picture credits!:

wts picture from @/purekyomi on telegram

proof video 1 from @/wearebullwtproof_7777 on tiktok

not even a week ago, on july 23, i received an ask from anon asking if i own a certain blog since there is a fic very similar to mine and anon also linked the post. same anon then sent another ask with another link to a different post of the same writer. the blog is named @okwonyo !

i’ll link the fics here(had to unblock the author to do that): “confession” and “dreamer”.

and the works that they were “inspired by” are: “flirting” and “shaving nanami”.

now, the posts were uploaded on july 21 and jul 10, notably later than my works, and if it weren’t for anon i wouldn’t even have known about anything, because i don’t lurk around the enhypen tag. if you want to, you can read works and connect the dots, but i am gonna present the similarities and explain why i, and many others, think it’s blatant plagiarism rather than inspiration(red is marking her work and blue is marking mine), you can read the whole thing too if you’d like ofc, i highlighted everything that would guide to see the problem, but please read everything.

this is from “dreamer” and “shaving nanami” fics. you can see that there is similar pacing, and some of the sentences are structured the same way, using the same words, minimal changes applied. and yeah, you can say that the writer added the “dreaming about marrying you” thing to her work but it doesn’t change the fact that this whole thing was basically ripped off. then, let’s get to the “confession” fic that has like a sequence of sentences taken from my fic, despite the plot being a little different in her fic, but the whole “not noticing the flirting thing” was taken from me. i wouldn’t really call that inspiration if you just take the sentences and literally put them in your fic. would you? :)

(mind you, this is my first time dealing with things like this, which is not an excuse, bur rather an explanation as to why i handled this situation poorly at first.)

now, with these out of the way, let’s discuss what i talked about with the owner of the @/okwonyo, or “jiah”. i sent an ask since i didn’t follow her and couldn’t message her, and we had a civil conversation about these works. i’m sorry i don’t have screenshots but it’s because the chat is no longer available to me(she blocked me from her sideblog which she used for chat with me @okwonyos).

she did apologise and offered to link the fics(or even take them down!) but i, admittedly, was a bit distracted with in real life issues and dismissed by saying that she could just tag me, which of course was my fault. when i said that i thought she would say “inspired by bla bla bla” but she just literally tagged me in the end of posts(mind you, there were 4 posts and she tagged me only in these 2 hah) and when i noticed and decided to ask her to take the posts down like she offered in the beginning because it would just be easier and would make me comfortable enough. she insisted that she likes those works a lot and me, being the pushover i am, relented and thought “well alright at least her readers will stay happy” and allowed her to link my stuff in her post, although she again mentioned me only at the end when i asked her to do it in the beginning of the post. i didn’t really care that her notes were in the end, not really.

come to find our, there were another 2 fics, that i didn’t know about until she mentioned me.

oblivious and promises, which are “inspired” again by my fics: oblivious reader and beauty marks.

was she gonna mention these if i hadn’t texted her again a while later about her poor credit giving style? i don’t think so, buddy. anyways, i read the fics briefly and was baffled by the similarities i saw. granted, i will mention that the “oblivious” fic by her resembles an “inspiration” a lot more than other fics since there are added elements like the characters being childhood friends and confession scene and all that — but still, there is whole beginning of the fic that she basically reworded from mine(was it necessary to even use the message with emoji thing…):

for the “promises” fic… bruh, the pacing, the whole dialogue, the similarities, literally whatever happens between the reader and that male character are taken from my fic and reworded and posted as original before i dm’ed the author. which pisses me off, because if she had mentioned me from the beginning and if i considered it plagiarism it just would have been a lot more telling about this author’s intentions — they wouldn’t have been able to act nonchalantly, you know what i mean?

now, eventually, i sent the author some texts about how just taking paragraphs and changing them a little doesn’t look much like an inspiration and asked to take the posts down(if i remember correctly) and she went defence mode and me? i was too tired with my irl issues to attempt anything more after a string of messages pointing out that she didn’t “copy and paste” and she added her own details and plots to the fic. so i went with something like okay whatever i hope you learn from your mistake and bye and she happily replied “feel free to block me” which irked me.

it irked me to the point that after blocking her i didn’t feel relief or like a “winner” but more like i played right into her hand, which should have been the signs that this was not the right way to end things.

