afro30nebula

But this sound was ahead of you and curiosity did in fact, kill the cat but you tried not to let it kill you. Carefully stepping forward and looking down slightly to your right, you spotted a figure—someone. Someone crouched in front of the wall, seemingly a guy—hoodie half up and already partially covered in the vibrant colors that lay on his black clothes. A sharp spray of aerosol cut through the air as your eyes fell upon the wall to see what he was doing. 

A stupid dumpster was blocking your view, requiring you to take a step forward and accidentally, your foot kicked a stray, empty can. Making you freeze and put your hands up in defense. 

The guy turned to you sharply, equally as stunned as you are. “Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me.”

You blinked, “I scared you?” Your hands are still half-up like you’re getting arrested by a particularly dramatic mime. He’s still holding the spray can, finger mid-press, the paint hissing a little tail as it dies out.

Something about him feels familiar. Not in a ‘I’ve seen you around campus or in a dream’ kind of way. But in a weirdly boyish, pretentiously attractive guy you only see on social media kind of way. 

And attractive he was. Even though he was crouched, judging by the length of his legs he seemed tall. Sharp jaw, cat-like eyes, and equally as sharp, yet upturned nose. The skewed lighting in this alley complimented him in some weird, sick and twisted way. That somehow, in any situation he still looked akin to a supermodel. Someone that looked like that had no reason being holed up in a dirty, dingy alley. 

He was beautiful.

So as he stayed crouched, slightly turned to you in a half-zipped hoodie, revealing the white long sleeve he had on under it that peeked through the cuff. Hair a bright, dazzling silver—he looked at you with something unrecognizable. “I don’t know, thought you were a cop or something.” He shrugged. “You’re not a cop…are you?”

You deadpanned as you tightened the straps on your backpack. “Do I look like a cop?”

He gives you a once-over, suddenly making you super conscious of your appearance. Your tight, coily hair was out. Frizzing from the tad bit of humidity in the atmosphere. Old, faded flare jeans and some beat up sneakers you’ve had since middle school that you just never grew out of. As well as a thick zip-up your mom gave you for your birthday last year. You didn’t look a mess, you just looked like a normal person going about their day. 

He shook his head, grunting as he stood up. “No,” he dusted his gloves off as he stepped back to admire his work. “You caught me just as I was finishing though.” Mystery boy smiled, “What do you think? Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Your eyes darted everywhere but the wall. Surprised that he would even want a stranger’s opinion. Partly because you were still sizing him up—trying to clock if this was some kind of setup—but mostly because the last thing you expected was him wanting your opinion. “Um…”

You looked past him to the wall, finally taking in the spray-painted chaos in front of him. It was abstract—vivid and strange—but somehow…weirdly moving. It was the kind of thing you wouldn’t understand in a museum, but might stare at anyway. 

“It’s okay, I can take criticism.” 

“You know you just graffitied a private building. That’s a crime.” You muttered quietly. “But besides that…it’s beautiful.” You played awkwardly with your sleeve, biting your lip.

He let out a breathy laugh as he tidied up, taking his gloves off and tossing them into a small duffel bag. “Thank you, but…there’s no harm in a little public beautification, right?” 

You smiled despite yourself as you bent down to pick up the can that ignited this exchange. “I guess not.” You toyed with the empty can as your eyes found his bag. “Do you always do this?”

“I think you really are a cop.” He turned to you with a smile before zipping up his bag. 

“Close,” you nodded, “law student.” You pointed to yourself with a glint in your eyes.

His smile faltered for half a second—just a flicker—but it was enough to clock. “Oh,” he said, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep talking to you or start running.

You raised an eyebrow. “Relax. I’m not gonna chase you down and recite Miranda rights.”

“Thank you,” he said, tossing the duffel over his shoulder. “But I do this enough. Enough to know where the security cameras are and aren’t.”

That wasn’t an answer. But it also was.

You eyed him for a second. He was still watching you, like he hadn’t quite figured you out either. Like maybe he was waiting for you to say something cop-adjacent again so he could bolt—or maybe he just liked the way you were looking at him.

“What’s your name?” You said as you mindlessly sprayed the ground, though there was no give. The aerosol only emits air and lightly sputters out the remnants of some bright blue paint. 

He smirked, “You first, you’re the one trying to build a profile on me as we speak.”

You tilted your head, deadpanning, “I said I’m a law student, not a snitch.”

“Those lines get blurry,” he waved his hands cavalierly, “But I’m Riki.” 

You nodded slowly, giving him your name, but as you prepared to respond you heard a pointed voice from down the alley. “Hey! You two!” And that’s when you both heard it: the faint static crackle of a walkie-talkie and the distinct sound of boots against concrete. Hurried and heavy.

You looked at him with wide eyes, “Wh—” But he didn’t have time for words, he grabbed your hand and looked at you firmly. “Run.”

Without another word, he took off with your hand in his at rapid speed down the alley. The can in your hands dropping and his duffel abandoned. He’ll come back for it later. But for now, he was forcing your legs to move faster than you thought were physically possible. Huffing and puffing down the way. 

As you two reached the end, you stopped and looked both ways, seeing that there was nowhere to go. You had already passed the part that you were meant to leave out of to go to the train. But Riki was quicker. His hand, still held tightly on yours, guided you to a fire escape. “Go, c’mon.” 

“This is crazy,” you whisper-yelled as you climbed up the fire escape with awkward finesse and him following closely behind, right on your heels.

As you scrambled up and he hoisted himself behind you, the metal creaked beneath your weight. Your hands slipped once on the rusted railing, but Riki was there—one hand steadying your back before urging you upward again.

“You’re doing great,” he muttered, and somehow you hated how calming his voice was. Like this wasn’t a literal felony footrace.

You reached the top, chest heaving, heart trying to break dance out of your ribcage. He hopped up beside you, barely out of breath, and looked around quickly—eyes sharp and scanning the skyline like he’d done this before.

“You do this often?” you panted, half-joking, half-wheezing.

“Only on days ending in Y.” He gave you that stupid cocky grin and took off again, toward the roof but quickly stopped when he saw you weren’t behind him. “What are you doing?”

As you peered down at the far and wide gap between you and the ground, sweat started forming on your brow. Stomach twisting and lurching. You shook your head frantically, “I can’t do that.”

Riki’s eyes widened as he frowned, looking back at the fire escape as he heard the same groaning that the metal gave them you two when you were on it. Signaling that the cop wasn’t too far behind. “Come on, please? It’s not even that far.”

“Riki, no.”

“Please, just trust me. You really gotta trust me.” He quickly walked backwards toward the middle of the roof. His hand hasn’t let yours go this entire time. “Just don’t look down.”

Seeing the cop make his way to the rooftop with you two lit a fire under both of your asses. 

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath, eyes flicking from the cop to the rooftop ledge, to Riki—whose fingers tightened just enough to say we are so screwed unless you jump, right now.

He gave you one last pleading look, that infuriatingly cinematic silver hair catching the wind like this was some kind of indie action movie. “I got you. I swear.”

“I hate you,” you muttered, heart pounding as your legs twitched with hesitation.

“Yeah, but you’re gonna miss me if we get caught,” he grinned—and then he ran, tugging you right along with him.

Your feet slapped against the concrete, wind rushing past your ears as the ledge came closer, faster, too fast, and your brain screamed STOP but your body didn’t listen because—

You jumped.

And for one horrifying second, you were airborne. No ground. No roof. Just air, your hand in his, your scream trapped in your throat—

And then impact.

You hit the other side hard, tumbling into Riki, who had twisted just enough to break your fall—with your backpack that had been performing extremely well—and immediately groaned, “Ow. Okay. Maybe that was a little far.”

You whined at the pain shooting through your back, most likely the stainless steel water bottle having been the thing to jut out and poke you. “Fuck you,”

He let out a pained laugh, “Damn, at least buy me dinner first.” He stood and rubbed his elbow before he reached down to help you up. 

You could feel the onset of bruises forming on you, but none of that mattered. “You said it wasn’t even far, that you would—I almost died!” You pushed his shoulder with your not-aching hand. 

“But you’re very alive!” He gestured to you as he took the excuse to scan your body. “I’d rather a bruise than a casket.” Smiling as he unzipped his hoodie, taking it off and wrapping it around his hips. 

The sound of the rooftop door slamming open across the gap cut off the sarcasm instantly. You both whipped your heads toward it—flashlight beams sweeping the rooftop you’d just left, voices yelling over each other, and then…one of them looked directly at you. He must’ve called for backup.

“There!” someone shouted. 

Any and all angry responses you had were all out of the window. You both darted to the far edge of the roof, this one not having a door to follow through. But fortunately, a fire escape to drop down on. Like last time, he let you go down first. And as you both made your way down, he accidentally sandwiched your hand between a rung and his foot. “Ow! Bitch!” You hit his leg as you kept moving down the ladder. 

He gasped softly, “Sorry!” He whisper-yelled, sounding more amused than concerned. 

You both hopped down onto a stack of milk crates with a loud clatter. You winced. “Subtle,” you muttered.

The momentary silence was broken when there were frantic steps toward your way. Paranoid that it might be the same cop, you both scrambled behind a nearby dumpster. Squatting behind it in close quarters. “Wh—is that—” You sputter out but are shushed by Riki. “Aht!” He holds his finger to his lips as he looks at you. 

The world seemed to go silent as you both pressed yourself against the wall. The dumpster reeked of sour milk and corn chips as the sun had baked it, only intensifying the stench. But despite that, amidst the silence, crunching of gravel beneath boots was enough to send your senses aflame. 

Your eyes widen, mouthing “What the fuck.” To which Riki shook his head with firmness, not even trying to look your way—but focusing on where the cop was coming from. 

As the officer encroached, your stomach twisted and hands started shaking. Panting and trying to mellow out your frantic breathing, you grab the collar of your sweater and cover your mouth with it. 

You know for a fact that if he saw you two, you’d be arrested and charged with trespassing, vandalism, fleeing law enforcement, and reckless endangerment. There was such despicable irony in this being a possibility yet you worked your entire life up to this point to resist exactly this. You, of all people—Miss GPA, Law School, Future of the Fucking Judicial System—were now crouched behind a dumpster, next to a guy who thought “Don’t look down” counted as a real strategy.

And still. Still. 

You didn’t move.

Because despite everything—sweat clinging to your back, the stench clogging your throat, the very real chance of handcuffs—his hand brushed yours. Barely. Not even gripping this time. Just…there. A silent “I got you.”

Your heart, already trying to launch itself through your ribcage, gave one loud, traitorous thump. And as the cop was approaching and inspecting every nook and cranny you had to do everything in your power to ensure you did not go to jail.

So you grabbed Riki, no build up, no foreplay, no teasing. You crashed your lips against his without a thought. It was hilarious actually, you could taste the shock on his lips but none of that mattered. He complied and wrapped his arms around your shoulders to pull you closer as you both leaned into the lie. 

Or, at least—that’s what you told yourself it was. A distraction. A decoy. A get-out-of-jail-free kiss. Right?

Except his fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater. 

Except his mouth moved like he meant it. 

Except you weren’t looking forward to pulling away either.

Your brain was screaming ‘girl, what are you doing’  but your body? Your body was a traitor. A criminal. An accomplice.

The cop’s boots paused. Peeking over the dumpster and onto you two, but you didn’t stop. It didn’t matter who was watching, no one else mattered. Nothing mattered. 

But with finality, the officer smacked his teeth and sighed. “Damn kids,” turning back, retreating to wherever he belonged: giving up.

Riki didn’t let go.

Not immediately as least, his hands found your hair as he mindlessly massaged your soft coils. But his lips lingered, slow now. Like if you gave him another second, he’d kiss you with more than he meant right now. 

You finally pulled back—breath catching. “Is he gone?”

His hands left you and he nodded without a word, slightly dazed. 

You stand up, surveying the area—scanning for any sign of law enforcement. A person, anything. But no, not a soul. And you didn’t even realize that it was already dark out.

Riki stands up, eyes never having left you as he walks toward you. Still wordless. Heart also clenched but nowhere near from fear.

Your adrenaline was starting to simmer, hands starting to clench but your stomach wasn’t fueled with fear anymore. Now it was solely anger. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You turned around and shoved Riki, hands practically making marks in his firm chest. 

“Ow!” He yelped as he held his chest. “Nothing,” he whined. “What was that for?”

Your brows furrowed, chest heaving and vein in your forehead pulsing as you feel yourself start to see red. “You! You almost got me arrested and made me run from the fucking police!”

