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but that secrecy had its downsides, too. and one of them just so happened to reappear each time you hung out with everyone else — where all of the touches, even the smallest ones, were suddenly off limits, and the lack of affection from you slowly drove jo insane. especially today.

the sun has long set, disappearing behind the horizon as the night sky spread its darkness outside the windows of jo's apartment, the living room bustling with chatter and energy as his friends brought up one embarrassing story after another, their laughter erupting with each mentioned situation. his focus was solely on you, though — sitting on the other side of the couch, in the center of all the chaos, quiet giggles escaping your lips as you listened to the stories.

you looked as beautiful as you always did — your smile bright and radiant, the sight of it enough for his heart to skip a beat. he wanted nothing more than to plop down right next to you and wrap his arms around your frame.

but he couldn't, and it frustrated him more than he would like to admit. and yet he didn't want to kick his friends out either — so he opted to sit in silence, the smallest, barely noticeable pout on his face. a pout which you would've recognized anywhere.

asakura jo was sulking.

he noticed you moving in the corner of his eye, head turning towards your frame as he watched you stand up from your seat, heading for the kitchen. but before you disappeared from his line of sight, you turned towards him for a quick second.

'could you help me get snacks from the kitchen?' you asked, trying to contain your laughter at the speed with which jo stood up from his seat. of course he would — anything to get some alone time with you, even if it'd only last a minute or two.

his arms were wrapped around you the moment you stepped into the kitchen — his taller frame towering over you as he leaned in, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

'you're cute when you're pouty like this, you know?' you giggled quietly, words merely above a whisper. jo murmured something into your shoulder, barely audible. 'hm?'

'can't they just leave already…' he repeated, lifting his head to face you. you couldn't help but smile at him — hand reaching for his and squeezing it in a reassuring motion.

'they'll leave soon, trust me.' you whispered, planting a soft kiss on his lips. 'yuma looks like he'd fall asleep in the next twenty minutes and i heard yudai mention something about driving him home before he passes out.'

'and you?' jo asked.

'what about me?'

'will you…' he said, stopping in the middle of his sentence as if he hesitated for just a second. 'stay the night? only if you want to, of course. it's just we didn't get to spend much time together this week and i-'

'of course. i'd love to.' you cut him off before he was able to finish, the unsure expression on his face replaced by a gentle smile, a sigh of relief leaving his lips.

his lips captured yours in another sweet kiss before eventually pulling away, the boy reaching to open one of the cabinets, pulling out two bags of crisps from inside. once you arrived back in the living room, it seemed like jo's prayers have been answered — smile still plastered to his face as he noticed his friends getting ready to leave one by one, some of them already by the door waving their goodbyes.

only yudai remained in the living room — helping organize some of the mess left at the table, humming something under his breath.

'i'll drive yuma home.' he stated, catching the sight of you and jo entering the room in the corner of his eye. the space felt calmer than before, less suffocating thanks to all the people who have already left the apartment or waited in front of it. 'want a ride too? it's on my way home, so i'll be driving there anyways.'

his brows furrowed in curiosity as you shook your head, politely declining his offer.

'i'll stay a little longer and help jo clean up.' you explained, feeling yudai's suspicious stare burning holes into you. 'you guys left quite the pile of dishes in the sink, you know.'

'do you need any more people to help with-'

'no.' jo cut him off, his answer a little too abrupt, tone a little too sharp. yudai looked at him with initial surprise in his eyes — only for a knowing smile to emerge on his face as he looked between the two of you.

'alright, lovebirds. i'll leave you to it then.'

jo felt like digging a hole under himself and disappearing from this world entirely the moment yudai left his apartment, face heating up in embarrassment. you couldn't help the giggle leaving your lips at the sight of him, finding his current state adorable.

'he knows.' jo mumbled, looking like he'd just saw a ghost. 'do you think he'll tell everyone else?'

'i'm not sure.' you stated, thinking hard about your answer. 'but i don't think so. he more so seems the type to have fun watching you pretend there's nothing between us at every following hangout rather than blabbering to everyone. it's yudai, after all.'

jo knew you were right — and yet that thought didn't put him at ease whatsoever.

'we could just tell them, you know.' you murmured, hand finding his. 'you wouldn't have to sit and sulk like you did today.'

'i wasn't sulking.' he argued, turning to face you. you giggled.

'you so were. and you looked adorable while at it.'

jo couldn't help the heat traveling straight to his cheeks, his face turning a pretty shade of pink as he hid his face in the crook of your neck once more, trying to hide his embarrassment.

'we can tell them next time we hangout.' he mumbled after a little while, long arms pulling you closer to him. 'can we just… cuddle for now? i missed having you to myself.'

you smiled at his words, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

'of course. anything for my favorite boy.'

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The heavy, throbbing ache in your muscles is the only thing anchoring you to reality as you unlock the door to the shared apartment. The air inside is cool, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off your skin after such a brutal workout session. Every step feels like a chore, your gym clothes sticking to you like a second, suffocating skin.

You drop your bag by the entryway with a dull thud. All you can think about is the shower, the thought of hot water washing away the sweat and exhaustion is the only motivation you have left.

You head straight for the bathroom, already peeling off your damp clothes. The quiet of the apartment surrounds you, making you think you’re completely alone. You turn the handle, letting the water run until the room begins to cloud with thick, heavy steam, blurring the edges of the mirror.

Stepping into the glass enclosure, you close your eyes and let the spray hit your face, sighing as the tension begins to melt from your shoulders.

But the click of the bathroom door cutting through the sound of rushing water tells you that you aren't alone anymore. Through the fogged glass, a tall, familiar silhouette moves closer.

The heavy glass door slides open, letting a draft of cool air slice through the thick steam. Riki stands in there, still in his damp gym gear, his dark eyes locked onto you through the fog. The contrast between the cool air and the heat of the bathroom makes you shiver.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" he asks, his voice low, cutting easily through the roar of the rushing water.

"Sorry... I just felt so disgusting," you murmur, wiping the water from your eyes as you look back at him.

"Yeah, yeah..." he mutters, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

He doesn't step into the water right away. Instead, he reaches down to grab the hem of his soaked workout shirt. You watch his muscles tense as he pulls the damp fabric up and over his head, tossing it onto the bathroom floor outside.

Next comes the waistband of his shorts. He slides them down his legs, peeling away the last barrier of his clothes until he's completely bare, the cool bathroom air raising goosebumps on his skin.

He finally steps over the ledge and into the tight enclosure with you. The heavy glass door slides shut behind him with a definitive click.

The shower feels instantly smaller. The air grows thick and suffocatingly hot as he steps directly into your space, crowding you beneath the spray. The water immediately drenches his hair, sending slick tracks running down his chest as he corners you against the wet tile.

The heat radiating off his bare skin is intense, you can feel the adrenaline from his workout rolling off him in waves.

"Riki," you breathe out. You place your hands against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms. "Let's just... let's wait until after we shower. We just got back. I want to actually get clean."

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates in his chest. He doesn't step back. Instead, his hands come up to rest on the tiled wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you between the cold stone and his burning body.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and damp. "What's the point of waiting? We're just going to get all sweaty again anyway."

The confidence in his voice sends a sudden prickle of heat straight down your spine. Before you can even formulate a protest, his right hand leaves the wall, his fingers tracking a slow, deliberate path down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, and down to your waist. His grip is firm, and his fingers are digging into your hip with a possessive pressure that leaves no room for argument.

"Besides," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to watch the water track lines down your skin, "you look too good right now to make me wait."

He crowds you further, his thigh sliding between yours, forcing your legs slightly apart. The friction of his wet skin against yours is dizzying. You try to draw a deep breath, but the air is thick with steam and his familiar, intoxicating scent. Your hands shift from his chest to grip his shoulders for balance as your knees already feel a fraction weaker.

"Riki, seriously, my legs are already like jelly from the workout," you try to reason, though the breathiness of your own voice betrays you.

"Good," he whispers against your lips, his thumb stroking a slow circle into your hip bone. "Then you won't mind letting me hold you up."

He doesn't give you another chance to speak. His mouth comes down on yours, hot and demanding, effectively silencing any remaining logic. It’s not a gentle kiss, it’s a direct continuation of the intensity he brought home from the gym. He tastes like the clean rain of the shower water mixed with a fierce, burning hunger that immediately sets your pulse racing.

As the kiss deepens, his hand slips lower, his fingers slick with water and heat as they find the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasp into his mouth, a sudden jolt of electricity shooting through you as his touch grows bolder, migrating firmly toward your core.

"Riki—" you whimper against his lips, your fingers tightening into the muscles of his shoulders as he begins to tease you with a slow, agonizingly deliberate rhythm.

"Shh," he breaks the kiss just enough to mutter against your skin, his jaw tight as his fingers work with a devastating precision. "Just take it."

He uses his other hand to grip your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look into his eyes. They are dark, blown out, and entirely focused on your reactions.

Every slide of his fingers makes your breath hitch, the water pouring over both of you only heightening the slick sensation of his touch. He knows exactly where to press, his thumb finding your clit and applying just enough pressure to make your hips twitch involuntarily.

"You're already so wet," he rasps softly, a dark smirk playing on his lips as he watches your expression fracture. "See? I told you there was no point in waiting."

You try to hold yourself steady, but the combination of your exhausted muscles and the relentless, expert movement of his fingers is too much. He accelerates the pace, his fingers deeply inside you while his thumb relentlessly drives you toward a peak.

"Please," you gasp out, your head dropping back against the wet tile as your hips helplessly chase his hand.

"Please what?" he says, his voice a low and commanding. He doesn't slow down. If anything, his movements become more aggressive, his fingers fucking you ruthlessly until your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably.

Your knees buckle completely, your weight giving out, but Riki’s grip on your hip instantly tightens. He hoists you up, pinning you flat against the shower wall, refusing to let you drop, refusing to let you escape the building storm. You are completely at his mercy, caught in a dizzying spiral of overstimulation as he continues to drive into you until you are entirely broken open under his touch, crying out his name into the foggy, echoing room.

He watches your orgasm wreck you, his own breathing ragged now, his chest heaving against yours. But he doesn't let you rest. Before you can even recover from the aftershocks, he reaches down, gripping your thigh and lifting it over his hip.

The heat of his cock presses firmly against your drenched, aching cunt.

"I told you this before," he pants, his eyes locking onto yours with an absolute, unyielding dominance. "We're not done until I say so."

With one powerful motion, he drives himself completely inside you, stretching you so deeply that the breath is knocked entirely from your lungs. The shower walls literally vibrate with the force of his movement as he begins to fuck you, the rhythm fast, heavy, and completely relentless.

The steam continues to fog the glass, completely trapping you in a wild, breathless haze where the only thing that exists is the roaring water and the undeniable, overwhelming power of Riki breaking you down, piece by piece.

The force of his first few thrusts pins you helplessly against the wet tile, the slick stone offering no traction as Riki takes complete control of your body. Every time he slams into you, your breath hitches.

The water pelts down from above, blinding you, but Riki’s gaze remains locked onto your face, tracking every twitch of your features, every desperate gasp that leaves your parted lips.

"Riki, wait—" you try to cry out, your hands clawing weakly at his wet shoulders. The sensory overload is staggering, the roaring water, the thick, heavy steam choking the air, and the sheer size of him tearing you completely open. It’s too much, too fast after your muscles were already pushed to their limit at the gym.

"I'm not waiting," he murmured against your neck, his lips pressing a hot, bruising kiss to your collarbone as he thrusts deep, shifting his angle to hit that exact spot inside you that makes your entire body go rigid.

You let out a broken sound, your fingers digging into his back. Your legs feel entirely useless now, trembling violently as he sets a punishing, relentless rhythm. He handles your weight effortlessly, one massive hand hooked under your thigh, holding you aloft while his other hand presses flat against the wall right beside your head, the shower structure subtly vibrating under the force of his movements.

"Look at me," he rasps, his voice a low rumble that vibrates straight through your chest.

You force your eyes open, your vision blurred by tears and spray. Riki’s jaw is clenched tight, a vein pulsing at his temple as he fucks you with a fierce, possessive hunger.

He looks entirely lethal in the dim, foggy light of the bathroom, a dominant force that refuses to let you slip away into the numbness of exhaustion.

"You're so tight," he pants, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he accelerates, his cock driving relentlessly against your aching pussy. "Am I too much for you? Tell me."

"Yes—please, Riki, I'm going to—"

You can't even finish the sentence before another wave of intense pleasure threatens to fracture your mind. Your body is already so raw, so completely undone from the way he fingered you moments ago, that every single friction of his skin against yours feels like an electric shock.

"Nah, don't drop yet," he warns, catching your lips in a harsh, bruising kiss that drowns out your whimpers.

He intentionally slows his pace for a split second, drawing almost completely out of you until you moan at the sudden emptiness, only for him to slam back inside you all the way to the hilt, burying his length so deeply that your hips twitch automatically against him.

The steam has turned the bathroom into a complete blur, sealing the two of you into a private, hot cocoon. The scent of soap is entirely overwhelmed by the musk of your shared sweat and the unmistakable heat of raw, unfiltered desire.

He shifts his grip, suddenly turning you around so your front is pressed flat against the cold tile wall. The sudden contrast of the chilly stone against your flushed chest makes you gasp, but before you can adjust, Riki crowds his entire body against your back. He pulls your hips back, aligning you perfectly before he slams back into you from behind.

This angle is even deeper, hitting you with a brutal, direct force that causes the shower walls to shake. Your hands slide against the wet tile, unable to find a grip, leaving you entirely dependent on the way his heavy hands clamp onto your hip bones, anchoring you to his rhythmic, devastating pounding.

"Riki, please—I can't—" you sob out, your head dropping against the tile wall as the fogged surface smears with your movement.

"You can," he mutters, his breath scorching the back of your neck as his teeth lightly graze your shoulder blade. He refuses to finish, refuses to let himself give in, holding back his own release with a terrifying amount of control just to keep you right on the edge of breaking.

The relentless pace shifts, the air in the small enclosure settling as Riki seems to feel the slight tension in your posture. The punishing, frantic energy of the moment softens, grounding itself back into something thick, heavy, and intensely connected.

He doesn't pull away, but the aggressive drive of his movements slows down to a deep, deliberate drag that lets both of you catch your breath.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing a heavy, ragged heat against your skin as he lets the hot water pour over both of your shoulders, letting the silence settle between you.

When he pushes forward again, the movement is a slow, rolling thrust that fills you completely. The friction turns from a sharp, overwhelming spike into a deep, agonizingly sweet ache that pulls a soft, long breath from your lips.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice a low, and vibrating against your ear, the earlier edge entirely melting away. "Look at me."

He gently guides you to turn back around to face him, his hands supporting your weight with an easy familiarity so your exhausted legs don't have to bear the burden. When your eyes meet his through the cascade of water and steam, the intense focus in his dark gaze hasn't changed, but it's smoothed over by a heavy, protective warmth. He reaches up, his thumb gently wiping the moisture from your cheek.

"Too much?" he asks softly, his chest heaving against yours as his length shifts deeply inside you.

You shake your head slightly, your hands sliding up to wrap securely around his neck, finally finding your rhythm with him.

"Just... tired. Everything is so sensitive."

Riki lets out a soft, breathy laugh, his forehead leaning against yours as the water blankets you both. "I've got you," he promises, his voice dropping to a gentle, reassuring purr. "I'll hold you. Just relax against me."

He begins to move again, but the cadence is completely altered, with measured, and incredibly deep strokes that stretch the pleasure out rather than rushing toward the edge.

It’s an intense, heavy sensation that makes your core ache with a quiet warmth, each tilt of his hips designed to make you melt rather than fracture. His hands stay anchored on your hips, no longer locking you down, but smoothly guiding you against his body to ensure every single point of contact is pure, unhurried heat.

The bathroom feels entirely peaceful now, the steady, soothing roar of the shower swallowing up everything else as the steam wraps around you like a heavy blanket. Riki sways with you under the water, drawing out the moment until you're completely soft and pliable in his arms.

The steady, rhythmic drumming of the water continues to echo off the tiles, creating a private cocoon around the two of you as the steam grows thicker.

The slow, deep thrusts of his hips stretch out the sensation, allowing your body to fully adjust to the thick, heavy warmth filling you.

Every single slide of his length is deliberate now, no longer punishing, but incredibly intense in its consistency. Your hands tighten around his neck, your fingers knotting into his wet hair as your hips begin to subtly shift on their own, finding a quiet, natural harmony with his pace.

"Riki..." you breathe out, the sound vibrating right against his chest.

"Yeah," he says softly, his voice thick, a low rumble of pure satisfaction. He pulls you just a fraction closer, his large hands anchoring firmly on the underside of your thighs to take every ounce of your weight. "I got you. Just stay right here."

The gentle, rolling rhythm begins to naturally tighten, the pleasure shifting from a soft, radiating ache into a concentrated, burning heat low in your belly.

The friction of his wet skin against yours under the cascading water becomes hypnotic. Even without the frantic speed from before, the sheer depth of him fucking you is pulling you right back up to the edge, your internal walls contracting tightly around him with every movement.

Riki’s breathing hitches, his jaw clenching tightly as he feels your body begin to tremble again. The gentle warmth in his eyes darkens with a sudden, heavy spike of desire as your tightness threatens to break his immense control.

"Fuck y/n," he pants against your ear, his pace naturally quickening just a bit, the deep strokes turning firmer, harder, as the heat becomes too much for either of you to contain. "You’re squeezing me too tight... you're ready, aren't you?"

You can only nod against his shoulder, a broken whimper escaping your lips as your hips helplessly chase his steady, powerful thrusts. The build up is thick and intoxicating, completely consuming the last of your strength.

"Go ahead," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a raw, command as he drives deep, hitting that exact spot inside you with a sudden, unyielding precision. "Come for me."

With a final, deep thrust, the tension snaps. A loud gasp is knocked from your lungs as a shattering climax ripples through your entire body, your muscles clenching around him in violent, desperate waves. Your head falls back against the wet tile wall, your vision blurring into complete white.

As you unravel completely in his arms, the tight, relentless pressure of your body pushes Riki entirely over the edge. His control snaps completely. He lets out a sharp, ragged gasp that echoes off the shaking walls, his hips slamming forward one last time to bury his cock to the absolute hilt. He freezes right there, his entire body going completely rigid as he cums deeply inside you.

The heavy, breathless sounds of his release mix with the roar of the water as he spills his burning heat completely, filling you to the brink while holding you tightly against his chest.

The frantic motion completely stops, leaving only the loud, heavy sound of your synchronized, ragged breathing cutting through the steam. He stays buried deep inside you, his heart hammering wildly against your ribs, simply holding you up as the aftershocks slowly fade and the water continues to pour over your shared skin.

For a long, quiet minute, neither of you moves. Riki keeps his arms securely wrapped around you, his hands resting gently on your lower back to keep you anchored against him as the last of the tremors fade from your legs.

Slowly, carefully, he draws back just an inch, his cock slipping out of you with a soft, slick sound. Instead of stepping away, he turns his body to shield you from the direct spray, letting the hot water hit his back while he reaches down to adjust the handle, turning the flow into a gentle, warm mist.

He reaches for the bottle of body wash on the small corner shelf, pouring a generous amount into his palms until a thick, fragrant lather builds.

"Turn around," he murmurs softly, his voice deep and rough from exhaustion as his fingers gently coax your shoulders.

You comply, pressing your hands lightly against the tile wall for support as your muscles continue to feel like jelly. Riki steps up close behind you, his warm, soapy hands coming down onto your shoulders.

He begins to wash you, his movements slow and deliberate, a complete contrast to the power trip from earlier. His palms glide over the aching muscles of your back, working out the tension from both the workout and the shower, before tracing down the line of your spine.

His touch is incredibly tender as he cleans the sweat and the remnants of your intimacy from your thighs, his fingers moving with a quiet care that makes you melt completely against him. Once you’re completely clean, he pulls you back under the warm mist, using his hands to gently rinse the soap from your skin.

He takes a quick moment to soap himself down and rinse off, the water washing away the last of the exhaustion. When the soap is completely gone, he turns off the valve, the sudden silence in the enclosure heavy and peaceful.

He slides the glass door open, immediately reaching out to grab two large, plush towels from the rack before the cool bathroom air can hit your skin. He wraps one carefully around you, tucking the edges in to trap the remaining warmth of the shower, before wrapping the second one around his own waist.

Even with the towel shielding you, a small shiver runs through your body, your exhausted muscles still trembling slightly from the sheer intensity of the last hour. Riki notices instantly.

Without a word, he steps close, hooking one arm securely under your knees and the other behind your back, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.

"Riki, I can walk," you murmur weakly, your voice small and raspy against his neck, though your arms automatically loop around his shoulders for balance.

"Yeah right," he mutters, a soft, breathy chuckle vibrating in his chest as he carries you out of the damp, steam fogged bathroom. "Your legs were shaking just standing there. Just let me hold you."

He carries you into the quiet comfort of the bedroom. He deposits you gently onto the center of the mattress, taking a moment to use the edges of the towel to gently pat away any lingering droplets of water from your skin.

Once you’re dry, he pulls the heavy, thick duvet all the way up to your shoulders, tucking you in tightly like a cocoon to make sure you're warm. He slides his own towel off and tosses it toward a chair before slipping into the bed right beside you.

The mattress dips under his weight as he slides beneath the covers, immediately pulling you close until your back is pressed flat against his bare chest. He loops one heavy arm around your waist, pulling you tightly into his frame, his body heat radiating through you like a furnace.

For a long time, the room is completely silent, save for the hum of the apartment's air conditioning and the steady rhythm of your breathing. He rests his chin lightly against the crown of your head, his fingers tracking slow, lazy circles over the bare skin of your shoulder.

"Hey," he murmurs softly into the quiet room, his voice dropping to a low, vulnerable register that you only ever hear when it's just the two of you like this.

"Yeah?" you breathe out, your eyes already growing heavy as the warmth of the bed and the comforting weight of his arm soothe your exhausted mind.

His hand stops its movement for a second, his fingers gently gripping your waist a bit tighter, pulling you just a fraction closer against him.

"Sorry if I went too hard on you," he whispers, the rough edge completely gone from his tone, replaced by a genuine, quiet tenderness. "I know you were already tired from the gym. I just... lost my head a bit when I saw you in there."

Hearing the slight hint of worry in his voice makes you smile weakly in the dark. You shift slightly, turning your head just enough to press a soft kiss against the smooth skin of his forearm wrapped around you.

"It's okay," you murmur softly, your hand coming up to rest over his, intertwining your fingers together. "It felt good. I just really don't think I can move my legs until tomorrow."

A soft, genuinely happy laugh huffs out of his nose, his lips pressing a lingering, warm kiss into your hair. "Good. You don't have to move at all. I got you."

He resumes the slow, rhythmic tracing of his fingers against your skin. The fierce, unyielding force from the shower feels like a distant memory now, replaced entirely by the safe, protective bubble he’s built around you in the dark.

The late morning sun is already warm where it cuts through the gaps in your blinds, casting bright, dusty blocks of light across your blanket. You blink sleepily at your phone.

11:14 AM.

You groan, burying your face back into the pillow. Waking up this late always leaves you in a strange, heavy limbo—not quite tired enough to go back to sleep, but too sluggish to immediately face the day.

For a few quiet minutes, you just lie there, listening to the ambient hum of the apartment. It’s quiet. Too quiet, which usually means your roommate, Riki, is either still dead to the world in his room or has already slipped out for the day.

Living with Riki was easy. He was a good roommate—clean enough, relatively quiet, and easy to get along with. You didn't harbor some secret, burning crush on him, your relationship was strictly, comfortably platonic.

Sure, you weren't blind. He was obviously attractive, and maybe once or twice after a few drinks, a random, passing thought about him had crossed your mind. But it was the kind of dumb, fleeting thought you laughed off the next morning and forgot about. He was just Riki.

A sudden, insistent ache in your bladder finally cuts through your cozy inertia. Dragging the duvet off your legs, you swing your feet onto the cool hardwood floor.

You’re still half entangled in sleep as you pad out of your bedroom. The hallway is quiet, the air smelling faintly of the coffee Riki must have brewed earlier. You rub your eyes, your vision still slightly blurred, focus completely set on the bathroom door at the end of the hall.

Normally, you’d check if the light was on beneath the crack, or listen for the heavy rush of the shower. But your brain is running on a five second delay, entirely fueled by the desperate need to pee, wash your face, and wake up. The door is closed, but not clicked shut—just resting against the frame.

