn low and velvety?

“Well thanks for the consent, motherfucker.” You push him back hard so he can’t crowd you. “Now get back.”

He grabs your wrist in turn, pushing you close to him menacingly. “I said hit me, not push me. Are you scared of me or something?”

You chuckle, defiant. “Scared? Oh give me a break.”

Riki grabs your fist; you’re surprised he isn’t even flinching at the contact. He tightens your fingers deliberately until you’re ready for a punch, and then holds it over his own cheek.

“Come on. Do it.”

His fingers burn around yours. He’s dying for it, he needs the fight, needs the violence. He craves the collision— the crack of bone, the bloom of pain, the certainty that comes with a hit landed cleanly. Anger is familiar territory— violence is the only conversation he’s ever known how to finish.

“Don’t touch me.” you say, in vain, because it comes out as a breathy plaint.

“We’re way past that.”

“You’re so disgusting. You get off on doing disgusting things like that, don’t you? Fucking pervert.” your eyes are bored in his now, more honest that your bodies have ever been.

Then Riki does something so out of character— yet so him, and your lungs suddenly become a mere accessory rather than organs.

He grabs your throat suddenly, long fingers wrapping around it, squeezing not too tight but firm enough to make your pulse jump under his fingers. The pressure is controlled, thumb pressing lightly against the side of your neck where your heartbeat flutters wildly. His grip’s warm, steady, dangerous and you can feel the restrained power in his hand, the way his fingers flex as if debating how much tighter he could go.

It sends a rush of heat through you despite everything.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, triggered.

His shoulders broaden as he squares himself, every tendon in his forearms standing out beneath taut skin.

Riki’s so close now, nose brushing yours, eyes burning with pure fury, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying from how exhilarating it feels.

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want.” You push his buttons on purpose, loving the way his anger tastes— like something filthy and sour on your tongue.

“Fuck you, Y/n.”

There’s a thin line between hatred and desire—and only then, you’re starting to feel it dissolve until you can no longer tell whether the pounding in your chest is fury or fascination, whether you want to shove him away or pull him closer just to understand why he gets beneath your skin like that.

“Mm, fuck me?” You tilt your head, defiant, lips inches from his.

Riki loses it. Air sticks in his lungs and his eyes flutter shut for a split second— he’s forgotten how to breathe now, the words ricochet through him, splintering whatever fragile restraint he’d been clinging to.

His jaw tightens so hard it aches, a muscle feathering beneath his skin as he swallows back something he can’t afford to say.

“Don’t say shit like that.” he goes instead, but it comes out breathy.

“Why? Scared?” You get closer, pushing every button you can reach.

Because close just isn’t close enough— and flustered isn’t nearly flustered enough. Because you want him reeling, struggling to even function, you want him to be putty in your hands— just out of pure spite.

Riki’s stuck between two different worlds— he wants to push you off, watch you fall and trip but at the same time he wants to fuck the attitude right out of you— teach you a lesson.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, but he feels it somewhere low, warmth spreading. He’s too far gone.

Your mouths hover dangerously close, so much so that you can feel his breath, hot and ragged against your lips. His hand tightens slightly on your throat, not hurting, just holding. Claiming almost, in all its irony.

But the choreographer’s voice echoes faintly from the hallway, and you’re both forced to pull away instantly, breathless, chests heaving.

The moment’s over and the bodies are done speaking.

Riki turns sharply and stalks toward the bathroom, fists tight at his sides while you scratch your arm anxiously, nails digging into skin as if you can claw the tension out of your body.

Three days after the practice room incident, Hybe decides to play nice— characteristically… They organize a mandatory “team bonding” dinner for everyone involved in the collaboration project—R3SET, Enhypen, choreographers, and a few other staffs.

The official reason is to “build chemistry” and “celebrate the upcoming performance.”

The real reason, you suspect, is damage control after too many rumors about visible tension between you and Riki.

The company hates bad optics.

“Touch myself” hasn’t really resulted in anything good, apart from fuelling your self hatred.

The choreographer wasn’t exceptionally happy, and so were you— for fucks sake, because of him, you’d been forced to confront that you were an entirely too deprived woman.

It’s true, that’s the only viable answer, you haven’t done anything with anyone in years, and so it’s only natural that any physical touch sends you into a whole different headspace— even if it’s not one you’d desire. Desperate times.

So, the dinner is held at a private restaurant downtown, dim lighting, long wooden tables, expensive hanwoo beef, and enough soju to drown in. You show up with your members, ankle mostly healed but still a little stiff, wearing simple black pants and a sophisticated top. You tell yourself it’ll be just fine, Riki’s most likely forgotten about it already.

But the second you walk in, your eyes find him across the room. You end up near the middle of the long table, directly across from him.

He looks annoying in all black, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, his eyes flick to you every few minutes— totally unreadable. You don’t look away, god you never do.

Jake sits a few seats down, trying to make polite conversation with Sera— you wouldn’t fail to mention you’re still slightly annoyed at him, but that feels like background noise compared to the live wire stretching across the table.

Rage is merely just rage when it’s not directed at Nishimura Riki.

Hye-ri leans toward you at one point, whispering, “He keeps staring. You good?”

“I’m fabulous,” you mutter, stabbing a piece of beef harder than necessary.

Riki’s voice cuts through the chatter a moment later, directed at no one in particular but clearly meant for you. “Some people should probably stay off their feet more. Wouldn’t want another dramatic injury right before the performance.”

You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “Some people should probably mind their own fucking business.”

The table quiets a little. Jake shifts uncomfortably and Sunoo coughs into his drink amused.

Riki leans back in his chair, lips curving into that infuriating half-smirk. “Just looking out for the team. Wouldn’t want you to trip on stage because you’re too stubborn to rest properly.”

“Touching,” you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Didn’t know you cared so much about my well-being, Nishimura.”

“I don’t.” His eyes lock onto yours. “I care about the performance not sucking because of you.”

The air crackles and Hye-ri kicks you under the table. Of course you kick her back.

The rest of dinner is a masterclass in passive-aggressive warfare; every time someone mentions the collaboration, Riki finds a way to slip in a subtle jab. Every time, you fire back sharper until by dessert, the tension feels thick enough to choke on.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom just to breathe, splashing some water on your neck— soothing the physical reaction he’s inflicted upon you. When you come out, Riki is leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting.

“Running away already?” he asks, voice low.

“Fuck off.”

He steps closer, crowding you against the wall without actually touching you. “You’ve been quiet lately. No insults. No nothing. Almost like you’re avoiding me.”

You lift your chin, refusing to back down. “What? You’re gonna beg me for insults again?”

Riki’s jaw tightens and for a second, something dangerous flickers in his eyes, you’re not sure he knows exactly what you’re referring to though. “You wish.”

Then he walks away, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your hands clenched into fists.

That night, you dream— you dream like you haven’t dreamt in months. See, you had the habit of dreaming about totally incoherent things, your older brother getting kidnapped by aliens, your step mom catching a cold and growing wings… and that dream doesn’t differ, it’s totally incongruous.

In it, the studio’s empty, mirrors stretching endlessly in every direction, the lights are low and warm. You’re dancing, but it’s no longer really choreography.

Riki’s hands are on your waist, pulling you flush against him— there’s no hatred in the movement this time— only hunger. You shove him, but he spins you around and presses you against the mirror, cold glass against your front, his body hot and solid behind you.

“You talk so much shit,” he whispers against your ear, one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher. “But look at you now.”

You gasp as his fingers find bare skin. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah?” Riki’s voice is rough, dangerous. “You want that?”

In the dream you hate him and want him in equal measure. You push back against him, grinding, feeling how hard he is, his hand wraps around your throat from behind— not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make you arch. His other hand slips between your legs, teasing, stroking, making you moan despite yourself.

“You’re so fucking wet for someone who hates me,” he murmurs, biting your shoulder. “Say it. Say you want me to fuck you.”

“I hate you,” you breathe, but your hips roll back against his hand anyway.

He laughs, low and dark, pressing you harder into the mirror. “Liar.”

The dream shifts and suddenly he has you on the floor, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into you— deep, angry, perfect. Every snap of his hips feels like punishment and reward at once. You scratch down his back, drawing blood and he bites your neck hard enough to leave marks. The mirrors reflect a hundred versions of you two like fucking animals— sweat-slick, desperate, beautiful in the worst way.

“I hate you,” you moan as he fucks you harder.

Riki’s eyes are wild. “Then prove it.”

You wake up gasping, sheets tangled around your legs, heart hammering, and a slick heat between your thighs that makes you want to scream. You sit up in the dark, pressing your palms to your burning face.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The body has always been a terrible liar.

The mind can sharpen hatred into something clean— something so easy to hold. It can rehearse every reason to leave, every wound, every insult, every unforgivable thing. It can swear that this person disgusts you— that you’d sooner bite your own tongue than admit they’re the only thing you want to loose yourself into.

And then your pulse betrays you. Your breath catches when they get too close to the real thing, your pupils widen before your pride has the chance to object. Every nerve ending reaches for what your conscience insists it should reject. The body doesn’t understand morality; it understands chemistry and biology; doesn’t distinguish between danger and desire nearly as well as you’d like to believe.

Maybe that’s why hatred and longing have always lived so close together. Both consume. Both obsess. The difference is thinner than anyone admits— a line so delicate that all it takes is one glance, one accidental touch, one moment of vulnerability, and suddenly you no longer know whether your racing heart is preparing you to fight them or kiss them.

That’s why, after that dream, you avoid him like the plague. The following weeks are a careful dance of deliberate distance; you show up to group meetings late and leave early. You switch practice times when possible, you bury yourself in solo schedules, self-help books (that don’t help with anything actually) and long conversations with Hye-ri that always circle back to the same frustrating question: why does suffering attract you more than living a gentle life?

You delete the drunk call from your call log like it never happened, you tell yourself the dream meant nothing. Just stress. Just exhaustion. Just your body playing cruel tricks.

But the avoidance only makes it worse, every time you catch a glimpse of him in the hallway, your stomach flips. Every time his name comes up in conversation, your jaw tightens.

But today he’s inevitable. Duty calls. And so here you are, stuck in the dance studio again with him.

The choreographer wanted you both to review the latest self-tapes alone— auto-evaluation before the final run throughs. No dancing today, just critique; so you came straight from another schedule, still wearing the black heels from the event and the black skirt they’d told you to wear—because you just couldn’t be bothered to change.

Now they click sharply against the floor as you pace, hands on your hips, eyes glued to the small television screen playing the footage.

Riki stands a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with that same unreadable expression. He’s wearing a goddamn chrome hearts tank top, one that highlights the muscles in his back, makes him look unfairly lean and does a poor job at keeping you focused.

The footage plays— and technically, it’s flawless. The lines are clean, the timing’s sharp. But the chemistry is nonexistent. You both look like you’d rather murder each other than touch, naturally.

You point at the screen. “Your shoulder drops there. Sloppy.”

Riki scoffs. “My shoulder is fine. You’re the one rushing the transition.”

You whirl on him. “At least I commit. You move like you’re scared to touch me. Afraid I’ll stab you in the back or something?”

He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I am. We both know what you’re capable of when you want something.”

The jab lands harder than you expect, you feel heat rise in your cheeks. “Fuck you. At least I don’t throw tantrums like a spoiled kid every time things don’t go my way.”

That one hits and Riki’s expression darkens. In response, he pushes you with his arm— not hard, but enough to make you stumble back. Your injured leg buckles slightly, still weak from the sprain. Pain shoots up your ankle and you lose balance, arms flailing.

Riki moves instinctively— ironic isn’t it?— his hands catch you—one on your waist, the other gripping your arm— steadying you before you fall. It’s almost laughable… the force that sent you stumbling is the same one that keeps you upright.

For a moment, everything stops, his touch’s firm but careful. Not the bruising grip from before. Not the angry shove. Just… support. His fingers press lightly against your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your top. It feels almost like pity. Like he’s handling something he doesn’t want to break yet.

The silence stretches until your eyes meet his. His breath is close and for once, thereis no venom in his gaze— just surprise.

You shake him off almost immediately, stepping back like his touch burned you. “Don’t touch me.”

Riki’s hands drop and the mask of indifference slides back into place. “Whatever. Don’t fall and blame me later.”

“Youre the one who just pushed me.” you mutter under your breath, boiling.

The footage loops again and again, but neither of you is really watching anymore. The real performance is happening right here— two people circling each other with words like weapons.

Eventually the tape ends and you exhale sharply. “We’re done. I’m leaving.”

You grab your badge, and purse, turn toward the door in one smooth motion, heels clicking. But when you push the handle, it doesn’t budge. You try again. Nothing.

“What the fuck?” You rattle the door harder. “Did you lock it?”

Riki raises an eyebrow. “Why would I lock it?”

You try again, panic starting to creep in. “Open the damn door, Riki.”

He sighs, walks over, tries the handle and it doesn’t move. “It’s stuck.”

You reach for your phone, heart hammering and you text Hye-ri a hundred times in rapid succession.

Door won’t open. Studio 4. Come get me. Help. HELP. Help. HELPPP. SOS.

But no reply comes, so you call her, it goes straight to voicemail. You text Heeseung next— because what wouldn’t you do for an escape? Still nothing.

"Aren't you gonna do anything??" you turn to Riki.

"My phone's dead" he shrugs.

“I’m gonna call the police, I swear to god,” you mutter, pacing.

Riki rolls his eyes, tapping his foot on the floor repeatedly— the sound grating on your nerves.

“Can you stop tapping on the floor before I eviscerate you?” you snap.

“Get over yourself”

You try the doorknob again, naively. Of course it’s not gonna budge, why would it ? The universe wants you in a secluded room with Nishimura Riki— probably natural selection or something…

You rattle the handle a little harder anyway, as if stubbornness alone might intimidate the lock into cooperating. It doesn’t. It only rewards your efforts with another dull metallic clunk that echoes through the room like it’s laughing at you.

“Why aren’t you charging your goddamn phone anyway? To call people. At least be fucking useful.” you turn to him.

“Cause you’re already doing that, Y/n.” Riki says matter-of-factly.

He leans against the wall, watching you with that infuriating calm— and sweat beads on your skin as you fight the punch that you want to give him.

“Oh god, I hate you,” you finally hiss, stepping closer.

Something in him shifts, not visibly— but you catch it because you’re looking; his shoulders loosen by a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatens to betray him. Your words don’t land like an insult; they settle somewhere far more dangerous.

Hatred’s always been your most honest language with himx Every glare, every cutting remark, every venom-laced sentence means you’ve looked at him long enough to feel something. It means he’s gotten under your skin again. That he’s occupied another corner of your mind he had no business claiming.

To anyone else, your words would sound like rejection.

To Riki, they sound like proof.

Proof that he still affects you.

Proof that indifference’s never been an option.

He lets the silence stretch, savoring the confession hidden beneath the hostility before his gaze locks onto yours, dark with unmistakable satisfaction

“Say that again.”

You step even closer, heels making you taller but still smaller than him. “I. Hate. You.”

His gaze flickers over your expression for a second longer than it should, like he’s memorizing the contradiction in front of him: someone who claims to despise him yet keeps moving closer, someone who throws daggers with their words but refuses to walk away.

Riki looks down and you catch him staring at your legs almost instantly. “Stop looking at my fucking legs, you perv.”

“Well then stop wearing heels in a practice room maybe?”

“I’ve got somewhere to be after this, dipshit.” you roll your eyes, suddenly feeling small under his scrutiny.

“Then put them back on after this, like a normal person.”

“We just came in here to review the footage. Stop acting like I’m dancing in heels or something. Or maybe—who knows— maybe I just like pissing you off.”

“It doesn’t piss me off. It’s just annoying as hell. You make a lot of noise. Walking around like you wanna get my attention or something.”

“Get your attention? Please. You’re ridiculous. You know why I put them on? Because deep down my biggest wish is to step on you with them till you choke and die or something.”

Riki’s breath catches, you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and he takes a careful step back. The topic of heels is a no-go.

“Stop saying nonsense and just go work on getting someone to open the door.” He sounds slightly breathless.

“I’m trying, fucker.”

“Well try harder, bitch.”

“Keep calling me that name and I’ll really step on you. And I won’t be gentle.” you raise your chin, defiant.

“Oh, cause you think I want you gentle?”

Heat floods your face and chest. Then something dark and dangerous twists in your stomach— equal parts fury and unwanted thrill.

You step closer instead of recoiling, eyes narrowing, lips parting on a sharp, incredulous exhale. The implication hangs between you like smoke—thick, filthy, impossible to ignore. Your mind flashes with vivid, unwanted images: his hands rough, your nails digging in, bodies colliding with nothing soft or kind between you.

The thought disgusts you but it also makes your thighs press together instinctively. How much of a contradiction could you be?

“You’re so perverted it’s disgusting.” you resort to insults, because that’s all you know.

“Perverted? You’re the one who came in here wearing these.”

“They’re just heels. You’re a weirdo. You think I put them on for you or something? Don’t you remember when you called me drunk the other night? You seemed to like them just then.”

Riki freezes. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t remember?” You lean into it, savoring the upper hand and sprinkling a little bit of lies. “Nishimura, you called me. Said a bunch of shit. Got really vulnerable. Told me exactly how the heels made you feel, pathetic, really.”

“I didn’t say all that, Y/n. Stop.”

Air’s gone rancid, thick with the stink of want, choking you both, but you only step closer, voice low and taunting. “You did though. You probably wish you could touch them, stop being such a pussy and admit it.”

Riki’s eyes flash and that shakes off the last thread of self control and inhibition, “Yeah? And what if I did?” His voice drops dangerously. “What if I grabbed your thighs and spread them right there? Would you still act like you hate me then?”

What. the. fuck.

There’s the moment, where the truth comes out. Where the line shatters. Where hatred and desire melt together and become one.

There’s no fury like trying to contain such levels of want. Like trying to contain something that was never meant to be contained.

Because the hardest battle was never between you and him, no it was between what you felt and what you were willing to admit.

The space between you vanishes, your back hits the wall. His hand braces beside your head and you tilt your head back until the tip of your nose touches his, heart thundering. “Fuck… I hate you.”

You’re like prey and predator— except you’re the embodiment of both. And in the end, how do you run from something that exists inside you? How do you fight an instinct that is just as much a part of you as the fear trying to resist it?

You’re the one who bares your teeth, the one who strikes first, the one who convinces yourself that staying sharp means staying safe. But you’re also the one who freezes when he gets too close, the one who feels every shift in the air between you, the one whose body reacts before your pride has the chance to intervene.

A contradiction wearing the shape of a person.

You want to win, but you also want to be understood. You want to push him away, but some reckless part of you keeps stepping closer. You hate the power he has over you, yet you keep giving him opportunities to use it.

“I hate you more.” Riki says, comforting the both of you into thinking this is still strictly hatred. “Hate you so bad it hurts.”

Thats when it happens. Between a hitch of breath and a gasp, you loose it.

The kiss is sudden, angry, desperate. Mouths crashing together like a collision— teeth and tongue and pure adrenaline. It’s hate and want— months of a cutthroat chase. Two bodies finally allowing theirselves to feel something other than destruction.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping hard, you bite his bottom lip. He groans into your mouth and presses you harder against the wall.

Your fingers fist in his shirt as Riki’s thigh presses between yours. The kiss is messy, violent, it’s a murder of pride— until there’s nowhere left to hide because he’s all over your body, gripping, binding.

He bites on your lower lip and you bite back just as hard, sinking your teeth into his lip until you taste the sharp metallic tang of blood. He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest, and in response he shoves you back against the mirror with enough force to make the glass rattle.

Your back hits the cool surface first. Then the rest of you— shoulders, hips, thighs. The mirror is cold while he’s burning hot. The contrast makes you gasp into his mouth and he takes advantage immediately, tongue sliding deep, claiming, devouring.

One of his hands fists in your hair, yanking your head back so he can kiss you harder, deeper, filthier. You tug right back, fingers twisting in his strands, pulling until he hisses in pain and pleasure.

You’re both predators now. No prey. No bunnies. Just two starving animals finally allowed to tear into each other.

Riki’s thigh presses between your legs, grinding up hard against your core— you roll your hips down to meet him, desperate and violent, chasing friction through your clothes. Every roll of your hips makes the mirror shake behind you and his cock’s already so hard, straining against his pants, pressing insistently against your thigh. You can feel how much he hates how badly he wants this.

“Fuck you,” he snarls against your lips, biting down on your bottom lip in retaliation. “You’re such a brat.”

You moan into his mouth, the sound muffled and broken. He wraps one large hand around your throat and squeezes— not enough to hurt, but enough to make your head spin. The pressure’s perfect, making you clench around nothing, drunk on the pain. Your pulse flutters wildly under his palm and he squeezes a little tighter until you moan louder, the sound vibrating against his fingers.

“There it is…” Riki pants, lips brushing yours, voice dark “See? Your body doesn’t lie. It fucking loves me.”

His cock presses against your clit through the fabric, a delicious friction that makes your head foggy, hands clawing at him for more, more, more and everything. His free hand goes to your ass, digging in and pushing you closer to him, hardness rubbing right where you need him the most. And in second— his mouth’s on your neck, canines poking at your tender skin until you’re moaning, hips moving like they have a mind of their own.

“Look at you— moaning like a desperate little slut just from this.” you feel Riki’s smirk even if you can’t see it.

You try to snap back, but he bites down again and your words dissolve into another broken moan. He laughs, low and mean, grinding harder between your legs.

“Pathetic,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your jaw. “All that hate and your pussy’s still soaking for me.”

The fucker doesn’t even bother taking your clothes off properly. In one rough motion he yanks your skirt up around your waist, the fabric bunching messily and his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. Then, he rips them clean off with a sharp tear that echoes in the studio, and throws them somewhere. The cool air hits your soaked cunt and you shiver.

He looks down, cock twitching in his pants as he witnesses the sheer amount of wetness coating thighs and pussy. “Fuck” he breathes out, fingers hooking to collect your arousal and toy with it. “Look at that…”

Riki brings his soaked fingers to your mouth and pushes them pas your lips without a second thought. When he feels you suck your juices off of them, his hips jerk, bulge pressing right against your dripping cunt, the front of his pants covered in your arousal.

“Messy girl.” he forces your mouth closed by pressing your cheeks together, “Swallow”

You do— because there’s nothing more exhilarating and humbling that getting a direct taste of what you used to call “hatred.”

“Fuck you— just fuck me already, get this over with.” you say, chin held high like he didn’t just humiliate you.

He smiles tauntingly, frees himself from his pants with impatient hands, cock hard, flushed and leaking. And dammit— you’d never admit it to his face, but he’s big, thick and dripping at the tip. You stare at it for a split second, wondering if it’ll hurt. But you don’t couldn’t care less about the hurt, as long as it makes you feel something.

“You want it?” Riki rasps, lining himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your soaked folds. You nod, because it’s obvious you do, and he retaliates, “Then beg for it properly, you brat. Or i’ll leave you here dripping and desperate like the pathetic liar you are.”

The words burn through you— your pride screams at you to shove him away, to spit in his face, to keep hating him like you always have. But your body is a merciless traitor— clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs, aching so badly it hurts. You’re trembling with rage and need, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, voice shaking. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

“There it is. See? You’re not that useless.” He nips at your neck, all condescending.

In one brutal thrust he buries himself inside you to the hilt, stretching you open so suddenly and so deep that your head falls back against the mirror with a broken cry. The burn is delicious. He’s thick, hot, and so fucking hard it feels like he’s splitting you apart in the best worst way.

You both groan at the same time. He’s so deep it hurts, you can feel him everywhere, invading your body like a sickness. Your walls clench around him like a vice, wet and greedy and Riki’s head drops to your shoulder with a guttural curse.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Your pussy’s choking me. Greedy little cunt— hates me but still sucks me in like it was made for me.”

He starts fucking you hard right away. No warmup. No leniency.

Each thrust slams you back against the mirror, the glass rattling dangerously with every brutal snap of his hips. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the studio, wet and obscene and your heels scrape against the back of his thighs as he drives into you deeper, harder, faster.

But Riki’s eyes keep dropping.

To your legs.

To those fucking heels.

His hand slides down your thigh, gripping the back of your knee and hiking it higher around his waist. His fingers trace the sharp edge of it, thumb pressing into the arch of your foot through the strap.

“These goddamn heels,” he utters against your neck, voice rough and filthy as he pounds into you. “You know what they do to me. You fucking know.”

You hook your leg to his waist, heel digging into the back of his thigh.

“Shit —look at you,” he pants, eyes dark as he fucks you stupid. He can finally admit just how much he loves your legs, anything that’s yours really.

You claw at his back, nails digging through his shirt and hhe yanks your hair, forcing your head back so he can bite down on your exposed throat.

“Say it,” he demands, pounding into you relentlessly. “Say you fucking need this.”

You moan loudly, eyes fluttering. “Fuck… you—”

Riki laughs darkly and slams in harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. “That’s what I thought. Bratty little whore. Can’t even lie properly when I’m balls deep inside you.”

He edges you mercilessly, every time you get close, thighs shaking, walls fluttering around him, he slows down or pulls almost all the way out, leaving you clenching desperately around nothing. You whine, hips chasing him, pride crumbling under the overwhelming need.

“Beg for it,” he taunts, voice rough as gravel. “I know you can do that, can’t you?”

You shake your head, teeth gritted, stubborn to the end even as tears of frustration prick your eyes. “Fuck… you…”

Riki pulls out completely this time, leaving you empty and throbbing. You moan in frustration and snap, before he can say another word, you grab his cock— hot, slick with your arousal—and shove it back inside you yourself, forcing him deep in one rough motion.

Riki groans loudly, forehead dropping to yours and you kiss him viciously, biting his lip again as you roll your hips, taking control for one glorious second.

The pace turns frantic after that— he fucks you like he wants to break you. You meet every thrust with equal violence, legs wrapped tight around his waist.

He wraps his hand around your throat again, squeezing just right as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum for me?” he says against your mouth. You let out a pathetic moan at that, “Yeah I know… you’re taking it so well for such a bad girl.”

This time Riki doesn’t stop. The orgasm crashes into you like a freight train, your whole body seizes, walls clamping down around him like a vice as pleasure rips through you in violent waves. You cry out, nails raking down his back, thighs shaking uncontrollably. It feels endless— white-hot, devastating.

The best thing you’ve ever tasted— no matter how hard it is to admit.

Riki follows right after you, burying himself deep with a broken groan. His hips stutter, cock pulsing as he spills inside you, cum painting your walls messily— he keeps thrusting through it, riding out every last twitch, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling in harsh pants.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the studio are your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the mirror behind you. His cum drips from where you’re connected, painting your thighs in the proof of his need.

Then silence.

Heavy, stunned, devastating silence.

After that day, everything changes—and somehow stays exactly the same. Finding out Heeseung was the one who locked you both in the rehearsal room to mend for yourselves is nothing short of a surprise. But you couldn’t care less— youre way past that, way past pretending you weren’t thriving when the attention Riki gave you was —albeit still embedded within the rage— pleasurable.

You grow addicted to it, almost like an addict coming back to a terrible drug. You’d go to rehab eventually, when there’s finally enough of you left to want saving.

But not today. Today, you let yourself sink deeper— you relish in the ruins of your past, the violence that consumes you.

You know exactly what it does to you— you know how it hollows you out, how it leaves your hands shaking long after the high has worn off, yet you return anyway, chasing the familiar ache because it’s easier than learning how to live without it.

Healing can wait. Right now, there’s still comfort in the catastrophe.

You and Riki continue to ruin each other.

You spread rumors, run your mouth to whomever wants to hear it— rant about how awful he is. He leaks old trainee footage that makes you look difficult; you sabotage a schedule overlap. He makes sure a stylist “accidentally” gives you the wrong outfit for a performance. The company watches, the fans speculate. The hatred becomes public performance and private war.

But the sex never stops.

He strokes himself many times in the following weeks; in the shower, in his bed at night. Even through the thick, choking layer of disgust that never fully leaves him, he cannot stop wanting you. He comes hard every time, hating himself more with every stroke, but he keeps doing it anyway.

Touching happens anytime you can get away with it. In the locked studio again, late at night. He fucks you bent over the piano,

“Fight me while I fuck you,” he groans against your ear, one hand fisted in your hair. “I love it when you’re angry.” You scratch his arms bloody and he only rails you harder.

In the back of a company van after a late schedule, windows fogged up, his hand clamped over your mouth while he rails you from behind; you bite his fingers until they bleed and he calls you his little pain slut.

You don’t even take it personally— you’ve learned to live with the idea that the insults are a mere reflections of your self hatreds. When Riki calls you names, he’s only damning himself for falling into temptation, for needing you the way he does. You let him. Because you hate yourself just as much.

In an empty waiting room during an award show, your dress hiked up, his pants barely undone; he makes you ride him while still wearing your stage heels, the sharp points digging into his thighs as you bounce on his cock. “Look at you,” he pants— although he’ll never tell you just how devastatingly beautiful he finds you, he makes allusions to it, letting you unveil it bit by bit. “Faster, you can do it can’t you?”

Encounters multiply, Riki chokes you until you see stars— it’s a language you master by now. You slap him across the face and he laughs, blood on his lip, before flipping you over and spanking you raw; and every single time you come out bruised, wrecked and markd. He edges you for hours until you’re crying and begging and you end up riding his face until he can’t breathe, grinding down on his tongue like you want to smother him.

It’s violent, ugly; there’s nothing worth wanting about it. Nothing tender. Nothing enviable. Just two people mistaking collision for connection, trying to quiet feelings they’ve never learned to hold without destroying each other.

Your bodies are perfectly aligned. They crave each other with a violence that borders on worship. But your minds? Your souls? They cannot stand each other.

The incompatibility reveals itself slowly, then all at once. The fights grow uglier. The sex grows rougher. The silences between grow heavier.

You start avoiding each other’s eyes even when you’re buried inside one another; the hatred no longer fuels the fire—it poisons it. You hurt each other too deeply, too often, too deliberately— until there’s no coming back from some wounds.

No amount of orgasms can erase the years of betrayal.

One night, after another brutal fuck in a hotel room, you lie beside him in silence. The sheets are tangled around your legs, damp with sweat and his cum is still leaking slowly down your thighs, warm and sticky, a filthy reminder of how deep he’d been inside you just minutes ago. The room smells like sex— musky, salty, desperate. The only light comes from the city glowing through the half-open curtains, casting long shadows across the bed.

You’re both on your backs, shoulders barely touching, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers— your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. Your body still hums with the aftershocks— thighs sore, throat raw from his hands, lips swollen from biting and being bitten.

The ache between your legs is deep and satisfying in the worst way.

Riki’s breathing is just as ragged— his hand twitches once like he wants to reach for you, then stills. He doesn’t.

The silence stretches, until finally, you speak, voice hoarse and bitter.

“…This is so fucking stupid.”

Riki lets out a low, humorless laugh that sounds more like a exhale of pain. “Yeah. It is.”

You turn your head slightly, just enough to see his profile in the dim light. His jaw’s tight. A fresh bite mark blooms red on his collarbone— your doing. You feel a twisted sense of satisfaction, then immediate disgust at yourself. He’s not yours, you shouldn’t make him look like he is.

“I don’t know why we keep doing this” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Theres no point.”

Riki doesn’t answer right away. He runs a hand over his face, then lets it drop heavily onto the mattress between you.

“Things don’t always have to have a point” he says eventually, voice rough. “we can do things that aren’t… good. Who cares.”

You swallow hard. “I do,” you admit quietly. “I let you fuck me like you want to break me.”

Riki turns his head toward you, his eyes are dark, unreadable. “You do the same thing to me. You know that right? You can say whatever you want but we’ve always been equals.”

A long silence falls again.

You feel the familiar ache in your chest— the one that has nothing to do with the rough sex and everything to do with the fact that this, whatever this is, can never be anything more.

“We’re going to destroy each other,” you say softly, almost sadly.

Riki’s jaw clenches. “Yeah. We are.”

He doesn’t reach for you and you don’t reach for him. You both lie there, bodies still tangled, hearts completely separate, knowing full well that you’ll do it all over again the next time the opportunity arises.

Because that’s just what you do. Because the heart isn’t a courtroom; it doesn’t grant leniency, it only delivers its verdict. And the verdict, in the end, is simple: some people are destined to destroy. You and Riki were never going to be the exception— you were always going to be the cautionary tale.

You didn’t answer right away. Mostly because you were trying to calculate the odds of getting away with a perfectly executed slap, but also because your brain had short-circuited for point-three seconds trying not to stare at his mouth. "What are you doing here, Riki?" You roll your eyes as you toss your pen onto the notebook, letting out a light plop at it hit the thick paper. 

The guy shrugged with a smirk on his face. "Just printing out some things. I should be asking you, little one. Don’t you have a speed bump to climb?" He pouted his lips mockingly as he reached his hand out to pat your head. 

You swat his hand off, jaw tight. "Don’t touch me."

He laughs—low, unbothered, amused. "You always say that, but your eyes say otherwise."

"My eyes say ‘I wish you were dead,’" you snap, narrowing them.

Riki pulls out the chair across from you without asking. Of course. Because asking would require basic manners. "You know," he says, lounging like he owns this library, "your notes are cute. All that rainbow color-coding and tiny handwriting. Adorable. Almost makes me forget you’re my competition."

You stare him down. "You can’t compete where you don’t compare, Riki."