Riki blinked, caught off guard by your rage. “Us. I almost got us arrested,” he corrected, hands raised in surrender. “Teamwork makes the felony, babe.”

Wrong answer.

You shoved him again.

“Are you joking right now?!” you snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the night. “You think this is funny? I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid shit like this, and you dragged me into it like it was a fucking side quest!”

He stumbled back a step but didn’t stop grinning, which only made your blood boil harder. “Okay, okay! Chill! I didn’t drag you—”

“You literally did and said trust you!”

“I meant it!” he protested. “And hey, we’re not in jail, are we? You kissed me, we got away, that’s a win.”

You stared at him like you were trying to set him on fire with your eyes alone.

“Oh my god, I should’ve let them arrest you,” you hissed, turning away to pace, hands flying to your head. “I should’ve said, ‘Yup, officer, that’s the guy, right there! Trespassing, being annoying, fuckass attitude!’”

“Guilty on all counts,” he said with a dramatic bow, still following your every move.

You stopped pacing. Your chest rose and fell in furious silence. “You think everything’s a joke. Like none of this matters.”

His smirk faltered for the first time.

“People die over shit like this—over shit way less than this—and you think this is fucking funny?”

Riki blinked. The playful spark that had lit his eyes the whole evening dimmed like someone had finally flipped the switch.

“I didn’t think it’d go that far,” he said, voice low and defensive.

You let out a dry laugh. “Wow. Not even an apology. That’s crazy.”

“You’re fine, aren’t you?” he shot back, arms lifting in some half-shrug, half-shield. “You made the jump. We’re not in cuffs. I figured you could handle it.”

“Oh, you figured.” You stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I don’t know you. You dragged me up there like we were in a fucking movie, and I followed because—for some goddamn reason—I thought you knew what you were doing.”

Riki looked you up and down—less like he was checking you out now, and more like he was trying to piece you together. “So what, you kissed me and screamed at me in the same five minutes? You might be worse than me.”

You bristled. “Yeah? Well next time, maybe don’t nearly get a complete stranger arrested for thrills. You’re not charming. You’re a walking liability.”

And with that, you turned around and stormed off.

And he—stupidly, predictably—followed.

You stormed off, heels of your shoes hitting pavement like war drums—but apparently not loud enough to discourage the cockroach with good hair tailing behind you.

“Okay,” he called out casually, like you weren’t mid-rage, “but real quick—was the kiss, like, fake-fake? Or fake with feelings?”

You stopped. Turned. “Are you serious right now?”

He grinned, slowing to a walk beside you like this was just a post-date stroll and not a felony-adjacent escape. “Because I felt something. Like…chemistry. Heart palpitations. Internal fireworks. You know.”

“You’re about to feel a restraining order.”

“And yet you haven’t run again.” He gave a mock-swoon. “God, you’re into me.”

You groaned. Loudly. “What is wrong with you?”

“Only child. Coddled. Maybe a head injury or two.”

“I don’t even know your last name!”

“Nishimura.” He said it proudly. “And you’re gonna remember it, it might be yours soon. Who knows?”

You turned again to walk away. He followed.

“For real though,” he said, easily catching up. “What if we just…went out sometime? No cops, lore, full names exchanged and everything. I’ll even tell you my shoe size if you want.”

You didn’t even dignify it with an answer.

“Okay, okay, how about I make it up to you with coffee?” he added. “Or tea. Or a smoothie. Or a long heartfelt apology in the form of interpretive dance and slam poetry. I’m flexible.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m persistent,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

You sped up, “Where is this even coming from?”

His voice hasn’t wavered, “Three minutes ago when you kissed me.” He matched your pace, “I can cook, by the way. I clean. I’m like, decently smart.”

You groaned, “If you were smart, you would leave me alone. Wait—how old are you?”

“Twenty one,” He said like he hit the jackpot, voicing it immediately and swiftly. 

You blinked, “Ew. Nope. Too old.”

He furrowed his brows in worry, “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Riki raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you’d just dropped a bomb on him. “Nineteen?!” He almost shouted, his arms flailing dramatically as if he’d just discovered you were a time traveler or something. “That’s barely even a gap! C’mon, you’re acting like I’m forty.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost gave yourself a headache. “Yeah, well, twenty-one feels ancient when I’m still figuring out how to survive college, Riki,” you shot back, not breaking your stride.

“Okay but, besides…what just happened I have a really good future ahead of me. I promise I’m not just some ruffian that likes to vandalize corporate buildings.” He strides widely, ensuring he’s beside you. “I go to Columbia, I major in Design and—”

You stopped, “Wait—where?”

He looked at you with furrowed brows, confusion residing heavily in his expression. He slowly spoke to you like you were five years old. “I said I go to Columbia University…” 

That irritated you but you didn’t even care to acknowledge it. “No you don’t…” You said in disbelief. Heart beating rapidly as that weird shaking in your hands reignited.

“How are you gonna tell me—” He smacked his teeth as he reached into his pocket, showcasing a sleek black wallet. Then immediately handed you his student ID. 

It was a picture of him, straight faced, again reminiscent of a model. His name and graduating year. Undeniably real. This sent you into a whirlwind. “What the fuck.”

“Do you think I’m not smart enough to be there or something? Because I know you—” You cut him off, putting your hand up as you looked at him. “I go to Columbia too.”

Riki blinked at you, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “No way,” he laughed, laughing as if you were Kevin Hart or Dave Chappelle and you just said the funniest thing in the entire world. “Columbia Law?”

You nodded, closing your eyes to mediate the aggravation and pure coincidence. “Yes,”

But he just slowly stopped laughing, a bright grin following immediately after. “I mean…this has to be fate, right? Some otherworldly, cosmic sign that we just have to know each other right?”

“Yeah, you lost me.” You brushed past him as you kept walking hurriedly to which he quickly followed right behind you.

“So I had you?”

“Never,” you shook your head and toyed with the straps on your backpack like you always did under pressure.

He jogged up to match your pace. “I mean, think about it. All the schools you could’ve picked. FIT, Parsons, NYU, Fordham, any of them.” He brushed his hair out of his face. “But somehow, someway, you bump into me in a random alley and we just so happen to be in a closer proximity than we thought. That means something, right?”

“Then how come I’ve never seen you around?” Which makes sense, people like him stand out more than anything. Tall, handsome, fit, the school wasn’t that big. I’m sure someone would’ve acknowledged the hot, art major somewhere and put him on Fizz. 

He shrugged, “I come and go as I please,”

You scoffed, what a privileged asshole. “Okay…whatever that means.”

“But now I have a reason to go,”

You shot him a look. “Don’t make it weird.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Too late.”

You groaned, speeding up like walking faster could shake him off. But to no avail. “You’re literally insane.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I believe that. Like seriously,”

He tilted his head, smirking. “So what you’re saying is...you’ve been thinking about me?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “I’m still thinking about that restraining order.”

“That’s still thinking about me.”

You stopped walking so fast, your brain buffering. “You’re not serious.”

He shrugged again. “Only about the things that matter.”

You looked up at him, squinting like he was an overexposed camera flash. “And you think I matter?”

He didn’t answer right away. And you hated that. Hated the way his smile fell just slightly—like he was thinking. Actually thinking.

Then, way too softly for your comfort, he said, “I think you could.”

Your stomach did a weird thing. Like it tried to throw hands with your logic and then tapped out halfway through.

So you did what you do best—deflect. “Well, I think you’re lost.”

And just like that, his grin snapped back into place like muscle memory. “Nah. Found exactly what I was looking for.”

You sighed, “Okay,” you rub your forehead as if you could soothe your headache from the outside. “What do you want? Truly.”

His smile faltered a little, simmering into some sort of seriousness. “You.” He edged closer to you, looking at you with gentle eyes. 

A part of you wanted to step back, to reject him further. But you couldn’t deny the feelings and attraction brewing between the two of you. So you didn’t step back, because you didn’t want the indirect mention of fate that Riki mentioned to be real. “I don’t know you.” You muttered with little confidence.

He smiled again, letting out a breathy laugh, shaking his head at your stubbornness. “You can get to know me. I promise, I’m not that bad.”

You shook your head, “Then what? What’s your big plan?” Shrugging at his flippant attitude.

He tilted his head like he was genuinely considering it, like this was a business pitch and not some unorthodox meet-cute. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we talk. Maybe we get dinner. Maybe you don’t call the cops on me—crazy idea, I know.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you saw your ancestors. “You’re not even trying to be normal about this.”

“What is normal? It’s a social construct,” he countered, hands waving around like what you said was nonsense. “Girl meets boy. Boy tries not to screw it up in under five minutes. I’m doing my best here.”

You let out a snort you tried (and failed) to muffle. “Your best involves mildly harassing me and romanticizing a chance encounter where you were literally spray painting a wall.”

“Technically,” he held up a finger, “you walked into my crime scene. I was minding my criminal business.”

You blinked at him. “Did you just say ‘my criminal business’?” 

He nodded, “I did.” But he held his hands up, “But just give me a chance, please.” He looked around to assess where you two stood. It was already dark out as established, but there were still many people lingering in the streets. The cool weather breezing through your hair as if this were some postmodern, A24 film. The neon signs from the stores meddling about and casting a sensual glow on both of you, melting and simmering into your skin. “What time is it?”

Furrowing your brows, you tap around your jean pockets for your phone. Finally landing on it, you pull it out and read, “6:19 PM.”

He nodded firmly, getting straight to the point. “Give me until midnight.” His eyes looked into yours, a mix of desperation and anticipation. “Midnight, to show you that this wasn’t just some fluke.”

You stared at him, squinting like he’d just challenged you to a duel instead of whatever this was supposed to be. “Midnight?”

“Midnight,” he confirmed.

You blinked slowly. “Is this Cinderella? I’m so confused.”

“If you want it to be then, yes. It can be whatever you want. I can be whatever you want, just please. Give me the five and a half hours.” He nodded as stepped aside, pulling you out of the way of passersby and slightly bent down to plead.

“Oh my god.” You opened your mouth. Closed it. Rubbed your forehead again. This man was going to give you wrinkles. “And what exactly happens at midnight? The spell breaks? Do we forget this ever happened?”

He nodded, “We can. But if you don’t like me after then I will leave you alone. Even if I see you around campus I will walk past you like I never knew you if that’s what you wanted.” 

You stared at him, trying to evaluate his expression and you didn’t track that smugness, that cocky smile that has been half of what you’ve been seeing for the last two hours. Just him, crouching down to meet your height in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re so dramatic,” You shook your head with a small smile. 

His ears perked up at the fact that he got you to smile. But he didn’t want to get overzealous. “I’m an artist,” he smiled. “Just don’t think too much into it.” He tilted his head, peering at you with gentle eyes. “Take the chance…five hours of your time.” 

You stared at him for a beat too long, and maybe it was the mix of city noise and his hopeful expression—or the fact that he looked at you like the universe personally dropped you in front of him—but you felt your resolve falter.

“…Fine,” you muttered.

His face lit up. “Yes?”

You sighed with a nod, “Okay,” pointing at him firmly, “But don’t ask me to do anything.”

He put his hands up in defense, “Swear on everything I love, you won’t. All I’m asking you to do is be pretty.” He smiled, “But what do you wanna do?”

You waved your finger with a smile, “No, no, no. My job is to be pretty, not think. You’ve been hounding me for the last hour, buddy. My only request is nothing illegal.”

He clutched his chest like you’d just professed undying love. “You being pretty and funny? You’re trying to kill me.”

You gave him a look that was this close to amused. “Don’t push it.”

“Right, right,” he nodded solemnly, already walking backward like a man on a mission. “Nothing illegal. Got it. Which really narrows down, like, seventy percent of my plans.”

“You’re not helping your case,” you called after him.

He spun, walking forward now, ensuring you weren’t too far behind. Gratefully, you were now walking side by side. “Are you hungry?” He looked down at you, waiting for your answer.

Amazingly enough, your hunger was one of the contributing factors as to how you even ended up in the situation in the first place. The sudden need for a shortcut being how you ended up walking side-by-side the human form of mono. Easy to get apparently, but hard to get rid of.

But the adrenaline you were running off of had seemed to die down. And now that your body was exiting that fight or flight, it was like a trigger—his words. That you didn’t even remember being hungry until he asked. So as your stomach growled obnoxiously, probably being the loudest thing on the street—even above the cars. Without any thought you wrapped your arms around you, not even wanting to look him in the eye. 