You reach out, push it open, and take a step inside.

The first thing that hits you is the thick, heavy wall of steam. It’s warm, smelling strongly of sandalwood and clean soap.

The second thing—the thing that makes the air instantly trap itself in your lungs—is Riki.

He isn't standing at the sink brushing his teeth. He isn't wrapped in a towel. He’s standing right in the middle of the bathroom, fresh out of the shower, a towel hanging loosely from one hand as if he’d been just about to dry off.

He is completely, entirely bare.

For a long second, the world entirely halts. Your groggy brain tries to scramble backward, but your eyes lock onto him before you can even think to look away.

You’d always known he was tall, but seeing him like this—unclothed, the steam clinging to the broad expanse of his shoulders, the sharp, damp lines of his collarbones, and the lean definition of his chest—makes him look massive. Your gaze involuntarily drops, tracking the droplets of water tracing down the dip of his stomach, and then... everything else.

Those dumb, passing thoughts you'd had in the past didn't even come close to the reality. He is built. Far more than you ever could have anticipated. The clear reality of his body, the heavy proof of how big he actually is, burns itself behind your eyelids in an instant.

Riki freezes, his wet hair dripping onto his forehead, his eyes widening in absolute, startled shock.

The moment snaps.

"Oh my god!" The words tear from your throat, a breathless, high pitched squeak. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry, I didn't—I thought you were—!"

Before he can even utters a sound, you grab the edge of the door, pull it shut, and slam it with a force that rattles the frame.

You press your back against the wood, sliding down slightly as your knees go weak. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, your face so hot you’re certain you’re about to combust right there in the hallway. You press the cool palms of your hands to your burning cheeks, but it does nothing to cool the flush creeping down your neck.

You close your eyes, but it’s a mistake. The second you do, the image of him—shrouded in steam, dripping wet, and completely exposed—flashes vividly in your mind.

You squeeze your eyes tighter, trying to shake it off, but the memory feels branded to the back of your retinas. This wasn't some silly, half forgotten thought anymore. This was real, raw, and completely inescapable.

And as you sit there in the quiet hallway, listening to the hurried rustle of a towel from the other side of the door, a terrifying realization settles in your chest.

You are never, ever going to unsee that.

You scramble back to your room as quietly as possible, the sound of your own racing heartbeat muffled only by the soft click of your bedroom door closing behind you.

Once inside, you throw yourself onto your bed, burying your face in a pillow to let out a silent, frustrated scream. Your cheeks are still burning, and no matter how hard you blink, that vivid mental image of him refuses to fade.

Your phone sitting on the nightstand reads 11:22 AM.

Okay, you think, taking a deep, shaky breath. Strategy.

Riki has practice at the studio today. He always leaves around 1:00 PM. That means you only have to survive a little over an hour and a half. If you just stay put, keep the door shut, and pretend you suddenly went deaf and blind, you can escape the absolute mortification of looking him in the eye. It is the perfect plan.

But the silence of the apartment doesn’t last long.

Through the thin wood of your bedroom door, you hear the bathroom door finally click open. Soft, heavy footsteps pad down the hallway. He’s walking past your room. You freeze, holding your breath, staring intensely at the doorknob as if your gaze alone could lock it from the inside.

For a horrifying, agonizing three seconds, the footsteps pause right outside your door. Your stomach does a violent flip.

Is he going to knock? What do I even say?

But then, the footsteps start up again, moving toward the kitchen. You let out the breath you were holding in a long, shaky sigh, sinking back into your mattress.

As the minutes tick by, your mind refuses to cooperate. You try scrolling through your phone, but you can’t focus on a single post. Every time you hear a cabinet close or the fridge open in the kitchen, your brain betrays you.

How is he feeling right now?

Despite his cool, confident exterior, he can actually be pretty shy about certain things. You’ve just invaded his privacy in the worst way possible. Is he sitting out there feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his own home? Is he mad? Embarrassed?

The guilt starts to outweigh your own embarrassment. You can't just hide in your room like a coward and pretend nothing happened. You stepped over a boundary, even if it was a complete accident, and you need to actually apologize properly.

Decision made. Before you can lose your nerve, you slide off your bed, smooth down your messy t-shirt, and walk to the door.

Taking one last deep breath to steady your erratic pulse, you turn the knob and step out into the hallway.

Riki is standing by the kitchen island, a glass of water in his hand. He’s dressed now—baggy sweatpants and an oversized black hoodie—but seeing him clothed somehow doesn't help as much as you hoped it would. Your brain instantly fills in what’s underneath the fabric, making the heat rush straight back to your face.

The moment your footsteps hit the hardwood, Riki’s head snaps up.

He freezes, the glass halfway to his mouth. For a split second, a dark, fleeting rush of pink colors the tips of his ears, and he looks incredibly tense.

"Riki," you start, your voice a little breathier than you intended. You keep your hands clasped tightly in front of you, determined to do this right. "Hey. I just wanted to apologize. Properly."

He lowers the glass, clearing his throat, his eyes darting to the floor for a second before meeting yours. "Oh. You don't have to—"

"No, I do," you interrupt gently, wanting to get the words out before you choke on them. "I am so, so sorry. I was completely half asleep, and I didn't even check the light under the door. I really didn't mean to barge in on you like that. It was a total accident."

Riki shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck with a small, slightly sheepish shrug. "It's fine. Really. Just... a misunderstanding."

"I promise you," you continue, holding up a hand solemnly, "I’ll never, ever mention it again. It never happened. If you don't bring it up, I won't. Deal?"

A faint, relieved smile tugs at the corner of Riki's lips, though his ears are still burning a light dusty pink. He nods slowly. "Deal. It never happened."

"Okay. Good," you breathe, offering a quick, slightly tight smile.

You practically spin on your heel to head back to the safety of your room, feeling a massive weight lift off your chest.

Okay, you think as you shut your door again. We talked. We settled it. It’s over.

Except, as you lie back down on your bed, your eyes drift to the ceiling, and the image of his tall, lean, completely bare frame immediately flashes in your mind again.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. Setting a rule to never talk about it was easy.

Setting a rule to stop thinking about it was going to be entirely impossible.

The quiet hum of the apartment during the next few days becomes a strange, agonizing test of your acting skills.

In the immediate aftermath of that Sunday morning, the air feels charged with an unspoken tension, even if you are both doing your absolute best to pretend the entire incident had been wiped clean from existence.

True to your word, you don't bring it up. But the brain is a stubborn, treacherous thing, and the harder you try to actively not think about how good Riki looked standing in that steam filled room, the more your mind seems determined to remind you of it.

The first real hurdle comes on Monday evening.

You’re sitting at the kitchen island scrolling through your laptop, trying to focus on a design project, when you hear the front door unlock. Riki walks in, looking exhausted but effortlessly cool in a pair of oversized grey sweatpants and a worn out vintage tee.

"Hey," he murmurs, kicking off his shoes at the entryway. His voice is a low, hoarse rumble from a long day of practicing and recording at the studio.

"Hey," you reply, keeping your eyes glued to your screen, a little too intensely. "How was practice?"

"Long," he sighs, walking into the kitchen. He reaches past you to grab a glass from the cupboard, and for a split second, the faint, clean scent of his shower gel—the same sandalwood scented one from Sunday—wafts over you.

Your fingers freeze on your trackpad.

An involuntary flash of his damp, bare shoulders—the broad, solid lines of his chest dripping with water—blasts through your mind with the force of a freight train. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry.

"You look tired," you force out, hoping your voice doesn't sound as tight as it feels. "Did you guys run the choreography again?"

"Yeah. Over and over," Riki says, leaning against the counter just a foot away from you. He takes a long sip of water, his throat bobbing as he drinks.

Your eyes betray you. You find yourself tracking the movement of his neck, then slowly letting your gaze slip down to his chest, even though it’s entirely hidden beneath the heavy cotton of his shirt. You know what’s under there now. You know the exact contours of his collarbones, the lean cut of his abs. The sheer size of him is no longer a mystery.

"Are you even listening?" Riki's voice, laced with a quiet, amused curiosity, cuts through your sudden daze.

You snap your eyes back up to his face, your heart doing a violent stutter. "What? Yeah! Yeah, of course. Choreography. Hard work."

Riki raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He doesn't press it, but the way his dark eyes linger on yours for a fraction of a second longer than usual makes your chest tighten.

He places his glass in the sink and heads off to his room with a soft, "Goodnight."

You slump over the counter, pressing your forehead against the cool surface. You are doing a terrible job at being normal.

By Wednesday, you think you’ve finally gotten a grip on yourself.

You’ve spent the last forty-eight hours actively distracting yourself, keeping busy with work, and keeping your interactions with Riki brief and friendly.

You’re close, you’ve lived together long enough to share inside jokes, order food for each other without asking, and comfortably co-exist in the same space. You don't want a stupid, accidental glance to ruin the easy, natural flow of your friendship.

You’re in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book, when Riki walks out of his room wearing a tight, sleeveless black compression shirt and loose athletic shorts, clearly getting ready to head back out to the studio.

The book in your hands suddenly feels like a prop.

His shoulders are incredibly broad, his biceps defined and taut as he reaches up to push his hair back. Seeing him in sleeveless shirts was never a big deal before, but now, your brain instantly connects the dots, filling in the rest of his frame with vivid, agonizing accuracy.

Stop it, you scream at yourself internally. He’s your roommate. He’s literally just going to work. Stop looking.

"Hey, do we have any of those energy drinks left in the fridge?" Riki asks, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder.

"Uh—yeah, I think there's one more on the bottom shelf," you squeak out, your voice cracking slightly at the end.

Riki pauses, his hands dropping from his hair as he gives you a puzzled look. "Are you okay? You sound like you just swallowed a bug."

"Perfect! I'm completely perfect," you say, a little too quickly, flipping a page of your book without actually reading a single word on it. "Just... dry throat. Air conditioning is strong today."

"Right," Riki says slowly, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He walks into the kitchen, his long legs making quick work of the distance, and opens the fridge.

You let out a quiet, trembling breath, staring blankly at the text in front of you. You can't even remember what this chapter is about. All you can think about is how easily he commands the space in the apartment, how towering and solid he really is.

He comes back out, cracking open the black can of his energy drink, taking a slow sip as he watches you. He stands near the edge of the couch, looking down at you with a head tilt.

"You've been reading that same page for five minutes," he points out, his voice quiet, a teasing edge running through it.

"I'm a slow reader, Riki. It’s a very complex plot," you lie shamelessly, refusing to look up from the paper.

"Sure. Highly complex," he echoes. He lingers for another moment, his presence warm and overwhelming, before he grabs his gym bag from the entryway. "I'll be back late tonight. Don't wait up."

"I won't," you call out, only letting your shoulders drop once the front door clicks shut.

You throw the book onto the coffee table and groan, pulling a throw pillow over your face. This is torture. You’re hyper aware of him in a way you’ve never been before, and the worst part is, Riki is entirely too perceptive. If you keep this up, he’s going to realize exactly why you’re acting like a glitching robot.

Thursday afternoon is when the fragile facade you've built completely crumbles.

It’s a hot, humid day, and the apartment's AC is struggling to keep up. You’re sitting on the living room rug, sorting through some laundry you’d left on the drying rack, when Riki walks out of his room. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of loose grey basketball shorts, his chest and torso completely bare to combat the heat.

Your breath hitches.

You try to look away, you really do. You force your gaze down to a pair of folded socks in your hands, but your eyes keep dragging themselves back up to him.

He walks over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water, his back completely exposed to you. You find yourself staring at the sharp, defined line of his spine, the way his shoulder blades move under his skin, and the tapered dip of his waist. It is exactly what you saw on Sunday, only this time, there is no steam to obscure the view.

He turns around, leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter as he twists the cap off the bottle. He catches you staring.

In a panic, your brain short circuits. You scramble for any excuse, any distraction to prove you weren't just ogling his body.

"You—you have a lint on your shoulder," you stammer, pointing vaguely in his direction.

Riki looks down at his bare, tanned shoulder, then back up at you, a slow, incredibly amused grin spreading across his face. "A lint? On my bare skin?"

You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your face hot flashes, a deep, furious crimson spreading from your chest all the way to your ears.

"I mean—it was... it was a shadow! Or a bug. I thought it was a bug," you scramble, your voice rising in pitch as you wildly fold a t-shirt with trembling hands.

Riki chuckles, a low, vibration of a sound that makes your stomach do a series of complicated flips. He takes a slow sip of his water, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief as he watches you struggle.

"Right. A shadow bug," he says softly. He takes a few steps forward, stopping just a few feet away from where you’re sitting on the floor. He looks down at you, his chest expanding with a quiet breath. "You know, you've been acting really weird lately."

"I have not," you lie, your voice squeaking again.

"You have," Riki counters, his grin widening, showing a hint of his sharp teeth. He leans down slightly, resting his hands on his knees so he’s closer to your eye level.

"You barely look at me when I talk to you. You jump every time I walk into a room. What's going on in that head of yours?"

He tilts his head, his gaze intensely focused on yours. "Are you daydreaming about me or something?"

Your heart completely stops.

The terrifying accuracy of his tease catches you entirely off guard. A wild, desperate panic flares up in your chest. You need to laugh it off. You need to make him think it’s the most ridiculous joke he’s ever made, otherwise, he’ll know. He’ll know you haven't stopped thinking about his body for a single second.

"HA!"

The laugh tears out of your throat, incredibly loud, dry, and painfully awkward. It echoes off the living room walls, sounding entirely forced and completely unhinged.

"Daydreaming? About you? Oh my god, Riki, that is—HA!—the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life! Wow! You really have a great imagination!"

Your laugh is so loud your own ears ring, and you follow it up with a series of quick, choppy, breathless giggles that sound like a failing car engine. You pat your lap awkwardly, trying to look incredibly amused, but your eyes are wide with pure terror.

Riki’s grin slowly falters, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated amusement mixed with deep skepticism. He straightens back up to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest, which only makes his biceps flex, further distracting you.

"Okay," Riki says slowly, his voice dripping with playful disbelief. "That was definitely the most natural laugh I've ever heard."

"It was! I'm just... I'm a very expressive person," you sputter, desperately grabbing the pile of folded laundry and standing up. "Anyway! I have to put this away. In my room. Right now."

Before he can say another word, you practically sprint down the hallway, darting into your bedroom and shutting the door with a soft, desperate click.

You lean your head against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes in absolute, crushing defeat.

Your facade is completely, utterly see through. He knows. Or, at the very least, he knows something is incredibly wrong. And as you stand there, trying to calm your racing pulse, you realize that the unspoken agreement to "never mention it" is rapidly falling apart.

By the time Friday evening rolls around, the air in the apartment is so thick with unspoken tension you could cut it with a knife. You’ve spent the last twenty-four hours practically plotting your movements around the apartment like a secret agent, checking corners and listening for footsteps before daring to leave your room. It is exhausting, unsustainable, and frankly, ridiculous.

You’re sitting on the living room sofa, staring blankly at a movie playing on the TV. You aren't actually watching it, your mind is too busy running in endless, unproductive circles.

The soft click of Riki’s bedroom door opening makes you stiffen automatically. You brace yourself, expecting him to walk straight to the kitchen or head out. Instead, his quiet, heavy footsteps pad directly toward the living room.

Without asking, he sinks onto the opposite end of the couch.

For a few minutes, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the low dialogue from the TV. You keep your eyes glued to the screen, your shoulders tense, counting the seconds.

From the corner of your eye, you can see him leaning back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankle crossed over ankle. He’s back in his favorite oversized black hoodie, looking completely relaxed, yet there’s a quiet determination in the way he keeps shifting his gaze from the screen to you.

Finally, Riki lets out a soft, slow sigh. He reaches over and grabs the remote from the coffee table, pressing the mute button. The sudden silence in the room makes your heart do a nervous little flutter.

"Okay," Riki says, his voice low and steady. He turns his body slightly on the cushions so he’s facing you. "We need to actually talk."

You swallow the lump in your throat, finally turning your head to look at him. "About... the movie? Because I agree, the pacing is a little—"

"About Sunday," he cuts in gently, though there’s a tiny, unmistakable twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips. "And about how you’ve been treating me like I’m a ghost haunting the apartment all week."

"I haven't been treating you like a ghost," you protest, though your voice lacks any real conviction. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them like a shield.

"You literally ran away from laundry yesterday," Riki points out, raising an eyebrow. "And your laugh? I'm pretty sure our neighbors thought you were having a medical emergency."

A hot flush rises to your cheeks, but along with the embarrassment, a tiny bubble of hysterical laughter threatens to break free.

"I was just... trying to keep my promise. I said I’d never mention it. I wanted to make sure you felt comfortable."

"I was comfortable," Riki says softly, his dark eyes softening as he looks at you. "Until my favorite roommate started treating me like a stranger. You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. We've lived together too long for a stupid accident to make things weird."

He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, and for a second, a fleeting hint of pink colors his own cheekbones. "I mean... yeah, it was embarrassing. But it was just an accident. I’m not mad at you. And you don't have to hide in your room until one in the afternoon just to avoid looking at me."

Hearing him say it out loud instantly makes the heavy, suffocating weight on your chest begin to lift. You let out a long, shaky breath you feel like you’ve been holding since that day.

"Really?" you ask quietly, looking at him through your eyelashes. "You're not weirded out?"

"I'm not," Riki promises, offering you a genuine, reassuring smile. "Though, honestly, I think you're the one who's traumatized. You looked like you saw a monster."

"I didn't see a monster," you mumble, your face burning all over again as the memory of his very built, bare frame flashes in your mind. You quickly look down at your knees. "It was just a lot to take in at eleven in the morning."

Riki lets out a low, quiet chuckle, the sound warm and incredibly comforting. "Yeah? Well, next time, try knocking. Save us both the heart attack."

"I will. I'll knock three times. I'll send a text. I'll ring a bell," you say, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face. The lingering awkwardness between you is rapidly evaporating, replaced by the easy, comfortable rhythm you’ve always shared.

"Good," Riki grins, leaning his head back against the sofa cushion. He watches you for a moment, his eyes twinkling with that familiar, playful mischief. "Though, I gotta admit... the 'shadow bug on my shoulder' line? Truly inspired. You should write a book."

"Oh, shut up!" you laugh.

"And that laugh," he continues, completely ignoring your protests as he mimics your high pitched, panicked chuckle. "'HA! Daydreaming? About you?!' I'm hurt. Am I really that hard to imagine daydreaming about?"

"Riki, I swear to god," you warn, though you’re giggling now, the relief of being able to joke with him again washing over you like cool water.

"I'm just saying," he teases, a slow, incredibly charming smirk spreading across his handsome face. "If you were daydreaming, you at least have a very accurate reference point now."

"You are unbelievable!"

Without thinking, you grab the nearest plush throw pillow from beside you and hurl it straight at his head. Riki laughs out loud, raising his arms to block it, but the pillow hits him square in the chest anyway. He grabs it, clutching it to himself as he shakes his head, his shoulders shaking with genuine amusement.

"Okay, okay! Truce," he chuckles, tossing the pillow back onto the middle of the couch.

You lean back against the cushions, your heart rate elevated, but this time, it’s not from panic. It’s from laughing. The thick, suffocating wall of tension that had built up over the last five days has completely crumbled, leaving only the warm, cozy reality of the two of you sitting together on the couch.

You actually feel a hundred times better. Talking about it, laughing about it, it made everything feel normal again, rather than some forbidden, shameful secret.

But as you look over at Riki, who is still smiling, his eyes bright and relaxed as he watches you, a tiny, quiet spark flickers in the back of your mind. The awkwardness might be gone, but you realize that while you might feel better... your heart still hasn't quite returned to its normal, platonic beat.

By Saturday evening, the heavy tension of the week is completely behind you. You’re standing in front of your bedroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on your makeup, actually excited to let loose.

You’d texted your best friend, Mei, earlier in the week promising a night out to distract you, and tonight is finally the night.

As you grab your purse and head into the living room, you find Riki lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you approach, his eyes sweeping over your outfit. A subtle, appreciative spark glints in his gaze, though he keeps his expression casually cool.

"Going out?" he asks, his voice dropping into that low, relaxed register.

"Yeah, with Mei," you smile, feeling lighter than you have in days. "I'll probably be back pretty late, so don't wait up."

Riki slides his phone into his pocket and starts to sit up, his long frame unfolding from the couch. "Do you need a lift? I can drive you if it's far."

"Oh, no, it's okay! Mei is on her way to pick me up," you say, checking a quick text on your phone. "She should be downstairs in a minute."

Riki nods, sinking back into the cushions, though he keeps his eyes locked on yours with a soft, protective sincerity. "Alright. But call me if you need a ride home, okay? Doesn't matter how late it is. Just call."

"I will. Promise," you offer him a warm wave as you head out the door, his thoughtful gesture leaving a pleasant, lingering warmth in your chest.

The club is a dizzying blur of pulsing bass, flashing neon lights, and sticky floors, and it is exactly what you needed. Within minutes of arriving, Mei grabs your hand and drags you straight to the bar, ordering a round of shots that burn beautifully on the way down.

The alcohol hits quickly, washing away the last remnants of your weekly stress and leaving you feeling wonderfully warm and giggly.

For the next couple of hours, the two of you are inseparable on the dance floor. You lose yourself in the heavy thud of the music, screaming the lyrics to songs you both love, laughing hysterically when some guy tries to buy you drinks with a terribly cheesy pickup line.

Mei is in peak form, aggressively dancing next to you to ward off any unwanted attention, making you laugh so hard your stomach aches.

Eventually, the heat of the dance floor becomes too much, and the two of you retreat to a slightly quieter booth tucked away near the back of the venue. You slide onto the leather seats, both of you flushed, breathless, and pleasantly buzzed.

"God, I needed this," Mei groans, leaning her head back against the booth. She turns her gaze to you, a sudden, mischievous glint entering her eyes as she takes a sip of her drink. "So... how’s that fine ass roommate of yours?"

You nearly choke on your drink. "Oh god, don't even bring him up, please."

Mei’s eyes widen instantly, her glass hovering halfway to the table. "Holy shit? Are you guys...!?"

"WHAT? NO, NO... I just—" You pause, suddenly feeling the warm rush of alcohol making you entirely too honest. You bite your lip, staring at the condensation pooling on your glass, fiercely debating whether you should actually say it out loud.

"Just what? Come on!" Mei nudges your arm, leaning in closer. "You can't just leave me hanging like that!"

"Well... last Sunday... I walked in on him while he was in the bathroom..."

"And?" Mei prompts, her voice dropping to an eager whisper.

"He was naked..."

Mei’s jaw drops, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. "SHUT UP!"

"Shhh!" You frantically wave your hands, checking the nearby booths. "Keep it down!"

"Sorry, sorry," Mei giggles, entirely unbothered, leaning in even closer. "So, like... anything happened since then?"

"Well, besides me avoiding him as much as I can and the constant image of his body on my mind... no," you admit, burying your hot face in your hands.

Mei gasps, practically vibrating in her seat. "Ahhh! So what has he said about it then?"

"Well, we both promised not to bring it up again," you explain, peeking through your fingers at her. "But he noticed I was avoiding him, so yesterday he came out and talked to me. We actually joked about it. I actually feel way better, I think it’s actually the first time I haven’t thought about him since."

"Uh-huh..." Mei murmurs. A slow, deeply teasing smirk begins to form on her lips, her eyes scanning your face with a knowing look. "And, uhm... any new feelings?"

You freeze, her words hanging heavily in the humid air of the club.

You pause, taking in her question, your mind suddenly drifting back to the quiet apartment. You and Riki have been close for so long.

Thinking about it now, there actually was a brief window of time when you first met where you looked at him and thought you could genuinely see yourself with him. But as the months rolled by and your friendship solidified, the idea of being with him like that became the furthest thing from reality.

You were just roommates. Just friends.

But seeing him so exposed... the breathtaking reality of how built he is... and then the way he handled it. His teasing, his effortless charm, the way he laughed off the awkwardness just to make sure you felt comfortable. You already found him attractive—that was just a baseline fact—but this? The way he is going about the whole thing?

Maybe the constant thought of him in your mind, replaying that morning non stop, wasn’t just a simple rush of lust taking over. Maybe you were actually starting to feel something real for him.

You and Mei head back to the bar, the heavy bass of the music washing over any lingering thoughts of roommate dynamics and hidden feelings.