He clicks his tongue. "There it is." He shook his finger. "That little bite." He nodded with a sarcastic smile as he took one of your pens—your orange pen—and pointed it at you. Almost as if he was warning you of something. "It could almost make me think you want me."

At this point, your entire mood was ruined. The cute little setup you had curated for yourself wasn’t even cutting it anymore. You stood up with a frustrated sigh, gathering your things to put away. "I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than ever give you that impression." You snatched your pen from his grasp.

Riki blinked, taken aback for half a second. Then he started laughing. Full-bodied, head-thrown-back kind of laugh.

"You’re seriously unhinged," he said, grinning as he watched you shove your notebook into your bag. "Like, clinically."

"And you’re seriously delusional if you thought this was a bonding moment," you shot back, slinging your tote over your shoulder. He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms behind his head like he was settling in for a show. "Aw, c’mon. Don’t be like that, you looked so cozy before I got here."

"I was until you got here."

He furrowed his brows, feigning pity and sympathy. "Sorry,"

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly hit the back of your skull. "I swear to God, I would genuinely pay to never see your face again."

"Well…" a new voice cut in smoothly from behind you. Low, warm, like melted honey and clean-cut authority.

You froze.

"…you won’t see much of anything if you two don’t get some sleep soon."

You turned slowly, and sure enough—standing in the moonlight like a poetic warning—was Dr. Yang. Dressed in all black, button-down rolled at the sleeves, coffee in hand, and an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Professor," you breathed, your voice unintentionally softer.

"Didn’t expect to find two of my brightest students sparring after hours," he said, gaze flicking briefly to Riki and then back to you. "You alright?"

Riki, still in the chair like a parasite, answered for you. "She’s fine. We were just chatting."

You gave him a hard side-eye. "Yeah…chatting."

Dr. Yang smiled faintly. It was subtle, but something about it made your stomach dip—like he already knew more than he let on. "Hm. You should head to your dorms. It’s late."

You opened your mouth to respond, but Riki beat you to it again. "She likes the quiet at night. Says it helps her focus."

The way Dr. Yang’s brows lifted just slightly made your ears burn. Riki grinned, clearly enjoying himself.

"I’ll walk you out," your professor said, voice gentle but final.

And for once, Riki had no snarky comeback. He just watched you collect yourself, his smirk softening into something unreadable.

You followed the professor toward the exit, not looking back at all. Though Riki was still there, watching. Watching you follow him like a moth to a flame, dog on a leash. With wide eyes and a gentleness that he felt he could never get out of you. And he watched.

Eyes narrowed. Jaw tight.

And for the first time since the beginning of this interaction, he wasn’t smiling.

—

Riki and you had this unrelenting rivalry going since the beginning of your first year at university. Sharing the same major, it started off as a slight nod of respect. A silent acknowledgment of the hard work you had both put into every assignment. The competition was friendly, nothing intense until you both found that your GPAs were entirely too close. Then the casual ‘hey, how’d you do on the socio exam?’ stopped being out of curiosity and started to be firmly interrogative.

When he showed you his A over your A-, you decided it was war.

To say you were envious of him was an understatement, severely understated. In some strange way, you wanted to be him. You wanted to be attractive. You wanted to be well-liked by your peers. You wanted to get the invites to the parties and have a boatload of friends. You wished that you could study for like thirty minutes a day then just ace everything.

But fortunately, you weren’t ugly at all. But every part of you felt so. You didn’t wear amazing clothes, usually opting for the hoodie and jeans or shorts. A cute, form-fitting long sleeve on a good day. Guys never looked at you. Not that you equated your worth to the attention you got from men. But sometimes you wouldn’t mind if a guy stopped you, if you got a double-take even. You wore light makeup, finding it cute but far too lazy to commit to a full beat. You idolized and respected the people that did though because you never thought you could. Feeling like a fish out of water when you would look in the mirror. So blush, mascara, and some lip gloss is your go-to! 

You had no friends. With all—if not most—of your time spent locked in the library or dorm. The social life that you promised yourself upon high school graduation just hadn’t found you yet. You hated crowds and your social battery depleted quickly, still you tried and tried to make friends. Going to club fairs and following classmates on social media didn’t help—they never followed back. Going out to bars that your classmates frequented in hopes of befriending someone all fell through as well. Every random person you approached looked at you like you were something on the bottom of their shoe. Like you were crazy for even trying to talk to them. But of course, Riki didn’t have any of these issues. He commanded every room he walked into with minimal effort. Riki was bewitching. Guys and girls either wanted to be with him or be him—shit, maybe both. Nonetheless, he was funny, outgoing, ingenious, and just such an interesting person. 

To everyone else. 

He made fun of you, picked on you, patronized you, ensured that no matter what he never let you win. He never gave you the one-up nor did he let you live it down when something of his turned out better than whatever you did.  You resented him and hoped that with every part of you that he would either drop dead or fail at something entirely so you could finally rub it in his face. Just once. Even with that, you hated that he was the only person you interacted with on this campus. Yet somehow you didn’t want to let it go considering that he was the closest, yet furthest thing you had to a friend here.

Riki was all you had.

—

Every Monday and Thursday, you had your Theology 101 class with Professor Jungwon Yang. You didn’t care for Religious Studies that much but your school required it for some reason. Something about them wanting its students to be well-rounded which, fair enough? You show up to class early like usual, around twenty minutes. It gives you time to settle in and make some progress on some miscellaneous things for other classes. But just as you were typing up an outline for your Media Ethics paper, a sudden voice broke through the silence.

"Oh—you’re early!"

You startled so hard your laptop nearly slid off the desk. Looking up, your eyes locked with said Professor.

"Jesus—" you hissed, then immediately regretted the blasphemy. "Sorry. I mean. Not literally."

He laughed—an easy, bright sound that didn’t feel professorly at all. "You’re fine. Though I should dock your participation points for that." He jokes.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

Dr. Yang was young—too young to be teaching undergrad theology without causing minor distractions every lecture. Word on campus was he’d graduated with a doctorate at twenty-five and took up this adjunct position "just for the experience," like it was a part-time internship. He always dressed sharp but casual—sweaters layered over button-downs, wire-framed glasses that somehow made him more intimidating, not less. He had the kind of face that belonged in a student catalog. 

Unfair.

"Anyway," he continued, setting his bag on the desk. "What are you working on?"

You paused. "A paper for my media class."

"You’re a comms major, right?"

You blinked. "You…remember that?"

"I remember most things," he replied, like it was no big deal. "Your essays always have a strong tone. Confident. A little sarcastic. I like that."

Your face went warm. Not blushing, obviously—you were way too emotionally detached for that. But warm.

He leaned back against the podium, arms crossed. "If you ever want to do your final paper on religious media or spiritual commodification, let me know. It’d be an interesting lens. And I think you’d kill it."

You blinked. Twice.

"Thanks," you said, suddenly feeling like you forgot how to blink altogether.

He smiled as he nodded gently, "Class starts in fifteen. Don’t let me keep you." He circles his desk as he takes a seat, soaking in the silence and tapping of your keyboard echoing throughout the room. 

It was nice actually, the quiet of the room. Never in your life have you ever really felt fully comfortable in the presence of another person. Not even your own mother. 

He’s calm, quiet, knows when to shut up (thankfully), and Dr. Yang being around…doesn’t bother you. You don’t feel antsy, squeamish, repulsed, or irritated at him being in the same room as you. 

But of course, you never know peace for long. Go figure!

"Dr. Yang! I brought your favorite," Riki’s voice rang out like a curse echoing through a cathedral as he strutted into the room holding iced coffees both hands.

You didn’t even look up. You already knew. Of course he was holding your favorite drink.

Dr. Yang looked up, slightly amused. "You remembered my order?"

"Nah, I guessed," Riki grinned. "But if it’s right, then I’m just that good."

Yang raised a brow. "I don’t usually take bribes before midterms."

"No bribe." Riki shook his head with a gentle smile.

You wanted to scream. Or cry. Or throw your laptop at his face, if we’re being honest.

"Also," Riki added, walking right past you to the row behind and tapping your chair with his foot, "they were out of your basic vanilla syrup, so I made an executive decision and got you hazelnut."

Your eye twitched. "I didn’t ask for anything."

"I know. That’s what makes me so generous." He plopped down in the chair behind you and leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded arms. "You still mad about the pen thing?"

You didn’t respond.

Dr. Yang quickly spoke up, trying to fill the silence as he sensed your discomfort. "Mr. Nishimura, I’m happy you’re joining us a little early." He smiled as he stood and started to write the date on the whiteboard in preparation for the lecture.

"Good habits," Riki said, tossing his bag down just next to his feet. "Gotta keep up with the competition, y’know?"

You didn’t look at him, but you knew he was staring. That smug grin practically burned itself into your peripheral vision.

Dr. Yang smiled, oblivious to the landmine he just stepped over. "I didn’t know you two were competitive."

You both answered at the same time.

"She’s obsessed with winning."

 "He’s annoying on purpose."

There was a beat of silence before Jungwon let out a small laugh. "Right. Well, maybe a little healthy rivalry will do you both good."

You rolled your eyes. Riki just smirked.

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of smug comfort. "Some people work well under pressure. Others…get snippy."

You finally turned to glance at him, just for a second. "And some people mistake being tolerated for being wanted."

He mock-gasped. "That was a little rude. Professor, are we allowed to verbally assault each other before class starts?"

Jungwon didn’t even look up from the notes he was scribbling. "Only if it’s educational."

You pressed your lips together, suppressing a smile. Damn him for being witty.

Riki, still unfazed, leaned forward again and lowered his voice just for you. "I also told the barista your name was ‘raging nuisance.’ She wrote it on the cup and everything."

You turned slightly in your seat, expression flat. "I hope they spelled ‘annoying narcissist’ instead."

"Oh, they didn’t have enough room." He shook his head as he pursed his lips to keep himself from laughing.

You hated how easily he made you want to laugh. It was infuriating. You hated it even more that Jungwon was watching now, with that little curious crease between his brows like he was trying to figure out if this was flirting or warfare.

—

Class had ended five minutes ago, but you were still in the lecture hall, hovering awkwardly at the front while Dr. Yang packed up his laptop and notes.

He glanced up, surprised but not unkind. "Everything okay?"

You cleared your throat. "Yeah. I just…I wanted to ask if I could take you up on that religious media idea? For the final."

He perked up a little. "You serious?"

You nodded, arms crossed tight over your chest like you were keeping your organs from spilling out. "Yeah. I think it’d be interesting to look into faith-based marketing, especially in, like, TV or influencer culture. Plus, you said it’d be a strong angle. So…"

He smiled—just a little, enough to make your stomach twist in that annoying way. "Well, I stand by that. You’d do it justice."

You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating. "Also…is there any extra credit I can do?"

That made him pause. "Extra credit? You’re stellar as is."

You nodded. "Not because I’m failing or anything," you added quickly, waving your hands. "I just want to buffer my grade. Just in case. You know. If something crazy happens. Like if, I don’t know, the guy who ruins my life recreationally decides to make me fail through psychic sabotage."

Dr. Yang blinked. "You want an assignment…to help you prepare for another assignment that’s not for two months?"

You hesitated. "…Yes?"

He huffed a laugh under his breath, rubbing his forehead. "You really are a comms major."

You shake your head, tasting the self-deprecation. "No, I’m just me."

"You’re just anxious," he corrected gently, though not unkindly. "But alright. How about this—bring me three examples of religious commodification in media by next class. Ads, shows, music videos, whatever. Annotate them briefly. If you do that, I’ll knock off your lowest quiz grade."

Your heart sank. "My lowest grade is an A."

He blinked. "...Okay?"

"So that doesn’t help me."

Dr. Yang looked at you for a second, then slowly set down his coffee. "Are you asking for extra credit on top of your already perfect grade?"

You hesitated. "No?"

He stared.

"…Yes."

There was a long pause. You stared at each other, the air thick with silent judgment—most of it coming from him.

"I’m gonna say something, and I need you to promise you won’t take it personally," he said finally.

You braced yourself.

"You’re insufferable."

You frowned a little, clutching your chest but still trying to stifle a laugh. "That’s not very nice of a Theology professor."

He smiles, "God forgives." He points at you, "I, however, am still working on it."

"So what do I do in the meantime?"

He smirks, folding his arms. "Do the assignment. Consider it a bonus...for your own amusement."

You raise an eyebrow. "So, like extra credit...but with zero reward?"

He shrugs. "Exactly. Just the satisfaction of knowing you could win at everything, if you wanted to."

Oh, this lit a fire in the pit of your stomach. "Thanks, Dr. Yang." You stood with a smile. "Hopefully this will be as enriching as you say."

"It should," he sighed. "I think it’s fun. Y’know? Something people your age should be having?"

You roll your eyes, "I should’ve taken the philosophy requirement instead." Walking away with a small laugh, you wave at him.

He calls out after you, "Then you’d be anxious and confused." 

He’s absolutely correct.

But you don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, just for the fun. To humor him. You leave the room with a smile, glad that he gave you something fun to think about. 

—

You turned the corner out of the lecture hall with that small smile on your lips and that funny feeling in your stomach.

Your fun little banter with Dr. Yang was always enjoyable, fun, super casual and it was nice to have an interaction with someone other than your stuffed animals and the beanpole that likes to nag you every chance he gets. 

It’s fucked up really, everytime you think about him, he just pops up. 

You make a right out of this hallway and suddenly clash into a lean figure. Your bag hits the wall closely on your right. Like a pinball hitting the walls in the machine. But lucky you, Riki huffs out a small laugh as he moves his hands up, holding your biceps as he walks you to stability against the wall. "Mmm…" He hummed, "let’s watch where we’re going." As if he wasn’t waiting there for you, hoping you ran into him. 

You nudged him off of you, "You did that on purpose, Riki." You sighed as you brush the residue of his hands off of you. 

He smiled down at you, then held up a brown paper bag. The same one he had earlier from the café that he either just got for himself or never gave to you. "Muffin for my muffin?"

Any other time, this would be cute. This is cute. This honestly just felt like another instance of him just being weird. He never took anything seriously, not your time, patience, or anything. And you don’t expect him to.

"Kick rocks," You scoff as you start walking toward the exit. 

"You’re welcome," Riki calls after you, jogging a few steps to catch up, the paper bag still in hand like he’s delivering a peace treaty.

You ignore him, pushing open the exit door with enough force that it slaps the frame behind you. You should’ve kept walking. You wanted to keep walking. But of course, he follows.

"It’s banana walnut," he says, a little sing-songy. "That’s your favorite, right? Or is it just the one you pretend to like when you’re trying to seem quirky and approachable to baristas?"

You stop walking.

He bumps into you again.

This time, you don’t shove him. You turn—slowly, dramatically, and with the kind of death-glare that could reduce lesser men to ashes. Fortunately, Riki doesn’t waver. "You were smiling on your way from class. Why?"

Your brows furrow, "I wasn’t smiling and if I was, it has nothing to do with you. Just like I want nothing to do with you." You throw your hands up flippantly. 

The same smile stays on his face as he shoves the bagged muffin into your hand. "Yeah, I don’t actually care." His tone mellows out to one more straight-foward and blunt. "But I did find you to make you aware that I will be applying for the summer internship. You know, the same one you’re applying for? The one that now that you have no chance of getting as long as I’m alive?" He tilts his head as the smile settles into the patronizing one you were oh-so-familiar with.

Your university had an internship promise for all students due to its very strong programs and alumni network. With this, business students (like yourself and Riki) were already a shoo-in for solid jobs and careers upon graduation. 

But this is the thing, there are always internship opportunities because there are thousands of students. Meaning that there are hundreds to thousands of internships. 

Yet, of course, Riki just wants to take this one. 

"I’m not applying for an internship this summer," you crossed your arms as you feigned indifference. Maybe having him think you didn’t would somehow wane his unshakeable tenacity. 

He saw through you though, "You are." He nodded, "The consulting group one. You don’t have to lie, I overheard you talking to your mommy about it last week." 

Every summer, your school works closely with consulting groups where they choose one student from each business college within the university (there only being three separate colleges) to fly to a major city to work on real-world business cases for Fortune 500 companies.

While like any other internship, it’s a great way to gain experience and network—however it is extremely competitive. Out of the thousands of students in this pool, only three are chosen. You had been super excited about this opportunity considering you are a Communications major—ironically enough given that you don’t know how to communicate with anyone—and you truly do want to have this chance to get your name out there. To dip your toes into this career path. 

But naturally, Riki didn’t find appeal in those. He wanted yours. Because really, why not?

"Can’t you just apply for all of the other dozens?" You turn, trying to get ahead to the dining hall for your lunch. A nice, greasy batch of french fries really sounded up your alley today. "It’s not like you’d lose them."

He followed in step with you. "So by that logic, I should apply for this one. Because I wouldn’t lose." He smiled, biting his lip dreamily as he looked up in the air at the trees. "I mean, really think about it. What’s the score now? Riki, a million and one. You, zero?"

You hadn’t looked at him since you started walking and you definitely weren’t going to look at him now. That familiar twist in your stomach, the burning sensation right at the bottom. You had known it all too well and you didn’t miss it.

"Now that I think of it, you’re not good at anything, really." He shook his head thoughtfully. "Though you were right about one thing. You can’t compete where you don’t compare." Riki grabbed your arm to stop you forcefully, ensuring you looked him dead in the eye. "But you weren’t talking about me." 

"I don’t know when you’ll learn, sweetheart. But in case those books you read hadn’t exactly informed you well enough, then I will." The smile he once had is now extinct. "Quit while you’re ahead. Wait—" he stopped for a beat as he looked down, feigning thought. "You’re not even ahead!" He let out a semblance of a laugh. "And you never will be. So just save yourself the heartache, go hole back up in that dorm. Bury yourself into those cute little romance books just wishing for the love you’ll never have and forget about it." The distance between you two had gotten smaller than you could comprehend. And conveniently barely anyone was around either. Everyone either in the classroom buildings or somewhere else. Some stragglers running amok, most likely late for classes.

But in this position, it didn’t even matter. You could be in a sea of people and still feel as vulnerable as if you were in the wilderness. Riki’s eyes weren’t teasing, weren’t funny, weren’t cool. 

His eyes held pure venom. Just disgust and repugnance, and that had no place on a face like his.

You blink, once, slowly. Like your brain’s buffering because surely he didn’t just say all that to your face.

But he did. And now he’s looking at you like he’s proud of it. Like he’s already won.

For a second, you wonder if he has.

Because yeah, maybe your confidence is stitched together by duct tape and quiet desperation. Maybe your hands are clammy, your throat’s tight, and your eyes are starting to sting like they always do when you’re angry but can’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.You looked over his shoulder, at the bark of a tree because you simply couldn’t dare to look at him without so much as bursting into tears. Because you know it just like he does, you’re not confident. You don’t measure up to him. In anything. And in a perfect story where you’re supposed to be the badass that has this amazing comeback and he sits there, gobsmacked and ready to tongue you down, this just isn’t the case. 

You are weak. You froze.

Smart people like you are a dime a dozen.

Intelligent, brilliant people like him are once in a lifetime.

So you do nothing.

You don’t shove him. You don’t scream. You don’t drop a monologue that sends the birds scattering.

You just stand there. Breathing too hard, blinking too fast.

And Riki knows it. Of course he does. That’s why he’s still staring at you with that smug little expression, like this is just another check on his running list of victories. Like he already knows how this ends. He walks away, you crumble, and the world spins on its axis. Business as usual.

But the thing is—you’re not mad at him. Not really.

You’re mad at yourself.

Because even after everything, some traitorous part of you still wanted him to be wrong. Still wanted him to look at you like you were a challenge. A threat. Like you were someone worth worrying about.

Instead, he looks at you like you’re predictable.

And maybe that’s worse than hate. Maybe it’s worse than anything.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. Try to breathe through your nose, like the therapist you stopped seeing after two sessions told you. It doesn’t work. Nothing works.

Because Riki’s right.

And you hate that. God, you hate it. The way he always seems to know what he’s doing, what he wants, who he is. And the worst part is? He’s probably not even trying. He’s probably not even thinking about you anymore.

You tighten your grip around the muffin, its paper wrap crinkling beneath your fingers like your composure.

So he smiles gently, sadistically at your now cowered demeanor. He snatched the muffin out of your hand. "You weren’t gonna eat it anyway, right?"

Your eyes finally moved, looking down at the concrete you stood on just as he let you go. 

He noticed your expression, how defeated and distant your irises were beyond what he could see. So he crouched a little, still as patronizing as ever. "I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings." Pouting as he gently moved your face to look at him. Thumb caressing the flesh of your scorching hot cheek. So delicate, like if he put even the smallest bit more pressure he would put a dent in you. "Someone’s gotta tell you the truth. It’s not like you have anyone else to do it…"

Oh, fuck him. You thought.

"I’m just looking out for you, hm?" He let go just as easily. "Same time tomorrow?" He waved as he rubbed your shoulder, wandering off to God knows where as you stood there. Burning, aching, and barely able to stand the sight of yourself.

—

Dr. Yang’s office is warm. On the fourth floor, tucked in at the very end of the hallway. The type of offices you see in movies or create in your imagination from books. His desk was in the middle, right behind it was an expansive recessed bookshelf with media from 1984 to Cold War textbooks to Wuthering Heights. For some reason it was very earthy, everything was made of strong, sturdy wood and he always got just the right amount of sunlight.

You knock, just lightly enough not to scare him. 

He’s leaning over a stack of papers, glasses slipped to the tip of his nose. "Office hours miracle?" he asks, smiling when he sees you. "Come in."

You slid in and closed the door back behind you. "Hey, sorry to bother y—"

Dr. Yang immediately shook his head. "You’re not bothering me. You’ve never even been here before. Sit, sit." He nodded to the chair in front of the desk encouragingly. "What’s up?" Sitting down smoothly, you pull out a notebook, flipping it open to a page cluttered with highlighter scribbles and sideways questions. "It’s about the assignment," you say, tapping the corner of the page. "The first paper? I swear I read the prompt like…six times. And I’m still not sure I’m doing it right."

Dr. Yang smiles, easy. "That’s a promising start. Confusion means you’re thinking."

You raise a brow. "That sounds like something people say right before you fail."

He laughs—warm, unbothered. "Maybe. But it also means you’re trying to find the right angle, not just the easy one. Let me see."

You pass him your notebook and he scans it, nodding slowly. "You’re writing about digital spaces and moral identity?"

You nod. "Yeah. Like, how people perform goodness online. But it’s so abstract that every time I try to put it into a thesis, it feels fake-deep or pretentious."

"Fake-deep," he repeats, amused. "I should make that a grading category."

You smirk faintly, despite yourself.

He leans back in his chair, setting the notebook on the desk. "Here’s the thing—you’re asking big questions. That’s not a flaw at all. It’s direction, if anything. The key is narrowing it without dumbing your words down."

You shift in your seat, chewing your bottom lip. "I just don’t want it to sound like I’m pointing fingers. Or worse, like I don’t even know what I’m talking about."

He tilts his head, considering you. "May I ask something?"

"Sure."

"What made you afraid of sounding unsure?"

You blink. The question hangs in the air, soft but weighted.

"I don’t know," you lie. Instinctively. Because saying his name out loud makes your skin crawl. And you’re not ready—not here, not yet.

Dr. Yang doesn’t push. He just nods, like he heard what you didn’t say. "Well. You’re allowed to sound unsure in a draft. That’s where you figure things out. It’s part of the process."

You look down at your hands, fingers still curled around the edge of the notebook. "Okay."

"Also," he adds gently, "I hope you know it’s okay to be a little lost. That’s kind of the point of college…and life itself."

You let out a shaky laugh. "You sound like a fortune cookie."

"A well-read one," he says. "Want help outlining it? Or would that ruin the illusion of academic suffering?"

You smile, a little crooked. "Honestly? I could use the help."

He grabs a pen. "Great. Let’s de-suffer this together."

And just like that, it’s easier to breathe. The weight on your chest isn’t gone, not by a long shot—but it shifts. Just enough to remind you: there are still places in the world that feel soft. That don’t ask you to be clever or composed. Just you.

And maybe, slowly, that’s where you’ll start.

—

After a solid hour of brainstorming and bouncing off of each other, you and Dr. Yang had actually slowly let go of the outline. At this point, you had finished it seeing as you had quickly begun to understand the topic. The young professor was actually great at explaining things without making you feel like an idiot or silly for being confused. Now, you two were chatting about everything and nothing, mild debates over books. Movies. Who knew that he actually enjoyed hate-watching fanfic movies?

"Okay wait no, The QB and Me wasn’t even that bad, though." You smiled as you pointed at him, chewing on the snacks that he offered you. Gladly, he munched on some with you to not make you feel lonely while eating. Which is always fun.

He smiles, amused. "Just hearing the ‘I’m so sick of your main character energy’ line from the best friend was enough to make me want to off myself." 

You’re currently sitting on the brown leather couch that smelled of cologne. The material was slightly worn but for some reason, couches like this always felt the best. You could tell he definitely slept on this couch more often than not. "No, I won’t lie, the best friend did piss me off at some points. Like girl, we get that you got denied from Princeton but your friend also broke up with a guy she really liked. Sorry she didn’t just jump to your aid when she was already hurting?" You ranted, and honestly, this was the most you’ve ever spoken to someone about something this niche in a very long time.

"It’s not even that," he waved his hand as he tried to muffle his laugh. "The fact that at the party they went to, she left Dallas there knowing she was drinking. Then!" He sighed dramatically. "Hear me out, she left with the main guy’s brother. My thing is, you knew she was drinking so why didn’t you at least make sure she was good before you left?" He shrugged with irritation in his eyes. "Could’ve dropped her at home on the way to wherever y’all were going. Or could’ve had the main guy keep an eye on her and ensure he took her home, like this is your best friend!" 

You’re giggling into the sleeve of your hoodie now, half from the sugar rush and half from how serious he sounds about this plot hole. "Bro, she did not care. At all."

"I was actually rooting for their friendship more than the romance," he says with a thoughtful look. "Because I love a meaningful friendship arc. But when she just started to be weird then she lost me. And I’m usually forgiving. That’s a work in progress."

You laugh into your sleeve again, the sound bubbling out of you without resistance. It’s strange—how natural this feels. Like the conversation has been happening for years instead of just an hour. No pressure, no grades, no expectations. Just two nerds slandering messy fictional girls.

Eventually, your laughter fades into a smile. The room settles into something softer, more open.

Jungwon leans back on the couch, tilting his head toward you. "I’m really glad you came today," he says, voice quiet but clear. "I hope I was able to help you with what you needed."

You nod, returning the smile. "Yeah. I feel a lot better about the outline. And…everything."

A beat passes. He glances at you again.

"You can call me Jungwon, by the way," he says, casual but intentional. "If you want."

You blink, surprised for a second—but then something settles in your chest. It feels like a trust fall you didn’t know you were invited to. "Jungwon?"

He nods, waving you off with a casual expression. "Yeah, I mean—I’m not really one for formalities."

"…Okay. Jungwon." You say it slowly, like tasting something new. "Thanks."

He looks like he might say something else—but instead just gives a soft, content nod.

—

When you’re standing up to leave, hoodie sleeves pulled over your wrists and your bag hanging off one shoulder, you pause near the door.

"Thanks for walking me out that night," you say, voice gentler than you intend. "At the library. I know it was late."

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, clearly remembering. "Of course. You looked like you needed an out."

You hum. "Yeah. Riki was…being Riki."

He eyes you carefully now. "What’s going on between you two, anyway?" he asks, lightly. "You a thing? Like slow-burn enemies-to-lovers or something?"

You scrunch your nose immediately. "What? No. Definitely not. I think you’re the one who reads too many books."

He smirks. "Didn’t even hesitate."

You shrug, trying not to reveal too much. "Riki’s not…a very nice person?" You adjust your bag on your shoulder. "I don’t know, he just…can be very weird sometimes."

Jungwon furrows his brows as he crosses his arms, leaning against his desk. Something he tends to do but you noticed this is his analytical stance. "Weird, how?"

"Like…" you look up in thought as you tilt your head, trying to turn those cogs in your brain. "Riki and I aren’t friends. He thoroughly enjoys making my life even more difficult than it is. But I think he knows the power he has over me and really isn’t afraid to make me aware of it." 

Jungwon’s brows lift slightly, arms still crossed. "That’s…a lot," he says carefully. "The ‘power he has over you’ part—what does that mean?"

You blink, suddenly aware of how much you just gave away. The words had spilled out too fast, too unfiltered, like a truth you didn’t mean to say out loud.

You let out a dry laugh, trying to wave it off. "I mean, not like…real power. He’s just annoying. Egocentric. He knows how to get under my skin, that’s all."

Jungwon doesn’t look convinced. "Still sounds like someone who’s in your head a lot."

You glance toward the floor. "Unfortunately."

There’s a quiet pause. Not awkward, but a bit tense rather. He watches you a second longer, eyes thoughtful but not judging. Just trying to understand. "Just—be careful with people like that, okay?" he says softly. "Competition can go south very quickly. I’d hate for you to lose yourself in something like that." He stops himself. Doesn’t want to overstep.

You nod slowly. "I know."

Jungwon pushes off the desk and walks over to the door, opening it again for you. "You don’t deserve that type of worry," he says casually, almost like a passing thought. "Friend or foe. But if it ever gets to be too much, my email and office are at your disposal always."

You manage a small smile. "Thanks, Jungwon."

He gives a half-smile back. "Anytime." He nods, his smile now expanding. "And tell Dallas we deserved better."

You snort, shaking your head as you step into the hallway. "You’re never letting that go, huh?"

He shrugs, still grinning. "I’d sooner die."

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, but the words—and the warmth of them—linger. You tuck that somewhere deep, somewhere safe.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t feel like you’re walking away from something heavy. You feel like you might’ve left a little of it behind.

—

Since you and Jungwon’s fun ‘office hours-turned-hangout’ last week, he’s been thinking. 

Like really thinking. 

He prides himself on being very observant and someone that can truly read people. So as he stepped into class today, he was going to do that. He was going to do more of that. He was going to really try to understand what you meant exactly by weird. Because somehow it felt like every answer you gave was something that you couldn’t exactly describe. Something you had to just see for yourself. "Hey guys," he smiled as he entered the lecture hall. You and your fellow classmates all chorused some greetings. ‘Hi’ ‘Good morning’ ‘Hello’ all heard from throughout the room. 

Jungwon surveyed the room after he set his stuff down. Acting as if he was noting attendance but he was really trying to find you and the guy whose name seemed to send you over the edge—not in a good way. You were always easy to spot because you always occupied the same seat. Or at least a seat in the general area so he never had to look too far. And low and behold, there was Riki. Sat directly behind. He never seemed to be far from you. 

Jungwon’s gaze lingered just a moment longer than necessary before your shy little smile caught his attention. A barely-there wave, hand lifting just off the desk, like it was meant for no one to notice. A soft Hi mouthed across the room.

He smiled back.

Jungwon kept his expression casual as he started the lecture. But his brain? Fully elsewhere. Yet his subconscious just knew the material. It was like he was on auto-pilot. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting to see—but this? This dance? The barely-there glances and stilted body language? It wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t hate either. It was…something uncomfortable. Intimate. Sharp like a paper cut.

Throughout the lecture, Jungwon would make a joke or pose a question, and you’d smile or laugh—and Riki would react. Not directly. Not outwardly. But there was a flicker of something behind his eyes every time you were pulled into someone else’s orbit.

Possessiveness? No. Not quite.

Awareness. He could work with awareness.

At one point, Jungwon asked a discussion question. The room went silent. You didn’t raise your hand, but Riki did. Voice calm, confident, and direct.

Jungwon watched you react to that. A blink. A shift. The faintest look toward him like you were waiting for a punchline.

But Riki didn’t look at you. Not even once. Which almost made it worse. Like he didn’t have to.

By the time class ended, Jungwon had filled three mental pages with observations he wasn’t sure what to do with. He wasn’t trying to meddle. Wasn’t even sure if he could. But he’d seen enough to know something wasn’t sitting right.

So as students packed up, he walked to his desk and clicked his pen closed. Then, for no reason at all, his gaze flicked back to Riki. And Riki was already looking at him.

—

The last backpack zips, chatter fades, doors clap shut. Jungwon closes his laptop but keeps his eyes on the tall kid who’s still lounging like the room’s a private suite. "Mr. Nishimura—got a sec?"

Riki pauses mid-scroll, thumb hovering over whatever meme he’s pretending to be enthralled in. "Sure, Professor."

The casual swagger is turned up to eleven, but Jungwon’s already perceived the tension hiding in his shoulders. He motions to the front row. "Sit."

Riki drops into the seat, a smirk ready-made. "What’s up? You wanna roast my paper, too?"

"Your paper’s fine. This is…different." Jungwon folds his arms, leaning on the desk. "I’ve noticed you and her have a lively…dynamic."

Riki’s grin wobbles one millimeter. "Dynamic. Nice word."

"Of course," Jungwon deadpans. "Listen, healthy competition is great. But when one person looks ready to bolt every time the other walks in? That’s not just rivalry."

Riki shrugs—classic slow roll of broad shoulders. "She and I mess with each other. It’s mutual."

"Is it mutual when she’s gripping the edge of her desk like a life preserver?"

Silence. A muscle jumps in Riki’s jaw.

Jungwon softens his voice. "I’m not here to police friendships. But I am responsible for how my students treat each other in my space. And I care about her well-being. I hope you know the same would apply if it was the other way around."

