The Witch's Council chambers was an old place outside town that smelled like wood, incense and power. You could easily sense the magic and power like it was engraved in the air, strong and ancient. But the old-fashioned look was interrupted by modern touches: new chairs, a wall projector and council members with iPads, some others playing with their phones. Not the entire council was present; only the president, Na Seorin, and the vice president, Kim Junseo, Minju's father. Off to one side stood the council secretary, Lee Sunjae, who seemed more engrossed in his phone than in what was happening around him, wearing a deep, concentrated frown. He was very, very focused on his phone and at some point he even leaned towards Seorin, asking her if she could send him lives on Candy Crush. She silenced him with an unimpressed look.

There was a small jury of witches and warlocks that you obviously knew, uncles and aunts and even parents of some friends, people who you grew up around. You were sitting with Minju on a wooden bench at the front, being judged in a very dramatic fashion in your opinion. Your back was straight and your knees touching and Minju wore the same position, you could feel the nervousness radiating from her. You didn’t quite know why you'd been summoned there with her, but hell, you wouldn't open your mouth to incriminate yourself until someone else started the whole thing. What was worse, you and Minju didn't have time to talk and organize a lie together.

‘’We are here to clarify the events of last Friday that have caught our attention,’’ Minju’s dad started, voice calm. He turned to face the jury. ‘’We have sufficient reasons to believe that both witches are involved.’’

You raised both eyebrows and tilted your head, wondering what on earth was going on. You weren’t involved in shit. Beside you, Minju whimpered under her breath, probably knowing where this whole thing was heading. Junseo turned his attention towards you and it took everything in you not to shrink under his steel gaze. He looked like a very offended father. 

‘’You are a well-known associate of Kim Minju. You grew up together and are very close, as we all know. Responsible, respectful, talented with magic, and disciplined.’’

‘’Thank you, sir,’’ you muttered, lowering your head humbly and nodding. You heard one juror behind you cooing and telling another how polite you were. 

‘’Did Minju attend a fraternity party Friday night?’’ He asked.

Oh, so that's what this was all about. You lied without even thinking, in a steady voice, even frowning slightly as if you were confused that he even asked you that. ‘’Um, of course not. She spent the night with me; we were catching up on some reading. It was a quiet night, and we went to bed early.’’

You knew perfectly well that was a damn lie. The last thing Minju would do is spend a Friday cooped up inside studying instead of following Jungwon, her campus crush, to parties. You knew Minju was pretty easygoing and a lightweight, so alcohol wasn't exactly the wisest thing to give her, since chaos usually followed her wherever she went. When you asked her the next day how the party was, Minju only remembered maybe a quarter of it, not even a half. You weren't entirely sure what Minju had done to warrant a damn jury of witches, but you were going to defend your best friend no matter what anyway. Minju was... prone to getting into strange situations. You were used to it. 

You turned your face and smiled innocently at the jury trying to sell your act; some thoughtful murmurs reached you while others simply nodded in agreement. You looked at Junseo as if nothing was wrong, with an open and friendly expression, nothing challenging or mocking. His eyes studied your expression and Minju's in a very familiar way, like when you were little and he wanted to find out which of you had eaten the whole drawer of chocolates.

‘’I don't know exactly what this is about, but I guess the only thing I can assure Minju did was snore very loudly,’’ you joked with a chuckle. ‘’We had a super quiet Friday, sir.’’

Minju gave you a playful nudge and you both giggled adorably, the very picture of good, innocent girls that the jury was totally buying into. For a beautiful moment you believed it had worked and that would be all, except that Mr. Kim had an ace up his sleeve.

He just nodded thoughtfully and, without saying a word, simply raised his hand holding a small remote control. The projector sprang to life and displayed a slightly blurry image filmed from a porch security camera. The room filled with sound: loud, silly laughter, someone yelling "aim well!" and "do it again!" A group of clearly drunk college kids came into view, eggs in their hands. Someone threw one and completely missed the house; another projectile did hit the door and splattered a little on the camera. 

Minju gasped next to you. ‘’Oh my God. No way.’’

Then Minju's face appeared, her eyes wide and dilated, her mascara slightly smudged, and smiling as if she had just summoned a vortex of pure chaos. You frowned, believing your sight was deceiving you, but no, Minju was throwing or at least trying to throw eggs. She looked absolutely ridiculous, drunk as a sailor and staggering, unable to contain her drunk giggles, hands full of eggs, some failing into the floor. You covered your mouth, trying to control your laugh from spilling. 

‘’Oh no,’’ Minju blurted with worry. ‘’My hair looked like that?!’’

You closed your eyes with a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. The video continued playing, showing Minju teetering on the sidewalk and trying to aim the eggs, some landing on her shoes while others cheered on her failed attempts. No eggs actually hit the house. Now you understood why the two of them were there. The house that Minju and her friends had vandalized was one of the oldest in town, now a museum, and what not many people knew was that it had actually been a house belonging to the witch settlers. In fact, nobody knew, except for those of their kind. Minju egged a historic house to your community, a very important one. 

The screen went dark and a heavy silence fell over the room. The president spoke for the first time, clearing her voice. ‘’Girls, this is not exemplary behavior for witches.’’

‘’I know and I’m sorry,’’ Minju panicked, moving her hands desperately. ‘’I’ve grown since then! I swear!’’

‘’This happened three days ago,’’ her father said flatly. 

The president moved her attention to you and you shrank a little in your seat under her stare. ‘’And you have lied to this council and the jury, covering up for the accused.’’

You deflated like a balloon, looking at the floor. ‘’Yes,’’ you admitted with a sigh, there was no point in denying it. ‘’I did. I’m sorry.’’

Seorin sighed loudly. ‘’You’re two young witches still forging their path, but at your age you should already understand certain rules. This room isn't a place for lies, girls. Magic doesn't just respond to power, but to truth,’’ she scolded you two gently but firmly; her eyes were not unkind. ‘’I'm a little disappointed in both of you. I was expecting better.’’

Being scolded by an older, more experienced witch felt just as embarrassing as when you were a little girl. Thank goodness your familiar, Soomin, had taken a short vacation, otherwise you would have been doubly scolded, though you suspected she probably already knew. Some jurors nodded, others agreed, and some looked at you two more suspiciously, as if they thought Minju had more eggs in her pockets and was about to attack them. Perhaps with better aim.

‘’This is obviously not a criminal matter, but every action has its consequences,’’ the president continued. ‘’And this is no exception.’’

Minju held your sleeve while looking at you alarmed. ‘’They're going to burn us at the stake!’’ she whispered urgently.

You rolled your eyes and pushed her softly, scoffing. ‘’Of course not!’’

‘’For you,’’ the president said, looking directly into your eyes, ‘’one lunar cycle without lies. No falsehood or trickery, your tongue will always speak the truth. May sincerity teach you an important lesson, young witch.’’

Your stomach dropped, but you maintained your neutral expression, even as you could feel the faint presence of a spell reaching your body and settling there. Your tongue felt heavy for a second and you touched your lips with a frown, noticing that the sensation appeared as quickly as it vanished, as if something had been tied up and then melted on your tongue like candy. Well, fuck.

‘’And for you,’’ she turned to Minju, ‘’you will be in charge of three hens. You will feed them, care for them, clean their coop and collect their eggs. It goes without saying that not a single one should be broken in the entire month.’’

Minju blinked. ‘’Uh, excuse me, Madam President… three?’’

‘’Exactly.’’

‘’Oh. These hens,’’ Minju continued, ‘’are they… alive?’’ 

‘’They’re chickens, Minju,’’ her father sighed tiredly. ‘’That is usually how they work.’’ 

Seorin struck the gavel once. ‘’With this, we conclude the council meeting. Thank you all for your presence today.’’

Minju fell dramatically to your side, staring at the ceiling with a pout. ‘’Next time I’ll tell the truth.’’

You looked at her sideways. ‘’You don't say.’’

She pouted even more, regretting filling her cute features. ’‘I'm sorry I dragged you into this! But it was kind of worth it, if we think about the grand scheme of things. Like, I kissed Jungwon at the party and I got his number!’’

You looked at her in disbelief and wondered if they would increase the punishment if you hanged her right there. ‘’Minju, we're under a spell for a whole month! I can't lie, and you've become the babysitter for three chickens. Aren't you forgetting something?’’

She stared at you blankly, head empty, just waiting for you to say more after she shook his head no.

‘’You're afraid of chickens.’’

By morning you had already begun to encourage yourself. Honesty was easy, wasn't it? You could do this. It's not like you're constantly lying, you weren't a pathological liar. One month. One lunar cycle. Thirty days. It would be easy. You could do this. People liked honest people, after all. 

It's not like the most powerful witch of the coven casted a spell on your tongue forever. There was no chance that a careless word could send you back to the Council chambers with judgmental candles and Minju’s chickens clucking in the distance… right? Right. You could do this. Being honest was a good thing! Maybe this whole mess could turn into something positive. 

But one thought wouldn't leave your mind. How did this spell exactly work? Did silence count as an answer? Perhaps it was a good idea to fake pharyngitis and take a few days off. If you could keep your mouth shut and stay quiet, maybe take a lower profile… Huh. That could maybe do the trick. 

You were so caught up in mental damage control and possible ways to cheat (or maybe not cheating as such, you would call it... walking the spell's edge), that you barely noticed someone started walking beside you.

Too close, close enough that you could smell his cologne. You glanced sideways and there was Park Jongseong in all his glory and blinding smile, gracing you with his presence. Jay was one of those guys who had a high place among campus royalty, definitely a party prince. Everybody knew him. Everybody wanted him. Always smiling like he knew something most people didn't, confident with a track record to back it up: friendly, athletic, way too good with the girls, as you’ve heard the rumors. Trouble.

Your alarm bells were starting to quietly go off because Jay was smiling at you as if you two were lifelong friends (you weren’t), looking at you as if he didn't notice your expression, which was somewhere between disinterest and slight concern (like saying please think twice what you’re about to say).

Jay wasn't a conceited idiot per se, but hey, you weren't going to give all your trust to one of the campus's favorite heartthrob just like that. You knew his kind (frat, attractive boy) and well, his group of friends had a certain reputation on campus. You weren't particularly interested in getting involved in their games like Minju, who had her sights set on Jungwon and apparently it was working well, without any illegal love potion included. You hoped. 

“Hey,” he said easily. “You’re in Professor Park class, right?”

You looked at him and then at the empty halls.

“I am,” you replied flatly.

He chuckled, unbothered by your tone. “Cool, cool. Listen— quick favor. I’ve been kinda… busy lately,’’ Jay made a vague gesture that probably meant parties, games, existing attractively, fucking around, more parties. “Missed a few lectures. You take good notes, right?”

You felt a strange sensation in your chest, like a tickling inside. Your eye twitched a little, too early to deal with whatever that was. ‘’My notes are good, yes,’’ you said.

“Perfect,” Jay said enthusiastically, as if you had come up with the idea and not him. “Think you could send them to me? Or maybe help me catch up sometime? Maybe you could tutor me from time to time.”

You inhaled slowly, ready to say that you hadn't been taking notes lately, or that maybe he wouldn't understand your handwriting, that you didn’t have the time to tutor someone or even just a clear yes so he would leave you alone.

None of that came out of your mouth. 

‘’No,’’ you said instead. Your eyes widened, realizing you couldn't have lied. It wasn't what you meant to say, it was just automatically spat it out.

Jay blinked at you. ‘’Oh. Okay.’’

‘’You should be more responsible, Jay,’’ you said, the words spilling out before you could stop it or control it. ‘’This isn't such a difficult class. If you came regularly, you'd definitely do better and be able to keep up instead of relying on people who actually are responsible, instead of being so unprepared, you know.’’

An awkward, confusing silence fell between you, and you quickly covered your mouth, wishing the floor would swallow you whole. If that wasn't guaranteed social death... some passing girls turned their heads, intrigued by the exchange. 

Jay continued to stare at you for a few seconds and then let out a small laugh, more surprised than angry. ‘’Wow,’’ he said. ‘’Okay. Fair. Harsh, but fair,’’ he chuckled. ‘’I get it.’’

You shrugged mortified and helpless and bit your tongue hard, trying to hold back the words, but the spell was stronger. ‘’Also, I’m not interested in tutoring someone who prioritizes parties over academic responsibility. You'll just waste my time.’’

Jesus Christ.

Jay raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘’Damn. Alright. Message received.’’

He stopped in the hallway, still smiling, but there was something more thoughtful in his expression, his gaze lingering on you, as if he had miscalculated what he expected from you. Jay was placing you in some drawer of his mind with a new label.

‘’I didn’t know you thought like that,’’ he added. ‘’You don’t take shit from anyone, do you? I respect that.’’

Before you could make things worse by replying, thankfully Jay just gave you one of his boyish smiles and walked away. As you watched him go, your heart calmed and you sank into the nearest wall. Well, that turned out just fine. So much for walking on the edge of the spell, huh?

Not very far, someone was watching you and Jay intently, observing the entire conversation without moving with a growing interest. 

Fortunately, you didn't scare away anyone else for the rest of the morning with your big mouth. Perhaps honesty wasn't as simple as you thought if it wasn't filtered, you could only hope that no one else asked you something as direct as Jay did. The spell definitely was out of control. So that was a damn problem. Not only could you not stay quiet, but your tongue was moving uncontrollably with thoughts that hadn't even formed yet. It was as if the truth was being ripped from your soul before your brain was even aware of it.

Minju was halfway through describing chicken’s politics when she realized you weren’t really paying attention to her. Your brows were furrowed, your mind racing, analyzing the damned spell. It was both strong and subtle, binding your tongue to the truth in a way that made it impossible to shut your damn mouth once you started speaking. There had to be some way to stop it. Of course, you weren't crazy enough to cast a counter-spell and actually end up in the Witches’ Council basement. But the chances of getting through the month without any trouble weren't looking so high anymore.

“I swear,” Minju said, poking at her salad, “at first they screamed every time they saw me, but now they only scream a little. And one of them lets me hold her for, like, five seconds. Her name is Buttercup. I don’t know why I was scared of them, they’re kinda cute. It’s not so bad.’’

‘’That’s good,’’ you murmured, barely nodding, eyes unfocused. ‘’Chickens are nice.’’

‘’It really is,’’ Minju agreed proudly. ‘’Also, I don’t scream as much anymore either. I think we’re warming up to each other, you know?’’

You hummed softly, taking a sip of your soda. ‘’It's great that you're building a relationship with your chickens. Bonding is important.’’

Of course Minju noticed your thoughtful and cloudy mood and stroked your shoulder with a frown. She also noticed the faint whisper of magic. ‘’How was your day? Is it the spell? Is your soda not fizzy enou— oh my God. Oh. My. God— okay, don’t look.’’

‘’What?’’ You asked, blinking out of your haze and looking all around. ‘’What’s going on?’’

‘’I said don’t look! Listen carefully,’’ she whispered urgently, going back to her salad and keeping her eyes down. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. ‘’Niki is looking at you.’’

You frowned at her, not quite understanding the urgency of the situation, but you assumed Minju would have some reason. You snorted, keeping your eyes down anyway and trying not to laugh. ‘’Okay, I won’t. So?’’

Minju looked at you in the most offended way possible, pointing her fork at you, eyes full of incredulity. ‘’You must be kidding. Seriously? Niki? Basketball player, very cute, very tall, friend of Jungwon.’’

A face flashed into your mind and you nodded, remembering him too well. The boy with the perpetual look of disinterest. ‘’I wouldn't call him cute but okay. What about it?’’

Your best friend is practically vibrating with happiness. ‘’What do you mean, what about it? He’s looking at you! This is so good! This mean we could have a double date!’’

‘’Okay,’’ you murmured under your breath, ‘’I don’t wanna know how that occurred to you. Besides, I don't think he's looking at me for that reason. He’s probably planning my social death right now. Don’t mind him, Min.’’

Minju fell from his cloud of excitement. ‘’What? Why? Why would he?’’

‘’I refused to help Jay this morning; the stupid spell made me say a bunch of crap. Basically that he was a party animal with little interest in academics and something about not wasting my time in him.’’

Minju made a face, measuring the damage in her head. The bond between the boys was no joke. Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Niki were like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse if they were five of them and in a frat— incredibly attractive, magnetic, with the kind of presence that simply drew attention. Whether it was their looks, their grades, the trophies they won with the basketball team, the gossip or their fraternity parties, someone was always talking about them. Loyal as hell, crossing one of them meant crossing the whole group of friends. And it wasn't a good idea to do that with the guys who basically controlled the narrative on campus.

Minju tried to smile again. ‘’Oh. Uhm, it doesn't sound very polite but he doesn't look murderous to me. He looks… in love,’’ she sighed cutely. 

You looked at her, not entirely convinced and then subtly moved your head, until your eyes did find Riki Nishimura not far away, staring at you as if he could burn you with his mind. Or trying to.

He looked murderous. 

Or maybe that was his everyday face. To you, he looked as always, as if he were bored and at the same time thinking about how he could start some chaos and blame others for it. Niki was leaning back in his chair across the courtyard, one arm lazily slung over the backrest, long fingers slowly swirling his ice americano coffee cup in circles. His posture screamed indifference, but his eyes betrayed him completely. They were fixed on you— not in passing, not accidentally. Intentionally. Burning. There was nothing shy about it, but you guessed that someone like Niki didn't know what shyness was in the first place.