Riki smiled endearingly, “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He looked at you, gently asking. “Do you eat meat?”

You nodded, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk like maybe if you stared hard enough, it’d open up and swallow you whole. “Yeah,” you muttered, voice small.

“Cool,” he said, like you hadn’t just had your internal organs announce themselves to the world. “I know a spot.”

“Of course you do,” you mumbled, shooting him a side-eye.

He grinned, unbothered. “It’s not even sketchy this time, I swear.”

“‘This time,’” you mimic his words with a smile.

“I said what I said.”

You couldn’t help the huff of a laugh that escaped your nose. He caught that too, of course, but didn’t say anything. Just walked beside you with that infuriating little bounce in his step like he was winning some imaginary game you never agreed to play.

After a block or two, you turned a corner and the world cracked open with the smell of grilled meat, sweet and savory spices, and the unmistakable comfort of street food glory.

“Ta-da,” Riki said, gesturing grandly to a tiny halal cart lit by the glow of string lights and years of character. “Best lamb over rice in the city. You can fight me on that.”

“I’d rather fight you, just cause.” But as you scaled the cart, you noted the rust that crept onto metal signs and the near decrepit wheels and half-faded photos of food that were tacked to the vehicle. This cart was one more bowl away from breaking down and coming apart. 

That’s how you knew this food was about to be the best you’ve ever tasted.

You gave him a blank look. “You really like the sound of your own voice, huh?”

“Almost as much as I like the sound of yours,” he shot back with a wink.

You looked away before he could catch the corners of your lips twitching upward again. 

—

You walked beside him as he held the plastic bag with both of your guys’ food inside. Simply following his lead, “Do you wanna go on a picnic?”

Your brows furrowed at the request, “A picnic?”

Riki nods with a smile, “Yeah, I think I know just the place. Only mild trespassing, it’s abandoned. So does that count, Ms. Law Student?”

You deadpanned. “It absolutely still counts.”

“Legally?”

You snorted, “Legally. Morally. Every -ly you can think of.”

“Okay, okay.” He held his hands up again, that now-familiar ‘I’m charming please don’t arrest me’ gesture. “But if I told you it had one of the best skyline views in Manhattan and nobody around to ruin it—just you, me, and lamb over rice—would you consider turning a blind eye to justice?”

You squinted at him. “I’m tired of you and your felonies.”

“Technically it’s a misdemeanor.”

You blinked.

He grinned wider. “I looked it up. Once. While hiding.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then gave a long sigh that tasted a little too much like amusement. “Lead the way, Picasso.”

— New York City, West Village: circa 7:04 PM

The rest of the walk was quiet in the way only New York could be—horns in the distance, muffled chatter spilling from windows, and your footsteps synchronized like some kind of reluctant duet. When he led you around the back of an old building, pulling open a rusted side gate with the grace of someone who’s done this many times, you just sighed again and followed.

And as the two of you started the climb—graffiti-tagged stairs, occasional creaks and all—you realized you weren’t even thinking about the risk anymore.

Just the view at the top.

The rooftop door groaned open like it hadn’t been touched in years, and Riki held it for you like a gentleman and a menace all at once. The second you stepped out, the city greeted you—wind tugging at your hair, the buildings glowing like embers in a dying fire. The skyline stretched across the horizon like a living painting. A couple pigeons took off at your arrival like even they knew they weren’t cool enough to be here.

You took a slow breath. “Okay…wow.”

Riki didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, letting the moment do the heavy lifting. Then he set down the bag of food, spreading out two of those obnoxious plastic bags like a makeshift blanket. “Your table, m’lady.”

You sat in butterfly position, trying to play it cool while your knees absolutely did not cooperate. As you took off your backpack, he handed you a container and a plastic fork, and the second you cracked the lid, the steam hit you in the face like a warm hug and a slap all at once.

“You’re gonna owe me when this changes your life,” he said between bites of his own plate.

“You’re real confident for someone who literally just admitted to mild trespassing.”

He grinned mid-chew. “Confidence is all I’ve got.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t argue.

After a few minutes of nothing but chewing and the sound of distant city life echoing up the building sides, Riki wiped his mouth with a napkin and tilted his head at you like he was switching gears. “So. Bronx girl, huh?”

You raised a brow. “How’d you know?”

“Your accent.” He pointed his fork at you. To which you drew back, “I don’t have an accent, you just hear funny.”

He shook his head with a smile, “No, you do. You say ‘lost’ like ‘law-st.’” He laughs, his mouth partially full as he covers it with his hand. 

You threw a crumpled up napkin at him, “I do not! You loser.” Matching his laughter despite yourself. “I think I sound just like every other New Yorker if anything.”

“It’s cute,” He smiles as he takes a sip of his water bottle and lets the charged silence stew between you too. “So, which part?”

“Baychester,” you answered. “You?”

“Queens. Forest Hills.” He smiled. “But I went to high school in the Bronx for like, five minutes.”

You drew back but didn’t want to throw him off. Forest Hills is one of the wealthiest areas in Queens—probably New York in general. Knowing that there was a Whole Foods on almost every corner moves you, making you feel like you and him shouldn’t even be having this conversation. But if you’ve learned anything today, it’s that you never really know anyone. So you let it go, kept it in the back of your mind.

But you nodded slowly, chewing. “Explains a lot actually, which school?”

“Taft.”

“Oh God,” you laughed as you also covered your mouth. “I’m so sorry,”

William H. Taft High School wasn’t exactly terrible. But if there was chaos and extremely mild anarchy in a school it would be this one. Which—hindsight 20/20—makes a lot of sense for someone like Riki.

“Yeah, yeah,” Riki waved you off, dramatically wounded. “Laugh it up. I lasted, like, three fights and a lockdown before my mom yanked me out.”

“You fought?” you blinked, already knowing the answer.

He shrugged like it was Tuesday. “To be fair, only one was my fault. The second one was self-defense. The third was...well. Mysterious circumstances. That was early freshman year though, so it didn’t go on my record.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re the mysterious circumstances, aren’t you?”

“Guilty.” He grinned.

You shook your head, still smiling despite every part of you that knew better. There was something infuriatingly magnetic about him—like if hooliganism had a pretty face and nice hands.

“So, what about you?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Why law school? You trying to save the world or something?”

You poked at your food again. “Not the world. Just…my block.”

He laughed, “Okay, J-Lo.”

You reciprocated the laugh, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up,” Leaning back to where you sat, crossing your legs in butterfly position as you stifled a laugh. “That’s not funny.” 

Riki nodded, laughter diffusing. “It was funny,” but his eyes softened as he looked at you. “But why? Seriously.” He let his words hang warmly in the air, like this was the first real thing he’s gotten or even felt all night.

Your own laughter died down, finally leaning toward introspection. “Well…” you sighed, looking up in thought. “Seeing neighborhoods like these in Manhattan compared to the ones near me… The ones that generations of families grew up in, seeing how they slowly start to not become theirs anymore…infuriates me.” 

Riki didn’t say anything, just let you speak as he digested your words. Nodding in understanding as he knew exactly the things you were speaking of. 

“The Bronx is the only borough that has slowly resisted gentrification and walking through places like Greenwich Village and the Upper East Side upset me because…you see these gorgeous brownstones and high rise buildings. Then you turn the corner and there’s poverty, uncleanliness, liquor stores, weed dispensaries where they don’t need to be.” You went on, “The people that look like me are basically set up to be trapped in these hubs and red-lined areas so we can’t further our lives and only…prove them right.”

As Riki listened to you with intention, eyes never leaving you—his heart softened at the passion behind your eyes. The way you spoke so firmly—yet with care, about the world you lived in. But even as he listened he couldn’t help but develop more respect with each passing word. “And you don’t wanna prove them right…” He said softly.

You nodded, slowly. “Exactly. I want to make it out without selling out. I want to help people stay in the places that made them who they are. That raised them. That’s if they want to. But they shouldn’t be pushed out so…” You sighed, “housing law it is.”

Riki’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words yet. Instead, he just gave a small smile—gentler than any expression you’d seen on him all night. “That’s very admirable and I know I really don’t know you yet but…I’m proud of you.”

You glanced over at him, surprised by his sincerity. Face warming up as you looked down, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks…you?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, tipping his head back for a second like he needed to stall. “Damn, I was seriously hoping you would make this all about you.”

You shook your head, “Don’t deflect, why do you do what you do?” You smiled, “And don’t say ‘because it’s fun’ or I’m kicking your ass off this roof.”

He looked at you sideways, considering, before shrugging slowly. “I just wanna create something that outlasts me.” He went into the bag to grab a huge, saran wrapped, chocolate chip cookie before he broke it in half and gave the rest to you. “I feel like…art has always been an escape for me. My parents have always instilled creativity into me and…there’s nothing more addictive than forcing people to see me.” 

You got to understand him in a way. The way he looked at you with such gentleness and a smidge of desire. But it wasn’t demeaning, like he looked at you like you were something to be conquered. Rather something to explore out of curiosity, like not being told to touch that big red button in action movies. 

“I firmly believe that if no one wants to hear you, make them listen. Whether it’s in a judicial chair, art on a wall, words on a page, screaming through your window, music, anything.” He says firmly, “I don’t like being silenced.” 

You smiled, shoulders relaxing as you felt yourself become a little more comfortable in his presence. Which is something you’d never thought you might feel. “You sound like an anarchist.” She broke a piece of the gooey cookie and popped it in her mouth.

“I’ve had a couple ideas.” He nodded with a quirk of his brow. But something he said before had piqued your interest. 

“Wait,” you tapped your knee with your fingers, trying to stir up a proper way to word this. “You said you got into a few fights in high school, right? Your freshman year?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed with a bitter smile. Remembering those days where his mom had to pick him up from school. Forcing him to hear lectures about how she didn’t come to the States for him to act like a dummy and blah blah, immigrant parent lectures, blah blah. 

And you hated the stirring in the bottom of your stomach at hearing him call you ma’am but that’s not here nor there. “How did that not get on your record? I mean, Columbia’s pretty strict about shit like that.”

He adjusted himself as he pondered your question, taking his zip-up that was once tied around his hips to ball it up as a makeshift pillow. Groaning as he slowly reclined his body against the cold, empty stone of the rooftop. He shifted, getting comfortable and looking up at the star-polluted sky. “In case you can’t tell,” Riki looked over at you with that same cocky grin. “I can be very convincing.” He rested his hands on his stomach as he folded the cuffs of his sleeves over his large hands a little.

“And a little bit of a liar but this isn’t about me right now.” He waved off, “but I just really pleaded with them to expunge it. I was young, fourteen years old, bright future, blasè blah. That most of the fights were out of character and that I was having a hard time at home. Anything that was going to keep my very Japanese mother from killing me.”

You tilted your head in interest. “Were you?”

“What?”

You clarified, “Having a hard time at home?”

His grin faltered, not completely disappearing but definitely softening—melting into something smaller, something quieter.

He inhaled through his nose, exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” he said, voice lower now. “But not in the way they thought.”

You didn’t press him, just let the silence stretch as he looked back up at the sky like it might help him piece the words together.

“My parents...they love me. A lot. But they love me in that ‘you will succeed or else’ kinda way.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “I was dancing since I could walk, painting since I could hold a brush, and speaking three languages before middle school. And none of that ever felt like enough.”

Your brows furrowed, gaze softening. “That’s a lot.”

He nodded. “Yeah. And I didn’t even mind it, not at first. I liked being good at things. But somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t know who I was when I wasn’t performing. Like if I wasn’t impressive, I didn’t matter.”

You sat up a little straighter, the cookie in your hand forgotten. He wasn’t just opening up—he was unfolding.

“So when I started acting out, it wasn’t ‘cause I was angry or whatever. I just wanted to know what would happen if I wasn’t perfect for once.”

You smiled gently, “It wasn’t like you did too poorly. You’re attending one of the most respected and prestigious universities in the country.” You adjusted your legs as they started to tingle, signaling they were falling asleep. “That has to count for something.”

“It counts for everything.” His eyes glued to the sky, swearing he saw a shooting star zip over the moon. “I just knew that fucking around all of my life wasn’t going to really get me anywhere.” He shrugged, “I’m twenty-one. While I’m still young, my time for making dumb mistakes isn’t going to be forever unfortunately. Plus, I wasn’t going to let all of my hard work go down the drain like that, no way.”