now, jiah, did you think it was over? i did think i’d just be mulling over this for a while and hoping other people don’t steal my stuff, but see it’s not me who noticed it, i was unaware — it was other people, several people, who noticed you just taking writing as your own and ignoring being “inspired” by me until you were reminded that yes, you did it wrong. and you have to understand what you did was wrong and accept it.

and you had to be the one to address it to your readers because me, i did address it and i asked my readers and followers to not even say anything to you and not go into your inbox — but something tells me you would have just ignored them and turned off anon asks.

you may ask: tori, why are you posting this almost a week later? well, i’m not gonna lie i have been thinking about this whole situation a lot and how i didn’t do it right and didn’t feel satisfied. and thanks to my beautiful readers and anons who felt injustice and confirmed my thoughts i have been finally pushed to act on this.

look, i have nothing to gain from this… i don’t need like the undying love of enhypen fans or to turn anyone against her, but jiah, gotta respect me, no? do i really need your credits after you posted your post like 10 days ago and was going to act like nothing happened until confronted? i really don’t lol, i just want to have peace and i want every anon and every person who sent me an ask about it and showed me immense support to be relieved that kpop community knows what’s going on.

and i’m bringing awareness to this because i am sure that plagiarism here is really common and i have been lucky to be struck by it only for the first time.

now, do what you will with all of this info.

“You busy?” came that lazy, low drawl.

You sighed. “What do you want, Riki?”

He smirked like he always did. Too confident. Too pretty. Too used to the world handing him everything.

“I forgot the history paper’s due tomorrow,” he said, leaning his elbow on the desk, turning to face you. “Be a sweetheart and send me yours?”

You finally looked up. He was wearing sunglasses. In class. And a leather jacket like this was some kind of movie and not 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. His dark hair was a little messy, like he’d just rolled out of someone else’s bed. There was a red mark on his neck. A love bite, probably. Gross.

You blinked at him. “No.”

“No?” He blinked back, mock offended. “No one says no to me.”

You returned to your notes. “Maybe that’s your problem.”

He whistled low under his breath, then leaned in closer. Too close. His knee brushed yours under the desk and you stiffened, refusing to move.

“You’re so mean to me,” he murmured. “Makes me wonder what you’d sound like if you weren’t.”

You clenched your jaw. “If you’re done harassing me, I have an actual education to focus on.”

He chuckled. “You sound like my dad.”

You turned to him, lips curled. “Your dad’s the one paying off professors to pass you, right?”

That wiped the smirk off his face—only for a second. Then he was grinning again, like you’d just impressed him.

“Damn,” he said. “You really hate me, huh?”

“I don’t care enough to hate you.”

That was a lie. You did care. Because everything about him infuriated you. The way he laughed too loud at parties. The way he always had some new girl draped around him like jewelry. The way he wore his privilege like a crown. And the way, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, he always noticed you.

“I saw you at Sunghoon’s party last week,” he said suddenly, tapping his fingers on the desk like he was bored. “You looked good.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in again, whispering, “Were you looking for me?”

You turned your head slowly, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “I was looking for a lighter. Didn’t expect to see the joint already lit and talking.”

Riki stared at you for a second, then let out a sharp laugh, slumping back in his chair like you’d just knocked the wind out of him.

“You’re unreal,” he said, shaking his head. “Like, actually unreal.”

You gathered your books. The bell was about to ring.

He watched you, tilting his head, tapping his pen against his bottom lip.

“You sure you don’t wanna spend a little more time with me?” he asked again, voice low.

You looked at him one last time.

“I’d rather die.”

The bell rang. You walked away.

And behind you, Nishimura Riki smiled.

Like he’d just found his next favorite game.

“I’m telling you,” Riki said, dragging smoke from his joint and exhaling out the window, “she’s obsessed with me.”

Jungwon laughed so hard he choked on his drink. “Bro. She literally called you a ‘talking joint.’ I was there. I heard it. She hates you.”

Riki just smiled, slouching back on the couch like he hadn’t just been insulted in front of half the class two days ago.

“She doesn’t hate me,” he said, smug. “She’s just in denial. They all fall eventually.”

“Yeah,” Jay muttered, flipping a poker chip between his fingers, “except she hasn’t. And it’s been, what? A year? You’ve tried everything. Compliments. Group projects. DMs. And she’s still not interested.”