It was a little creepy how his eyes had an almost predatory gleam in broad daylight. They weren't flirtatious as such, more like... analytical. Observant. Curious. As if he'd seen something and wanted to figure out exactly how it worked before getting close. He had a sharp, intense gaze, a feline spark that felt more like a panther than a cat. You couldn't deny it, he was one of the most attractive men you had ever seen, no truth spell needed to admit that. His cheekbones alone deserved a separate analysis for sure.

Niki didn’t look away when you caught him. Instead, he held your gaze for too long as if he was challenging you to not look away. His chin tilted and a hint of mockery appeared in his dark eyes, or perhaps it was an effect of the sun, as if he was saying Yes. I am looking. Problem?

You lose on the spot because your stomach did a strange flip under his piercing stare and you looked away, refusing to let him make you blush like a schoolgirl. You turned to Minju again. ‘’Right. I mean, it could be, who knows? That guy only has one expression for everything,’’ you shrugged. 

She gasped. ‘’Of course not! He’s actually nice.’’

You arched a brow. ‘’Have you ever saw him smile?’’

‘’Maybe he’s one of those people who has a neutral face. You’re not the smiling type either,’’ she reminded you, mimicking your expression. 

‘’You’re trying to say resting bitch face,’’ you offered, taking another sip of your soda. ‘’Or maybe he's just constantly constipated.’’

It was impossible for Minju not to laugh a little at that, and the two of them shared a few giggles that quickly died away when a shadow appeared over the two of you. 

‘’What’s so funny?’’ 

A deep, definitely masculine voice sounded behind you. Minju jolted, eyes wide, while you turned far too slowly in your seat— straight into Niki standing there like he belonged in your space. Relaxed. Unbothered. Looking down at you from his full height, and fuck he was actually tall. Jungwon was at his side, smiling like it was a completely normal social interaction and not a potential social nightmare to you. You bit your tongue in advance. 

Before anyone could speak, Jungwon's gaze flicked to Minju and he gently reached out, removing something of her shiny hair with a hint of hesitation, as if reality were playing a trick on him. It was a white feather. 

Minju froze as Jungwon studied her and then the feather held in his fingers, his lips trembling as if he wanted to laugh but he was a little confused anyway. 

‘’What’s this?’’ He asked her, amused.

You and Minju looked at each other speechlessly as the silence stretched long enough into awkwardness, not knowing what to say or how to explain. But of course, the spell didn't hesitate.

‘’It is from one of the chickens Minju is currently responsible for caring as a disciplinary punishment from the Witches' Council,’’ you quickly said.

Minju let out a strangled noise, horrified at your outburst. A second later you realized what you said and covered your mouth, frowning and looking panicked at Minju, shaking your head in a way best friends communicate meaning help me the fuck out.

Jungwon blinked between you both. ‘’Oh.’’

Niki’s eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘’Is that so?’’

‘’Yes,’’ you continued helplessly, ‘’Minju was actually telling me how her relationship with them is progressing and she's not so afraid of them anymore.’’

Minju buried her face in her hands and took a calming deep breath instead of screaming before looking at Jungwon, trying to smile and pretend that everything was normal. 

‘’She’s right! I got some new pets,’’ she laughed with forced enthusiasm. ‘’Three chickens!’’

“That explains the feather,” Jungwon said, nodding solemnly as if this makes perfect sense. He placed it on the table. “Chickens are cute. Good luck with… that.”

‘’Thank you,’’ she mumbled, smiling too wide. 

You wished with all your heart that no one else would speak to you, that perhaps the boys would just keep walking and think you were a couple of weird girls. But fate couldn't be that kind to you. Instead, Niki's attention never left you, searching for your eyes even while you were picking up your things, ready to bolt. You weren’t about to spill all your secrets and actually earn a worse punishment. 

‘’Where are you going? Class?’’

You froze, feeling the spell regain its power and refusing to let you lie. ‘’I do not have class right now,’’ you explained, defeated.

Niki let out a quiet laugh, eyes gleaming. “Ah. Then why are you leaving?”

‘’I really don't want to continue this conversation in case I say something terrible or incriminating,’’ you admitted and made a face, grabbing your purse ready to bolt from there. God, just shut up! 

Niki smiled slowly. Dangerous. Too handsome. The way something malignant finds out a new soul to torment. “Relax,” he taunted you. “We’re just talking. Do I make you so nervous that you want to run away?’’

You stood up abruptly, almost colliding with him. ‘’Yes. That is precisely the issue.’’

Niki stepped aside without argument, gesturing with exaggerated courtesy. “After you, princess.”

With what little dignity you had left and afraid of revealing some witch secret that would end with you being burned at the town bonfire (or having to move to another town), you left almost running. Niki's eyes watched as you disappeared among students coming and going, a slight smile raising the corners of his mouth. 

Minju, bless her soul, tried to fill the heavy silence in your favor. ‘’Uh… she’s been pretty tired these days, you know, exams and stuff. She's usually more... quiet. But she’s super nice!’’

Jungwon nodded buying the explanation but Niki simply saw the bottle of soda you left; it was his favorite flavor. ‘’Is she?’’

The last thing you expected when you entered your home was a very, very angry owl staring at you from the stairs. You groaned under your breath as you approached, knowing you were about to get the scolding of a lifetime. You forced a smile onto your face and circled the scowling bird, slowly beginning to climb the stairs under her stare. 

‘’Oh, Soomin, hi! You’re back already? How was your vacation? God, how the time flies. Anyway, I have so much work to do so—’’

‘’Don’t,’’ she warned, staring at you with huge, unblinking eyes. You gulped. ‘’Don’t even think to leave this conversation.’’

‘’But Soomin—’’

The owl hissed at you, feathers puffing. ‘’How is it possible that I'm only gone for a week and you've been punished with a spell?! And I'm only finding out about this today?’’

You froze mid-step and slowly turned to face her. Her small, feathered face was somehow the same one your mother used when you broke something expensive as a child. Pure maternal disappointment that could be read as: how have I ever had to put up with you.

‘’A week,’’ she repeated, flipping her wings in stress, ‘’just a week! I left you here trusting you’re a functional adult now and you got yourself in a trial and a punishment?!’’

‘’It wasn’t kinda an official trial—’’ 

‘’Of course it was official! There was a jury! The president and— I think I’m about to faint,’’ the owl wheezed, wobbling a little enough to worry you.

You quickly approached the bird trying to hold it, but as soon as you got close, Soomin began hitting you with its wing while hissing with renewed strength.

You yelped, cornered to the wall. ‘’Ow! Stop!’’

‘’You lied to the Council! You didn’t call me!’’ She growled, flapping at you with tiny, furious little hits. ‘’You lied in front of the entire Witches’ Council! Do you have any idea of how serious this is?’’

‘’Soomin, please, you’re being so dramatic,’’ you said, running a few steps up. ‘’It wasn't that deep! It's just for one lunar cycle.’’ 

The owl tilted its head and, of course, followed you, still giving you short, scandalized taps with its wings that weren't painful but ridiculously humiliating. You wondered how many people in the world could be scolded by a bird.

‘’Just a lunar cycle? This is a disaster,’’ Soomin continued, pacing back and forth on the stairs like a furious professor or a stressed lawyer. Probably both. ‘’A complete catastrophe. One week. I leave for one week and you ruin your life. You’re gonna tell me exactly what happened and oh, look at that, you can’t lie to me,’’ she mocked you. ‘’Because you’re cursed!’’

You scoffed and lifted your hands up in a calming gesture, staring down at her tiny form. ‘’Listen. It was just... a very confusing chain of events that somehow ended with me under a spell. I clearly didn’t expect that. How could I have known that was going to happen?’’

‘’Why did you lie in the first place while being interrogated?’’

You hesitated for a second, enough to make Soomin narrow her eyes. ‘’Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That face means it was a stupid reason.’’

You sighed, leaning against the wall, the spell working too well. ‘’I was trying to cover up for Minju. She got drunk and egged the histori—’’ you noticed how Soomin’s feathers started puffing again and you made a face, taking a step up. ‘’Historical house— she went to a party and I told the jury she was with me the entire night.’’

Soomin narrowed her eyes. If owls could facepalm… ‘’So it was a stupid reason.’’ 

You rubbed your temples. ‘’Hey, I’m actually struggling here. Today was my first day and already made some fucks ups,’’ you groaned, covering your face. ‘’I don’t think I’m surviving three full weeks. This is hard!’’

‘’You’ll find the way to do it because it’s what you deserve,’’ Soomin scolded you. ‘’That’s what you get for lying.’’

‘’It was just a small lie! All of this is so dramatic! You have any idea what this means to my social life?’’

‘’You don’t have one,’’ the owl responded, blinking at you. 

‘’That’s not the point,’’ you replied, crossing your arms defensively with a frown. ‘’Now I definitely won’t.’’

Soomin perched on the railing and gave you another motherly look of pure disappointment. ‘’From now on, you won’t be unsupervised anymore,’’ she said firmly. ‘’I’m not leaving you for extended periods of time ever again.’’

You pouted and leaned your head on the wall. ‘’A month,’’ you muttered in pure misery and sadness. ‘’Twenty nine days to go.’’

Soomin shook her head. ‘’Unbelievable,’’ she scoffed. ‘’I raise you for years and this is what happens the moment I take a break.’’

You blinked. ‘’You’re appeared like three years ago, you didn’t raise me.’’

‘’Emotionally, I did.’’

You and Minju looked incredible. There was no other way to describe it, to be honest and full objective. Shorts that showed off your legs, zip-up jackets that clung to all the right places and accentuated your waist, your hair in a high ponytail that could have been in a sports-themed fashion editorial. 

You had both made a deal, before the whole punishment mess happened, that both would enter their athletic era; meaning no more sedentary life and naps. It was time to get healthier, enjoy the nice weather and all that shit that was supposed to be good to your body.

You were dying. 

Literally. Lungs gone. 

You didn't know when you thought it was a good idea to suggest to Minju that you both take an open hockey class as a form of exercise, but it was definitely you trusting too much that your back would hold up. And your knees. And practically your entire body. It wasn’t the case. Who knew running while holding a stick could be so difficult? 

By the end of the class you had moved parts of your body that you weren't sure you could coordinate at the same time in the first place, bent over your knees and gasping for air. Sweat trickled down your back as if you'd run a marathon from continent to continent, not just an hour-long class. Minju wasn't in the best shape either, dragging her hockey stick towards the benches while groaning, like she was leaving a battlefield. 

‘’I think I saw angels,’’ Minju panted beside you, ‘’when they made us sprint the second time.’’

‘’I saw God,’’ you wheezed. ‘’She suggest me to sit down.’’ 

On the other side of the field, the men's team was finishing their practice too. From afar you could hear their shouts, grunts, and jeers. These classes were supposed to be the Student Council's idea to provide free, open sports spaces for everyone, but the men definitely treated it like the National Championship. Fast, competitive, sticks and shoulders clashing. You recognized some of the guys and wondered who in their right mind would do two different sports in the same week and survive. Apparently, Niki was one of them.

The way he moved was ruthless, efficient, controlled. You couldn't help but watch him from afar while you drank water because, well, why not? A girl could enjoy the view. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead. His t-shirt clung a little to his torso, and it was impossible not to notice the trace of his abs and the muscle in his arms. His body moved with force and speed. And although he seemed incredibly focused, his eyes still occasionally wandered. Towards you. Searching.

Again. Again. One more time, until Jungwon noticed and it made him snort with a knowing smile. 

After practice, while your lungs were slowly coming back to life and Minju was showing you videos of her chickens, on the other side of the field a group of boys were making a straight line towards you. It was too late to run when you looked up and Jungwon was approaching with an easy smile, Jay by his side and Niki just a step behind, hands in their pockets and a serious expression.

‘’Hey,’’ Jungwon greeted warmly, eyes drifting to Minju. ‘’How’d it go?’’

‘’We survived,’’ she smiled at him, proud. ‘’Barely. But it was fun. I can’t still feel my legs.’’

Jay arched a brow, chucking. ‘’That intense?’’

‘’You have no idea,’’ you whispered to no one, positioning yourself behind Minju as naturally as possible while you put away your water bottle and grabbed your bag. So, a new game plan was set. If no one specifically spoke to you, you couldn't say anything catastrophic, right? 

All you needed to do was make yourself a little invisible.

For a moment you thought you were actually succeeding. Jungwon was clearly only interested in Minju, with whom he was animatedly discussing hockey (or so you thought, because you had no idea about the terminology they were using). That was the moment: back away slowly, as if you'd decided in the moment and hadn't overanalyzed it for several minutes. Slowly, imperceptibly, so no one would smell your fear. Just a few steps toward freedom, just a bye under your shoulder and no one would get hurt. 

Jay noticed right away, calling your name.

‘’Hey,’’ he said casually, glancing at you and your outfit, taking in your legs. ‘’You look good today.’’ 

You froze. Oh no. No. Please, no. The spell didn’t wasted a fucking second. 

‘’I know,’’ you said confidently. ‘’These shorts gave me an incredible ass.’’ 

Silence. Minju choked, eyes huge. Jungwon’s brows shoot up. Jay bursted out laughing, full delight, not at all bothered. 

‘’You’re so sincere,’’ he said with a grin. ‘’Confidence. I like that.’’

Niki didn't laugh or say anything. He was simply watching you, studying the way you spoke without hesitation and the subsequent panic that followed, as if you had no filter.

Jay playfully nudged Niki with his elbow and kept the conversation going. ‘’You guys watched us play?’’

You prayed that no one else would say anything to you directly, taking another step back. 

Of course, Niki’s voice interrupted your attempts. He looked straight at you. Calm, low, direct. ‘’Did you?’’

You swallowed, as if that could stop the truth from rising like bile up your throat. ‘’Uh, y-yes.’’

‘’And?’’

“You looked very attractive,” you admitted helplessly, eyes flicking to him for half a second before staring at the grass, accepting your destiny. “With your hair all sweaty and pushed back.”

Minju made a tiny distress sound, Jungwon tried to look neutral watching the exchange and failed, and Jay grinned knowing he found free entertainment and material to taunt his maknae. But Niki didn't mock you, or smiled, nor did he seem embarrassed or smug. He tilted his head and continued looking at you with heavy, but not cold, eyes. Just… attentive. Listening. Like he never heard that sort of answer before. 

‘’Did I?’’ He asked, mildly. 

‘’Yes,’’ you said immediately, planning your own death. ‘’It was distracting.’’ 

Jay looked at Niki, considering your words. He was enjoying it too much. ‘’Distracting, huh?’’

Niki ignored him and moved a little closer to you, just enough to make the air shift. ‘’Then maybe,’’ he said quietly, eyes steady on you, ‘’you should stop watching.’’

‘’I would, but you’re hard to ignore,’’ you murmured automatically, slamming your eyes shut. ‘’Okay. I’m leaving now.’’

‘’We need water!’’ Minju intervened, taking your arm and leading you away with an apologetic smile. ‘’Bye, guys!’’

Jungwon was smiling and waving, Jay was saying something about Niki's sweaty hair being gross and Niki... his eyes followed you the whole way. Smiling a little.

Already deciding. 

Avoidance is power, you told yourself. 

Clearly you couldn't control the spell. Okay. Nor could you control who spoke to you. Obviously. But you could control the exposure. Limited interactions, minimal risks, avoid potential red flags that could lead to humiliation. You were going to finally walk the line of the spell or die trying.

It didn't matter that Minju was officially dating Jungwon and that somehow included his friends who orbited him and, due to their proximity, your best friend, like damn satellites. You wouldn't be rude. Just... brief and efficient. Simply as that. In the middle of a night where you were staring at the ceiling wondering how you ended up in this problem while you were in a chocolate ice cream coma, that's when it occurred to you.

You couldn't lie, but you could control how you told the truth. You wouldn't be lying per se... you'd simply be revealing the answers in long, technical sentences. Careful words, a controlled tone, crafted and directed honesty. That wasn't lying. You were simply adapting to the rules of the game. Expanding your vocabulary. Making things complicated wasn't lying. The spell didn't imply that people had to understand you.

In the dating world, some friends canceled plans because of their boyfriends. Minju did it for her chickens. She bailed on hockey practice before it even started when her security app sent a notification.

“One of the girls laid an egg and she looks emotionally overwhelmed,” she had said seriously, already packing her bag. “I need to supervise.”

‘’She’s just a chicken,’’ you stared at her. 

‘’She’s sensitive.’’ 

That's how you ended up alone, suffering, exhausted but not as dramatically as last time. Or maybe you just didn't have anyone to complain to. Either way, once practice was over, you actually enjoyed it a little. Other girls were stretching and chatting, laughing and drinking water, while you sat on the benches. You breathed a sigh of relief when you took down your ponytail and let your hair fall, enjoying the fresh air.

Perhaps doing outdoor sports wasn't so bad, you supposed. The sunset and the breeze caressed your damp skin, and for a second you relaxed, enjoying the silence. You tilted your head slightly toward the sky, toward the last rays of the sun, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You even smiled a little, not ruining your social interactions for a whole day felt like a huge victory.