For the next few hours, you completely lose yourself in the night. You drink, you laugh, you dance until your feet ache, throwing back shots of tequila and shouting the lyrics to songs you only half remember. By the time the lights in the club begin to dim, you are completely, beautifully out of it.

The cool night air hits you like a brick when you finally stumble out onto the sidewalk. You’re leaning heavily against Mei, giggling uncontrollably at a crack in the pavement, when your phone starts buzzing in your hand.

You slide the screen open with a clumsy thumb. It’s Riki.

"helllooo?" you chirp, your voice sliding into a high, giggly pitch.

"y/n Hey," Riki’s voice comes through the speaker, low and instantly grounding. "It’s getting late. Are you good? Do you need me to come get you?"

"Riki! Rikiii," you sing, leaning your head against Mei's shoulder as she tries to tickle your neck. "We are... we are so good. Look at the sky, Riki. It’s so... blue. Well, black. But like, shiny." You burst into a fit of breathless giggles, completely unable to hold a coherent thought.

There’s a brief silence on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy, fond sigh. "Yeah, okay. Stay exactly where you are. I’m on my way."

True to his word, it doesn’t take long before Riki pulls up to the curb. He kills the engine and steps out, immediately spotting the two of you leaning against a concrete planter, looking like a pair of absolute menaces.

Riki runs a hand through his hair, a look of pure, long suffering irritation on his face. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was play babysitter to two grown ass, highly intoxicated women, but he’s here anyway.

"Ohh, Riki hiii!" you squeal, waving dramatically with both arms as he walks over.

"Hi, Riki," Mei says, her voice dripping with a teasing tone as she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

Riki stops in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest as his dark eyes scan your flushed faces. "How much did you drink?"

"Not much," you say, holding up a finger and squinting. "Maybe like... eight shots?"

Riki’s eyes widen. "Of what?!"

"Mmm, yea..." you murmur, nodding solemnly as if that explained everything.

A small, helpless laugh escapes Riki’s lips. He shakes his head, unable to stay entirely annoyed when you’re being this childishly soft.

Mei, picking up on the sudden shift in the air, takes a clumsy step back. "Okay, well... I’ll leave you two alone."

"What? No," Riki says, his tone immediately switching to firm as he reaches out to grab Mei's arm before she can wander off. "I'm taking you home, Mei. You can’t drive, you’re drunk."

"I'm fine, Big Rik," Mei protests, trying to swat his hand away with a lazy grin. "Worry about your girl, not me."

Riki just rolls his eyes. Without another word, he grabs both of you by the elbows, gently but firmly guiding you toward his car. He knows you won't run off, so he focuses on getting a resisting Mei into the backseat first.

Once she’s buckled in he turns to you. He guides you into the passenger seat, his hand lingering on your lower back to steady you, before closing the door and jogging around to the driver's side.

He slides in, starts the car, and looks in the rearview mirror. "Okay, Mei. Your address?"

"Let me out, I can drive perfectly fine," she protests, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, sure. Address?" Riki asks again, completely unfazed by her stubbornness.

Mei rolls her eyes, realizing she’s not going to win this battle with him, and finally mumbles her address.

The ride is anything but quiet. For the first ten minutes, Mei begs Riki to turn the music on. The moment he finally relents, you and Mei start screaming the lyrics to a random pop song at the top of your lungs. Riki immediately reaches over and shuts the radio back off, muttering about his eardrums, which only causes the two of you to burst into a fresh wave of hysterical laughter.

When you finally pull up to Mei’s house, she opens the door and shoots Riki a pointed look. "You better give me a ride back to the club tomorrow so I can get my car, asshole. I have work."

"Yeah, yeah," Riki says, stepping out of the car to help her out. He walks her all the way to her front door, ensuring she gets inside safely.

By the time Riki climbs back into the driver's seat, the atmosphere in the car completely shifts. The chaotic energy of the night drains out of the vehicle, leaving a heavy, peaceful quiet.

He looks over at you. Your head is tilted back against the headrest, your eyes half closed as you trace the passing streetlights reflecting on the window. You’re drifting, right on the edge of sleep, the alcohol making your body feel incredibly heavy. Riki doesn't disturb you. He keeps the music off, driving smoothly through the quiet, empty streets.

When he finally pulls into the apartment parking garage, he puts the car in park but doesn't turn off the ignition.

He just sits there, turning his body slightly in the seat to look at you. In the dim, shadowed lighting of the car, your face looks incredibly soft. Your lips are parted slightly, your breathing slow and even.

Riki studies you.

Seeing you like this—completely vulnerable, sleepy, and quiet—does something strange to his chest. It’s a feeling he can’t quite define, a sudden, heavy warmth that makes his breath catch. He’s picked you up after nights out before, but tonight feels entirely different. The playful boundaries you’d redrawn over the week suddenly feel fragile.

Almost magnetically, his hand rises. His long fingers reach out, hovering for a second before he gently, softly strokes the side of your face, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. His touch is incredibly tender, almost tentative.

The subtle warmth of his hand against your skin pulls you from your light sleep. Your eyelids flutter open, and your hazy vision focuses on Riki. He’s leaning over you, his hand inches from your face.

The moment your eyes meet his, Riki flinches slightly, pulling his hand back immediately. He clears his throat, his gaze darting away to the steering wheel as he tries to shake the sudden, intense rush of heat in his chest.

"We're home," he says, his voice a little lower, rougher than usual as he tries to move past the weird feeling.

You let out a soft, tired sigh, closing your eyes again. You’re too out of it to fully process the tension in the air.

"Come on, y/n. Let's go," he says softly, reaching over to gently shake your shoulder. "You can sleep in your bed."

"Ughhh, fine," you mumble, forcing your heavy limbs to cooperate as you open the door and stumble out of the car.

Your knees instantly buckle the second your feet hit the concrete. Riki is there in a flash, his strong arm wrapping securely around your waist to keep you upright. He pulls your arm over his shoulder, holding you tight against his side as the two of you begin the slow walk toward the apartment lobby.

But before you can even make it to the glass doors, a sudden, violent wave of nausea hits you. Your mouth starts watering, and your stomach does a terrifying flip.

"Riki—stop," you gasp, pushing his chest away with surprising strength.

You stumble toward a concrete trash can near the entrance, gripping the cold metal rim for balance. You barely have time to steady yourself before your stomach completely rebels, and everything you drank tonight comes rushing up.

Riki is beside you in an instant. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't show a single ounce of disgust. He steps up behind you, gently gathering your hair in one hand to keep it out of the way, while his other hand rests firmly on your back, rubbing soothing, slow circles between your shoulder blades.

"I've got you," he murmurs quietly, his voice steady and calm against the quiet of the night. "Just let it out. You're okay."

When the violent retching finally stops, you lean heavily against the trash can, gasping for air. Your throat burns, your eyes are watering, and a deep, crushing wave of embarrassment washes over you. You look away from him, staring at the ground.

"I'm sorry—" you whisper, your voice cracking.

"Don't apologize," Riki cuts in gently. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a clean pack of tissues, handing them to you. His expression is incredibly soft, a sympathetic, patient smile on his lips. "It's fine. Let's just get you to your room, okay?"

You nod weakly, wiping your face. Riki pulls you back into his side, taking almost all of your weight as he guides you through the lobby, into the elevator, and finally through the front door of your shared apartment.

The apartment is dark and quiet. Riki guides you down the short hallway straight to your bedroom, kicking the door open. He gently maneuvers you toward the bed, helping you sit down on the edge of the mattress.

You collapse backward onto the pillows, let out a long, exhausted groan, and close your eyes. The room is spinning slightly, but the bed feels like heaven.

Riki disappears for a moment, his quiet footsteps receding toward the bathroom. He returns a minute later with a warm, damp washcloth. He sits on the edge of your mattress, the bed dipping under his weight.

You blink sleepily up at him. Riki leans in, his expression intensely focused and tender as he uses the warm cloth to gently wipes your face, cleaning away any lingering trace of the night. His touch is so incredibly soft, his fingers brushing against your jawline with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.

As he works, you just stare up at him. The dim light from the hallway catches the sharp line of his jaw, the dark intensity of his eyes, and the broad expanse of his shoulders. The memory of Sunday morning—and the conversation you just had with Mei—swirls together in your hazy, alcohol thinned mind.

You actually feel something for him.

Riki pulls the cloth away, but as he looks down at you, he freezes. He catches you staring up at him with an expression that is entirely too open, too vulnerable. For a long, silent moment, neither of you move. The quiet space of your bedroom feels incredibly small, the air thick with an entirely different kind of tension.

Riki’s throat bobs as he swallows. Slowly, he begins to shift his weight, preparing to stand up and give you your space. "I'll let you sleep..."

Before he can pull away, your hand shoots out from beneath the covers. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your grip surprisingly tight.

"Stay," you whisper, the word slipping out before you can think to stop it. Your voice is small, almost pleading. "Please. Just... stay until I sleep."

Riki hesitates, his eyes dropping to where your hand is clutching his wrist. The sensible, logical part of his brain tells him he should leave, that you’re drunk and he should let you rest. But looking down at your sleepy, beautiful face, he find he doesn't have the strength to walk away.

With a soft, quiet sigh, Riki relaxes his posture. He doesn't get under the covers, but he shifts so he’s sitting comfortably against your headboard, his long legs stretched out over the top of the duvet.

"Okay," he whispers back, his voice incredibly gentle in the dark. "I'm staying."

You let out a contented sigh, your grip on his wrist relaxing, though you keep your hand resting comfortably against his knee. You close your eyes, the gentle, steady rise and fall of his breathing beside you acting as a perfect anchor.

Riki watches you as your breathing slowly evens out, his hand resting lightly over yours. And in the quiet safety of the room, he realizes that whatever simple, platonic dynamic you two used to have is officially gone. And neither of you wants it back.

The blinding Sunday morning sun feels like a personal attack as you slowly blink your eyes open. Your head throbs with a dull, heavy ache, and your mouth feels like it’s dry.

You groan, rolling over onto your side and staring blankly at your bedroom wall. Bits and pieces of the previous night are there, but they’re scattered and disjointed. You remember the bass of the club, the warm burn of the shots, and screaming lyrics next to Mei. But after a certain point, everything just fades into a fuzzy, warm blur.

You sit up slowly, holding your head as a wave of dizziness washes over you. Taking a deep breath, you swing your feet out of bed and pad quietly out of your room, desperately needing a glass of water.

When you slide into the kitchen, you find Riki already sitting at the island, a mug of coffee in his hand. He’s dressed in a loose grey tee, his damp hair indicating he’s already showered. The second he hears your soft footsteps, his head snaps up.

"Morning," he says, his voice quiet, searching your face with an intensity that makes you freeze for a second.

"Morning," you mumble, keeping your eyes down as you grab a glass and fill it from the fridge. After taking a long, desperate gulp, you turn to him sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Hey... listen. I barely remember anything after we left the club, but... I am so, so sorry. For whatever I did or said last night. I know I must have been an absolute handful."

Riki’s hand freezes on his mug. He stares at you, his dark eyes widening slightly, a tiny, hopeful flicker shining in his gaze.

"You really don't remember?" he asks, his voice dropping a notch, sounding almost disappointed.

You shake your head, offering a weak, apologetic smile. "Honestly, the most I know is that Mei and I were both completely drunk off our asses. There’s absolutely no way she could have gotten me home without us ending up in a hospital. So, obviously, you had to come rescue us. Thank you, really. And again, I'm sorry if I was annoying."

Riki stares at you for a long moment, the hopeful look in his eyes slowly dimming into something quiet, guarded, and slightly frustrated. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, looking away toward the window.

"Don't worry about it," he says quietly, his tone suddenly feeling incredibly distant. “You weren't annoying."

He doesn't offer any details. He doesn't tease you about how much you drank, and he doesn't bring up the ride home. He just sits there, strangely quiet, staring at his mug until he finally gets up, washes his glass, and retreats back into his bedroom without another word.

As Sunday bleeds into Monday, a strange, heavy shift settles over the apartment.

Riki is avoiding you.

It’s not loud or aggressive, but it’s painfully obvious. He slips out of rooms the moment you walk in. When you ask him a question, his answers are short, polite, and completely devoid of his usual teasing spark. When he leaves for the studio, he doesn't offer a quiet "see you later" or look you in the eye. He just slips out like a ghost.

At first, you don't mind it much. You figure he’s just tired from work, or maybe he’s still a little annoyed about having to babysit two drunk girls over the weekend. But as Monday afternoon rolls on, the silence in the apartment starts to feel suffocating.

You’re sitting at your desk, supposed to be working, but your mind is entirely occupied by Riki.

The memory of the past week flashes through your head. You had just gotten over the absolute embarrassment of walking in on him. You had finally laughed it off, finally cleared the air, and yet, here he was, suddenly acting like a stranger again.

Why? What could have possibly happened on Saturday night?

The thought begins to crawl into your mind, cold and terrifying: Did I do something weird?

You try to piece the night together. Did you say something offensive to him in the car? Did you throw up on him? Did you make some horrible, unfiltered comment about his body because of how much you'd been thinking about it all week?

The anxiety builds in your chest, hot and heavy, bubbling up until you can barely breathe. You can’t live in this tense, quiet limbo anymore. He’s at work right now, but the second he gets home, you’re going to confront him. You need to know what you did so you can apologize and fix this.

At around 8:00 PM, the front door finally clicks open.

Your heart immediately leaps into your throat. You sit perfectly still on your bed, listening to the familiar sounds of Riki kicking off his shoes, dropping his bag, and heading straight to the bathroom. You freeze, locking your eyes on your closed bedroom door, waiting.

You decide to give him some space first. You'll wait until he’s done showering and has had a chance to get comfortable.

But one hour passes. Then two.

The apartment remains completely silent. You sit on the edge of your mattress, checking your phone, the built up stress twisting your stomach into tight, painful knots. The uncertainty is eating you alive.

Suddenly, a soft, hesitant knock sounds against your bedroom door.

You jump, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Come in!" you call out, your voice slightly tight.

The door opens just a crack, and Riki peeks in. He’s wearing his damp hair messy, dressed in a clean black t-shirt and sweats. He doesn't step inside, keeping his hand on the doorknob.

"Hey," he says quietly, his eyes darting to your floor before briefly meeting yours. "I ordered some food. It's on the kitchen counter if you want some."

"Oh. Okay, thanks," you say softly.

He nods once, his face completely unreadable, and shuts the door.

You wait a minute, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, before finally getting up. You walk out into the hallway, expecting to find him sitting on the couch where the two of you always eat together. But the living room is dark. The TV is off.

You look toward the kitchen. The bags of food are sitting on the counter, but Riki is nowhere to be seen.

You follow the soft light glowing from the end of the hall. His bedroom door is pushed open, and when you look inside, you find him sitting at his desk, eating quietly by himself.

That’s the final straw. The built up stress of the last forty-eight hours finally boils over, shattering your resolve to stay calm.

You step into his doorway, your hands clenched at your sides.

"Okay, did I do something?"

The words burst out of you, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

Riki freezes, his chopsticks hovering halfway to his mouth. He blinks, staring up at you in complete confusion. "What? No?"

"So why are you being so weird towards me?" you press, taking a step further into his room, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of anxiety and frustration. "What happened? Ever since Sunday morning, you won't even look at me. If I did something stupid or said something horrible when I was drunk on Saturday, just tell me so I can apologize."

Riki stares at you, his chest rising and falling with a heavy breath as he takes in your frantic, stressed expression. Slowly, he sets his food down on the desk.

"Nothing," he stammers slightly, his dark eyes softening, looking genuinely apologetic. "Can you... can you just calm down?"

You look at him, his soft tone instantly cutting through your rising panic. You let out a long, shaky sigh, the anger draining out of you, leaving you feeling incredibly small. You take a step back, rubbing your face in your hands.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, looking at the floor. "I just... I've been stressing about this all day."

"No, it's fine," Riki says quietly. He shifts in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away, a faint, troubled expression crossing his handsome face. "I'm sorry if I've been seeming distant. I just... I've been having some weird... feelings?"

He says the word feelings almost unsurely, as if he’s still trying to translate the heavy warmth in his chest into actual language.

You blink, completely caught off guard by his honesty. "Oh... do you want to talk about them?"

Riki pauses, his eyes drifting back to your face. He sees the genuine concern and the soft vulnerability in your eyes, and his throat bobs as he swallows.

"Well... not really," he admits softly. But seeing your face fall slightly, he quickly adds, "But it’s not because you did something. I promise. It’s just... something I have to figure out on my own."

"You don't have to explain. I get it," you say.

And you genuinely do. Because with how your own feelings have been going every which way ever since you saw him completely vulnerable in that bathroom, your brain has been a chaotic mess. You understand exactly what it’s like to have thoughts you aren't ready to speak out loud yet.

"Sorry for storming in on you," you offer gently, backing toward the door.

"It's fine," he says, a tiny, genuine smile finally tugging at the corner of his lips.

You offer him a small smile back and slip out of his room, closing the door softly behind you. As you walk back to the kitchen to grab your food, you feel a massive wave of relief wash over you. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't ruin your friendship.

But as you sit down on the living room couch, Riki’s words seem to echo in the quiet apartment.

Some weird feelings.

What kind of feelings was he having? Did it have anything to do with Saturday night? With you?

The thoughts linger for a fleeting, dangerous second, making your heart do a sudden, erratic flutter. But you quickly shake your head, forcing the thoughts away. You didn't want to start overanalyzing everything again. You just needed to let him figure it out.

But as you eat your dinner in the quiet room, you can't help but feel like the space between your two has never felt so small.

Another week slid by, and to your immense relief, the easy, comfortable rhythm of your shared apartment finally returned.

The tense silence was gone, replaced once again by casual late night conversations in the kitchen, shared glances over bad TV shows, and the familiar, grounding presence of Riki just a room away.

He seemed to have worked through whatever "weird feelings" he was having, and you did your absolute best to keep your own new, fragile emotions tucked safely out of sight. You were back to being friends. Normal. Safe.

At least, until Friday night.

You and Mei were sprawled out in the living room, completely taking over the space. Sweatpants on, hair thrown into messy buns, and an absolute graveyard of takeout containers and snacks scattered across the coffee table. You were in the middle of laughing at a ridiculously dramatic reality show when the front door unlocked.

Riki walked in, looking effortlessly good in a soft, oversized cream knit sweater and dark jeans, his dance bag slung over one shoulder.

"Hey," he murmured, a soft, tired smile instantly gracing his lips as he saw the chaotic setup in the living room.

"Hey!” you smiled up at him, feeling that familiar, warm flutter in your chest.

"Hi, Riki," Mei chimed in, offering a casual wave from her spot on the floor.

"Hey, Mei," he replied, kicking off his shoes.

He walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment. Everything felt completely normal, light, and easy. He didn't linger too long, knowing you and Mei were having a girls night.

“I'm gonna go shower and crash. Don't be too loud please."

"We won't. Goodnight, Riki," you said.

He gave you one last, lingering look before heading down the hall to his room and closing the door.

The second the click of his door echoed down the hallway, Mei slowly turned her head toward you. The lazy, relaxed expression she’d had a moment ago was completely gone, replaced by a razor-sharp, deeply knowing look.

"Okay, so... anything new?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

You kept your eyes glued to the TV, reaching for a handful of popcorn. "With what?"

"Come on, Y/N, don’t act dumb," Mei groaned, throwing a small pillow at your legs. "What’s been going on between you two?"

"Mei... it’s nothing. We’re friends," you insisted, finally looking at her and trying to keep your voice as flat and convincing as possible.

Mei let out a dry, theatrical scoff. "Yeah, sure. I can definitely tell both of you are way different from before."

"Nothing is different," you muttered, though you could feel the heat starting to prickle at the back of your neck. You took a slow sip of your drink, desperately hoping she’d just drop it.

"Even you don’t believe that," Mei countered, her tone dropping into something softer, more earnest. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Y/N, the way he looks at you when he walks into a room? The way you practically light up the second his shoes hit the entryway? It’s not the same as it was a month ago. You both have this... energy now."

You stared at your glass, the defenses you’d spent the last week carefully building suddenly starting to crumble under her scrutiny. You let out a quiet, defeated sigh, shoulders slumping.

"Okay... maybe I might be feeling different about him," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But it doesn’t matter. Me and Riki are friends, nothing more. And he does not see me like that."

Mei tilted her head, her eyes locking onto yours with a challenging spark. "How do you know?"

You opened your mouth to answer, to give her a list of logical reasons why Riki would never think of you that way. But as you searched your brain, nothing came out. You thought about the tender way he had wiped your face after you were sick. You thought about his hand lingering on your wrist in the dark of your bedroom, and the soft, hopeful look in his eyes when he asked if you remembered Saturday night. You couldn't find a single solid piece of proof to back up your claim. You sat there, completely silent, unable to even answer.

"Exactly," Mei said, a soft, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "Why don’t you just tell him how you’ve been feeling?"

Your heart did a violent, panicked stutter. "I don’t..."

"You gotta try something, y/n, or you’ll never know if something could’ve happened between you two," Mei pressed gently.

You shot her a flat, "be serious" expression, but deep down, her words were hitting you like a physical weight. You wrapped your arms tightly around your chest, staring down at the carpet as the reality of her advice sank in.

For the rest of the night, Mei’s words clung to you like a second skin. Even as the two of you went back to laughing at the TV, drinking, and talking trash, the thought of Riki remained locked in the back of your mind. You managed to push it down eventually, forcing yourself to live in the moment and enjoy the rest of your night with your best friend, but the seed had been planted.

You knew Mei was right. The comfortable, purely platonic boundary you had relied on for so long had already been crossed, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Maybe you should say something to him.

But as you glanced down the dark hallway toward his closed bedroom door, a cold, familiar knot of anxiety tightened in your throat. Riki was your roommate, your confidant, one of the closest people in your life. The thought of losing the precious bond you already had—of making things so weird that you couldn't even look each other in the eye anymore—was terrifying. And right now, that fear was the only thing holding you back.

The soft, golden warmth of Saturday morning filtered through the sheer curtains of the living room, painting quiet blocks of light across the hardwood floor.

After the whirlwind of the past few weeks—the accidental bathroom incident, the drunken night out, and the heavy conversations that followed—the apartment finally felt like a sanctuary again. The thick, suffocating layers of tension had peeled away, leaving behind a comfortable, familiar space.

You sat at the kitchen island, slowly sipping a freshly brewed cup of coffee. The hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirp of birds outside were the only sounds filling the quiet morning. It was the kind of peaceful weekend start you had desperately missed.

The soft creak of Riki’s bedroom door opening broke the quiet. You didn't stiffen or freeze this time, instead, you felt a warm, easy anticipation settle in your chest.

Riki padded into the kitchen, his hair delightfully messy from sleep, sticking up in random directions. He blinked sleepily against the morning light, rubbing the back of his neck as he made his way to the coffee pot.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep, a low rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet kitchen.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you smiled, leaning your chin on your palm as you watched him pour himself a mug.

Riki let out a soft, amused huff, taking a slow sip of his black coffee. He leaned against the counter opposite you, his eyes focusing on your face. A tiny, lingering glance passed between you—one of those quiet, loaded seconds where you both remembered everything but chose to let it rest—before he offered a lazy, handsome grin.

"I have a busy week ahead at the studio," he explained, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I had to store up my energy. What are your plans for today?"

"Honestly? Absolutely nothing," you admitted, swirling the remaining coffee in your mug. "I was just going to rot on the couch, maybe run a few boring errands later."

Riki set his mug down on the counter, his gaze brightening with a sudden, playful spark. "Don't run errands. Let's do something today. Just the two of us."

"Oh? And what did you have in mind."

"We could get food. Walk around the park. Just get out of the apartment," he shrugged, though the hopeful look in his eyes was hard to miss. "It’s nice out today. It’d be a waste to just stay inside."

"Alright, fine," you laughed, sliding off the barstool. "Give me thirty minutes to get ready."

"Take your time," Riki chuckled, his eyes trailing you with a soft, lingering warmth as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom. "I’ll be waiting."

True to his word, Riki was ready and waiting by the front door when you emerged from your room. He had changed into a clean, well fitted black t-shirt and baggy denim jeans, a simple outfit that somehow made him look incredibly striking.

Your mind briefly threatened to flash back to the image of him without the shirt, but you firmly shook the thought away, offering him a bright smile instead.

"Look at you, actually putting effort in," you teased, grabbing your keys and purse.

"I always put effort in," Riki countered, reaching past you to open the front door. As he did, his chest brushed lightly against your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“You're just finally noticing."