Something flickers in Riki’s eyes—gone before Jungwon can name it. Guilt? Offense? Both? "She’s tough," Riki says finally, quieter than before. "She’s fine."

"Maybe. It still doesn’t hurt to be considerate."

Riki exhales through his nose, gaze sliding to the classroom door. "You done, sir?"

"For now." Jungwon straightens, giving him an out. "Just think about what I said."

Riki stands, slings his bag over one shoulder. "Thinking’s dangerous."

Jungwon smiles slightly. "I’ll take my chances."

Riki huffs a laugh—more breath than sound—then heads for the exit. Jungwon watches, filing away every micro-expression for later. He isn’t sure he got through, but at least a seed’s been planted.

— Later that day—

You knocked on Jungwon’s door, waiting for his permission to enter. As you heard it, you poked your head through the door. "Hi," you smiled. "Are you busy?"

Jungwon slightly closed his laptop as a way to let you know you had his attention. "No, what’s up?" For some reason, seeing your face warmed him. He couldn’t explain the feeling.

"Nothing, I was just wondering if I could chill here? I still have a ton of things to do and I don’t wanna go to the library beca—" You ranted frantically but he held up his hand to interrupt you. "Please, you don’t need an excuse to come here. It’s okay, you’re my friend." He nodded as he eyed you warmly. "Make yourself comfortable."

Somehow, hearing the word ‘friend’ sent something warm through you too. Stepping through the door and closing it behind you, you sat down on that brown leather couch. "Thanks, um…so do you have any classes or are you done for the day?" You took your laptop out of your bag and opened it, waiting for it to power on. 

"With classes, yeah. But I have a meeting in like ten minutes." He said, eyes locked in on his own stuff. 

You frowned, feeling like you were in the way. "Wait—then I can just go or come back later—"

He laughed a little, "If I didn’t want you here I would’ve said so. It’s just a department meeting." Again, waving you off.

"I don’t wanna be an impudence, you know? I can just go then come back after."

Jungwon tilted his head as he looked at you. "Are you gonna steal or break anything?" He muffled a laugh as he asked baseless questions.

Your brows furrowed, "No,"

He shrugged, "Okay, I trust you. It’s not a big deal."

You nodded silently, ultimately deciding not to fight him on this as you retreated back to your laptop. Working on some assignments and today’s Wordle.

Though as things fell into a silence, you looked up to see him gathering his things. 

He slipped on his adorable blue sweater-vest and tossed a couple of papers into a folder before sliding it into his bag. 

"You sure you don’t mind me being here?" you asked again, quieter this time.

Jungwon looked over his shoulder at you as he adjusted the strap on his bag. "It’s no sweat,"

You shrugged, sheepish. "I just don’t wanna overstep."

He walked toward the door but paused before opening it. "You won’t. Seriously."

You offered a small smile, and he smiled back before pointing at you like he was making a very official declaration. "Don’t burn the place down. You know where the snacks are. There’s a blanket in the cabinet. Water is in the fridge but you can have whatever. And if anyone asks, I did not leave you unattended."

You snorted. "What kind of things do you think I get up to?"

"I’ve seen the way you rage at your laptop," he teased. "I don’t trust that thing’s lifespan."

You opened your mouth, offended. "Wordle betrayed me the last time!"

"Mhm," he hummed, already opening the door. "If my office’s on fire when I get back, I’m blaming Wordle."

"Tell your department it was worth it," you called after him, watching as he disappeared down the hall.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward. Just peaceful. You took a deep breath, leaning back against the couch, the glow of your laptop illuminating your face.

But you closed it, figuring that you just weren’t in the mood for your history assignment. It wasn’t due for another three weeks anyway. You slipped it back into your bag and stood up, as now you could finally get a feel for Jungwon’s space now that he was absent. You started with the walls, inspecting them but not touching anything out of fear that a sudden clumsiness would overcome you. Like any other professor, he had his degrees on display. Bachelor of Arts and Master of Arts, then Doctor of Philosophy. All under thirty, how did he do it? You wonder. Or maybe it may very well be possible, you didn’t know the first thing about graduate school at this juncture.

But none of the things on the wall seemed entirely too personal. Besides the degrees, there were cute paintings—one he had done himself and another one that he seemed to have bought. But the real magic was in the bookshelf. The enormous recessed bookshelf that took up the entire wall was made of media spanning a myriad of genres, authors, topics. From Hughes, Dickinson, Orwell, to Vonnegut. To sci-fi, horror, nonfiction, romance, contemporary, etc. He even had textbooks with the sticky tabs and annotation stickers in them. Multiple to one page. 

To which it wasn’t like any of this didn’t make sense. As established, Jungwon was an academic and the thing about academics is that they don’t like to be wrong in anything. That if they find that there is something they don’t know then they do everything in their power to know everything there is to know about that topic. That seemed to be the case here. It was either that or they’re especially skilled in a subject matter and fall short in literally everything else.

Out of curiosity, your eyes fell on The Souls of Black Folk and you plucked it off the shelf. With a content sigh, you go back to the couch and make yourself comfortable. Lying down on the cushion, the leather rubbing together and giving way beneath your weight—you rested your head on a soft throw pillow and opened the book to sink your teeth into it. Of Our Spiritual Strivings. For the next twenty minutes you flipped through the pages, digesting the heavy content but nonetheless—enjoying the serenity that comes with Jungwon’s space. 

Everything about him was just so calming and forgiving. Whether he was here or not, Jungwon ensured that you were safe no matter what. Not just physically but emotionally and really it felt nice to finally have someone in a place where you felt like you didn’t belong. You heard fidgeting at the doorknob and sat up with a slight smile, gosh—you felt like a fucking dog. You put the book down in your lap and quickly…fixed your hair?

But on the other side of the door, came in a slightly taller guy. The feline, the panther you were all too familiar with and you had never felt your mood deflate so hastily. "Hey, Dr. Yang, I was won—oh…"

Riki stood in the doorway, hand still on the knob, blinking at the sight of you curled up on Jungwon’s couch like you belonged there. His brows lifted, and something unreadable flickered across his face—like he had walked into a room expecting applause and got dead silence instead. "Oh," he repeated, stepping inside anyway. He didn’t bother masking the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. "Didn’t know this was a friends-only zone now."

You sat up straighter, subtly sliding the book off your lap like it hadn’t just become your emotional support paperback. "He’s not here," you said simply. Riki’s gaze dropped to the book as he walked in further. "Yeah, no shit." He tilted his head, surveying the space like he owned stock in it. "Didn’t think I’d find you here though. What’s this? Weekly playdate with your fave professor?"

You narrowed your eyes. "I’m studying."

He glanced at the lax body language, you were sitting up now but clearly from the dent—you were comfortable. Then at the open book. Then back to you, all amusement. "Yeah. Real intense study session you got going on. You highlight with your eyes, huh?" You rolled your eyes, grabbing the throw pillow behind you and tossing it lightly at him. "You’re so annoying."

He caught it easily, holding it against his chest with a mock expression of betrayal. "You wound me. I come in here, innocent, curious, seeking intellectual growth—"

"You were looking for Jungwon."

"Jungwon?" He tilted his head with a shock behind his smile. Laughing—almost maniacally through it. "You’re on a first name basis?" You shrugged, "There’s nothing wrong with making friends with a professor or getting to know people." Playing with the sleeves of your knitted sweater as you avoided his eye contact. But Riki was anything—but he wasn’t stupid. A beat of silence.

"You like him."

Your eyes snapped up, and for a split second, your mouth opened like you were about to fire back something clever—something—but nothing came out.

Riki was already smirking slightly.

"I don’t like him," you said finally, a little too fast, a little too sharp.

He held your gaze like he was testing it for cracks. "Yeah? ‘Cause you look real comfortable for someone who’s just friends with their professor. Got your little pillow fort going, reading Du Bois like you’re about to rock yourself to sleep."

You scoffed. "You act like I broke into his office."

"I wouldn’t put it past you," he said, stepping closer, tossing the pillow gently back onto the couch—your couch now, apparently. "We all know how much of a weird freak you are. You probably write about him in your diary. Sniff his seat. Snort his eraser shavings."

"I don’t like him," you said again, this time slower. Firmer. "He’s nice. That’s it."

Riki nodded, almost like he was accepting that. Almost. "I don’t blame you if you did. He’s good-looking, mature, stable, and kind. Accepting. Which is something you really need more than ever." He snickered toward the end of his statement. "But I think it’s best if you told your boyfriend that I’m no bully." He said, tilting his head as he tried to muffle his frustration. "Sending your new bestie to press me about our friendly little ‘dynamic’ is a fucking cop-out and you know it." He crosses his arms as he peers down at you.

Again, as confused as ever, you shook your head as if it would somehow let loose anything that you may have forgotten. "What are you—I never—"

"Stop fucking lying to me." Riki said firmly as edged closer to the couch. "If me and you have our spats that’s one thing, but siccing a professor on me is low. And I’m sure that you know that by now I can go lower."

This was classic Riki. Conversations with him always started as teasing, maybe a little lighthearted but he never failed to remind you of who he was and who you were. He always flipped the script—started with a smirk, ended with a knife. You stood up slowly from the couch, the book in your lap forgotten, still open on your last page. "I didn’t send anyone after you," you said, voice steady, though your hands were starting to feel too warm. "I don’t even know what you’re talking about."

"Don’t play dumb," Riki snapped, tone just shy of venom. "Yang cornered me after class. Real casual, real calm. Asking me what’s up with you, how I treat you, what our history is. Sounded like a concerned boyfriend trying not to sound like one."

You blinked. "And that automatically means I sent him?"

"Yes," he snapped again, "who else?"

You paused, because…okay, fine. He had a point there. But still.

"I didn’t tell him to do anything," you repeated. "He just—cares. People can care, Riki. Not everyone is out to get you."

"Right," he scoffed. "But I’m the manipulative one, right?"

You didn’t answer. Mostly because you weren’t sure what answer would even matter to him right now. There was silence. A thick, electric kind that made the small office suddenly feel like it had no oxygen.

Then: Riki exhaled through his nose and looked away. "You know what pisses me off?" he muttered. "You say I have power over you, like I’m holding something over your head. But you let me get to you. And I don’t know if it’s because you want me to or because you think I deserve to." He looked at you again, softer this time, but somehow that made it worse. "But either way, you always pretend like I’m the only problem. And you don’t even see how much of a liar that makes you. It’s almost like you get off on it. On me, ‘making your life miserable’ when you invite this."

It was a quiet kind of blow. The kind you don’t dodge because it didn’t come with fire—it came with fact. And the worst part was that you didn’t have a defense. "Look," he put his hands up in concession. "All I’m saying is be careful. We wouldn’t want Dean Park to find out just in case this camaraderie teetered just over the edge of Bible study." He smiles, but like always there was nothing behind it.

"You wouldn’t." You mumbled in disbelief. 

"You don’t know what I would do." He smiled as he tilted his head. "Right?" Riki scans your body language: defensive, slightly worried. Much to his shame—which he doesn’t know if he has any—something horrid, deep-seated loves to see you squirm.

Just the power he exercises over you and stirs something in the pit of his stomach. Something about you cowering under the weight of his gaze ignites a flame somewhere inside of him. He doesn’t even know if he likes you, he just likes the reactions you give him because he knows you don’t have the gumption to really stand up for yourself. 

Huh, so maybe it was improper to blame you.

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Because he was right—at least about some of it. Maybe most of it. You didn’t know anymore. It was like every word from his mouth rewrote the rules of the game you didn’t even realize you were playing. Riki took a slow step forward, like a predator testing the limits of a snare he’d already set. "See," he said, voice low, almost sweet, "it’s not that I want to make your life hell. I don’t wake up thinking, ‘how do I ruin her day today?’" He paused. "Most days."

That grin again. Wolfish.

"But you let me. And I think you like being the victim more than you’d admit. It’s easier, right? To play helpless? To act like you don’t have choices. Like I’m the one who pulls every string when half the time, you hand me the scissors."

You hated that his words sank deep enough to sting. Hated even more that part of you wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or just shame for being so easily read.

"I’m not helpless," you muttered, quiet but firm.

He nodded slowly, eyes glinting. "Prove it."

The challenge hung between you like smoke. But you didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you didn’t know what proving it even meant anymore. So Riki just gave a short, dismissive exhale and backed away again, straightening his hoodie as he nodded in acceptance. "That’s what I thought."

He didn’t look at you when he opened the door this time. Didn’t give you another smirk or threat. Just paused, hand on the knob, and said, "you and your ‘friend’ better keep my name out of your mouth." 

Then he walked right out—closing the door softly in his wake.

—

Not even five minutes later, the door clicked open again.

"Meeting ended early," Jungwon said brightly as he stepped in, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up and his messenger bag slung casually over one shoulder. "Thank God, too. I think if one more person said the word ‘interdisciplinary’ I was gonna—"

He stopped short when he saw you.

Your posture was stiff. Book in your lap, but your hands weren’t turning the pages anymore. You weren’t even looking at it. You were just…sitting. Quiet. Still. Something about the air shifted. Jungwon’s smile dipped, just a little. "Hey," he said more gently now. "You okay?"

You blinked like you’d been underwater. "Huh? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."

"Are you sure?" He moved toward you slowly, setting his bag down. "You look kinda out of it."

You shook your head, trying to wave it off, forcing a laugh. "Just tired. My bad. I think your couch tricked me into feeling too cozy. I think I’m gonna call it a night."

Jungwon didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t argue. Didn’t laugh it off or try to fill the space too quickly. He just studied you for a beat, then walked over—slowly—and crouched by the couch so you were eye-level.

"You sure?" he asked, gently.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t mean to look away, but you did.

Then, quieter: "You don’t have to say what happened. But you don’t have to leave either. Not unless you want to."

You finally looked at him. There was no pressure in his gaze, no pity. Just that same calm, open patience that always felt like an invitation. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was weak—but you didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to be alone.

So instead of grabbing your bag, you let out a breath and nodded. "Okay," you whispered.

Jungwon offered a small smile—barely there. "Good." He stood and moved to the small kettle tucked in the corner. "Chamomile or lemon?"

You closed your eyes for a second. Let your body sink into the couch again.

"Lemon," you said. "Please."

—

He brought two mismatched mugs to you, handing you one like it was sacred. That if you even touched it with the wrong finger it’d burn you. Which is true, it could’ve.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Wanna hear something truly embarrassing?"

You glanced at him, suspicious. "More embarrassing than pretending to be an expert in garbage rom-coms?"

"Tragically, yes."

You gestured grandly. "By all means."

He exhaled, already laughing at himself. "Alright. When I was like thirteen, I went through this huge Greek mythology phase. Like, read every book, watched every documentary, made a family tree of the gods...I was in deep."

You squinted. "That’s not embarrassing. That’s just being a gifted kid with a hyperfixation."

"Wait for it." He held up a hand. "So one day, I decided I wanted to live like a demigod. I carried a plastic sword around the house. Made my mom call me ‘Son of Athena.’ Tried to sneak ambrosia—which was just honey and Gatorade—into my lunchbox."

You choked on your tea. "Stop."

"I even made a Camp Half-Blood bead necklace out of macaroni." His voice cracked from the shame. "And wore it. To school."

You leaned forward, wheezing. "Oh my God, you LARPed?!"

"I trained," he said, dead serious. "In the backyard. My neighbors thought I was a sword-obsessed theater kid."

"Were they wrong?"

He shrugged. "Honestly? They weren’t too far off."

The two of you dissolved into quiet laughter again, and for a second, the tension that had been clawing at your ribs all afternoon just...let go.But when the giggles subsided and your tea had cooled, you finally glanced at him sideways. "Jungwon…"

He looked at you over the rim of his mug. "Hm?"

"I know you pulled Riki aside after class."

A beat. "What…? No."

You didn’t answer. Just raised an eyebrow to communicate that he already knew how. Jungwon sighed, looking almost bashful. "Yeah. I did."

"Please don’t do that again." You sigh as you put the mug on the couch-side table and turn to him with a slight frown.

His eyes snapped to you, surprised.

You tucked your legs up on the couch and turned to face him. "I appreciate you looking out, really. I do. But I don’t need you to defend me. I’m a big girl."

There was a pause. Then a quiet, almost guilty: "I get that. I just…I’m your friend. And—"

"You are my friend," you interrupted softly. "But you’re also our professor."

You saw it in the way the glint in his eyes dimmed, just slightly. Like he hadn’t thought about it that way until right now. He quickly suppressed these feelings. Because after hearing that and the way it made him feel, he started to panic. Just a bit though, he didn’t want to think too much into it.

So he nods curtly, "Yeah. No, yeah. Totally. You’re right, I overstepped. I’m sorry."

You shook your head fervently, "No, you’re good." You put your hand out to rest onto his instantaneously. And neither one of you moved. "You didn’t have any ill intentions at all and that’s fine, I’m not upset. I just didn’t think you would say something to him." Laughing awkwardly, you look down at your lap. Jungwon looked down at your warm hand that covered his own, and it wasn’t until he looked at them that he felt some tingling in his stomach. "I know…I just—you’re genuinely so compassionate…and lovely. No one deserves to be treated the way you are. And I may not have seen exactly what he’s done but I see the way you look around him. Like…your body shrivels up, you feel threatened or something. So I figured that if I’m in the position where I could stop it then…" He sighed as he nodded in understanding. "I wanted to…I just wanted to advocate for you."

You smiled faintly at his words. Small, but sincere. Because even if it stung before, hearing it from him now—so earnestly—it softened something in you.

"I get that," you murmured. "And…thank you. Really. You didn’t have to, but you did."

He let out a breath through his nose, some tension loosening in his shoulders. "It just didn’t sit right with me. The way he talks to you, like he’s always trying to win something. It’s on the cusp of bullying. He’s weaponizing his own strengths against someone he perceives to be inferior. I think it’s improper to not call it what it is."

You didn’t respond to that. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong.

Jungwon caught your silence and added gently, "I’m sorry if I made it worse. I wasn’t trying to step in for you, I just…I wanted him to know someone was paying attention. That somebody cares."

You nodded slowly, thumb brushing absentmindedly against the back of his hand. "I think I needed to hear that more than I realized."

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and it made your heart skip. Not because it was romantic, but because it felt like he saw you. Like he’d been seeing you this whole time, even when you tried so hard to disappear into the background.

For a second, you sat in the quiet, hand in his, both of you absorbing the moment. Then you said, more to yourself than to him, "It’s...hard to accept help when you’re used to feeling like a burden."

He didn’t try to offer some corny fix-it response. Didn’t say "you’re not a burden" or "you should talk to someone." He just gave your hand the lightest squeeze. "Whatever it is, I got you. I won’t do that again unless I feel that there’s serious danger. Mental, physical…you know." Jungwon pursed his lips, showcasing his small dimples. Took everything in you not to poke them.

But you sighed of relief, "Thank you,"

He smiled at you—soft and genuine, the kind of smile that didn’t ask for anything in return. "Of course."

You let your eyes fall to your intertwined hands again, then gave his a gentle squeeze back before slowly pulling away. Not because you wanted to, but because any longer and you were scared of what it might start to mean. Thus, you just started to fill the silence. "You know, I actually had a Greek mythology phase too." 

Jungwon’s brows perked up, "Really?" He leaned back on the couch as he grabbed your mug to pass it to you as he grabbed his. 

Smiling, "Yeah, I watched this entire video on the history of Greek mythology. It was like…from the very beginning with the sun, the moon, all that. Then to like the stories of Arachne and the achilles heel thing." You looked down at your mug, your finger slowly circled the rim of it. "Basically the chronology of it." You sipped the tea, letting it warm your insides.

He smiles, "Arachne? I don’t quite remember that one—"

You perked up, "Oh my gosh, I get to teach the brilliant professor something?" 

Jungwon laughed gently, eyes not leaving you. "I guess so," he sipped his chamomile. "Do tell," 

You adjusted on the couch and put the mug down again. Sitting in the butterfly position on the couch and you hugged one of the throw pillows to your chest. "Okay, so basically Arachne was a very skilled weaver. By the way, there are a few different tellings but I’m just going by Ovid’s—the Roman poet’s—account. Okay wait," You smiled brightly as you started, getting excited as you love to show off your knowledge. But you also felt some sort of catharsis of having someone to listen to you.

"So yes, Arachne was so boastful of her skills as a weaver that she challenged Athena—we all know Athena—to see who could weave the best. So they did and whatever," you waved your hands around as you rambled. "So get this, Athena weaved a tapestry that showcased idiotic mortals like Arachne that dared to challenge the gods. Arachne depicted gods—specifically Zeus, Athena’s dad—abusing mortal women. And she did so beyond well—are you following?" You put your hand out to make sure he was listening.

Jungwon grinned as he leaned in a little, eyes warm with amusement and interest. "Yes ma’am."

You beamed, encouraged. "So Athena was pissed because she saw that for one: Arachne not only outdid her—but also disrespected her and the gods with her tapestry. So she breaks Arachne’s loom, tears her tapestry, and beats her. Arachne—so humiliated—tries to hang herself but Athena stops her. Cursing her and turning her into the first spider."

Jungwon blinked. "Wow…"

"Mhm," You nodded, "This is where people say ‘arachnid’ and ‘arachnophobia’ originate. But in a way, it’s an onus probandi of how those in power treat others that just aren’t on their level. Just the overall politics behind it…"  

He hummed thoughtfully, letting the silence fill with your excitement. "So it wasn’t about arrogance?" Jungwon smiled gently, enjoying your tirade. And while the story itself was dark—seeing you feel fulfilled at getting to recount something you knew felt good enough.

"Actually no," you shook your head, pursing your lips as you tried to mentally unravel. "It’s just more so about the discomfort. Like the dissonance of it. Athena knew what was wrong, but seeing yourself in the mirror isn’t always nice."

He already knew that—all of it. You spotted Metamorphoses tucked between a collection of Yeats and some worn poetry journals on the shelf behind him. But you didn’t call him out. Didn’t ruin the game. Instead, you just let yourself enjoy the way he looked at you like every word out of your mouth was brand new.

It hit you then, quietly, how carefully he was listening. Not out of obligation, or boredom disguised as politeness. He was fully tuned in—not just to the story, but to you. And maybe it was the tea, or the late hour, or the way your hand had still not quite forgotten the shape of his—but the realization made your chest feel a little too full.

So you smiled, softer this time, letting your eyes drop from his face to the spine of that familiar book. You said nothing.

But a part of you—traitorous and stupidly hopeful—filed it away anyway.

—

Riki walked back to his dorm as he’s never felt so sick to his stomach in his life.

Seriously, you like Dr. Yang? Even if you denied it, he could tell. How you were just left unattended in his office, laid up on his couch, a random book on your lap? He saw the tenderness in your eyes, how protective you already were of him. The way you said his name like if you did then all of your prayers would be answered. A part of Riki knew that he had nothing to worry about, you were the student and he was the professor, the educator. As young as he is and as much as he’s accomplished thus far, there’s no way he’d throw all of that away for you. Someone like you.

You were awkward, had low self-esteem, anxious, and only mildly neurotic. Okay, maybe a little more than mild but it was sort of endearing. At least to Riki. Actually, what did that fucking dork do to deserve you? Riki’s been here all along. Doing his best to be a friend, he hasn’t been the best but that’s okay! At least you have someone beside yourself.

Sure, Jungwon was cool. Funny, warm, radiant, irritatingly handsome, and everything that anyone could swoon over. He was accomplished and considerate. 

All of the things that Riki was or could be. He just so desperately wished you could see it. 

Yes, he sort of bullied you. He did call you pathetic and frequently belittled you, but it was all in good fun. He got off on seeing you cower, see that fear in your eyes when he even looked at you for more than three seconds. Riki entered his dorm, slamming the heavy metal door behind him as he slid out of his sneakers. Stepping out of them by leaning his weight on the back of them, then recklessly throwing his sweater down on the floor. Pacing the space between his bed and the desk, he ran his hand through his hair as he felt himself slightly tugging at the roots of it. His breath was labored, stomach burning and twisting, hands shaking, sweat building on his forehead. Riki was losing himself, falling short of the cool façade that he had always been so good at maintaining. 

He was unraveling.

And for what? A girl who flinched when he raised his voice? Who could barely hold eye contact when he leaned in too close?

But still—you were his. Not officially, not romantically, maybe not even in any real way that held weight in the world outside his head. But in his gut, deep in that dark, corrosive part of him, Riki knew: you belonged to him. Not in the healthy, reasonable way. In the ‘you get under my skin and I don’t know how to live without it’ kind of way. The kind of way that made him feel both powerful and powerless all at once. He clenched his fists and sat down on the edge of the bed, bouncing his knee, shaking. He couldn’t get your face out of his head—the way you smiled at Jungwon, that stupid, soft, precious smile like you trusted him.

It made Riki’s stomach churn. Because he knew what that trust looked like on you. How rare it was. And how quickly it could be broken.

"Fuck," he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. His voice was hoarse with resentment, like the emotion had been smoking cigarettes in his chest all night. "No, no, no."

He couldn’t stop thinking: did Jungwon touch you?

Not like that. No—God, he hoped not like that. But like...did he touch your hand? Your arm? Did you let him? Did you lean into it?

Riki leaned forward though, elbows on his knees, eyes dark as they burned into the floor.

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

But what if you already did?

What if you looked at Jungwon the way you used to look at him?

Before all of this, you used to look at him shyly. That at the beginning, the little banter and wit used to be fun. Beneath the little competition was some sort of lightness. But even before that, Riki could tell that you had thought he was cute at least, a little crush. Which he’s used to from people. Lingering glances, how your posture shifted talking to him, you could never look him in the eye as you laughed softly at his jokes even when he wasn’t trying. But he saw you struggling to make friends, struggling to get on with your peers. Getting rejected left and right by others and a part of him wanted to step in to defend you. To tell them that you weren’t weird or a loser. But he never did, he just agreed with them. He conformed and followed along with them because he’d rather be accepted by all than just you. Someone miniscule that was easily forgotten to most. 

But not him, never him.

You were never forgettable to Riki. You were the first one to laugh at his jokes before you even really knew him. The one who always showed up on time, even when nobody else did. Who had a weird way of tapping your fingers when you were anxious and tried to act like it was just fidgeting. You were so easy to read and so damn hard to shake. So yeah, maybe he liked when you looked at him like he could ruin you. Maybe he leaned into it. Maybe he said things that made you flinch—watched you crumble just a little, because it meant you were still his. Still reacting to him.

He didn’t even care what he said to you, he just cared that this beautiful girl that didn’t comprehend her beauty—was reacting to him. He had gotten used to your attention and affections and hated how dependent he was on you for that high every single time. Jungwon didn’t understand it, at least not from his perspective. And he never would, he’d never understand what you and Riki had. 

But he was going to make him understand.

—

Do you ever get a sense of impending doom?

Like you wake up with a pit in your stomach and you can’t explain why. Nothing has happened yet, but something feels…off. Like the day has already decided it’s going to go badly and you’re just the last one to find out.

Those are the kinds of days where everything starts slightly wrong.

Your phone dies overnight even though you swear you plugged it in. The sky outside is gray and heavy, but you convince yourself it’s fine—until you step outside and realize it’s way colder than it looked from the window. Too late to go back for a jacket now, because your class is all the way across campus and you’ve already been late twice this week.

So you suck it up. It’s fine. You’ll deal with it. Maybe eat some ginger later so you don’t catch a cold.

Just this cloud looming over your head as it dampened a side of you that tried to mask. But that’s all you could do right now, nothing bizarre happened. Nothing that could start to have you misaligned. At least not now anyway.

—

Across campus, Jungwon was being called into the dean’s office.

He hadn’t thought much of the email at first. It had come in early that morning while he was reviewing lecture notes, subject line simple and clinical: Please stop by my office when you have a moment.Not unusual. Professors were called in all the time for scheduling issues, department updates, student concerns.

Still, something about the wording had been…oddly stiff.

Jungwon adjusted the strap of his bag as he walked down the administrative hallway, the quiet there always a little heavier than the rest of campus. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the carpet swallowed the sound of his footsteps.

When he reached the door, he knocked twice.

"Come in," a voice called from inside.

Jungwon stepped in with a polite smile already prepared. "Good morning, Dean Park. You wanted to see—"

He stopped when he noticed the expression on the Dean’s face. Not cavalier, not angry. Just stern. Too serious for a routine check-in. "Please," Dean Park said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Jungwon sat. And that was when the pit started forming in his stomach too.

"So…Mr. Yang—it’s been brought to my attention that you’ve been spending a considerable amount of time with one of your students outside of class." He straightens, folding his hands on the mahogany desk. The only noise being the pendulum on the other end of it. 

Jungwon blinked. "I’m sorry?"

"A report was filed this morning." 

"I…" Jungwon shook his head in disbelief, silence insisting as he tried to formulate a semblance of a word. His mind was scrambling to catch up with what he’d just heard. "I’m not sure what you mean by ‘outside of class,’ sir. And what report?"

Dean Park studied him for a moment, expression unreadable.

"A student has expressed concern," he said carefully. "Specifically regarding the nature of your interactions with them in your office."

Jungwon’s stomach dropped. Your face flashed across his mind before he could stop it. He sat up a little straighter in the chair. "With respect, Dean Park," he said, voice steadier than he felt, "my office hours are open to any student who needs help. If someone came to speak with me about coursework or academic concerns, that’s well within university policy."

The dean didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he opened a folder sitting on his desk. "That may be," he said slowly. "However, the report suggests the interactions may have gone beyond that."

"Again, sir. I’m not sure what you—"

"Mr. Yang."

Dean Park’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm enough to cut cleanly through the room. "This is a serious allegation."

He folded his hands again, fingers steepled now as he regarded Jungwon across the desk.

"I am not making any conclusions about your guilt at this time," he continued evenly. "But if the claims outlined in this report are accurate, the repercussions would be…significant."

Jungwon felt his stomach twist. Significant. That word alone carried enough weight to sink a career.

"Which is why," Dean Park said, tapping the folder lightly with one finger, "I need you to be completely honest with me."

A beat passed.

"Have you been meeting privately with this or any student outside of your scheduled office hours?"

Jungwon’s heart was beating in his ears, drowning out of the click-clacking of the pendulum on the desk. For the first time in a very long time could he finally identify what it felt like to be a fucking hypocrite.

He has a PhD in Theology. 

Years of his life were spent studying moral philosophy, religious ethics, the long, complicated history of human temptation and restraint. He had written entire papers about the responsibility people carried when placed in positions of power. About the dangers of blurred boundaries. About the quiet arrogance of believing you were the exception to the rule.

If Jungwon knew anything besides Greek mythology, it was that people rarely believed they were doing something wrong while they were doing it.

It always started smaller than that. A conversation that lasted a little longer than it should. A door left closed instead of open. A student lingering on the couch while he pretended not to notice how comfortable the moment had become.

None of it had felt inappropriate at the time. But sitting here now, under the weight of Dean Park’s gaze, it suddenly looked very different. Jungwon swallowed.

"No." He shook his head. "No. I’ve never spent time with any student outside of my office hours."

—

You got up to your usual routine. Despite the nagging feeling—you had deadlines. The agitating, fluorescent lights above hummed in the quiet library. 

In the small nook that you were in, there weren’t many people in your line of sight. All you could see where the metal shelves were starting to collect dust. The setting sun that shone through the stained glass window reminded you of just how old this building was. The table you sat at, so small—but just enough space for you and your laptop. Which was all you needed right now. 

You typed, typed, and typed away but felt you weren’t getting anywhere. The cogs in your brain were useless without some sort of direction. You kept typing, then deleting, typing half sentences—then rearranging them. Writing things that really had no meaning. 

Fuck…this is pointless.

With a grunt, you closed the lid of your laptop. Sighing, as you pout—leaning against the back of your chair—and hold your head. Eyes looking down as they trace every last detail of the wooden table—you could practically feel your head throbbing from the outside. You were hard pressed for these deadlines and you had the motivation. But nothing to help you to actually conceptualize it and put your words to text. Not a single coherent thought to put on the page. 

But fortunately, you had as much luck as a broken mirror.

It happened in a flash. You closed your eyes, blinking as you started to carefully massage your temples. Then the moment you opened them again—a strong hand was played firmly on the table. Right before your eyes.

Only then did you flinch, placing your hand on your heart as you gasped. "Oh shit!" 

A slow chuckle followed. "Relax," Riki said, pulling the chair across from you without asking. "So jumpy…"

He leaned his elbows on the table, eyes flicking over your laptop.

"Still stuck on that paper?" he asked lightly. "You’ve been staring at that screen for, what…twenty minutes now?"

Your eyes flit to the side, "you’ve been watching me for twenty minutes…?" You didn’t think your instincts were so inconsistent.

He interlocked his fingers together, setting his chin on them as he shrugged. A small smirk playing on his face. His eyes glinted, like there was a fun little secret that he just couldn’t wait to share. 

"What do you want, Riki?" You huffed, rubbing your eyes as they burned from staring into the bright screen. 

For once, he smiled. Genuinely. A small flutter in his stomach as he finds that his mood lifts. "Nothing. I just…wanted to see what you had planned this weekend."

You blinked at him, that wasn’t the answer you expected. Your brows knit together slightly. "Why?"

Riki shrugged, leaning back in the chair like he had all the time in the world. One ankle crossed over his knee, posture loose, relaxed. "I was thinking," he said, tapping his fingers once against the table, "maybe we could hang out."