You weren’t aware of it, but at the other side of the field the boy’s team were finishing warm-up drills. Niki’s focus shifted, as he had done all week, to you. Finally alone. Illuminated by a halo of sunlight, looking so pretty and relaxed, not like the times he had approached you and you looked ready to flee.

By the time you sensed someone’s presence it was too late, opening your eyes to Niki standing close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his gaze. You got startled with a small yelp and your heart rate went crazy while Niki was completely and clearly unashamed of staring at you like that in the open. 

He broke the silence first. ‘’Minju abandoned you?’’

You were ready for this. You cleared your throat and sat straighter. ‘’She had a chicken-related emergency.’’

Niki blinked once, nodding like that made all the sense in the world. ‘’I thought you were avoiding us,’’ he said plainly. ‘’Avoiding me.’’

You inhaled, choosing the words carefully in your head. ‘’I’m being selective with my interactions at this particular moment.’’ 

His mouth twitched slightly. ‘’Selective? And I didn't make the cut?’’

Panic spread across your brain, that was dangerous territory! 

‘’I'm trying to minimize situations where I have to interact verbally because… because I'm avoiding saying things that can amplify the exposure of my personal, reserved thoughts and put me in complicated circumstances.’’ 

Niki’s eyes sharpened. ‘’So I complicate your life?’’

This fucker. You froze for a second, feeling the spell around your tongue, ready to pounce head first into the truth. ‘’I believe you increase the odds a little,’’ you admitted, maintaining your calm tone. 

He took a step closer, his knees almost touching you. ‘’And why is that?’’

Because I can't decipher the way you look at me.

Because you don't react like everyone else.

You didn’t say any of it. ‘’You ask direct questions,’’ you said instead, finding the right words. ‘’And I struggle with filtering in those interactions.’’

His eyes fell on the curve of your shoulders, the way your hair waved in the breeze, your cheeks a little pink from exercise. ‘’You look better like this,’’ Niki said casually. 

You frowned. ‘’Like what?’’

‘’Less guarded.’’

Your brain short-circuited, and thankfully, not even a powerful witch's spell could fix that. But before you could die crushed by Niki's dark eyes, he was the first to look away towards the other side of the field, where his team resumed training.

‘’We’re not done,’’ he started, and you suspected he wasn’t just talking about hockey. ‘’Stay.’’ 

You blinked. ‘’Stay? Why?’’

He gestured subtly with his head towards the bleachers and you followed his line of sight. Oh. A few girls were there, watching the boy’s practice. Some talking, others taking photos. Waiting for boyfriends. Watching situationships or prospects. 

You looked at Niki again, not fully understanding the situation. Actually, more in denial. The implication was too obvious to ignore, but it still confused you a little. Why the hell Riki Nishimura wanted you there of all people?

‘’You can sit there,’’ he said, like it was the most normal outcome. ‘’Watch.’’

You kept staring at him, blinking slowly. ‘’You’re recruiting spectators, Nishimura?’’

His mouth twitched again, trying not to crack a smile. ‘’I’m inviting you.’’ 

Your stomach lurched catastrophically. ‘’You want me… to sit there and openly watch you?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’No.’’

He didn't react badly to your refusal, he simply studied you. ‘’Why not?’’

You swallowed and searched your brain for an answer that made sense. ‘’Because that could create some assumptions.’’ 

He tilted his head, a spark of mischief in his eyes. ‘’What kind of assumptions?’’

You narrowed your eyes a little, knowing that now he was playing with you. He knew what kind of assumptions, the cocky bastard.  

‘’I would prefer not to fuel potential situations that could lead to rumors that are not substantiated… based on our interactions. Misinterpretations could arise.’’

He searched your eyes while lowering his voice a little. ‘’What if I want them substantiated?”

Fuck this frat boy. You let out a loud sigh and thought about your next move. There was no chance you would let Niki throw you into the stands full of girlfriends, when the possibility of the spell going out of control due to the pressure and the crowd was so high. You were barely taking baby steps into the edge of the spell, not doing fucking somersaults on it.

So you took the next best route: evade. ‘’You’re very confident,’’ you managed to say, trying to smile. 

‘’Yes.’’

‘’That's very... threatening to my… filtering,’’ you groaned, feeling the spell tightening. 

He kept his eyes on you, pleased by it. ‘’Then stay,’’ he muttered, almost soft. ‘’Face the danger.’’ 

‘’That’d end with me saying something incriminating,” you warned him with a sigh. 

“I’m counting on it.”

Alright.

You stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “This is exactly the kind of scenario I am strategically eliminating.”

He didn’t move out of your space immediately. “You’re running again.”

“I am exercising discernment.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Same thing.”

You looked at him once more, trying to appear composed and with a serene face, even though your heart was beating strangely inside your chest. ‘’I'm not equipped to deal with you right now. Bye.’’

That made him stop for a second. And then: ‘’Good.’’

‘’What? Why’s that’s good?’’ 

‘’Because when you are, I'll be here. I want to see it.’’

Niki walked back onto the playing field, leaving you behind as if he hadn't desestabilized your nervous system.

From that day on, things got progressively worse, little by little, as if the loose ends were starting to tie themselves up. And by loose ends, you meant Niki's friends. The strangest part was the stares you got from other girls. Some were curious and interested, others hateful. The campus had eyes everywhere, that was obvious to anyone. The five horsemen and their lost bachelorhood were the talk of the town. First Jungwon, then Jake, who would be next?

The initial plan to avoid social interactions wasn't working too well. Maybe it was because you were just one soldier, and well, Niki's army was bigger, not to mention the whole campus. Little things started happening. Like Jay sitting next to you in class, much to your alarm, and you even considered pretending not to know him. But if there was one thing impossible in the world, it was getting Jay to shut up. He talked about everything. Your head was completely empty by the time he launched into his anecdote about the basketball team's mascot falling into the pool last week. 

The party invitations came in a more personal way. It wasn't like fraternity parties required it, but maybe it was something about the social hierarchy you weren’t aware of…? You had no idea and weren’t about to ask Minju about it. You assumed people just showed up, like you had done a few times before. But then Lee Heeseung basically blocked the library entry and asked you (more or less threatening you) if you would like to come to one of their parties. It took you too much by surprise to put together a coherent sentence, so you basically scuttled out the side with a yelp and a hurried ‘’no!’’. 

That’s how you ended like this. Looking insane. 

A scarf wrapped around your head as if you were a Hollywood actress from the 40s hiding from the paparazzi (you weren't), oversized black glasses that definitely weren't your style and didn't serve much purpose on a cloudy day, shoulders hunched as you slid along the edges of buildings like a cartoon thief, trying to blend into the shadows. Head down, quick steps, incognito mode activated.

The problem was that the Silverveil’s campus was a curse in itself, starting with its architecture: lots of open spaces, glass walls, and lots of people who liked to talk. And of course, him.

Nishimura Riki.

You had acquired a new knack for finding Niki in a crowd, though it wasn't too difficult. Tall, existing effortlessly, hands in his pockets with a semi-bored expression. You saw him at the other end of the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, his laugh short and sharp, and just that sound made your stomach clench. 

Abort. Abort. Abort.

You spun around instantly, nearly colliding with a group of students, muttering a quick apology before making a beeline run towards the nearest column. You leaned your back against it and took a breath, waiting a few seconds before poking your head out and inspecting the area.

No five horsemen of the apocalypse. No teachers. No curious girls asking if you can introduce them to Jay or Heeseung— or asking if it's true they're in a polyamorous relationship. No hockey coach asking why you didn't go to the last class and you not answering that you'd rather sleep for ten hours than drag your ass through that torture again. 

Good.

You adjusted your scarf, lowered your glasses further, and leaned again— only to freeze. Niki was definitely close. Too close. So close you could see the lazy way he walked, unhurried, making his way along without even asking, as if he weren't chasing after anything. As if he knew exactly where he was going.

You pulled back fast, heart slamming against your ribs. Shit. 

‘’Who are you spying on?’’

His voice came from behind you, low and amused, close enough that you felt it more than hear it. Slowly, too slowly, you turned around and there he was, devastating so. Niki’s eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in the handkerchief, the glasses, and your expression somewhere between guilt and panic, as if you were assessing your chances of running away.

For a second he just looked at you, until one corner of his mouth lifted. 

‘’No one in particular. I’m just… examining the perimeter and human elements near me.’’

Niki arched a brow, somewhat amused and slightly judgmental. ‘’Is this a disguise or a styling choice?’’

Panic surged through your mind, flooding your entire brain, barely remembering the plan and survival mode before the spell revived. ‘’I’m avoiding being recognized to prevent unnecessary social interactions that could result in irreversible harm to me.’’

Niki let out a short laugh, surprised and real, eyes bright with something dangerously close to interest. “Wow,” he said. “That’s… specific.’’

You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, heart trembling. “I would appreciate it if you did not interpret my current behavior as an invitation for conversation.”

“And yet,” he replied lightly, stepping closer instead of away, “you’re still talking to me. You are hard to go unnoticed, too.”

You swallowed. “This is an unfortunate consequence of your proximity.”

He studied you like you were a puzzle he didn’t know how he wanted to solve, which piece picked up first, gaze lingering just a beat too long. “You know,” he started, voice dropping a little, “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”

Your heart stuttered. “Did you? That information is… distressing.”

Niki smiled fully now, slow and unreadable. “Good,” he responded. 

And suddenly, hiding felt impossible and dumb. You were pressed against the column when Niki moved closer, cornering you enough so that you couldn't leave without brushing against his body. Niki lifted a hand, slow enough that you saw it coming but not slow enough to stop it. His fingers brushed your cheek for half a second before hooking under the arm of your sunglasses.

‘’Hey!—’’

He slid them off your face with infuriating ease. The world suddenly felt too bright. Too exposed. His gaze settled on your eyes immediately, intent and unreadable, like he was cataloguing something important. Up close, you noticed details you really shouldn’t be noticing: the curve of his lashes, the way his expression softened when you weren’t hiding behind dark lenses, a faded scar on one of his eyebrows. The smell of his cologne. 

“Hm,” he hummed, studying you. “So that’s what you were hiding.”

You stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “…That statement is inaccurate since you don’t know my intentions and motives.”

Without breaking eye contact, Niki casually slipped the sunglasses onto his own face. They looked ridiculous on him. He also looked unfairly good as well. 

‘’There’s a party tonight,’’ he said, like it was the most normal conversation he ever had. ‘’Our frat. You coming?’’

There’s no way in hell I’m going, you thought. Instead, you said: ‘’Attending an event of that magnitude is not in my immediate plans.’’

He stepped back, finally giving you air. “That’s a shame,’’ he smirked, then tilted his head, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate. “If you want these back,” he added, tapping the edge of the sunglasses, “you should come.”

You opened your mouth to renegotiate the deal or tell him it was ridiculous, but Niki turned around and left without looking back, just like that. Hands in his pockets, wearing YOUR big glasses, carefree, as if he hadn't left you there with the words on your lips and your heart racing, or with people nearby pretending not to have seen everything.

By the end of the day, it was everywhere.

People saw Niki. 

People definitely saw the sunglasses. 

People definitely saw Nishimura Riki wearing your sunglasses like they were his in the first place and didn't steal it from you in plain sight. The bastard had the audacity to actually wear them throughout the day, even with his friends, completely unbothered by the small chaos he caused. 

You even heard some whispers throughout the day that made you stare at nothing while some people gossiped about your life in real time. You sat in class, notebook opened, half-hearing your professor, doing doodles and making an effort to write something even if you barely care. That’s when you heard the whispers. 

‘’...Is that her?

‘’Mmmh. I think so.’’

‘’Ya, she’s pretty. No wonder Niki’s dating her.’’

You stopped doodling and paid more attention, your eyes were on your professor as you grip tightening around your pen. Waiting for more gossip to spill. 

‘’They look like an idols couple or something.’’

‘’My friend saw them flirting in front of everybody. Is that serious.’’

‘’Really?’’

‘’I know, right? He’s wearing her glasses. She’s friends with Jay too, I think.’’ 

By the end of the day, it was everywhere, and Minju was proof of that, because at some point during the day your best friend dragged you to the nearest cafe and interrogated you in a very similar way to the Witches' Council. With two lattes and two muffins and Minju unsuccessfully trying to contain her excitement, you sighed in defeat.

‘’Okay,’’ she started, resting her hands on the table, trying to calm down as if that would make her hear better. ‘’I’m ready. Tell me everything! What’s is going on with you and Niki?’’

You shrugged. ‘’There’s nothing going on,’’ you murmured, taking a sip of the latte. ‘’I think? I can categorize it for sure. Try be more specific.’’

Minju narrowed her eyes. ‘’Someone from my Economics class saw you and Niki earlier,’’ she paused. ‘’She said he took your glasses, like, he took them.’’

‘’That’s true. I was robbed in broad daylight and slightly criticized by my fashion choices, I think,’’ you frowned. 

Minju blinked and deflated a little. ‘’That’s not… how she described it.’’

You stared at your best friend, unimpressed. ‘’I’m literally incapable of lying, remember?’’ 

‘’So? What you’re gonna do?’’

‘’Honestly, I don’t know,’’ you sighed, massaging your temples. ‘’He told me I can get them back if I go to their party. He can keep them, I guess.’’

Minju gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. ‘’Oh my God. You’re being courted!’’

‘’More like terrorized. He stole from me!’’

‘’He’s flirting, you dumbass!’’

‘’He committed a crime,’’ you stated. 

‘’You’re brushing!’’

You groaned and covered your face with a whine. ‘’Leave me alone.’’

‘’Listen,’’ Minju said, in a softer tone. ‘’I’ve never seen Niki doing something like that, he’s very reserved. He’s always looking at you like… like he wants to eat you alive. And to be honest, you don’t look at him very differently.’’

You pressed your lips together and watched your coffee as it had the answers of the world. Somewhere on campus Niki was probably smiling to himself, that you were sure of, perfectly aware that he did exactly what he wanted. 

Stressed you out, checked.

Provoked you, checked.

Left you with an invitation you could’t stop thinking about, checked.

The worst part? You didn’t care about getting your sunglasses back.

The sky has been gray and cloudy lately, but you hardly care. It was another hockey practice and only half your body was there, your functional neurons checking out a long time ago. Physically you existed there, but your mind? That was a thing with a life of its own. Your body moved when it should, your stick hit the ball when it was your turn, even your legs seemed more coordinated than before. The reality was that your mind was deep in a daydream about the thing you wanted most: your warm bed.

You were planning it in detail, too distracted and entertained. 

Hot shower, giant pajamas, a greasy double hamburger— eating cross-legged under your blankets while something mindless played on your laptop. The beginning of your weekend. No campus. No accidental honesty. No dodging dangerously perceptive boys. Just a pause in time to exist without stress.

You jogged half-heartedly across the grass, barely registering the shouts of your teammates playing. The cloudy weather made everything feel slower, heavier. Your eyelids even drooped for a second. And then— a memory flashing too fast, your brain betraying you.

Niki. Uninvited. 

How close he stood the other day, the way he said face the danger. His low, deep voice, the way he looked at you like— no. You shook your head slightly, refusing to let yourself do that. But the images, his face, it kept flickering in your head. His smile, his smirk, his intense eyes. Him watching you like— 

‘’Watch out!’’

Too late.

A body collided with you, hard, from the side. One of the girls tripped mid run to hit the ball, and suddenly the world turned upside down without warning. Grass. The grey sky. Impact. Your head hitting the ground hard enough to make you stay still with a low groan. There were some black points in your vision and for a second everything sounded muffed, until a sharp whistle pierced the air. 

The girl approached immediately, kneeling beside you in alarm. ‘’Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn't see you— are you okay? Don’t move.’’

You blinked a few times, staring at the sky. ‘’I’m fine,’’ you mumbled, pressing your hand on your head, making sure it was still there. ‘’It’s my fault. I was… geographically misplaced.’’

She looked confused but relieved. ‘’Oh…? Okay. Don’t stand up anyway, just take your time.’’

The coach jogged over, calling your name. ‘’Are you okay?’’ 

‘’Yeah,’’ you muttered, sitting slowly. ‘’It was just grass, it’s okay. Nature softened the hit, I guess.’’

And then, a shadow fell over you, but it wasn’t your coach or a teammate. You didn’t need to look up to know, a sense in your body recognizing the presence before your mind did. But you did look anyway and you suck a breath, cursing in your mind. 

Niki dropped beside you, crouching immediately, his expression serious. Shifting into something you never saw before, sharp and alert in a way that made your stomach flip for entirely different reasons than falling into the ground. 

Before you could process what was happening or even talk, his hands found you— sliding under your head, cradling carefully like you were struck with a metal baseball bat and not softly bonked by grass.

Your brain short-circuited and you let out a startled squeak, trying to push his hands. 

‘’I’m fine!’’ you blurted, trying to push yourself up. 

His hands didn’t move, still holding your skull. ‘’Don’t,’’ Niki said gently. 

Your heart was beating too fast for someone who just wanted a nap and a burger. 

‘’I literally fell on grass,’’ you insisted, noticing more people staring. ‘’This is not a serious injury, really.’’

Niki ignored you completely and looked up at your coach. ‘’She should go to the infirmary,’’ he suggested, voice steady and persuasive. ‘’Just in case.’’ 

Your head snapped towards him, confused. ‘’Just in case of what?’’

‘’Concussion.’’