You laughed, stepping out into the warm afternoon air.

The drive to the local park was filled with the easy, comfortable noise of your favorite playlist humming through the car speakers.

This time, there was no drunken shouting or frantic radio switching. Instead, Riki drove with one hand casually on the steering wheel, occasionally tapping his fingers to the beat, while you pointed out random things along the road, laughing at his dry, sarcastic commentary.

When you arrived at the park, the weather was absolutely perfect. A gentle breeze rustled through the green trees, keeping the summer heat at bay as the two of you began a slow walk along the paved path.

"So," you started, hands tucked into your pockets as you walked side by side. "How has the new choreography been going? You said last week was brutal.”

"It is," Riki sighed, though there was a passionate, dedicated spark in his eyes. "The details are really sharp this time. My shoulders have been killing me from the constant repetitions."

Without thinking, your eyes dropped to his shoulders, tracing the strong, solid lines beneath his black shirt. "Well... you do work really hard. Just don't overdo it."

Riki paused his walking, turning his head to look down at you. A slow, deeply teasing smirk began to crawl onto his face. "Are you worrying about me, y/n?"

"I am a highly responsible roommate," you shot back, feeling a faint warmth rising to your cheeks. "If you throw your back out, I'm the one who has to drag you around the apartment. I'm just looking out for my own physical labor."

"Right. Purely self serving," Riki chuckled, nudging his shoulder playfully against yours as you resumed walking. "I'll try to keep myself intact for your sake."

By mid afternoon, the walk had worked up an appetite, and Riki insisted on going to a small, cozy diner tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The diner was wonderfully retro, smelling of grilled burgers, sweet syrup, and fresh coffee.

You slid into a red vinyl booth, and Riki sat directly across from you. The table between you was small, meaning his long legs easily brushed against yours beneath the wooden partition. Neither of you pulled away, the subtle, warm contact feeling incredibly natural.

"I'm getting a chocolate milkshake, and no, you cannot have a sip," you declared, pointing a warning finger at him as you scanned the menu.

Riki let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wow. Cold hearted. After I drove you all the way here?"

"You can order your own, rich boy," you giggled, looking up from your menu to meet his gaze.

His eyes were locked onto yours, soft and intensely focused. The playful banter faded for a brief, quiet second, replaced by a profound, comfortable closeness.

The fear that Mei had planted in your head the night before—the terrifying thought of losing him if you ever confessed—suddenly felt incredibly distant. Sitting here with him, laughing and sharing space, made you realize how deeply woven he was into your life.

"I'll just steal yours when you aren't looking," Riki teased softly, breaking the quiet moment with a wink that made your heart skip a beat.

"Just try it, and see what happens," you warned, though your smile was wide and happy.

When the food arrived, the comfortable chatter continued. Riki listened intently as you rambled about a project you were working on, nodding along and offering genuine, thoughtful advice. He was a great listener, always paying attention to the little details you mentioned, a quality you had always deeply appreciated about him.

By the time you made it back to the apartment, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in beautiful hues of dusty pink and warm orange. You felt pleasantly tired, your stomach full and your mind incredibly relaxed.

As you unlocked the front door, Riki followed you inside, tossing his keys onto the entryway table. The apartment was cool and quiet, a peaceful contrast to the bustling energy of the city.

"Thanks for today, Riki," you said, turning around to face him as you kicked off your shoes. "I really needed a distraction."

"Anytime," Riki murmured, taking a step closer to you. He looked down at you, the fading evening light catching the soft contours of his face. "I had fun, too. It’s nice just spending time with you like this."

You looked up at him, your breath hitching slightly at the sincerity in his voice. The teasing, playful roommate persona was gone, replaced by the raw, gentle warmth he had shown you on Saturday night in your room.

"Yeah," you whispered, your heart beating a little faster. "Me too."

Riki reached out, his long fingers gently brushing against your arm for a fleeting second, a warm, reassuring touch that made your skin tingle. "I'm gonna go change. Movie night?"

"Definitely," you smiled, watching him walk down the hallway.

As you went to your room to change into your night clothes, you couldn't help but think about Mei’s words from the night before. You gotta try something, Y/N, or you’ll never know.

Today had been perfect. It was comfortable, safe, and filled with the easy love of a deep friendship. But beneath the surface, the current was changing. The lingering glances, the gentle touches, and the quiet warmth between you were growing stronger with every passing day.

And as you walked back into the living room to join Riki on the couch, you realized that maybe the fear of losing what you had was finally being outweighed by the exciting, terrifying possibility of what you could become.

The soft, blueish glow of the television screen was the only source of light in the dark living room as the movie played on.

You and Riki were sitting next to each other on the couch, sharing a large, heavy knit blanket draped over both of your laps. But you weren’t sitting super close. There was a careful space between your shoulders—just enough room for the large bowl of popcorn sitting directly between you on the middle cushion.

It was a comfortable setup, but the unspoken awareness of his proximity was humming just beneath the surface.

Every time Riki reached into the bowl at the same time as you, his knuckles would briefly brush against yours, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight up your arm. You’d both quietly pull your hands back, offer a muttered "sorry," and go back to staring at the screen.

As the movie progressed into its second hour, the comfortable atmosphere began to shift, growing heavier.

Maybe it was the exhausting emotional roller coaster of the past two weeks, or maybe it was the lingering weight of Mei’s words echoing in your head. You found yourself completely unable to focus on the plot. Your chest felt tight, your mind spinning with a sudden, frustrating wave of impatience.

Riki, too, seemed restless. He kept shifting his weight, his eyes darting to you in the shadows of the room, his jaw slightly tense.

"You're not even watching," Riki murmured suddenly, his low voice cutting through the quiet dialogue of the TV. He reached for the remote and paused the film, plunging the room into a still, heavy silence.

You blinked, caught off guard. "What? Yes, I am."

"You've been sighing every five minutes, y/n," Riki interrupted softly, turning his body on the cushions to face you. "And you’re aggressively tearing a piece of popcorn apart. What’s going on?"

Your fingers froze, indeed holding a completely shredded piece of popcorn. You let out a breath, suddenly feeling a spike of irritation. You were tired of the dancing around, tired of the careful boundaries, and tired of pretending you weren't losing your mind.

"Nothing is going on, Riki. I'm just tired," you said, your tone coming out a bit sharper than you intended.

Riki’s eyebrows pulled together, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his face. "Okay, clearly you're not 'just tired.' Did I do something again? Because I thought we solved the weirdness on Monday."

"We did solve it," you said, sitting up straighter and letting the blanket slip off your shoulders. "But then you go and act completely distant, and then you tell me you're having 'weird feelings' that you can't talk to me about."

"Because they're my feelings to deal with," Riki shot back, his voice rising just a fraction, a rare edge of frustration in his tone. He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely stressed. "I was trying to protect our dynamic. I didn't want to make things weird for you."

"Protecting our dynamic?" you repeated, a bitter, disbelieving laugh slipping from your throat. "Riki, things have been weird since the moment I walked in on you. And I've been sitting here trying to navigate whatever this is, wondering if I ruined our friendship, while you just shut down!"

"I didn't shut down because of you!" Riki stepped in, his eyes snapping to yours, intense and burning in the dim light.

"Then why?!" you demanded, the built up emotion finally boiling over. "Why are you keeping secrets? Why are you acting like I’m some fragile glass doll you’re gonna break? If you're annoyed with me, or if you're disgusted by whatever happened, just say it!"

"Disgusted?!" Riki let out a harsh, frustrated breath, leaning forward so quickly the space between you evaporated. "Are you kidding me right now? Is that really what you think?"

"I don't know what to think!" you yelled back, your chest heaving, tears of sheer frustration prickling at the corners of your eyes. "You don't talk to me! You touch my face in the car when you think I'm asleep, you stay in my room until I fall asleep, and then you act like I'm a stranger the next day! It's driving me insane because... because I can't stop thinking about you, Riki!"

The confession tore out of you, loud, raw, and completely unfiltered.

The silence that followed was deafening. Your own breath hitched in your throat, your eyes widening in horror as the weight of your slip up crashed down on you. You had said it. You had literally just admitted it.

Riki froze, his entire body locking up as he stared at you. The anger drained from his face in an instant, replaced by a stunned, breathless shock. "What...?"

"I..." You scrambled backward, trying to untangle your legs from the blanket, desperate to escape to your room. "Nothing. Forget I said that. I'm going to bed."

"No, wait—"

Riki reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around your wrist, stopping you from moving away. His grip was warm, solid, and completely unyielding. He pulled you back toward him, his eyes searching your panicked face with a sudden, desperate intensity.

"Say it again," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

"Riki, please let go," you pleaded, your voice cracking as the fear of rejection tightened in your chest. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have said that."

"It wasn't a mistake," Riki said, his voice dropping into a deep, raw rumble. He let go of your wrist, only to cup the side of your face with his warm palm, forcing you to look at him. "You think you're the only one losing your mind? You think I shut down because I was annoyed?"

You stared at him, your heart hammering so loudly you were certain he could hear it.

"I shut down because being around you... having you touch me, having you look at me... it made me realize things I was trying to ignore," Riki admitted, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone.

His breath was warm against your skin, his gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every time I looked at you this week, all I wanted to do was this."

Before you could even process his words, Riki leaned in.

The kiss was sudden, a collision of built up frustration, longing, and relief. His lips pressed against yours, warm and firm, catching you entirely off guard.

For a second, you both froze. The shock of the contact made you both pull back, just an inch, staring at each other in the dark with wide, breathless eyes. The reality of what was happening hung suspended in the air, unsure and terrifying.

But then, Riki’s gaze darkened with pure, unfiltered desire. He didn't give you time to overthink. He leaned back in, and this time, the hesitation was entirely gone.

He captured your mouth again, but this time, it was deeper, more heated, and desperate. A soft gasp escaped your lips, which Riki immediately drank in, his hand sliding from your cheek to wrap firmly around the back of your neck, tangling in your hair to pull you closer.

The space between you completely vanished. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as you kissed him back with the exact same frantic, built up hunger.

Riki let out a low growl against your lips, his free hand wrapping securely around your waist, lifting you easily until you were practically draped across his lap.

The world outside the apartment completely ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his body, the firm grip of his hands on your skin, and the intoxicating, dizzying taste of him. Every touch was electric, erasing the weeks of agonizing tension in a matter of seconds.

Riki broke the kiss for a split second, his breath hitching as he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you panting. His chest was expanding rapidly against yours, his hands griping your hips with a heavy, possessive force.

He slid his arms under your thighs and back, lifting you effortlessly off the couch in one smooth motion. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of clean soap and warm skin as he carried you down the short hallway.

He kicked his bedroom door open, stepping into the dark, quiet sanctuary of his room, before shutting the door behind him.

The door clicks shut, sealing out the rest of the world and plunging you both into the dim, shadow draped quiet of Riki’s bedroom. The moment his back hits the closed wood, he doesn't let you down. Instead, his grip around your thighs tightens, pinning you against him as his mouth crashes back onto yours with a fierce, demanding hunger.

There is no room for doubts now, no space for the careful hesitation that defined the last two weeks.

The makeout is raw, fast, and intensely heated. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, whimpering into the kiss as his tongue slides against yours, tasting of mint and desperate, bottled up want.

Riki lets out a low, vibration of a groan, his hands sliding up your back, bunching the fabric of your shirt as he presses you flush against the solid plane of his chest.

He shifts, his lips breaking away from yours only to trail a burning path down the sensitive skin of your jaw.

A breathy gasp escapes you as his mouth finds the sweet spot right where your neck meets your shoulder. Riki sucks firmly against the soft skin, his teeth grazing over the flesh in a slow, possessive drag.

The sharp, dizzying sting of a hickey forming makes your toes curl. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging lightly into the fabric of his shirt as he marks you in the dark.

Almost no words pass between you, only the heavy, frantic sound of your joined breathing and the wet, quiet friction of his lips devouring your skin.

Slowly, Riki lets you slide down his body until your feet touch the cool floor, though he doesn't let you go for a single second. He guides you backward toward the edge of his bed, his hands warm and steady on your hips until you sink onto the mattress.

Before you can even catch your breath, Riki drops to his knees on the floor between your thighs. His hands slide to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers brushing against your skin as he gently but deliberately slides them down your legs, taking your undies with them in one smooth, fluid motion. He tosses them aside, leaving you completely exposed under his gaze.

Your breath hitches as he looks up at you through his dark, messy fringe, his eyes burning with an intense, focused heat. He doesn't hesitate. His hands slide up your bare legs, parting them gently, and then he leans forward to kiss you, his lips meeting yours with a fierce, demanding passion that leaves you completely breathless.

Your breath hitches as he looks up at you through his dark, messy fringe, his eyes burning with an intense, focused heat. He doesn't hesitate. His hands slide up your legs, parting them gently, and then he leans forward to taste you.

The first touch of his tongue makes your whole body shudder. Riki is incredibly, agonizingly good at what he’s doing. Every stroke is deliberate, heavy, and wet, finding your sweetest spots with a terrifying accuracy that leaves you completely defenseless.

Within minutes, you are a trembling, unraveled mess. Clutching the bedsheets on either side of you, your hips lifting involuntarily as you try to press yourself closer to his mouth. Your breathing turns into shallow, rapid gasps, and your chest heaves as the pleasure builds into something entirely overwhelming.

"Riki—ah, please," you cry out, his name slipping from your lips in a breathless, needy shout that echoes softly in the quiet room.

He doesn't stop. He only grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to him as his mouth moves faster, driving you completely over the edge. A low, muffled praise vibrates against your skin. "You taste so good," he mutters against you, his voice thick. "So sweet for me."

He continues the relentless pace, pulling every single gasp and twitch out of you until you finally break, your body locking up as you cum all over his mouth.

As the waves of your release slowly begin to settle, Riki crawls up the bed, his dark eyes fixed on your flushed, dazed face. He leans over you, kissing you gently, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Slowly, without breaking his gaze, his hands slide to the hem of your shirt. He slips it over your head and tosses it onto the floor, his eyes tracking the rise and fall of your bare chest. Then, his hands move to his own shirt, pulling it off. In the dim light, the sight of his bare, broad chest and defined abs makes your throat go dry.

But before he goes any further, Riki pauses. He props himself up on his elbows, hovering over you, his expression suddenly very serious, very tender.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, his thumb lightly brushing your lip. "You're sure about this?"

"Yes," you breathe, reaching up to cup his jaw. "More than sure."

Riki lets out a soft breath, a relieved smile brushing his lips. He turns to his nightstand, his long arm reaching out to grab a condom from the drawer. You watch the quiet, focused movement of his shoulders as he prepares, your heart hammering in anticipation.

Once ready, he settles between your thighs, guiding your legs over his shoulders to open you up completely. He aligns himself at your entrance, pausing for a second to look into your eyes before he slowly slides inside you.

The fullness of him stretching you, makes your head fling back against the pillows as a needy, breathless groan slips from your throat. Your fingers instantly tangle in his messy hair, holding him close as your body adjusts to his size. Riki waits, letting you get used to him, before he begins to move.

He starts with agonizingly slow, deep thrusts, testing your limits. Every time he slides all the way out, only to sink back in even deeper, you let out a ragged gasp. The friction is immediate and electric, sending waves of heat straight to your core. Your hips instinctively lift to meet him, begging for a faster pace, but Riki keeps the rhythm steady and punishingly slow.

The heat between you builds with every slow slide of his body against yours. You can feel the slick friction of him driving you closer and closer to the edge, the familiar, tight coil of another release starting to tension deep in your lower stomach. Your breath comes in short, shallow pants, and your grip on his shoulders tightens as you feel yourself hovering right on the precipice of a peak—

But just as you’re about to fall over the edge, Riki suddenly stops. He pulls completely out of you.

"Riki!" you groan, the sudden coldness leaving you empty. Your eyes snap open in pure frustration as you stare up at him, your hands desperately trying to claw him back down.

Riki lets out a low chuckle, his chest vibrating against yours. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your pouting lips, tasting your desperation. "Be patient," he murmurs against your mouth, his thumb stroking your hip in a slow, soothing circle that only drives you crazier. "I don't want to rush this. I wanna take my time with you."

Before you can even protest, Riki grips your hips and gently but firmly rolls you over onto your stomach.

You press your face into his pillows, your breath coming in short, needy pants as you feel him settle behind you. The shift in angle is sharp and immediate. He grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him, and begins to fuck you from behind.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the quiet bedroom, matching the frantic rhythm of your racing pulse. You arch your back, burying your face in the sheets to muffle your loud cries as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

But just as you feel yourself reaching the absolute peak, your body trembling on the verge of breaking—

He pulls out again.

You let out a sharp, genuinely angry whine, twisting your head to glare at him over your shoulder. Your face is flushed, your hair wild, and you are completely fed up with his control.

Riki just looks down at you, a devilish, intensely satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he shrugs. "Just wait," he whispers, his voice dripping with playful torment.

You’ve had entirely enough of his little games.

Fueled by a sudden, defiant rush of adrenaline, you don't wait for his permission. You push yourself up off your stomach, turning around to face him.

Before he can react or pull away again, you crawl forward, straddling his lap as he sits back against the headboard. You lock your eyes onto his, letting him see the stubborn determination in your gaze.

"No more waiting," you whisper.

You don't let him pull you back. Instead, you align yourself over him, looking down into his burning eyes, and slowly, completely slide down, impaling yourself onto him. A deep, ragged sigh escapes you both as you finally capture the fullness of what he kept taking away from you.

You don't wait for him to set the pace. You grip his broad shoulders for balance and begin to move, chasing the release you've been denied. Riki’s hands grip your waist with a bruising, heavy force, guiding your hips as he thrusts upward to meet you, his entire body rigid with restraint.

The friction is overwhelming, the heat between you building to a fever pitch. You move faster, your head tilted back, crying out his name as the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. You break first, your body shuddering violently as you clench around him, your internal muscles clamping down tight.

Even as your body trembles with the aftershocks, you don't stop. You keep moving, riding through the sensitivity, determined to bring him with you.

Riki lets out a loud, raw shout, his head snapping back against the wall as he loses his grip on his control. He thrusts up hard, one last time, and cums deeply inside the condom.

You ride out the final, pulsing friction of his release for a few more slow, heavy seconds before your strength finally gives out. You collapse forward, burying your face in the crook of his warm, sweat damp neck.

Riki’s arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you tight against his chest. Both of you lie there, chests expanding rapidly against each other as you slowly, quietly come down from the dizzying high of the night.

The silence of the room slowly returns, save for the quiet hum of the AC and your fading, heavy breaths.

As you lie there, listening to the steady, rapid beat of his heart beneath your ear, the reality of what just happened slowly settles over you. You look down at your hand resting on his chest, his fingers loosely tangled with yours.

There is no going back to the way things were. The careful, polite boundaries of the last month have been completely shattered, melted away by the heat of the night. But as Riki presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, holding you just a little bit closer, you realize you don't want to go back anyway.

it began as background noise.

one night at the izakaya near campus, three beers in, you’d muttered into your glass about how you were going to lose your mind if you didn’t get laid soon. high sex drive, no patience for apps, zero interest in catching feelings with strangers. yuma, two seats down, had snorted like he related a little too hard.

harua had just stared at both of you.

the next week it happened again. different izakaya, same complaint. you’d been half-joking about how your vibrator was starting to feel like a roommate. yuma had groaned into his hands and said something about his right hand developing carpal tunnel.

harua’s eye had twitched.

by the third time—sunday afternoon, everyone’s living room floor covered in empty chip bags and half-watched anime—harua finally snapped.

“i swear to god,” he said, pointing a chopstick at both of you like a weapon, “if i have to listen to either of you whine about being horny one more time, i’m going to lock you in a room together and throw away the key.”

yuma laughed. you laughed.

harua did not.

two days later harua texted the group chat:

harua

y/nnie~~ come study with me at me n yuma’s pleaseeee. 7pm >.<

you couldn’t deny harua so you showed up expecting the usual chaos. instead the apartment was quiet. only yuma’s shoes by the door. only yuma on the couch, scrolling his phone, looking just as confused as you felt.

harua appeared from the kitchen with two bottles of water and the most unrepentant smile you’d ever seen.

“i have a date,” he announced. “don’t wait up. keys are on the counter. try not to break anything. or each other. actually—break each other. i don’t care. just stop complaining.”

and then he left.

the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

yuma was the one who broke it. he leaned back against the couch, arms spread, looking at you with that lazy half-smile that always made him look like he knew something you didn’t.

“so,” he said. “you as desperate as you’ve been pretending to be?”

you should’ve denied it. should’ve laughed it off, grabbed your bag, left.

instead you sat down on the other end of the couch and said, quiet and honest, “worse.”

his eyes darkened immediately.

“same.”

that was all it took.

the first time wasn’t gentle.

it wasn’t supposed to be.

you were both wound too tight, too hungry, too tired of pretending your bodies weren’t problems. clothes came off in a messy, impatient scramble—his shirt somewhere near the tv, your bra hooked on the arm of the couch. he kissed like he was starving, all tongue and teeth and low sounds in the back of his throat that made your stomach clench. when he got his mouth on your neck he bit, not hard enough to mark but hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound he made when you dragged your nails down his back was filthy.

“fuck—yeah, just like that,” he muttered against your skin. “been thinking about this longer than i should admit.”

you didn’t ask how long. you just pulled him closer.

he ate you out like it was the only thing keeping him alive—messy, greedy, two fingers curling inside you while his tongue worked your clit in tight circles. you came the first time with your thighs shaking around his head and his name breaking on a moan. he didn’t stop. just kept going until you were oversensitive and pushing at his shoulders, and even then he only pulled back far enough to grin up at you, mouth shiny, eyes half-lidded and dark.

“still good?”

you nodded, breathless. “more.”

he fucked you on the couch first—slow at the start only because he was thick and you needed a second to adjust, then hard and deep once you wrapped your legs around him and told him to move. the angle was perfect. every thrust dragged against that spot that made your vision white out. he talked the whole time, low and filthy, telling you how tight you were, how wet, how good you felt taking him. when he came it was with a punched-out groan against your neck, hips stuttering, filling you in hot pulses that made your toes curl.

he stayed inside you after, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

“fuuckk—please tell me you’re on birth control…” he panted, voice rough.

“isn’t that something you should ask before cumming in a girl…?”

“please just answer the question, babe.” he whined, burying his face in your now sweaty neck.

“yes, i am…now keep going, please?”

Yuma’s laugh was low and wrecked against your neck.

“fuck. you’re perfect.”

he didn’t pull out. just rolled his hips in a slow, deep grind that made both of you hiss, his cum already starting to slip out around his cock with every movement. the wet sound of it was filthy. he clearly liked it—his hands tightened on your thighs and he kept going, lazy and relentless, fucking his own mess deeper into you until you were squirming.

“look at that,” he muttered, glancing down between your bodies. “already leaking. goddamn.”

he finally pulled out only long enough to flip you onto your stomach, yank your hips up, and sink back in with one smooth thrust. the new angle punched a broken moan out of you. yuma groaned like he’d been punched too.

“there it is. take it. fuck—you’re still so tight.”

he set a brutal pace after that. one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, using your body exactly how he wanted. every thrust forced more of his cum out of you, dripping down your thighs onto harua’s couch. neither of you cared. you came again with your face pressed into the cushion, sobbing his name, and he just kept going through it—overstimulating you until your legs shook and you tried to crawl forward just to get a second of relief.

he dragged you right back by the hips.“nuh-uh. you said keep going.” his voice was pure filth. “so you’re gonna take it until i’m done. yeah?”

“yes—fuck, yes—”

“good girl.”

he came a second time with his chest plastered to your back, teeth sunk into your shoulder, filling you all over again. the noise he made was almost pained. you felt every pulse.

even then he didn’t stop completely. just slowed into deep, lazy rolls of his hips while both of you caught your breath, his cock still half-hard inside you, keeping everything in.

“bedroom,” he rasped eventually. “before we destroy harua’s couch any more than we already have.”

you barely made it.

you barely made it.

yuma half-carried, half-dragged you down the short hallway, both of you still dripping and sticky and laughing under your breath like idiots. the second the bedroom door shut behind you he had you against it, mouth crashing into yours, hands everywhere at once. you could feel how hard he still was against your stomach even after two rounds. greedy. relentless. exactly like you.

“bed,” you managed between kisses. “now.”

he walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you both went down in a tangle of limbs. yuma didn’t waste time. he shoved your thighs apart, looked down at the absolute mess he’d already made of you—his cum still leaking out of you, thighs shiny with it—and made a low, punched-out sound like the sight physically hurt him.