You couldn’t remember the last time Riki had asked to spend time with you without it sounding like a challenge or a joke at your expense. If anything, he was the one daring other people to talk to you. He was seconds from putting a ‘kick me’ sign on your back.

Your gaze drifted down to the table. "That’s…random," you murmured.

"Is it?" His tone was light.

When you didn’t immediately answer, Riki tilted his head slightly, watching you the way someone watches a puzzle they’ve already solved. "You look tired," he added.

Your shoulders stiffened a little. "I’m just stressed about this paper."

"Ah." His gaze flicked to your laptop again. "For Dr. Yang’s class, right?"

Your fingers paused against the edge of the table. "…Yeah."

"Well, I’m sure he’s in his office now." Riki nods to the exit. "I can walk you over—"

"What’s wrong with you? We’re not friends. Nor do you actually give a fuck about me, Riki." You squint, shaking your head in disbelief. 

He hums out a small laugh. "On the contrary, sweetheart. I actually care more than you think." He lets his hands go, rolling up his sleeves as he extends his long arms across the table. Flashing his strong arms and even flashier, silver watch. Without another word, he carefully grabs your hands. Tracing your knuckles with his thumbs as he feels himself start to feel a sense of vindication. He’s close. So close to you and he can feel it. Physically and in any other sense.  Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him across the small table, the faint scent of his cologne, the steady pressure of his hands holding yours in place. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you.

And something in his expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. Like a tension finally easing beneath the surface.

Like something had just fallen into place.Riki’s thumbs were still tracing slow circles over your knuckles. "You know," he said lightly, like he was commenting on the weather, "people talk a lot on this campus."

Your brows pulled together. "What are you—"

A phone buzzed somewhere behind you.

Then another.

And another.

The quiet corner of the library shifted almost instantly. A couple of students near the shelves lifted their heads, glancing down at their screens. Someone whispered something under their breath. You barely noticed at first. Your attention was still caught on the strange look in Riki’s eyes. "Especially about professors," he added.

That made you pause. "…What?"

Riki didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze drifted past your shoulder, watching the room like he was waiting for something to happen.

Another phone buzzed on the table behind you.

"Did you see this?" someone whispered.

"No way…"

"Wait—is that the same guy from the theology department?"

Your stomach tightened. Slowly, you pulled one of your hands free from Riki’s grip and reached for your phone beside the laptop.

The screen lit up with a flood of notifications.

Department announcements. A campus forum thread climbing rapidly with new replies. Your chest felt suddenly tight as you opened the first message.

Campus Notice – Department of Religious Studies

Professor Jungwon Yang has been placed under temporary administrative review following allegations of inappropriate conduct with a student. Until further notice, all classes and office hours under his supervision are suspended.

For a moment, the words didn’t make sense.

You read them again.

And again.

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs. "That’s…" you whispered.

Your vision flickered across the screen as more messages poured in.

Didn’t he just start teaching here? I heard it was with a student from one of his level one classes. Apparently someone reported seeing them alone in his office.

The air around you suddenly felt too thin. "That’s not—" Your voice cracked.

Across the table, Riki finally leaned back in his chair—letting your hand go. He looked almost relaxed now. Like someone who had just finished something difficult.

Or satisfying. "You okay?" he asked casually.

You looked up at him, eyes wide.

And for the first time that day, the pit in your stomach dropped all the way to the bottom. Because Riki wasn’t surprised. Not even a little. "Did…did you do this?" Your voice gave a little, heart thumping loudly in your ears that even if he were to answer—you may not even hear him. 

Riki didn’t immediately respond.

Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you pushed back from the table. "Oh my god," you whispered. Your hands moved on instinct—shoving the laptop into the sleeve, fumbling as you tried to force it into your backpack. Your fingers wouldn’t cooperate, trembling so badly you nearly dropped the zipper. "God, no. No, no, no." Your vision blurred suddenly, the shelves and tables melting into indistinct shapes as your eyes burned. "This isn’t real," you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

Across the table, Riki finally stood. "Hey," he said quietly.

The sound of his voice made something inside you snap.

You shook your head, stepping back from the table like distance might somehow fix this. "Don’t," you choked. "Don’t talk to me right now." Your chest felt tight, like you couldn’t pull in enough air. "Don’t talk to me ever."

You brush past him, throwing your backpack over your shoulder as you hurried to the exit. Speedwalking to your—rather, someone else’s—demise. 

Riki didn’t follow.

He just stood there for a moment, the faint warmth of where you’d been still lingering in the air between the table and his chest.

Slowly, he inhaled. Your perfume clung faintly to the fabric of his sleeve where your shoulder had brushed past him. His eyes closed.

For a second, the chaos of the library—the whispers, the buzzing phones, the shifting chairs—faded into background noise. All that remained was the echo of you leaving.

Riki opened his eyes again, staring at the empty doorway. Then, almost absently, he dragged his thumb across his knuckles—the same place he’d been tracing yours minutes ago.

—

Oxygen didn’t matter. Nothing mattered to you anymore as you ran halfway across campus—haphazardly knocking into people, you wouldn’t be surprised if your laptop had a dent in it the way that it hit a lightpost. 

The elevator was too slow. So you took the stairs. 

By the third flight your lungs burned, breath scraping your throat like sandpaper. 

When the top of the stairs came on the horizon, your legs felt like Jell-O, threatening to buckle beneath you. You caught yourself on the rusted handrail, fingers slipping against the cold metal. The stairwell reeked faintly of bleach and something salty—old sweat soaked into concrete. Your lungs burned, each breath scraping painfully through your chest until your vision blurred at the edges.

But you couldn’t stop moving.

Your footsteps echoed too loudly in the concrete shaft and finally, you opened the door to look side-to-side—scanning the hallway only to find it empty. Almost ghostly.

But the fluorescent lights sang above your head as you ran down the hall. 

When you’d make your way down this hall, you used to associate it with excitement. Comfort. A slight feeling in your stomach that you didn’t know how to put your finger on.  It was the hallway where you’d first knocked nervously on his door.

Where he’d opened it with that warm, patient smile—like he had nowhere else to be, like your questions actually mattered.

Where conversations that were supposed to last ten minutes stretched into an hour without either of you noticing.

You used to slow down when you got close to his office.

Now you were sprinting.

Your shoes squeaked sharply against the polished floor as you turned the final corner—

—and stopped.

The door to his office stood closed. 

And through the small window in the door, you saw Jungwon’s back turned. He reached for various books on the shelf behind his desk as he tossed them haphazardly into a cardboard box. Like it didn’t matter anymore. For a moment, you didn’t move. You just stared.

The familiar office looked wrong somehow. Half the shelves were already empty, papers stacked in uneven piles across the desk. The couch where you’d spent so many afternoons sat untouched in the corner, a forgotten book still resting on the armrest.

Your throat tightened.

He picked up another book.

Paused.

Then set it down harder than necessary inside the box. The sound carried faintly through the door.

Something in your chest twisted painfully. You lifted your hand before you even realized you were doing it.

Your knuckles hovered inches from the wood. For a second, you hesitated.

Then you knocked.

Jungwon froze.

His shoulders went rigid, hand still resting on the edge of the box. Slowly, he turned toward the door—and when his eyes met yours through the small window the color drained from his face. The springs in the door handle creaked as you slowly opened the door. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Jungwon stood behind his desk, one hand still resting on the edge of the cardboard box. A few books were stacked unevenly inside—some of them you recognized instantly from the shelves you’d spent so much time staring at while pretending not to be nervous.

The room felt smaller now.

Too quiet.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath from the run up the stairs, but it still felt like there wasn’t enough air in the world.

"Jungwon—" Your voice cracked, as you slowly shut the door with a click.

"It’s Dr. Yang." He said immediately. "And I’d rather you left the door open, thank you."

The words landed like a slap as your hand froze on the handle.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, stiffly, you pulled the door back open. The hallway outside hummed faintly with distant footsteps and muffled voices—proof that anyone could walk past and look inside.

You swallowed hard. "…Right."

Jungwon turned back to the box on his desk, picking up another book like the conversation was already over.

But his movements weren’t steady.

The book slipped slightly in his grip before he forced it into the box. "You shouldn’t be here," he repeated, quieter this time.

"Look, I didn’t report you." You sniffled, wiping your eyes as you wrapped your arms around yourself. That was the only form of self-soothing that you knew. "I wouldn’t do that."

"Well it doesn’t matter what you would and wouldn’t do. Because I’m out of here." He huffed, brushing his hair back and out of his face.

"What…?" Your eyes widened.

"I’ve been suspended." The words hung in the air. "Indefinitely."

"Ju—Dr. Yang," your voice shook as you tried to stifle your tears. "I’m so sorry—"

"Don’t bother," he smiled bitterly, the small dimples of his hardly showing were your surefire sign that he wasn’t as fine as he says. "This was my fault."

You shook your head frantically, "it’s not. Riki. It was him!" Your eyes stung with tears again as your breath started to thin. "It’s him! Always!" Letting out a sob as you gestured around the room. Not even caring, you shut the door to his dismay.

Jungwon’s hands froze mid-motion, a stack of papers trembling slightly in his grip. He took a sharp breath, forcing his voice to remain calm, but it carried a weight you could feel. "Riki?" His eyes searched yours, dark and unblinking. "He…did this?"

You nodded, hiccuping between sobs. "He always does! I didn’t even—he just—he…" You broke off, shoving your hands into your hair as if you could pull the chaos out of your head. "I’m telling you—I told you! He’s sick. He’s a sadistic asshole and that’s why I didn’t want you to say anything to him because he does…this!" You gesture to him. His cluttered desk. His nearly empty bookshelf. The plaques with his degrees and certifications that could mean absolutely nothing if things went even more left.

Jungwon’s eyes darkened, the dimples in his cheeks vanishing as his jaw tightened. He took a step closer, the office suddenly feeling smaller, tighter, suffocating even. "I…I had no idea it was this bad," he murmured, voice low, almost hoarse. "I thought…I thought it was just typical college rivalry nonsense. But this—"

You hiccuped again, trembling, and buried your face in your hands. "It’s not just nonsense! He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He manipulates, bullies…he—he makes people fear him, including me. I—I shouldn’t have let him…I shouldn’t—" You sat down on the worn couch, burying your head in your lap as you locked your hands over your head. "I shouldn’t have dragged you into my shit. I’m so sorry." Your chest felt like an elephant sat on top of it, lurching as you wept into your jeans. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—"

Jungwon crouched down in front of the couch, careful not to loom over you too much. "Hey," he said softly, one hand hovering near yours before settling gently on your shoulder. "Stop apologizing. You didn’t drag me into anything. I…I wanted to help. That’s what friends do."

You shook your head violently, muffled sobs wracking your body. "No, you don’t understand. He—he’s…he’s not someone you deal with." Your words cracked and failed you, a choked gasp escaping instead. "He’s just—pure evil. He hates me. And he’s taking it out on you now."

Jungwon’s jaw tightened, a flash of anger flaring in his eyes, but he kept his voice low and steady. "I don’t care what he is. I care about you. And I’m not going anywhere."

You sniffled, trying to pull your hands from your face, but his presence made it harder to look away. "You can’t. You won’t be around and nearly everything in your life is about to crumble. E-everything you worked so hard for—" Shaking your head as tears come down in sheets.

"Look…if it gives you any consolation—" He sighed, closing his eyes as he felt the emotion build up further in his chest. "Gosh…" Turning his gaze away, dabbing his eyes with the pads of his fingers. 

Until he turned back to you with a small smile, huffing as he steadied himself. "If it gives you any consolation…" He carefully grabs your dampened, sweaty hands. Any other time he’d be repulsed, but he couldn’t help but overlook it all. "I’m not your professor anymore. So…I can be here for you." He nods slowly, patiently. "I can be here for you like I should. Like…like I’ve wanted to all along."

"Was my name on the report?" you barely choked out. "Was there—"

"To protect the identities of everyone involved, they won’t tell me who filed it," he said quietly.

Your stomach dropped.

"But," he continued, squeezing your hands once, gently, "they also won’t tell me who the student is supposed to be."

Your brows knitted together, confused.

"They’re treating it like a formal complaint," he explained. "Anonymous. Third-party report. Which means someone claimed they witnessed something."

Your breath caught. The name didn’t even need to be spoken. Jungwon watched the realization move across your face and his jaw tightened slightly.

"Hey," he said softly, grounding your hands again. "Look at me."

You forced your eyes up.

"This is important," he continued. "You were not named. And as long as you stay out of it, there’s a good chance they won’t drag you into the investigation."

"But they will drag you," you whispered.

A flicker of something tired crossed his face. "Yes," he admitted. "But that’s my problem to deal with," he added. "Not yours."

Your eyes filled again. "But it is mine," you insisted hoarsely. "Because he did this to hurt me. And now you’re—" Your voice cracked. "—paying for it."

For a moment Jungwon didn’t say anything. Then he shook his head slowly. "No," he said. His grip on your hands tightened just a little. "I made my own choices."

Your chest tightened at the quiet honesty in his voice.

"I let you stay here longer than I should have," he admitted softly. "I closed the door sometimes. I blurred lines that were supposed to stay very clear."

He exhaled through his nose. "So if someone decided to twist that into something else…" His shoulders lifted in a tired shrug. "…then I suppose I gave them the thread."

"Why—how is it that bad? It wasn’t like we were…inappropriate or anything?" You scoot over on the couch, making space for him to sit beside you.

Jungwon hesitated for a second before lowering himself down next to you. The cushions dipped slightly under his weight. "A bit," he said quietly. "But inappropriate isn’t just physical." He rested his forearms on his knees, staring down at the floor. "But universities don’t really wait for something to happen," he continued. "They step in when something looks like it could."

Your stomach twisted.

"They said it was a ‘boundary concern,’" he added with a dry huff. "A professor spending extended time alone with a student. Door closed. Personal conversations outside coursework. Allowing you to stay here in my absence." His fingers rubbed together absentmindedly, like he was still processing it. "To them, that’s enough. And realistically that is unethical. But again, that’s on me."

"But that’s ridiculous," you whispered.

"Maybe," he shrugged slightly. "But you have to understand, it’s not like this is high school where you’re a kid and I’m this age. That’s illegal and unethical and immoral and all of the other disgusting things. You and I are both adults and it’s not immoral and illegal. It’s simply unethical due to perceived power imbalances. Things like that could make one believe that I took advantage of you, coerced you, among other things."

You heard him. Understood him in full totality. But being a part of it was a very different feeling. Jungwon was three years older than you; it doesn’t sound crazy but you just hated that this was the reality of the situation. You wanted to refute it. To say that that’s incorrect because there was no coercion, mild flirting—maybe—but these rules are in place to protect others. And you were smart enough to know that. “I’d just hate for you to be angry at me.”

Jungwon leaned back slightly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "I’m not angry at you," he said gently. "I could never be. No matter how much I could even think to try—I couldn’t."

Your throat tightened. "I know," you murmured, even though the guilt still sat heavy in your chest.

For a moment neither of you spoke. 

Then his voice softened a little more. "And for what it’s worth…" he said, looking at you fully now, "I don’t regret the time we spent together."

Your eyes flickered to his. "You don’t?"

"No." He smiles softly, lifting his hand to place it on your hair, stroking it gently. "Not for a second." His voice broke as tears built up. Rather than his chest hurting, his stomach did.

Right as he looked you in the eye. In your red, swollen eyes. He saw everything that he worked for. Every accolade, every all-nighter, every program and research opportunity he took—Jungwon saw all of it crumbling before his eyes right before him. Every fellowship application he rewrote six times before submitting. Every professor that told him that he was brilliant, promising, the future of academia as they knew it.

And he was easy, just like every other young man his age—hearing such praise made him feel some sort of satisfaction. His chest puffed from the battery in his back.

Up until now, he could only remember as far back as his lover phase. 

His father was his best friend. Seeing him go to work, come home to him and his mother to support and care for them. Taking him to baseball and hockey games at one point. And Jungwon didn’t even care for sports—just seeing his dad cheer and fist pump whenever his favorite team scored made him feel a sense of pride. Getting to sit on his shoulders because he was too small to see over the adults in front of him. The roar of the stadium. His father fist-pumping when their team scored. The way his mom laughed every time Jungwon tried to mimic him.

And the day a ball sailed over the fence—

Right into his hands.

He could still remember the shock of it. The weight of it in his palm. Like the whole stadium had turned and looked at him for a moment. 

And he didn’t even care, he clapped. And cheered and smiled wide, kid teeth missing and all as he ruminated in the feeling of accomplishment.

Jungwon blinked. The office came rushing back into focus. The half-empty bookshelves. The cardboard box. And you sitting beside him on the couch.

He almost forgot that his hand was in your hair. Skimming his hand over and carefully tangling in your curls. "It’s okay if you do," you said, clearing your throat. Your face felt tight, sticky with dried tears. "It’s okay if you regret it. Me."

Jungwon went still. For a second he just looked at you, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. Then his brows drew together. "Regret you?" he repeated quietly.

Your gaze dropped to your hands. "Well…yeah." Your voice shrank a little. "You lost everything because of me."

A small breath left him—half disbelief, half something softer. "That’s not what happened."

You shook your head, stubborn even through the exhaustion. "It is."

He shifted slightly on the couch so he was facing you more fully now.

When you didn’t look up, his hand moved from your hair to your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. "I didn’t lose everything. The investigation is still ongoing and once they realize that I’m innocent and it didn’t go any further than me just providing sanctuary for you—then I’m still gonna be out of here anyway."

"No—out? Why—"

"It’s nothing for me to get another position," he said gently, shaking his head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "My reputation would be cleared. I have a PhD. I could go anywhere. Do anything." His hand slipped from your chin to your cheek, cupping it lightly. "Research. Teaching somewhere else. Maybe even traveling."

The pad of his thumb brushed slowly across your cheekbone, wiping away the dampness there. "No rules," he murmured, eyes wide with hope.

"What about me?"

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Jungwon’s thumb paused against your cheek. For a moment he didn’t answer. His eyes searched your face, like he was trying to figure out whether you realized what you’d just asked. "What about you?" he echoed softly.

Your stomach twisted. "If you leave," you said quietly, "then…that’s it, right?"

The room felt smaller somehow. Jungwon exhaled slowly through his nose. "No," he said after a moment.

Your eyes lifted to his again.

"It doesn’t have to be." His thumb resumed its slow, absentminded movement against your cheek, brushing away the last traces of tears. "I’m not your professor anymore," he reminded you gently. "Which means there aren’t any rules about where you and I stand."

Your heart gave a small, startled thump.

"I don’t expect anything from you," he added quickly. "Especially not right now. You’ve been through enough today." His hand finally dropped from your cheek, resting loosely on the couch between you.

"But if you’re asking whether I’d disappear from your life…" A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Just make sure you have your passport, okay?"

For the first time today, a small—extremely minute—hint of sunshine appeared over your cloudy mind. A sense of warmth lit up in your stomach now that your vision started to clear. You no longer saw blue and gray. 

Letting out a small laugh, "okay." 

"Okay?" he repeated, a little amused. His grin widened just slightly, dimples finally showing again as he leaned back into the couch. "That’s a pretty big commitment," he teased gently. "You didn’t even ask where we’d go."

You sniffled, wiping under your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. "Anywhere," you murmured. "I’d go anywhere."

Jungwon’s smile faltered a bit, his spine straightening as he perceived you. As if he could see the cloud above you lifting. "Can I hug you?" The question came out quieter than he probably intended.

For a second you just looked at him, like the idea hadn’t even crossed your mind until he said it out loud. Then you nodded. "Of course."

It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t hesitate. You just leaned toward him.

Jungwon opened his arms immediately, pulling you into him as gently as if you might break. Your forehead pressed against the side of his neck, curls brushing his jaw as his arms wrapped around your back.

He held you carefully at first. Then a little tighter.

Your shoulders shook once as the last of the day’s tension finally slipped out of you, but it wasn’t the kind of crying from earlier. It was quieter. Softer.

Jungwon’s hand moved slowly up and down your back, steady and warm. "We're gonna be okay," he murmured into your hair. "Everything will work itself out."

For a while neither of you said anything.

The office was still half empty. The cardboard box still sat on the desk. The future was still uncertain. But sitting there on the couch, wrapped up in each other, the world felt a little less like it was falling apart.

—

Every step you took down the hall and to the elevator felt like there were thirty pound weights on your ankles. Leaving that office felt like leaving behind a piece of your heart and you didn’t know what you’d do for the next weeks knowing that you couldn’t go back there. Regardless, looking Jungwon in the eye, seeing him reassure you despite how much even being in association with him screwed him over—you couldn’t help but feel a sense of indebtedness. On paper, yes, he should’ve known better. Yes, he should’ve ensured—as a professional that there were boundaries set in place. But when boundaries become blurry, you never know the line until you cross it. 

It wasn’t like you guys had sex. Kissed. Any of it.  But you couldn’t lie and say that there wasn’t intimacy. Talking about your interests. From the most surface level things to deep childhood lore.  Leaving you alone in his space, trusting you alone in his sanctuary. Letting you eat his snacks, touch his books and read them, nap on his couch. Spending hours talking about everything and nothing. 

It wasn’t romance. Not technically. But it also wasn’t nothing.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding. You stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor as the doors shut again with a soft thud. Your reflection stared back at you from the metal panels—eyes still puffy, curls slightly frizzed from where Jungwon’s fingers had been combing through them.

Your chest tightened again. Leaving that office felt wrong. Like abandoning something warm in the middle of winter. The elevator jerked softly as it reached the bottom floor.

Ding.

The doors slid open as cool air rushed in from the lobby as you stepped out, your mind still tangled in everything Jungwon had said. You pushed through the front doors to step outside and immediately stopped.

Riki was leaning against the metal railing at the bottom of the steps. Like he’d been there for a while. His eyes lifted the second the doors shut behind you. A slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Wow," he said lazily.

His gaze dragged over your face—your swollen eyes, your flushed cheeks. "Looks like someone had a really productive meeting." Slowly, that hurt veered further along the spectrum of anger. But you were tired, exhausted. Worn down and ready to hit the transfer portal.

Seeing Riki wasn’t just bothersome anymore. Nor was it just inconveniencing. To put it simply, seeing him was like seeing a silhouette with flames around it. 

Your jaw tightened. For a moment you just stood there at the top of the steps, staring down at him.

Riki didn’t move. Didn’t even straighten up from where he leaned against the railing. He just watched you the same way someone watches a show they’ve already seen before. Waiting for their favorite part.

You descended the steps slowly. Each one felt deliberate. Heavy; and by the time you reached the bottom, you stopped a few feet away from him. Up close, the smugness in his expression was even worse. "What did you do?"

Riki tilts his head, almost amused. "That’s a pretty loaded question. I do a lot of things."

"What did you do to Dr. Yang?" You say slowly, each word dripping with venom.

"You’re so stupid." He shook his head, a repulsive smirk still insisting. "Thinking that he could ever actually care. Or give a fuck about you."

Your chest tightened. You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your face. "Stop—"

"I'm not done."

Not a snap nor a threat. Just a fact, delivered the way you deliver something and finally decided to put it down. "I didn’t want this," Riki said. "Any of it. I actually liked him." His jaw shifted. "But I like you more."

"Don't—"

"You were going to get hurt." Still calm and speaking as if he was fully rational. "By him or someone else eventually. Someone was going to come along and see how easy you are to hold and just—" he exhaled through his nose, "—take advantage of that."

"So you did it first," you said. Your voice came out quieter than you wanted it to.

Something moved across his face. Something as simple as recognition. "Yeah," he said simply. "I did."

You laughed, and it came out broken. "You think that makes it okay."

"No." He said it without hesitation. "I think it makes you mine."

And there it was. The thing underneath the thing. Not an apology. Not a justification. Just ownership, plain and honest and completely terrifying.

"You have been making my life miserable," you said, and your voice cracked down the middle of it. "Since the day we got here. You made me scared to get out of bed. You made me cry myself to sleep. You made me feel like I was—" you shook your head, pressing your lips together because your eyes were burning and you refused, you absolutely refused, "—like I was nothing. Like I would always be nothing."

Riki looked at you. Just looked at you. "I know," he said quietly. And that was worse than any excuse he could've made.

"You don't get to just—" you started.

"You reorganize your pens when you’re anxious." His voice was different now. Lower. Almost careful, like he was handling something fragile. "Smallest to largest. Rainbow order. You do it without realizing." His eyes stayed on yours. "I’ve watched you do it a hundred times."

Your mouth closed.

"You eat the same thing when you’re stressed. You go to the quietest corner of the library when you need to think, not the closest one." Something shifted in his expression—so briefly, so terribly briefly—that it almost looked like tenderness. "Banana walnut. Not because it's your favorite. Because it's the one thing that tastes the same everywhere."

The world went very still. Because he was right. You'd never told anyone that. You'd never even said it out loud.

And for one second—just one—you saw him. Not the smirk or the cruelty or the years of damage he’d carved into you without apology. Just a boy who had been paying attention. Quietly, desperately, completely. A boy who knows you in a particular way you can only know someone you've been watching from a distance for far too long.

The boy who could have just been your friend.

It lasted exactly one second.

"I wanted to know everything," he said. And just like that the tenderness was gone, replaced by something rawer and more honest and so much worse. "I’m still dying to. Every single thing about you." His eyes darkened. "And I ruined it. I know I ruined it." A short, humorless breath. "But I couldn't just watch you walk around this campus like you were invisible and do nothing."

"So you made me scared of my own shadow." you whispered. "You made me afraid of you instead."

"I made you feel me." His voice dropped. "There's a difference."

"There isn't—"

"You felt everything." He stepped closer and you stepped back and the back of your heel caught the edge of the curb and you caught yourself and he watched all of it and kept coming anyway. "Every single day. Even now, you’re alive with it." His eyes burned into yours. "You’re not sleepwalking anymore."

"Don't come near me," you choked out, hand flying up between you. "I swear to God, don't you dare come near me."

He stopped.

Hands at his sides. Chest rising and falling. Eyes completely steady. "I love you," he said.

Not whispered. Not performed. Not offered with trembling hands or a breaking voice or any of the softness that would've made it easier to dismiss.

Just said. The way you say something you stopped needing anyone to validate a long time ago. And the worst part—the part that would keep you up at night long after all of this was over—was the ghost of that one second. The boy with the muffin and the quiet observations and the dying need to know more.

That boy loved you too. And he was the same person.

That was the thing you couldn't untangle. That was the thing that made your eyes sting and your hands shake and your heart do something awful and complicated in your chest. You understood him. God help you, for just one second, you understood him completely.

"I could never love you," you said. And you meant it entirely. And it cost you something anyway.

His jaw flexed once, fingers curling tighter at his sides until the knuckles blanched white. The street light caught the sheen in his eyes, but he blinked it away quickly, like even that small crack in his composure irritated him. "Fine. Be that way."

Riki shakes his head, brushing past you but stopping just short of being by your side. "But when he leaves…and he will," he said quietly.

He didn’t look at you when he said it. His shoulder brushed the air beside yours as he stopped just short of passing you completely. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, but not touching. "When he leaves," he continued, voice low and steady, "don’t pretend you didn’t know it was coming."

Your chest tightened. "He’s not leaving me," you snapped, even though the words sounded thinner than you wanted them to.

Riki gave a short, humorless laugh. "He’s leaving the entire campus."

"That’s not the same thing."

"It’s exactly the same thing."

Now he turned his head slightly, finally looking at you from the corner of his eye. "You think he’s going to build his life around you?" he asked. He continued. "You think when his reputation clears he’s going to stay here for the girl who got tangled up in the scandal that almost destroyed him?"

Your throat tightened. "He said—"

"He said a lot of things, didn’t he?" Riki cut in softly. His gaze flicked up toward Jungwon’s office window again.

"Men say a lot when the moment is right," he murmured. "Especially when someone’s crying in front of them. Believe me, I’d know."

Your stomach twisted. "Shut up." But your voice didn’t have much strength behind it anymore.

Riki watched you for a second longer. But right as he passed your shoulder, he leaned slightly closer, voice dropping to a near whisper.

"And when he’s gone," he said, "when the office is empty and he’s halfway across the world chasing the next thing…"

Your breath caught.

"…you’ll finally understand what I’ve been trying to tell you."

He straightened again and kept walking down the pathway. "You don’t belong in someone’s temporary life." His footsteps echoed against the concrete as he moved farther away. "You belong with someone who refuses to leave.”

—

The parking lot was almost empty by the time he stepped outside.

Most of the faculty had already gone home, the last bands of orange daylight long gone behind the buildings. The lamps along the lot buzzed faintly overhead, casting long pale cones of light across the asphalt. Jungwon walked slowly, the cardboard box balanced against his hip. The edges of the flaps had started to soften where his fingers had been gripping them all afternoon. Inside were the small things he hadn’t bothered leaving behind in the office—books he’d bought with his own money, a framed photo of his parents from a few years ago, a notebook full of half-finished research ideas.

His car sat alone near the far end of the row.

For a moment he just stood there, looking at it.

The silence of the campus at night felt different now. Emptier. Like something had already ended even though the official words hadn’t been spoken yet.

He popped the trunk. The lid lifted with a quiet metallic click.

Jungwon set the box down carefully inside, adjusting it so it wouldn’t slide when he drove. One of the books tipped sideways and he righted it automatically, pressing it back into place.

When he lowered the trunk again, the sound echoed softly through the lot. He exhaled, fiddling with the keyfob to unlock the driver’s seat.

Footsteps.

Fast. Thumping rapidly into the concrete.

Before his brain could even register the direction, a hand seized the front of his coat and slammed him backward against the car.

The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

Metal rang sharply behind his shoulders as Jungwon’s head snapped slightly to the side before he steadied himself, one hand instinctively coming up against the hood to keep his balance.

Riki’s grip tightened in his jacket, twisting his fist as he gathered his collar. "So. You figured it out. Congratulations."

For a second he said nothing. No struggle. No attempt to shove Riki off him.

He just huffed. Then, quietly: "I didn’t have to figure anything out."

Riki’s mouth twitched. "Oh?" His grip twisted tighter in the fabric of Jungwon’s coat. "So you’re saying you always knew?"

Jungwon didn’t answer right away. The parking lot lights flickered overhead, pale against the dark.

Finally—

"Yes."

That seemed to take a little wind out of Riki’s sails. His brows pulled together, like he’d expected anger. Or accusations. Something louder. But he could feel it. He could if he just kept pushing. "You’re not even going to ask why?" Riki said.

Jungwon studied him for a moment.

Up close, Riki looked worse than he had any other time he’d seen him—eyes bright in a way that didn’t look like excitement so much as exhaustion stretched too tight. "I’ve gotten all the information that I needed." The elder’s eyes veered off, refusing to look the manic person before him in the eye. Jungwon swipes the younger’s hand off of him. "Let me make something clear. I am an adult. I don’t play kid games, Mr. Nishimura."

Riki’s hand hung in the air for a second after Jungwon brushed it off. Then a slow smile crept onto his face. "There’s nothing kid-like about me."

Jungwon’s gaze slid back to him slowly. For a moment he didn’t speak, like he was deciding whether the comment deserved a response at all. Then his eyes drifted down Riki’s rumpled jacket, the tight set of his shoulders, the barely-contained agitation vibrating through him. "I’m aware," Jungwon said evenly. He reached up, smoothing the crease Riki had left in his collar. "There’s nothing childish about impulsivity, entitlement, or obsession. Adults display those traits every day."

Riki’s smile sharpened. "You’re talking about yourself now?"

Jungwon gave a faint breath through his nose that almost resembled a laugh. "No." His voice stayed calm, controlled. "I’m talking about you."

That landed squarely. Riki’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt.

Jungwon continued like he was explaining something in a lecture hall. "As if proximity is intimacy?" His eyes lifted, finally meeting Riki’s again. “Me being there for her doesn’t mean that anything transpired.”

Riki scoffed, but there was an edge to it now. "You think you’re better than me or something?"

Jungwon tilted his head slightly, brows furrowing in confusion.

"See?" Riki shrugs, gesturing to him. "This is exactly it. You pride yourself on being so articulate. A-and well read and knowledgeable but you don’t know the first thing about her—"

"You don’t know the first thing about me." Jungwon says sharply, his voice not daring to touch a higher decibel. 

"But I know that you aren’t as aware as you think." Riki’s face twisted in disgust. "There was no intimacy, are you serious?"

Jungwon’s eyes hardened slightly.

Riki let out a humorless laugh, pacing once in front of the car before turning back to him again. "Oh, right," he said, nodding slowly. "You’re going to pretend it was—what? Academic mentorship? Professional concern?" His hands spread in a mocking gesture. "You’re not any better than me. You’re just nice to her."

Jungwon didn’t move.

"You let her cry to you," Riki continued. "Let her nap on your couch like it was her living room."

His eyes burned now, sharp and restless. "You thought about her when she wasn’t around. Huh? Probably thought about how she tasted."

Jungwon’s jaw shifted slightly. "Careful," he said quietly.

Riki kept on. "Didn’t open the windows after she left your office. Wanting her scent to linger in the room."

The elder’s brows furrowed at the extremity. He wasn't this obsessive.

"Her laugh rang like a song that’s been stuck in your head for hours. Days." He pushed. "That look in her eye when she gets so excited about whatever she’s rambling about just makes you feel so…complete. Whole." Riki’s eyes darkened. "Yeah well I never got to look her in the eye. I always had to experience it through the lens of someone else!" His hand comes down on the top of Jungwon’s sedan.