You blinked, then laughed. ‘’No way. It was a gentle meeting between my head and nature. I’m perfectly fine.’’ 

Niki looked down at you. ‘’Do you know how concussions work?’’

The spell was faster than you. ‘’More or less.’’ 

‘’More or less,’’ he repeated, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘’So you don’t actually know.’’

You clenched your teeth. ‘’I’m clearly conscious. I’m not dizzy. I can form intelligent sentences.’’

‘’Barely,’’ he said under his breath.

You gasped in outrage.

Your coach softened visibly by his tone. ‘’It’s very sweet that you’re worried about your girlfriend.’’

There was a split second of silence. And then:

‘’I am not his girlfriend,’’ you yelped at the same time Niki said smoothly, ‘’Thank you. I’ll take her.’’ 

You stared at him with both betrayal and alarm. ‘’Excuse me?’’

But Niki was already moving, and before you could react or scream his arm slided under your knees, other behind your back and the ground suddenly disappeared. 

You grabbed onto him reflexively, noticing that you were quite far from the ground. ‘’What are you doing?!’’

Carrying you apparently cost him zero effort, holding you like it was nothing. A small part of your brain noticed his arms flexing and his hard chest, but you pushed those thoughts down. 

‘’You might faint,’’ he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘’I’m not taking risks.’’

You covered your face while Niki carried you bridal-style out of the field, leaving behind teammates whispering, gasping, other laughing, definitely rumours taking a new shape. You swore you saw Jay snapping a pic, but for your mental health you told yourself that was a hallucination induced by mortification.

You squirmed in his arms, refusing to give up. ‘’Right, I will faint from humiliation!’’

‘’You’re so dramatic,’’ he chuckled. ‘’Just stay still.’’

‘’This is completely unnecessary,’’ you hissed, kicking the air. ‘’I can walk. Put me down!’’

‘’No. Stop overreacting.’’

You gasped in pure incredulity at his nerve. ‘’Me? I’m the one overreacting? You engineered this!’’ 

He glanced down, amused. ‘’How? You were the one so distracted in the middle of a game that you hit your head. What were you thinking of, anyway?’’

The spell enveloped your tongue. ‘’I was thinking about my plans for tonight when I fell. On. Grass.’’

‘’You. Hit. Your. Head.’’

‘’On grass,’’ you groaned, resuming your kicks in the air. ‘’It’s not serious!’’

‘’You don’t know how hard you hit yourself,’’ Niki tried to reason with you. He adjusted his grip on you, too comfortable to care about your protests. 

‘’I do? I was literally there?’’

‘’So was I. Saw the whole thing.’’

‘’Put me down, Nishimura.’’ 

‘’No.’’

‘’I don’t particularly enjoy being paraded like this. People are looking!’’

‘’You’re being cared for.’’

‘’Against my wishes!’’

His expression, despite the teasing and the smirk, is sharp. Watchul. With something deeper, until you realize what it was. Protective. You hated the way your pulse reacted to it, and at some point along the way you relaxed enough to rest your cheek against his chest. You were giving him the silent treatment anyway, all pouty and clinging to what little dignity you had left.

The infirmary smelled like lemon scented cleaner. It was bright and quiet, a small place with a desk and a few simple beds to lay. Niki set you down on one of them, his hands lingering on your body enough for your heart to do a backflip before he stepped back in a very professional way and not suspicious at all. 

‘’Sit,’’ he said, unnecessary. You did. 

The nurse came up with a clipboard under her arm, looking between you and Niki. ‘’What happened?’’

Before you could open your mouth, Niki started speaking. ‘’She fell, hit her head hard. Black spots, disorientation. She tried to stand up immediately,’’ he accused you. 

Your eyes widened. ‘’That’s not—’’

‘’I feared she might have a concussion,’’ Niki continued, crossing his arms and looking at you like you were a very bad behaving kid, ‘’she insisted she was fine and that’s a sign that someone is not fine.’’

You stared at him in disbelief. ‘’I fell on grass.’’

‘’She collapsed after the hit,’’ Niki told the nurse. 

The nurse hummed, clearly entertained and nodding to the story, writing something on the clipboard. ‘’Mmm-mm, I see. And you carried her all the way here?’’

‘’Yes,’’ Niki replied like it was the most obvious thing to do. ‘’For her safety. She needs a check-up.’’

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. 

‘’Well,’’ the nurse smiled, turning to you, ‘’you seem pretty alert and you didn’t lose consciousness. Let’s have you rest here for a bit just to be safe,’’ she handed you a small box of juice from her desk. ‘’Drink this, sugar helps.’’ 

You took it obediently, giving Niki a bitter side eye.

The nurse stepped back to her desk and then paused, taking the paper from the clipboard. ‘’I’ll be back with some paperwork,’’ she sent you a knowing look. ‘’Behave, you two.’’

The door closed behind her and then silence followed. 

You snorted softly. ‘’Don’t worry,’’ you said while stabbing with too much force the straw into the juice box, ‘’we’re not having a making-out session here.’’ 

The words hit your ears a second later and you froze, remembering the fucking spell. You immediately shoved the straw in your mouth like it might save you. 

Niki tilted his head, looking at you. ‘’We won’t?’’

You choked when the juice went the wrong way and you coughed until your eyes watered. ‘’—What!?’’

Niki patted your back softly, too entertained for someone who was playing hero. ‘’You heard me. That was a question.’’

You glared at him over the juice box, cheeks burning, spell threatening you. ‘’I'm not going to do anything that doesn't involve the nurse's medical advice, Nishimura.’’ 

Niki stepped close and you felt it— his fingers brushing the hem of your shorts, idly tracing the edge like it was the most natural thing to do.

‘’I like it when you call me that,’’ he muttered in that deep voice of his.

Your suspicions and alarms went off at the same time and you gave him another warning look, moving your thigh away from his fingers.

His touch followed you, but now it was his giant palm covering your thigh and gently squeezing it. 

‘’Don't,’’ you scolded him. 

He stooped, mostly. His hand still hovered there, but didn’t move further. 

‘’You got me worried out there,’’ he said, quietly. 

You studied his face— the crease between his brows, the lack of amusement or teasing. ‘’You didn’t have to carry me all the way here,’’ you mumbled.

‘’I wanted to and I’d do it again.’’

That landed harder than it should, straighter to your chest and even lower. A pause fell but it was soft, quiet, not quite awkward. It felt more like something seeking place and settling down. 

‘’Why do you run away all the time?’’ He asked, curious, searching your eyes. 

You swallowed and put the empty juice box to the side with a sigh. Your shoulder slumped a little, tiredness waving in your voice. ‘’Sometimes I feel…’’ you explained quietly. ‘’Like… there’s something in me that doesn’t let me lie, even if I wanted to,’’ you chuckled softly. 

Niki leaned in, eyes sharpening with interest. 

‘’And I don’t know how people would take that,’’ you continued, staring at the floor. ‘’What if I said too much and I hurt somebody? Or I show too much of myself? I don’t like that exposure. I don’t have any… shield or control. So I just wanna avoid those things from happening.’’

Niki didn’t interrupt you, listening attentively. He was silent for a long moment. ‘’You want to protect yourself,’’ he explained easily, making you tense a little. ‘’I know you think running makes you invisible, but it doesn't. It just makes people look harder.’’

You looked up and glanced at Niki, noticing that his face had gotten too close to yours, his eyes focussed on your lips. But before you could respond, the infirmary door opened and the nurse came back. Niki straightened up immediately as if nothing had happened and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, the other still resting warmly on your thigh.

You didn’t scold him again or move away. 

Growing up as a witch was a series of completely out-of-context situations thrown right in your face for you to deal with. Like the time everything inside your house floated constantly for a month before you could get that power under control. Or the time you saw a rabbit, thought it was cute, and overnight your yard was overrun with rabbits from all sizes and colors until the town newspaper reported a rabbit overpopulation in your neighborhood. You hadn't realized you were controlling their energies and, unintentionally, summoning them.

So yes, you were somewhat used to surprising situations, but you still almost had a heart attack when you opened your backpack in the middle of class and two huge, deep, yellow eyes stared back at you from the darkness inside the bag. 

You nearly screamed. But the sound somehow got muffled in your throat as you quickly zipped up your backpack and cradled it against your chest like a contained bomb. Slowly, very, very slowly, you leaned forward over your desk and opened the zipper again, enough for Soomin to hear you. 

‘’What are you doing here!?’’ You whispered.

‘’I’m doing a surprise check in,’’ the owl whispered back. Inside the backpack, Soomin shifted with the quiet rustle of feathers. ‘’Supervising.’’

You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly pulled up the zipper again. You spent the entire class sitting stiffly in your chair, your backpack resting on your lap like the most suspicious object in the world while you pretended to take notes and that everything was normal and you didn’t had a fucking talking owl with you. Every small movement from inside the bag made your spine lock up and discreetly observe your surroundings, in case anyone noticed anything.

You felt the presence of the spell like a fucking dagger waiting to pierce your heart. Your mind kept cycling through every possible disaster scenario: the owl popping her head out, someone hearing her talk, someone asking you what was inside the bag. You had never been so aware of every single person in the room. When class finally ended you were one of the firsts to get the hell out of there, relief hitting you like oxygen after drowning. 

You fled the lecture hall still holding onto your backpack. 

‘’Don’t run! I’m getting dizzy,’’ Soomin whispered from inside the bag. 

‘’You snuck there! Now enjoy the ride,’’ you hissed quietly. ‘’What are you even doing here!?’’

‘’I’m monitoring and supervising, I told you I wasn't leaving you out of my sight and you been acting weird lately.’’

You pushed through the hallway doors, scanning the corridor for a quiet corner where you could finally unzip the bag and properly scold the feathered menace inside. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, of course it did, because you walked straight into Nishimura Riki.

You stopped in your tracks.

He had one hand in the pocket of his jacket, leaning lazily against the wall like he had nowhere urgent to be. When he noticed you approaching at suspicious speed with your backpack clutched like a hostage, his brows lifted slightly. Then his gaze drifted downward and slowly pointed. You followed the direction of his fingers, to the round owl head sticking out of your backpack. 

Soomin blinked at him. You froze. Soomin froze as well. For a long moment the three of you just stared at each other in a very tense and confusing silence. Niki muttered your name, a little doubtful.

‘’... Is that an owl?’’ 

Your brain ran through every possible lie in the world that you could think of, but obviously they all ran into the magic brick wall of the spell. ‘’Uh… uh… this is an animal that can be found in the forest.’’ 

You stopped talking immediately after that. Niki stared at you, then at the owl, and again at you. He didn't seem alarmed or confused, more like he wanted to understand why you would have an owl with you in the middle of the day instead of questioning how strange it was.

‘’Right,’’ he said slowly. Niki leaned a little closer, examining the bird with curiosity. ‘’And what is it doing in your backpack?’’

The truth tightened in your throat. ‘’It just… climbed in there.’’

Silence fell again, looks were exchanged and Soomin even tilted her head, taking in the boy in front of her, examining him in the same way Niki was doing. Then, he glanced at you and let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose, like he just decided not to question the situation too deeply. Niki was late to class, anyway.  

‘’You’re kind of weird,’’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. He looked at the owl again. ‘’What are you going to do with an owl?’’

You tightened your hold on the backpack, feeling Soomin shifting inside. You sighed. ‘’I’m… going to have a talk with her.’’ 

Ni-ki glanced down at the owl head still poking out of the zipper. The owl stared back with wide, unrepentant eyes. He nodded slowly, like that explanation made complete sense. Then he reached out without warning and casually pinched your chin in a gesture too gentle and familiar that made your brain short-circuit for a second. 

‘’Okay. We’ll talk later, yeah?’’

You just blinked at him, eyes huge and nodded. ‘’Uh-uh. Sure.’’

‘’Good luck with your…’’ he frowned and gestured vaguely at Soomin. ‘’Your forest animal.’’ 

And with that, he pushed away from the wall and walked down the hallway, disappearing into the flow of students like the entire interaction had been perfectly normal.

You stood there for exactly two seconds. Then you spun around into a more hidden corner and put the backpack down with a groan. 

“Soomin—!”

The owl immediately hopped out of the bag. ‘’Oh my God, who was that?’’

‘’What?’’

‘’That tall, intense dude. The handsome one with dark eyes,’’ she commented conspiratorially. 

‘’You snuck into my backpack, infiltrated in the university, caused me the most stressful class of my life, and you want to talk about a boy?’’

‘’Yes. Spill.’’ 

You rubbed your face, asking for patience from above. ‘’That’s Niki.’’

The owl studied the hallway where Niki had disappeared with a thoughtful expression. ‘’He’s very attractive.’’

‘’He is,’’ you conceded.

‘’He touched you very confidently,’’ she observed. 

‘’Uh— I mean— he kinda does that—’’ 

‘’And it didn’t bother you,’’ Soomin furthered her observations, blinking slowly. ‘’Are you dating him?’’

‘’No!’’

‘’You’re secretly seeing him? This is some of prohibited romance?’’

‘’What? Of course not.’’

‘’He’s your boyfriend and didn’t tell me?’’ Soomin asked with a squeak, entertained by the gossip. 

‘’I already told you no,’’ you tried to reason with her. 

‘’... Why are you blushing?’’

‘’Because... because... it's hot and I feel strange, now shut up,’’ you groaned, picking up the bird and putting her into the backpack again like you could trap the conversation inside it. 

She gasped. ‘’You like that tall boy!’’

The spell crackled throughout your body, your mind and tongue couldn't agree on what to say, but the truth did its job. ‘’I— I— I think— yes— but—’’

‘’I like that boy too. He didn’t scream when he saw me.’’

‘’You’re a bird, not a monster.’’

‘’That’s not the point,’’ Soomin scoffed. ‘’He was very gentle with you. I approve that.’’

Soomin watched you very carefully and you felt a little nudge in the heart of your magic. Her eyes softened.

‘’Oh,’’ she said. ‘’You’re so doomed.’’

You grabbed the zipper and slammed the backpack closed.

Later that day, after you took Soomin home and she promised you there would be no more surprise inspections, the library greeted you with silence and concentration. The setting sun reached some tables, the soft sound of pens writing relaxed you somehow, and the distant hum from the air conditioner in the distance served as white noise.

You were exactly where you liked to be, seated by the window, notes spread neatly. Pretty and colorful highlighters. Life under control, for once. 

That didn’t last long. 

You were finishing a paragraph about an idea you had written when a chair scraped against the floor across from you. You didn’t look up immediately, which was a big mistake.

‘’Okay,’’ a low, masculine voice said. ‘’Serious question.’’

Your pen froze mid word and you lifted your gaze, finding Niki sitting across from you like he belonged there. Elbows resting on the table, dark eyes locked on you with immovable focus.

You stared at him, putting down your pen slowly. ‘’Oh, no,’’ you doubted, straightening up as if a bomb were about to drop on you at any second. 

‘’Would you date me?’’

You stared at him completely blanky, certain you mishearded. There was no question in his tone. No hesitation. Just calm certainty, like he had already considered the options and selected the obvious one. You blinked again and looked around you, wondering if that was in fact a daydream and not reality. Maybe you casted a spell of illusion without realizing it? 

The spell stirred to life. ‘’I don't know,’’ you finally muttered. ‘’You just can’t ask me that out of nowhere!’’

His eyes sharpened, resting his chin on his hand. ‘’I just did. Let’s date.’’

‘’Niki,’’ you sighed, sending him a warning glance when he smirked at your tone. ‘’I don’t think that’s a good idea.’’ 

‘’Why not?’’

The spell tugged your tongue begging for honesty, warm and insistent, and the silence prolonged until you found how to stretch the truth. You inhaled softly, trying to collect the right words. 

‘’You look like the kind of problem I'm not really qualified for or sure I will be able to manage. Like… advanced detached emotional skills I don’t possess or want to entertain.’’

He didn’t flinch, or left, or smirked anymore. He considered your words leaning back into the chair, arms crossed, studying you like he was deciding how to make sense of what you said. 

Niki leaned forward then, forearms on the table like he was about to touch you in any second. The distance between you and him was slowly shrinking, but you felt like the walls were falling down onto your head. 

‘’How can you know that? We don’t know each other that well,’’ he explained patiently.

That was fair and he had a point. You hated that. You nodded and exhaled, unable to lie.  ‘’That’s true.’’

He waited, sensing how you were trying to expand your answer into something that made sense but it wasn't sharp and cruel. Niki’s focus didn’t waver. 

‘’I don’t know you that well,’’ you recognized, ‘’I am simply overlaying the information I have based on observational data in social interactions to form an opinion of you.’’

One corner of his mouth twitched. ‘’Observational data. Meaning you’ve been observing me.’’

‘’I mean, not on purpose or significance,’’ you explained further. ‘’And that’s not the main takeaway.’’

‘’Tell me,’’ he encouraged you, leaning even closer. ‘’What kind of problem do I look like to you? Use your data to enlighten me.’’

“You look,” you said carefully, stretching the sentence as far as it would go, “like someone who is used to getting attention without asking for it. And who doesn’t have to work very hard to keep it.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “And?”

“And,” you continued, because the spell would not let you escape halfway, “I don’t enjoy competing with other females. Especially not recreationally and emotionally. I like stable sentimental involvements.”

Niki snorted, entertained by you, clearly. ‘’I’d be an excellent boyfriend.’’