“jesus christ.” he dragged two fingers through the mess and pushed them back inside you, slow and deep. “look at you. stuffed full and still dripping. fucking nasty.”

you clenched around his fingers on purpose. his eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry.

“do that again.”

you did.

he fingered you open like that for a while—lazy, filthy, scissoring and curling until you were rocking down onto his hand and whining. every time you got close he slowed down, watching your face with that half-lidded stare that made your stomach flip. only when you were actually trembling did he pull his fingers free, lick them clean without breaking eye contact, and finally line himself back up.

he sank in with one long, smooth thrust and both of you groaned like you’d been holding your breath.

“fuck—still so wet for me,” he muttered against your mouth. “still taking me so deep. you were made for this, huh? made to get fucked stupid and filled up.”

“only by you,” you breathed, and the way his hips stuttered told you that landed exactly how you wanted it to.

he set a deep, rolling pace after that. not the brutal pounding from the couch—something heavier, more thorough. every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you until your eyes were rolling back and your nails were leaving red lines down his back. yuma talked the entire time, voice wrecked and low, telling you how good you felt, how pretty you looked with your legs spread for him, how he could feel his own cum squelching out around his cock every time he bottomed out.

you came with a broken sob, clenching so hard around him that he cursed and had to still for a second. he didn’t give you time to recover. just kept going through it, fucking you through the overstimulation until you were crying again and trying to squirm away and he just pinned your wrists above your head and growled,

“take it. you asked for this. so fucking take it.”

you did.

he flipped you onto your side next, hiked one of your legs up, and slid back in from behind. the new angle made you choke on a moan. yuma’s mouth found the side of your neck, biting and sucking marks while his hips snapped forward in short, mean thrusts. one of his hands slipped down between your legs to rub tight circles over your clit and you shattered for a third time with his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer.

only then did he let himself go—burying himself as deep as he could and coming with a long, low groan that vibrated against your skin. you felt every thick pulse. felt him filling you all over again until it was leaking out around him even while he was still inside.

he stayed there for a long time after, breathing hard against the back of your neck, one arm locked tight around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

eventually he pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you shiver. you felt the immediate rush of cum following, sliding down your thighs. yuma watched it happen with dark, satisfied eyes, then reached down and pushed two fingers back into you just to keep it in a little longer.

“messy girl,” he murmured, almost fond. “look what you did to my sheets already.”

you laughed, breathless and wrecked. “your fault.”

“yeah.” he pressed a slow kiss to your shoulder. “worth it.”

“think you can go for another?” he murmured against your shoulder, already half-hard again inside the mess he’d made of you.

you didn’t even answer with words—just arched your back and pushed your ass back against him in a playful wiggle.

yuma’s laugh was low and dark.

“greedy fucking girl.”

he pulled out just long enough to deliver a sharp smack to the side of your ass. the sound cracked through the quiet room and you jolted with a soft gasp, heat blooming under his palm. he rubbed the sting in with his thumb, almost soothing, before spanking you again—harder this time—right as he pushed back in with one long, wet thrust.

both of you groaned.

“shit—you're made for me—mm—i fuckin' swear—,” he muttered, gripping your hip with one hand while the other slid up your spine to fist in your hair. he tugged your head back just enough to make your back arch deeper, the pull sharp and perfect. “still so fucking full of me. look at you just taking it. greedy slut."

he started moving in deep, grinding thrusts, not even pulling out all the way—just rocking into you like he was trying to carve a permanent space for himself. every drag of his cock forced more cum out around him, the wet filthy sounds of it loud in the quiet room. you could feel it dripping down onto the pillows under you. every few thrusts he added another firm spank, the sting blooming hot across your skin, making you clench around him on instinct.

“you should see yourself right now,” he rasped, voice rough as he tugged your hair again, forcing you to look back at him over your shoulder. “ass red, dripping my cum, still begging for more with your body. nasty little slut.”

you pushed back to meet every thrust, shameless. “nngh—mhm—your nasty little slut.”

the sound he made was almost feral.

he leaned over your back, chest flush to your spine, and reached around to rub tight, mean circles over your oversensitive clit while his other hand stayed buried in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. the dual stimulation ripped a broken cry out of you. your third orgasm had barely faded and already he was dragging you toward a fourth, relentless, talking filth against the shell of your ear the entire time.

“c’mon, baby. give me one more. milk my cock while i fill you up again. i know you can.”

you came hard—shaking, sobbing, clenching so tight around him that he cursed and had to still for a second just to keep from following you over. the second your body started to relax he was moving again, chasing his own high with short, brutal snaps of his hips, hand still fisted in your hair, another sharp spank landing across your ass right as he buried himself as deep as he could.

when he came it was with a long, broken moan muffled against the back of your neck. you felt every thick pulse, felt him pumping even more cum into you until it was overflowing, sliding down your thighs in messy streaks.

he collapsed half on top of you after, both of you panting, sweaty, completely wrecked. his cock was still twitching inside you. neither of you moved for a long time.

eventually yuma pressed a soft, almost sweet kiss to the bite mark he’d left, then soothed a gentle palm over the warm, pink skin of your ass.

“…okay,” he breathed, voice ruined. “okay. maybe we take five minutes.”

you laughed weakly into the sheets. “liar. give you three and you’ll be hard again.”

he didn’t even try to deny it. just nuzzled into the back of your neck and mumbled, “two minutes. tops.”

you stayed like that for like 6 minutes max—him still buried inside you, both of you sticky and trembling and already half-thinking about round whatever-this-was—until his breathing evened out a little and his hands started wandering again, slow and lazy over your stomach, your breasts, the insides of your thighs.

“think you can go for another?” he murmured against your shoulder, already half-hard again inside the mess he’d made of you.

you didn’t even answer with words—just arched your back and pushed your ass back against him in a slow, deliberate roll.

yuma’s laugh was low and dark.

“greedy fucking girl.”

he pulled out just long enough to deliver a sharp smack to the side of your ass. the sound cracked through the quiet room and you jolted with a soft gasp, heat blooming under his palm. he rubbed the sting in with his thumb, almost soothing, before spanking you again—harder this time—right as he pushed back in with one long, wet thrust.

both of you groaned.

“shit—still so soft and open for me,” he muttered, gripping your hip with one hand while the other slid up your spine to fist in your hair. he tugged your head back just enough to make your back arch deeper, the pull sharp and perfect. “still so fucking full. look at you just taking it.”

he started moving in deep, grinding thrusts, not even pulling out all the way—just rocking into you like he was trying to carve a permanent space for himself. every drag of his cock forced more cum out around him, the wet filthy sounds of it loud in the quiet room. you could feel it dripping down onto the pillows under you.

“ahh—fuck—” you whimpered, pushing back to meet him. “yuma…”

he clearly loved it; his breathing got heavier, his fingers tightening in your hair until your scalp tingled.

“you should see yourself right now,” he rasped. “ass pink from my hand, hair in my fist, stuffed full and still pushing back for more. such a greedy little slut.”

you clenched around him on purpose and let out a broken little moan. his hips stuttered.

“fuck—do that again.”

you did, gasping, “nnh—like that—feels so good—” and he rewarded you with another sharp spank that made you cry out and tighten even harder. the sound he made was pure filth.

“yeah. that’s it. my nasty girl likes it when it stings, huh?” he leaned over your back, chest flush to your spine, and kept the grip in your hair while his other hand slipped down between your legs. two fingers found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, mean circles right as he snapped his hips harder. “look at you. dripping all over my cock and still begging for it with this pretty little body.”

“ahh—ah, fuck, yuma—please—” the dual stimulation ripped a high, shaky moan out of you. your last orgasm had barely faded and already he was dragging you toward another, relentless, talking filth against the shell of your ear the entire time.

“c’mon, baby. give it to me. milk my cock while i fill you up again. show me what a good slut you are.”

“i—i’m gonna—ahhh—” you came hard—shaking, sobbing, clenching so tight around him that he cursed and had to still for a second just to keep from following you over. the second your body started to relax he was moving again, chasing his own high with short, brutal snaps of his hips. every thrust forced more of the mess out of you. every few strokes he spanked you again, the sharp crack of his palm mixing with the wet sounds of him fucking his own cum deeper into you.

“nghh—yes—ah—keep going, don’t stop—” you moaned, voice wrecked and needy, pushing back even as overstimulation made your thighs tremble.

when he came it was with his teeth sunk into the back of your shoulder and a long, broken moan muffled against your skin. you felt every thick pulse, felt him pumping even more into you until it was overflowing, sliding down your thighs in messy streaks. a soft, punched-out noise slipped out of you at the feeling.

he collapsed half on top of you after, both of you panting, sweaty, completely wrecked. his cock was still twitching inside you. neither of you moved for a long time.

eventually yuma pressed a soft, almost sweet kiss to the bite mark he’d left, then gentled the hand that had been twisted in your hair, stroking through the strands like an apology and a promise at the same time. his other palm soothed slowly over the warm, spanked skin of your ass.

“…okay,” he breathed, voice ruined. “okay. maybe we actually take five this time.”

you let out a soft, breathless laugh against the sheets. “five minutes. then shower.”

yuma hummed in agreement, still nuzzling the back of your neck, but his hands never really stopped moving—slow, lazy strokes over your stomach, your hips, the warm pink skin of your ass. true to form, it was closer to three minutes before you felt him hardening again inside you.

“shower, yu” you reminded him, voice still a little wrecked. “we’re disgusting.”

“mhm yeah,” he murmured, pressing one more open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder before finally pulling out with a wet sound that made both of you shiver. “c’mon.”

the walk to the bathroom was unsteady. the second the water was warm enough he pulled you under the spray with him, crowding you against the tile. you barely had time to tip your head back and let the water run over your face before his mouth was on yours again—hungry, deep, hands sliding down to grip your thighs and lift you.

“ahh—yuma—god—you are insatiable” you gasped as he sank back into you in one smooth thrust, the heat of the water mixing with the heat of him. your legs locked around his waist on instinct.

“can’t help it,” he muttered against your mouth, starting to move in steady, powerful rolls of his hips. the wet slap of skin on skin echoed off the tiles. “you feel too good. always so fucking tight for me.”

you moaned into his shoulder, nails digging into his back as he fucked you against the wall. every thrust forced soft, punched-out sounds out of you—“nnh—ah—yes—” until he had to clap a hand over your mouth when your voice got too loud.

“quiet, baby. neighbors.” but he was grinning against your temple, clearly loving every broken little noise you made for him.

he came with a low groan buried in your neck, filling you all over again while the water rinsed some of the mess down your thighs. you followed right after, shaking in his arms, a muffled whimper trapped behind his palm.

you didn’t even bother getting fully clean.

still dripping, still naked, still sticky with each other, yuma half-carried you out of the bathroom and straight into the kitchen. the second your back hit the cool counter he was between your legs again, spreading you open and sinking in with a shared, shaky moan.

“one more,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “just one more—fuck, you drive me crazy—”

“then stop talking and fuck me,” you breathed, and the sound he made was pure filth.

he did. hard and deep, one hand braced on the counter beside your hip, the other gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. the wet sounds of it were obscene in the quiet apartment. you came first this time, crying out against his mouth, and he followed almost immediately, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing inside you with a broken “shit—”

somehow you made it back to the bedroom after that.

yuma dropped onto the mattress and pulled you down on top of him, still inside you, both of you too spent to do more than grind lazily together until the last sparks faded. eventually he softened and slipped free, but neither of you moved to clean up. you just stayed tangled, sticky and warm and completely wrecked, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your spine while your breathing slowly evened out.

you were half-asleep when the front door opened.

there was a long, heavy pause.

then harua’s voice, exhausted and deeply unimpressed:

“…it smells like a fucking sex den in here.”

another pause. the sound of him kicking his shoes off harder than necessary.

“i’m going to taki’s. don’t wait up. and open a window, for the love of god.”

the front door slammed shut behind him.

yuma’s chest shook under your cheek with silent laughter. you smiled into his skin, too tired to do more than mumble,

“…oops.”

he pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, arm tightening around you.

“worth it.”

You push through the door, laptop bag sliding off your shoulder, already mentally clocking out of the first lecture before it's even started.

You’re so focused on going to your lecture that you nearly collide with someone.

Ni-ki is always recognizable through his scent most of the time, always that faint coffee smell to hide whatever he smoked on the drive over. His hand shoots out to hold something up between your faces. A small black clip. You spent 10 minutes looking for it yesterday with the little crack in the plastic from when you dropped it in your shower not so long ago.

"You left this," he says flatly.

Two days ago. You remember exactly where you left it ; on his nightstand, next to the empty can of soda and your phone that he'd moved so it wouldn't fall off the edge. He kept it in his pocket like a psychopath until now.

You take it. Your fingers brush his.

"Thanks," you say, because what else is there.

He's already stepping around you, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, heading to the opposite direction of every single one of his classes. You watch the back of his hoodie disappear around the corner.

Jess is already in your usual seats, two rows from the back, her energy drink sweating onto her notebook. She clocks your face the second you sit down.

"God, you look terrified," she says. "What happened?"

You set the clip on the desk. "Ni-ki just returned my hair clip."

Jess's eyebrows go up. She knows, not everything, but enough to figure out your state. She knows you go over there and she knows you don't talk about it.

"And how was that exchange ?"

"Normal, I guess." You pull out your laptop, even though you know you're not going to take notes. "He said 'you left this' and walked away."

"Romantic."

"Right."

She's quiet for a bit, then leans closer, lowering her voice even though no one near you is paying attention. "Okay, real question. Are you, like... keeping track? I mean, number-wise."

You frown. "Like...body counts?"

"Yeah. Like, since this whole thing started. Are you even seeing other people? Are you counting repeats? Because I've been thinking about it and I genuinely don't know what the etiquette is."

"I don't think there is an etiquette for whatever this is." You tap your fingernail against the desk. "And no, I'm not counting anything."

"You should. For records, at least." She grins, but it fades when you don't mirror it. "Fine. Do you want to count him? Like, in a way that means something?"

The professor walks in and you watch the projector screen flicker to life.

"I don't know," you say. And that's the worst part, you don't know if you want him to mean something or if you just want to stop wanting it so badly. The line between the two has been blurred for months now.

Jess sighs. "Boys are so stupid, like actually brain-dead. I swear my ex thought the clit wasn’t a real thing."

That pulls a laugh out of you, tired and a little rough. "He wasn't that bad."

"Your bar is in hell as I can see."

The lecture starts. You zone out ten minutes in, thumb moving over the crack in your hair clip. He kept it in his pocket for two days. You don't know what that means and you're probably not supposed to know.

It's fine. You'll text him tonight. He'll reply with one word or nothing at all. And you'll go over anyway. Because that's what this is.

───

Break time hits and the courtyard is a mess. You find a spot at one of the picnic tables near the old oak tree, Jess refuses to sit at because she says it gives her anxiety. You don’t mind it. It’s farther from the main walkway, which means fewer people trying to make small talk.

Jess is already inside the cafeteria buying a pastry that she kept talking about during the whole lecture, so you’re alone for a minute, scrolling on your phone without really focusing on anything. The sun is too bright and the coffee you had earlier is making your hands feel jittery. You can’t stop thinking about the way Ni-ki held out that hair clip this morning like it was nothing.

You look up because something in your peripheral shifts, and there he is. Two tables over, diagonal across the courtyard, sitting with Jay and Jungwon and another guy you don’t recognize. He’s not paying attention to whatever Jay is saying ; his elbow is propped on the table, chin resting on his knuckles, and he’s looking directly at you.

You hold eye contact because looking away first feels like losing a battle you didn't even initiate.

He tilts his head slightly, lazy but intentional, and mouths something slowly so you catch every syllable: "My place. After classes?"

Sounds like it’s a statement dressed up like one.

You nod once, enough for him to catch it.

He smiles but not a big one, it's a twitch at the corner of his mouth, making it looks like he’s amused by the whole thing, you just confirmed something he already knew. Afterwards, he turns back to his friends like nothing happened, reaching over to steal Jay’s fries without looking at you again.

Oh you hate what you just felt at that exact moment.

Jess drops into the seat across from you a moment later, biting into a croissant that’s shedding crumbs everywhere. “Okay, so I have a chem lab at 2 and then I’m free,” she says, talking around the pastry. “You wanna grab food after? There's that new Thai place that opened and I’ve been thinking about their spring rolls for days.”

You blink at her, still half-focused on the back of Ni-ki’s hoodie across the courtyard.

“Damn, the wind must be really strong today.”

“Sorry. What?”

“Thai place after classes. You in or not?”

You hesitate for a beat too long and Jess’s eyes narrow.

“Oh Lord,” she says slowly, setting down her croissant. “You’re not free, are you?”

You pick at a splinter on the table. “Not tonight.”

“Let me guess.” She leans forward. “Tall and emotionally unavailable.”

“Is that how you see him?”

“Am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, and she groans into her hands.

“You’re actually killing me,” she says. “One day, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been in a situationship with a guy who communicates exclusively through neutral face expressions.”

“He talked to me this morning.”

“He returned your hair clip, that’s not talking. Girl, come on.”

You laugh despite yourself, kicking her foot under the table. “Just text me the menu and I’ll go with you next week.”

She sighs heavily as she picks her croissant back up. “Fine. But you owe me details. Not the weird ones, i don't want to know how he fucks. I just want to know...like his last name. I don’t even know his last name.”

You look back toward the other table. Ni-ki is laughing at something Jungwon said, head tipped back slightly, and for a second he looks younger than 21, less like the version of him that presses you against his mattress and more like the version that offered you a cigarette on a rooftop when you were both strangers.

You still don’t know his last name either.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Me neither.”

───

The last class of the day finally ends. By the time the professor dismisses you, the sun has already set down, letting the sky being painted in purple and orange shades.

You don't rush to the parking lot. Something about walking too fast feels like admitting out loud that seeing him was the only thing you were looking forward to the whole day. Which it was.

The lot is mostly empty now, most students cleared out ten minutes ago, desperate to escape. Your sneakers scrape against the concrete as you weave between rows of beat-up sedans and the occasional overcompensating truck. And you finally spot his car.

His black Camaro is parked in the far corner, the one closest to the exit, because of course he needs a quick getaway. The engine is already running ; you can tell by the faint exhaust curling from the back ; and through the windshield you can see him slouched in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the wheel.

His head is tilted down, probably at his phone, and for a second you think about turning around and walking away just to see how long it would take him to notice. But your feet keep moving because you're pathetic like that.

You pull open the passenger door and the warmth hits you immediately ; he always runs the heat even when it's not that cold outside. The leather seat creaks under you as you slide in, tossing your bag between your feet.

Ni-ki doesn't look up right away as he finishes typing something, locks his phone, and only then turns his head toward you.

"You took forever," he says.

"Class ran late."

He hums, unconvinced, but he doesn't push it. He reaches over and pulls your seatbelt across you, not because he's being sweet, but because he's watched you forget it three times now and he's tired of the car beeping.

His knuckles brush your collarbone.

He puts the car in reverse and backs out without checking his blind spot, which should terrify you but doesn't anymore. The parking lot exits onto a side street and then he's merging into traffic, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh to some imaginary song.

You watch his profile. The way his jaw is set, the tiny scar near his eyebrow he's never explained, the way his hoodie sleeve falls just right on his wrist.

"So," you say, because sitting in total silence for the whole drive feels like something a hostage would do. "You had a good day?"

He glances at you, and there's something almost amused in his expression. "You don't care about my day."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't." He says it simply, he obviously assumes that you don't actually care about his day because you're only here for one reason. And the worst part is he's not wrong, or maybe he is wrong and you just haven't figured out how to prove it yet.

You look out the window instead. The buildings blur past, a laundromat, a bodega with a faded sign, a bus stop with one tired-looking person waiting. Just normal things.

After a minute, Ni-ki's hand leaves the wheel and lands on your thigh, resting there.

The car keeps moving.

───

His house is too big for one person. That's the same thing you think every time you walk through the front door, and tonight is no different. The entryway alone could fit your entire apartment, and the ceilings are so high you get a little neck cramp looking up at the chandelier that probably costs more than your tuition.

Ni-ki doesn't bother with the lights. He hits a switch near the door and the living room floods with warm overhead light, revealing a space that looks like something out of a magazine ; leather couches, a marble coffee table that's definitely never seen a coffee ring, floor-to-ceiling windows that face a backyard you've only seen once in the dark. Everything is clean.

He kicks off his shoes by the door and you do the same, lining your sneakers up next to his like a silent compromise between his mess and yours.

You're still shrugging off your jacket when he drops onto the massive sectional couch, sprawling across it like a cat going for a nap. His hoodie rides up slightly and you look away because looking at him in that way would feel criminal.

"So," he says, drawing the word out, and there's something in his voice that makes you pause mid-fold of your jacket. "We've done the bed. We've done the floor. We've done the kitchen counter that one time." He tilts his head against the cushion, eyes tracking you across the room. "What about the couch?"

You freeze with your jacket still in your hands.

There's a crease at the corner of his eye that gives him away. He's enjoying this ; the way your shoulders go stiff, the way you suddenly can't look at him directly. The couch is huge and leather and objectively fine, but something about the suggestion makes your face heat anyway. Maybe because it's different, maybe because it feels less like falling into bed and more like something you'd have to think about.

"Don't get shy now," he says, and his voice is lower, teasing but soft underneath. "You literally said yes before I finished asking last time."

"That was something else."

"How?"

You want to answer, but it's embarrassing. You're not shy about him, not really, not anymore. But the couch feels too exposed, too close to the windows, too close to the part of the house where someone could theoretically walk in even though no one ever does. It feels less like a decision and more like a dare.

You drape your jacket over the back of an armchair, stalling. "I'm not shy."

Ni-ki shifts, propping himself up on his elbow. His hair falls over his forehead and he looks annoyingly handsome like this, all loose limbs and lazy confidence. "Yeah? Then come here."

Three words. And your feet move before your brain catches up. He doesn't even have to beg, when he just says things like they've already happened and waits for you to catch up, knowing you will eventually.

You stop at the edge of the couch, looking down at him. He looks back up at you, and his expression softens a little.

"Or we can go upstairs," he says, and it's not a concession.

You hate how easy it is for him to make you feel seen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, close enough that your knee touches his thigh. "The couch is fine."

His eyebrow goes up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His hand finds your waist anyway, pulling you closer until you're half-draped across his chest, and the leather creaks beneath you both. His heart is steady under your palm but yours is not.

"Liar," he murmurs against your hair.

He's right. You are shy, and a really bad liar.

The walk up to his bedroom feels longer than it should, the anticipation is buzzing under your skin. You’re practically vibrating with nervous energy as Ni-ki unlocks the massive door and pushes it open. The room is dark and spacious, lit only by the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He immediately reaches for the hem of his oversized hoodie, yanking it over his head and tossing it carelessly onto the floor. The sight of his bare chest stops you in your tracks. You feel a sudden, overwhelming wave of shyness wash over you, your cheeks flushing hot as you avert your gaze, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.

"Why are you getting shy again?" Ni-ki asks, his voice low and amused as he steps closer, invading your personal space. He tilts his head, his eyes studying your face intently. "You’re not usually like this. What’s up?"

You look up at him, your voice barely a whisper. "Can we...go soft this time?" you ask, feeling vulnerable. He pauses, a glint of confusion crossing his face, but he nods slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Okay," he says, his voice dropping an octave lower. "I'll be soft."

He pulls you in by the waist, his hands warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension building between you. He presses you gently against the doorframe, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. His hands wander down your back, his fingers digging into your flesh, but you don't want to rush. You want to feel every inch of him, dragging this out.

You kiss him back, your tongues tangling together, a slow and deep exploration. His hands slide up your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands move to the waistband of your pants, his fingers teasing the button and zipper. You shiver as he undoes them, letting them pool around your ankles, and you step out of them, kicking them aside.

He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, the mattress sinking beneath you. He climbs on top of you, his weight pressing you into the sheets. He kisses you again, his lips moving from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, his tongue flicking over your sensitive skin. You arch your back, giving him more access, his hands exploring your body, mapping out every curve and dip.

He moves lower, his lips trailing down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He pulls them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He parts your legs, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You gasp, your hips bucking slightly as he touches you there.

He leans down and spreads your legs wider, his fingers sliding into you. He begins to finger you, his movements slow and pleasant, his fingers curling inside you, searching for that sweet spot. You moan his name, your hands gripping a pillow beside you. He adds a second finger, stretching you, his thumb rubbing against your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around his fingers.

He pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the loss. He looks up at you before bringing his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. "Sweet, huh?" he says, smiling, before moving up to kiss you again.

He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locking onto yours. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. You gasp, his eyes rolling back slightly as he stretches you. He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, the friction building between you. "Tell me if it hurts."

"It's okay." You barely could answer.

He begins to move. He watches your face, wanting to see every reaction you have to him. He kisses you deeply, the kiss matching the pace of his hips. The feeling of him filling you up is overwhelming, the sensation of being so full and stretched is intense.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, encouraging him to go faster, but he holds back, his pace steady and controlled. He wants to make this last. He focuses on the sensations, the heat between your bodies.

He pulls out slightly, then pushes back in, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans down and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan his name, the sound echoing in the room. He smiles against your skin, a small, satisfied smile, knowing he’s making you feel good.

He picks up the pace just a little, his thrusts becoming a little more urgent, but still slow. He wants to be inside you for as long as possible. The friction is delicious, sending sparks flying through your body. He kisses you again, his tongue tangling with yours, the taste of you driving him wild.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him. You look up at him, your eyes glazed with pleasure. "Ni-ki," you breathe out, your voice breathless and ragged. "I'm going to come," you whisper.

He nods, his eyes locking onto yours, and he keeps thrusting, his pace remaining steady, but he focuses on the spot that makes you see stars. You cry out his name as you unravel, your body clamping down on him. He follows moments later, his hips bucking against yours as he releases inside you, filling you completely.

He stays inside you for a long time, the silence of the room broken only by your ragged breathing. He leans down and kisses your forehead, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. "Fuck...that was good," he says, his voice quiet and tired.

He reaches for the bedside table and pulls out a small baggie and a lighter. He packs a bowl, taking a long drag, and then offers it to you.

You take a hit, your lungs filling with the smoke, and you cough slightly. He laughs, his chest vibrating against your back. He leans over you, blowing the smoke directly on your face. He pulls back, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Come closer," he whispers, his voice husky. He blows another cloud of smoke into your mouth, sealing it with a kiss. You feel the smoke swirl in your mouth and then pass it back to him, the taste of weed and mint mixing on your tongues.

"Ayy, that was kinda cool," he says, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb.

"Was it?" you ask, a smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah," he says, his eyes darkening. "You should come over more often."

You just smile, content and relaxed, feeling the weight of the day melting away.

The bedroom is a mess of tangled blankets and discarded clothes by the time you both settle into the quiet evening. The floor lamp in the corner casts everything in a golden glow, just enough to see the shape of his arm resting above his head, the way his chest rises and falls.

You're on your back, staring at the ceiling, your shirt thrown somewhere near the night table.

Ni-ki hasn't moved to touch you. His hand is draped off the edge of the bed, fingers grazing the floor, and he's looking at the wall with that blank expression that could mean anything or nothing.

You don't know why you ask it and the words just fall out.

"Have you ever thought about getting a girlfriend?"

It sounds almost too casual. You keep your eyes on the ceiling so you don't have to see his reaction.

For a moment he doesn't answer. Then you feel him shift beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as he props himself up on one elbow. When you glance over, he's looking down at you with something unreadable on his face.

"What kind of question is that?" he says.

You shrug with one shoulder. "Just wondering."

He's quiet again, and you think maybe he's going to ignore it, change the subject or reach for his phone like he usually does. He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, and runs a hand through his hair.

"There's this girl," he says, and your stomach drops. "She keeps calling me, texts me like three times a week. She wants to come over and fuck again."

You keep your face neutral. "And ?"

"And I don't really want to. She's kind of annoying, to be honest." He pauses, tilting his head like he's considering something. "But I might consider it. It kinda gets boring doing the same thing all the time."

The same thing. You. He means you.

Your jaw tenses and you look back at the ceiling because if you look at him right now, he'll see it ; the glint of something stupid. Jealousy. Over a girl you don't even know, over a guy who isn't yours and has never pretended to be.

You swallow it down. "So do it then," you say, and your voice comes out steady. "Not like we're exclusive."

"Exactly." He says it so easily.

There's a beat of silence. He shifts again, and you feel his gaze on your profile.

"What about you," he says. "You ever want a relationship? Like, one day."

The question catches you off guard. He's never asked you anything personal before. The closest he's gotten was asking if you wanted water that one time, and even that felt like an accident.

You should say yes. I mean you do want one. Just not with someone else. Maybe with him. But that's not what he's asking and you know it.

"No," you say, and the lie tastes bitter. "That's too much work."

He stares at you for a second longer before he drops back onto the mattress, arm going over his eyes. "Yeah," he says, voice muffled. "Same."

You lie there in the darkening room, his body warm next to yours but not touching, and you listen to the silence stretch.

He reaches for his phone on the floor and you reach for your shirt.

That's how it goes.

───

Friday afternoon, the sky is gray and it looks like it might rain but probably won't. You find yourself climbing the stairs to the rooftop before you've fully decided to go there. The pack of cigarettes in your pocket feels like an excuse, but it's the only one you have.

The door creaks when you push it open, and the air hits you instantly, a little damp, carrying the distant sound of traffic from the main road. You step out onto the gravel, lighter already in your hand.

Ni-ki is already there, leaning against the railing at the edge of the roof, the same spot where you first met him 8 months ago. His back is to you, shoulders hunched, a thin curl of smoke rising from between his fingers. He doesn't turn around when the door closes behind you. Either he didn't hear or he doesn't care.

For a second you think about leaving, turning around and going back down the stairs, pretending you never came up here. But your feet don't move, and neither does he, so you walk over to the opposite side of the railing and lean against it a few feet away.

You pull out a cigarette, light it and take a drag. The smoke burns on the way down.

Neither of you speaks for a long minute. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair, and he finally glances sideways at you. His eyes look tired, you already know he hasn't been sleeping at all.

"You smoke too much," he says, not even greeting you.

"So do you."

He huffs something that might be a laugh but it's hollow. He turns back to look at the skyline, the cluster of buildings and trees and the far-off blur of the highway. His jaw is tight, you could see it.

You should leave it alone. That's the agreement ; you don't do feelings, you don't do problems, you just do each other's bodies and then go home. But something about how his shoulders are set like he's holding something heavy, makes the words come out anyway.

"You okay?"

He takes a long drag, holds it and exhales. The smoke gets carried away by the wind.

"My parents," he says finally, and his voice is flat. "They want to cut me off."

You wait. He doesn't elaborate so you push. "Cut you off from what?"

"Everything." He flicks ash onto the gravel. "Money. My car. My card. All of it." A pause. "They say I've been doing bad things with it. That I'm out of control."

You can guess ; the late nights, the people he knows, the way his eyes look red sometimes when he picks you up. You've never asked before,it never felt like your place.

"So what are you going to do?" you say.

He looks at you then and there's something sharp in his expression. "What am I supposed to do? Get a job that I don't even like? Work at a café like a normal person?" He says it like the words taste bad.

You take a drag, thinking. "Maybe you could talk to them. Explain that—"

"I'm not explaining anything." His voice is harder now. "They don't listen. They never have. They just throw money at problems and then get mad when the problems don't magically disappear."

"Okay, but if they take the car, how are you going to—"

"I don't know." He cuts you off, pushing off from the railing and turning to face you fully. His cigarette is burning down between his fingers.

You take another drag. "You could...I don't know, sell some stuff? Or try to— "

"You don't get it."

His voice cuts through yours sharper than you expected. You turn to look at him. He's still facing forward, but his shoulders are tense now, his hand gripping the edge of the railing.

"I'm not saying I get it," you say carefully. "I'm just trying to help."

"Help." He says the word like an offense. "You can't help. You don't know what it's like to have everything and then have it pulled away. To have people look at you like you're just a spoiled kid who fucks up and that's all you'll ever be." His eyes are darker than usual. "You don't come from that. You don't understand."

It stings. Not because he's wrong about your background, he's not, you've never hidden that you're on scholarships and financial aid but because he's shutting you out in that particular way he does, it makes you feel like you're on the other side of a wall you can't climb.

"I'm not trying to fix it," you say, quieter now. "I just care. That's all."

He stares at you for a long second. His expression flickers, something almost vulnerable, almost soft, and then it's totally gone.

"Care," he repeats. "We're not close, Y/N. We fuck and that's it. You don't have to pretend like there's more, you know?."

He pauses. "I know what you're trying to do." His voice drops. "But you can't. You don't have parents like mine. You don't have...you live in a normal apartment and you worry about normal things. I can't just 'talk to them.' I can't just 'figure it out.' It's not the same."

Your chest tightens, you want to argue, you want to tell him about the hair clip, about the hundred small things that felt like something when you knew it didn't at all.

But you don't. Because he's right, isn't he? That's what you agreed to.

He drops his cigarette, grinds it out under his shoe, and stands. He doesn't look at you again.

You open your mouth to say something but he's already stepping back, dropping his cigarette to the gravel and grinding it out with his shoe.

"Forget it," he says. "I shouldn't have said anything."

He walks past you. The rooftop door creaks open, then shut.

You're alone.

The cigarette in your hand has burned down to the filter. You drop it, watch the last wisp of smoke rise up into the gray sky, and you don't follow him.

That's not your role and it never was.

───

The sand is hot enough to burn your feet by the time you and Jess find a spot near the water. You spread your towels out, anchor them with bags and a half empty bottle of sunscreen, and Jess immediately starts complaining about the seagulls.

"It's fine," you say, pulling your shirt over your head. "They're not gonna attack you."

"You don't know that."

You're about to respond when a volleyball smacks into the sand a few feet away from your towel. Jess jumps in surprise and you look up.

Jay is jogging toward you, already laughing, hand raised in apology. Behind him, Jake is doubled over for some reason, Jungwon is heading towards the shores, and further back, near the water, Ni-ki is standing with his hands in his shorts pockets, watching the horizon.

"Sorry," Jay says, grabbing the ball. "Jake's aim is ass today."

"Jake's aim is always ass," Jess says with a smile. She's known Jay since high school, and some habits don't fade.

Jay waves toward the others. "You guys wanna hang out? We've got a net set up. Well, Jake found a net. We're not sure where it came from though."

You glance at Jess and she shrugs.

"Yeah, okay," you say.

Walking over feels like walking into something you're not prepared for. The sand is soft, slipping under your feet with every step. Jake waves when he sees you. Jungwon is already in the water up to his knees, ignoring everyone. And Ni-ki is standing slightly apart from the group, not looking at you, which is fine because you're not looking at him either.

You haven't talked since yesterday at the rooftop, since he left you there with your cigarette burning down to nothing.

So you don't look at him and he doesn't look at you.

"We should play," Jake says, grabbing the ball from Jay. "Let’s make teams. Y/N, you're with me."

"You're gonna lose," Jess says.

"Bold talk from someone who hasn't touched a volleyball since middle school."

Jess flips him off.

The game is messy, no one really knows the rules except Jay, who keeps trying to enforce them, and Jungwon who doesn't care. You're next to Jake, which means you're laughing more than you're playing because he keeps making stupid comments every time he misses the ball.

"That was on purpose," he says after a ball flies past his head.

"Sure it was."

"I was just testing your reflexes."

You roll your eyes and serve. The ball actually goes over the net, it feels like a miracle. Ni-ki is on the other side, you realize. He misses it and watches it land in the sand next to him.

Jake whoops. "Good job Y/N."

The game ends when someone (no one knows who) decides it's over. Jess is already walking toward the water, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. Jay follows her.

"Race you," Jake says, and he's already running before you can answer.

You run after him because you're competitive, and the water is cold when it hits your shin, colder when you fall forward trying to dodge a wave. Jake is laughing at you, so you push water at his face.

You two have a full on play fight right there in the shallows, splashing, shoving, Jake grabbing your wrist to spin you around. He's stronger than he looks, but he's also not holding that hard, so you manage to shove him back once, twice. His foot slips on a rock and he goes down, half sitting in the water, still laughing.

"Oh you're so dead," he says.

"You already are."

He lunges for your ankle and you stumble, catching yourself on his shoulder. For a second you're both just standing there, out of breath, water dripping down your faces.

Jake is still loosely holding your wrist.

"You fight dirty," he says.

"Just admit you're slow."

He laughs and lets go, wading deeper, already turning to find Jay.

You look toward the shore without meaning to. Ni-ki is standing at the edge of the water, watching the whole scene. His arms are crossed. His expression is blank.

You hold his gaze for a second but he looks away first.

Jess appears next to you, hair soaked and grinning. "Jake's gonna ask you out by the end of the summer. Watch it."

"He's not."

"Did you see the way he looked at you the whole time ?."

"It was a play fight."

Jess gives you a look. "Sure. And Ni-ki is definitely not standing over there looking like he wants to punch someone."

You glance back at the shore. Ni-ki is walking toward the towels, not toward the water. His steps are quick.

"Hey," Jay calls out. "You’re getting in or what?"

Ni-ki doesn't stop. "Got stuff to do."

"We’re at the beach. What stuff?"

He doesn't answer and grabs his shirt from his bag, shakes the sand off, and starts walking toward the parking lot.

Jake watches him go, frowning. "What's his deal?"

No one answers. Jay looks at you.

"I'm gonna go get some water," you say, because you don't know what else to say.

Jess grabs your arm before you can move. "Don't."

"What?"

"You're gonna chase after him. I can see it on your face. And he's just gonna say something shitty and you're gonna feel worse."

You pull your arm back. "I'm not going to chase after him."

"Okay."

"I'm not."

She holds her hands up. "Okay."

You stand in the water, salt drying on your skin, and watch the spot where his car was parked until the space is empty. Jess is right. You'd only feel worse, but it doesn’t matter since you already do.

───

The door to your apartment clicks shut behind you and you drop your beach bag on the floor, sand already spilling out onto the tiles. Your shoulders are pink from the sun, your hair still damp and tangled with salt, and all you want is a cold shower and an unhealthy amount of time of scrolling on your phone.

You plug your phone in first because it died somewhere between the volleyball game and the drive home. The screen lights up after a few seconds, and you blink at the notification.

13 missed calls.

All from the same number. It’s unknown.

Your first thought is spam. Your second thought is a wrong number. Your third thought, the one you don't want to acknowledge, is him.

You hesitate for a moment, thumb hovering over the call button, you press “call”.

The line rings four time before going to voicemail. A generic automated voice telling you to leave a message. You hang up without saying anything.

You're about to toss the phone onto your bed when it rings again. The same number. You answer. For a few seconds, no one speaks. There's just a slow and uneven breathing, and something in the background that sounds like a TV.

"Hello?" you say.

Still nothing, so you decide to assume that it’s him.

"I know it's you," you say. "You called me thirteen times. You can at least say something."

A pause and you hear his voice, low and slurred around the edges. "Hey."

Ni-ki.

You close your eyes and lean against your bedroom wall. "You okay?"

"Define okay."

"You're high."

"I guess so."

You can hear him exhale, long and slow, probably smoke. It’s definitely weed. His words are sticky, running into each other like he's thinking too hard about each one before it leaves his mouth.

"I didn't like it," he says suddenly. "Today. At the beach."

Your chest tightens. "Didn't like what?"

"You know what. The way you were with Jake. All close and laughing and..." He trails off, and you hear him take another drag. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I don't care. You do whatever you want."

"You just said you didn't like it."

"I said it doesn't matter."

The line goes quiet for a moment. You can picture him ; probably sprawled on that massive leather couch in his empty living room, the high ceilings and the chandelier that cost at least a kidney. One hand holding the phone, the other holding whatever he's smoking. His eyes half-closed, looking like a hot disaster.

"I really need you right now," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word.

Your heart does a flip.

"That's not fair," you say quietly.

"I’m sorry."

"You can't just call me when you're high and say stuff like that."

"I know."

Silence. The sound of the TV in the background on his end. You can hear your own breathing.

"Can you come over?" he asks, and he sounds smaller than you've ever heard him. Needy like he never lets himself be. "Please."

You could’ve say no, tell him to sleep it off and call you in the morning when he's sober and less likely to say things he'll pretend didn't happen. You have to protect yourself for once.

And here you are, already grabbing your keys.

───

The drive takes twenty minutes. His house is dark when you pull into the driveway, the only light coming from somewhere deeper inside. The front door is unlocked as it always is, and you let yourself in, kicking off your sandals by the entryway.

The living room is a mess. Everything is scattered. There’s a blanket on the floor, empty glasses on the coffee table and his hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. And there he is, slouched in the corner of the sectional, phone on the cushion beside him, a half smoked joint balanced on the edge of an ashtray.

His eyes are red and his hair is a mess. He looks up at you when you walk in and something in his expression changes. It’s relief, you might think.

"There’s no way you really came," he says like he's surprised.

"You called me thirteen times."

"Right."

You drop your bag by the door and walk over to him. The coffee table has a pitcher of water and some takeout containers from somewhere you don't recognize. You push them aside and sit on the edge of the couch, facing him.

"You're an asshole," you say.

"Yeah."

"Like, genuinely an asshole."

He's not arguing back so that's how you know he's really high.

You reach out and take the joint from the ashtray, stubbing it out even though there's still some left. He watches your hands, your fingers, the way you're sitting close enough that your knee almost touches his.

"When did you eat last?" you ask.

He blinks at you like the question requires calculus. "I don't know. Lunch?"

"It's almost ten."

"Oh."

You sigh and stand up, heading toward the kitchen. His kitchen is massive and spotless and useless because he barely uses it. You find bread, peanut butter, a banana that's not too brown. You make him a sandwich without asking if he wants one because he's not in a state to make good decisions. When you come back, he hasn't moved an inch. You hand him the plate and he stares at it for a second before taking it.

"Eat," you say.

"You're bossy when you're annoyed."

"I'm always annoyed. You just don't notice."

He takes a bite, chews and swallows. His eyes stay on you the whole time.

You sit back down, closer this time, and you watch him eat until half the sandwich is gone. You take the plate away and set it on the coffee table.

"Water," you say, pouring a glass from the pitcher. You hand it to him and he drinks. When he's done, he sets the glass down and leans his head back against the couch, eyes closed. His breathing is slower now.

"You didn't have to come, you know." he says.

"You asked me to."

"Yeah. But you didn't have to."

You look at him ; the dark circles, the dried salt on his skin from the beach he barely touched, the way his hands are trembling just slightly. He's a mess. He's always been a mess, yet he's sitting here, in this big empty house, and he called you. Amongst everyone he knew, he called you.

"Yeah, well," you say quietly. "I'm here anyway so..."

He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at you. His gaze is heavy and unfocused.

"You're gonna stay?" he asks. "For a bit?"

You have to go home, because you have class tomorrow. Your hair is still damp from the ocean and you're tired and you know that staying will only make things more complicated.

"Yeah," you say. "For a bit."

He shifts on the couch, making room, and you take the hint. You sit next to him, close enough that your shoulder presses against his arm, and he doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

After a few minutes, his head drops onto your shoulder. His breathing evens out. He's not asleep, heavy and warm against you.

You stare at the dark windows, the empty room, the ghost of smoke curling from the ashtray.

This isn't going to fix anything. You know that and he knows that. But for now, he's not pushing you away, so everything feels fine.

The high wears off slowly. You notice that his breathing changes, it’s less shallow and more present. His fingers stop trembling too. His head lifts from your shoulder and he blinks at the room like he's seeing it for the first time.

He's still loose, still soft around the edges, but he's coming back to himself. You can feel it.

"You okay?" you ask.

He nods, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Yeah. Starting to feel human again."

"Good."

A silence settles between you, he turns his head, looking at you with those half-lidded eyes, and his voice is quieter when he speaks. "Did you shower yet? After the beach?"

You glance down at yourself. Your skin still has salt residue, your hair is stiff with dried seawater. "No. I came straight here."

He's quiet for a moment. "We could take a bath."

You look at him. His expression isn't teasing like usual, and it’s almost soft.

"A bath ?" you repeat.

"Uh yeah. The tub's big enough." There’s a pause. "We don't have to do anything. I just—I don't want to be alone right now."

That's the most honest thing he's said all night.

You nod. "Okay."

───

Even if you were already used to every corner of his house, you’d never get over how huge his bathroom is. Marble floors, a tub that could fit three people, candles on the counter that he never lights. He runs the water while you sit on the edge of the sink, watching him test the temperature with his wrist.

He's still in his beach clothes ; shorts, a loose t-shirt and a silver chain with a cross that he never takes off. You're in your bikini top and the oversized button-up you threw on over it.

When the tub is full, he turns off the water and looks at you. "You first."

You slide off the sink and step toward the tub, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel even though you've done much more than this with him. You take off your button-up and step out of your shorts, leaving your bikini on the floor. He does the same ; he pulls his shirt over his head, kicks off his shorts and his boxers.

The water is warm, almost too warm, and you sink into it with a sigh. The salt washes off your skin immediately, and you can feel your muscles relaxing. He gets in behind you, settling against the end of the tub, his legs on either side of yours.

For a minute, neither of you speaks. The water ripples softly. A candle flickers, he must have lit it while you weren't looking. You can feel him shifting, moving closer, and his arms come around your waist from behind. He pulls you back against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You freeze for half a second. He's never done this before. The fact of having this kind of moment with him doesn’t even feel real to you. You two have been intimate in so many ways but never like this.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs, breath warm against your neck.

"Yeah," you whisper. "It's okay."

His arms tighten slightly, holding you a little closer. You lean your head back against his shoulder and close your eyes.

This is new and terrifying. This is everything you've wanted without letting yourself admit it, but you know that things like that don’t really last. So you have to accept it.

───

The water starts to cool after a while, his thumb is tracing shapes on your stomach, absent-minded.

You think about what brought you here and how he sounded so small when he said he needed you.

"Ni-ki," you say quietly.

"Mm?"

You hesitate. You don't want to ruin whatever this is. But it's been sitting in your chest since all the times you've watched him disappear into himself.

"Those friends of yours that you mentioned before," you say. "The ones who got you into this stuff."

His hand stops moving.

"I'm not trying to start a fight," you add quickly. "I’m just worrying about you. You said they owe you money…And they're always pushing you to do more."

He's quiet for a long moment.

"They're not in my life anymore," he says finally.

You turn your head slightly, trying to see his face. "What?"

"I cut them off, like, a few weeks ago." His voice is steady and clearer. "They weren't friends. They just wanted someone to pay for everything and someone to get high with. I got tired of it."

You don't know what to say. He's never told you this or anything.

"Why didn't you say something?" you ask.

He shrugs, the movement rippling the water. "Didn't seem important."

"Not important? Ni-ki, they were using you."

"I know but," He presses his cheek against your hair. "That's why I stopped answering their calls. They'll figure it out."

You turn in his arms so you're facing him, knees on either side of his hips, water sloshing against the edges of the tub. His face is inches from yours. You can see that his eyes are tired.

"And the money they owe you?" you ask.

"It's just money." He says it like it means nothing. Or maybe to him, it doesn't. "I'd rather lose that than keep pretending they gave a shit about me."

Your hands find his shoulders, thumbs brushing over his collarbones and he lets you touch him.

"You're not going to fall back into that?" you ask. "When things get hard again?"

He looks at you for a long time.

"No," he says. "You’re here anyway. Everything feels different."

Your heart cracks a little.

"You can't rely on me to fix you," you force yourself to say, because you have to say it, you've seen too many people drown trying to save someone else.

"Y/N," He cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I'm not asking you to fix me. I…I don't want to be alone anymore. It scares me more than you think."

The water is barely warm now. Your knees are starting to ache from the position.

"Okay," you whisper.

He smiles at you softly, and you nearly thought it meant something.

"We should get out," he says. "The water's cold."

"Yeah."

He pulls the plug and grabs a towel from the rack, wrapping it around your shoulders before his own. You step out of the tub together, dripping on the marble floor.

───

7:12 AM and your phone is rattling against the wood of your nighstand like it's trying to wake the dead. You grope for it blindly, eyes half-open and your brain still somewhere in a dream you can't even remember.

Ni-ki's name on the screen.

You answer. "Hello?"

"You sound like shit." His voice is rough like he hasn't slept either.

"Thanks. It's fucking seven in the morning."

"Well, no shit. Get dressed, I'm picking you up in twenty."

You sit up, rubbing your face. The memories from two nights ago flicker through your mind ; the bath, his arms around you. You brush it off as soon as the reality catches you.

You push it all down. "For what?"

"Does it matter?"