“She left you on read last month,” Sunghoon added. “That’s cold, even for her.”

Riki rolled his eyes. “She was probably busy.”

“She was online,” Jungwon said, grinning. “Watching cat videos.”

Riki sat up, annoyed now. “Why are you all so invested in this?”

“Because it’s funny,” Jay said. “You get girls without trying. But this one? She has standards.”

Riki scoffed, standing to grab another drink from the mini bar. His house was massive—of course it was. High ceilings, glass everything, and the stench of wealth dripping from every marble countertop. The kind of house where people threw parties just to trash something pretty.

“She’s not better than me,” he muttered.

“No,” Sunghoon agreed. “But she acts like she is. And that makes her untouchable.”

Riki turned slowly. “Untouchable?”

Jay smirked. “She hasn’t even looked at you the way those other girls do. You’re not special to her.”

Riki didn’t say anything.

Jungwon leaned forward, the corners of his mouth curling. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

Jay raised a brow. “You wanna make it interesting?”

A pause.

“A bet,” Jungwon said. “You get her to fall for you.”

Sunghoon laughed. “Yeah, okay. Like that’ll happen.”

“No, listen—” Jay grinned. “Get her to like you. Like, really like you. Admit it. Kiss you. Sleep with you, maybe. Whatever. Just get her hooked.”

“And if I do?” Riki asked, sipping from his drink like he wasn’t already considering it.

“Then we all shut up forever,” Sunghoon said. “And we pay for your spring trip to Barcelona.”

Riki’s brow raised. “And if I lose?”

Jay grinned. “You post a full apology video. Shirtless. Hair down. Crying. Real tears.”

Riki laughed. “Fuck off.”

“No, come on,” Jungwon said. “You said she’s into you. Prove it. Win the bet.”

Riki exhaled slowly, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Your voice echoed in his head—

“I’d rather die.”

He grinned.

“Fine,” he said. “Bet.”

Somewhere across town, you were studying in your room with your laptop open, notes highlighted, textbooks stacked high. You didn’t know it yet, but a very stupid boy had just made a very stupid decision.

And he was coming for you next.

“Partners have been randomly assigned,” your teacher said, scrolling through the spreadsheet on the projector, completely oblivious to the silent panic spreading through the room.

You barely listened, already highlighting the first page of your assignment packet. You didn’t care who you were paired with. As long as they pulled their weight.

“—and last, Y/N and Nishimura Riki.”

Your highlighter froze mid-stroke.

No.

No no no no no—

Riki made a sound from the back of the room. A low whistle. And then, like he always did, he took his sweet time strolling over to you, dropping into the seat beside you with that infuriating smile.

“This fate thing,” he said, nudging your foot under the desk, “is really starting to feel like destiny.”

You stared ahead. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Aw, c’mon, princess,” he murmured. “We’ve got a whole research paper to write. Gotta be civil.”

“You don’t even go to class.”

“I’m here now.”

“You’re high.”

He grinned. “High-performing, maybe.”

You looked at him. He was in a hoodie this time, hood half over his head, a little bruised at the jaw like he’d gotten into a fight or kissed someone with too much teeth. His eyes were slightly red, but not in a sleepy way—in a too-much-weed-and-not-enough-water way.

God, you hated him.

“Fine,” you muttered. “We meet after school. Library. Three o’clock.”

He blinked. “The library?”

“Yes. The quiet place. Where people go to study. Not vape.”

He put a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“I hope so.”

3:00 PM.

You were already at the back corner table, laptop open, outline half-started, when he sauntered in ten minutes late with two iced coffees and not a single folder in sight.

“Iced vanilla,” he said, sliding one toward you. “No syrup, oat milk. That’s your order, right?”

You blinked.

He shrugged. “Saw you holding it once. I pay attention.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“You also didn’t say thank you.”

You took the drink. You didn’t thank him. He smirked anyway.

“Let’s just get this done,” you muttered, scrolling to the outline. “We can split the topics evenly—”

“Actually,” Riki interrupted, spinning his chair toward you, “how about we work together on each section?”

You stared at him. “What?”

“You know. Collaborate. Bounce ideas. Build chemistry.”

“This isn’t couples therapy.”

“It could be,” he said under his breath.

You slammed your laptop shut.

He held up both hands. “Okay, okay. Chill. I’m just trying to be a good partner.”