You laughed, between surprise and incredulity, it slipped so naturally out of you that you couldn't stop it. ‘’How would you know? You’ve never had a girlfriend.’’

He arched his brow. ‘’How would you know that?’’

You narrowed your eyes, taking in his challenging tone. ‘’There’s usually a different girl every weekend,” you said, far too matter-of-factly. “Statistically speaking, long-term attachment does not appear to be your preferred pattern. It’s very notable that you’re rarely alone and there's no fixed tendency on your type either.’’

But Niki didn’t look offended or insulted, or even caught, he was intrigued. ‘’Have you been keeping track?’’

Your spine straightened. ‘’Not actively. It’s more a knowledge from a passive environmental awareness situation, like… occasionally overhearing comments in the women's restroom from time to time.’’

“Environmental awareness,” he repeated. ‘’So, gossip in the women’s bathroom. That formed your opinion of me?’’

“Well, it's like noticing changes in the weather or bird migration patterns, I guess. I’m just exposing the data I gathered.’’

Niki slowly reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. ‘’You’re comparing me to migratory bird patterns? That’s your angle here?’’

“I compare your social habits to recurring seasonal behavior,” you corrected quickly. ‘’Don’t spin this on me.’’

‘’So you think I’d be a bad boyfriend.’’ 

“I think,” you corrected, choosing each word with painful care, “that you give the impression of someone who enjoys options,’’ you said, honestly falling with surprising weight. And maybe a touch of vulnerability. ‘’Not the type of male to do stable emotional interactions.’’

For a moment, he didn’t deny it. “And that bothers you?”

“It doesn’t bother me in a personal capacity right now,” you responded, then sighed when the curse nudged you again. “But it would complicate things if we get hypothetically involved together.’’

The corner of Niki’s mouth curved upward, slower this time. “So you’re considering being hypothetically involved with me.”

“I am considering the hypothetical scenario in which I evaluate the feasibility of such involvement,” you clarified, aware of how ridiculous you sounded. 

His knee brushed yours under the table and neither of you moved. ‘’Mmm, I see. But you didn’t say you won’t date me, you say you didn’t know. Explain that, then.’’

You stared at him, blinking slowly, pretending you didn’t move your fingers away from his.

‘’I said exactly that I wouldn't know how to handle the problem you represent, theoretically.’’

‘’I’d let you,’’ he simply answered. ‘’Just say yes.’’

The tension between you shifted—less teasing now, more charged. 

‘’Let’s test your theory.’’ 

‘’My theory?’’

Niki played with one of your rings. ‘’Date me,’’ he proposed, ‘’find out if I’m actually a problem. Get to know me, do your research with your own data. What do you think?’’

Your heart flipped, lost connection with your brain and poured with automatic honesty. “I am… not opposed to gathering additional data under controlled circumstances to reassess my preliminary assumptions.”

‘’I like you,’’ Niki simplified, caressing your knuckles. ‘’And I wanna know you more.’’

That simple declaration sent your heart into failure, and your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I find you objectively unfair,” you said, forcing steadiness into your tone. “Your face structure combined with your confidence level creates unnecessary distractions.’’

His eyes darkened slightly at that, satisfaction flickering across his features. “So that’s a yes.”

‘’It’s not a no,’’ you sighed, a little lost in the conversation. Keeping track of the truth was already hard, but doing it under Niki’s eyes and intentions was too hard. 

‘’Saturday at the frat,’’ he straightened, victory settling over him like a final move in a game only he knew they were playing. ‘’Come to the party. We’ll be alone and nobody will bother us.’’ 

‘’But—’’

But before you could say anything else, Niki stood up and walked around the table until she was standing in front of you, leaning in until your breaths mingled and you closed your mouth. He stroked your cheek and lifted your face, holding your chin, studying you closely with a knowing look.

‘’I know you're going to try to run away,’’ he said, eyes flickering to your lips. ‘’I know you talk the way you do because you're trying to prolong the truth. I know you want this because you're not really pushing me away,’’ he murmured, his thumb rubbing your lower lip absently. ‘’You look at me the way I look at you, and it's driving me crazy, baby.’’ 

You were out of words. Niki’s gaze returned to your eyes, satisfied at the effect he had on you. He stood up, full of triumph and smiled at you, he actually fully smiled, and you just stared at Niki like you were seeing the sun for the first time.

‘’We’re dating now,’’ he mumbled, giving you one last look. ‘’And if I don't see you there, I'll come looking for you. Choose wisely,’’ he advised, already stepping back.

And that's how Niki left, leaving you stunned and recalculating in a corner of the library, your heart pounding and your cheeks flushed. 

And somehow, in a way you didn't quite understand, the day ended with you officially dating Nishimura Riki.

The fraternity house was already shaking by the time you went through the door. It wasn't surprising, because everyone wanted to be there. Nobody in their right mind would miss the chance to get close to one of the guys, to mingle with them, to get their attention. The chances of fun and craziness were too high; everyone knew about the reputation of that frat's parties. 

The air was thick with the sweet and sour aroma of alcohol, juice mixed with vodka and beer, bottles and glasses piling up everywhere. The music was so loud it pounded in your chest, the flashing lights made your footsteps blurry, and people were everywhere talking, laughing, kissing, dancing. It was the kind of party everyone would tear apart piece by piece the next day and gossip about everything that happened, because it was the kind of party where something was always happening.

You knew that your best friend was probably entangled with Jungwon in some corner of the party. You avoided touching any drop of alcohol, because adding that to a spell powered by truth was the worst idea in the world, even though that what you wanted most at that moment was a drink. 

You felt as if you had willingly walked into the lion's den, and well, you had. There didn't seem to be any safe zone; your eyes were constantly scanning for Niki to appear. This was because of the collection of accurate data, you lied to yourself. That's why you dressed so daringly. A short skirt that showed off your legs, loose hair, overly glossy lips, a long-sleeved top with a neckline that dropped just enough to show your collarbones.

It was absolutely not because of him. And then, you felt it.

It was a shift in the air, a tiny recognition of something about to happen. The weight of somebody’s attention, the feeling of being watched. You turned your face over your shoulder and locked eyes with Niki across the room, near the stairs, where he was watching you intently. 

He was surrounded by friends and other people you didn't know. When his eyes noticed you, it was as if his expression changed completely, fading into something focused and determined, satisfied. His eyes traveled over you slowly, unhurriedly, like a caress; taking in your skirt, your legs, your bare shoulders, the soft, exposed skin. You breath caught under his intense gaze, instinct kicking in from feeling like a prey. 

You turned around and blended into the crowd with ease, trying to control the mild panic and excitement coursing through your veins. You knew he was still there, keeping a close eye on you, and that running was a terrible idea. Because Niki loved a chase. You knew you were delaying the inevitable, buying more time than you had, testing limits just because you could.

You wondered if he was still following you. Wouldn't he get distracted? Wouldn't he get bored and rather pick another girl? Would he get annoyed? 

At some point you gave up and your fingers circled a plastic cup with something sweet and strong that warmed your throat and made you immediately regret it because of how good it tasted, how easy it was to drink it. You didn't know exactly where in the house you were, but it wasn't the heart of the party, it wasn't packed with people, and the music wasn't as loud.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was. His thumb caressed the spot where your pulse quickened, his chest pressed against your back just enough for his breath to brush against your hair.

His mouth brushed against your ear, sending hundreds of shivers down your neck. ‘’Still running from me?’’ 

You barely turned your face, as his grip loosened from your wrist to your waist, where both hands squeezed it tightly, as if he feared you might escape. ‘’I was strategically relocating.’’

Niki laughed shortly, the sound against your ear. ‘’You saw me and tried to escape.’’

The spell cursed through your mouth before you could register it. ‘’Yes.’’

His body pressed closer to yours, making you hold your breath. ‘’Why?’’

You swallowed, searching for the right words, absentmindedly licking your lips. ‘’I wanted to know if you would follow me,’’ you admitted.

He shifted, turning your body carefully so you could face him fully. Niki’s hands were still on your waist, his touch more relaxed, but not less possessive. Up close, his eyes seemed darker, wilder, dilated under the flickering lights.

“You wore this on purpose,” he said, gaze dipping briefly to your collarbones before returning to her face. ‘’For me.’’

‘’I wore it because it's socially required to wear clothes at public events.’’

His thumbs caressed and pressed the skin of your hip, shaking his head. ‘’Not good enough. Try again and be honest.’’

The spell pushed you, taking control. ‘’I wore it because I knew you’d be here,’’ you responded before you could wrap the thought into something safer and confusing. ‘’And I wanted you to look.’’

His jaw tightened, not in anger but in restraint. ‘’You’re starting a dangerous game,’’ he warned you, voice warm and husky. ‘’Careful.’’

You shook your head, staring at him. ‘’I’m not playing,’’ you frowned, spilling truthfully. 

One of Niki’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him, deliberated. The air shifted around you, your hands resting on his chest and not moving him away, too blinded by his eyes to care if anyone in the crowd saw you.

“You’re driving me insane,” he admitted, barely audible.

“You like it,” you replied, and the tremor beneath the honesty was too evident. 

His gaze flicked to your mouth. “For the record,” Niki said, “I’m about to kiss you.”

Your heart bounced, melted, reformed, and continued bouncing against your ribs. Maybe it was the spell, the drink you had, or maybe you just didn't want to fight against honesty anymore, but you smiled a little. 

‘’If you don't I might, Nishimura,’’ you lightly threaten him.

The small distance that existed vanished like a whisper, slowly, the tension that had been built up for a long time slowly letting go, something bigger entered. He kissed you as if he had waited too long to do so and didn't want to waste another second.

It wasn't desperate or clumsy, but decisive, as if he knew exactly where and how to strike. You melted into a kiss almost immediately, letting him do as he pleased with you. He made his way into your mouth and explored it slowly, savoring the strawberry and vodka from before and your own taste. Both of your breaths caught in your throats as neither of you let go, too immersed in the kiss for breathing to be a priority. 

Your hands tangled in the honey-blonde hair at the nape of his neck, your nails slowly sliding down his skin to his neck, making him hiss into the kiss, his hands touching you more freely, exploring, daring to slip inside your skirt.

You had no idea how, but between a kiss and a breath, more kisses and muffled moans against each other's mouths, at some point your back hit a door. Niki opened it, pulled you both into a room, and cornered you against the door again, closing it with a click you barely registered. His mouth went down to yours again, one hand on your throat and the other on your jaw, as if that way he could hold you down to devour your soul in peace.

When both had to separate again because their lungs couldn't take any more, you two were a bit of a mess. Niki's full lips were swollen from kisses, barely colored by your gloss, his hair a little disheveled, eyes shining with barely contained desire. You weren't looking much better either, your skirt twisted and wrinkled from how many times Niki had grabbed and crumpled it, your cheeks flushed, and your lip marked by Niki's bite.

Niki kissed you again, but this time more gently, first your lips, then the corner of your mouth, your throat, the line of your exposed collarbones. He turned you both gently, walking into the room while continuing to kiss and gently suck on your skin, making you sigh and hold onto him, until you laid on a bed and a little bit of sense got to your fuzzy brain. 

Only then you fully looked at your surroundings. 

The light was dim, with a lamp in the corner casting a warm glow. Sneakers were arranged against the wall, some everyday shoes and some basketball shoes. Hanging from a hook near the closet was a jacket with a number and Niki's last name embroidered on the back.

You tilted your neck to get a better look and Niki interpreted it as you were giving him more space, smiling against your neck and continuing the trail of slow, wet kisses, making himself room between your legs. 

You blinked, still finding details to look at. ‘’This is your room,’’ you said.

Niki stopped briefly, looked at you and then placed a kiss on your lips. ‘’Welcome.’’

‘’This feels like important information,’’ you arched a brow, curious. 

‘’We’re busy,’’ he replied simply, leaning again to press another kiss to your mouth. Your pulse quickened, and you let him distract you with his mouth, wrapping your legs not so timidly around his waist. His lips trailed down the spine of your throat, biting the sensitive spots that made you dig your fingers into his shoulders, breathless.

Your eyes opened for a second, but it was enough to notice something at the other end of the room. It was a medium-sized cabinet hanging against the wall, made of wood and glass, a display case. Inside, carefully arranged under warm strip lighting were small collectible figures— you knew them too well. Cute, round-headed, soft features, expressive.

Hirono.

Not one. Not two. Several. Arranged too neatly to be random, they were all different, but aligned according to the collection they belonged to. It was a curated exhibition. 

The stunned gasp you let out was too loud and made Niki froze for a second, looking up from your neck. ‘’What?’’

You couldn't control the little laugh that bubbled up from you, a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and delight. ‘’You have Hirono figures!’’

Something too interesting happened. Niki blinked, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. For the first time he seemed hesitant, as if he had been caught up in a confusing crime, but at the same time, something else flashed across his face... a touch of shyness. 

He cleared his throat. ‘’What?’’

You twisted slightly in his hold to point at the display case, smiling. ‘’They’re in a diorama, aren’t they? You arranged them by series. The right ones are from the Mime set and the middle ones are,’’ you squinting your eyes, leaning in, ‘’Little Mischief. Right?’’

Niki stared at you, eyes glowing. ‘’You know them?’’ He asked slowly.

‘’Of course,’’ you looked at him incredulously. ‘’I collect them too.’’

He stepped back a little to get a better look at you, holding himself above you. ‘’You’re lying.’’

‘’I can’t lie,’’ you replied automatically, too focused on the figures to notice the slip. ‘’They even look like you, Nishimura.’’

His eyebrows shot up and he snorted. ‘’They do not.’’

‘’They do,’’ you insisted with a laugh. ‘’Look at them! Their eyes and little nose. Moody, slightly frowning, probably judging everyone internally.’’

He stared at you for a moment, as if debating whether he should be offended or not. ‘’I do not look like a Hirono figure.’’

‘’The resemblance it’s very accurate,’’ you defended your theory. 

He looked back at the figures and then at you, something unreadable flickering across his expression. No one noticed those figures when they entered his room. Not the guys on the team or his friends; maybe Jungwon took a picture of them once but didn't ask any further questions about it. Definitely not the girls who came and went and whose names he didn't bother to remember afterward. 

But you did, without a second thought, without trying to impress him. “You’re the first person who’s ever said anything about them,” he blurted, before he could stop himself.

The confession floated between the two of you, as soft as the muffled music that could be heard from below. You felt your face slowly lose its smile, your expression becoming gentler. 

‘’They're arranged as if you cared about them, as if you'd thought it carefully. Of course I noticed.’’ 

He closed the small space and kissed you once again, while his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. ‘’What am I gonna do with you?’’

‘’You’re the one who dragged me here.’’

‘’You talking about my collection distracted me more than necessary.’’

You smiled a little. ‘’They’re cute.’’

He shook his head, stealing another kiss. ‘’You’re cuter.’’

The spell sparkled but this time you didn’t feel it like a threat or a trap, just letting it take its course. ‘’You look unfairly attractive when you’re flustered,” you observed. 

‘’I’m not flustered.’’

‘’Liar,’’ you scoffed. 

Niki huffed a quiet laugh and kissed you again, slowly. His hands slipped back under your skirt, and you didn't stop him, letting his palms cover and caress your thighs as he devoured your mouth like someone who had all the time in the world. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let each kiss melt you more and more, until the migratory patterns of birds no longer mattered to you, nor did the spell, letting Niki convince you with every touch that he wasn't a problem you could easily run away from.

Maybe it was because your lungs had their daily dose of suffering when they made you run ten laps around the field, or maybe the concussion from days ago was a delayed effect, but you were just too dizzy.

Niki's body pushed you further against the wall, as if the way you were pressed together wasn't enough and he needed more. It wasn't a soft kiss, but the kind of kisses Niki gave where you were convinced he wanted to steal the air from your lungs and replace it with him. 

The bastard knew exactly which buttons to push, his warm hand cradling your jaw while the other one was inside your shorts, long fingers buried deeply in your dripping cunt. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, in that way he knew it would melt you too quickly. It did.

When he pulled back you were too disoriented to remember where you were; hidden from stares under the stands in broad daylight, feeling like two highschoolers furiously making out before getting caught. Your heart was pounding as if you had made ten more laps, moans stuck in your throat trying to keep them at bay, but the way Niki was fingering you was merciless.

‘’Come watch my training,’’ he murmured against your ear, lips kissing the sport under it. His fingers found the spot inside you that made you whimper, stroking it over and over. ‘’I want to see you there, sitting all pretty and mine. Where I can look at you.’’

He had tried to convince you for several days, and you had to admit the man had a certain charm that made you hesitate. Maybe it was the amazing orgasms. Once you had almost agreed, but when a girl you didn't know greeted you and asked what you did to get Niki and if it was true that he had a huge cock like his friends, you panicked a little and abandoned the idea. The spell was coming to an end and you weren't going to give in.

‘’If you don’t,’’ he added, voice dripping into something dangerous and playful at the same time, ‘’I won’t kiss you again. Or worse.’’

You blinked at him, cunt clenching around his fingers, cheeks flushed. ‘’O-or worse?’’ 

Niki hummed and nodded, fucking you faster until you gasped against his lips and he swallowed every moan of yours while you cum, holding you as your thighs trembled and crushed his hand between your legs. 