You nodded, watching him carefully, understanding the weight of what he was saying. He had a self-awareness that was rare for someone his age, and it made you respect him more. You shifted on the rooftop, legs now crossed beneath you to stop the tingling from spreading.

“I get that,” you said, voice steady. “There’s always that balance between wanting to live and not wanting to screw up what you’ve worked for.” You paused, then added, “But you don’t have to be perfect to succeed. You’re allowed to stumble. We all are.”

Riki let out a slow breath, eyes still on the sky. “Yeah, but I don’t know if I really know how to stumble without completely falling apart.”

There was a slight vulnerability in his voice that he hadn’t shown before, and it made you feel like you’d just uncovered another layer of him—one he didn’t often let people see. You hesitated for a moment, then took a chance.

“Maybe you don’t have to know,” you said softly. “Maybe you just need someone to help you back up when you do.”

His gaze flicked to you then, meeting your eyes with a kind of quiet intensity. He didn’t respond right away, letting the words settle between you two. The air felt heavier suddenly, charged with something unspoken.

After a moment, he chuckled lightly, breaking the tension. “Yeah? So what, you’re gonna be my personal safety net, huh?”

You grinned, teasing. “Maybe. Depends on how many dumb mistakes you make.”

He raised an eyebrow, that cocky grin returning. “Well, you might be real busy then.”

The playful banter was back, and it felt like the pressure between you two had lifted just a little bit. But the look in his eyes, still holding yours, said something deeper lingered.

“Guess we’ll see,” you said, the words lighter, but the undertone carrying the weight of everything you hadn’t quite said yet.

Riki’s gaze softened again, but this time, it wasn’t for show. It was real. “You know,” he started, his voice quieter, “I never thought I’d actually...get along with someone like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Someone like me? How so?”

His gaze shifted to something a little more playful, teasing. “I don’t know…since I met you, you just seemed so uptight like—”

You leaned up empty containers of food, swatting at his chest again. “I’m not uptight. You just caught me at a terrible time and had me run from the literal police.”

Riki nodded with a small smile, “Yeah? What else did I do…?” He smoothly grabbed your hand as you were leaning back. Leaving your palm burning in his grasp. You didn’t dare pull away.

“Then chased me down the street for me to go out with you.” 

The glint in his eyes remained, toying with your fingers with the same hand. Eye contact never letting up. “Mhm, and now?” 

You swallowed. The rooftop felt quieter than before. Maybe it was the way his thumb brushed the center of your palm—like he knew exactly what he was doing, but didn’t need to gloat about it.

“Now you’re annoying,” you said, voice a little breathier than you intended.

He huffed a laugh, head tilting just slightly as if he could see straight through your bravado. “You think I chased you down the street because I like bothering people?”

You raised your brow. “You don’t?”

Riki smiled at your jab. “Well…I meant what I said. After you kissed me, what I felt was…electric.” He let out a breathy laugh, but you didn’t know if it was for you or him. Just something a result of introspection. “And I just couldn’t let this go without seeing it through. Everything just feels so uncanny and…like a weird coincidence.” He adjusted himself again, still not letting go of your hand.

“Do you really believe in that stuff?” You tilted your head, curls falling in your face. “The whole fate, destiny thing?”

He laughed, something that you’ve been hearing a lot of recently. Not that there are any complaints. “No, that’s the thing. I don’t.” He turned his head back up to the stars. “But I do believe everything happens for a reason and—like,” Riki sat up, scooting a little closer to you. “Think about it. You just somehow decided to be in the alley I was in. Mind you, no one has ever seen or caught me ever. Then we find out that we go to the same school. When we kissed it felt like I was floating.” He rambled, grip on your hand tightening—but not enough to hurt you. 

“So you’ve kissed strangers before?” 

“Yeah,” his eyes flitted to the side with a nod, as if it was an obvious answer. But judging what we’ve seen of him thus far…of course he has. “But none of them have felt like this.”

“So, what’s your goal? We met three hours ago.”

Riki blinked once, twice. The kind of pause that held weight, not hesitation.

“Exactly,” he said, like that explained everything. “That’s how I know it’s real. Time doesn’t move normal when something actually matters.”

He leaned in just slightly, not close enough to kiss you—yet—but enough for you to feel it, the magnetism of someone who never did anything halfway. His voice dropped just a bit lower, like it was only meant for you to hear.

“My goal?” He repeated your question, rolling it over like he was tasting it. “To find out what this is. Between us. Even if it’s just for tonight, or a week, or whatever. But I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t feel this. And I don’t wanna bullshit you and say I’m some perfect guy—I’m not.” He offered a small shrug, thumb brushing over your knuckle again. “But I’m not gonna disappear tomorrow, either. If you let me stay.”

You stared at him. Hard. Trying to find the catch. The trick. The usual posturing that guys with smirks like his tend to carry like armor.

But there wasn’t any. Just warmth. Just honesty, tinged with mischief, but solid underneath. And that scared you more than if he’d lied.

“Don’t fall in love with me,” you whispered, half-joking, half-dead serious.

He grinned slowly, devilish. “I already told you,” he murmured, that damn twinkle in his eye again, “you kissed me first.”

The tension held thick in the air, humming like static between your bodies.

Neither of you spoke.

You weren’t even sure you were breathing properly—not with the way Riki was looking at you, like you were something tender and wild all at once. His hand was still curled around yours, steady and warm, like he had no plans of letting go unless you made him.

Your heart pounded so hard you swore he could hear it, but he didn’t comment. Just kept his gaze locked on yours, like he was memorizing the moment. Like he’d already written about it in one of his sketchbooks and was just checking to see if he got the shading of your eyes right.

His thumb skimmed over your pulse again.

The rooftop, the city, the stars—none of it felt real. Only him. Only this.

You swallowed again. That same ache curling low in your stomach, the kind that had less to do with lust and more to do with want. Pure want. Dangerous want.

And then, before anything could tumble out of your mouth that you couldn’t take back, you inhaled sharply and broke the spell.

“So,” you blurted, sitting up straighter, “where are we off to next, Houdini?”

Riki blinked. A beat passed. Then he snorted, full and bright.

“Wow,” he said, letting go of your hand just to shove his own through his hair. “That was smooth. Really killed the moment.”

You smirked, grabbing your water bottle to hide the way your hand was shaking just a little. “Yeah, well. Consider it payback for the ‘uptight’ comment.”

He tilted his head, considering you with a grin that said fair enough. “Okay, well I have some place I wanna show you.” He grabbed a plastic bag to toss the discarded containers in. Even he was decent enough to not litter. You followed suit, grabbing the water bottles and napkins as he held open the bag. 

“Is it legal?”

He frowned, “Tragically, yes.”

“Bless your heart.”

— New York City, Upper Manhattan, 116th and Broadway. Columbia University. Circa 8:49 PM

It turned out to be the campus library.

But not the front-facing, normal-people part.

You followed him past the security doors (seeing him type in a few numbers), up two staircases, down a back hallway that smelled like dust and vanilla extract, and into a tucked-away room you didn’t even know existed. No fluorescent lights. Just floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves lined with old poetry books, and a pair of velvet chairs facing a skylight.

You blinked. “Is this…the Rare Books Room?”

Riki turned, that smug glint in his eye fully engaged now. “Mmhmm. Closed to the public after 8. But I may or may not have flirted my way into a key code once.”

You crossed your arms, trying not to look impressed. “All that effort…for books?”

He plopped into one of the chairs and looked up at you. “Nah. For moments like this.”

And suddenly, the silence wasn’t awkward—it was loaded. Safe. Special. Like you’d stepped into a pocket of the night that didn’t exist for anyone else but the two of you.

“Pick something,” he said, nodding toward the poetry shelf. “Read to me.”

You blinked again, thrown off. “You want me to read you poetry?”

“No,” he said, leaning back with a grin. “I want you to let your guard down. But we can start with poetry.”

Surprisingly enough, you hadn’t started to feel nervous until now. Slightly overwhelmed with the array of literature to choose from, but also the guy that was looking at you with a mixture of anticipation and kindness. It seemed that he could never look at you in one way. Nothing ever seemed simple with Riki and a part of you liked the dichotomy. “Which one do I pick?” Your eyes scanned the hardly lit room, the moon being your only source of light. 

“Any one. I’m not picky.” He said softly as you gave a small shrug.

You hesitated. The weight of the shelves full of words pressed down on you like an invisible hand. It wasn’t so much the pressure of picking a poem—it was more the pressure of picking the right one in front of him. The one that wouldn’t feel like you were exposing too much.

Riki was watching you closely, his gaze softening as he waited for you to pick something, anything. His eyes never left you, like he was giving you space but also asking you to take the leap.

You ran your fingers over a book spine, feeling the edges of each title like a string of lifelines. Finally, your hand brushed over the weathered cover of one particular collection. “This one,” you said, more to yourself than to him, your voice a little unsure.

You opened the book and began reading softly, the words spilling out into the room, the only sound between the two of you. You could feel Riki’s attention on you with every line you read, his gaze never straying.

“Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets…”

It felt strange reading something so melancholy in this space, in this moment. But somehow, it fit. You didn’t glance up at Riki as you spoke, but you could feel him absorbing each word as if it were more than just poetry—it was a conversation without speaking.

The words felt strange on your tongue at first. But with each verse, something softened. Your voice steadied. You wandered a few steps forward, eyes glued to the page, trying to find a rhythm. But the poetry filled the silence like it belonged there, like it had been waiting in the wings this whole time.

“The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels…”

You were only vaguely aware that Riki hadn’t moved. That he was still sitting in the chair, slightly manspread like some museum exhibit of patience. His expression was unreadable, except for the way his eyes didn’t leave you.

You took another step, and then another. And before you could register what was happening, his hands found your waist.

He didn’t say anything. Just gently guided you down until you were sitting on his lap, your back to his chest, the book still open in your hands like nothing had changed.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you didn’t stop reading.

“…And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:Streets that follow like a tedious argumentOf insidious intent…”

His breath was steady against your shoulder as he eyed the book now. Warm. His arms rested around you without pressure, like he didn’t want to startle you out of the moment. Like he knew you needed this stillness more than anything.

“For I have known them all already, known them all:Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;I know the voices dying with a dying fallBeneath the music from a farther room.So how should I presume?”

You weren’t sure when the words stopped being just a poem.

And started being the way he listened to you.

You read the final lines slowly, like they were something sacred. Like they were the last thing tethering you to the ground.

“We have lingered in the chambers of the seaBy sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brownTill human voices wake us, and we drown.”

The silence that followed was deafening in the best way.

You finally lowered the book, your hands settling in your lap. His arms were still around you, and you could feel the way his chest rose and fell beneath you—steady, like he was trying not to startle the moment. Like if he moved too fast, it would all dissolve. That he would ruin all of it.

You turned your head slightly. His face was close. Closer than you remembered. Closer than you expected. But there was no rush in his eyes. Just that same impossible softness.

And then—quietly, slowly—he leaned in.

You met him halfway.

There wasn’t anything dramatic about it. No breathy gasps or hurried hands. Just his mouth brushing yours with such care it almost didn’t feel real. Like he was making sure you had every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

You deepened it first.

It wasn’t perfect. Your noses bumped a little. Your hands weren’t sure where to go at first. But it was real. And warm. And—God—it lingered. 

You hated the fact that you now understood the electricity that Riki was talking about. Fortunately, he didn’t take advantage. He took everything you were giving him without being overzealous. 

Carefully, he placed his hand on your jaw. Tracing your cheek with his thumb as he slowly threaded his lips with yours. Like a puzzle piece, it just fit so perfectly. So naturally. 

This wasn’t your first kiss, but it felt like what it should’ve. Not awkwardly, poorly timed, two young teens unsure of what to do but just trying to make something out of it anyway. However, this didn’t feel as such. This felt sure; sure, that the guy you were kissing actually knew what he was doing and was more than happy to guide you. So he did.

The hand that was on your jaw moved to your bicep to guide your arm up. This way your hand rested on his shoulder, he didn’t want to push you or take advantage of the moment and you were grateful for that. But now it seemed less like he was kissing you. More like you were kissing each other. You moved your hand to the side of his neck to deepen the kiss. 

Riki subconsciously smiled into the exchange, taking this as a sign that you were just as into this as he was. His hands mindlessly drift to your fluffy curls, which he seemed to do the last time. Savoring the texture in his hands as if he wasn’t ever going to feel it again. Bunching them in his hand gently as he ran his hand down your head and played with a singular curl at the ends. 