You're too tired to fight back. And a part of you, the stupid part, just wants to see his face.

"Fine," you say. "Twenty minutes."

He hangs up with no goodbye. Of course.

You throw on jeans and a sweater, brush your teeth. When you hear the engine outside, low and guttural, you grab your bag and head out. It's not the black Camaro. It's a Mustang GT ; sleek, black, newer than anything you've ever sat in. He's leaning against the driver's door, arms crossed, wearing a leather jacket and that same blank expression.

"New car?" you ask.

"Yeah, got bored of the old one." He opens the passenger door for you. "Get in."

The interior smells new and fresh. You buckle up as he slides into the driver's seat and pulls away from the curb without checking his blind spot. Some things never change. The city is waking up around you, coffee shops opening, joggers on the sidewalk.

You watch his profile, observing the sharp line of his jaw and his thumbs tap against the steering wheel like he usually does everytime he drives.

"You're staring," he says without looking at you.

" Am I not allowed ?"

He doesn't respond to that.

You take a breath. "Ni-ki."

"What."

"Why are you so cold sometimes?"

The question hangs in the air between you. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel before he relaxes.

"You think I'm cold?" he asks.

"Sometimes. You disappear, you push me away and...you say things you don't mean or you don't say anything at all." You're watching his face, looking for a crack. "I just want to know why."

He stays quiet for a long moment. The car slows at a red light and he finally glances at you. His eyes are tired again, that's how you know he smoked on the drive over.

Unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitches.

"You're cute when you're curious," he says.

"That's not an answer."

"Well," The light turns green, he accelerates. "I'll work on it."

───

The mall is mostly empty this early. A few senior citizens walking laps around the food court, some moms with strollers, employees unlocking gates. Ni-ki walks next to you, hands in his pockets. His presence is heavy but not uncomfortable. You wander past stores without really looking until one catches your eye ; a vintage thrift shop, the expensive kind with every luxury brands where clothes are curated and priced like art pieces.

You step inside more out of curiosity than intention. The racks are organized by color, the lighting warm, and there's a section in the back with dresses probably worn by celebrities considaring their prices.

Your fingers trail over the fabric ; silk, lace, velvet. One of them catches your eyes. A black dress, slip style but not cheap. It makes you think of old Hollywood movies and rooftop parties in the 60s. The price tag is tucked inside, and when you pull it out you actually laugh.

"300 dollars," you say, turning to Ni-ki. "For a thrifted dress."

He's standing a few feet away, watching you with a neutral expression. "Do you want it?"

"I want a lot of things I can't afford."

"That's not what I asked."

You look back at the dress, running your fingers over the fabric again. "It's gorgeous. But no. It's stupid to spend that much."

He pulls the dress off the rack and walks toward the counter without saying a word.

"Ni-ki. What are you doing?"

"Buying the dress."

"No. Ni-ki, come b─."

He ignores you, pulling out his wallet. The cashier, a girl with pink hair, looks between the two of you with mild amusement.

"Sir, would you like a bag?"

"Yes."

"Ni-ki, I'm serious." You grab his arm, but he doesn't stop. "You can't just buy me things like this."

He turns to look at you, and his face is softer than you expected. "Why not?"

"Because—" You don't even exactly know why. Maybe because it's too much or because it looks like it means something. He nods toward the rack, toward a deep red dress you didn't even realize you touched earlier. "You looked at that one first," he says. "I saw you run your fingers over it before you picked up the black one."

You blink. "You noticed that?"

"You touched it for like five seconds. I have to buy it now."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Too bad then." He tells the cashier to add the red dress too. She does, wrapping both in tissue paper.

You stand there, mouth slightly open, watching him pay nearly six hundred dollars for two dresses you never asked for.

"Try them on," he says, handing you the bag. "If you don't like them, we'll return them."

You stare at him and he stares back.

"Fine," you mutter, grabbing the bag and heading toward the fitting room.

The room is small, with a full-length mirror and a velvet stool. You pull off your jeans and sweater and slide the black dress over your head. It falls perfectly, hitting just above the knee, hugging your waist, the fabric cool against your skin. You turn in the mirror, and for a second, you don't recognize yourself.

You step out of the fitting room.

Ni-ki is leaning against the wall across from the door, phone in hand. His eyes lift to you, and something shifts in his face. His jaw goes slack for just a moment.

"Well?" you ask, suddenly self conscious.

He looks at you ; up and down, slow, like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

"You look," he starts then suddenly pauses. "It's fine."

"Just fine?"

He pushes off the wall and walks toward you, close enough that you have to tilt your head up to see his face.

"I should return it," he says, there's a teasing edge to his voice now.

"Why?"

"I don't really feel like fighting someone today."

Your face heats. "Shut up."

"I'm dead serious."

"Stop acting like that."

He almost smiles. "Keep the dress. Both of them."

───

The park is small, tucked between a residential street and a community garden. You're sitting on a bench near the pond, ice cream cones in hand ; his is chocolate, yours is strawberry. The sun is higher now, warm enough to make you take off your sweater.

He eats his ice cream in silence, staring at the water. You watch a duck paddle in circles.

"So," he says, not looking at you. "You and Jake seem close."

Your spoon pauses halfway to your mouth. "We're friends."

"Friends." He says lowly. "You were pretty cozy at the beach. I mean, sharing towels...wrestling in the water, all of that."

You narrow your eyes. "Are you jealous?"

He scoffs. "No."

"You're deflecting."

"I can't be observant ?" He casually takes a bite of his ice cream. "Just saying. He's around a lot."

"He's your friend too."

"Yeah, but he doesn't look at me the way he looks at you."

"Nothing's going on with Jake," you say finally.

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter. You do what you want."

There it is again ; that same line he always falls back on. He's always trying to make it sound normal but it comes out like a permission, you're always feeling like it's a test he's making you take.

"I don't want anything with Jake," you say. "I want—" You stop yourself.

He looks at you, waiting for you to continue.

You look away. "Never mind."

The ice cream drips onto your fingers.

"You have ice cream," he says.

"Where?"

He leans in.

His lips are cold from the chocolate, but his tongue is warm when it swipes across the corner of your mouth. You freeze, and you find him kissing you, deep and slow, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. It's not the kind of kiss you share in public, so obviously it surprises you.

When he pulls back, you're breathless. You can feel your face burning.

"What was that for?" you manage.

He shrugs, excluding the fact that his ears are pink. "You had ice cream on your mouth."

"That's not a fucking way to wipe off ice cream."

"It is now."

You stare at him and he stares back, expression carefully neutral, nethertheless you can see the cracks. His fingers are still resting on your neck and he's not pulling away.

"You're such a jerk," you whisper.

"Yeah," he says. "Might get strawberry next time."

You shove him in the chest in embarassement, which made him chuckle slightly.

All of this is not making you think about unanswered calls, the days where he decides to be insanely cold or whether he's going to push you away again. So you try to enjoy it as much as you can.

The sun has dropped behind the trees. The bench has gone from comfortable to uncomfortable about an hour ago. Your tailbone is starting to ache and you've shifted positions at least six times, each time less effective than the last.

"I'm bored," you announce.

Ni-ki glances at you from the other end of the bench, one arm stretched along the back, his ice cream cone long gone. "You're always bored."

"Come on, it's been an hour since we sat here."

He watches you with a half-lidded expression. You stand up and brush off the back of your jeans. "There's a playground over there. Let's go."

"A playground." He says flatly, unimpressed by your idea.

"Yeah. You know...swings, slides, kids stuff. Don't tell me you're too cool for swings."

He doesn't agree yet he stands up anyway.

The playground is maybe fifty meters from the bench, a small fenced area with wood chips instead of sand, a plastic slide that's seen better days, and a set of swings hanging from a metal frame. The chains squeak slightly when the wind blows.

You make a beeline for the swings, feet crunching on the wood chips, and plant yourself on the closest one. The rubber seat is cold through your jeans. You grip the chains and kick off just a little.

"Push me," you say, looking back at him.

He's standing at the edge of the wood chips, hands in his pockets, watching you like you from afar. "Push yourself, you're not a kid."

"That's not the point."

He sighs ; a theatrical and put-upon sound ; but he walks over anyway. He positions himself behind you, hands hovering near your lower back for a moment before he gives a firm shove. The swing arcs forward, the chains rattling, and you let out a small laugh. The air rushes past your face. Behind you, he pushes again, harder this time.

"You know," he says, voice carrying over the squeak of the chains, "I've seen this before. Like in a movie. A guy pushes a girl on the swing. Very romantic."

"It's not that romantic. Trust."

"Mm." There's another push. "In the movie, they usually end up doing it in the bushes after."

You kick your feet out, trying to go higher. "What ?"

"You heard it right."

"You're disgusting."

"You're the one who wanted to come here."

He pushes one more time before he steps back. The swing slows gradually, the arc shrinking until you're just swaying. He walks around and sits down on the swing beside you, the chains groaning under his weight. He's taller than you so his legs stretch out longer, boots dragging in the wood chips.

"Be careful," he says, watching you swing forward again. "You're gonna flip over the bar."

"I'm not even that high."

"You could be."

"You worry too much."

He shakes his head. "I just don't want you to stain my new car if you get yourself hurt."

You push off again, swinging higher this time, the chains straining. The wind whistles past your ears. For a second you feel like you could lift right off the seat and keep going.

"See?" you call out. "I'm fine."

"You're gonna eat shit."

"I don't care."

It's a challenge and he hears it. You see him tense from the corner of your eye. You can feel that he's off his swing, boots crunching toward you, and before you can swing back again, his hands are on your waist.

He catches you mid-arc, steadying you, slowing the momentum. His fingers press into your sides through your sweater. The swing creaks to a halt, your feet finding the wood chips, his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating through his leather jacket.

"I know you care," he says quietly. "You just pretend you don't."

You're looking up at him, your hands still on the chains and his on your waist. The sky is almost dark now and a single light on the playground flickers to life somewhere behind him.

"I don't know," you say. "Maybe I learned from the best."

His thumbs press into your waist, just slightly. Something in his face softens.

"Come on," he says, letting go and stepping back. "It's getting dark."

He doesn't wait for you, already walking toward the path, hands back in his pockets, back to his usual distance.

You watch him for a second, then push off the swing one last time, just to feel the air rush past.

He stops and looks back at you. "Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah," you say, hopping off the swing. "I'm coming."

───

One week after, and he disappeared again without a single text, like he always did, but this time it hurt more than usual. It would've hurt less if you haven't hang out with him like there was a title for what you were for each other. But here you are. The lecture hall is half-empty because it's Friday and no one wants to be here, including the professor. You're slouched in your seat while Jess doodles in the margin of her notebook. The guy in front of you is watching YouTube on his laptop with the brightness all the way down. No one seems to care today.

Your phone buzzes against the desk. You glance at the screen. ‘Ni-ki’

Ni-ki [10:22 AM]

going out of town for the weekend

you can fuck anyone u want

don’t wait for me.

You stare at it for a while. You don't know what to say because there's nothing to say. Why is he giving you permission for something you never asked permission for ?

Jess notices your face. "What?"

You turn the phone toward her. She reads it, and her expression shifts from curious to annoyed.

"That's weird," she says quietly.

"Yeah."

"He found another chick, maybe." She chuckled before going back to her doodles.

You lock the phone and set it face-down on the desk. The rest of the lecture drags and sit there, replaying the message in your head, trying to figure out what it actually means.

───

After class, you wait until you're outside, standing under the covered walkway where the smokers hang out. Jess lingers nearby, pretending to check her phone but definitely listening.

You call him.

It rings four times. You think he's going to ignore it, but then he picks up.

"Hey." His voice is flat, sounding like he’s distracted.

"Ni-ki." You grip your phone tighter. "What was that message?"

"What message."

"The one about me fucking whoever I want."

You hear him exhale ; he’s smoking a cigarette. "Just saying. You have options."

"I don't want options."

He's quiet for a second. "Why not?"

The question catches you off guard. You expected him to brush it off, to say it was nothing, to change the subject but not this.

"Because I don't," you say. "I'd rather not, with anyone else."

Another exhale, his voice lower now. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." You already know it's not nothing. The tone he takes when he says it ; clipped and distant, it sounds like he’s already out of the conversation.

You lean against the brick wall, watching people stream past with their coffee cups and backpacks. Jess catches your eye and you shake your head slightly.

"Ni-ki," you say, " What's happening ? You've been distant again for a whole week without texting me once, even after you said that you would work on it. Are you fucking someone else ?"

He doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches, and you can hear the faint sound of traffic wherever he is, maybe already driving out of town.

"That's not it," he says finally.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know." His voice cracks a little. "I’m—I don't know what this is…and I don't know why you keep showing up when I keep being an asshole."

You close your eyes. "Could be that I like assholes."

"You really shouldn't."

"Yeah but that's not your call."

He laughs in frustration. "See? That's the problem. You don't let me push you away. You just keep coming back and I don't know how to handle that."

Your chest aches. "So you're leaving for the weekend because you can't handle me staying?"

"I'm leaving for the weekend because my dad wants to have a conversation about my future and I need to get it over with." He pauses. "The text was...I don't know. A test."

"A test for what?"

"To see if you'd get mad."

"Did I pass?"

"You got mad. So yes." He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in it. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to not be that guy who sends impulsive texts and pushes people away."

You slide down the wall until you're sitting on the concrete, knees pulled up to your chest. Jess sits down next to you without saying anything, her shoulder warm against yours.

"Just go see your dad," you say. "Text me when you get back."

"You're not going to fuck anyone else?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because I need to hear you say it."

You swallow. The words feel too heavy. You say them anyway.

"I don't want anyone else. Just you. Even when you're being an asshole."

Long silence. "Okay. Love you."

"Wait wha—"

He hangs up. And you sit there on the sidewalk with Jess, phone in your lap, trying to process what he just said. You know it’s going to hurt as he doesn’t want you to stay. He’s an asshole and you’re aware of it. But you can’t help but see the broken person he is, wanting to take care of him and give him everything he needs.

───

You've been staring at it for an hour now, counting the seconds between the creaks of the old building settling. The clock on your nightstand says 11:47 PM, then 11:58, then 12:03.

Sunday night. He was supposed to be back by now. He didn't say when exactly, but Thursday to Sunday felt like a window that's already closed.

You checked your phone maybe 40 times since Friday, but no messages nor calls. You're stuck on the same text thread sitting there, his last words about fucking whoever you want that you haven't responded.

Your eyes are heavy but your brain won't shut up. You turn onto your side, then onto your back, then onto your stomach. Everything is wrong.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand and you grab it before the second vibration.

Jake's name.

You don't talk to Jake often, maybe a few times in group chats. He's not the type to call you at midnight for no reason.

You answer. "Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N." His voice is different. "Sorry to call so late. You heard from Ni-ki?"

Your stomach drops. "No. Why?"

A pause on his end. You can hear him exhale. "He left Thursday, right? He said he was going to see his dad and was supposed to be back Saturday. It's Sunday now and no one's heard from him. Not me, not Jay, not even Jungwon. His phone's going straight to voicemail."

You sit up, your heart pounding. "Have you tried calling his house?"

"Yeah. No answer. I don't have the landline or whatever. I just have his cell."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, already standing. "Okay. Let me try something."

"You think he's okay?"

"I don't know." You're pulling on a hoodie, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder. "I'll call you back."

"Alright. Be careful."

You hang up and immediately dial Ni-ki's number. It rings once, twice, three times. Then voicemail. You call again. It goes straight to voicemail this time. Not even a single ring.

You try one more time but nothing.

The clock says 12:15 now. You stare at your reflection in the dark window. Your own face looks back, pale and anxious.

You text him.

You [12:16 AM]

Hey

Jake said you're not back

Call me when you get this.

Then you lie back down, but you don't sleep.

───

It's Monday morning. You skipped your first class, you could afford to miss.

You take the bus. You don't know why you bother with the bus when he's not there to pick you up, but walking would take an hour and you don't have the patience for that

The house looks the same as always. Big and quiet. The gate is closed but not locked. You push it open and walk up the driveway, the gravel crunching under your sneakers.

You ring the doorbell. The door opens, but not by much. An older man stands there, maybe in his sixties, wearing a simple button-up shirt. You've seen him before, once, maybe twice, always in the background. The butler, you guess or the house manager, something like that.

"Can I help you?" His voice is polite but guarded.

"I'm looking for Ni-ki. His friends haven't heard from him since Thursday." You try to keep your voice steady. "Is he here?"

The butler hesitates. His eyes scan your face, probably deciding if you're worth talking to.

"Mr. Riki is not currently at the residence," he says.

"When will he be back?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

You feel frustration building in your chest. "Is he okay? Did something happen with his dad?"

The man's expression doesn't change. "I'm afraid I can't discuss the family's private matters."

"Please." Your voice cracks. "I'm not some random person. I'm his...I'm a friend. He's not answering his phone. We're all worried."

The butler looks at you in slience. He then glances over his shoulder, into the dark hallway behind him, before stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door mostly shut behind him.

"He left for his father's estate on Thursday afternoon," the man says quietly like he's not supposed to be telling you this. "There was a scheduled meeting regarding his future. Finances, education, that sort of thing." He pauses. "I have not seen him since. The family's driver returned alone on Saturday."

Your heart drops. "Alone? Where is he?"

"I don't know. I wasn't told." His voice softens slightly. "If you're a friend of his, I would suggest waiting. He tends to...disappear, when things get difficult."

That's totally the opposite reassuring.

"Can you at least tell him I came by?" you ask. "Y/N. He has my number."

The butler nods once. "I'll relay the message."

He steps back inside and closes the door. You stand on the porch for a minute, staring at the wood grain, your hands shaking. Afterwards you turn and walk back down the driveway, gravel biting through the soles of your shoes.

You call Jake on the way to the bus stop. He picks up immediately.

"Anything?" he asks.

"No. He's not there. The butler said the driver came back alone on Saturday." You swallow. "No one knows where he is."

Jake is quiet for a second. "That's not like him."

You want to say that you don't know what's like him anymore. That every time you think you understand, he does something else.

"Yeah," you say instead. "I know."

The bus pulls up. You get on, find a seat by the window, and watch the big house shrink behind you until it's just a smudge in the distance.

───

The best you could was getting to Jess's apartment. You've been sitting on her couch for twenty minutes, not really watching whatever Jake has on the TV, not really listening to Jay argue with him about something related to F1. Your phone is faced down on the coffee table. You stopped checking it an hour ago.

Jess is in the kitchen, the sound of running water and the clink of a mug against the counter. You can smell tea, something herbal.

"You good?" Jay asks from the armchair, not looking at you, because he's learned from Jess that direct eye contact when you're upset makes you clam up.

"No," you say. "But it's fine, I guess."

Jake glances over. "Still no word?"

You shake your head.

The TV is playing some local news channel. A middle-aged woman is talking about a road closure downtown. You tune it out.

Jess comes in with a tray of mugs, setting it on the coffee table. She hands you one without asking if you want it. The mug is warm against your palms.

"Thanks," you murmur.

She sits next to you. "Have you eaten?"

"Not really."

"I'll order something later."

You nod. The TV cuts to a breaking news graphic ; red and white, it seems urgent.

"We're receiving reports of a shooting in the industrial district," the anchor says, her voice steady but grave. "Details are limited, but we understand the altercation occurred around 2:00 this afternoon and involved individuals associated with drug dealing and money laundering operations in the area."

Jake whistles low. "Damn. That part of town is getting worse."

Jay shushes him.

"One person has been confirmed shot," the anchor continues. "According to sources close to the investigation, the victim is reportedly a tall male in his early twenties. He is believed to be the son of a prominent entrepreneur in the region. Authorities have not released a name pending family notification, but we have obtained a photo from witnesses who apparently recognized the victim during the scene."

The screen cuts to a photograph.

Your hand freezes around the mug.

It's him. Ni-ki. The photo is from some event ; he's in a dark jacket, looking off to the side, jaw set, eyes half-lidded.

"The victim's identity has not been officially confirmed," the anchor says as text scrolls across the bottom of the screen. "However, our sources indicate that the body has not yet been recovered from the scene. Police are continuing their investigation."

The mug slips from your fingers. It hits the coffee table and tea spills everywhere, soaking a magazine, dripping onto the carpet. You're staring at the screen, at his face, at the words scrolling past.

Body not recovered.

Jess grabs your arm. "Y/N. Y/N, breathe."

Jake is standing now, phone already in his hand, calling Jungwon. Jay is frozen, eyes wide, looking between you and the TV, still not believing what he saw. The anchor moves on to the next story and the graphic disappears. The screen fills with footage of a city council meeting.

You don't remember standing up but you're on your feet now, and the room is spinning, Jess is saying your name over and over, and all you can think is : His body hasn't been found.

Which means he could be alive, or he could be dead.

You don't know anything at all.

@kookieterry @wonderikii @rikisloverrr @icryforenhypen @hyyhwriter @nodoubtily @teddyberryy @genienha @simjakeyjake @2dolcee @heartheejake

the knock on your apartment door comes at exactly ten o’clock - just how it usually does.

you swing open the door with your 2 year old daughter, Aria, balanced on your hip, her tiny hands wrapped around a stuffed, green duck that’s missing one wing.

“daddy!” she squeals and kicks her legs, trying to slide down your hip.

Riki’s expression softens instantly.

there’s something unfair about it, actually. how easy he smiles at her - how familiar he looks standing in your doorway dressed in that black hoodie and grey sweatpants. like he belongs there.

but he doesn’t. not anymore.

he reaches for her automatically, lifting her up and squeezing her tightly. “hey, princess.”

you watch him pull Aria against his chest as her little arms wrap around his neck.

and then he looks at you.

then there it is - that awkward pause, the one that happens every weekend.

“hi.” he says quietly.

“hi.”

neither of you move - neither of you say anything else. because what is there to say, honestly?

“have a good weekend”

“see you on sunday”

“i miss you”

the last one never makes it past either or your lips.

“okay, princess. shoes on.” Riki says, after clearing his throat, as he places her gently on the ground in front of you. you kneel and help her put on her trainers, fastening the velcro with shakier hands than you’d ever admit. you hate how he still affects you.

“there we go,” you smile at her before standing.

the silence settles again - it always does.

you watch as your daughter turns to pick up her bag, the hoodie you’re wearing slipping off one shoulder. his hoodie. at least, it used to be.

Riki tries not to stare. he really does. when your miniature self holds up her backpack to him and he doesn’t take it, you look up at him. he’s staring at you.

at his hoodie you’re wearing. at the necklace he gave you a few months before you told him you were pregnant. at your nails which were now a different colour from when he saw you last weekend.

“daddy!” Aria exclaims, her bag becoming too heavy for her little arms.

he looks down instantly, shaking his head, and picks her up. “sorry, love.”

“she ate breakfast already,” you say quietly. “there’s some snacks in her bag.”

he nods simply. “okay.”

you nod.

neither of you say goodbye when he turns towards the open door. because somehow, after all this time of being apart, saying it out loud feels too permanent.

your daughter saves you both.

“bye, mommy!”

you laugh, stepping closer to kiss her forehead. “i’ll see you on sunday, okay? have fun.”

then she turns to him. “let’s go, daddy!”

he should leave. but instead, his eyes lift to yours once more.

you’re smiling. tired. soft. pretty.

the same smile he used to wake up beside. the same smile he hasn’t stopped missing.

his throat becomes tight as he peels his eyes off your face and turns to leave one last time. Aria waves at you as he carries her down the hallway towards the elevator.

you stand at the door until they’ve disappeared around the corner. and only then do you exhale the breath that felt like you’d been holding since he knocked on the door.

—

the walk to his sleek, black mercedes feels much longer than it actually is. he can’t help his mind racing with thoughts of you. the way you smiled at your daughter so lovingly. the way your face completely changed when you caught him looking at you for a moment too long.

he shakes his head and sets the tiny human into her car seat before bucking the seatbelt. he checks it twice before shutting the door and sliding into the driver’s seat.

he should drive away. he turns the key, the engine purring to life beneath him, but he doesn’t pull away from the curb. he almost gets back out of the car before Aria speaks softly from the backseat.

“daddy?”

he blinks, his fingers loosening from the steering wheel. his knuckles are white.

“are we going?” she asks and he turns to look at her over his shoulder.

“yeah,” he smiles lovingly before shifting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.

the drive is quiet. Aria tells him about the picture you helped her draw yesterday and how she wants pancakes for lunch.

he answers when he’s supposed to, but all he can think about is you. standing in the doorway wearing his hoodie, the sleeves pulled tightly over your hands, looking at him like he’s still someone you want to know.