He deliberately brushed his fingers against your clit one last time as he withdrew his hand and brought them to his mouth, sucking your juices while continuing to look at you. Niki didn’t say anything else, just kissed you, so fondly and threatening at the same time, and walked away towards the field like nothing had happened. Wearing an eating-shit smirk, whistling softly to himself. 

You stared at him, recalculating your entire existence, just as you had from the moment Niki decided to be a part of your life weeks ago. 

You told yourself that maybe it was the afterglow of a good orgasm, or maybe you just had nothing better to do, or perhaps a part of you really wanted to watch Niki training, all sweaty and focused. The day felt like it was about to explode into a storm at any moment, the sky gray and covered with thick, threatening clouds waiting for the perfect opportunity. There was hardly anyone watching the boys, just a few girls a few steps up in the stands— Minju was there.

Buttercup as well.

Minju had grown fond of her chickens and had bought accessories to take them everywhere. Her most recent purchase was a backpack with a hard, clear plastic cover that was actually for walking cats, but the label didn't specify that it couldn't be used for chickens.

She was leaning forward, with lovestruck eyes and a silly, dreamy expression, watching Jungwon run. Inside the plaster carrier Buttercup was dozing off, relaxed and round. Your best friend noticed your hesitation and smiled at you, tapping the spot next to her with an expression that said, "you better sit down or I'm capable of tackling you to the ground if you take one step back."

You sat. 

The world didn’t combust instantly. Minju beamed and turned her attention back to the field. You gradually relaxed and leaned forward as well, resting your chin on your hand as you openly watched Niki. He had just finished a drill and was talking to Heeseung (who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but running there, clearly struggling) (he was the last victim to be convinced to join the open class), when his eyes flickered up to the stands and landed on you. 

You swore you saw his pupils dilating. Something in his expression changed and his smile was slow. Darker, satisfied, making your stomach flip and your pussy throb. But it didn't stop there. Niki was focused on training, of course, but every now and then he'd glance at you, as if making sure you were still there. You met his gaze each time, even smiling slightly and enjoying the way it seemed to affect him. 

You'd discovered that this was a two-way street, and that Niki, the unattainable and serious Niki, was capable of getting flustered. Like when he asked you which Hironos you collected and if he could see them, and which one was your favorite. Or the time you just kissed his neck and brushed his hair back without thinking about it too much, and Niki blinked and then melted against you.

The training session ended and the boys scattered everywhere, some going for water, others lying on the ground to stretch, but not Niki. He walked straight to you, determined eyes that held you still in your place, your pulse spiking with anticipation. 

He kissed you in front of everybody, hands cradling your face.

Minju gasped, you swore Buttercup made a similar sound, other peoples gasps reached your ears as well, but honestly it could have been a trick of your mind. Nothing existed around you but you and Niki.

He pulled back enough to grin at you, eyes soft and bright with a touch of mischief. ‘’Hi, baby.’’

You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts. ‘’Uh… Hi.’’

‘’Ready to go?’’

You nodded, still a little hazy and flustered. He took your hand, pulled you up, grabbed his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and got you out of there in less than two minutes. He also ignored Jay throwing kisses at him while leaving. 

Niki decided to break the silence first, your hand in his gently swaying, intertwined. ‘’There’s a party tonight at Jake’s,’’ he started, stealing a glance at you. ‘’Jay’s pretending we don't notice, but he wants to get a girl's attention.’’

You arched a brow, interested. ‘’Is he trying to set a trap there or what?’’

‘’That’s what I thought,’’ he huffed a laugh, drawing you closer to him. ‘’He’s been weird lately. Restless. Anyway, Jake wants us to keep an eye on the party. He know how things can get.’’ 

You gently bumped your shoulder against his, trying not to smile and failing. ‘’Is this your way of asking me to come with you?’’

‘’This is an opportunity for you to continue collecting new data to establish your patterns. Or have I already convinced you that I'm not a problem?’’

‘’Hmm. You are... doing an acceptable job in proving your case considering my prior judgment based on social environmental observation. Maybe you'll give me back my sunglasses too, Nishimura?’’

‘’They will remain my hostage until you accept that I was right and that I can be a good boyfriend.’’

You didn't correct him and Niki noticed.

Jake's house was exactly the chaos you imagined it to be, maybe a little smaller and more contained than the frat parties, but no less alive and vibrant for it. Before you could go inside and find Niki, something small and black, furry, jumped out from the side and meowed at you. The cat blinked slowly at you, and you tilted your head, studying it, feeling an energy emanating from it that stopped you before you could pet its head. You chuckled softly in disbelief, glancing at the cat and then back at Jake's house as if you were mentally running through the odds.

‘’I can’t believe it,’’ you mumbled, staring at the knowing eyes of the cat. 

‘’Welcome, dear,’’ the cat purred. ‘’I’m Minhyung and you're the one with the truth spell, aren't you?’’

‘’Unfortunately.’’

The cat meowed and laughed, shaking his head. You had to admit, it was too cute and fluffy to even care that it was probably an ancient soul, so of course you petted his ears softly. 

‘’Aish, that punishment was too much. Anyway, your boy’s inside. It’s a house full of witches tonight,’’ Minhyung observed, tilting his head so he could get more pets to his ears and neck.

You entered the house, greeted by loud pulsing music and drunken laughter. You recognized some faces among the dancing crowd, the dim light and the smell of liquor, like Jake taking a girl upstairs and Jungwon and Minju huddled in a corner devouring each other's faces. You slowly made your way through the party, not quite knowing where you were going or where to find Niki, your body trembling with anticipation. It was impossible not to.

In the short time you and he had spent together, Niki had done an incredibly good job training your body. Maybe it was the slow making out sessions in bed, or the way he buried his face between your legs like an starved man, or the intense way he looked at you sometimes, as if he were thinking about throwing you to the ground and fucking you until you couldn't take any more.

You just wanted to find him, sit him down on the nearest surface you could find, and ride him while you kissed him. And maybe then watch something while spooning.

Your steps led you to the almost deserted backyard and you pursed your lips, examining your surroundings without much success, when a hand encircled your wrist and you were cornered against the wall.

Niki placed one hand beside your head and the other settled comfortably on your waist. His eyes drifted to your lips, slowly and deliberately, as if he were thinking about how to kiss you.

‘’You took your sweet time,’’ he said, tilting your chin up. ‘’I was wondering if maybe you backed out.’’

You rolled your eyes. ‘’I said I would come. Why, Nishimura? Would you have missed me?’’

‘’Yes.’’

His thumb brushed your hip and you felt it everywhere, staring at his full lips while he was closing the distance and—

Your phone started ringing with the most annoying alarm ever. 

‘’Wait—wait— let me turn it off—’’

Niki exhaled though his nose, amused. ‘’Seriously?’’

You frowned a little. ‘’I don't even remember setting an ala—’’

You glanced at the screen, blinking completely shocked like you quite didn’t understand what was written on it. 

FULL LUNAR CYCLE COMPLETED!!!

You gasped loud, dramatic, so loud that startled Niki.

He looked at you urgently. ‘’What?’’

You stared at the words like it was some divine intervention. You let out a shriek and jumped on your place, laughing. 

‘’Oh my God!— OH MY GOD!’’

You threw your arms around Niki’s neck so suddenly that he catched you firmly to stop both of you from falling over. You were screaming and laughing and Niki laughed too, more startled and confused than anything, automatically wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you. 

‘’It’s over! I can't believe it! I did it!’’ You laughed again, a little hysterical. ‘’It’s over, it’s over!’’

He blinked down at you, the pure face of confusion. ‘’What is?’’

‘’I survived the whole lunar cycle! It’s over! I’m free!’’

You were practically bouncing in his arms, pulling back only to grab his face and grin at him like you just won millions. 

‘’A month,’’ you started, smiling too wide. ‘’An entire lunar cycle! made it!’’

Niki stared at you, arching a brow. ‘’Lunar cycle?’’ He repeated slowly. ‘’...Is this about your period or something?’’

You didn’t even hear him, skipping away from him and spinning around the yard with your arms in the air. ‘’I can shut up! I can lie! I have options!’’

He watched you like you officially lost your mind.

You approached him again and took his hands, jumping with a smile. ‘’Do you have any idea how hard is to live without lying even once?’’

Niki’s eyebrow shoots up. ‘’You haven’t been lying this whole time?’’

You beamed at him. ‘’I haven’t!’’

He squinted at you, nodding. ‘’That… explains a lot.’’ 

‘’I’m free,’’ you whispered dramatically. ‘’It’s over.’’

Niki stared at you for a whole moment and then, very slowly, he smiled. Not a smug smirk or his teasing grin. A soft, pretty, full smile. Warm and completely smitten by you. 

You were still dancing in tiny, excited circles close to him when Niki reached out, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against his body in one smooth motion.

‘’I have no idea what’s happening,’’ he admitted quietly, brushing his nose with yours. ‘’But you look too adorable to care.’’

He kissed you, deeply, sighing into the kiss like he just found the place where he belonged. Niki held you against him, hands firm and possessive, like he was anchoring you to him. The party noises blurred into something in the back of your mind and you melted against him, fingers curling into his shirt. 

When he finally separated from your lips, a thread of saliva joined them both, which he slowly licked from your mouth. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands wandering further down until he grabbed your ass.

‘’So,’’ he murmured, staring at your eyes, ‘’does this mean you’re going to start lying to me now?’’

You smiled, slow and seductive, stealing a short kiss from him. ‘’That,’’ you whispered sweetly, ‘’depends.’’

His eyes darkened. ‘’On what?’’

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it while biting your lip. Niki’s gaze followed the movement. 

‘’On how good you’re gonna fuck me tonight.’’ 

Niki promised himself that Jake would never find out, despite all their years of friendship, that he used his parents' empty room to have sex with you in the middle of a party. But it was so fucking worth it. 

Maybe you had bitten off more than you could swallow because Niki took your challenge too seriously and you were paying for it with orgasms that didn't let you string a single thought together, your body simply reacting to his will. His mouth was closed over your nipples, alternating between sucking one and then the other until they were red and tender as you moaned and your vision blurred with a second orgasm incoming, his fingers pushed inside your soaked wet pussy. 

‘’That’s it,’’ he mumbled quietly around your nipple, sucking it again while you arched and moaned. ‘’Just take it, baby. Cum again for me, let me stretch this pretty pussy for my cock.’’ 

You gasped from overstimulation, listening to the wet noises your pussy made each time Niki thrusted his fingers inside fast and hard, clinging to his hair and pushing it towards your tits, Niki growled and sucked your nipples roughly, swirling his tongue. You came with a muffled scream and whimpered when Niki didn’t stop, your pussy tightening around his fingers as if you didn't want to let them go.

He chuckled darkly, staring at you completely fascinated at the state you were. Panting, teary, marked everywhere by his mouth; red hickeys blooming all over your neck down your chest, to the pretty and soft skin of your breasts, nipples swollen from having sucked them for so long. So prettily destroyed by him, and it was just the beginning.

‘’Fuck,’’ you whispered, a trembling mess, tears failing from pleasure. You sobbed a short laugh. ‘’You’re such a menace, Nishimura.’’

Niki straightened with a proud smirk and began working his belt, your eyes immediately fixed on the tent in his pants. You licked your lips and replaced his hands, opening his pants and pulling down his boxers until his hard cock sprang out, hard and veiny. Too big. 

‘’No way.’’

‘’What?’’

‘’It’s… so big,’’ you breathed in short gasps, encircling his cock with both hands and pumping it slowly, making him moan. You looked at it from under your eyelashes, rubbing the tip with your thumb, spreading the precum leaking. You were a girl open to accepting challenges, but this worried you a little. ‘’I don’t think it’ll fit, Niki.’’

Niki simply smiled smugly, his dark eyes filled with desire. He flipped you onto the bed, making you yelp because of how sudden and abrupt it was. Your pussy fluttered and a new gush of wetness soaked you, feeling his hands wandering through your body, gripping and squeezing your waist, your thighs, the curve of your ass. 

‘’It won’t fit,’’ you repeated shakily, even as you let Niki position you however he wanted. Face pushed down, ass up, your back arched so prettily that made him grunt and spank you. You whimpered and you turned your head, trying to look at him. ‘’Are you listening to me?’’

‘’Of course I’m listening,’’ he said, positioning himself behind you and caressing your ass with his cock, gently rubbing against your skin. He slipped his cock between your folds and began to rub it lazily back and forth making you feel how hard it was, how big it was. You dripped all over him with a moan each time the head of his cock grazed your throbbing clit. ‘’Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it fit just fine. You’re ready for me, you trust me, right?’’

‘’Y-yeah,’’ you moaned, feeling the tip of his cock lining up to your hole, barely pushing. Niki grabbed your hips, held you down onto the bed and slowly guided his cock inside you. ‘’I do.’’

The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, forcing its way in little by little and stretching you completely. You gasped and opened your legs wider as he pushed his cock inch by inch, making you whimper at its thickness. Fuck. You had never felt so full, so stretched out and open, a loud moan leaving without you could control yourself. 

‘’Relax for me, pretty girl,’’ he said quietly, still keeping the slow but unforgiving pace. You tried not to tense up, but everything was both too much and too little, gently sniffing against the bed as your pussy tightened around Niki's cock. ‘’Just like that, taking me so well.’’

Niki hissed softly, feeling your cunt wrapping so tight his cock was the hottest thing he ever saw; how your pretty, wet hole creamed his length. 

‘’You’re doing so well, baby,’’ he whispered, hands holding you in place, big hands caressing your waist, your ass. ‘’Opening your pretty pussy for me, letting me fill you. You can feel it, don’t you? How deep it goes?’’

You nodded, drool dripping into the pillow as coherent thoughts left your head and all you could feel was his cock inside you, making you clench so hard around him it made him moan. Niki's thrusts were slow and deep, and you swore it made you feel him all the way to your stomach. He was buried too deep inside you, each push of his thick cock stretching you further until the pleasure was too much. 

His pace quickened, his cock sliding in more easily because of how wet you were and how he had opened you up. ‘’Look at you,’’ he sneered, giving your ass a firm squeeze. ‘’Taking my cock so well, greedy pussy’s sucking me in,’’ he moaned, low and dirty. ‘’Fucking take it like a good girl.’’

Your moans grew louder and your eyes rolled back in your head as he began to fuck you faster, pounding you hard from behind. You cried from pleasure into the mattress, your pussy tightened and dripped around him, milking him with each thrust that went so far you were sure his tip was grazing your cervix. Niki was fucking you so hard that the bed moved, hitting the wall softly and you could’t do anything but to take it, a moaning mess. 

‘’Not so mouthy now, right?’’ He scoffed, giving you another spank, making you whimper and squeeze his cock harder. ‘’That’s what I fucking thought,’’ he chuckled, burying himself into your cunt faster, with a low groan. 

‘’Niki,’’ you moaned, barely able to form a sentence, not feeling anything but his thick cock and his ruthless pace, the way he was filling you. ‘’Please— I’m gonn—’’

‘’Ah, ah, not until I say so,’’ he warned you, laughing when you whined and sobbed when another spank landed on your ass. ‘’Not until you fucking say this pussy is mine. C’mon, baby, don’t keep me waiting. Say it.’’ 

‘’I-it’s—,’’ you moaned again, cunt stretched out and throbbing around him, every thrust sending you over the edge. He hit your g-spot over and over, making you tremble. ‘’It’s yours—’’ 

‘’That’s right,’’ he mumbled, slamming into your harder, deeper and desesperate; sweat dripping from his temple. ‘’Say I’m not a fucking problem.’’

‘’Niki!’’ You sobbed softly, hardly holding back from shattering. He just hummed darkly, almost amused. You shook your head quickly and moaned again, too gone to even care to lie, your pussy throbbing around his cock, needy and desperate. ‘’You’re not a problem—’’

‘’Cum for me, baby, milk my fucking cock,’’ he ordered, voice rough and husky going straight to your core. The pleasure was so intense that once you reached the peak, it simply destroyed you, leaving you trembling and broken. You were too full, overstimulated, squeezing his cock as your climax coursed through you, leaving you a whimpering mess. ‘’I’m filling this pretty hole until it overflows,’’ he promised, voice used and hoarse. ‘’Beg for it.’’

You looked at Niki from the pillow, eyelashes with unshed tears and a completely spaced out expression from being fucked too good, cheeks flushed and makeup smudged. You blinked slowly and licked your lips, milking his cock with the spasms of your cunt.

‘’Don’t pull out,’’ you gasped softly, reaching for him. Niki didn’t doubt it for a second, holding your hand while slamming into your pussy almost brutally. ‘’I want it inside—please—fill me up,’’ you begged with a broken moan. ‘’Mark my pussy with you cum—’’

Niki cursed under his breath, railing you almost at a punishing pace, using your hole until you were both moaning with raw desperation. You never felt anything so intense before and your body couldn't handle it, making you come for the fourth time with a scream as Niki buried himself deep inside you, coming with a hoarse moan. 

You collapse onto the bed, your knees giving away, your whole body trembling and sensitive. Every part of you was throbbing, used and spent. Niki spilled his load inside your cunt and you moaned softly at the feeling, flooding your womb with hot ropes of cum, making you feel so full. His body covered yours and you could feel his racing heart in your back, staying inside you as you both tried to catch your breath. 