His silver hair was surprisingly soft considering what it took to get it there. Since he was playing in your hair, you had no problem indulging in his either. And wasn’t ever going to pull away, he didn’t want this to end. But it had to. So just as you pulled back:

“See,” he murmured, voice roughened by something too intimate to name. “Told you this wasn’t just a coincidence.” He rested his forehead on yours as he gently—ever so slightly—let his index finger graze your lips. 

“You know what’s crazy,”

“What?”

You sighed, whispering into the solemnity of the room. “I didn’t even pick this on purpose.”

“And you kept doubting me.” He nuzzled his nose into yours with a smile. “I’m starting to think that I have a great intuition.” Riki’s smile brightened as his fingers tightened, bunching around the fabric of your hoodie.

You let yourself lean into a bit, finally letting yourself smile without restrictions. “I think so too.” Sighing, “But what time is it?”

His eyes found the analog clock on the wall in front of your conjoined bodies. Squinting lightly to read it within the dim room. Luckily, the moonlight hit it just perfectly—letting him be able to read: “9:30.” He stroked your cheek as he peered into your eyes. The mixed perceptions of his now soloing into one: kindness. “Two and half hours left. Are you done for the night?”

A part of you was overwhelmed at the thought that this seemingly magical night was coming to an end. The other was happy to make the most of it and now you were all in, and fully ready to adhere to Riki’s impulsivity for the next couple of hours finally. 

You shook your head in thought, “No, I’m…not really in any rush to get home. Plus Uber’s cost at least thirty-five dollars and that’s not something I wanna spend money on when I can just catch the train.”

“Yeah, I’m not letting you take the subway this late.” He furrowed his brows as if what you said was ridiculous—which it was.

“No, no! I don’t wanna take it now. That’s insane.”

He brushed his hand over the back of your head, into your hair. “I can get you an Uber if you want. It’s not a big deal.”

You sigh, “No, I have no way to pay you ba—”

“You don’t have to. I’ll eat the money if it means you’re safe. Plus I dragged you out here, the least I can do is get you home—make sure you get home.” He kissed your cheek gently, now taking full advantage of the proximity between you two. Taking in your scent like it was intoxicating, like his kryptonite. 

“I don’t want to go home.”

He froze a little, his heart dropping—not in panic, but in that weird way when someone says something so real you forget how to breathe for a second.

You weren’t looking at him. You were staring at the shadows moving along the far wall, like saying it out loud made it too fragile to face.

“I don’t want to go home,” you repeated, quieter this time. “Just…not yet.”

Riki didn’t ask why. He didn’t press. He just nodded like he understood more than you knew how to explain.

“Okay,” he said. Soft. Sure.

He sat up a little, arms still loosely around you. “Wanna go somewhere else? We don’t have to do anything crazy. I just—” He scratched the back of his neck. “I just don’t want this to end either.”

You finally turned to look at him. His silver hair caught the moonlight, soft and out of place in the best way. There was no smirk this time. Just that sincerity again. That stillness.

“Where would we even go?” you asked.

He blinked once. Twice. Then smiled.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I could make an irresponsible financial decision.”

You snorted. “What does that even mean?”

“Come with me and find out,” he said, tapping your arm for you to stand and you do. Riki stands with a dramatic groan and gives you his hand. “I know this is a bit overused today but…trust me.” 

— New York City, Upper Manhattan, 242 West 76th St. The Wallace Hotel, Circa 10:09 PM

He paused right outside the glass doors of the hotel, hoodie pulled low like he was ducking paparazzi.

“Okay, real quick,” he said, turning to you with a deadly serious expression that had no business being this funny. “I need you to do me a solid.”

You blinked. “Are you about to propose a drug deal right now?”

“I wish,” he muttered dramatically, glancing behind him like someone was watching. “Nah, I just—can you check us in?”

“…Check us in?”

“Yeah. Use your ID. I’ll pay for everything, I just—” he glanced left and right again. “I can’t put my name down.”

You stared. “Why? Are you literally wanted by the NYPD?”

He threw his hands up. “Technically, no. But like…do I want my name on file the same night I accidentally fled a crime scene? Also no.”

“Riki,” you said, holding back a laugh. “You did graffiti.”

“Which, in the eyes of the law, is vandalism,” he countered, finger raised like a professor. “And also, I left my bag there. It’s got, like, three cans and a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. I’m practically breadcrumbing.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re not a fugitive, bro.”

“Yet,” he said ominously.

You rolled your eyes but pulled out your wallet anyway. “Fine. But if I get flagged for being your accomplice, I’m putting paws on you.”

He beamed as he handed you a thick wad of cash from his wallet. “That’s my girl.” You took it with reluctance.

You shook your head as he pulled open the door for you with a little bow. “Alright, let’s check in before your Hot Cheetos turn state’s evidence.”

—

The lobby was dimly lit and upscale in that “broke people should never laugh” kind of way. You stuck close to Riki, eyes flicking toward the front desk. He didn’t look even slightly nervous. If anything, he looked like he belonged here—hoodie, smirk, and all.

He approached the concierge with the kind of swagger that made you want to check if his sneakers were levitating.

“Good evening,” he said, smooth as silk. “Just one room for the night. Something quiet, if you’ve got it.”

The concierge gave a slow nod, clearly clocking the late hour, your backpack, and the ridiculous amount of chemistry floating between you two like fog. “Name on the reservation?”

“No reservation,” he replied easily. “But she’ll be checking in.” He gave you a quick glance, then looked back at the woman behind the counter.

The concierge hesitated. “I’ll need to see her identification, then.”

You slid yours over. Riki didn’t even flinch. He just leaned one arm on the counter, watching you calmly, like you’d done this a hundred times before.

“And how many keys?” she asked.

Riki didn’t even glance at you this time. “One’s fine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “One?”

He smirked. “Unless you plan on locking me out.”

The concierge paused typing and definitely had to stop herself from smirking too. She slid the keycard across the desk.

Riki took it with a quiet, “Thanks,” and then gently steered you toward the elevators, hand low on your back.

The second you stepped inside and the doors closed, he exhaled. “See? Easy.”

You side-eyed him. “You’re way too good at that.”

He gave a half-smile. “Nah. You make it easy to play it cool.”

—

You two padded down the exquisite hallway, covered with stunning floral wallpapers. The coloring wasn’t abrasive nor was it too subtle to where you misjudged its luxury. Riki held the key card though and you scanned the numbers on the doors: 

501…

502…

Yes! 503.

You jut out your hand, just in time to stop the tall man from going further. He stopped and turned, letting out a quiet “Oh…” before opening the door. 

You didn’t even have time to comment before you were taken aback by the space you stepped into. It was average sized, nothing too crazy but you didn’t even care. It was for less than a day and it wasn’t like you needed Daddy Warbucks’ mansion to be able to sleep. 

But it was so modern and sleek, the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling not those dramatic ones. Though those are beautiful, there was something so cute and kind of chic about it. The two bathrooms. Then the bed. The bed was where your attention landed and absolutely refused to leave. King-sized. Crisp white sheets. Pillows stacked like luxury clouds. It looked like it cost more than your monthly rent. You caught yourself staring too long and quickly turned away like you didn’t just imagine a soft place to collapse after a day of accidental vandalism and heart palpitations.

Riki shut the door behind you with a soft click. He stood still for a second, scanning the room with a thoughtful nod.

“I feel like I should apologize for how suspicious that check-in was,” he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the nearby table. “But I kinda nailed it, right?”

You snorted. “You didn’t really have to do that, but I guess you did a decent job.”

He shrugged off his hoodie and kicked off his shoes, flopping onto the end of the bed like he owned the place. “You’re welcome for the free luxury experience.”

You dropped your backpack onto the chair, slowly lowering yourself onto the opposite side of the bed. The mattress gave slightly under your weight, as if inviting you to sink deeper. “This place is nice.”

“You deserve nice,” he said casually, and it would've felt light if he hadn’t looked at you like that—like he meant it.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, toeing off your sneakers. “You’re really leaning into the whole charming fugitive thing, huh?” 

Riki smiled, that same lowkey one that made your chest tight. “Crime’s my love language.”

You laughed—too loud for a place this expensive—and flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.

There was a beat of silence before he asked, voice a bit softer now, “So…what happens now?”

You turned your head toward him. “You tell me, Picasso. I’m just following your lead.”

He leaned in slightly, propping his head up on his hand. “Then let me ask you something important.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Do you want to watch trash TV and eat overpriced snacks from the mini bar...or do you wanna talk about how weirdly perfect this night has been?”

A small smile crept onto your lips. “Can we do both?”

“You’re going to ruin my life, I fear.” He mirrored your smile as he cupped your jaw. 

You let out a small laugh, “Says the guy that dragged me into a police chase.” 

“And it’s crazy because…I want so desperately to say sorry to you and feel bad. And I do feel bad, for putting you through that emotional distress, so I’m sorry. Sincerely, but I don’t feel bad for what it’s gotten me thus far.” He professed under the warm lighting of the hotel, probably the most flattering he’s looked all day. But he’s looked amazing even in the shitty lighting of the alley so that’s not saying much.

You cleared your throat before your brain could spiral deeper into that thought. “Okay, I hate to ruin the moment,” you murmured, sitting up, “but I really want to shower.”

He blinked. “You—huh?”

“Huh?” You mocked him but then laughed to yourself. “I feel grimy, Riki. Like, totally disgusting.”

He laughed. “Fair. But…you don’t have clothes.”

You raised an eyebrow, already halfway off the bed. “Wrong. This is another very crucial thing to know about me.”

You grabbed your backpack and unzipped a side pocket with dramatic flair, pulling out a little pouch like it was Excalibur. “Behold—pads, tampons, toothpaste, deodorant, toothbrush, and emergency underwear.”

He stared, impressed. “You’re actually…cool as fuck.”

“I know right.” You smirked, holding it up like a badge of honor. “All one ever really needs is a fresh pair of underwear.” You shrug.

“So what are you gonna wear when you get out?” 

You firmly stand and stretch, “I’ll just wear a robe to bed.” You walk to the bathroom cavalierly, smiling as you scan the shiny bathroom and open the shower door to turn on the water. “There’s only one robe though.” You call out.

Riki walks to the bathroom and leans against the doorframe, watching you with interest as usual. “I’ll just call downstairs and have them bring one up, or I’ll go down to get one. Whichever works.” He hands you a towel and washcloth that sat on a shelf below the sink. 

You take it with both hands as you look up at him, eyes full of warmth. “Thanks,”

He nodded as he stepped to you with ease, “No problem, gorgeous.” Tilting his head, “It’s just a towel,”

“No,” you shake your head. “Thanks for just…not being the shitty person I thought you were. In some weird way, you’ve brought me out of my comfort zone and even though it has been a bit much. Still…” You look up in thought as Riki stares at you, no pressure behind his gaze but encouragement. Like he was just waiting for you to get where he needed you to be.

“This has been one of the best days of my life and I have no one but you to thank for that.”

Riki’s expression didn’t shift much—but his eyes did. They softened in that distinct way only he could manage. Like he was keeping a hundred things behind them and choosing, deliberately, to just show you the one that mattered.

“I’m really glad you didn’t run off when you had the chance,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter, the kind of quiet that sticks in your chest.

You laughed softly, glancing at the now-steaming shower behind you. “You kidding? I almost did. Like five times. You’re exhausting.”

He grinned, stepping back toward the door. “I know. I’m an acquired taste.”

“I expect you to be done when I am,” you called after him as he slipped out.

“Your wish is my command, I live to please you.” he said, blowing you a kiss before the door clicked shut.

The shower was warm. Hot, even. Not just temperature-wise, but the kind of hot that made your thoughts swirl a little. Like the water was washing off more than just grime—maybe a little bit of fear, a little bit of doubt. You let it.

By the time you stepped out, towel-wrapped and robe-draped, the room had dimmed a little. Riki had turned off the overheads, leaving only a lamp by the bed casting a soft amber hue across the room. He was lounging at the edge of the bed in a now-matching robe, legs sprawled, flipping through channels on the TV like this wasn’t the weirdest, best night ever.

His head turned as you walked out, and he stared.

Not in a creepy way. Not in a wow hot girl in towel alert way either. In a stunned, slow-lidded, maybe-a-little-speechless way.

“You got your robe,” you said, padding over to your bag to stash your used clothes.

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes following you. “Had to charm the concierge.”

You snorted. “I swear you’re gonna get banned from like…every Manhattan hotel.”