“You don’t know how to be a good partner. You don’t even know what this paper’s about.”

“It’s on post-war economic reconstruction.”

Your jaw tensed.

He smirked. “Told you I pay attention.”

You hated how smug he looked. How close he leaned. How his knee kept brushing yours like it was accidental.

He tilted his head. “You always this intense when you’re working?”

You ignored him.

“Bet you’re fun when you finally let go.”

You snapped your head up. “Bet you’re still a spoiled asshole when you shut up.”

He stared at you for a moment. Something flickered behind his eyes. Not just amusement—something closer to interest.

He leaned in a little. “You’re so hot when you hate me.”

“I’m always hot.”

He laughed. It was loud. Too loud for the library. A girl from the next table glared.

You shoved your chair back and stood up. “Come back when you’re serious.”

“Wait—”

“I’m not wasting time on a fake partner and a fake coffee.”

You walked away, bag slung over your shoulder, head high.

And behind you, Riki was still smiling.

Because for someone who claimed you weren’t playing the game—

You sure made it fun.

You expected him to flake.

After the mess that was your first study session—if you could even call it that—you assumed he’d go back to parties, girls, skipping class, and rolling joints behind the gym.

You did not expect him to show up the next day.

On time.

With a notebook.

And a bag of spicy chips that he wordlessly dropped in front of you.

You stared at the bag. Then at him.

“What’s this?”

“Peace offering.”

You frowned. “You think you can just buy my forgiveness with chips?”

He shrugged. “They’re your favorite.”

“…How do you know that?”

He leaned his chin into his palm, voice annoyingly casual.

“You always eat them during calc. Third period. Right after your quiz. You shake the crumbs into your mouth like a savage.”

You blinked.

“You’re stalking me now?”

“Just observant,” he said, tapping his pen against the table. “Can we work now, or do you wanna keep pretending you hate me?”

You did hate him. Didn’t you?

You opened your laptop and said nothing.

It kept happening.

Study sessions where he actually took notes.

Group chats where he actually replied.

Class presentations where he actually spoke and didn’t just lean back with a smug smile.

It was unnerving.

“Okay, what the hell is going on,” you finally said one day after school, slamming your binder shut as he bit into a banana muffin he brought “for brain fuel.”

Riki blinked at you, mouth full. “What?”

“This.” You motioned between you two. “You being nice. Helpful. Actually participating. What’s your angle?”

He swallowed, brushing crumbs off his lip with the back of his hand. “Damn. Can’t a guy just try?”

“No. Not you.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe I wanna change.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat back in his chair, watching you with that unreadable expression he only ever wore when he forgot to flirt. It made your stomach do a weird twist.

“Maybe I like spending time with you,” he said softly.

You scoffed. “No you don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t flirt back. Because I don’t fall for your dumb lines. Because I don’t let you copy my work.”

He smiled, a little sad now. “Maybe that’s why I do.”

You stared at him.

The library suddenly felt too quiet. Too small. Like the table between you wasn’t doing much to keep him out of your head.

He looked away first. Back down at the notes.

You cleared your throat. “Well. This part’s due Friday. Don’t mess it up.”

His voice was quieter than before. “I won’t.”

You didn’t know what this was anymore.

But you knew it was dangerous.

Because you didn’t hate him like you used to.

And he didn’t look at you like it was a game.

The school courtyard was loud—too many voices, music playing from someone’s speaker, and the metallic sound of soda cans cracking open. But all of it faded the moment Riki saw you.

You were laughing.

With Sunghoon.

Sunghoon stood way too close, one hand resting casually on the brick wall behind your head like this was some goddamn rom-com. You had your arms crossed, head tilted, eyes narrowed in a way that Riki knew meant you were annoyed—but not annoyed enough to leave.

And Sunghoon knew it too.

“Bro,” Jungwon muttered next to him, following his gaze. “Chill.”

“I’m not even doing anything,” Riki said, jaw tight.

“You’re literally crushing that Red Bull can with your bare hand.”

Riki forced himself to breathe.

He watched as Sunghoon leaned in, said something in your ear. You shoved his shoulder, and he laughed, obnoxious and loud.

Riki hated how his stomach twisted.

He started walking over before he could stop himself.

You saw him coming before you heard him—Riki, storming across the quad like a stormcloud in a hoodie, hair a little messy, lips pressed into a tight line.