The sound of his palm against the metal rang out and then dissolved into the quiet of the lot. Jungwon didn’t flinch.

"And you just—what? See I knew you were gonna be a problem. Thinking you could step to me like some knight in shining armor—well let me tell you something, Professor, she doesn’t need saving. She needs someone who’s gonna stay."

The elder man’s head tilted though his voice remained calm and gentle. "Why?"

Riki blinked. "What?"

"Why does she need someone who stays?" Jungwon’s voice was the same temperature it always was. Like he had nowhere else to be. "Why is that the thing you keep coming back to?"

"Because—" Riki started, then stopped.

The lot hummed quietly around them.

"Because everyone leaves her," he said finally. Quieter. Like the anger had found a hole somewhere and started draining out of it. "Everyone always has. No friends after high school, terrible relationship with her family. And she acts like it doesn’t bother her but it does. It—" He exhaled hard through his nose. "She puts up with it because she thinks that's just how it goes for her."

Jungwon said nothing.

"And you’re just gonna be another one," Riki continued, but the certainty in it had gone soft at the edges. "Another person that made her feel like she mattered and then disappeared."

"Maybe," Jungwon said again. Simply.

Riki’s eyes snapped up. "That doesn’t bother you?"

"It bothers me deeply." He held Riki's gaze. "Which is why I’m not disappearing."

Riki stared at him. Looking away and clenching his fists in a feeble attempt at masking his tornado of emotions. 

"So…what’s making you treat her this way? Since you seem to care so much, why hinder her from making friends? Why try to steal any and every chance of opportunity from beneath her?"

Riki’s laugh came out thin and hollow. "I don’t—that’s not what I was doing."

Jungwon just waited, leaning against the car. And that was just the thing about him that Riki hated. He never filled silences with noise. Simply gave you all the space in the world and let you meet him where he was. 

But the silence was insisting. Insisting on letting Riki marinate in his own wrongdoings. Not mistakes. Wrongdoings.

"I was…" He shakes his head slowly, in partial disbelief. "I loved her the best way I knew how." Letting his hands down by his sides in defeat. "Fuck…" He covered his eyes with his hands as he inhaled sharply. "I tried. I really…I loved her the best way I—" Riki’s breath came out uneven, shoulders curling forward like his body was trying to protect something it had already lost. His hands hung at his sides, useless. Eyes wet and jaw tight and nowhere to put any of it.

Jungwon looked at him for a long moment. Taking in the state of him not from the perspective of a student—a human being rather. Head hung, fists clenched as the younger man stood there with what seemed to be the world on his shoulders. Like his brain was cut right in half and both sides were processing different things. Different emotions. 

Shame, embarrassment, especially when you felt you were at a point of no return. Riki knew now more than ever that it was over. His time, his reign over your heart and mind was now over. No more. The empire has collapsed.

Jungwon shook his head, pitying him but it wasn’t like he’d let Riki know that. He was just as prideful as the next man. Fragile; and even then, finally coming to a realization. So he closed the distance and put his arms around him.

It wasn’t soft or comforting in any way. A hand pressed firmly between Riki’s shoulder blades. Reminding him to stay in his body. Even if it felt like it was all over. Riki went rigid for a half second, every instinct in him rearing up against it.

But then something just...gave. His forehead dropped to Jungwon’s shoulder and he exhaled—this long, wrecked, shuddering thing that had probably been living in his chest for years. His fingers curled into the fabric of the older man’s coat and he didn’t say anything because there was nothing left to say.

Jungwon didn’t say anything either. Just held him. One hand steady on his back, the other still at his shoulder. It lasted maybe thirty seconds.

Then Jungwon stepped back. Straightened his coat. Looked at Riki the same way he always looked at him—clear, unhurried, without judgment. Got in the car and drove away.

Riki stood there in the empty lot for a long time after the tail lights disappeared. The cold had gotten sharper without him noticing. His face felt tight and his chest felt scraped out and somewhere across campus you were probably in your dorm not thinking about him at all.

He put his hands in his pockets. Turning around to start walking. Unsure where, just…toward something. Somewhere.

— Months later —

May always smelled like cut grass and sunscreen and the particular anxiety of people who had procrastinated and waited until the last minute to move with urgency to pack their shit and get out of the dorms.

The hallway was chaotic. Cardboard boxes stacked against walls, someone’s entire closet spilled out onto the floor three doors down, the elevator perpetually occupied by carts piled so high you couldn’t see the person pushing them.

You sat cross-legged on your bare mattress and looked at your room.

It looked nothing like yours anymore. The fairy lights down. The pictures off the corkboard, leaving little ghost-holes where the thumbtacks had been. Your rainbow gel pens in a ziplock bag inside a box instead of lined up by the window where they belonged. It looked like a room that was ready to forget you.

You reached for your phone.

The texts had been sparse. Purposeful. You’d send him a question about the paper you were finishing for his replacement, something academic and safe, and he’d answer it and then ask how you were holding up and you’d say fine and mean mostly and he seemed to understand the difference.

But his last message, sent three days ago, was still sitting unanswered at the bottom of the thread.

Jungwon: Cleared officially. As of this morning.

And then, after a few minutes:

Thought you should know.

You’d read it approximately forty times. Then typed now, sitting on your bare mattress surrounded by your boxed-up life:

You: I know this is late. I’m really glad.

You stared at it. Then added:

I'm moving out today.

Sent it before you could think too hard about why you wanted him to know that.

The three dots appeared almost immediately.

Jungwon: Where are you going for the summer?

You smiled despite yourself. Small and private, just for the empty room.

You: Home. Unfortunately.

Jungwon: How unfortunate are we talking…

You: On a scale of one to ten. Probably an eight.

Jungwon: That bad?

You: My mom will ask me within the first hour if I’ve been eating enough. And my dad will ask me within the first day what my plan is and I have neither an appetite nor a plan so…

A longer pause this time. You could almost feel him smiling somewhere.

Jungwon: I might be in the city. Early June so…About two weeks from now.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen.

You: Which city?

Jungwon: Whichever city you’re in.

You set the phone down on the mattress and looked at the ceiling for a second. The same water stain you’d been looking at for months, shaped vaguely like a misshapen star.

Outside in the hallway someone dropped something heavy and swore loudly and someone else laughed.

Then you picked the phone back up.

You: Good to know. Let me know, of course.

Jungwon: I will.

You locked your phone and sat there for a moment in the quiet of your almost-empty room. No Riki appearing in doorways. No dread pooling in your stomach at the sound of footsteps you recognized. Just May pouring through the window and the distant sound of campus slowly exhaling.

But the envelope was plain. Just your name on the front in his handwriting, which you recognized immediately because it was annoyingly neat for someone who acted like the world’s rules didn’t apply to him.

You stood in your doorway for a second just looking at it.

Then you picked it up, went inside, and sat down atop your desk—ignoring the chair and just sitting on the wooden surface itself. Then opened it to see a solid three pages:

I don’t know how many times I started this. Enough that I have a small graveyard of crumpled paper in my trash can and my roommate thinks I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

I’m not going to open with an excuse. I had a lot of them prepared and I threw those drafts away too because you deserve better than my reasons. You’ve been listening to my reasons for three years and they never added up to anything good so I’m going to try something different.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the muffin. I know that sounds small but I think about it more than I should—the way you looked when I took it back. Like you’d expected it. Like you were already braced for it. And I did that. I contributed to your lack of trust in people and I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the internship. I didn’t actually want it. I think you knew that. I just couldn’t stand the idea of you having something I didn’t give you.

I’m sorry for the report. That one I’ll carry for a long time. He’s a good person and he didn’t deserve it and neither did you and I did it anyway because I was scared and jealous and I told myself it was protection when really it was just—me. Being exactly what I always accused everyone else of being.

I’m sorry for bullying you. Not the watered down version of that word—I mean I was cruel to you consistently and on purpose and I knew exactly what I was doing every time. I made your life harder than it already was and I did it because I could and that’s the truth of it.

I saw you and was done for. I need you to know that even if it doesn’t mean anything now. On the first day of orientation you were sitting in the third row and you had your pens lined up on the desk and you were so focused and so completely unbothered by the fact that no one was talking to you and I thought—she’s going to be someone. She already is.

And then I spent three years making sure you doubted that.

I think I loved you the best way I knew how and my best was genuinely terrible and that’s not your problem to carry, it’s mine. 

But if it gives you any closure, as part of my disciplinary action—I’m on formal academic probation. I’ve been suspended from all of my leadership roles. And even better for the world (and myself, one may think) I was mandated to attend counseling. Though I’m in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy now.

I may not have a reasonable explanation for my past behavior. But I’ve been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Depression. So yes, there is a reason. A why and how. But I'm sorry you had to suffer at the hands of that.

I put in for a transfer. I leave after the end of my probation which is in December—the end of first semester. And even if I see you, I wouldn’t approach you. Not because I don’t want to but I just don’t think I earned the right. I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel guilty or reach out or anything like that. I just thought you should know that I’m not going to be something you have to navigate anymore. You get to have this campus back. You always should have. It was always your world and however much I envy anyone that gets to be in it—you should have the best one. The happiest one.

I hope you get the internship. I hope you get everything you’ve ever wanted. Everything you see when you close your eyes.

I hope he’s good to you. He will be. I think that’s what made me the angriest—knowing that he actually would be.

You don’t have to forgive me. I’m not asking you to. I just needed you to know that I know. All of it. I know exactly what I did. But I hope that there can be a day where we run into each other by chance ten years from now and can chat over a coffee. About any and everything. I’ll hold onto that hope tightly in the meantime.

Happy Holidays, Happy Birthday, Happy Halloween, Congraduations, Congratulations on the engagement, and everything else for your future. Hopefully I’ll be lucky enough to say ‘I knew her when…’

Love,

— Riki

— Two weeks later —

You walked down the street with a heavy heart. But another part of you felt a sense of freedom. A lightness that you haven’t been able to taste in a very long time. Everything felt different. Waking up and looking in the mirror wasn’t as hard as it was. Eating a piece of cake didn’t make you feel guilty anymore. You actually dared to do your makeup this morning. Even though those worries didn’t just magically disappear—you still ended up crying when you saw the letter R—you didn’t feel bad for existing anymore like you used to.

The last you heard of Riki was when that letter was slid under your door. In some way, you wondered who delivered it. Maybe one of his friends. Maybe him. And even that hurts knowing that he wasn’t man enough to look you in the eye. But after everything, you took it for what it was. Grateful for the closure that he could give you anyway. So you moved on. At least as best as you could, that is.

Jungwon and you have been in constant communication, though. From sporadic texts, to late night calls when he made it home after a long day. Since leaving your university, Jungwon’s signed on to be an independent researcher. Loosely affiliated with other universities enough to gain resources such as funding and whatnot. The person who gets commissioned to write books, contribute to academic journals, speak at conferences internationally. But lately, he’s been at his home base before he goes off to whatever else he wants to do. You’re not sure—by the time you both speak, you like to focus on the moment.

But today, you both have arranged to meet at a cafe that you enjoy going to every now and then. It’s a decently popular spot and you don’t expect him to know about it. It’s not like he knows anything about your hometown. You both agreed to meet at one PM—you open the door to the cafe, letting the little bell on the door jingle as it opens and closes. It was about twenty minutes until your coordinated time but you were nothing if not punctual. Or at least you tried to be for him. Like always, you scanned the place to see if any spots were open. Fortunately, there was a perfect two-seater right in the corner of the cafe. Quiet, a bit dark though. There was nothing there but a small painting that the owners placed just for the sake of filling the space. Then there was another space, another two-seater. Right in front of the windows. Both metal seats glinted and reflected off the glass. A small pot of daffodils hung over the center of the table from a chain that was connected to the ceiling. You tilted your head with a slight smile—a warm feeling rose in your chest as you carefully approached the table. Unsure of what seat to take, you just stare for a moment before you just sit at any one. Maybe Jungwon will remind you of which seat he wanted when he got here.

For a while, you debate ordering anything just yet. Wanting to revel in how fun it’d be to stand in line with him. Chatting as you both browsed the menu knowing that you’d probably just order the same thing you’d order at any other cafe that you’ve been to. The door jingles as it opens suddenly, drawing you out of the fantasy. Subconsciously, you sit up—fixing yourself and your hair as you are about to turn around. But before you could, pale hands cover your eyes—ultimately submerging your world in darkness.

“Guess who?” They sing softly, Your smile gave you away before you could even pretend to think about it.

“Took you long enough,” you said.

His hands dropped from your eyes and then he was there–sliding into the seat across from you like he’d been doing it for years, unwinding a scarf from around his neck even though it was the tail end of spring and entirely too warm for a scarf. Very him, somehow. He looked good. That was the first thought, arriving before you could be polite about it. Rested in a way he hadn’t looked the last time you’d seen him, which had been the office, which had been the worst day the both of you shared. His glasses were slightly different—new frames, a little thinner. His sweater was cream colored and soft looking and he had the sleeves pushed up already like he was ready to settle in. “You’re early,” he said.

“I love punctuality, Dr. Yang. You know this.” You bite your lip, trying to suppress a small laugh. 

He smiled at that—the real one, dimples and everything. “Well maybe be late, you know? I wanted to be here first.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, picking up the little menu card from the center of the table like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Wanted to see you walk in first. It’s what I’m used to.” The warm feeling in your chest expanded so suddenly you had to look down at the table for a second just to collect yourself.

The daffodils hung gently overhead, swaying from some draft you couldn’t locate.

“So,” he said, setting the menu down and folding his hands. Looking at you the same way he always had—like you were the most interesting thing in whatever room you both happened to be in. “How does it feel? How do you feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“Being done.” He tilted his head. “Just…turning over a new leaf.”

You thought about the almost-empty room. The letter in your nightstand drawer. The mirror that had gotten a little easier to look into. “Weird,” you said honestly. “Good-weird, though.”

He nodded slowly. “Good-weird is underrated.” The door jingled behind you somewhere. The espresso machine hissed. Outside the window the street moved at its usual indifferent pace, completely unbothered by the fact that something inside you had quietly, finally, come to rest.

“You look different,” Jungwon said. Not analyzing, just noticing.

“Different how?” For a moment, you forgot you even had makeup on. Which was something you almost never did.

He considered you for a moment, chin tilting slightly. “Just…” For once Jungwon searches for words, which for someone like him was almost a rare occurrence. “Beautiful.” He says it, blurting it out and exhaling over it like the elephant was finally coming off of his chest. Like he was allowed to breathe now. “You look so beautiful. You always have. But…there’s an equanimity. Repose—about you now. And I’m grateful—lucky—to see it.”

Your eyes widened slightly as your hand rose to your chest. Rubbing your chest over your flowy, linen shirt where your heart was. “Uh–I…thank you, Jungwon.”

He smiled. Reached over and straightened the small pot of daffodils that had drifted slightly off center. “Good,” he said simply. “Now. Tell me what’s good here. I drove forty minutes and I refuse to order the wrong thing.”

—

The both of you were buzzing. 

Spending the rest of the afternoon and evening in the same seats. Behinds aching as you both constantly adjust in the stiff, metal seats. Stomachs bloated and aching slightly from copious caffeine consumption. But neither of you cared. Neither of you could help but reach over the table as you held yourself as if either of you laughed—then your guts would spill out. Time doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore because whatever it is, you have all of it with him. The cafe soon closes, the employees quietly starting to do inventory and wiping tables. And you’re not dense, you both made your way out. Leaving a hefty tip for them in the jar by the register. And before the both of you knew it, you ended up on a bridge at one of the local parks. Nothing too far nor close to his car but it wasn’t like that was on either of your minds. Still, the golden hour was slowly tipping to blue. The water beneath your feet was neither loud or quiet. 

You both find a worn, wooden bench to sit on. Though surprisingly enough, it didn’t groan under both of your combined weight. So that was clearly a great sign. The bench had seen more than it should’ve but it wasn’t one to complain. The both of you stare ahead. Letting the silence build between the both of you but it wasn’t awkward. It felt earned more than anything. Finally you were looking at something outside of yourself without feeling the burden of doubt. Even though you enjoyed his company, it kills you to not hear his voice now. Him being this close to you makes you want him in any way. The sole hit of dopamine that you get when he says your name or laughs at one of your terrible jokes is enough to make you want this forever. Always.

You muster the courage to look to your left, only slightly do you turn your head to see him fully turned to you. Legs crossed over the other and hands folded over his stomach. And the moment your eyes meet, the two of you burst into a small fit of laughter. Jungwon threw his head back as his laugh was now more obnoxious than when he was in the cafe. Which you admired, you loved his mindfulness. How he minded everywhere he was and that he knew when to turn it on and off.

You’re still laughing but it’s going to fade into something softer any second now. And you’re positively anticipating it. That moment when the laughter dies down and leaves something unguarded in its place. So when it does, you’re fully turned to him with your back straightened—almost at attention—until you catch yourself. You didn’t need to perform or pretend. So you take a second to just…sink into the bench. Jungwon’s the first to speak. “When do you have to be home?” He asks softly, now the ebb and flow of the water below crashing a bit—but it was white noise. His voice was louder than anything you’ve ever heard. At the front of your mind.

“Uh…” You shrug, twisting your bracelet. “I don’t have to be anywhere. It’s not like I have a curfew. I am a grown woman, fun fact.” He reaches over, lightly pushing your shoulder. “Hush.” He laughs again. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Your brows furrowed as you playfully swatted him. “Clarify for me, please.”

“I mean…” He brings his arm to rest on the back of the bench. “I’m coming through on my promise.”

Your hand stills on your bracelet. You’d thought about this moment more than you’d ever admit to anyone including yourself. Lying in your almost empty dorm room, then later in your childhood bed staring at the same ceiling you'd stared at for eighteen years before you left. Turning his words over in the dark like something you weren't sure was real.

Just make sure you have your passport, okay?

You’d told yourself it was just something people say. Something kind and warm that exists only in the moment it’s spoken and dissolves after. Like steam. Like the way people say we should catch up and never mean it. But here he is.

“Which promise?” you ask quietly. Not because you don’t know. But because you need to hear him say it.

Jungwon looks at you for a moment. That same unhurried way he looks at everything—like he has nowhere else to be and intends to stay exactly where he is. “Well, more like I need you to come through on yours.” He smiles softly, then it widens by the second.

And the blue hour settles around you both. And the water does whatever it wants below. And you think—oh. It was always going to be this. So you stop twisting the bracelet. And you lean into the arm behind you. “What did I say?” Again, you knew. You just wanted to hear him say it. “That you’d go anywhere.” His smile softens a bit. The hand by your shoulder, brushing the exposed skin where the sleeve ended. Sending jolts through your skin. You didn’t realize how you longed for touch. Affection of any kind. Platonic, familial, romantic. Even then, you didn’t realize until now that one of those boxes was being checked. “With me.” “Where’s anywhere?” You clear your throat, gulping down literally nothing. You wanted to look down and see his hand brush against your warm skin—just to make sure that it was real. But he may think that you didn’t enjoy it. You were still unfamiliar with these dynamics. Do you acknowledge it or not? 

“Brazil.” He says.

The word sits between you both for a moment. Just breathing there.

You look at him. He’s already looking at you. Has been, you realize. Probably since before you turned. The hand on your shoulder isn’t moving anymore—just resting there, warm and certain against your skin like it belongs and is only now admitting it. So you turn toward him fully. And the last of the golden hour catches the new frames of his glasses and the particular way he’s looking at you like you are the most inevitable thing that has ever happened to him. And you bring your hand up. It finds his jaw before you’ve finished deciding to do it. Your thumb barely grazes the place where his dimple lives. You feel him exhale—slow and quiet—and underneath your palm he isn’t quite as controlled as usual. His eyes drop to your mouth. Just once; and that’s enough for you to close the distance. It’s soft at first. Just the reality of it. And then his hand moves—slow, deliberate—finding your face and holding you there like you are something worth holding carefully. His other hand finds your waist and draws you in. Not urgent. Just yes. You kiss him like you have nowhere else to be. Because you don't.

When you pull back you don’t go far. His forehead finds yours. Eyes still closed. Breath slightly uneven which does something to you that you’ll think about later. 

Then—

“So that’s a yes?” Quieter than usual. And when you open your eyes he’s already smiling. Dimples and everything. Like he can’t help it.

You laugh softly. “Ten times, yes.”

He takes your hand from his jaw and holds it instead. Pressing a kiss to your palm before pulling you into the warmth of his chest. And you both sit there above the water saying nothing at all. 

The bench holds.

— epilogue

The sun had been up for hours but you’d only been awake for twenty minutes and already you’d decided this was the best decision you’d ever made.

The kind of heat that didn’t ask anything of you. Just settled over your skin like permission. The ocean was doing what oceans do—completely indifferent and endlessly moving and so blue it almost didn’t look real.

You shifted on the beach chair and didn’t pull at your swimsuit. Didn’t even think about pulling at it. That was new.

You’d bought it a week before the trip in a fitting room under fluorescent lights that were nobody’s friend and you’d stood there for a long time just looking at yourself. Waiting for the familiar voice that always showed up in those moments—the one that catalogued everything, measured everything, found everything wanting. But most importantly, reminded you that you were beautiful even in a trash bag. And now here you are. Somewhere warm and far from home with salt drying on your shoulders and your hair doing whatever it wanted because you’d stopped fighting it two days ago.

You turned your head. Jungwon was exactly where he’d been when you dozed off—stretched out on the chair beside yours, laptop balanced on a little lap desk, glasses on, expression set to that particular focused calm that meant he was either deep in thought or had been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes. 

"You’re supposed to be on vacation," you said.

He didn’t look up immediately. "I am on vacation. But also not—technically."

"You have your laptop."

"I have my laptop on vacation." He turned a page of something beside him without looking at it. "It’s called balance."

You laughed, the sound coming out easy and unhurried, swallowed up by the ocean breeze. He looked over then. Just briefly, over the rim of his glasses. Something in his expression shifted—soft and unguarded in that way he never tried to hide anymore. Like he’d given up pretending he wasn’t exactly as gone on you as he was. "I love seeing you happy," he said.

"I love that you love seeing me happy."

He held your gaze for a second like he was making sure. Then he closed the laptop and set it on the small table beside him. And stood up.

You tilted your face up as he stepped over to your chair, this man who had kept every quiet promise he’d ever made to you, who had shown up in late June on a Thursday and never left after that. Who had said no rules in a half empty office once while packing up his life and meant it in a way that turned out to be true.

He leaned down slowly. One hand braced on the back of your chair, the other coming up to cup your face like he had all the time in the world and intended to use it.

The sun was warm on your shoulders. The ocean kept moving. He kissed you soft and unhurried, the way he did most things—like there was nowhere else to be. Like this had been decided a long time ago and he was simply glad they’d finally gotten here.

When he pulled back he didn’t go far. Just pressed small kisses to your cheek, then neck, and collarbone. Inhaling your sweet, salty scent before smiling once he looked you in the eye. Lightly pressing his nose to yours. And you thought about Riki’s letter sitting in your nightstand drawer back home. For the smallest unit of time possibly—like a nanosecond. About the happiest one. About coffee ten years from now and Happy Halloween and a small crumpled graveyard of false starts.

You hoped he was okay. You genuinely did. But laying here on a beach chair in Brazil, looking above. Seeing the sun cast a halo around the body of your angel—the man that saved you.

You knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

Copyright: © zorange13. 2026. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

After nearly 10 years of dating, high school sweethearts to adult life after college, you and Heeseung had different visions of the future– him traveling the world for his career in theatre and you as a flight attendant. It had been no secret what you two had wanted to do, but as your relationship progressed, you never gave thought to what would happen once it was time to actually pursue these jobs.

You and Heeseung saw each other once a month. One week, seven days of time with each was all the time you got to spend together. The first few months the distance seemed manageable, but as time went on, time zones left the two of you too exhausted to speak to each other, and your week breaks started to lose their synchronization. You used to see Heeseung once a month, now you never see him at all.

You had been given the weekend off to go to your sister’s wedding, as well as Heeseung, who’d gotten a weekend’s worth of off days to attend. It was weird, knowing someone for so long and suddenly having nothing to talk about. The apartment you shared seemed almost empty with the silence that engulfed it. For the first time since you’d started dating your boyfriend, the two of you had grown awkward. There was a lingering tension in the air, an obvious problem that neither of you wanted to address, but you knew you had to.

The answer was simple– you and Heeseung didn’t have the time to be together anymore. There was no way that the two of you would ever be able to revert to the way your relationship was. You traveled too often to completely opposite sides of the globe, communication nearly impossible at that point. There was no argument, no defensiveness– just dejectedness, the acceptance of the inevitable that had been eating at the both of you through these long months.

You’d broken up with each other. Quietly, secretly, but serious– irreversible. And you had to attend a wedding together.

You agreed not to tell anyone until after the wedding about the split, so as to not redirect any attention onto the two of you, but the pain of pretending to be a couple with the cruel truth looming over both of your heads was nearly too much to bear. You hadn’t seen Heeseung in hours, too caught up in conversation with the groom–and avoiding you– to show up. You didn’t mind, looking at him was too hard right now. It would have been easier if your breakup was a mere fallout, a mutual decision that you didn’t love each other anymore. But that wasn’t it. The problem with your breakup was that you still loved each other, and you were sure it’d be the death of you.

You sat at your table, your friends conversing about topics you weren’t paying attention to as you sipped the champagne in your drinking glass. You were completely zoned out, the celebration of love around you only bringing back the memories of your own great love that you’d abandoned just days prior. For the sake of your sister, you really did try to be happy for her, keeping that notorious bright smile of yours own as you went through the service. But, standing next to your sister at the altar as her maid of honor, you felt nothing more than the urge to run out.

For as long as you lived, you weren’t sure you’d ever find a love like the one you shared with Heeseung. You’d never get a marriage like this, you were sure of it. Heeseung was the only man you’d ever loved, and after him, you didn’t see yourself ever falling for someone again. You’d never go to another wedding again after this, you swore it.

Subconsciously a heavy sigh left your lips, catching you by surprise as you tried to cover it up, clearing your throat awkwardly as if people had been watching you.

 They hadn’t been, only Heeseung was. 

He’d been watching you the entire time, the weak expression on your face enough to make him break down right then and there. He didn’t want this, he never did. To break up with you was the single most painful thing he’d ever had to do in his life, and he didn’t know if he’d ever heal from the heartbreak.

It was the feeling you felt before a test, that tension in your chest as your heart beat out of control. It was the feeling you felt holding in tears, that lump in your throat that hurt to swallow. It was constant for Heeseung, the ache that came along with losing you. He’d yet to truly register the fact that you two would never see each other again after this wedding. His person was no longer his person, no more than a stranger you’d pass on the street and never give a second thought to. After this wedding, you and Heeseung would be nothing, and it made him all the more scared to leave.

His hands trembled slightly, the chaos in his heart spreading throughout his body like a sick virus. It didn’t help that the music sounding in the wedding venue had switched from upbeat to sensual, everyone pulling their partners for the slow dance of the night. The groomsmen had exited to find their people, and Heeseung was suddenly lost. For so long it had been second nature for him to grab you in any situation, but this was the exception. This was new for him, the hesitation to approach you. But he wasn’t going to leave you now, not yet.

He tapped your shoulder quickly, as if nervous to even touch you. You turned, and he had his hand out, a bittersweet smile on his face. “One last time?” You could hear the way tried not to choke on his words, pushing the question out like it physically hurt him to do so. You couldn’t even find it in you to smile, you were devastated. Love was never something that came to you easily, and because of that, you considered Heeseung to be something of a miracle. Recently you’d begun wondering if you gave the universe too much credit.

Still, you grabbed his hand, tears stinging your eyes as he took you to the middle of the floor. His arms wrapped around your waist, yours around his neck, and for a moment, the two of you didn’t know what to say to each other. There was nothing to be said, your story was over. Couples around you cooed at how tight you’d been holding each other, unaware of the symbolism behind it.

This dance was a goodbye, the ending number of an epic love story. Things would never be the same again, you had no clue where your life would go from this point on, but the only thing you focused on was his body so close to yours, soaking in the proximity you’d never get to feel again.

The full timeline of your love flashed in front of your eyes– the moment you met, the moment you fell, the ups and the downs, everything that had made you the person you were in that very moment. You couldn’t stop the tears anymore, falling from your eyes in slow streams as you sniffled quietly. You whispered through stifled sobs, “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

 Heeseung’s expressions hardened, eyes visibly filling with tears as he shook his head. He whispered desperately, “Please, [Name], don’t cry…” His pleas were quiet, but charged with an emotion so broken your knees nearly gave out at the sound of it. Heeseung’s hands cupped your face gently, thumb swiping over your tears as he attempted to smile again, though it came out completely jagged. His lips trembled as he shook his head once more. “We’ll be okay, baby. We’ll be okay.” 

The last memory of your relationship with Heeseung was the final slow dance you shared together, the one that signed off your love, a testament to the end of the best years of your life. You never saw him after the wedding, and you’d never know a love like his ever again.

You’re scared of the city you’re living in. 

The noise, the crowd, the fear of becoming a victim of crimes like robbery or gunpoint — it’s your everyday worry whenever you leave the apartment you’re living in. Hands clutching your bag tightly, eyes scanning left and right, and staying at the crowded streets that’s exposed to any strangers so that if danger happens, you’ll immediately get saved. 

You lived in this constant fear ever since you entered college. Your safety is always at stake. If you open up your fear to someone, they’d probably ask, why move to the city?

You weren’t that girl who dreams big in the great city, but with how you excelled with your academics during high school, it would be a waste if you continued your education at a public college in your small hometown — as said by your parents.

They’re the one who’s dreaming big for you. They knew that you have more potential than your siblings had. Being the youngest, you weren’t safe to choose your own path, hence, you found yourself studying in Decelis University under a program that you never loved in the first place. But hey, once you graduate, it’s an in-demand job, so you don’t get a say at all.

Hopefully, what your parents had drilled in you may come through. Once you get a job with a high-paying salary, the first thing you’ll do is to save enough money to completely cut off your family and live on your own. Somewhere quiet and peaceful, where no one knows you, and you’re safe on your own, doing the things you love — which has been the only dream of yours. 

But for now, you’re focused on your studies, spending your summer retaking your failed subjects — which your parents didn’t know — instead of relaxing and slumping around inside your childhood bedroom back in your hometown. But it was alright with you, you preferred this setup rather than play pretend with your family that you’re doing fine.

Except, you’re not the only one who’s staying in the apartment flat. 

You stared at your fridge’s compartment. A curse leaving your breath as you counted your yakult bottle. There’s only two left when the last time you checked, there should be four more. 

Riki stole not one, but two bottles. You just bought the five-pack yogurt drink yesterday. It annoyed you that that man could buy tons and tons of coloring materials for his college program but cannot buy himself a cheap pack of yogurt drink. It’s available in the grocery mart nearby your apartment, so why does he have to steal from you?

At the same time, you could’ve hid it underneath your stacks inside the fridge. Maybe in a tupperware which Riki doesn’t snoop around, but instead, you always place it in front. On display, like you’re fine with Riki stealing your yakult and it doesn’t bother you at all. Maybe, you don’t mind Riki stealing your drinks. 

Despite that, you left the kitchen and went back to your room, returning to the fridge with a sticky note and placing it on the egg tray in Riki’s compartment — convincing yourself that you’re annoyed that he’s been stealing your yogurt drinks ever since you two became roommates. 

You couldn’t count the many times he stole your yakult. It didn’t sink in you why you let him steal your yakult. Maybe because you don’t want to make a big deal about it too. You don’t like confrontations. It scares you, and you always knew that you'd end up losing, and you know well that you’ll never win an argument with your roommate. That man’s wit and logic is as sharp as the lines he drew without using any ruler.

It’s not that you hate your roommate — you’re just annoyed by him.

Annoyed by the fact that he’s a good roommate, and not that asshole type of college boy who’s bad at doing chores and parties 24/7. Riki’s clean and organized. He doesn’t know how to cook except instant noodles, but he knows how to clean the kitchen after using it. He doesn’t hog the bathroom either and it’s always squeaky clean whenever he’s finished his bath. Riki’s a fucking neat freak.

Riki also knows how to respect your space. He doesn’t bring any friends unless giving you a heads up, and if he does, he always makes sure that they don’t make a lot of unnecessary noises. He doesn’t bring girls and fuck them so loud that you’re scarred from all the noise. Nope, you never saw him bring a girl to your place not once.

To summarize it all, Riki’s just a normal college student who pulls an all-nighter to cram his plates in the living room and works part-time at a bistro — and that annoys you. You couldn’t even find a reason to convince anyone that you hate your roommate, because Riki was a good roommate. 

Except well, he steals your yakult and maybe that's a plausible reason to hate him.

“You could’ve just talked to me instead of placing a note on my compartment,” you stopped your tracks when you hear his deep voice that’s dripping with teasing. 

You looked at him, fresh out from his bath. Hair still wet, his loose shirt top has wet spots, basketball shorts hung casually while his white towel hung on his shoulder.

See, aside from the fact that he’s a good roommate, Riki’s also considerate of you. He’s smug and knows damn well that he’s insanely good-looking but he’s not going to flaunt it in front of you. He’s aware that you’re still wary about having a male roommate, so he makes sure that you still feel comfortable around him — no topless and nude shows, Riki even tends to cover more of his body than you do. 

“What, you’re not going to reply to me? We’ve been roommates throughout college and I can count the times you’ve talked to me,” he taunted, and you only rolled your eyes. 

“Buy your own yakult,” you said. 