“That’s okay.” He grinned. “We’ll just start hitting Brooklyn.”

You gave him a mock bow. “Your criminal empire awaits.”

He laughed—really laughed. The kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his whole chest shake.

Then he patted the spot next to him. “C’mon. Snacks and garbage TV. Your choice.”

You flopped beside him with a satisfied groan. “If they got 90 Day Fiancé on here, I swear—”

Riki tossed you a chocolate bar from the minibar. “We’re watching people ruin their lives together. Very on brand if you ask me.”

You slipped under the thick duvet and scooted closer to him. “Pass the remote, please.” 

He did without a word and moved his arm behind you to bring you closer to his chest. His scent clouding your senses, taking in the sweet smell of the hotel soap. A lavender soap and the matching lotion mixed so well with his body chemistry, making you hesitantly poke your face into his neck.

He jumped back a bit with a laugh, “What are you doing, weirdo?” He says playfully, but his words contrast his actions as he’s pulling you closer. Nearly on top of him.

“Nothing,” you pull back and face the TV and flip through the options. “You just smell nice, I like lavender on you.” 

Riki smiles as he stroked your robe-covered thigh, testing the waters and sliding his fingertips under the cloth—just barely. “Duly noted,” 

— New York City, Upper Manhattan, 242 West 76th St. The Wallace Hotel, Circa 11:10 PM

The TV was still on, but neither of you were watching.

At some point, the half-eaten snacks were left to the side, and you both shifted down, bodies facing each other under the plush hotel duvet. The lights were off—completely this time—just the low, flickering glow of the TV playing muted chaos across the room. But your eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, and all you could see now was him.

Riki. Inches away. Head resting on the pillow, hair slightly tousled, lips parted like he was mid-thought.

You blinked slowly, barely breathing. “What are you thinking about?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze scanned your face, gentle and a little too knowing.

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” he said, voice hushed.

You smiled, but it was small—honest. “That’s such a cop-out.”

He shrugged, face still close enough that his breath tickled your skin. “It’s the truth.”

You shifted a little closer, like your body made the decision before your brain could. “Okay. Then what do you think I’m thinking about?”

He let the silence stretch for a moment, a soft exhale escaping his nose. “I think you’re wondering if this...us…if this is just some weird blip. Like a temporary high.”

Your eyes searched for his own in the dark. “And is it?”

He swallowed, barely noticeable. His hand moved slowly between you, fingers brushing against yours like he was asking for permission to say what came next.

“I don’t want it to be,” he said. “I think this is the first thing that’s felt real in a long time.”

Your heart thudded, loud enough that you were pretty sure he could hear it too.

“I was thinking something similar,” you whispered, like saying it louder might shatter it.

You both stared at each other again, and that stretch of silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt full. Heavy with everything neither of you were saying. Warm with things you didn't know how to name yet.

Riki’s fingers finally laced with yours under the covers.

And then he said it. Soft. Stupidly soft.

“I don’t think you ruined my life.”

You tilted your head, barely smiling. “Yeah?”

“I think you might’ve saved it a little.”

Neither of you said anything after that. You didn’t have to.

You just stayed there. Still. Quiet. Staring.

Letting the warmth between you speak louder than anything else. But you just couldn’t let it be still. You couldn’t just be in this moment, feeling every single thing in every square inch of your body and be still. 

For once, you wanted to take a page out of Riki’s book. 

Mirroring your prior actions, you lean in swiftly to plant your lips onto his. Almost as if you were fearless of this outcome, and you were. 

He responded instantly, resting his hand on your cheek as he tenderly ravished your lips. The kiss was calm, both of your heads lying against the pillow, just lazy. Quietly, chastely hearing the smacking of your lips in the nearly silent room. 

The calmness felt like a haze, like you were meant to do this. Just to be here, with him until you couldn’t anymore. But you just wanted more, a part of you yearned for more. So you pulled back slowly, resting your hand on his own cheek. Gently stroking it and letting the illumination from the TV cast a varying glow on his face.

You pecked his lips one time before hesitantly moving to his neck. Letting the tingling in your body control you more than you thought it ever could. As you continue your ministrations, you could feel the clenching in his body as he tries not to react. Like he’s trying to act like he’s not affected by you being this close to him. Pulling back again, you look at him. “Are you okay?”

Riki nods, “Yeah,” he rests his hand on your waist. “I just…I don’t want us to ruin it.” He says tenderly, like he was afraid to hurt you.

“You think we’ll ruin it?” You hesitated—something you’ve been doing a lot in the last few minutes. Maybe you hadn’t been as much like him as you thought. “Are you—do you not see me like that?”

Urgently, he shook his head. “No. Wait—no I—I mean.” Riki sat up, turning on the bedside lamp so he could look you in the eye. His eyes and lips were slightly puffy from impending slumber and earlier activities. “I do want you, and see you like that. I just don’t want this to be ruined by one night of lust. Because I genuinely like you.”

You nodded in understanding, “I get it. But…I just want to…can I be honest with you?” Your eyes looked down at the pillow as you adjusted your robe beneath the covers. 

“Of course you can, baby.” He strokes your cheek in earnest. 

You sighed, looking at him. “No guy has really…liked me before.” 

Riki blinked. “What?”

You smiled a little, embarrassed but trying to keep it together. “Not really. They’ve wanted me. Or they liked the idea of me. But no one’s actually liked me. Not like you do.”

There was a moment of silence—soft, heavy silence that made your heart race.

Then Riki tilted his head like he was trying to get a better view of your soul. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, voice low but full of fire. “You’re beyond likeable.”

You let out a breathy laugh, half in disbelief. “Riki—”

“No, I’m serious.” He leaned closer, his palm still warm on your cheek. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re absolutely gorgeous, stunning. You’re interesting. You challenge me, which, by the way, is annoying, but I love it. And you’ve got this look when you’re thinking real hard—like right now—where your eyebrows do this thing…” He reached out and lightly traced your brow with his thumb.

You were speechless. The kind of silence where your whole chest aches a little, because someone just said something that wrapped around a wound you didn’t know was still bleeding.

“So yeah,” he whispered. “I like you. I like you more than I probably should. And if this is you trying to run from that by kissing me until we forget it—I’ll let you, because I like the way you kiss.” He smiled gently. “But just know I’ll still like you tomorrow. And the day after that. Even if we never do anything ever.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes hot in that way they get when someone sees you too clearly. “And I’m not really an impulsive person but I just really want this. But I don’t want to make it seem like I’m trying to convince you to want to have sex with me.”

“You don’t have to convince, babe. I will have sex with you.” He nodded calmly. “I just like you enough to consider how you’ll feel after. I just want you to be sure. That if we do this then we don’t regret it right after.”

“I won’t. And I know I won’t because I know that if it felt right in the moment then it wasn’t a mistake. Especially when you’re the first person to make me feel like this.” I grab his hand from my waist and hold it to my heart. “I want my first time to be with someone like you.”

Riki blinked. “You’re a virgin?”

You nodded slowly, feeling suddenly so small under the glow of the bedside lamp. Like the confession shrunk you.

“I mean, not like...because I didn’t want to ever. Just that it never felt right. And with you, it just...does.”

He sat back, eyes widening just a fraction—not in surprise, but in recognition. Like something about you just clicked into place. Then, after a beat of silence, he smiled softly and whispered: “Well. I’m honored.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, but your chest still ached. “I just didn’t want that to make this weird.”

“It’s not weird,” he said instantly. “You’re not weird. You’re...you’re incredible.” He took your hand from where it rested on your heart and pressed it to his lips. “But thank you for telling me.”

You searched his face. “Are you sure you still want to?”

Riki nodded, “Yes, I want to. Only if you’re sure.”

Nodding firmly, “Totally sure, a bit nervous—but sure.”

He stood and went into his jean pocket for his wallet, pulling out two condoms then placed it on the bedside table. Then went onto the bed back next to you. “Nervousness is normal.” He kissed your cheek gently. “But at any point if you wanna stop, tell me. I’m not kidding, okay?”

“Okay.”

He nipped at your neck skillfully. “It might hurt a little, and that’s normal. But I’ll go slow…slower than slow.” He smiled into your neck as he traced his hand down the lapel of your robe. “Can I open this?”

You nodded, eyes low and chest slightly heaving. “Yes, please.”

Without untying the belt, he opened the neckline and revealed your tits. You shivered at the cool air of the room hitting your bare body. He continues kissing your neck and raises his hand but stops himself. “Can I touch you?”

You nod, “Yes, anything. Please. Just don’t stop. Do anything you want—” Chest heaving, vision blurry and he’s barely touched you. You’re just overcome with anticipation that you don’t even care what he does anymore. You just want him.

He places his hand over your tit carefully as he massages it, eliciting a quiet moan from you. His lips track from your neck to your chest, kissing the valley of your breasts as his left hand is still holding your tit. “Isn’t this so perfect already?” He kissed just above your stomach. “Your beautiful body, your tits fit so perfectly in my hands. Like you were made just for me.” He leaned, still leaning on his side next to you, and swirled his tongue around your nipple. 

Watching your back arch off of the bed he smiles, clearly enjoying the pleasure he was giving you. But he didn’t stop, he latched his lips around it and gently sucked, at this point flicking your other nipple with his other hand. 

Your heart is in your stomach and you feel nothing but his warmth, the muscle on your breast and its wetness. And even with the warmth, it feels like heat. Like fire, spreading through your body just like it was earlier when you were close to him. But now the heat moved to your core and it was pooling into the underwear you had on.

He released your tit from his mouth quietly, a string of saliva still between and his lips still puffy—appearing thicker than they already were. At this, you had a reaction beside yourself and clenched your legs closed. A stinging, aching feeling between your legs that signified that you needed something from him now. You didn’t want to be overzealous or greedy; but it seemed like he knew what he was doing. Or like he knew you. “You want more from me?”

“Mhm, I do.” Your brows furrowed in discomfort. “Please touch me.” 

He smiled as he kissed your lips, “You want me to touch you? Give your pretty pussy some attention? Give you a little taste before you get what you’ve been waiting for? My gorgeous girl. Is that what my baby wants?”

You whined, his words going straight down to your core. Only making the blood rush even worse. “Please,”

He untied your robe finally and looked down to see that your underwear was on. He laughed quietly, “Why do you have these on?”

Shrugging, unsure how to answer that question. “I–I just didn’t want her to be out. In case I slept weird or something. Didn’t wanna flash you.” 

Riki nods, “I think I’m the last person that would care about you flashing me. But I get it.” He slowly runs his hand down your stomach, smiling as he lightly squeezed the pudge on your sides. “Can you take them off for me, please?”

You lift your hips as you slide them off and let them fall to the carpeted floor. Now you laid barren, fully exposed, only the robe on your arms. You watched as his eyes scanned you attentively, like he was trying to remember every last inch of you. But when his eyes laid on your pussy, you subconsciously threw the robe over it—afraid that he would judge you. “Sorry…I haven’t shaved—”

Riki smacked his teeth as he moved the robe back. “I don’t give a fuck about shit like that. Hair ain’t never stopped me.” He laughed as he traced his fingers down your slit. 

“Are you sure? We can sto—”

He shook his head, “Relax…I know this is a very vulnerable position you’re in and you want this to be perfect but I like you. I like this. Hair is not a big deal, I don’t care about it. I like women.” He nodded, “I actually prefer a little hair, it’s hot.” Riki didn’t even wait for a response before he slipped one finger into your soaking wet folds. 

You gasped at the sensation, not knowing what to do with your hands. Instead, one hand gripped onto the ivory sheets and the other balled in a fist. Riki smiled kindly at this, “It’s okay…relax. Come here, let’s try this.” He sat up, leaning his back against the headboard. Then he parted his legs and patted the space. You, still stuck for words but nonetheless compliant. 

As soon as you sat down, back against his chest as he sighed of relief. “You got it, all you have to do is relax. Touch me how you want, this is all for you, my love.” He kissed your shoulder as he caressed your stomach and slipped his finger down to your core. “You’re so wet, is this all for me?” He gently, slowly, brushed his finger along your clit, eliciting a moan. “Hm?”

You threw your head back on his shoulder, shivers rippling through your body. “Yes, all for you. Because of you.” 

“Mmm,” he smiled into your shoulder. “I’m gonna put my fingers in, please tell me if you don’t like anything. I’ll stop.” He kissed your bronze skin, smelling like the sweet scent of the hotel lotion—lavender and vanilla. 