“daddy!” Aria exclaims.

“hm?” he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“you forgot,”

“forgot what, baby?”

she frowns like it’s obvious. “to say goodbye to mommy.”

his fingers tighten on the steering wheel again. he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

for a long moment, the only sounds in the car are the low hum of the engine and the blow of the air conditioning. then he swallows.

“i don’t think…” his voice comes out more unsure than expected. “i don’t think i’m very good at saying goodbye to mommy.”

Aria tilts her head to the side. “why?”

he laughs because how is he supposed to explain this to a two year old?

how is he supposed to tell her that every time he stands in the doorway, some part of him expects you to let him walk back inside. that every time you smile at him, he remembers what it felt like to come home to you.

he blinks hard and lets out a small breath through his nose. “i just miss her sometimes, princess.”

“i miss you too, daddy.” she says softly.

he swallows hard. he almost stops breathing. he glances in the rearview mirror and sees Aria looking out of the window, her little legs swinging slightly beneath her car seat like she hasn’t just shattered his heart.

he exhales shakily. “you do?”

she nods. “yeah. when i’m at mommy’s house.”

silence fills the car and his fingers grip the steering wheel tighter than ever. because he misses her when she’s gone. every week he counts down the days until he gets to see her again.

because somewhere between missing his daughter and missing you, he’s started to hate sundays.

—

at some point during the drive back to Riki’s house, he thinks Aria had fallen asleep in the backseat. she was silent, clutching her stuffed duck to her chest like it was the only thing keeping her there.

“you okay, baby?” Riki speaks softly from the driver’s seat. his daughter nods.

minutes later, he pulls up in the driveway and puts the car in park. he rounds the car and unbuckles Aria’s seatbelt before helping her out and grabbing her backpack.

once inside, he immediately begins taking off her trainers before heading to the kitchen to make the pancakes she asked for.

he watches her run into the living room and drop onto the rug before pulling a colouring book out of her backpack. then he blinks and she’s beside him.

“can i help?” she smiles, already struggling to drag over a stool from the counter.

he laughs and helps her up onto the stool.

he’s always careful with her. always making sure she washes her hands after using the bathroom. always making sure her laces are tied and that she’s wearing a jacket or a coat before going outside.

and he loves her just as much as he loves you.

that evening, Riki lets Aria help make the pancakes, laughing when she makes a mess all over the counter, before they settle onto the couch together to eat. he shakes his head when she asks silly questions. “daddy, do you like dinosaurs?” and he reads her three bedtime stories before she finally lays down and falls asleep.

once she’s finally asleep, he sits on the edge of her bed and watches her for a while. because in five days, he’ll miss this. again.

when you told him you were pregnant, he almost jumped for joy. he’s always thought about it - the three of you cuddling up on the couch together watching a movie and eating snacks, wearing matching pyjamas, and taking walks through the park with his hand on your lower back while your child jumps beside him.

except, this is everything he didn’t want.

—

“daddy, look! it’s a dinosaur!” Aria exclaims from the living room.

Riki walks towards her and stares down at the green blob on the paper. it’s definitely not a dinosaur but he nods anyway. “it sure is.”

“and this is you!” Aria beams, holding up the drawing proudly.

he squints at the tiny stick figure beside the green blob. “wow. don’t i look handsome.”

his daughter giggles. “no, daddy. you look silly!”

he presses his hand to his chest as if he’s physically hurt. “me? silly? i’m offended.”

her laughter fills the kitchen; its bright, loud, the kind of laugh that makes him laugh too.

actually, he hasn’t laughed that hard in months.

she’s sitting on the rug with a box of crayons scattered around her while the waffles she didn’t eat for breakfast go cold on the coffee table.

“daddy?”

“hm?”

“pink.”

he looks down as Aria holds out a pink crayon. “what about pink, baby?”

“you need pink.”

“for what?”

she points at the paper. “sit.”

Riki laughs. “you’re bossy.”

Aria grins. “sit.”

he sits.

she immediately begins scribbling and he doesn’t even ask what she’s drawing. he just watches her tiny hand move across the page.

at some point, she sticks her tongue out in concentration and his heart does that thing it always does. the thing where it feels too full.

he thinks maybe you’re his favourite part. not the cartoons, not the park, not even the pancakes. just this.

her talking nonsense, her colouring. being here.

being his.

“daddy?”

“yeah, princess?”

she looks up. “i like weekends.”

Riki smiles. “me too.”

she giggles and turns back to her masterpiece.

and suddenly, his chest aches. because weekends end; they always do. he glances at his phone.

sunday. already. too fast.

he swallows hard and looks down at his daughter, specifically where she has green crayon on her cheek. he doesn’t tell her, though.

instead, he just reaches over and gently tucks a wild strand of hair behind her ear. she doesn’t look up - she just keeps colouring.

as if he’ll still be here tomorrow. as if he doesn’t spend every week counting down the days until he gets to see her again.

he blinks once and then stands. “come on, baby.”

she finally looks up. “hm?”

“let’s get you ready.”

she pouts. “already?”

his heart drops to his ass. “yeah.”

she looks down at her picture and then back up at him.

“i stay longer?” she tilts her head.

silence. god, he wishes more than anything she could stay longer. he crouches beside her and cups her cheek with his palm.

“mommy’s waiting for you.”

she thinks about that. blinks. and then asks softly: “can you come too?”

Riki forgets how to breathe - because she’s two - she doesn’t understand why daddy has one house and mommy has another. why weekends happen, why sundays happen.

Aria just knows she likes being with both of you.

he swallows hard. “not today, princess.”

she nods slowly like she’s disappointed but she’s accepting it before reaching for her daddy. “carry.”

Riki immediately lifts her up and she buries her face into his shoulder while one tiny hand fists the fabric of his hoodie. he holds her a little tighter knowing that tomorrow, this house will be quiet again.

his chest tightens. Aria is getting bigger and both Riki and you know she is. her words are becoming clearer, her clothes keep getting too small, and she keeps asking questions he doesn’t quite know how to answer.

but right now, she’s still small enough to fit perfectly in his arms. so he holds her tightly like she’ll disappear if he lets go just a little.

“you ready to go see mommy?” he asks quietly while carding his fingers through her locs.

Aria nods against his shoulder. there’s none of the excitement she’d had when she arrived at his house on friday. she’s tired… and so is he.

Riki grabs her stuffed duck from the couch before stuffing it into her backpack.

he turns around to scan the living room for anything he might forget. but all he sees is one of her socks peeking out from under the couch, a tiny cup with cartoon animals on it, and her crayons still scattered on the rug.

little reminders that she’s been here - little reminders that in a few minutes, she won’t be.

his chest feels unbearably tight.

every weekend. every weekend he gets this; two days of cartoons and little giggles and tiny arms around his neck.

and then it’s over in the blink of an eye.

he shakes his head before flicking off the light and heading for the door.

the evening air is cool when he steps outside. his fighter is tucked securely against his chest as he makes his way to his car. she yawns, long and dramatic, before her body goes even heavier in his arms.

a small laugh escapes Riki’s throat. “you tired, baby girl?”

she nods once. small.

“you had a busy weekend, huh?”

another nod.

Riki smiles and presses a gentle kiss to the top of Aria’s head.

by the time he reaches his car, he thinks she’s already asleep in his arms. he unlocks the door with a beep of his keys and swings open the back door before lowering his tiny human into her car seat.

she makes a small noise of protest as he peels her away from his chest. her sleepy eyes blink open just enough to find him.

“there we go.” Riki mumbles as he buckles her seatbelt.

she doesn’t say anything, just watches him with heavy eyes. then, quietly: “daddy?”

he looks up. “yeah?”

“i had fun.”

he stills. it’s such a simple sentence, four little words, but somehow they hit in right in the chest. then he smiles back at her. softer this time.

“me too, baby.”

Aria smiles once more before her eyes slowly drift shut. Riki doesn’t move; he stays crouched beside the open car door for a moment, watching her breathing softly.

the he slowly stands and closes the door.

he walks round to the driver’s side and slid into the seat before resting his hands on the steering wheel. for a few seconds, he doesn’t start the car - he just sits there. listening to the quiet because he already misses her… and she’s still right behind him.

eventually, he starts the engine. the soft hum of the car fills the silence as he glances in the rear-view mirror.

Aria is still sleeping, her head tilted awkwardly to one side. her curls are messy from her exciting day with daddy, and there's still a faint mark on her cheek from the green crayon.

he almost smiles. almost.

his heart aches instead.

the drive to your apartment isn't long; Riki's done it enough times to know every turn, every shortcut, every set of traffic lights.

he also remembers driving this same route two years ago with you in the passenger seat. you were exhausted after a long night with the baby, your head resting against the window while he drove aimlessly to get Aria to sleep.

you'd looked so tired, so perfect, when you looked at him and smiled. "you're a good dad, you know."

the memory hits him unexpectedly and he swallows hard.

the light ahead turns red, forcing him to stop, before the car falls silent again. he glances in the mirror at Aria's sleeping form, a tiny frown has appeared on her face.

a few more minutes pass before familiar buildings begin appearing outside the window.

no matter how normal this arrangement has become, no matter how many months have passed, his throat always tightens as soon as he turns onto your street. because you're here and you'll open the door in a few minutes and he'll see you and pretend everything is normal... and then he'll have to leave again.

he pulls up outside your apartment and turns off the engine.

silence.

the curtains are drawn. the hallway light is on.

home. not his - not anymore.

he exhales slowly and unbuckles his seatbelt before rounding the car to the back door. she’s completely out and he smiles despite himself.

“hey, sleepyhead.” he murmurs.

nothing.

he carefully unbuckles her seatbelt and slides his arms beneath her warm, sleeping body. Aria stirs slightly before immediately tucking herself against his chest.

like she belongs there.

he kicks the door shut gently with his foot before walking towards your apartment. each step feels strangely heavy, and by the time he reaches the elevator, his breaths are coming a little too fast.

the elevator doors ding and slide open as he places a kiss to the top of Aria’s head.

by the time he reaches your door, his hands are shaky. he shifts her in his arms and raises an arm to knock.

then he waits.

—

the door doesn’t open straight away. Riki stands there silently - your daughter pressed against his chest, her little hand fisting his hoodie.

the dim light casts a soft glow over the two of them in the hallway, and for a moment, all he can hear is her slow breathing and the tv from one of the neighbouring apartments.

then he hears the footsteps and his heart does a stupid jolt when the lock clicks.

the door opens. and there you are.

your hair is messy, like you’d tied it up but given up halfway through. you’re wearing an oversized jumper and a pair of shorts - looking comfortable, tired, like you’d been curled up on the sofa waiting for them to get back.

looking like home.

neither of you say anything first. then your eyes drop to your daughter curled up in his arms. the corners of your mouth curl into a small smile at the sight - her sleeping silently on his chest.

then your eyes lift to his and something changes… it’s so brief he almost thinks he imagined it.

but your smile softens even more. because his hand is rubbing softly up and down her back, because he’s holding her carefully…

because he looks exactly like he did two years ago when you used to take turns getting up to warm a bottle for a crying baby.

“she fell asleep?” you ask quietly, your voice barely a whisper.

Riki blinks. “yeah,” his own voice softens more than he’d intended. “about ten minutes before we got here.”

you smile again, glancing down at your daughter. “looks like she had fun.”

neither of you notice how close you’ve gotten - or maybe you have but neither of you say anything.

for a few seconds, everything feels strangely normal.

“oh… come in.” you smile awkwardly as you step to the side to let Riki inside.

he steps inside and immediately heads to Aria’s bedroom.

you follow close behind him, watching the way he moves down the hallways of your apartment. like he’s done it a thousand times before. he has. like he still lives here. he doesn’t.

you stand in the doorway and watch as he leans over her bed and gently places her down under the duvet before slipping off her shoes.

you watch how he’s so careful with her, like one wrong move will break her. like she’s the most precious thing in the world. but to him, she is. and to you, she’s your everything.

he pulls her blanket up to her chin and strokes her cheek twice before quietly stepping back, careful not to wake her.

the apartment falls silent as you softly pull Aria’s bedroom door shut. when you turn around, Riki is standing there, hands tucked into his pockets. waiting.

neither of you speak at first. you both just stand there, looking at each other as if you both know this feels wrong. as if you both know this isn’t how it was supposed to be. as though you both know, deep down, it doesn’t have to stay this way.

“two days with her doesn’t feel enough anymore.” Riki speaks, finally turning your attention to something other than the weight on your chest.

“if you want more time with Aria, we can talk about it.”

he shakes his head before you can finish. “it’s not just that…”

your brows knit together. “then what is it?”

“i know i don’t deserve to ask this after everything that happened,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “but if there was even the smallest chance that we could try again, i’d take it.”

you sigh and cross your arms over your chest. “Riki, you know we can’t-“

“but we can, y/n!” he steps closer, his eyes search yours frantically. desperate for a sign you haven’t given up. not yet.

“you know we can. if you’d just let me-“

“Riki-“

“no, listen, y/n.” he says firmly and you close your mouth instantly.

he runs a hand over his face before taking the remaining step to fully close the distance between you. his hands land on yours and he threads his fingers through yours. “every sunday, i bring her here, tuck her into bed, and then leave.”

a humourless laugh escapes his throat. “it never gets any easier.”

you blink up at him, speechless.

“you know we’re both standing here acting like this is normal. it isn’t! not one bit.” his hands squeeze yours like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll turn and walk away. “we could be better and i know you know that. please give me another chance. for Aria.”

that last part shattered you.

for Aria.

those two words echoed in your mind, pounding on every wall you’d spent months building around your heart.

the thing is, you do know this could be different. you just refuse to be hurt again. you refuse to feel stupid like last time. you can’t ever let yourself become that vulnerable. not again.

“please, baby, give me another chance. i want us to be the family Aria deserves. i don’t want her growing up wondering why we stopped trying.” he whispers.

tears sting your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. “do you think i haven’t imagined it? every single day?” you whisper.

“then why are we still standing here like idiots pretending we don’t still love each other?” his voice shakes and you almost break down right there.

“because you don’t know what you’re asking, Riki.”

“i do.” his brows pull together.

you shake your head. “no, you don’t. if we try again and it falls apart… Aria doesn’t just lose the idea of us, she loses us all over again.”

Riki’s shoulders fall and his expression softens. “i know,” he says quietly. “i know that’s what you’re afraid of.”

his thumbs are tracing small circles on the backs of your hands now. “but i’m not asking you to pretend nothing happened, y/n, i’m asking you to let me earn it.”

the silence settles once again as you stare at the floor, refusing to look at him. because you know if you do, you’ll crumble.

every part of you wanted to believe him. to pull him into a hug and believe this time it’ll be different.

and… that’s exactly what happens.

you look up at him, eyes searching his face for any sign that means he’s lying. any hint that means whatever he’s saying will end up as another broken promise.

you don’t find one.

instead, you see the same boy you fell in love with. the same boy that held your hand during labour. the same boy that kissed your forehead and cooked dinner when you were stressed about work.

only now, he’s standing in front of you practically begging you to take him back. asking you to let him own up to his own mistakes.

you let out a shaky breath.

“okay…”

Riki’s eyes light up. “okay?”

you nod as tears stream down your cheeks before you can stop them. “one more chance.”

for a long moment, he just stares as you. almost like he’s convinced he heard you wrong.

“really?”

a small smile finds it’s way onto your lips.

“we’re not doing this just because of Aria,” you nod. “we’re doing it because i still love you. even after everything. i never stopped, Riki.”

his eyes glisten and he releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“i love you too.”

taglist: @binsown @testingspider @yoruse @tsumiyaa

Kei loves, and by love, he means that he really loves addressing himself and you as fiance and fiancee – to the point it can be insufferable (not to you, you find it endearing. Maki, however, finding the word insufferable is an understatement. If he were to describe it, he would find it excruciating). Because whenever Kei opens his mouth, you’ll find him saying the words ‘fiance’ and ‘fiancee’ at least three times. 

Exhibit A: The Office.

“I… didn’t know you’re into Sanrio stuff, Kei hyung,”

Maki said as he saw Kei bring a cinnamoroll lunch bag to the table, and Kei smiled widely before opening it. Maki’s jaw drops as Kei takes out a My Melody themed lunch box, Kuromi themed utensils, and a Hangyodon themed tumbler.

“Huh… you’re a fan…”

“Nope. It’s my fiancee’s! She packed lunch for me, and because we’re running out of bento boxes, she uses this instead! Isn’t it cute?”

Maki blinks his eyes rapidly – stunned at his co-worker who’s down bad for his own fiancee. Good for him, Maki thinks.

“Oh my God! My fiancee made me my favourite side dish!”

“Good for you… Hey Kei hyung, you know that you can just… not say the word fiancee that often, right? Like, you can say, oh she made me this. Because we all know who you are referring to…”

“Nope! I love saying fiancee! And what’s wrong with it? She is my fiancee,”

Maki pressed his lips into a thin line and just nod – you can’t change a man’s mind if he doesn’t want to change it. Kei takes a sip of the coffee you made, then squeals like a highschooler – causing Maki who’s about to take a bite of his food, looks at Kei in horror. 

“As expected! My fiancee is really good at making coffee!”

Maki sighs.

Exhibit B: The Get-Together.

It’s been a while since Kei meets up with his high school friends, so he’s really looking forward to it. As soon as he entered the restaurant, his friends greeted him enthusiastically and congratulated him on his engagement.

“Wow… there’s a lot of good food here. I should ask my fiancee if she wants any,”

Kei said as he looked at the menu. Fumiya, who sits next to him, chuckled.

“What’s so funny, Fumiya?”

Kei asks and throws a few glances at his friend while deciding on the menu, and the food that he should buy for you.

“Nothing. It’s just, your head is full of her. When Keito initiated this whole thing too, you said ‘Oh, I’m gonna ask my fiancee first and see if she’s cool with this’.”

“Well, she’s my fiancee. Of course my head is full of her. It would be weird if it’s not,”

The get-together officially begins when everyone arrives – tons of questions, and lots of topics are brought up in the conversation. And Kei’s answer always begins with the same thing: my fiancee.

His scarf? 

‘My fiancee knit this for me!’

His outfit?

‘My fiancee chose this, she said I look good in this!’

How’s work going?

‘My fiancee said I should try for a promotion,’

“Kei, how about a football session this weekend? It’s been a while since we played together,”

Aoki’s question makes everyone turn their eyes toward Kei, waiting for his answer.

“I have to ask my fiancee–”

“GODDDD,”

“Ughhhh fiancee this fiancee that. We get it! You have a fiancee!”

“Good for you for having a fiancee!”

Ruckus fills the table as everyone collectively groans and playfully gets mad at Kei for mentioning his fiancee every single time. 

“I’m– I’m sorry for having a fiancee?”

“You’re not sorry! You’re trying to rub it in our faces. Ohhhh, look at me, I’m engaged to the love of my life. Fuck you!”

Everyone laughed at Fumiya’s outburst – he’s the one who had to listen to him mentioning his fiancee the most, given that he sits next to Kei. 

“But really, I have to ask my fiancee–”

“STOPPPP!”

Exhibit C: The Florist Shop.

“Oh, Kei. I thought you weren’t coming,”

The florist greets Kei warmly – Kei has been stopping by every day (except weekend) without fail, and the florist genuinely thought Kei wasn’t going to come by as he’s running later than usual.

“Got caught up with work. Give me the biggest bouquet, please. My fiancee is going to murder me for coming home late AND without a flower, so please,”

The florist chuckled, before picking plenty of flowers – your favourites, which she already memorized since Kei is a regular here. She immediately whips up a big bouquet, and hands it to Kei once it’s done.

“Thank you so much! My fiancee is going to love this!”

“Your fiancee is a lucky one,”

The florist said while motioning to Kei to tap his card on the reader to pay for the flowers.

“Nah, I’m the lucky one actually. Can’t believe I got engaged to her. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

The florist shakes her head as she watches Kei dashes out of the shop, with a small smile on her lips.

“Him and his fiancee… once they get married, that boy definitely can’t stop addressing her as my wife,”

Exhibit D: A Movie Date

“Here, let me take this.”

Kei said as he tried to pry your popcorn and drinks away from you, and you shake your head since you can hold onto it.

“Wow, my fiancee is rejecting me. I’m not needed anymore, huh? What’s the point of me going to gym if my fiancee won’t let me hold her popcorn and drinks,”

“Yudai, your hands are full!”

You point at the box of nachos and drinks he’s currently holding, and Kei rolls his eyes.

“Excuses. I still have my left hand unoccupied,”

You chuckled at your fiance’s attitude, and decided to hold his hand – he instantly squeals and turns mushy when your finger intertwines with his, causing you to laugh at his reaction.

“Your hands are definitely full now, happy?”

“Yes, my fiancee.”

Yudai swings your interlocked hands as you walk deeper into the cinema, heading toward your designated hall. 

“You really love calling me your fiancee, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I really do. I’m trying to let everyone in the world know that I’m engaged to you, the love of my life,”

“Why?”

“Because… because I want everyone to know that I’m proud of being yours.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you can’t help but blush – this man looks prouder to be yours than to have won the most competitive marathon event. And he’s an athlete who owns countless medals and trophies, which says a lot.

“Oh! Oh, is my fiancee blushing? Ohhhhhhh,”

“Shut up!”

“I can’t wait to marry you so I can call you my wife. It has more kick than ‘my fiancee’, you know?”

You scrunched your face as you can feel your face become hotter – and definitely, redder, thanks to his words. Kei grits his teeth as he finds you adorable, and his cute aggression tells him to bite your red, fluffy cheeks. He suppressed that thought instead of acting on it, since both of you are in public, and leaves a peck on your cheek instead.

“I love you, my fiancee,”

He singsongs, happy to make you turn as red as a tomato like this. It gives him a boost of pride too, knowing that he’s the only one who can cause you to blush hard.

“I love you more, my fiance,”

“Nope. I love you more. I love you from the moon to the back, my fiancee,”

additional notes: thank you for reading until the end <3 hope you enjoyed it!

taglist (open): @yandere-stories @nichozzystuffs

sam and colby had just arrived to their filming location and were beginning to set up for their investigation. unfortunately for sam, colby’s mind was elsewhere. 

no matter how far away he was, his mind was always on you. his mind replayed images of you standing at the airport, waving him and sam off before they left on this trip. your face on his screen from the night before, during your facetime conversation before he went to bed to rest up for a long night of investigating ahead of him. throughout the night, colby was constantly checking his phone, waiting for your responses to his messages.

“colby, come on, dude. can you please focus?” sam asked, slight irritation in his voice.

“hm? oh, shit. sorry.” colby sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. he sat with sam in the chairs he had set up to film them talking about the lore of the place they were investigating.

throughout the night, colby’s mind was on you. the smallest things would remind him of you, and although he felt bad for being distracted, he felt slightly less scared picturing you in his mind. you grounded him, and always made him feel safe.

after a while of filming, he and sam had taken a break to debrief and reset with the group they were with.

“i’m gonna call y/n.” colby said, walking slightly away from the group and tapping your icon.

“of course you are.” sam teased as he waved him off.

colby stood down the hall, phone pressed to his ear as he listened to the phone ringing. he felt his heart swell when he finally heard your voice on the other end of the line.

“colby, hey baby. is everything okay?” you asked once you answered.

“yeah, everything’s great. we’re taking a break from filming right now, and i just wanted to call you and check in. i miss you.” he said softly.

“i miss you too.” you said, colby hearing a faint smile in your voice. “i know you’re calling because i haven’t really been responding to your texts.” you teased.

“well, that’s part of it.” he laughed. “you know me too well.”

“of course i do. i know you’re busy filming, and i don’t want to bother you guys. especially since i know sam can get a little testy.” you joked. colby’s eyes flicked over to sam as he stifled a laugh.

“that is unfortunately very true.” colby laughed. 

you and him talked for just a little while longer before he, sam, and their group had to get back to filming.

“okay, text me when you guys are done. i love you, baby.” you said softly.

“i love you too.” colby said, pressing a kiss to the speaker before hanging up.

the rest of the night, much to sam’s relief, colby was laser focused on the investigation and filming. once they were done and packed up, he and sam were packed back up in their rental, and colby was already texting you. he was filling you in on the events of the night, telling you about the evidence they captured and how excited he and sam were to start editing the footage and to be able to share it with their viewers. you were happy to hear how excited he was, and you loved the pride he took in his work.