You laid there, enjoying his weight against you, the sensation of his cock filling you, and his hot cum slowly escaping from your hole. Niki moved a little and you moaned, tensing up a little, but he gently silenced you, slowly kissing your neck until you relaxed again. 

‘’Shhh, it’s fine,’’ he said quietly, coaxing you with more soft kisses. ‘’You’re okay?’’

You nodded and sobbed a little, still holding onto his hand. Your mind felt… flying somewhere. A wave of need filling you that you didn't understand, only knowing that you wanted his warmth surrounding you. ‘’Don’t leave.’’

‘’I won’t,’’ he reassured you, slipping out of your cunt carefully. You hissed because of the sensitivity and Niki kissed your shoulder, silently apologizing. ‘’C’mere.’’

Niki settled on his side and pulled you close to his chest, studying your face while drying the wetness from your cheeks with his thumb unhurriedly, fondly. You snuggled into his chest and sighed, too drunk on orgasms to even think, just needing him closer. Niki kissed your forehead, lips lingering there, arms wrapping securely around you, making you completely content and warm. Heart fluttering happily, but that was another thing. 

‘’So? You’re gonna start lying to me?’’

You chuckled tiredly, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed. ‘’No if you keep the good work, Nishimura.’’

‘’I told you I’d be an excellent boyfriend.’’ 

it was a small gesture that you didn’t even have to ask for most times. he’d just slide his hand up between your breasts while he was thrusting deeply into you, and would find your throat in his hand. he knew how much it turned you on and how much you loved when he took control.

but there was something in you, that adored the idea of having the tables turn. what if you took the reins this time?

riki had let you be on top before, sure, but he could never bring himself to let you choke him. any time you brought up the idea, he quickly shut it down.

the worst part was that he didn’t really have a reason for it. he wasn’t afraid of you dominating him or anything, he wanted you to. but choking was where he crossed the line.

maybe it was an attempt at keeping up his ‘nonchalant’ image, which is absolutely ridiculous. so many times he’s tried to act as if your very existence doesn’t have him folding, when he knows that as soon as he’s inside of you, all of that crumbles. in reality, he’s a sucker for you.

but one way or another, you’d convince him.

you thought about it now, even as you were on top of him, bouncing like your life depended on it.

riki was settled beneath you, panting and letting out groans that were beginning to sound a little desperate.

the air in your room was hot, the smell of sweat and sex swirling around with the subtle sweet scent of a candle you’d put out before you had gotten in bed.

clothes scattered the floor, your panties somewhere unknown—to which you’d be searching for in the morning.

things had gotten heated before you and riki decided to settle in for the night. what started as playful banter and wrestling, turned into him snatching off the bit of clothing that you did have on.

both of you were more needy than you thought, grinding against each other until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“you feel so good, fuck,” riki panted, his hands sliding from your waist to cup your ass. he squeezed, starting to move his hips in sync with yours to help you grind down on him.

moans spewed from your lips, leaning into his touch. your skin felt like it was burning up, the feels of his hands on your body igniting something within you.

the lewd sounds only fueled you, the squelching of your walls around him getting louder each time you settled back down. his length glided in and out of you with ease, covered in cum and your own arousal, some of it reaching between your thighs.

the thought of wrapping your hands around riki’s neck wouldn’t leave your head, your pussy clamping down on him tightly each time it crossed your mind.

riki whined helplessly, his abdomen flexing as he continues to grind upwards.

“riding me so good, mama,” he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. “might have to fill you up again.”

his words had your hips moving faster, desperate to push him over the edge.

but while he was so focused on the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, you placed your hands on his chest, sliding them up slowly. you acted as if you were just caressing him at first, feeling down to his abs and back up.

your hands made their way back to his chest, and up further to his collarbone. you let your fingers rest there for a moment, thinking you were being sly, but riki caught on pretty quickly.

his fingers wrapped around one of your wrists as he panted, trying to form a coherent sentence.

“d-don’t,” he mumbled hoarsely. “don’t even try it.”

you whined, trying to move your hands further but he caught the other one.

“please, baby,” your pleas were amusing to him, but they didn’t help anything.

he readjusted himself so that his feet were planted into the mattress, his pace becoming rougher.

your mouth opened as strained moans fell from them, throwing your head back.

“r-riki—“

your words were cut off with the harsh snap of his hips as he rutted into you, skin slapping filling the space of your bedroom.

he cursed silently, too focused on the obscene sounds coming from beneath you both.

you took it upon yourself to ask him once more, begging him to let you wrap your hands around his throat.

“let me, baby,” you gasped, feeling his tip hit that spongy spot deep inside of you. “it’ll feel s-so good, i promise.”

riki didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. but the look in his eyes told you everything. they were lidded and filled with nothing but love when he looked up at you. he trusted you.

he gave up on trying to pretend like he wasn’t curious about it; why you wanted to choke him so bad and what it could feel like. he was so drunk on the feeling of your pussy that he didn’t care what you did to him at that point.

you placed your hands where they were before, making their way up to the base of his neck. you let your fingers dance across his skin for a moment before fully wrapping them around it.

you squeezed, not hard enough to make him lose conscious but enough for him to feel some pressure.

before you knew it, he had thrown his head back, letting out the nastiest moan you’ve ever heard. his eyes were rolling to the back of his head when you applied more pressure.

“f-fuck!” he whimpers, his hand wrapping around your wrist again but not trying to stop you this time. he wanted more.

you moaned at how fucked out he looked—his hair pushed back and damp with sweat, his brows furrowed.

“‘s that good?” you asked quietly, loosening your grip for a moment.

riki nodded frantically, his breath quickening.

“do it again.. n-need you to do it again, ‘m gonna cum.”

and you gave him what he wanted, fingers gripping his throat once more as his thrusts start to become sloppier.

“cum for me, ki… want you to cum inside, please.” you purred.

riki’s moans grew louder as he let go, his cum filling your insides once more, warm and sticky. but his thrusts didn’t stop.

“keep fucking me,” he panted, his hand covering yours now as he movers it further up his neck.

he urged you to choke him now, as if he wasn’t just telling you to forget about the idea all together.

“choke me like you h-hate me,” he groaned. “harder.”

Summer in Jeju was no joke, even with the hotel room's air conditioning working overtime, the morning sun was already creeping through the cracks in the curtains, painting warm stripes across the bed.

The second thing Ni-ki became aware of was that the warm spot beside him was empty.

He cracked one eye open, still half-lost in sleep, and found her.

Y/N was standing in front of the small mirror by the window, backlit by the soft morning light, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of underwear and a loose tank top. She was holding up two pieces of fabric..bikinis, he realized as his brain slowly came online , turning back and forth, trying to decide.

He watched through half-lidded eyes, not ready to let her know he was awake yet.

She held up a black one. Then a pink one. Then the black one again.

He bit back a smile.

Cute.

Eventually, she seemed to make a decision, setting one aside and hanging the other on the edge of the mirror. As she turned back toward the bed, her eyes met his and she jumped slightly.

"Riki!" she gasped, one hand flying to her chest. "How long have you been awake?"

He stretched lazily, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Long enough."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Good morning to you too, baby." She padded over to the bed and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Did you sleep well?"

He caught her wrist before she could pull away, tugging her down until she was half-draped across his chest. She laughed, bracing herself on either side of his head.

"No," he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. "Mosquitoes. Heat. Worst night ever."

"Poor baby," she cooed, clearly not sorry at all. "Want me to kiss it better?"

She laughed again and kissed his nose, his cheek, his chin. He let her, basking in the warmth of her and the morning and the simple fact that they were here, together, with nowhere to be and nothing to do but exist.

Eventually, she pushed up. "I'm going to finish getting ready. You should shower."

He groaned dramatically. "Two more minutes."

"Riki."

"One more minute."

She was already walking away, tossing a smile over her shoulder. "Shower. Now. I want beach time."

Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair still dripping, to find her standing by the window.

She changed.

The bikini was baby pink , soft and sweet and the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. The top was simple but hugged her perfectly, and the bottoms sat just right on her hips, a tiny bow on each side. She paired it with a small white shorts, unbuttoned, hanging low.

She looked up when he walked in, and something flickered in her eyes.

"Is it..." She bit her lip. "Is it too much?"

Riki froze.

For a solid second, his brain stopped functioning entirely. All he could do was stare at the soft curve of her waist, the way the pink made her skin glow, the tiny beauty mark just above her hip that he wanted to kiss until she forgot her own name.

"No," he managed, voice coming out rougher than intended. He looked away quickly, grabbing blindly for his bag. "No, it suits you. It's... yeah. Good."

He could feel her watching him, probably confused by his sudden avoidance. He couldn't explain that if he looked at her one more second, he was going to do something stupid. Like cancel the beach entirely and spend the day in bed.

Focus. Shirt. Pants. Where are your pants—

"You okay?" she asked, amused.

He cleared his throat. "Fine. Ready to go."

She definitely noticed. He could hear the smile in her voice when she said, "Okay, baby. Let's go."

The walk to the beach was so relaxing.

His hand fit perfectly in hers, fingers intertwined, swinging slightly between them. The sun was warm but not scorching yet, and the streets were mostly empty, just a few early risers and local vendors setting up their stalls.

The beach itself was nearly deserted when they arrived. Just the gentle sound of waves.

Riki spread out their towels while Y/N kicked off her sandals, wiggling her toes in the sand with a happy sigh. Then she stripped off her white shorts, leaving herself in just that pink bikini, and laid down on her stomach.

He tried very hard not to stare at the way the fabric curved over the soft swell of her ass.

"We should put on sunscreen before the sun rises entirely." She exclaimed holding up the bottle and looking at him through the most irresistible doe eyes he'd ever seen. "Could you do my back?"

Say no. Say no and jump in the ocean right now before you embarrass yourself.

"Yeah," he heard himself say. "Sure."

She handed him the bottle and settled back down, face resting on her folded arms, eyes closing peacefully. He squeezed some lotion into his palm and knelt beside her.

The moment his hands touched her skin, he knew he was in trouble.

She was so soft. Warm from the sun, smooth as silk. He started at her shoulders, working the sunscreen into her skin slowly..maybe slower than necessary..trailing down her spine, spreading across her lower back.

Her waist. The dip just above her hips. The very top curve of—

His fingers brushed the edge of her bikini bottom, and she made a pleased little sigh.

He froze.

"Mm," she murmured, eyes still closed. "That feels nice. We really needed this."

Yeah, he thought, forcing his hands to stay professional. Really needed this.

He finished her back as quickly as he could without being obvious, then practically launched himself back to his own towel.

When he looked over, she was already half-asleep, face peaceful, chest rising and falling gently.

But childish side couldn't resist.

He moved silently, slowly, like a predator stalking prey. She didn't even twitch until his shadow fell over her and by then, it was too late.

"RIKI WHAT THE—"

He scooped her up effortlessly, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and took off running toward the water.

"RIKI PUT ME DOWN—" She was screaming and laughing, pounding uselessly against his chest. "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE—"

They plunged into the waves together, emerging seconds later gasping and sputtering. Y/N came up swinging, splashing him directly in the face.

"YOU'RE DEAD," she shrieked. "YOU'RE SO DEAD NISHIMURA RIKI."

He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, splashing her back, the water around them turning into a war zone. She lunged at him, trying to push him under, and he caught her easily, pulling her against his chest.

"Fuck you," she laughed, breathless, water streaming down her face.

He grinned down at her and then his gaze slipped.

Just for a second.

The water moved around them, buoying her up, and he caught a glimpse of the swell of her chest, the way her bikini clung to her, the droplets of water trailing down her skin.

"You're staring," she said.

His eyes snapped back to her face. "Sorry. Zoned out."

"Mmhmm." She didn't look convinced. But she also didn't look mad.

Instead, she curled a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

It was soft at first, just a brush of lips, saltwater and warmth. Then she nipped at his lower lip, and he groaned, pulling her closer, one hand splaying across her lower back, pressing her against him.

When they finally broke apart, she was smiling.

"Wanna actually swim now?"

"Whatever you want, baby."

They spent the next hour playing in the water like kids.

He taught her how to do a handstand (she failed spectacularly). She tried to climb onto his back and ended up dunking them both. They raced to a distant buoy and back he won, obviously, but he let her claim victory anyway because the look on her face was worth it.

By the time they dragged themselves back to shore, they were exhausted and starving.

Y/N wrung out her hair and dropped onto her towel, immediately reaching for the bag she'd brought. "I made sandwiches while you were asleep this morning."

Riki's eyes widened. "You made sandwiches?"

"Don't sound so surprised." She pulled out a neatly wrapped container and handed it to him. "Turkey and cheese. Your favorite."

He opened it and stared at the contents like she'd handed him gold.

"You're an angel," he said solemnly. "A literal angel."

She laughed, unwrapping her own sandwich, and they ate in comfortable silence, watching the waves and the slowly growing crowd on the beach.

He caught her looking at him once with a soft smile on her face.

"What?" he asked, mouth half-full.

"Nothing." She shook her head, still smiling. "You just look really cute right now. Like a little boy eating at the beach."

He scowled, but there was no heat in it. "I'm not cute."

"So cute," she sang. "My tall, scary boyfriend, eating his sandwich like a little kid."

He lunged at her, and she shrieked, scrambling away, but he caught her easily and pulled her into his lap, sandwich forgotten.

"Say it again," he growled against her neck.

"You're—ah!—you're cute—"

He tickled her until she couldn't breathe, until she was gasping and laughing and begging him to stop. Only then did he release her, pulling her back against his chest with a satisfied smirk.

"I hate you."

"You asked for this."

She didn't answer. Just tilted her head back and kissed his jaw.

After they finished eating, Y/N's eyes caught on something in the distance.

"Riki." She grabbed his arm. "Riki, look—ice cream!"

He followed her gaze to a small stand near the boardwalk, brightly colored and already attracting a small crowd.

She turned those eyes on him again, and he was absolutely powerless. "Please please please can we get some?"

He sighed dramatically. "Fine."

She was already on her feet, pulling him up.

The ice cream was cold and sweet and perfect.

She got strawberry. He got chocolate. They walked along the water's edge, barefoot, trading licks and laughing when the other tried to take too big a bite.

He was mid-lick when a drop of melted chocolate slid down his chin and dripped onto his collarbone.

"Shit--," he started to say and then she was there.

Warm. Soft. Her tongue trailing up from his collarbone to his jaw, catching the last of the chocolate.

He froze.

She pulled back like nothing had happened, taking another lick of her strawberry ice cream, and kept walking.

"Yah," he managed, voice strangled. "Y/N."

She glanced back, innocent as anything. "What?"

"You—that—" He gestured vaguely at his entire body. "You can't just—"

She smiled sweetly. "Can't just what, baby?"

He stared at her, ice cream dripping forgotten down his hand, and felt his entire face go red.

This woman is going to kill me.

And then he felt something else.

Oh no. Not now. Not here.

He was already half-hard from watching her in that bikini all morning. The ice cream thing had pushed him dangerously close to full attention. He quickly angled his body away, praying she wouldn't notice.

"Mmm," she said knowingly, eyes flicking down for just a second. "Looks like someone liked that."

"Shut up," he muttered, ears burning.

She laughed, bright and beautiful, and grabbed his free hand. "Come on. Let's go back to our towels."

They settled back onto the towels, and Riki pulled out his Polaroid camera : the one he'd bought on their LA tour and hadn't been able to stop using since.

"Hold still," he said, aiming it at her.

She posed immediately, propping herself up on one elbow, looking every inch the vision she was. He snapped the photo, and it whirred out, slowly developing.

"Let me see!" She reached for it, and he let her, watching as her face softened at the image.

"Woah i look pretty today" she murmured.

"You always look pretty," he said without thinking.

She looked up at him, eyes warm. Then she set the photo down and opened her arms. "Come here."

He went willingly, curling up beside her on the too-small towel, one arm draped across her stomach, head resting on her shoulder.

"Riki?" she said softly.

"Mm?"

"Today has been really perfect."

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She was quiet for a moment, fingers running through his damp hair. "It's the first time in a long time I've forgotten about... everything. All the stress. All the problems. Just... been here. With you."

His heart clenched.

"Me too," he admitted quietly. "This is probably the best day I've had in years. Maybe ever."

She turned her head, kissing the top of his head. "Really?"

He nodded against her. "I forget about everything when I'm with you. The schedules. The pressure. All of it. You make it stop."

Her hand stilled in his hair, and when he looked up, her eyes were shiny.

"I love you," she whispered.

He lifted himself up just enough to kiss her deeply.

When they broke apart, her hand had drifted to his thigh, fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin. The touch was innocent, but everything else about the moment felt charged.

Six-foot nothing-but-trouble, starting point guard, baby-faced assassin with a highlight reel that ESPN couldn’t stop drooling over. The kind of guy who could miss class for two weeks straight and still have professors grinning at him when he finally walked in. Though his frame didn’t scream trouble, his game said otherwise. His playing style was all crossovers and footwork, the kind that had commentators whispering words like Kyrie Irving and generational talent. He didn’t just play basketball. He performed it.

If Riki were a heavenly figure, he’d be Christ.