Then he slowly inserts a finger into you, carefully watching the way your body reacts. And after seeing your body respond positively to it, he slowly thrusts his finger all the way in. “You’re so tight around my fingers, my love.” Then bottoms out, then slowly inserts another finger just to test the waters. Your arousal made it easy.

As the sweetness you felt in your core spread to your heart, you smiled. The pleasure clouding your brain and the position he had you in, the heat from his chest spreading to your entire body as he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you. The wetness squelching and your panting being the only thing heard in this quiet room. He curled his fingers inside of you, brushing them against the walls of you, making your hips lift off of the bed. Without a word, he kissed your neck. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you climbed off of him and next to him to grab a condom from the table, handing it to him. He took it with a small laugh as he put it between his teeth, freeing his hands as he laid you down on the bed again. Letting himself climb on top of you, grabbing the condom from his mouth to put it on the bed next to your head. 

And it seemed like this was him letting himself go slightly; he pressed some of his weight onto you as he pressed his lips to yours. Releasing a groan into your lips as he gently groaned into the exchange. Grinding his hips into yours and this is the first time you registered how hard he was. 

His tongue meshed well with yours, the warm, wet muscle working to taste every inch of your mouth. And he sat up, finally, and untied the robe. Letting it fall down his shoulders and onto the bed to reveal a lean, muscular figure. Strong pecs, toned arms, a sculpted torso that told you that he knew exactly what he was doing. He just wanted you to see him, he wasn’t trying overly hard to impress you.

You sit up yourself and mindlessly reach out to run your hand along his abdomen. His laughter made them contract, “You like them?”

Not answering, you move your other hand to his cock. He was the perfect mix of girth and length, just perfectly thick and not too long to where it made you afraid. You were already nervous, no need to add to it. But regardless you took him in your hand and slowly moved it. Making his head fall back with a sigh, “You don’t have to do this, babe. T-This is about you.” He said that, yet his body was twitching like he was trying to hold himself back. 

You shook your head, “Then let me try this.”

He bit his lip, leaning into it. “Then…can you move your hand faster for me? Just for a second.”

Smiling gently, you increased the speed of your hand; stroking him with a firm hand. Riki sighed, letting out a slight whimper. Whispering your name as his body almost gives. But he can’t let himself go yet. “Okay, okay.” He huffed out a smile, “Lay back for me, baby.” He grabbed the tin next to your pillow and opened it with his teeth, putting it on his length. Sliding it down like he’s done this multiple times which he probably has. 

He settled between your legs, stroking your thighs gently as he lifted them. Nearly putting them to your chest but just high enough not to make you uncomfortable. “I’m gonna go slowly, I think I prepped you enough but…I just wanna make sure you’re good.” Riki leaned down to kiss her knee. “I’m gonna make this so special for you, my love. You have no idea,” he kisses down your thighs. “My sweet, stubborn girl.”

You smile at his little jab, “Shut up,” you run your hands through his hair. 

He sits up, lining himself up with your pussy but before he pushes in, he looks you in the eye. “It might hurt a little but I can stop if it becomes too much. So…are you sure?”

You looked at him with wide, doe eyes. “I’m sure,”

Riki exhaled, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding his breath for hours. He nodded once, slow. Then, with steady hands, he guided himself in—the tip pressing into your warmth as he kept his eyes on you the whole time. His jaw clenched, his breath hitched, but he moved with care. Inch by inch.

Your walls stretched to accommodate him, the fullness almost overwhelming—a burn that bordered on unbearable for a second. But he was there, kissing your temple, murmuring quiet things: “Just breathe. You’re doing so good. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself as he bottomed out with a quiet groan against your skin.

He stilled.

“Okay?” he whispered.

You nodded quickly, voice barely there. “Yeah. Just…give me a second.”

He didn’t move—just kissed your cheek and ran his thumb along your side. Letting you adjust. Letting the pain melt into something else. Something warmer. You felt it start to bloom slowly—the tension easing, the pleasure starting to lap at the edges.

When you gave a soft nod, he pulled back just a little and rocked into you again—slow and controlled, like he was afraid to break you. But he didn’t have to say it.

You were already breaking for him.

The slight stinging was there still but pleasure began to make it subside—making you let out a whimper as you felt a mixture of sweetness and relief where you needed him most. But he worked his hips into yours, his cock gliding against the walls of your wet pussy. His girth brushing against your swollen clit from stroke to stroke. “F-Feels so good, Riki.” You cry out, “S’good,”

He held your leg as he buried his face in your neck, kissing your neck alongside other parts of your face: nose, lips, cheeks, ears, eyes, everything. “You like my cock? You like what I’m doing to you?”

His words ignited you, “Mhm, yes, baby I love it. More. More.” You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer.

He smiled into your neck as he let your leg go, hugging you back as he lost himself in you and the skin to skin wasn’t making it easier on him. But he whispered into your ear, his thrusts increasing in roughness. “More? You want more? Because I can give you—”

You cut him off with a moan, crying out as tears pool in your eyes. He kisses your jaw, “I can give you more.” 

Your skin, covered in goosebumps and body clinging to him like a koala, heart pounding—your eyes rolled back at the sensation and you didn’t think it would take you nineteen years to have a full sexual awakening. You had toys, masturbated regularly, but none of that seemed to compare to the real thing and a swirl of fear, excitement, and lust overtaking your senses. 

And you couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“Give it to me.” You pant out, sweat collecting along your forehead. 

“Yeah?” Riki pulled back from you, leaning in close to your face. “Want me to give you everything I’ve got?”

You nodded, eyes glassy and lips parted as your body trembled beneath him. “Please,” you whispered, and it sounded like surrender. Like reverence.

Riki let out a ragged breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re so fucking amazing.”

Then he gave it to you.

Every stroke after that felt like he was carving himself into your memory — deeper, harder, more urgent. Your name left his lips like a prayer, like a promise. His hand slipped under your lower back, lifting your hips slightly to hit that devastating angle again and again until your legs were shaking around him.

You were gasping now, sobbing his name, clutching his back like he might disappear if you didn’t hold tight enough. Then, somehow you got curious. “Wait,”

He immediately stopped, leaning up and sitting on his knees. “Everything good?” Riki nodded with lifted brows. 

You, still winded, mirrored him. “Yes, perfect. I just…wanna be on top. If that’s okay.”

He smiled as he caressed your thighs, “That’s more than okay, come on.” Before you could even reposition yourself, he leaned forward and flipped you both over in one swift, fluid motion—still buried inside you. The sudden shift pulled a gasp from both of you, your laughter caught between moans as your bodies adjusted.

But the moment passed fast.

Because once you were on top—eyes locked, chests heaving—it was like everything else disappeared.

Your hands braced against his chest, and as you started to move, his grip tightened on your hips like he was trying to anchor himself. He watched you like you were a miracle—eyes dark, lips parted, head thrown back against the pillow with a groan that could’ve torn the sky in half.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Just like that, baby. Ride me just like that.”

You rolled your hips, the angle hitting a spot that made you whimper, and you could feel him twitch inside of you.

His hands wandered—your hips, your waist, your chest—like he couldn’t decide what part of you he wanted to hold most. “You feel so good,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I’m losing my mind.”

You leaned down, pressing your forehead to his, your rhythm picking up as your bodies slid together like puzzle pieces soaked in sweat and lust and love. He moaned into your mouth, both of you chasing that same high with each movement, each breathless kiss.

“I don’t ever want this to stop,” you whispered.

And Riki—Riki looked at you like he meant it when he said, “Then don’t. Stay right here. With me. I want you forever.”

As you felt your thighs start to give in slightly, Riki could feel it in your movements. He pulled you down, your bare, pillowy tits meeting his firm chest. And lifted his hips to drill into your pussy, going at a nearly inhumane speed.

Your world blurred—breath, heartbeat, and the heat of his body flooding every sense. The headboard thudded a slow rhythm against the wall while his name tumbled from your lips in shaky fragments.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice raw. “I’ve got you. First time or not, I know your body—let go for me, I’ve got you. Cum for me, please.” He let out a chilling, guttural moan. “Let me be your first, your last, everything you want. I just want you—please. Together.”

You clung to him, nails raking his shoulders, thighs trembling as pleasure coiled tight—hot and sudden—then snapped. A broken cry tore free while your body clenched around him in waves. Seeing white behind your eyes as let him ride you through it.

Riki followed a heartbeat later, burying his face against your throat with a low, helpless groan. He held you there, hips shuddering through the last pulses, arms wound tight as if he could fuse you together right before spilling into the condom.

For a long moment neither of you moved, the only sound was your mingled breathing and the hush of late‑night traffic far below.

Finally he smoothed a damp curl from your forehead, kissing the spot it had rested. “You okay?”

A breathy laugh escaped you—equal parts spent and stunned. “More than okay.”

He smiled—soft, boyish, a little awed—then eased you onto your side without letting go. Blankets came up over bare skin; his palm settled over your heart as if to reassure himself it was still beating. “Did I do good for you?” He said quietly.

Your eyes were half open, considering how you managed to stay awake for the entire day was beyond you. But this was more than enough motivation to keep you awake and you were grateful for all of it. “It was…everything that I thought it would be. And more.”

He took the condom off and disposed of it at the bedside table. “I’m glad…” he smiles. “I…really care about you.” Riki kisses your lips gently, as if the lust just evaporated. 

“I care about you too. I don’t want this to end.” You shook your head with a smile. 

Riki stood up but not before kissing your hand and padding to a bathroom to bring a damp washcloth back. He wiped you down gently, muttering apologies when you flinched from the sensitivity. And when he finished, he tossed the cloth aside and crawled back into bed—pulling you into his chest, arms cocooning you like a shield.

Your eyes catch the digital clock that resided on a nearby desk, it reading 12:00 AM on the dot. You nudged him, “Look,” your mouth gaped in awe.

Riki’s eyes went in the direction of the desk but he squinted. “Fuck I need glasses.” He leaned up closer. “Oh shit!” He laughed, pointing at the clock. “If fate isn’t on our side then I don’t know what is. Truly.” Riki threw himself onto you, enveloping you in a hug. “Oh…my baby.” He squeezed you closer, the only thing between you both at this point being the duvet.

You hugged him too, smothering a laugh. “Well I guess I gave you those five and half hours.”

“Mhm, so…what do you say?” He leaned back, already knowing your answer but still wanting to take the formality. “Am I worth keeping around?”

You rolled your eyes fondly, letting your fingers trace the lines of his jaw. “You already know the answer.”

“I do,” he whispered, smiling like it still surprised him anyway. “But I think I just wanted to hear it.”

You leaned in to kiss him—slow, soft, and lingering. The kind of kiss that felt like a promise.

“I’m keeping you,” you said against his lips. “For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Forever then,” he said without missing a beat, his voice low and certain. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin. His heartbeat was slow and steady against your cheek, his breath fanning across your temple. Silence settled over the room, not awkward or empty, but full. Like it had been waiting for the two of you to claim it.

And maybe you didn’t know what the morning would bring—what the world outside this little cocoon of blankets and whispered confessions might say.

But right now, here, with his arms around you and your body still humming from the aftershocks of being truly wanted, truly seen, for the first time…

You let yourself believe him.

the morning smells like cinnamon, overcooked eggs, and the same damn candle jake always insists on lighting when girls are coming over—vanilla something. you hate it, but you never blow it out.

light filters through the living room windows in wide, lazy rectangles, catching on dust in the air like static. it’s a thursday that feels like a sunday. slow. syrupy. too warm inside, too cold outside.

you’re sitting on the kitchen counter in shorts and someone else’s hoodie. you’re not sure if it’s jake’s or jay’s or jungwon’s, but it’s oversized and smells like detergent and boy, so you keep it. bare legs swinging. phone in your hand. not texting anyone back.

there’s music playing—lofi, soft and beatless—because jungwon hates silence in the mornings.

he’s in the kitchen with you, halfway through scrambling eggs he’s already messed up once. tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek like he’s solving a puzzle harder than breakfast. his sleeves are pushed up. hair still messy from sleep. he hasn’t shaved.

his voice is hoarse when he says, “you could help, you know.”

you look up from your phone. blink at him, bored. “i could. but i like watching you struggle.”

he cuts you a look, quick and half-smiling. he always does that when you flirt with him like it doesn’t mean anything. you do it more than you admit.

“you’re the worst,” he mutters, but he’s smiling for real now. you see the dimples.