“It tastes better when I steal it,” Riki laughed. “Reminds me of home, I used to steal my sisters’ stocks whenever I finished my stack within the day.”

“Yakult should only be consumed once a day,” you explained. “It’s a small probiotic drink, that’s why its size and portion.” 

“I know that one,” he shrugged casually. “But I live to my own rules y/n, you should too.”

You do. It’s just way different from him. You’d prefer living in solemnity and peace. You wanted stillness and tranquility against the bustling streets of the huge city. Your house has always been a noisy one, and for once, now that you have your own place to call it a home, you swore to yourself that you’ll only choose what’s quiet for you. 

“Just buy your own next time, Riki,” you told him one last time before going back to your bedroom.

Your bedroom — the only tiny space which you can call home, is the only safe space that you have. It’s small but enough to have your own bed, wardrobe cabinet, and study table. The huge window was shut out by a black-out curtains that you bought. Keeping you away from sunlight and outside noises.

Once you’re inside your room, you’ll feel safe. You can move on your own and there’s not a single person breathing under your neck. It’s what you need — if it wasn’t enough, you tend to put on your headphones to listen to some music and drown the silence. 

It keeps you moving at a steady pace. A small hope for you to live your life, and as you look at the ceiling of your room, it always keeps you grounded. A small reminder about your goal — that’s if you wanted to achieve your peace, you needed to be alone. 

-

They say no man is an island.

As much as you’re determined to live a life in solitude, loneliness can be a disease in college. Decelis university is alarmingly populated, accommodating thousands of students that are from different origins. At any chance, there’s someone out there who’s oddly similar to you enough to be your friend — you feel like a sour loser if you find yourself walking alone in the busy campus of your university.

“I don’t understand why Professor Song still instills that calculators aren’t allowed during examinations, like! It’s not cheating you know? It just saves us time especially when we’re calculating huge numbers,” Rei creases her forehead. Her pout becomes more visible as she takes a bite on her donut. 

“He’s an old man who thinks old teachings can still be applied in this time,” you muttered as you took a sip on your drink. “He keeps on bragging how a lot of students failed his subject like that’s something to be proud of — it just shows how incompetent he is as a teacher.” you added and Rei only agreed. 

Rei was a project partner turned best friend of yours. She’s colorful, contains a lot of energy, and cuteness inside her. You two are polar opposites but it was the bridge for you to become close. It never became a hindrance to your friendship.

Rei knows you like the back of her hand. She knows you enough that she hates your parents and she always insists on walking you home because of how scared you were to walk on the streets at night. She was caring. Too caring but nonetheless, a little sweetness and comfort from her doesn’t hurt you at all. 

“I just hope he’ll pass us this time,” Rei muttered, her voice becoming too worried that you stopped. “We’ll become seniors next year, I just hope that we can pass every subject.”

“I hope so too,” you replied. “I just want to graduate and leave this place.”

Rei laughed at your comment. She knows how much you wish for the life of solitude. Nonetheless, you promised her that you’d let her bug you every month to keep you company. 

“By the way, I almost forgot —” Rei opened her bag and grabbed the black plastic bag which contained a pack of yakult. You only smiled at her before muttering your thanks and putting the pack inside your bag.

“I think it’s time for you to hide it at the back of your compartment y/n, don’t let that prick steal your yakult again.” she rolled your eyes and you merely chuckled at her actions. 

“Yeah, I’ll hide it in a tupperware,” you replied even though in the back of your mind, you’re just going to place it in the compartment. If Riki steals another one — that’s on him. 

“He’s such a cheapskate,” Rei commented. “But hey, at least he’s a decent roommate you know? Anyways, have you ever thought about him?”

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“You know, he seems to look like an ideal boyfriend y/n, have you?” your best friend asked, wiggling her eyebrows while your stare remained deadpan.

“I’m not here to find myself a boyfriend Rei, I’m fine on my own,” you explained.

“Not even a crush? Come on y/n, he’s handsome! Admit it!” Rei convinced and you only stare at her, almost laughing.

Sure, Riki is handsome and maybe he is an ideal man but as a lover? You never thought about Riki as a lover — hell, you don’t even see him being in a serious relationship. But then again, you never got to know him more, so you don’t even know about his thoughts about love. 

Either way, you’re not even in the city to find yourself a boyfriend. They’re too much. Too much investment in your time and feelings, it’ll just stray you away from your goal.

“It’s getting late, should we go home now?” you suggested instead, standing up from your seat which Rei followed instinctively, annoyance written on her face.

“Hey — you didn’t answer my question and it’s not even past seven pm!” she sprinted out as you walked too fast.

You and Rei went separate ways since both of your apartments were on the different side of the university. The walk back to your apartment was oddly quiet yet there’s still the lingering fear inside you that’s overwhelmed by the city. 

Your footsteps were always in a hurry, heart pacing at a rapid pace until you found yourselves at the familiar street where your apartment was — a sense of relief washing over you as you walked faster.

As you arrived at your apartment, you were welcomed with nothing but silence. You can smell the soft detergent soap along with a touch of men’s perfume. Riki’s sneakers aren’t in his shoe rack which means he’s not home yet and thankfully he wasn’t because you’re not in the mood to deal with his bullshit.

You went towards the kitchen first. Opening your bag to grab the plastic bag when something caught your eyes on the corner of the kitchen counter. 

A whole pack of yakult. It’s not those five packs that they sell in the grocery store. It’s a whole resale pack. The whole fifty pieces of bottle — no wonder there weren’t any supplies in the grocery mart earlier. On top of it was a yellow sticky note and as you grabbed the note, you were welcomed by a messy handwriting. 

Here. So that you have a supply for the month. 

I’m still going to steal your yakult though ;) - Riki. 

You stared at it for a good second before you placed the note inside your pocket. Muttering your annoyance about your roommate before you decided to just open the fridge — seeing that your yakult stack is complete, and so was Riki’s. 

It added more fuel to your annoyance at your roommate. Now, you couldn’t even accuse him of stealing your drink because he bought it for the two of you. With a loud slam, you placed the one Rei bought for you at your compartment, and then, grabbed one from his stack and drank it. 

Riki’s right. It tasted better when you stole it from the other.

-

“Yes mom, I just got home from my night class — safe? Of course it was, there’s streetlights in my area and there were also students walking home while I was on my way.”

You just arrived at the doorsteps of your apartment flat when your mother called you, and you know your mother — she doesn’t like missed calls. 

You barely fumbled the keys from your skirt’s pocket when she started to bombard you with questions — and it immediately ruined your supposed quiet day. 

“I heard that there’s a lot of stabbing incidents there, I was just scared! What if they target you next?” You rolled your eyes. This wouldn’t happen if they didn’t ship you out to the city. You wanted to ask them who’s responsible for enrolling you at Decelis, and yet, you kept your mouth silent as you only nodded at her words. 

“Don’t worry about me mom, I have my own pepper spray here and I make sure I don’t go on secluded streets,” you convinced as you kicked your shoes out of your feet before placing it on your rack. 

You went straight to your room, not even bothering to check if Riki’s home yet. You only locked your door before putting the phone on speaker. 

“I’m just worried about my youngest, is that bad? Are you doing well? Is your grades okay, come on, it’s been a while since you called home,” she explained in her soft tone yet, it only irritated you even more. 

“I’m okay mom, just the usual studies, it’s hard — the courses are hard that’s why I am taking it in advance so it won’t be a hindrance for the next semester,” you lied. The deep sigh escaping on your lips which you hope that your mother wasn’t able to notice.

“It’s not sweetie, you’re smart, I know you can do it, you’ll be our future public accountant right? You’ll be the most successful one out of our children,” she encouraged but it only had the weight be heavier against your back.

Your older siblings were fine. It’s just that they didn’t choose the path that your parents wanted for them. They have decent jobs and are on their own now. You’re not close with them due to the huge age gap, but they were kind enough to ask about your life once a month or give you some small pocket money. You could consider that they’re successful, but maybe in your parents’ eyes, they weren’t.

“They’ll be mad to hear that mom,” you tried to lighten the conversation but your mother says otherwise.

“They know it too y/n,” she casually replied and it only made you frown further. 

You wanted to tell her off. That if you chose what you want, she’ll be in her death bed due to disappointment, but your tongue held you back. That’s why you only hum quietly, waiting patiently until your mother finishes her lecture about parents being right about their children’s future. 

“Mom, I got to go, I haven’t had dinner yet,” you told her, finally finding a way to escape the call.

“Okay sweetie, take care there! Always make us proud!” her final words felt more like a burden as you ended the call. A deep sigh of relief escaping you as you brush your hair out of frustration. 

But instead of going towards the kitchen, you only sat on your bed. You lost your appetite because of your conversation with your mother. The guilt was eating you up. You hate that you had to lie to your mother and yet, you never wanted this kind of life.

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you decided to change your uniform to some pants and shirt, layering it with a jacket before you went through your drawer where you hid your vape pen. You told yourself that you’re going to quit — and yet here you are. You bought a new pod yesterday and now, you’re not going to waste it. 

You threw the old pod and replaced it with the new one. You placed it in between your lips, inhaling the cold, mint air that slid through your throat before releasing it. The huge smoke filled your room before you quickly brushed it away.

Smoking wasn’t prohibited inside each flat, and you’re not one to pick up a vice but vaping was the only “rebellious” thing that you could do here in the city. You didn’t want to drink or fuck around, plus, you have always been curious how smoking feels like, witnessing your father and brothers do it since you were a kid. 

You decided it feels suffocating to vape inside your room, that’s why you left your apartment flat and went towards the elevator. Pressing the “RD” button, the elevator went up for a minute until it reached your destination. 

After pressing the button of the door’s keypad, the push through the metal door of your apartment’s rooftop was heavy. With a soft grunt and careful hands, you closed the door without making a noise as the chilly wind of summer nights welcomed you. 

Aside from your room, the rooftop was another home for you. It was high enough for you to see the majority of the city. The view wasn’t that breathtaking but it was enough for you to feel more small in the huge city. From there, you could see the vicinity of Decelis, reminding you why you’re in the city in the first place. 

The stars in the sky scattered like millions of dust. The moon was nowhere to be seen but the only thing you could do was to stare at the busy city in front of you. The streets were still filled with vehicles, their loud horns blaring against the night, hoping that they’d get out of the traffic jam.

You rest your chin and arms on the tall railings as you watch the people below walk their way home — maybe somewhere, you don’t know but it amaze you how it’s nearing nine and the streets are still filled with people. 

And even on the busy streets, you were still scared of everything. Poor you. 

You let out a sigh as you grabbed the disposable vape from your jacket’s pocket and placed it in your mouth, inhaling the cold air and letting it slide down your throat for a second before releasing it. You rest there for a second, the impaling pain distraughts you and your senses as your call earlier with your mother keeps on repeating in your mind.

You didn’t mean to lie to your kind-hearted mother who wished nothing but the best for you, but you couldn’t help it when not once did she ever ask what you want. She has that kind of love that’s sweet like honey and yet, it leaves you rotting from the sweetness. You’ve wished nothing but none of that.

But your trail of thoughts were disturbed when a soft cry startled you. Eyeing on the rooftop, that’s when it sinked into you that you’re not the only who’s here.

The cry was soft yet pitiful — almost like they’re on the verge of breakdown but was holding back. You wonder about ghost stories about the building and thought that maybe, this is one of those encounters.

You’re not scared nor a skeptic, but your feet dragged you towards the sound, curiosity filling your mind, until you reached the back area of the rooftop where you noticed the figure who’s sitting on the cold metal bench in front of the railings — surprising you. 

He must’ve sensed your present that’s why he turned around and as both eyes met, he was caught off-guard.

“What are you doing here?” Riki muttered, wiping his tears off using his free hand. 

“Am I not allowed here?” you asked.

“No — that’s not what I meant, I mean —” Riki stuttered before he let out a deep sigh. “You shouldn’t have seen me like this.”

“Crying?”

“Vulnerable.” he mumbled. “You’re going to make fun of me.”

“It’s normal for people to cry,” you pointed out. 

“I know,” he immediately answered. “But there’s a difference when your roommate sees you at your lowest.”

You didn’t answer him but instead you observed Riki’s eyes, which are puffy and you probably assumed that his nose was running red too. His cries earlier — it feels like he’s mourning about something. 

But you’re not one to pry so you only took another hit on your vape pen again, which caught Riki off-guard again, eyes widening at the scene.

“You vape?” he asked in surprise, eyeing on the black device you were holding.

“I do,” you simply answered before taking another hit. 

Riki’s forehead creased, “what the fuck — I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you don’t, I only smoke here or inside my room,” you shrugged.

“Can I try?” he asked and you just handed it to him without any questions.

You watched as Riki placed the vape onto his lips, inhaling the air but within a split second, he coughs out of disgust. His eyebrows furrowing at the vape as he returns it to you.

“What flavor was that?” he asked as he continued to cough out the air. 

“Mint,” you stated.

“Mint!? You could’ve added some flavor in it like bubble gum or maybe strawberries and shit — you really had to choose the plainest fucking flavor out there?” he complained and you only hummed as you took another hit. 

“It’s strong, and I don’t like artificial sweetness,” you answered. 

“Then might as well smoke cigarettes if you’re going to choose mint,” he advised. 

“I don’t like cigarettes, they leave a foul smell on my fingers — and cigarettes are a deadly vice, I can quit vape if I want to, especially when I have no money.”

“You’re weird,” Riki furrowed. 

“How is it that my reason is weird? I’m just being reasonable.”

Perhaps, that was the longest conversation you and Riki had. He stared at you once again before shifting his attention towards the view in front of him. You followed him not too long. Gazing at the city, you wonder why Riki's here in the first place.

“What are you even doing here?” Riki asked.

“Am I not allowed to?” you repeated, and he only chuckled.

“I thought this is my space,” Riki said with a disappointed tone. “Turns out, you also know this hideout.”

“I’m pretty sure every tenant in this building knows about this rooftop. I think they hung their laundry here, don’t you know that?” you stated the obvious.

“Well, that made me feel less special now.”

You didn’t answer him, but instead you took another hit from your pen. It’s relaxing, and somehow, your mind’s at ease now. Thankfully. 

“What brings you here though?” Riki asked.

“I just need to smoke,” you answered quickly.

“That’s it?” 

You nodded. “I didn’t like vaping inside my room, that’s why I’m here.”

“You’re so cold, you know that?” he said, and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you always been like that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe — I dodn’t know either. I admit that I am a serious person, but cold? I still have feelings though.”

“Really?” Riki asked amusingly. “You know, from the years we’ve been roommates, this is probably the longest conversation that we had.”

“Do we have to?”

“Can a guy want to be acquainted with his roommate?” Riki justified. 

“You tease me a lot, and you steal my yakult,” you pointed out. 

“And I paid everything back last week, so we’re even,” he smirked.

“This is why I don’t want to be acquainted with you, you’re annoying without any reasons.”

“Do you want me to give you a reason why I tease you a lot?” 

You didn’t answer him but instead, you turned your heels and walked away from him. You could hear him calling out your name but midway — the lights went off. 

You freezed. There was nothing but pitch black. The entire city has fallen into darkness — save it for the few buildings that still have their own lights. Your eyes went wide at the sudden interruption, and before you could even move, your phone rang. — it was the emergency alarm.

“Power interruption for the whole city, it’ll return tomorrow at nine,” you read the message. Before you could even process the message, another message appeared in your notifications. It was from the landlord — your building’s generator set was broken, which meant that you’d to endure the darkness and heat for the whole night. 

That’s when you realized. You ran towards the entrance of the rooftop and as you pulled the handle — it won’t budge. It’s locked. 

You’re locked on the rooftop with Riki. Talking about bad luck. You had no choice but to spend the whole night with that annoying roommate of yours. 

“Fuck,” you breathed. Curse advanced technology that is useless when there’s no power in the building. You had no choice but to go back while Riki watched you in amusement against the dimmed rooftop. The good thing was that there’s emergency lights on the four corners. It was dimmed and one of them was flickering, but at least it gives you two subtle lights.

You sat on the metal bench next to the bench where Riki was sitting, his eyes never leaving yours. Meanwhile you let out a bother sigh as you took a hit on your pen. Might as well keep yourself entertained. 

“I guess we’re stuck here,” Riki laughed.

“Why do you like the idea that we’re stuck here?” you eyed him.

“Because that means I can bother you and you can't do anything about it.” he pointed out. 

“Is there anything you could do aside from bothering me?”

“None that I could think of,” Riki hummed. He raised his long limbs and rested his feet on the end of the railings. He shifted his body and rested his head on the bench’s backrest.

“Can I hit?” he asked, arms stretching with his palm open.

“You hate the flavor.”

“Maybe it’s sweeter since it came from your lips,” he commented, glancing at you with a smirk. 

“Go buy your own vape that has artificial sweetness.”

“Too bad,” he taunted, almost pouting. “We’re stuck here, aren’t we?”

You scoffed and took only a hit from your pen. Riki retrieved his arms and had it rest on his stomach. The two of you sat there in silence. The only noise that could be heard was the car vehicles below, trying to navigate the streets because of the blackout. 

“Can I rant?” Riki asked in the midst of the silence. Not even an hour had passed and he already planned to bother you. 

“No.”

“Well, we’re stuck here for the whole night so might as well listen to my frustrations,” Riki stated and while you had the choice to stand up and leave him alone there and find yourself another spot in the rooftop, you find yourself glued to your seat, guilt washing in you because you remembered that you had witnessed him crying. 

“My grandpa’s dying.” Riki started, immediately dropping the bomb that made you glance at him. You noticed the bitter expression in his face, trying to conceal it by smiling like it’s nothing. 

“Like, he’s slowly becoming ill as days passed by. He's bedridden now, and my parents want me to go home and just continue my study there.”

You only listened to his words quietly. Letting him vent all his frustrations out because it seems healthy to let it out instead of bottling it up — which is hypocritical of you to think. 

“Is it selfish that I don’t want to go home? I just can’t leave everything behind because I’ve spent years here. I met a lot of people, had friends and everything — I just can’t leave them all of the sudden.” Riki lets out a deep sigh. The type that he’s hopeful it’ll release all his frustrations out. 

“Am I selfish?” Riki asked as he looked at you, like he was asking for assurance. “Is it bad that I want to finish my college here? It’s my senior year next year. They say that senior year in Decelis is magical and full of events, and I don’t want to miss that. So, is it selfish that I am choosing to stay rather than to return?”

“Do you miss them?” you asked, finally having the timing to ask him. “Your family, you haven’t seen them for years, right?” Riki never left the apartment. He doesn’t go home on holidays or semester breaks. You remember that he shared how it gets lonely whenever you go home to your hometown. He wished that Japan was just a cheap one train away just like yours.

“There’s not a day where I’m homesick,” he explained, a bitter smile forming on his lips. “It’s so lonely living alone, it’s too quiet that it annoys me — plus you’re quiet for a roommate, it’s like I’m living with a ghost.”

Your forehead creased. “You’re annoying, that’s why.”

“Why? Because I stole your yakult? I told you, I already bought you a new stack — and you keep on stealing from my stack too!”

With that, you only looked up to the sky. “I guess we’re even.” 

Riki’s eyes never left yours. He watched as you only fiddled with your vape pen, humming lightly like you’re thinking of the best choice of words to say to you. 

“You’re not selfish Riki,” you answered with a serious tone. “You’re on your own in this world, whatever choice you make, it’s for your future too. If you returned to Japan, what would happen to you then?” 

“I don’t know — I don’t even know if I’d be continuing my program. But I still care for my family,” Riki stated. “My grandpa — he’s important to me too, he’s the one who pushed me to study here because it’s a good university. He said to take the risk, and here I am.”

“If your grandpa had your back, then stay,” you advised. “I think he’ll be happy to think that his grandson is studying at a well-known university.”

Riki didn’t say another word. A smile formed on his lips as found your words comforting despite the cold and serious tone you had. He’s torn about you. How can you be so cold yet it was warm for him to be comforted?

It confused him but Riki didn't care about it as he stared at you — wondering if vaping was the only reason why you went to the rooftop.

“What about you?” he blurted out.

“What?”

“You seemed troubled,” Riki asked. “We have all night you know? We’re locked here for the whole night.”

“Just because you shared yours, doesn’t mean I’ll share mine,” you said. 

Riki chuckled, “damn, and here I thought we’re one step closer to becoming friends.”

“Keep dreaming Riki.” you muttered and Riki didn’t say a word. He didn’t want to push you further. Best for it to just keep you company for the duration even if it means sitting in the darkness and silence.

Another passing moment had passed. You looked at your phone and noticed that it’s already ten in the evening. You didn’t realise that time passed by that quickly. The two of you sat there in silence after you ended the conversation. Your vape’s battery was already drained and so was your phone.

The silence between the two of you bothered you so much. You wanted to sleep, but your stomach was grumbling and complaining, and you hated yourself because you skipped dinner.

That’s when you look at Riki who’s still in the same position. Eyes opened as he stared at the stars. It made you wonder if his neck wasn’t aching from that position.

“Why do you love it here?” you asked out of blue. “It’s scary. How did you survive living here? Especially when you’re from another country.”

“Take the risk and chase after something,” Riki said to you without batting an eye. He stared at the stars and wondered if it was the same skies his siblings were staring at all the way back home.

Riki wasn’t just a brave person, but he also loved challenges. He got it from his grandpa, and what he said to you earlier, it was what his grandpa told him and that was the reason why he’s here now. 

“I don’t like living here,” you confessed. “It scares me, this big city — I feel so small, like it’s going to swallow me whole. Everytime I go here and look at the whole place, I always wonder if I truly am fit to live here and to study in Decelis.”

“It’s just your fear,” the taller boy stated. “If you let it scare your mind, it won’t go away at all. But look at you, you’ve been here for almost three years and you’re still alive.”

“Of course I have to be careful. But there’s still a constant fear out there. A lot of people wanted to make it big here and it always had me wondering why? What’s so good about this place? It’s just noisy and crowded and scary —”

“Have you ever thought about going home to your hometown?” Riki asked.

A disappointed chuckle was all you can do. “As much as I want to, my parents practically threw me in this hellpit, so I have no choice but to finish my study here.” 

“Have you ever tried telling them that you don’t want it?”

“And be disappointed by me? I think I’ll just suck it up, finish my studies, and hopefully this city doesn’t kill me first.”

Riki stared at you. He noticed the way your lips never curved into a smile. It never occurred to him that he had seen you smiling. No wonder. He thought. No wonder you’re so cold and distant. You’ve been alone in this world, constantly fighting your fear. If he was in your shoes, he’d be cold too.

“So why are you here?” he asked. 

“I told you —”

“No, I mean, it’s a summer semester. Only students who had failed subjects are allowed to enroll the semester —” Riki wasn’t able to finish his sentence when it had occurred to him why you’re still in the city.

“I’m sorry.” he apologized.

“This is the first time I heard you apologize,” you muttered. “Well, my best in my old school was just below average in Decelis, I didn’t know that I’d be scared not only of the city but also Decelis. It’s not surprising since it’s one of the top universities here.” 

“Does your parents know?”

You shake your head. “I think I’d like for them to keep the version of me being their intelligent and perfect child, although it’s sickening for me, I’d do it for the sake of keeping peace within my family.”

“So you chose to endure the city that you fear the most rather than tell your parents the truth.” Riki concluded. “You’re brave.”

“No, I’m not,” you bitterly pointed out. “I just think this one’s the better option.”

“You’d do what’s best for you?”

“Everyone does.”

“Not everyone,” Riki laughed. “Look at me, my parents are forcing me to go home but I don’t want to. Sometimes we have to choose what makes us happy.”

“Staying here makes you happy?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Because now, I get to talk to you this long — and mind you, this is the longest conversation that we had for the last three years.”

His words caught you off-guard. The two of you only stared at each other without saying a word. Riki looked at you with a soft smile — different from the mischievous smile that he had whenever he’s bothering you, and that halted you.

Maybe, Riki really just wanted to be close with you. But you’re content with Rei as your only friend. You didn’t want to build more relationships. Relationships are hard for you to cherish and maintain. After all, it wasn’t in your plan to surround yourself with people. They’re just going to be a bunch of noise that will disturb your tranquility.

Should you consider this as a one-time thing? You had no choice after all. You were locked against your own will because of the power interruption, and to kill time, you had no choice but to talk to Riki. It’ll save both of you from boredom. Maybe, you could let this night pass by.

“I didn’t think you’d be this eager.” you commented, and he only chuckled.

“I don’t like being lonely, it just makes me sick,” he explained.

“I like it. It’s peaceful.”

“So you don’t like the noise of this city?”

“I never like being here in the first place.”

The loud engines of the cars. It’s horns, the neverending chatter of people walking around. Some were shouting, some were cursing, followed by the loud barking of the neighborhood’s dogs. It’s overwhelming for you.

“You asked me why I love it here right?” Riki asked, standing up from the seat. You looked at him as he stepped forward closer to you.

“Right, you never answered my question.”

“It’s the small things about the city. I’m going to sound cheesy but I like to romanticize my life here in the city. I may be a struggling student who lacks sleep, but I can still be someone else if I put my heart on it.” Riki explained, and you didn’t expect that his answer would be this sincere. 

You’d thought something like, he has freedom here. His friends are here, or maybe something he loved to do — like studying in Decelis or working part-time at The Rabbit Hole.

“So, who are you?”

“Someone who yearns, someone who’s artistic and free,” he lets out a sigh, a relieved one that made him smile as he stared at the view.

You didn’t say a word. You found yourself envious of Riki — how he has such optimism in him. You’d never thought that your menace of a roommate would actually be a warm guy who finds beauty in everything. 

“I could never be like you,” you said. “I could never be artistic and free, not when I never had that choice in the first place.”

“You don’t have to, maybe you could find something that’d keep you fighting in this city.”

“I don’t think I’d find a reason.”

“Then, can I give you my reason?” he suggested.

He reached for his hand and you stared at it. It made you wonder what Riki meant by his words. What could be the reason why he still keeps on living in this world? 

You were defeated. The curiosity lingered in you. So you accepted his hands and he pulled you to stand up from your seat. The sudden skinship surprised you yet you kept your mind calm. 

“Have you ever seen a sunrise?” he asked. The two of you went to the other side of the rooftop. That area where you were standing earlier. He sits on the bench while he pulls you to sit next to him. His hands never left yours — nor did you pull away. He kept it warm as the cold wind created a small breeze. 

You blinked, staring at the other view in front of you. “I did.”

“But here?”

“No, I haven’t, I had my curtains closed always,” your answer made him laugh.

“It’s pretty when you watch it here,” Riki explained. “It’s one of the most beautiful sunrises I have ever seen.”

“Even more beautiful than those in Japan?” you asked.

“It’s not just about the view, it’s about its warmth — it feels comforting that you couldn’t help but to be assured that it’s another day for you, live to the fullest.” he explained.

“You sure have a lot of words of wisdom.” you pointed out. 

“Got it from my grandpa,” he only smiled. “If you saw the sunrise here, you’d see the beauty of this place.”

“Really? The sunrise?”

“Like I told you earlier, it meant to tell you that you survived a day — and you had a new day to look forward to.” Riki explained.

“You said it so sincerely.”

“Because I am being sincere.” Riki shrugged. “That’s my reason y/n. Live life wherein you’re chasing after sunrise.” 

You hummed quietly. Who would’ve thought that the guy who steals your probiotic drinks would say such deep words? Would his words give you a reason for you to continue living in this city? You never took him seriously — he never showed you any intentions that he’d be this sincere. So it surprised you.

Was it a good surprise? You don’t know either, but your heart was beating so fast that you’re probably palpitating by the idea that Riki’s next to you. His hands never left yours, and through the years of you two being roommates together, this was the first time you two had talked genuinely. 

It’s scary for you. It’s like Riki’s one step closer to entering your life. Still, your heart betrayed you because maybe, you wanted Riki to be part of your life too — even though everything that just happened still hasn’t been processed to you. 

“So we’re going to wait until the sun rises?” you asked. 

“Are you sleepy?” he asked.

And before you could’ve said another word, a yawn escaped your lips, making Riki chuckle at your action. He didn’t say a word but instead, reached for your head using his free hand and pushed it to lean on his shoulder — and you let him be.

“Rest,” he stated. “I’ll wake you up when the sunrise is near.”

“You’re not going to sleep?” you asked.

“I’m an architecture student, I live for all-nighter.” he laughed. 

You weren’t able to say something back. Slowly, you could feel your eyes getting drowsy. You felt tired and the cold night wasn’t helping at all. Add to the fact that Riki’s shoulders were comfortable for a pillow. He’s warm and soft, that you didn’t notice that you had slowly drifted to sleep. 

-

“Hey.” a soft tap touches your cheeks. You only groaned as you brush the hand away, not noticing Riki’s deep chuckles as he pokes your cheeks once again.

“Wake up, it’s starting,” Riki said as his eyes glanced at the sky once again. 

“What? — no, I’m too sleepy~” you whined as you made yourself more comfier on Riki’s lap.

“You’re going to miss it, come on, after this, we could go down and continue your sleep. Hopefully, electricity's back now.” Riki stated. With a few shakes and cheek pokes, you finally opened your eyes. Sitting upwards as you feel the warm touch on your face. 

Your eyes were still drowsy when you felt it. The sun rays slowly hitting your face, making you groan as you tried your best to figure out where the hell you are.

Riki remained quiet by your side. His eyes were fixed on yours, waiting for your reaction as the morning arrived right in front of you two. 

“Oh.” it was the first thing you said as it had sinked into you the scene in front of you. 

Riki’s right. It is beautiful — it’s even more beautiful than the sunrises that you have witnessed. It’s not that breathtaking, but it was comforting. It’s calm and quiet, something that you always yearn for.

You stood up from your seat and went near the railings in hopes to get a better glimpse of it. You could feel the warm crept into your skin. It was something that you’d missed. You never thought that such beauty was avoided by you because you spent your days in the dark. 

“It’s beautiful.” you mumbled.

Everything about the city felt tranquil suddenly. The roads were a bit empty. The noise of the public wasn't loud and overwhelming. A few people were awake — on a walk, taking a sip of their warm cup of coffee, or perhaps, greeting any passerby “good morning.” The cold breeze of dawn was still there and mixed along with the warmth of the sun rising slowly.

It convinced you. Riki’s right. It felt like you had survived another day and there’s another day for you to live. You couldn’t believe it. This is probably the first time you ever felt at ease. 

“Riki,” you turned to him, a smile forming on your lips. “Thank you.”

“You smiled,” Riki pointed out, eyes wide like he had seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing…this is the first I ever saw you smile so genuinely, it’s pretty.” he said without any hesitation. You were flustered, but then, you only let out a soft chuckle. 

“Do you want me to keep on smiling?” you asked.

“No,” Riki answered without missing a beat. “Smile when you truly feel it — is it bad that I want to gatekeep that smile of yours?”

“You’re not the only person who I smile at Riki.” you told him.

“I know,” he smiled. “But I am one of those rare people who sees that smile. I consider myself lucky.” 

You didn’t say a word. You shifted your stare at the view once again, meanwhile Riki’s stare never left you. The smile on his lips keeps on getting wider as you watch the sun reach the highest point of the sky. 

-

You knew that something shifted between the two of you. It wasn’t a huge shift, but you knew that night broke the boundaries between the two of you.

After that night, the city seems to be safer in your eyes. There were no more worries or anxiety creeping on you as you walked your way home. You find yourself outside your room day by day, and Riki was quick to observe it — but he didn’t tease. He was fond of seeing you more than he usually does.

Riki still steals your yakult and as a payback, you steal back his. He’s still annoying, and you’re still cold to him but both of you know that it’s not out of annoyance anymore. The two of you are in the border of roommates and friends.

But that’s just it. No one dares to cross it further. Perhaps both of you knew that it was too rushed to escalate things quickly. 

“Hey,” Riki greets you once you open the door. You eyed him, wearing his usual streetwear casuals. He stares at you with a smirk on his face and that’s when you knew — he’s up to something no good.

“My friend and I are going to the amusement park, wanna come? You can ask your friends to join us if they want to.” 

“Suddenly?” you asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, suddenly. Jungwon’s bored, so we got to accompany him, don’t worry, it’s his treat,” Riki assured. 

“Okay.” you replied.

“Okay?” he asked, surprised at how easy you agreed to it.

“It’s his treat right? It’s free and I get to enjoy rides, I’m going to come,” you explained. Not missing a beat as you grabbed your phone. “I’m going to ask my friend if she could come — that’s okay with your friend right?”

“I — yeah, I mean he’s rich so he doesn’t mind — wait, I’m just shocked,” Riki stuttered and a small chuckle escaped your lips.

“I could still have fun Riki,” you nonchalantly replied. “Today’s weather is great to go outside too, right?”

Riki only cleared his throat. Surprised and flustered by your sudden acceptance of the invitation. “Right. I’ll just wait for you in the living room, alright? Dress lightly.”

You only hummed at his words as you closed the door of your room. Just in time, Rei had agreed to join you.

After half an hour, you went out of your room wearing casual clothes — baggy denim pants, white fitted shirt and a windbreaker jacket in case you get cold. You had your hair tied in a clean ponytail along with some few silver accessories. 

This was probably the first time Riki saw you in casual clothes aside from your home clothes and department uniform that he stared at you for way too long that you seem to notice it.

“You okay?” you asked.

Riki snaps out of reality. “Yeah — I mean, of course, I’m just surprised.” 