Sunghoon grinned.

“Well,” he said under his breath, “look who’s about to explode.”

You glared at him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Obviously.”

“Asshole.”

“Love you too.”

“Yo.” Riki stopped in front of you both, ignoring Sunghoon entirely. “Can I talk to you?”

You blinked. “I’m in the middle of—”

“Now.”

You looked at Sunghoon, who held up both hands in mock surrender, eyes gleaming. “Don’t let him cry, Y/N.”

You turned to Riki. “What is your problem?”

“What are you doing with him?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I needed your permission to talk to someone.”

“You don’t,” he snapped. “Just not him.”

“Oh my god.” You turned to leave, but he grabbed your wrist—not hard, just enough to stop you.

“Let go.”

“Why him?” he asked, voice low now. Almost broken. “Out of everyone—why Sunghoon?”

You pulled your hand back. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Then act like it.”

You left without another word.

And Riki? He stood there, watching you walk away from him—again.

He hated it.

So that night?

He did something stupid.

You weren’t going to go to the party.

You had every intention of staying home, buried in essays and your hoodie. But Yoonchae sent a picture—

Riki. On the couch. With a girl in his lap.

So of course you went.

You shouldn’t have. But you did.

The house was too loud. You pushed through bodies, sweat and smoke and spilled beer sticking to your skin.

And there he was.

Nishimura Riki.

Hoodie off. White t-shirt clinging to his chest. A redhead straddling him, giggling into his neck, nails dragging across his shoulder as he smirked at something Jay said.

You froze in the doorway.

He didn’t see you yet.

Or maybe he did. And just didn’t care.

You turned to leave, something sharp clawing its way through your chest—

“Y/N?”

You stopped.

He was standing now. The girl still clinging to him. But he was looking at you.

Only you.

Your voice was flat. “You look busy.”

He flinched.

The redhead leaned in closer. “Riki, come on—”

He shook her off, stepping toward you. “It’s not what it looks like.”

You laughed. “You’re really gonna use that line?”

He looked like he wanted to say something else. Something real. But then you saw it—Sunghoon, standing by the kitchen, arms crossed, watching.

Riki looked too.

And then he made his choice.

He turned back to the girl, tugged her back onto the couch.

Didn’t say a word.

And you walked out.

Jealousy?

It wasn’t a game anymore.

It fucking hurt.

You avoided him all week.

Didn’t show up to the library. Didn’t reply in the group chat. Didn’t even glance in his direction during class.

If the professor mentioned “group partners,” you raised your hand and asked if you could switch.

He didn’t say anything when the professor said no.

He just sat there, staring at the back of your head like it might catch fire.

Friday. After school.

You stayed late to finish a lab report.

The hallway was quiet when you finally left, your backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, head down.

You didn’t hear the footsteps until they were too close.

“Y/N.”

You froze.

Riki.

He was standing at the bottom of the stairwell, hoodie pulled over his head, hands in his pockets, eyes dark.

You tried to walk past him.

“Wait—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. “You’re mad at me.”

“No shit.”

“Why?”

You scoffed. “You’re joking, right?”

He shook his head. “You were talking to Sunghoon like you didn’t even know I existed.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed bitterly. “You were literally being felt up on a couch while I was in the room.”

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Right. Because why would I show up to a party full of fake friends and even faker boys.”

He flinched.

Silence.

The air between you was hot. Heavy. Tense in a way it hadn’t been before. This wasn’t teasing anymore.

This was real.

You stared at him. “What do you want from me, Riki?”

His voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Is this part of your game? Make me fall for you? Win a bet with your loser friends?”

“No—”

“Then what? What do you want from me?”

He took a step closer.

And then another.

And another.

Until your back hit the wall behind you.

And he was standing so close you could feel the heat of him through your shirt.

You could smell him—faint cologne, laundry detergent, the ghost of a cigarette.

His voice was hoarse. Quiet. Broken.

“You hate me, right?”

You stared at him.

He looked desperate.

Like he wanted you to say yes.

So he could believe it.

So he could let you go.

You whispered, “So much.”

And then you kissed him.

Hard.

Like you meant it.

Like you’d been waiting months.

His hands found your waist like it was instinct, pulling you in, pressing you flush against him as he kissed you back like he couldn’t breathe without it.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was messy. Bruised. Real.