“and you love me.”

he doesn’t answer. just hands you the first plate and turns back to the stove.

jungwon and you have this… thing. it isn’t a thing. but it is.

you’re best friends. but not like “haha we’re besties” best friends. more like i-know-how-you-like-your-toast, i-know-what-time-you-cried-last-week, i-know-you-well-enough-to-sit-in-your-silence best friends. you have history, but not the kind you tell people about. not the kind you even tell each other about.

just moments. stacks of them. sleepovers that turn into shared beds. movie nights that end with you curled into his chest pretending not to feel the way he stiffens when your hips shift.

he never pulls away. he also never makes a move.

you bring the plate to the couch, plop down cross-legged. he follows, and sits beside you, thigh to thigh— remote in hand like always, already queuing up something silly on youtube.

“why do we watch food vlogs while we eat food?” you ask.

“motivation.”

“you’re literally eating.”

“doesn’t mean i’m not planning my next meal.”

his knee bumps yours and doesn’t move. you’re not paying attention to the screen. you’re watching his hands.

he doesn’t wear rings like jake or bracelets like jay. just clean wrists, long fingers, callused in the places his engineering tools left behind.

you like his hands too much.

breakfast turns into scrolling. scrolling turns into dozing. you’re not sure who falls asleep first, but when you open your eyes, you’re leaning into him, his head tilted against yours. breathing even. he’s warm. always so warm.

you don’t move. just stay there, eyes half open, watching the soft rise of his chest beneath his crewneck. watching the light move across the floor.

his arm shifts. wraps around you. not tight. just enough. like habit.

like he forgets he’s not supposed to do that.

you stretch. slowly. limbs falling away from jungwon’s like you weren’t just nestled against his heartbeat. like you haven’t had his mouth on yours before.

not that it means anything. just drunk. just heat and music and mouths moving too close.

just that one night in jake’s room after everyone else passed out—when you ended up on top of him, grinding slow to whatever song is playing. his hands stayed on your waist. yours in his hair. his breath breaking when you moaned into his neck like it’s nothing.

or that second night in the hallway, when he kissed you so hard you almost fell over—half-dressed, giggling—until he pulled away too fast and said,

“we should stop.”

so you stop. you never tell anyone. he never brings it up. but it lingers like a bruise you keep pressing.

you blink hard, shake the memory off, and look over at jungwon. his hand rests against his stomach, head tipped back on the couch. his eyes meet yours. soft. unreadable.

the front door opened. you heard it before you saw it.

then a voice,

“yo.” it’s jake.

“couch potatoes,” jake called from the kitchen. “my cousin’s coming soon.”

jungwon grunted. “huh?”

“sunghoon. remember? i told y’all. he’s visiting for a few days. thinking about transferring.”

“oh. yeah.”

jungwon sits up. rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm like he didn’t just almost hold you all the way to sleep. he sees what you’re wearing. the hoodie. oversized and too familiar. not his.

“you should change,” he says.

you raise a brow. “why?”

“you’re wearing jay’s.”

you smirk. “jealous?”

“just saying.”

but there it is. the flicker in his eyes. that flash of memory neither of you ever name.

you pull the hoodie tighter around you anyway.

that moment hums in the space between you. like an unanswered question. like something half-written.

jake walks into the living room like he owns the place. (which he kind of does—his name’s not on the lease, but somehow he always has the aux and the fridge key.)

he’s barefoot, eating dry cereal out the box. he glances at you on the couch, then at jungwon, who’s now pretending he wasn’t just emotionally undressing you with his eyes.

“so listen,” jake starts, crunching mid-sentence, “y’all know that party at gamma tonight?”

you raise an eyebrow. jungwon grunts like yeah.

jake waves it off. “yeah, well, i’m thinking we skip it. bring the party here. you feel me?”

you blink. “wait, what?”

he shrugs, like it’s nothing. “just for the vibe. for sunghoon. bro’s swearing we’re lame over here. like we don’t got it. like this whole school’s boring as hell.”

“so you wanna throw a whole function just to prove a point?” you ask.

jake points at you with a finger full of cereal. “exactly.”

you glance at jungwon. he shrugs like he’s indifferent, but he’s already pulling out his phone to text jay.

“i mean,” jake continues, flopping down into the armchair like he’s pitching a business plan, “we’re already here. it’s our house. no one’s gotta worry about getting home drunk. and he’ll get the vibe. and maybe finally shut up about how ‘lit’ the city is compared to this place.”

“what city is he even from?” you ask.

“malibu, by way of seoul. but, like, the rich part,” jake says, making a face. “he thinks he’s better than everybody.”

“is he?” jungwon mumbles.

jake throws a cushion at him. you dodge it instead.

“nah, he’s cool,” jake says after a beat, “he’s just got that face, you know? the kind you wanna punch even when he’s being nice.”

you snort. “sounds promising.”

“don’t worry. you’ll love him.” jake grins at you. you do not return it.

jungwon taps something into his phone. “jay says he’s down. sunoo too.”

you sigh. “so it’s really happening.”

“oh, it’s happening,” jake says, standing up and already heading toward the bluetooth speaker like a man with a mission. “by the weekend, this house is gonna remind sunghoon exactly why we don’t need to transfer anywhere.”

he disappears down the hall, yelling something about liquor and chips.

you and jungwon sit in silence for a second, and the air changes.

he stretches his arm behind the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “you gonna get cute for him?”

you look at him sideways. “who?”

he doesn’t look at you. just shrugs, like the question was nothing. “the rich cousin.”

you smirk. lean back against the cushion, letting your bare leg press against his jeans. “you want me to?”

he doesn’t answer. but he doesn’t move away either.

the silence stretches.

not awkward. not yet. but thick—like you’ve both just remembered something you’re supposed to forget.

the tv’s still on, playing some random food vlog neither of you are watching. your leg stays pressed to his, warm through the denim. his hand is right there. resting on the couch cushion between you, fingers curled slightly like he’s about to move but doesn’t.

you glance down at it. then at him. his jaw is tight. his eyes are still on the ceiling like he’s trying not to look at you. you slide your fingers across the space. slow. just enough to brush his. and when you feel his pinky twitch against yours—you don’t stop.

your hand finds his. you don’t hold it, not really. just… let your fingers tangle halfway. and he lets them.

his breath hitches, barely audible.

you look at him. he’s already looking at you. eyes low. soft. like he’s scared to blink.

you both lean in at the same time.

no one speaks. your nose brushes his. your fingers tighten just a little. his lips part—just enough. your eyes flick to his mouth.

and that’s when it happens.

his phone rings.

it’s loud in the silence. ugly and immediate. the default ringtone, buzzing across the table like it’s mad.

jungwon jolts back like he got burned. you both jump a little, breath caught mid-moment. he pulls his hand away fast, clearing his throat like it helps.

“…it’s jay,” he mumbles, already grabbing his phone.

you sit back slow, trying to look chill while your heart hammers against your ribs.

he answers.

“yo… yeah, we’re here. no, she’s—she’s right here. yeah, we told her. yeah, it’s fine.”

you stand quietly. walk past him. don’t say a word. you head straight for your room, the door clicking shut behind you.

he watches you go, phone still pressed to his ear, heart in his throat. he doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s all over him. he wishes the phone hadn’t rung. he wishes you had kissed him. he wishes he’d let it happen.

even though you never talked about it, you still slept in his bed that night.

he didn’t say anything when you walked past your room and climbed under his covers—just lifted the blanket like he always does, turned off the light, and let you curl into his chest like nothing almost happened.

he held you all night. he didn’t try anything. he didn’t say anything, either.

but you felt him kiss your forehead when he thought you were asleep. and when he finally drifted off, you stayed awake a little longer, watching the way his fingers twitched against your arm like he was dreaming about holding you tighter.

you didn’t bring it up the next morning. neither did he.

and then last night—same thing. no talking. no explaining. just his bed and his body curved around yours like a habit that never got broken.

now it’s friday, and jake’s tearing through the house like a man possessed.

he’s blasting music from the kitchen, half-dressed, holding two bags of red solo cups and yelling about how no one’s done anything he asked.

“we literally skipped class for this,” he shouts, tossing chips onto the counter like that solves something. “the least y’all can do is act like you’ve been to a party before.”

sunoo is lighting candles in the living room like it’s a spa retreat, muttering to himself about ambiance and scent mixing.

jay in his room changing for the third time.

jungwon’s wiping down the kitchen counters, pretending like he doesn't get the best sleep of his life when it's you on his chest. like he isn't utterly in love with you. it doesn't help that you're still in his hoodie, the same one you've been sleeping in for the past two nights. all he can think about is how you’re so...beautiful, and so his. at least that's how it makes him feel when you crawl into his arms. when you wear his clothes. when you kiss his cheek in the middle of the night because you think he's sleeping. so why can't he just...go for it?

and you? you’re sitting on the edge of the armrest, sipping something pink and dangerous out of a plastic cup, watching the house shift into something new.

the lights are dimmer. the music’s louder. the vibe’s getting blurry around the edges.

that’s when you hear it— the knock at the door.

not loud. just one, then another. like he’s not here to make a scene. like he doesn’t have to.

jake practically leaps across the room to open it, and there he is.

sunghoon.

black jeans, black hoodie, black duffel slung over one shoulder like he didn’t try but somehow still looks better than everyone in the house. his expression is blank. his face is sharp. he gives jake a nod, steps inside, eyes sweeping the room.

and then he sees you.

he doesn’t smile. he just looks.

and something about it makes your skin feel too tight.

you don’t say anything. neither does he. but the shift is immediate. like the air’s not yours anymore.

he’s taller than you expected. taller than jake, even. but lean—built like someone who moves fast but never runs. he doesn’t look like someone you’re supposed to be impressed by. he looks like someone who knows you already are.

his face is sharp. every angle defined like it was drawn with a ruler and no eraser. a high nose bridge. cut jawline. straight brows that make his expression unreadable. but it’s not just the bone structure—it’s the stillness. the way he doesn’t fidget. doesn’t smile too fast. doesn’t feel the need to do anything but exist.

your eyes meet for half a second. long enough to register how clear his skin is. how cold his stare feels. you look away first.

“this is my cousin,” jake announces, slapping a hand on sunghoon’s shoulder. “sunghoon. just got here from cali. he’s here for the weekend. maybe longer, if he likes it.”

sunghoon nods. looks around, taking in the living room like he’s scanning for threats. his eyes settle on you again.

“yo,” he says, voice low and casual. he nods once. “you’re…?”

jake says your name at the same time you do. sunghoon’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but doesn’t.

“cool,” he says. “nice to meet you.”

his voice isn’t cocky. it’s calm. a little too calm. you just nod. no words. just sip your drink and look somewhere—anywhere—else.

but he keeps looking. not long. not creepy. just… like he sees something he doesn’t quite get yet. and he’s deciding whether or not he wants to.

“you good?” jake asks him, grabbing a cup off the counter.

“yeah.” sunghoon sets his bag down by the door. “just tired. this place is nice though.”

“he thought we were lame,” jake tells you, clearly offended. “texted me last week like, ‘if your school’s so fun, why’s everyone online acting depressed?’”

“i said that once,” sunghoon mutters, taking the drink jake hands him. “and i wasn’t wrong.”

“he’s a hater,” jake says, then points at you. “she’s gonna change your mind.”

you blink. “what?”

“you got main character energy,” jake grins. “you’ll bring him around.”

you scoff. “he looks like he’d hate main characters.”

sunghoon actually smiles at that. just a little. and then he says, “not always.”

jungwon watches from the kitchen, still wiping the same spot on the counter that’s already clean.

he’s not eavesdropping. not really, he just… hears everything.

the way jake’s hyping sunghoon up. the way your voice dips when you respond. the way you don’t say much, but your body shifts to face him just a little more than usual.

you’re still holding your drink. still wearing his hoodie. but it’s like you’ve already floated somewhere else.

sunghoon doesn’t say much, but that’s the part that bothers jungwon the most.

he doesn’t need to. he’s got that look—cool and unreadable, like he knows exactly how he’s being perceived. like he knows the effect he has.

and you’re not falling for it, not really, but jungwon can see it. the little spark of curiosity in your eyes. the way your lips twitch at sunghoon’s joke. the way you sip your drink slower now, like you’re giving yourself a reason to stay planted in that moment.

he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

he knows he’s not allowed to feel some type of way. he had chances. too many. he never says the right thing.

but watching sunghoon look at you like he’s already picking you apart—like he’s interested and not even pretending otherwise—it makes something cold settle in his chest.