His sudden flustered attitude only left you chuckling softly as you sat on the couch beside him. The two of you waited for your friends for a few minutes. Jungwon arrived not too long after Rei arrived. After a few introductions, the four of you hopped inside Jungwon’s car and drove away.

“Hey, are you sure it’s your treat?” Rei asked from the backseat, you only nudged her with your elbows and she glared at you.

“Yeah, I don’t mind, unless you’re willing to share,” Jungwon casually replied, eyes focused on the road.

“Nah, there’s a reason why I agreed to this,” she excitedly said.

The drive towards Wanderland was oddly fine. Rei and Jungwon continued their conversation, while you only stared at the window, watching as you passed by different places. Everything seems new to you but then again, this is the first time you’ve left your dorm room.

You shifted your seat and as you looked at the rearview mirror, you noticed Riki staring at you. 

“You okay?” Riki mouthed, face filled with concern.

You looked at him and nodded before you shifted your stare at the outside again, Riki didn’t say another word but his stare remained at you. 

Wanderland was crowded given that it was a Saturday. After lining up for almost an hour, the four of you were able to buy tickets and went straight to the souvenir store to buy headbands.

You looked at the variety of headbands. Different ones, cute, weird, and too big for rides, but your eyes landed at the headband with a small duck in the middle. 

You grabbed it, and funnily enough, it reminded you of someone. 

And that said someone just passed by, your hands instinctively grabbed the sleeves of his arms, making him stop. 

“What?” Riki wasn’t able to process everything when you handed him the headband. He stared at it for a moment before letting out a small laugh.

“No way.”

“Why not? We’re all going to wear a headband,” you shrugged. 

Riki groans but he puts it on. A small smile forms on your lips as he finds a mirror to fix his hair. 

“Here, since you chose mine,” Riki said a few minutes later. It was a headband with a capybara in the middle. You didn’t say another word but placed it neatly on your hair. Brushing your hair neatly, you suddenly became aware of Riki’s stare at you.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing, you look cute though,” he casually complimented, which caught you off-guard. 

“Let’s just go,” you tried to brush it off even though your ears were turning red, going towards your best friend who’s talking to Jungwon.

Jungwon wore a headband with cat ears while Rei chose a headband with a cinnamoroll ear design. As the four of you are on their way towards the first ride, the two of them looked at each other as they noticed how you and Riki are matching with the headbands — add the fact that you two chose it for each other. But they shrugged it off, not wanting to stir any teasing.

It was obvious in their eyes that Riki dotes on you and while you had a cold facade on display, you let the taller boy do whatever he wants. Riki makes sure that he’s beside you and that it makes both your friends question your status. Suddenly, a bright idea lit up in Jungwon's mind.

“Let’s keep them together,” Jungwon suggested. “Do you know that Riki has a huge crush on y/n?”

Rei gasped, “wait — for real!? I didn’t know that!”

Jungwon laughed, “yeah, I think he’s just acting nonchalant around her because he doesn’t really know how to approach her properly.”

“Yeah I get it, y/n has a cold facade, but count me in your plan.”

The two of them snickered behind your back while you and Riki are unaware about their plan, too busy in your own world, (which you also seem to be unaware.)

After a series of extreme rides involving Vikings, Spinning Cups, and Roller Coaster, ending it with the Jungle Log which left the four of you a bit wet, the group decided to take a snack break. With Riki and Jungwon out to buy some snacks, it left you and Rei at the table, wherein your best friend’s giggling like a lunatic.

“You two seem close for just roommates,” she teased.

“He wants to,” you answered.

“Do you want to?”

“As if I have a choice.”

“So you do like it!” Rei teased, and the only thing you could do was to roll your eyes out of annoyance, yet it didn’t hide the faint blush on your cheeks.

The two boys arrived a few minutes later carrying sorts of snacks on a tray. Riki immediately sat beside you, bumping your sides which made you groan in annoyance.

“My bad,” Riki teased, but there’s a teasing smile on his lips.

“You did it on purpose,” you commented. “I almost fell off the bench.”

Riki didn’t answer but instead, grabbed you by your waist and pulled you closer to him. 

“There, so that you won’t fall,” he said nonchalantly before placing your drinks and snacks in front of you. The action left you dumbfounded that you weren’t able to do anything but to focus on the food in front of you. Meanwhile, Jungwon and Rei only gave each other a meaningful stare. 

After a few snacks and drinks, and a quick trip to the photobooth, the four of you lined up for the horror house — which you should’ve expected but suddenly, cold rushed through your body.

“You okay?” Riki asked, noticing how quiet you were.

“Yeah.” you answered without missing a beat.

Riki raised an eyebrow, “you scared?”

“What if I am?” you questioned back.

Riki quietly nodded, even though it’s not your turn yet, he grabbed your hand and gently intertwined his fingers around. 

“I got you, don’t worry,” he assured and that had your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t able to tug it away and you let his hands hold yours. 

The inside of the horror house was dark, cold, and the background effects weren’t helping at all. Your steps were small and every sound jumped you in surprise, Riki wasn’t scared but he held your hands tight.

“They’re not real, they’re not rea — fuck!” you screamed and held onto Riki’s arms tight as a ‘ghost’ scared you out of nowhere. 

“Just hold on, I can’t see a thing,” Riki told you, and without a word, he grabs you by your shoulder and holds you tighter than ever. The whole trail, you and Riki didn’t even bother looking for your friends, what’s important was that you and him could get out of the place as soon as possible.

“What the fuck!” you shouted as someone pulled your jacket — Riki immediately pulled you near his vicinity. Your heart’s palpitating, and you could feel your knees weak. Another jumpscare and you’re sure you’ll faint out of fear. 

“It’s okay, I got you,” his deep voice assured, his hold became tighter, as the two of you continued walking. His other hand rested on your head as he pulled you in his chest so that you couldn’t see any of the interiors anymore. 

It took a few minutes for Riki to find the exit of the place, and after a few wrong turns, the walk was done. It wasn’t scary for him but for you — he never expected that you’d be that scared. 

“Hey, we’re outside,” Riki softly said as his hold became loose.

As soon as you lifted your head, the first thing you saw was Riki’s concerned look on you. You could only stare at him before a deep sigh escaped your lips. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you stuttered. “Thank you Riki.” 

He only smiled at you. “It’s no worry —”

“There you two are!” Jungwon’s voice cuts him off. The two of you turned around and saw him and Rei looking like they ran a marathon.

“You two disappeared suddenly!? I can’t believe you two left us!” Rei complained, her hair a mess like she got pulled inside.

“Sorry, y/n was scared, I have to guide her out,” Riki apologized, and immediately, they noticed that you were leaning against Riki’s chest. They didn't ask further as your scared expression is still painted on your face.

“Whatever, let’s not do that again, someone pulled my shirt,” Jungwon complained. “We should go to the ferris wheel now, so that we can watch the fireworks afterwards.”

The line for the ferris wheel was a bit long. You were talking with your best friend when the staff called for the next passenger.

You stepped inside first, sitting on the right side and Riki stepped inside, sitting in front of you when the staff suddenly closed the door.

“Wait —”

“It’s okay, we’ll ride the next cart!” Jungwon shouted, his mischievous smile was obvious while Rei was laughing her heart out.

“Enjoy!” she winked at you and that’s when you realized. They’re setting you and Riki up.

“Just wait until we get out of this ride, you bitch!” Riki shouted at his best friend who only flipped him off. 

Suddenly sitting inside a ride with just the two of you created an awkward atmosphere. You don't know what to do other than to focus your stare at the outside, hoping that it could ease whatever tension you two had.

The two of you sat there in silence as the cart went upwards until it reached the highest point of the ride. From there, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you looked down. From your place, you could see the whole Wanderland. The devastatingly magical amusement park that stood next to the sea bay. The sun was slowly setting which gave the view a touch of orange and pink skies.

“The sunset looks beautiful,” you whispered, glancing at Riki whose eyes were only yours — completely halting you. 

He looked at you softly, and you could feel your heart racing once again. It didn’t occur to you that Riki’s been staring at you during the duration of the whole time. 

Were you this oblivious of his glances at you? You couldn’t help but to wonder about it as your eyes never left his. Somehow, you had the courage to stare at it, wondering, why does he gaze at you fondly?

“You’re right,” he spoke. “It is beautiful.”

With that, he broke eye contact, and Riki shifted his stare at the sky. You didn’t say another word. You could feel your cheeks warming as you decided to just focus on the view before the cart slowly goes down. 

No one said a word when the two of you exited the cart. The two of you remained at a distance as you watched the cart where Jungwon and Rei stop in front. The two exited the cart laughing, almost so loud that they looked like they had fun inside the cart.

“Enjoyed the ride?” Jungwon teased and Riki jokingly manhandled his best friend. The two of them tackled each other while Rei approached you. 

“So, did you?” she asked.

“The view was nice.” you answered. 

“I think Riki had a better view though,” she chuckled and you only rolled your eyes.

With the sun setting, the four of you decided to watch the fireworks by the beach. The show will start around six, and while waiting, Jungwon and Rei decide to take a walk to kill time, leaving you and Riki alone.

“Those idiots,” Riki commented, making you glance at him. “They’re obvious with their plan.”

“It’s just something silly.” you explained. 

“Yeah, yeah but look at them!” your roommate pointed out, watching Jungwon and Rei take photos of each other from a distance.

“What?” you asked.

“Admit it or not, they look cute together right?”

“They do, but I don’t think they’d match,” Jungwon is far from Rei’s ideal man. That’s why as you watch them, you only see two friends hanging out together.

“Right, but it feels refreshing watching them.” Riki stated, smiling bitterly.

“You seem relieved.”

“It’s just…I’m just sick of Jungwon pining over a girl who couldn’t reciprocate his feelings, their little game is getting old too.” he explained. “I just hope that one day, he could you know — realize that she’s not the only girl in this world.”

No wonder why. Riki’s just concerned about his friend’s sad pining. 

“What if she's the one he really likes? Even if it hurts him?”

“I guess that makes him stupid,” Riki chuckled. “I won’t believe that, Jungwon’s fucking smart but he’s dumb when it comes to love.”

“A lot of people are like that.”

“Like you?”

“Do I look like someone who had experience when it comes to love?” you stated the obvious.

“You should be,” Riki mumbled. “You’re pretty, I wouldn’t be surprised that no one tried to date you.”

A laugh of disbelief escaped your lips. “Thanks, but no one wants to date a girl who’s too isolated in her world.”

Riki stared at you for a minute, “you sure are slowly opening up though.” 

“Consider yourself lucky then,” you faintly smiled. “I don’t really let my walls down that easily.”

Then it happened. The first fireworks light up the sky. The two of you turned around and the continuous fireworks started to appear. The noise became overwhelming. The crowd gathered and it made you stand up beside Riki who was in awe of the fireworks. 

Your eyes were only glued to the sky, watching the colorful fire paint the dark night while a song was being played in the background, bringing more entertainment to the show. It continued on and on and you could only take a photo of it while your smile became visible. 

It didn’t strike you that Riki’s eyes would shift from the sky to you. Every minute, every second — hoping that you’d glance at him. Just a second. You’ve been in his mind throughout the whole day. How you let your walls down for him, when you told him that you’re not one who opens up to others is easy. 

Should he give meaning to it? His eyes darted at your hand. Free on the side, he wondered if it’ll startle you if he reaches for it. Riki wondered if you’d give meaning to it if he held your hand, because both knew, friends or roommates, don’t just hold hands without any intentions. 

So he places his hands inside his jacket’s pocket instead. He stared at the fireworks display, while his mind only thought of you and his heart seems to be agreeing to it.

The way back to your place was quiet and serene. The two of you bid goodbye to your friends who only waved off before returning to your place. The ride up was quiet yet it was filled with tension. Even during your way towards your flat was suffocating with something unexplainable. 

“I had fun,” you told him, and Riki looked at you. Surprised that you broke the silence first.

“Really?” he asked, tone filled with surprise.

But he didn’t expect that you’d give him a smile. That same smile that you gave him after you two watched the sunrise. That’s when he realized —

“I did. Thank you Riki.”

Riki only stared at you. Eyes gleaming along with your soft smile. That’s when he knew, he was struck. Cupid shot an arrow straight through his heart that the only thing he could hear was his beating heart.

“Fuck,” he cursed, startling you as he looked away.  “You can’t just say that.”

You became confused. “What?”

“You can’t just smile at me and say that you enjoyed today because we were together the whole day. It drives me crazy how we were so close yet I just — damn. You know I didn’t mind whatever the matchmaking bullshit Jungwon and Rei was doing because deep inside, I want it too.”

A faint blush painted on your cheeks. The sudden confession from Riki caught you off-guard. The whole day, you only thought of Riki one time but him? You never left his mind and it drove him crazy. It’d drive you crazy too. You never thought Riki would look at you in that way. 

“You’re not joking aren’t you?” You asked, heart beating fast.

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Every touch and every stare, I hoped that you’d looked at me too.” Riki confessed. His words froze you completely and as you tried to reach for his arms, he took a step back. 

“Don’t.” he stops, staring at you like he wanted to pounce on you anytime. “Don’t do that because I don’t know if I can control my feelings for you.”

A stop. A hitch of breath. You could feel your ears ringing at the heart stopping at his words. You stared at Riki. No words left your mouth for a minute as you gently nod at him.

“I’m not going to stop you,” you only told him. Slowly, you reached for him and his body moved.

It was quick.

The next thing you knew, you’re trapped against his arms and the wall felt cold against your back. 

Riki’s face was an inch away from you. His eyes search for your stare, waiting patiently for you to give him another word for him to continue. 

“Last chance y/n, I’m not going to hold back,” he repeated. Voice deeper than usual, sending shivers down your spine. 

“I trust you,” you whispered to him. “Whatever happens tonight, I’m not going to regret it.” 

“I’m not going to make you regret it,” Riki replied. It didn’t feel like a promise. More like a statement. An oath that he swore to you, and he seals it — with a kiss.

It felt odd. A new, odd feeling for you as you tried to respond to his kisses. Your heart slowly filled with rush and adrenaline as Riki’s lips moved deeper to get a taste of you. 

His huge hands got a hold on your face, cupping it softly as he nibbled your lower lips. Grazing against it that a soft whine escaped your lips. 

“Bed?” he asked as he broke the kiss. Catching your breath, you could only nod at his words before he carried you towards his room.

He held you firm yet tender while you leaned against his shoulders. The faint scent of his perfume lingered on your nose, you could feel your heart beating fast. Much faster and louder, you were nervous. It was your first time and you don’t know what to do.

“I’ll take care of you,” Riki assured. A kiss full of tenderness was done after he said those words. With that, you didn’t linger further.

Clothes scattered on the floor. The night was young and warm, with both bodies moved to become one. Soft moans and roughed groans could be heard within the four walls, but it was gentle. Riki was gentle to you. He cared for you like he had promised. He savored every minute he could hold and kiss your skin — as if tomorrow, you’d be gone.

He promised you he’d take good care of you, and underneath the sheets, he fulfilled it. It was a scary feeling. The aftermath was much scarier. But as you felt Riki’s arms wrapping around you, both bodies and sticky and sweaty, you were assured.

“You did good,” he whispered to you, his lips pecking a soft kiss on your temples.

“I barely did anything,” you stated. His hands find their way towards your hands. Both intertwined, you observed how his hands completely swallowed yours. 

“No, you only looked pretty for me, and you did it well,” Riki teased and instead of getting annoyed by it, you only hummed. 

“Are you going to regret this?” you asked out of blue.

“Why would you ask that?” 

“Because, I’m probably inexperienced compared to the girls you’ve dated before.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. You could feel his chest vibrating against your back. With that, he pulled you closer, enough for his lips to land on yours perfectly. The two of you stayed in that position for a minute, until you broke out first, catching your breath as Riki quickly stole another one. 

“You’re perfect for me,” Riki assured. “And if I have to prove it to you everyday, I’d be willing to.”

You weren’t able to say another word. Riki’s words were enough for you to not overthink what happened. You didn’t even know what happened next, but you felt your body tired and eyes drowsy. You leaned closer to Riki’s warmth. It felt comforting, like home. Foolishly, you fell asleep in his arms. 

-

“You're smiling,” Rei pointed out. “You’re smiling and it's weird!”

“Why? You saw me smile a lot, it’s not weird,” you told your friend. 

“Something happened,” Rei immediately observed. “You just can’t smile unless it’s something — did something happen between you and Riki?”

“What!? No — why would you think of that?”

“So something happened, oh my god — did the two of you kiss?”

You didn’t answer her. Her teasing smile slowly disappeared as her eyes started to grow large.

“Fuck, you two kissed!?” Rei whispered-shouted.

Shyly, you nodded. This was your first, so it didn’t occur to you that something happened between you and Riki — and to add to that, more of it happened for the past week. 

“Oh my god — when!?”

“...right after Wanderland. It wasn’t just a kiss Rei.” you answered with all honesty.

Rei squealed, high-pitched as she shakes your shoulder in excitement. You couldn’t help but to accept her sudden action.

“Welcome to the no-virginity club my dearest best friend.” she said in the most formal tone.

“You’re acting like it’s a big deal —”

“It is! You lost your virginity before you graduated, and here I thought you’re going to graduate as a virgin.”

“That’s my least problem,” you explained. “I don’t know our status.”

Rei stopped. She suddenly noticed the worried expression on your face. 

“What?” she asked, almost surprised.

“I don’t know what we are.” you confessed. “He’s my first of everything. Are we together? Are we officially a couple? — I’m scared that he’s just there for the sex. I don’t know how to confront him, Rei.”

“Okay, slow down babes, did the two of you confess that you both like each other.”

“Not verbally, but action speaks louder than words right?”

Rei’s eyebrows furrowed. She looks at you as softly she patted your hand. “It still means to you to hear from him verbatim that he likes you. Actions shouldn’t be given any meaning unless he means it through his words.”

You quietly nod. The fear inside you started creeping in. 

“Just ask him, it doesn’t hurt to ask him.” Rei assured, and you understood what she meant.

The walk back to your place was a bit chilly. The sunset painted in golden warmth and the cold breeze of summer were delicate. Your heart was beating fast, knowing that there’s much to ask about you and Riki. 

Every step was heavy, your heart beat became louder than the noise of the city, and as you stood in front of your apartment’s door, you let out a shaky breath.

But it’s now or never, so you opened the door of your flat and the first thing you noticed were Riki’s sneakers. He’s here and he’s home. 

“Hey, you’re home already,” if the shoe wasn’t the implication, his voice was. 

“Hi —” but before you could even finish, Riki had welcomed you with a hug. Gentle and warm that you couldn’t do anything but to melt into his arms.

“Missed you,” he whispered. 

“We just saw each other earlier,” you stated.

“Is it bad to miss my girl?”

And those words stopped you. My girl. His girl. You’re his and he’s yours. Should that be an implication?

“Riki, what are we?” you asked, and you could feel Riki flinch at your words.

Slowly, he lets go of you. He stood there staring at you who’s eyes were searching for him. 

“What do you want us to become?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “This is a new territory to me and I don’t know —”

“Do you like me?” he asked. 

“I do.” 

And there, Riki smirks. He didn’t say a word but instead he gently cupped your cheeks and kissed you. It shocked you for a second but you didn’t miss the chance to kiss him back.

“Then this should settle your worry,” you weren’t able to say another word when he grabbed you by your waist and carried you towards the couch. 

Gently, he lays you down and starts peppering kisses on your face. It annoyed you but the way your heart skipped a beat because of its action says otherwise. 

“You look cute when you’re flustered,” he teased.

“You seem to like it.”

“Because I’m the one who makes you flustered.”

From there, he kisses you again. On the lips. Soft and gentle, full of love that you knew it would assure you. He gently hovered over you as both your lips moved to feel each other. His hands on both sides of your head while your hands traveled around his neck up to his hair. Brushing it messily that it left him groaning against his kiss.

The heated make-out had started to become more intense. Moans and whines were being made when you two were interrupted by a knock. One knock that made you two separated from each other. 

The minute of silence indicated that maybe, it was just a fragment of your imagination. Riki once placed his lips on you, but this time he lingered down on your neck which is where you’re sensitive the most. 

But when a few knocks erupted inside the room, Riki separated himself with an annoyed look.

“Whoever decided to disturb our moment deserves hell,” Riki threatened as he stood up from the couch.

Riki strutted towards the door, not noticing that you were behind him. Your heart was scared that maybe you two were too loud to your neighbors. 

Riki looks first at the door’s peephole. You noticed how he tensed quickly before a curse escaped his lips — that’s when it made you curious.

“Who was it?” Your question was left unanswered when Riki opened the door and before you could’ve reacted, you heard a feminine squeal and the next thing you knew, a girl jumped into Riki for a hug — catching you two off-guard.

You were frozen from where you were standing. Eyes wide at the scene. You didn’t know how to react until Riki’s voice broke the silence.

“What are you doing here?" he asked, tone confused and a bit annoyed. 

“I came to visit you! It’s been years since you went home. I miss you,” she said, cupping Riki’s cheeks who immediately separated from her touch. It made you raise an eyebrow, and talking about right timing, her eyes caught yours.

You noticed how surprised she was to see you — so did you, but you were quick to hide your feelings through your blank expression. She seemed to tense the more you stared at her, and before you could’ve exited the weird atmosphere, she took the courage to approach you.

“Hi, I’m Ayame, I’m Riki’s girlfriend,” she introduced. Bright tone and wide smile, yet your mind focused on what she mentioned.

Riki’s girlfriend.

His girlfriend. You felt your world crashing down hearing those words. Was everything you and Riki had morally wrong? Was it the reason why he couldn’t explicitly tell you your relationship status? Because there’s someone waiting for him back in Japan?

“Girl space friend,” Riki clarified. “She's been my best friend since we were babies.”

You noticed how Ayame’s smile turned bitter. Riki only gave you a nod and you didn’t pry further.

You didn’t want to cause a scene too, that’s why out of courtesy, you only shook her hands. “Y/n. I’m his roommate.” 

“He didn’t tell me that he has a girl roommate,” Ayame glanced at Riki who seems to be annoyed by her comment

“Do I need to?” Riki spat back. It felt weird seeing Riki irritated. It made me wonder who she really is in Riki’s life, but it’s obvious that she has feelings for Riki — and that idea only irritated you more. 

“We’re acquainted, ” you added, shrugging casually like you two weren’t just making out minutes earlier. “But it was nice meeting you. Now if you excuse me, I’ll be in my room.” 

“Nice to meet you too!”

“Y/n wait,” you stopped when you heard Riki’s voice making you glance at him. 

“Let’s go out for dinner?” he asked, almost pleading.

“Eh Riki? Can you help me first with my baggage? It was tiring going here, then after that maybe we can go eat dinner together, right y/n?” Ayame butted in, and you’re fighting the urge to roll your eyes. 

But then again, she may be Riki’s real girlfriend, so that means you don’t have the right to tell him what to do. 

“Help Ayame first, I’ll skip dinner tonight.” you said.

You ignored Riki’s defeated face. Going to your room, wherein you shut the door softly before you went straight to your bed. The aching feeling in your heart started to grow. You couldn’t help but to clutch onto it.

This is why you hated relationships. It’s complicated. Your first worry was your status with Riki, now it became more confusing when someone from his past had arrived at the footsteps of your flat. You found yourself defeated and as you lay down on your bed, the hurting feeling wouldn’t leave you — and you hated it.

Suddenly, everything about this apartment felt suffocating for you. 

-

Maybe words should’ve assured you. Maybe you shouldn’t have to rely on his actions.

Curse Nishimura Riki and his way to persuade you through his touch and kiss, and then suddenly, leaving you alone just because his girlfriend’s there. You couldn’t believe it. You became non-existent out of the sudden.

Ayame’s nice. She’s pretty and has the poise straight out of a noble family. She’s the same height as you. Pale skin almost like a princess with her long shiny black hair and hime cut bangs. She looks like a doll, and the way she dresses feels like she takes pride in her elegance. 

You really didn’t stand a chance against her. The way she carries herself too — like she’s made for Riki.

Still, you’re wary of her. She looks at you like you’re a threat. She seems displeased whenever Riki tries to approach or talk to you. Always interrupting him or pulling him away from you. Maybe she was still insecure about you. After all, you’re the one who’s living under one roof with Riki for years.

Riki hasn’t returned to Japan ever since he arrived in the city, and that thought probably drove her insane that she flew all the way here for Riki. You never expect that she’d go that far but then again, the things you do for love. You were just trying to understand her — even if it irritates you. 

The only time you saw Riki without Ayame leeching on his arms was when he’s sitting at the benches outside your department building, almost a week later. It was like he was waiting for you to go out. You stopped immediately the moment you and him exchanged eye contact. 

From there, you knew that he was also waiting for the right time to talk to you without Ayame clinging to his side. The thought made you bitterly smile before you accepted your defeat. There’s no use of holding onto your shallow grudge after all. 

So there you two are. Sitting at the bench near the open field of Decelis University. It was three in the afternoon and the shade of the huge oak trees served as an umbrella for the two of you. The silence was deafening but maybe, you two were waiting for the other to say a word. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Riki started. “Never. But we had history.”

“I feel like I’m being played.” you commented, not even sparing a glance at him. 

“No, you’re not,” Riki assured, his hands finding its way to yours, and because you’re too weak for him, you didn’t tug your hand away.  “You’re the one that I like y/n. Trust me.”

Finally. The words that you’ve been looking for, were finally there. You wanted to laugh in disbelief. You couldn’t believe that it took him this long to tell you that. 

“How? How could I when she’s acting like she’s your girlfriend?”

“She’s my best friend, we grew up together. Our family’s close.” Riki explained. “She’s my first love. Before I flew here, I asked her to be my girlfriend — but she rejected me. She said she couldn’t handle the long distance and she couldn’t wait for me.”

“So, I’m a rebound?” you questioned. 

“No, of course not. My feelings for her slowly faded when I was here. If you don’t know, I played around, had a few flings and slept around, but I’m long past that phase. I’ve changed and you’re the one I love now.” 

“Love? Are you serious Riki?” you couldn’t help but to ask him that. Love was deep for you. Love isn’t something that would happen overnight. Not even after a series of intimacy would lead you to love someone.

“You don’t know how long I have liked you, and maybe it was my fault that I could only show it through my teasing and stealing your yakult.” he said with a serious tone, and it sinked into you that all those times Riki annoyed you — he was just looking for your attention.

“Why me then? You could’ve had better girls —”

“Don’t say that,” Riki said, almost begging. His hands were holding you tightly as he looked at you, his eyes screaming for desperation. “Because when I’m with you, everything just feels quiet and serene, and I never had that kind of peace in my life and I feel it with you.” 

“What about us then?” you asked. “Are you going to tell her about us?”

“I should've had the moment she arrived here.” Riki answered. “She’s just here for one reason; bring me back to Japan.”

“Or maybe she just misses you.”

“She does. She knows that once I return to Japan, I can't go back here anymore. That’s why she’s going to pursue me to return — she even used grandpa as a reason, pathetic.” 

You blink to his words. The hold on his hand tightens as you look at him. “Are you going to leave?” 

“Me?” Riki laughed at your words. Before you could say anything, he pulled you to his side and softly placed a kiss on your temples. He then rested your head on his shoulders. “I’m not going to leave you, don’t worry.” 

You wanted to ask him more about it. But you hate how easy it is for you to melt to his touch. It’s been a while since you two were alone. That’s why you just let the silence and stillness devour you two. Hoping that this wouldn’t be the last of it.

-

Was it bad that you think Riki’s promise to you felt empty?

It should’ve assured you. But the moment Ayame’s present, you’re suddenly invisible. Riki could only give you sorry glances and stares. No words were said and you waited. You hope that he told Ayame about you. 

But he didn’t. Because a few days later, a knock on the door surprised you.

“Sorry to disturb you, I just really need your help,” Ayame said with a shy tone. Her eyes turned curved as she looked at you, still you couldn’t help but to notice how fake her smile was.

“Can you accompany me to the mall or the grocery mart? I’m planning on giving Riki a surprise — don’t tell him that one okay? I just want to surprise him.” she eagerly explained.

You wanted to tell her, “Why?” Why should you? Why is she doing all of this when she had rejected Riki and Riki’s heart beats for you instead. 

But maybe you’re avoidant when it comes to conflict, and you didn’t want to cause a fight, that’s why you agreed to help her. You accompanied her to the mall to buy things from the supermarket and some decorations for the surprise.

If it wasn’t enough, you helped her set up her surprise for Riki. Consider yourself a fool because why are you helping someone who’s a huge threat in your relationship with Riki? But you didn’t say much during the duration. Only when she asks you questions and it pains you because she seems so confident about her and Riki.

Ayame continued sharing anecdotes of their life. They grew up together in the same neighborhood. Turns out Riki’s grandpa and her grandpa were best friends, that’s why she was family friend. They grew up together naturally and love came in during their high school days. 

It sounded so sweet if only you didn't have any feelings for Riki. So you let her talk throughout the whole preparation. Only a few nods and hums were your answer as you focused on setting up the surprise. 

“You know, Riki’s my first.” Ayame shared and it halted you for a second. Ears ringing at the information because clearly, he’s also your first. 

It had you wondering, if Ayame was also Riki’s first — and it dwelled into you that every first time you had with Riki, he already experienced it with someone else.

Ayame was his first love. You knew about first love and how some people couldn’t move on from them. You wondered if Riki was one of them, and because of the way he acted for the past few days, you think that maybe — maybe, he hasn't. 

That thought sickens you.

“I don’t know how that piece of information is relevant to me,” you replied, not batting an eye on her.

“Have you tried it? Sex?” she asked, smiling so sweetly that it felt fake at all. “You know how the concept of a woman’s virginity is sometimes a gift to their loved one?”

Of course you do. Because you gave it to Riki. You trust and love him enough to be your first. And yet, you seem to be too cowardly to share it with her. So you shake your head, like you’re some naive girl who never kissed a boy before. 

“Well, I gave it to him after we graduated high school,” she shared. “Because I was confident that he’ll be my forever, do you know that we’re arranged to marry each other?”

It was another piece of information Riki didn’t tell you. The relationship was just something small, but this one? Marriage is on line. It felt like you were just ruining their relationship.

Still, even if it hurts you, you gave her a nod like a nice friend listening to her babbles. “He didn’t. Riki and I aren’t close, I don’t even know why I am helping you.” 

“But you did, and I’m glad you did, I owe to you that you made Riki’s apartment life less lonely,”

Right. In a span of a month, but before that, years of crushing and walking on eggshells to each other were the only interactions you two had. 

“If you’re confident that he’s your forever — then why do all of this just to prove a point?” you asked.

“It’s not about proving a point, it’s about reminding him that my heart is his, and I love him despite the distance apart from us.”

“You’re brave.” you wanted to tell her that she’s delusional. That Riki’s not hers and Riki’s yours.

“Thank you,” she smiled so genuine that it hurts you because you could’ve gotten along with her, if only she wasn’t that obsessed with Riki. 

“It’s nothing,” you replied. 

The last piece of decoration was placed perfectly in the middle of the table. You couldn’t help but to stare at the photo Ayame brought.

It was a photo of her and Riki, during their high school graduation. Riki had his arms around Ayame who’s holding a bouquet of flowers and her diploma. They were smiling ear-to-ear, like two youngsters in love and nothing will separate the two of them. 

Next to it was a button. You know what it symbolizes in their country. A confession to your loved one. A memento that you hold onto, hoping that your loved one will return.

It confuses you. If Ayame rejected Riki, then why would she go through all this? Maybe you’re trying to understand her side. Maybe it was hard for her to accept long-distance relationships. 

But then again, you wanted to tell her that there’s no place for her here anymore. Riki’s in love with someone else — and said someone else helped her in setting up a surprise for Riki. You found it pathetic but didn’t push further.

“Goodluck,” was the only thing you said. “I’ll be in my room, I won’t disturb you two.” 

“Y/n, thank you,” Ayame repeated once again. “Seriously, thank you so much. I owe you.” 

A small smile only formed on your lips. “It’s nothing.”

You left Ayame alone outside. Locking the door of your room, the only thing you could do was put on your noise-cancelling headphones and drown yourself in your music. 

In a few hours, Riki will be back from his shift from The Rabbit Hole. He’d go home to the house filled with heart-shaped balloons, some few party strings, and a table for two set-up with his favorite home-cooked meal. A surprise by someone who loves him — someone who’s love and expressive enough to show to him their feelings, something you couldn’t do.

-

“No.”

“No? Riki, what do you mean no?”

“No Ayame,” he repeated. “I’m not going home, and whatever stunt you’re doing, it’s useless.”

Riki couldn’t believe it. After a tiring shift at The Rabbit Hole, he’d come home to this act. He knows what Ayame’s trying to do. She had done this when he’s about to leave for Decelis — a few weeks after she rejected him. It was a redeeming card for her. A desperate move in hopes that Riki might change his mind and agree to her.

Ayame’s forehead creased. “Is it bad that I want to profess my love to you?”

“I’m not going to fall for this bullshit. You did this three years ago, nothing happened. Just give up Ayame.” 

“I still love you,” she insisted.

“But not enough to be in a relationship with me.” 

“You think it was easy for me!? I have to watch you move to another country Riki, we were always together — we were meant to be together and suddenly, you left me? You think that didn’t hurt me?” Ayame shouted. Riki stopped, noticing the tears forming on his best friend’s eyes. 