His mouth was hot, open, needy against yours. Your hands fisted in his hoodie. His tongue dragged across your bottom lip and you gasped—and he took advantage of it, groaning into your mouth like he was starving.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, your lips were swollen, and his hands were still on your waist like he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

You whispered, “Tell me this isn’t just a game.”

He stared at you.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t say yes.

Didn’t say no.

And your heart cracked.

Because you knew.

And you kissed him again anyway.

You barely made it through the front door.

His hoodie was bunched in your fists, your lips on his before you even got your shoes off, stumbling into his house like gravity itself was pushing you together.

“Upstairs,” he breathed, kissing your jaw, your neck, his voice rough. “Please—upstairs—”

You didn’t answer.

Just grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the staircase like you were going to die if you didn’t touch him properly right now.

His bedroom was big, dark, stupidly expensive like the rest of the house—but you didn’t care.

The second the door shut, you shoved him back against it, kissing him like you hated him. Like you didn’t hate him. Like you didn’t know the difference anymore.

Riki groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips so tight it hurt.

“Fuck,” he whispered, breath ragged. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You pulled his hoodie off.

Then his shirt.

He let you.

Let you stare.

Let you touch.

Let you make him fall apart with just your hands and mouth and teeth.

“You like this, huh?” you murmured against his throat. “You like being wanted?”

His breath hitched. “Only by you.”

You paused.

That made him flinch.

“I didn’t mean—” he tried, but you kissed him again before he could finish. Because maybe you didn’t want to hear what came after. Not yet.

The back of your knees hit the bed.

He pushed you down, climbing over you, breathing hard.

But he stopped.

Eyes flicking over your face.

His voice was quieter now. Fragile.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Don’t make me beg.”

His mouth curved.

But his hands were careful.

He touched you like you were made of secrets, kissed you like he was trying to apologize for something he hadn’t said yet.

And when he finally pressed into you, slow and deep and desperate—he buried his face in your neck and groaned your name like it broke him.

You weren’t quiet either.

Couldn’t be.

Not with the way he moved.

Not with the way he whispered things like:

“You feel so good—fuck—so good…”

“Thought about this every night since the library…”

“Didn’t know I could want someone like this.”

You moaned into his shoulder, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he thrust into you, faster now, rougher, hands trembling where they held your thighs.

“Riki—” you gasped, nails digging into his back.

He groaned, desperate and breathless. “Say it again.”

“Riki.”

“Again.”

“Riki—please—”

He kissed you hard, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, deep enough to make your breath hitch, your back arch, your voice crack.

“You’re mine,” he whispered.

You nodded, dazed, dizzy. “Yeah.”

He kissed your jaw.

Then your mouth.

Then your neck.

“You don’t get it,” he panted. “You’re not like the others. You’re fucking worse. You’ve ruined me.”

And he meant it.

Because when you came—when he followed, moaning into your mouth, eyes fluttering shut like it hurt—

He didn’t stop holding you.

Even after.

Even when it got quiet.

Even when your breathing slowed and your voice broke on a whisper:

“Now what?”

He just held you tighter.

Didn’t have an answer.

Didn’t let go.

You woke up tangled in sheets that weren’t yours.

In a bed too soft, a room too quiet, with arms around you that still didn’t feel real.

Riki was still asleep. Bare chest rising and falling. His mouth was a little open. Messy hair. A faint bruise blooming on his neck from where you’d bitten him.

You stared at him.

At the boy who made you want things you didn’t know how to want.

And something inside you clenched.

This was stupid.

This was dangerous.

You started to sit up, needing space. Needing to think.

But Riki mumbled, still half-asleep. “Where are you going…”

You paused. “Home.”

His eyes opened, still hazy. “No.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No?”

He pulled you back into him, burying his face in your neck like a sulky puppy. “Stay.”

“I can’t.”

He kissed your collarbone. “Please.”

You were going to argue—really—but then his hand slid under the sheet again, warm and slow, and—

Yeah.

You stayed.

You were in his bathroom when you heard it.

He thought you were gone. Or still asleep.

His phone rang.

You wouldn’t have listened—really, you wouldn’t have—if it wasn’t on speaker.

Sunghoon’s voice.

“So? Did you finally win the bet?”

Everything stopped.

Your body went cold.

Riki laughed—laughed.