Still, he remained unfazed, having to memorise all of Ayame’s actions. 

“And it hurt me too, I loved you more than you thought. I hesitated to study here because I couldn’t bear to be away from you.” he explained, tone becoming bitter.

“So why did you still leave?”

“Because I’m not going to let my feelings hold back my future — might as well move on in a far away country right?” Riki mockingly replied.

“You could’ve returned, I was waiting for you.” Ayame pleaded.

“Ayame, I’m not going to revolve my future around us — and I hope you do.” 

“Is it really the end of us Riki? No more second chances? I was waiting for you to go home, don't you know that? every summer break or holiday, I was a fool hoping that you'd go home.”

“It ended the moment you broke my heart, and it made me realise that even though you love me, you only want me for you.” Riki pointed out. “Because not once were you happy that I got accepted in Decelis, especially when it’s what I’ve been dreaming of since we were in elementary. You knew that I was going to study in Decelis, but you were never happy for me and maybe that's a reason why you rejected me — because I chose my dream over you.”

“You know that’s not true —”

“Then why are you here? Because clearly I can see right through you Ayame. You’re just here to bring me home, and you found a reason to drag me back to Japan,” he heaves out a deep sigh. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you but I’m not that kid who follows you wherever you want. I’m going to stay here and that’s final.”

Ayame didn’t say a word. She looked at him and it broke her heart that Riki’s gaze at her was cold. No more soft stares and assuring smiles. Riki has changed, and maybe he is right. He’s not the Riki she used to know. There’s no place for her in his life anymore and she hated that thought. 

Ayame wasn’t stupid. Riki had told her about you a few days ago. It hurt her. It hurt her because you played along with her silly stunt. You didn’t bring up the fact that you’re in a relationship with Riki. she felt foolish, because it seems like you helped her knowing that she doesn’t stand a chance against you anymore. 

She felt pathetic. For the past few weeks, Riki was with her, it still felt like he wasn’t with her. She could sense it. The way Riki’s face lights up when you’re in the room, how he would look at his phone most of the time when they're out for food. Riki might be there with her physically, but emotionally and mentally? He was thinking of you.

And that stabbed her in her heart. 

“It’s y/n, isn’t it?” 

“Stop asking that question because you know the answer, I have told you about her and yet, you’re still in denial.” 

“Why!? Why her!?” She couldn’t help but to break down.

“Because with her, I feel like I can be more free. With her, everything feels at peace — she’s quiet yet comforting, I can move around whenever I’m with her.”

Ayame wasn’t able to say anything. So that’s how Riki felt around you. With her, she’s suffocating him, but with you? He’s alive.

Ayame used to be in your place. She used to be Riki’s safe space. But college happened, and Riki chose to study outside Japan, and that hurt her. If only he stayed in Japan, then the two of them would’ve been the way that it has been before. 

She only stared at him as she decided she had enough. Ayame turned around and with heavy strides, she exited the living room.

A knock on the door disturbed your moment. Closing the book you were reading, you removed your headphones to hear the knock more clearly — obviously, it sounded eager and loud, and you expected it.

As you opened the door, Ayame was standing in front of you. Eyes red and puffy as the tear marks trailed on her cheeks. The two of you stared for a good minute, her eyes observing you and then it hit you — she knew. 

Ayame looked at you and then realized that as she stared at you, that she was no match for you. You look cold and distant. The type of girl who keeps her walls high. Quiet yet sharp whenever words leave her mouth. She had observed it too when you helped her earlier. How calm and rational you were. You never caused a scene. Never. 

It’s not hard for Riki to fall for you. When a cold person opens her heart to someone, they consider themselves lucky right? And if a cold person like you can give warmth and peace to Riki, then how can Ayame compete with it?

But she was desperate, her legs giving in as she kneels on the ground and looks up to you — who still remained unfazed with her sudden act. 

“I’m begging you,” she sobbed as she held onto your hands which you retrieved immediately. “Please, convince Riki to go home.” 

You didn’t stare at her. You immediately noticed Riki who’s a few inches behind her. He looked at you with a pitied expression. He didn’t stop Ayame, it was like he was waiting for you to fight for him. 

“Why me?” you only asked. “I’m not Riki, I’m not the one who’ll decide it for him. He’s a grown man, he can make his own choice.”

“Please, his family needs him — his grandpa needs him. He loves you, he’ll listen to you.”

“Still, the decision is on him.” you repeated. “Get out of my doorway, whatever his decision, you should respect it.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to go,” Ayame muttered, standing up from the floor as she stared at you with anger. “You’re selfish you know? His family needs him and you’re holding him back.” 

“I’m not holding him back,” you stated, before your eyes shifted on Riki. “I don’t control him and emotionally manipulate him about his decision — which is something you seem to be good at. If he doesn’t want to go, let him go, you’re just wasting your time here.” 

Before Ayame could say another word, you closed the door of your bedroom. Locking it as a loud knock on the door startled you. 

From behind, the muffled argument of Riki and Ayame started. Shouts and cries slid through inside your bedroom and you wonder if they know that you can hear them. You didn’t want to interfere anymore, but it felt like it’s your fault that they ended up in that situation.

But it’s not your problem anymore, that’s why you went back to your bed, put on your headphones again and let the music deafen their voices. 

-

Three days after that night, Riki cornered you outside your department building.

“You’re avoiding me.” he pointed.

“I think we’re not going to work,” you flatly said to him. 

“Was it because of what happened?”

“Riki, you and Ayame still have some unresolved issues yet, I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to resolve it. You’re putting me on a pedestal, you couldn’t even tell her about us.” you explained.

“I told her about us after we had that conversation,” Riki defended. “She’s in denial about it.”

You stared at him for a second before a scoff escaped your lips. “And I helped her stupidly.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Riki assured. “She’s been like that. She thinks she can manipulate me to leave this place.”

“How is she?” you asked, curiosity hovering your mind.

“We’re not talking.” Riki mumbled. “I’m mad at her, I hate that she had to drag you into her issues.” 

You didn’t say a word. You only stared at Riki which he quickly caught. He immediately noticed how your eyes were screaming for something — something that has been bothering you.

“Tell me.” he commanded and that was your signal.

“I’m scared.” you confessed. “What we had, was it more than what you two had?” 

“You know that answer y/n. I’m yours, not hers, you have me by your side.”

Your lips trembled, and before anything could happen, Riki had you in his arms.

“I’m scared that she’ll take you away from me. She seems like she knows you while I don’t.” you said as you rested your forehead on his chest.

You felt Riki rub circles on your back, soft and steady as he spoke. “You don’t need to. What you need to know is that I love you, and I’m not going to leave you.”

“You’re going to stay?”

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked you back.

“It’s your choice Riki,” you told him. “Whatever it is, I’ll just support you.” 

“That’s all you’re going to say? You’re just going to let me go,” Riki disappointedly stated.

“I am not letting you go, you’re the one who’ll be making this decision not me — I don’t want to influence your decision Riki, this is your life after all.” you explained.

“You’re right, this is my life but you’re a big part of it. Why can’t you once be selfish? What do you want? Do you want me or am I just another person that you’ll eventually forget when years pass by?”

“Riki, I let you in my life. You think that you’re just going to some stranger once we drift apart? You’re going to be my nightmare, you’re going to be the guy that’ll haunt my dreams because I let him go.” you confessed. 

“Then ask me to stay.” Riki begged.

“I can’t,” you told him. “Not when I’m against your family, not when I’m going to be a way for you to not see your loved ones anymore. How can I compete with them, Riki? You love me but I know how important your family is to you.” 

“So, you’re letting me go?” he asked, feeling more betrayed than ever.

“No, I’m not,” but there’s a defeated tone in your words. “It’s up to you Riki, whatever choice you made, I’ll be happy to support it.”

Riki was defeated. He didn’t say a word and slowly, just nodded. He’s conflicted, all he wanted was to be by your side. So he held you in his arms once again. Tighter, almost having you engulfed in his body. The two of you didn’t say another word to each other.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Being with you calms me down. You don’t know how many times I badly want to slip out of my room and go to yours.”

“Just go and knock on it,” you mumbled. “I’ll answer it for you.”

You two remained there for a few minutes before you two decided to go home. Riki was determined to stay and he’d convince Ayame to go back to Japan. He wanted to stay with you, and not even his family could stop him.

As he opened the door of your apartment flat, the first thing he noticed was Ayame who was patiently sitting on the couch. She stood up as soon as she saw her childhood friend but when she noticed your presence behind, there was a bitter feeling that stung her heart.

“Riki, I’ve been calling you the whole afternoon.” Ayame started.

“I’m with y/n,” Riki sharply said, and before you could say anything, he pulled you beside him. “Listen Ayame, I’m staying. You need to go back to Okayama.”

Ayame’s forehead creased. She looked at you but was only given a cold stare from you. She then bitterly laughed, “really? You’re staying here?”

“Yeah, and there’s nothing you could do about it.”

“Your grandpa got sent to the hospital,” she announced. “He’s in a critical condition.”

Silence. The room was filled with nothing but utter silence as Riki looked at her. Cold but in denial.

“Stop lying,” he said with gritted teeth. “If this is one of your ways to convince me to go home —”

“I also care about him, Riki, and I’m not doing this to guilt-trip you,” Ayame pointed out.

“After that stunt you did a few days ago? You think I’d believe you?”

“Call your dad then!” 

Riki stared at her before shifting his attention to you. He grabbed his phone and searched for his father’s contact. Ringing it twice before it picked-up.

“Dad, what happened to grandpa —”

“You need to go home Riki,” his father cut off, and his world freezed. 

He looked at Ayame and the girl only gave him a knowing look — and that annoyed him. He’s trapped all of the sudden.

“You — you’re not serious aren’t you?”

“Your grandpa wants you here,” his father’s authoritative voice commanded. “We need you here.”

Riki breathes under his nose. The frustrated expression on his face was obvious. He brushes his hair out of stress as his hold on his phone becomes tight. 

“I want to finish my studies here,” Riki convinced. 

“Is that more important than your family Riki?” his father questioned and Riki only met him with silence. 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized. Riki doesn’t know who he was apologizing for. If it’s to his father or to his grandpa — maybe he was referring to you.

Because when he looked at you, that’s when you knew what his choice was. 

“Fix all your documents as soon as possible, we pray that father is still strong enough to see you.” With that, the call ended and Riki wasn’t able to sink-in everything.

“I told you,” Ayame mumbled, and Riki could only scoff. 

“I guess you got what you wanted,” he bitterly laughed.

It took you a moment to process everything. The defeated tone in Riki’s voice, the conversation, and how earlier he told you he will be staying — only to be forced to go home. 

And as Riki looked at you, you couldn’t help but to take a step backward. The hurting feeling in your heart became too deep.

“Y/n —”

“I need to go.”

You ignored the way Riki called out your name. You found yourself outside the apartment building. The quiet evening of the city welcomed you. You felt nothing but the cold winds as with a heavy heart, you walked your way towards a familiar path.

Rei’s apartment was located on the other side of the university — a fifteen minute walk from yours. You’re always scared to walk on the dark streets of the city at this hour, but you muster up the courage.

Because when your apartment room didn’t feel like home anymore, Rei’s place was the only place you could consider as one.

“Who is it — y/n? What — Wait!” Rei was left confused as you went for her for a hug. The first tear fell and alarmed your best friend. Your cries were soft and muffled, but she could feel how hurt you were.

“Riki’s leaving,” you confessed. “He’s leaving and he’s not going to return anymore.”

“Y/n,” Rei could only say as she hushed you. 

“I gave him everything, I let my walls down for him, and suddenly, his first love’s there and he needs to go back to Japan. Why?” you vented out. If this would’ve been the outcome, then you shouldn’t have not let Riki in your life.

“Did he tell you why?”

“His grandpa’s in the hospital and his family wanted him to go back.” you explained through your tears. “He’s not going to return here anymore, Rei.” 

Rei’s lips turned into a frown as she brushed your hair. “I’m sorry y/n,” it was the only thing she could say. She hushed you as you continued crying in her arms, knowing was a situation that you two couldn’t do anything. 

-

The following weeks were nothing but an indescribable tension. 

Riki busied himself with his school papers. School transfers and retrieval of important documents. He couldn’t even find time to spend his remaining days with his college friends since most of them are in their own hometown — his sudden departure left his friends sad yet a promise was made that he’d return to meet them again, even if it’ll take years. 

Riki was frustrated. He was angry that he had no choice but to go home. He loves his family so much, but for once, he wanted to go against their wants. If only his grandpa wasn’t in a critical condition, he would’ve gone against their wishes.

The luggage was heavy as he closed the last one. He stares at his room — the place he called home for the past three years was now empty.

He wondered about you who’s next door. For the past few weeks, you were like a ghost. Not looking at him nor staring at him. Just like how you two were the first time you two became roommates. He knew that it hurt you and it hurt him more, he wanted to spend the remaining days with you but it seems like you’re already guarding your heart from the more bitter hurt. 

But Riki’s not going to let any moments pass. In a few hours, he’ll be leaving you and he couldn’t bear to leave you without saying goodbye. 

That’s why he left his room and went knocking on your door. Heart nervous and filled with hope that you’ll answer. For a minute, no one answered, so Riki knocked once again and in a second, the door swung open. 

There you were. Headphones hanging on your neck while you stared at him blankly. The same cold stare Riki fell in love with. He bitterly smiles, thinking when will he ever see you smile again. 

“I’m leaving later.” he announced, breaking the ice between the two of you. 

You only nod, head lowering as you replied. “Alright.”

“I want to spend this night with you,” he whispered and that’s when you look at him, heart beating fast. “I’m going to miss you so much that I don’t want to leave.”

“I guess I couldn’t say that the choice is yours because we can see that you don’t have it,” you gave him a bitter smile and it breaks Riki to see that expression of yours. “Nonetheless, thank you. For letting me know that this city isn’t scary at all”

“I love you,” he confessed, and you only stared. “I love you so much that it hurts me — I know you’re not expressing any emotions on your face but I know that I have hurt you too much and that hurts me, so fucking much.”

“Why did I even let you in my life Riki?” you asked, defeated “Why did I even let myself fall for you? If in a glimpse you’ll be gone all of a sudden?”

“Did you regret it?” he asked. 

“No,” you answered without any hesitation. “Not even a moment with you did I regret it.”

“Great, that’s all I need to hear,” then he pressed his hands on your face. Cupping it lightly as he stared at you lovingly. He took a step forward making you step backward — step by step, until the two of you were inside your room and he closed your door with his feet.

“Is this goodbye to us?” you asked, almost trembling. You were trying your best not to cry. “You’re so unfair you know? Letting me feel like I’m yours but tomorrow, you’re not here with me anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I truly am,” he regrets. “But let me, because I know this will be the last time I’ll ever be happy.”

You knew what he was trying to say. So you let yourself fall into him. His lips moved closely with much intensity — you two closed the gap, and compared to the times you two had done it, this one’s much softer. More longing and more hours spending each other’s touch — as if you two aren’t running out of time.

As he slides himself into you, a soft moan escapes your lips, biting your lips as you hold yourself back from the bubbling pressure you were feeling.

“Be loud,” he ordered, hands cupping your face as his pace became faster — hitting you at the spots that will make you moan in pleasure. “I want to hear every sound you make. Make it music to my ears — it’ll be the last time I’ll be hearing it.”

“But she might hear —”

“Let her hear it,” Riki coldly replied, snapping harder and more precisely. “I want to show her — I belong to you and no one else. You’re the only one I want.”

You complied. You let yourself be claimed by Riki again. Make him mark you in any possible way so that you’ll never forget the man who you loved and trust that you felt safe in his arms — knowing that when tomorrow comes, he’ll be gone for good.

-

It was dark when you left your room. Leaving Riki who’s still asleep in your bed. You were wearing your pajama pants and sweater when you left your room — the same time Ayame left the room. You looked at her, with her eyes still red, probably fresh from crying her hearts out. 

While you’re a mess. The kind of mess where hickeys were tattooed on your collarbones and neck, all evident against your sweater. You stopped when you met her eyes, and she sniffed her tears in. She knew what happened last night, and you only looked at her with a cold expression. It wasn’t mocking nor teasing, because you didn’t win — so did she. It was obvious that you two are hurting in different ways. 

“Have a safe flight back,” was the only thing you said to her and before you could take another step, she called you out. 

“I’m going to take care of Riki, don’t worry about him,” she stated, like a promise to you. It had you sick in the stomach hearing those sweet words from her. 

You didn’t answer her words. You only left the flat and went wherever you felt safe. 

The metal door creaked against your push. It was cold and windy, and it felt comforting. You walked towards the metal bench near the railing, sitting there as you slump your feet against the edge. You looked at your phone and in an hour and a half, Riki will be going back to Japan.

So you sat there. Knowing that Riki still wanted a goodbye from you, that the first thing he’d see when he woke up was you. But you remained at your place, because you didn't want any goodbye. 

The sky was slowly letting out its light when you felt your phone vibrating. You glanced at your lockscreen and saw that it was Riki’s contact.

You pondered whether or not to open his message, afraid that you might say anything — he might get off the plane and go back to you. As much as you want that, you don’t want to be selfish for the sake of your feelings. 

So you only stared at the sky, slowly and patiently watched as the sky turned golden and bright — with the sunrise slowly becoming present in front of you. You felt relieved despite the aching feeling in your heart.

Your days with Riki were finished, and today officially marks the day that he’s no longer with you. 

-

You received a new message not a few hours later. You were just done with your breakfast when you heard your phone’s ringtone ping against the deafening silence.

Riki (yakult stealer)

Riki (yakult stealer): The sunrise was spectacular during the plane ride.

8:48 am

Riki (yakult stealer): You would’ve loved it.

8:48 am

You only stared at the photo he sent you. The sunrise was beautiful. Warm and golden, but it’s not the same as the sunrise you saw earlier. It hit you harder when you realized that he’s now a hundred miles away from you. 

But despite that feeling, you didn’t want to worry him. So you opened your gallery and sent him a picture.

Y/n: This was the sunrise when you left.

8:50 am

Y/n: It was the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen. I wish you would’ve seen it.

8:50 am

Riki (yakult stealer): I miss you already.

8:51 am

A bitter smile plastered on your lips.

Y/n: So do I.

8:52 am

Riki (yakult stealer): I hope that whenever you see the sunrise, you’ll think of me.

8:55 am

Y/n: It’ll be my constant reminder.

8:56 am

Y/n: But for now. 

8:56 am

Y/n: I’m not going to watch any sunrise without you.

8:57 am

Riki (yakult stealer): You’ll miss the beauty of it.

8:58 am

Y/n: It’s the same way I am missing you. 

9:00 am

Tears started to form from your eyes. The bitter feeling of being alone inside the apartment was painful for you. You couldn’t believe it. The flat didn’t feel safe anymore. 

You miss Riki. You wished you were selfish. You wished you were an irrational person who only thinks about herself. You wished that this time, you chose what you want instead of letting others dictate what’s right. Because right now, the only thing you could feel was the longing emptiness.

You always wanted to be alone. It calms you. It should be peaceful, but never would you think that it’d be this deafening. 

You wanted some noise. Maybe, you just wanted Riki’s loud presence. That was all you needed but now, it seems like you couldn’t have it anymore.

-

The wake was oddly serene and yet, it still left Riki grieving.

His grandfather died even before he even boarded the plane. Giving him more reason to go home. He felt trapped in the situation. He’s overwhelmed with everything. Eyes filled with resentment and hurt as he stood outside the funeral home where the wake is being held. The sun was shining bright. It was a cool, sunny day and it frustrates Riki how the weather can be so beautiful for a gloomy event. 

His eyes find their way towards his phone. — not a single message from you. It’s been four days since he arrived in Japan, and four days without your message.

Your last conversation with him was about the sunrise, and he thought it’d be alright to continue talking to each other even though it could only be through text but he knows that it’s hard for you too. It’s hard to hold onto him when both know that he’d never come back.

“You know,” Riki stops when he hears a familiar voice. Closing his phone before he turns around to see his older sister whose eyes are as red as his.

“You’ve been oddly quiet ever since you came home,” Sakura observes and the younger male lets her be. 

“I’m mourning,” Riki flatly said. 

“I know,” Sakura meekly smiles as she crosses her arms. “But not to grandpa, but to someone else.”

Riki stared at his sister for a good minute, before he bitterly smiled. “You know me, nee-san.”

“I assume Ayame’s out of the picture.” Sakura turns around to the female who was also a friend of hers. Tending the guest like she’s part of the family — well, she has long been part of the family especially when it has been a silent agreement that her and Riki will be married to each other. 

“She’s been out of the picture for so long.” Riki stated.

“That’s great then,” his older sister commented, narrowing her eyes. “She’s getting annoying, isn’t she? So persistent to hold onto the engagement when she broke your heart.” 

“It’s all in the past, nee-san. Let her be,” Riki only shrugged

The two of them stood there for a quiet minute. Immersing with the silence of the outside, far from the mourning cries inside. Riki glances at his older sister twice before he decides to slowly take the topic of you into conversation. “You know, I met someone. She — you would love her. She reminds me of home, and just when everything was alright, I left her.”

Sakura only stared at her younger brother as he swipes his phone open. “She ghosted me. She doesn’t send me a message anymore. All of my messages were left delivered and it hurts. I wanted to ask her why, but I am scared, because once I hear her voice — I might book the next flight back there.” 

Sakura only stared at Riki, humming softly before she gestures to him. “Come with me.”

Riki followed his older sister like a lost puppy. They reached the garden that’s located nearby the funeral home’s parking lot. It was empty and still, far from the funeral house. Sakura finds an empty bench and fishes out a cigarette from her purse. 

“You just need an excuse to smoke,” Riki said with an annoyed tone.

“You’re right,” Sakura mumbled with the stick against her lips, before flicking the lighter on. “She’s the reason why you don’t want to go home, right?”

“Yes,” Riki shyly confessed, ears warming. “I thought Ayame would be my first and last love — but then she came, and now, I couldn’t see my life without her.”

“You’re hurting, you’re regretting leaving her alone.”

“I do. If only grandpa was healthy, then I would’ve — I would’ve still been there with her.”

Sakura hummed, inhaling the strong nicotine before exhaling it for a moment. “You want closure, I could see it. You wanted to know what would happen to the two of you, and the only thing you could do was either brush everything under the rug or confront her. What do you want Riki? Take your time, I’ll be here.”

Riki only sat there. From his peripheral vision, Sakura was exhaling the impaling smoke that cut through his nose. He remembers you and your plain vape. He wonders if you stopped — or continued further, sitting on the rooftop or in your room, inhaling the dangerous smoke as a way to relieve yourself. 

Riki knows that he’ll be done once he presses your contact number. He’d be ruined, would mourn more about your failed relationship than his grandfather’s death, but at the same time, he craves it — he wants to know what your thoughts are. How are you coping now that he is gone?

That’s why he unlocked his phone and with a shaky breath, he opened his contact app and pressed your phone number. He placed it in front of his ears and every ring gave him anxiety.

“Riki,” your cold voice welcomed him. Riki flinched at his seat which startled his sister.

“I —”

“Why’d you call?” you asked, tone colder than ever.

“You weren’t responding to my text.” Riki explained. “Why?”

A moment of silence answered him. From behind the phone, you were a mess. You crumbled on your bed as you hugged your knees tightly. Hand shaking as hearing Riki’s voice made you weak. 

“Because what’s the use?” you whispered. “I don’t even know what we are anymore.” 

“Don’t say that —”

“Riki listen, just listen for once,” you interrupted. Riki didn’t say another word. He stood there as your voice began.

“When I first met you. I thought you’re just going to be those annoying male roommates who couldn’t keep the place clean. Someone that I have to tolerate for the next four years of my college life but you failed to live up to that impression, and instead, you’re the total opposite of it, and it annoyed me so much,” you started, and Riki stopped. His mouth dropped open while his heart started beating fast. 

He didn’t expect you to say those words. He never thought that you’d crumble and confess your lingering thoughts to him this late. He couldn’t believe you. Now that he’s a hundred miles away from you, that’s when you’re saying all of these and he could only hear your thoughts through a call.

“Because aside from the yakult stealing and random teasing I get from you, I felt safe despite the few weeks we just became roommates. That annoyed me, how a stranger like you could give me a safe space in the city — Riki, I felt safe with you even before you gave me a reason to not be scared of this city.” you breathed. Tears started to blur your eyes that you could only rest your head on your knees. Hand gripping tighter on your phone meanwhile Riki was frozen from where he sat. 

“You’ve liked me ever since?” he asked, almost out of breath.

“Who wouldn’t? You’re tall, handsome, clean, and smart — you were perfect Riki, but do I deserve to like you? I was scared. Because, I couldn’t dissect my feelings for you and I wondered if I was more open, what would then? Would our relationship be longer than we had expected? Or will it fail and we soon realise that we’re just infatuated due to proximity?” 

“Are you telling me that you regret everything we’ve done?” he asked.

“No, never. I could never.” you whispered, vaguely audible against your soft sobs. “I believe that what we had was short yet meaningful. It came at the right time and even though it hurts that it was just a passing moment in our lives, I will forever cherish it, Riki. Thank you so much for the few months you made my life more colorful and loud — it made me realise that there’s beauty in the noise of the city.”

Riki wasn’t able to process everything. All he could hear was how you were holding back your cries. Muffling it that he couldn’t help but to hate himself. If only he didn’t leave you.

“I don’t know what the future holds but if there’s a way, I believe our paths will cross again. I love you Riki.” you softly stated. “Drinking yakults is less fun now and sunrises have become plain in my sight ever since you left.”

The call ended but Riki remained frozen. He wasn’t able to say any words to you. He only listened, and maybe, just maybe — it was the explanation that he needed from you. He wanted to call your number again but he couldn’t bear it anymore, not when he knew that you cried because of him.

A tear fell from Riki’s eyes. Breath-hitching as he closes his phone. Sakura’s hands pats her younger brother’s shoulder and the taller boy couldn’t help but to lean to his sister’s comfort. 

“I miss her,” Riki said in between his sobs as it became so loud and noisy that Sakura could only hush him. 

“If grandpa is here, he would be laughing at you crybaby,” Sakura teased, trying to ease up the atmosphere but it only made Riki cry louder.

“I miss grandpa too, he — he would’ve loved her,” the younger male broke down and Sakura couldn’t do anything but to comfort her younger brother. 

Sakura never thought that she’ll see Riki in this situation. Riki was a crybaby, sure, but he never cried so loud when Ayame rejected him, nor when he left to study in another country. She just thinks, whoever you are, you must be really important to her younger brother. 

“You really love her don’t you?” Sakura asked once again and Riki only nodded. 

“I do — fuck, she might be scared out there, I didn’t want to leave her because she’s scared and now that I’m gone, she must be feeling lonely — I can’t, I can’t deal with this.” 

Sakura roughly draws circles on Riki’s back, hushing him softly as she exhales deeply. “It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t worry about her, she’ll be fine. We’ll find a way, okay?”

Riki didn’t say a word. His tears continued to flow as his cries broke against the stillness of the garden. He could only think of you and how the world could be so cruel that you two had to be separated.

-

Riki. 

I remember the first time I brought you to the mountains. 

You were only seven yet you were excited. You were patient throughout the trail — or so I thought.

Ten minutes into the silence of the trail, that’s when I decided to check on you. In my fear, you weren’t there. Your grandpa was scared. I lost you in broad daylight. What will your parents tell me?

I found you not too long. At an estranged path that I didn’t know. You were near a small stream. The water was clear and cold, with your feet submerged. You looked at me with pride even though I was ready to give you a lecture. 

You told me that you followed the sound of the stream, and it shocked me. How would such small details lead you to this place? At the age of seven, I knew you’d be a curious child, but I didn’t expect you to walk into an unknown path just for that.

I knew at that moment, you would go farther than you should. As I watched you grow up, I always knew that you had more potential. You were carefree, a bit stubborn but it works. You were determined and passionate about what you wanted. Disciplined in many ways. I was always proud to call you my grandson.

When I told you about my days in Decelis University, you were always amazed by it. As if I was telling you my adventures in an estranged country filled with mythical creatures and phenomenal events, but in reality, it was just my simple college life in a university in a foreign country. But I knew one thing was that I shouldn’t let the sparks on your eyes fade away. So continued, and unknowingly, I became an influence to you.

Don’t you ever let the sparks in your eyes fade away. Take the risk and chase after something. It could be anything. A dream, a place, an object — someone. Love. Someone who can be your home in the noisy city and teenage struggles. You’re young, be free.

Stay there and when you return here to Okayama, your grandpa should see your diploma fr0m Decelis University. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.

With love,

Grandpa.

-

Epilogue.

Your sleep was disturbed by the continuous vibration of your phone. You groaned in annoyance as you turned your body away from the bedside drawer.

But the call continued and you had no choice but to reach for it and with one eye open, you tried to get a clear view of the caller.

Riki (yakult stealer) is calling

You freezed. It’s been weeks since your last call with Riki. No more text nor calls. Everything was gone after that. You don’t know why he’s calling you on a random Sunday, at this early wherein the sun’s nowhere to be seen.

You stared at it for a whole minute before your hand moved — you hated that you answered his call despite missing him. Knowing that you’d just missed him more if you heard his voice.

“Riki, it’s six-thirty in the morning here,” you started.

“Exactly, it’s ten minutes till sunrise,” he answered and you rolled through your bed trying to understand what he’s trying to say.

“What are you trying to say to Riki?”

“You don’t want to miss it, don’t you?”

“You know that I can’t watch the sunrise without you.”

“I know,” he only chuckled. “That’s why we’re going to watch it together.”

You stopped. Brain trying to comprehend what he just said. The next thing you knew, your eyes were wide open and you sat up from your bed so fast, it gave you a whiplash. 

“Riki?”

He only hums as a response, followed by that teasing chuckle of his that would always make you roll your eyes in annoyance, but this time, you weren’t annoyed — you were hopeful. 

“It’s starting now,” Riki said instead. “You don’t want to miss it, don’t you?”

The call ends, but you remain on your bed, trying to ease your beating heart.

It couldn’t be. You think that Riki’s just messing with you, but a part of you was hopeful. He wouldn’t be calling you at this hour just to mess with you. 

You didn’t waste any time. You only grabbed your jacket and went out of your apartment flat. Frantically pressing the elevator, and cursing on why wouldn’t it go any faster. You were almost running out of breath as you reached the door of the rooftop’s entrance — that’s when you stopped.

Your heart was beating fast, acting like it’s crazy and you couldn’t do anything about it. You let out a deep sigh before you entered the code of the keypad. The small noise gave you more anxiety as you grabbed the cold handle of the door, pushing it slowly and entering the rooftop. 

The metal door creaked as it closed on its own. You stood there frozen from where you were standing. Eyes locked at the boy who stood tall in front of the railings. You caught your breath as slowly, you tried to sink into your mind that Riki’s in front of you.

And it was as if he felt your presence, he turned around and you knew that you’re done. Riki’s here. He’s back and you don’t know why, but you’re still scared — that he’ll be just here for a short time. 

“Hi.” Riki smiled, and you felt relieved. He really is here.

“You’re back immediately,” was the first thing you said. 

Riki’s smile became small — bitter. “I just finished my grandfather’s funeral — it was enough, it was hard, but I’m sure he’s at peace now.”

“Was it harder for you to return?” you asked. 

“No. Not when I know that you’re the one I’m returning to.” 

Before you could say another word, he walked towards you. You only stood there, waiting for him until he’s in front of you. Not too far nor too close but enough for him to tell you that he’s here. 

“I couldn’t believe you,” he breathes, voice almost shaking. “You had a crush on me ever since? You — don’t you know how long I’ve tried to get your attention while you’re doing everything to hide your feelings for me? Because you think I don’t deserve you?”

“Riki —” you weren’t able to say another word when you felt his lips crashed onto yours. Longing and missing, like he was starved and your lips was the only thing it could ease his hunger. 

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” Riki stated once he broke out from the kiss. His hands firm on your cheeks that you could only stare at him. “You were everything. You were a dream, while I’m just me…someone who couldn’t even fight for you.” 

“No you don’t, you were my safety,” you told him. “It felt so lonely when you left. I didn’t expect that your overwhelming presence could be my home.” 

“I’m not going to let you be alone in this world again,” Riki confesses, eyes locked on yours as his hands are still on your cheeks. “You’re not going to get rid of me.” 

“But your family.” you remembered.

“They’ll be fine, grandpa wants me to stay.” Riki smiled, remembering how he and Sakura found his grandpa’s letter for him. A last will that his parents couldn’t oppose. “He knows where my home is.”

“I hate you,” you mumbled to him. “I can’t believe you, you’re back in just three weeks! You didn’t even let me miss you more.”

“I don’t want you to miss me more.” Riki stated. “It’ll kill me to see you alone and scared.”

“I’m not scared of this city anymore,” you confessed. “You made it safe for me, you know?”

“I’ll be more at ease if I’m with you,” he interjected. “Don’t worry about us anymore, no one will take me away from you.”

You only nod at his words, and with that, Riki pulls you close to him. His tall physique swallowed you as you find comfort in his warmth.

The sunrise continued to paint the sky in golden glows and hues. The cold winds sway along the two of you, flowing around you like they’re pleased to see two lovers reunited.

“Let’s continue chasing sunrise,” Riki breaks the hug, facing you as you only stare at him. From there, the bask of sunlight kissed his skin. His golden tanned skin along with his soft smile gave you nothing but endless what-ifs of the future.