“Define win.”

Sunghoon whistled.

“No way. You actually slept with her?”

Silence.

Then—

“Shit, Riki. You actually caught feelings, didn’t you?”

You didn’t hear his answer.

You were already grabbing your stuff.

He caught you halfway down the stairs, shirt half on, hair a mess.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t look at him. “Home.”

“Wait—what happened?”

You whirled around. “Seriously? You’re gonna pretend like you don’t know?”

His face paled. “Wait, no—just let me explain—”

You shoved him back. “A bet, Riki?”

He flinched.

“You used me. You made me feel—fuck.” Your voice cracked, hands shaking. “And I was stupid enough to believe it was real.”

“It was real!” he shouted. “It is—I swear—I didn’t mean—”

“What?” you snapped. “You didn’t mean to fall for the girl you were using? Didn’t mean to make it worse?”

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Because he couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t make it worse.

You blinked fast. Didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him.

But your voice broke anyway.

“I was the one person who didn’t fall for your bullshit. And now I’m just another girl you can laugh about.”

He reached for you.

You stepped back.

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Please—don’t leave like this—”

But you were already walking away.

And he didn’t follow.

Not until the door shut.

Not until he was alone in the silence you left behind.

It had been a week.

One week since you walked out of Riki’s house.

One week since he stopped showing up to class.

One week since your phone blew up with texts you refused to read.

You deleted every one.

Except the last.

riki (2:31 a.m.)

i fucked up.

i miss you.

i swear i never meant for this to happen. not like this.

You stared at it sometimes. At that little “i miss you.”

It made your chest twist in ways you hated. Ways you couldn’t stop.

But you didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did—

You knew he’d ruin you again.

He showed up at school the next Monday.

Dark circles under his eyes. Hoodie pulled low over his face. Ignoring everyone.

Except you.

You felt it before you saw him.

That heat. That gravity. The air in the room bending.

You looked up.

He was already staring.

Eyes wide. Red. Like he hadn’t slept.

You looked away.

So he crossed the room.

“Can we talk?” His voice was hoarse.

You didn’t answer.

“Please.”

People were staring. You hated that.

So you stood up. “Fine.”

You walked down the hall, through the back doors, into the empty courtyard. He followed like a shadow.

When you turned around, he flinched like you’d slapped him.

“I know,” he said, before you could even speak. “I know I don’t deserve anything. Not your forgiveness. Not even this conversation. But—”

You didn’t let him finish.

“What was I to you, Riki?”

His lips parted.

“You want to talk? Talk. So talk. Was it just a game?”

“No.” His voice cracked. “Not after the first week.”

You scoffed.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “At first—yeah. It was ego. I was stupid. You were the one person who didn’t want me and it made me—fuck—I don’t know, obsessive.”

You stared.

“But then you smiled at me. You teased me. You saw me when no one else did. You made me want to be better. And I hated it. And I loved it. And I—”

“Riki—”

“I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

He stepped even closer. “I’m in love with you,” he repeated, voice lower, more broken. “I don’t know when it happened. Somewhere between your eye rolls and the way you looked at me like I wasn’t just some rich asshole.”

Your throat tightened.

“I tried to play it cool,” he whispered. “Tried to keep fucking around, pretending you didn’t matter, but you did. You ruined me for everyone else.”

You blinked fast. “You don’t get to say that. Not after what you did.”

“I know. I know.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if I have to. That it wasn’t fake. That I meant it. That I still do.”

And then—

Softer.

“You can punch me. You can tell me to fuck off. Just don’t walk away again without knowing I’d do anything to make this right.”

You stared at him.

Really stared.

At the boy who used to be unbearable.

Cocky. Cold. Beautiful.

And now looked like he’d fallen off the pedestal he put himself on.

Crashed into the ground.

All because of you.

“Say it again,” you said.

“What?”

“What you said. Just now.”

He swallowed. “I’m in love with you.”

And you didn’t mean to.

You didn’t plan it.

But you kissed him.

Hard. Messy. Angry. Loving.

He kissed you back like he was dying.

Fingers in your hair. Hands trembling. Like if he let go for even a second, he’d lose you again.

You pulled back first.

His forehead dropped against yours.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I want to stay mad.”

“Then stay. Just don’t leave.”

You closed your eyes.

And let yourself fall.

This time—