To you, he was just a regular human being. Why exalt someone that did nothing to benefit you personally? Did he cure world hunger? Leak the cure for cancer—because you could promise one exists. Build homes for displaced families? Relieve students of crippling debt? Anything? The answer is no. So why? Why? Why do athletes make more than doctors? Teachers? Why do people that save the world and make positive contributions to society not get even a sixteenth of the recognition of those that run up and down a court or field for a living? That, you couldn’t find the answer to.

But besides that, Riki was everywhere. It was freaky, seeing his face plastered in various campaigns beside other college athletes. You couldn’t even walk into the dining hall without Riki’s face smirking at you from a Gatorade cutout. He was on billboards, a few campus shuttles, hell—probably someone’s phone wallpaper. You could almost see his New Balance campaign now, how many times you came across it. And the stupid slogan, hearing him say: “Nishimura. New Game. New Balance.”

Okay, while the line was kind of clean—it was just him that pissed you off.

And it was insane because you never even met this guy to judge him. While you were in proximity to him, your best friends being cheerleaders and sharing the terrifyingly large court with them—you really had nothing bad to say about his character. For all you knew, Riki could be an amazing guy with an even more amazing personality. But you never knew him, never spoke to him, never even locked eyes with this guy if it weren’t via an obnoxious billboard. You’d never seen this man play. Every time you stumbled on a highlight, you swiped away. He didn’t do shit to you, you simply hated the hype around athletes. Around sports in general.

Even in basketball, it was all so negative. All the commentators and fans did was discuss the past. ‘Jordan this. LeBron that.’ And if not that, they’d find some way to bash a player they claim to love. If you love this player so much, why say they’re washed up? At least you could respect football fans—they were delusional behind their teams.

Still, you didn’t hate Riki. Didn’t even dislike him.

Not until today.

—

Like most days, you sat in the Decelis Arena. Right on one of the bleachers in the student section. Your best friends, Yasmin and Bella, were cheerleaders and shared the arena with the basketball team most weekdays. So you hung out there, got some work done as you watched your girls from their side of the floor. The coach never said anything, it was an open practice as far as you were concerned. Plus you never gave them any issues. Never distracted, just stayed quiet and typed on your laptop—it was great. You got to be around your girls and be productive. The only downside was looking to the left and seeing the men’s basketball team.

But it wasn’t so bad to hear them get degraded while they were conditioning and running drills. The sound carried in the arena—sneakers squeaking, basketballs smacking the hardwood, coaches barking like drill sergeants. On the other end, your girls were bright and polished, high ponytails bouncing in perfect sync.

You sat tucked on the bleachers, typing away, invisible. As their practice came to an end, the men kept going. But Yasmin and Bella walked up to you and you felt them before you heard them. Thus, you closed your laptop as you peered up at them with a bright smile.

“You guys look dazzling as ever,” you teased, though Yasmin’s mascara was halfway down her cheek and Bella looked one toe cramp away from retirement. They stopped in front of you, grinning but panting in exhaustion as they simultaneously wiped sweat off their foreheads. “Dude,” Bella huffed as she plopped next to you. “I can’t do—” Yasmin pointed at her fiercely. “I don’t wanna hear that shit, Bells. I told you. ‘Can’t’ isn’t—” “In our vocabulary,” you and Bella chorused, laughing at the girl’s optimism.

Yasmin Alamilla was one of the kindest, most supportive women you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Always cheery (no pun intended), wise, and to be honest, at times her optimism when you were feeling low was almost annoying. Because how can one person just be so happy all of the time? But you loved her from the moment you met her and wouldn’t trade her for the world.

Bella Powell was the opposite. Sharp-tongued, dramatic, and stubborn in a way that could make you want to strangle her one second and hug her the next. She complained more than anyone you knew, but she was also the first to show up at your door with fries and milkshakes when you weren’t feeling it. Loyal to the bone—even if she’d never admit it out loud.

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Yasmin rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’ll be thanking me later.” She leaned her head back as she sipped from her purple water bottle. Bella groaned as she helped you pack your stuff, holding your backpack open as she looked at the girl still standing. “I will thank you, just right now my body’s not thanking me.”

“Did you stretch beforehand?” you asked. The answer was no. But before she could admit it, a freshly pumped basketball came beaming across the court. It wasn’t a throw; it was a bullet. A missile. Before anyone could yell “Heads!” or even “Duck!” it was already too late. The ball cracked against the side of your face, cheek first, the sting blooming hot and instant. The sound was sickening, a hollow thwack that echoed louder in your head than in the gym.

Your vision tilted for a split second, your cheekbone pulsing like it might’ve cracked under the pressure. The ball ricocheted to the floor, rolling harmlessly now, but your cheek burned like fire. Yasmin’s gasp came first, Bella’s curse second. Your pencil pouch slipped from your hands, pens scattering. The feeling was akin to when you’re taking something out of the toaster oven and you accidentally touch the hot rack—only this time the burn wasn’t a split second. It felt everlasting.

As shock rang through the arena, you could hear a pin drop. And that wasn’t even the most embarrassing part—it was the collective “Ooh…” from the people around you. “Yo—” a voice cut through the chaos, low and sharp. Sneakers squeaked across the court as Riki jogged over, sweat still glistening down his temple. He scooped the ball up in one fluid motion, spinning it on his finger before tucking it under his arm like he hadn’t just nearly concussed you.

“You good?” His eyes flicked to your face—quick, but not quick enough to hide the way he lingered on your cheek. “I’m fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, pressing your palm against the sting. “Doesn’t look fine.” He crouched slightly to your level, smirk tugging at his lips even though his brows pinched with something closer to guilt. “Bet you’ll have the Wilson logo on your face for the next hour.” Bella shot him a glare. “Not funny, Riki.”

Riki turned his head to Bella, amused, then looked back at you—smirk faltering as his gaze locked on you again. “Seriously, though. You want ice?” Maybe you were just reading into things. And as someone who tended to take up the observer role, you truly felt in your heart of hearts that this guy was the asshole you thought he was. To make a joke out of your pain—and no one’s saying he had to call the national guard—but to spin the ball like he was putting on a show? Rage bloomed hot in your stomach.

“I’ll get my own,” you muttered. Riki’s smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, that same infuriating confidence he always carried. “Next time,” he said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly, “don’t sit so close.” And just like that, he pivoted, jogging back to drills, sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, leaving you to gather your pens and seething pride. You pressed your palm harder against your cheek, the sting sharp, and glared after him. Unbelievable.

The girls bent down to pick up your scattered pens and highlighters. Bella scoffed, “He’s such a dick sometimes. I’m so sorry, babes.” Yasmin frowned, brows creasing in worry. “That ball hit you something serious.” She handed you your fully stocked pouch. Tears brimmed your eyes. “I’m solid, this shit just hurts—Ow.” You hissed, leaning forward. “Here. Take this.” Yasmin rushed to grab Bella’s frozen water bottle and gently rubbed your back.

Yasmin gave you a soft, sympathetic look. “You really should’ve sat farther back. That kid’s got rockets for hands.”

You groaned, wincing as the sting radiated through your jaw. “Yeah, thanks for the tip,” you muttered under your breath, still glaring toward the court. Sure enough, Riki was back at it, running drills, tossing the ball between his teammates with that infuriating ease, smirking every time someone fumbled a pass.

“Ugh,” Bella muttered, nudging you. “You hate him already, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers tightening around the strap of your backpack. Hate was a strong word. But there was no denying the wrath that had just been lit inside you. Something about the way he’d spun that ball, flashed that smirk, and then walked away like none of it mattered…it was aggravating. But you stood, your hand still glued to your cheek as you grabbed your bag. “I don’t hate. I detest. I resent. And I hold grudges because I’m childish.” You grit out, luckily the bottle gave you some relief. And as the two of you walked out of the arena, you moved the bottle from your face for the first time, the air hitting the stinging sensation and making you wince. “Does one side of my face look fatter than the other?” You stopped midway on the sidelines to give them space to inspect you. Bella squinted dramatically, tilting your chin this way and that like she was about to submit you to America’s Next Top Model. “Hmm. Honestly? You look like you just lost a round to Mike Tyson.”

“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her arm, glaring before softening as she leaned in. “It’s not that bad. A little rough, but the swelling isn’t obvious yet. Ice will help.”

“Yet?” you groaned, pressing the bottle back to your cheek like it was a lifeline. “Oh, fantastic. So tomorrow I’m gonna look like Quasimodo.”

Bella snorted, looping her arm through yours as you all started walking again. “A little bit, but at least you can brag that the Riki Nishimura was in your face and ice was involved.”

“Shut the hell up,” you laughed.

Yasmin shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible, Bella.”

“Impossible but not wrong,” Bella sing-songed, squeezing your arm. “Half the girls on campus would kill to have him that close, even if it meant getting smacked with a ball.”

Yasmin smiled, “yeah but those aren’t the balls they wanna be smacked with.”

You pointed to her with a dry look. “That’s disgusting.”

—

Next week

—

You returned to their practice despite debating even coming back to this place ever again. But this time you took the Head Huncho’s advice and did in fact sit a little higher up on the bleachers. The girls were getting changed and in the meantime, you got set up on the bleachers. Typical stuff. Laptop, cola, and your person—you.  The arena was relatively silent as it was just you and the sound of you unzipping and settling into the spot you were gonna be occupying for the next hour or so. So you got to typing, chipping away at the Philosophy essay you had due in a week. 

You heard footsteps coming your way and just assumed it was Yasmin—no one seemed to be as light on their feet as her. 

“Forgot your water again?” you called without looking up, fingers still flying across your keyboard.

Except…no answer. Just the scrape of sneakers against the bleachers and a low chuckle that definitely didn’t belong to Yasmin.

Your head snapped up, and there he was—Riki Nishimura himself—standing two steps below you, spinning a basketball against his palm like he was born with it.

“Bold of you,” he said, smirk firmly in place, “to sit in the line of fire again. Thought you learned your lesson last week.” You narrowed your eyes, instinctively bringing a hand to your cheek even though the swelling was long gone. You opened your mouth to respond but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your jaw clicked as you turned back to your computer.

He didn’t stop though, he just got closer. “How’s your face? I got you good didn’t I?”

“Fine,” you said robotically.

“Really?” He tilted his head, not seeming convinced. 

“Really.”

“Hm…” He nodded, the same smirk planted on his face. “Did you sleep on your right side for a few days?” He tested, letting his words hang with a teasing undertone. You sucked in a breath, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard as you turned to glare at him. “Do you go around asking random girls about their sleeping positions, or am I just lucky?”

Riki’s grin widened, infuriatingly boyish. “You’re funny.” He let out a small laugh, taping his fingers mindlessly—like this was second nature. Because it was.

“You really are as insufferable as they say.”

“And you,” he said, pointing the ball at you like a teacher with a chalk stick, “sit through two hours of sweaty practices when you probably don’t even like basketball. Which, respectfully, makes you insufferable.” Your face was plagued with repulsion. “I’m here because my friends are cheerleaders. I’m here for them. There’s people whose world doesn’t revolve around you, you know?” You scoff. “Fuck off, seriously.” Going back to your laptop, you angrily type. Your keyboard one more click away from not having a letter F. 

“Yes…Bella and Yasmin.” He hums as he points at you with a knowing look. “I like them. Both very beautiful girls.”

You ignored him because he hadn’t said anything untrue. But in any case, he needed to tread lightly when mentioning your friends.

“They are,” you said flatly, eyes glued to your screen.

Riki tilted his head, smirk tugging wider as if he’d caught a flicker of irritation in your tone. “Relax. I wasn’t hitting on them.” He spun the ball in his hands, the squeak of rubber filling the silence before he added, “Not my type.”

You arched a brow, finally glancing at him. “Oh, so you have a type?”

His grin was infuriating. “Don’t we all?”

“Careful,” you sing song. “New Balance wouldn’t want to know you’re out here objectifying women instead of selling sneakers.”

He huffed out a laugh, “cute, cute. You’re very cute.” Riki bounced the ball between his legs haphazardly, lifting a leg cavalierly as he looked at you. “You know, I really like girls like you. Girls that don’t like me. Turns me on.” “Oh my gosh, I never told you. But I write my name with yours in my notebook every single night before I go to sleep. I’m in love with you.” You deadpanned, saying this with no inflection whatsoever. For a second he actually froze, like you’d handed him an unexpected plot twist. Then the grin came back—slow, smug, all teeth. He bounced the ball twice before holding it steady in his hands. “Is that right? Interesting bedtime ritual.”

You felt your stomach do a stupid little flip and immediately hated it.

“You know what?” he continued, like he was considering the absolute worst and most entertaining idea. “I like a challenge.”

You raised a brow. “Do you now?”

“I do.” He tapped the ball once, twice. “Let’s see how long it takes me to make you say that without the sarcasm.”

“I’d sooner die.” 

“That’s the only thing that keeps me going.” He moves back. “Keep that pretty face safe for me.” He waves, batting his eyes as he jogs to the other side of the court. Dribbling the ball and swiftly passing it to one of his teammates, laughing with them as they overhear his teasing. And still, that seething rage in your stomach hasn’t left in over a week. 

It still persists. Even more so now.

—

Later that day

—

It was a nice, peachy evening. Clouds akin to cotton candy and the sun a cute lollipop in the sky. Bella and Yasmin were headed back to their dorms to get ready for bed. If they valued anything it was their beauty sleep. Which…real.

You, however, couldn’t enjoy your night. No. Not even in the slightest. In just twenty short minutes, you had a class. Never did you think you’d be one of the people taking an evening class, but your registration slot was less than favorable.

But some good music and walking off your heavy dinner was enough to keep your mood up. You zipped your hoodie up tighter as the evening breeze picked up, tugging at stray strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail. The sidewalks were practically empty, the campus bathed in that soft, peach-and-lollipop light that made everything look harmless. But you weren’t harmless. Not tonight. Not when every memory of Riki Nishimura—grinning, teasing, infuriating—was still pressed into your brain like a damn watermark.

You hated that he was everywhere. Again, in the dining hall right on the fountains—his jersey number—three—next to a Gatorade logo. Now, as you’re walking—a shuttle passes. He was unavoidable, his every being plagued your existence and before it was used to just be a ‘whatever, this is just annoying’ kind of way. But because he seemed to know you now, and target you in some way—it escalated from annoyance to near disdain. 

But of course, it seemed like you couldn’t think about him without it costing you. 

He smoothly stepped right in front of you—a smile as bright as the sun—cutting you off in your path. “Hey girl,” It honestly seemed like he came from nowhere and you stopped short, bumping right into his chest. He smelled like fresh laundry and faint cologne, the kind that lingered just enough. Worse, his chest was warm, solid—completely unfair. Head to toe in the signature New Balance sweats—grey—with the popular 530s to match. Very typical of him. 

You looked up at him, and this was the first time you’d seen him really up close. Upright that is. He wasn’t as small as the camera, or as huge as the cutout—or even his ego—made him seem. Granted, he was tall. Standing a solid six foot one. Beside his teammates, he was shorter. Which made sense, you didn’t need to be extremely tall to be a point guard—you knew that much. He carried the duality of a superstar and a regular guy all at once. Nothing about him was special yet, every last thing about him is. But you didn’t dare fix your lips to say anything remotely positive about him. You pursed your lips and sighed in defeat, not even having the energy for this at the moment—you quietly brushed past him without another word. But you didn’t make it very far, he was much faster than you ever were.

“Ooh, not so fast, mama.” He quickly stepped in front of you, holding his hands up in defense as you bumped into him again.

So in response, you stepped to the left.

He also stepped to the left.

You stepped to the right.

He also stepped to your right. 

You tapped your foot in frustration, nostrils flaring as you glared at him. Eyes narrowing when you saw the feign of ennui on his face. “I’m very good at this game…” He frowned, sighing as he waited for you to break. You lifted your non-dominant hand and checked your watch. You had less than fifteen minutes to get to your class and you didn’t have time to waste. With a groan, you looked back at him. “What the fuck do you want?”

The smile he greeted you with reappeared as he clasped his hands together. “Okay so…I wanted to apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” you nodded curtly as you brushed past him once more. He still reminded you that he wasn’t letting you go just yet. You sped walked in the direction of your class and he followed closely beside—his long legs eating up the space between you without another breath.

“Wait, I’m not done.” He matched your pace as he looked down at you. “Just let me get my shit off then I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Why do I feel like I’m not the only girl that’s heard that before?” You peered up at him with a sarcastic smile. 

Riki nodded slowly, accepting the jab. “Okay. Well, I just wanted to say I was sorry for being so rude to you. I should’ve been more careful—while my pass wasn’t terrible, my teammate didn’t catch it and it just happened to hit you—”

“Why’re you blaming others in the midst of your own apology?” You scoffed as you turned a corner to go to the lecture hall. 

Before he could open his mouth, someone from afar shouted his name out. “Hey Riki!”

You instinctively turned your head the opposite direction. Not because you thought people would give a fuck—they most likely wouldn’t. It just seemed to be reflexive—you didn’t have much of an explanation for it. Almost like the one-off, fictitious bubble you thought you had with him burst and you couldn’t look at anything but the bushes to bring you back to reality.

Two people pulled up beside you two in a golf cart. Riki’s mood perked up as he greeted them. “Oh, hi guys,”

“Where you headed?”

Riki turned his head to you. “Where you going?” He said lowly, obviously taking your shyness into account. 

Your eyes flit to the side then back to his gaze. “South Hall.” 

He turned to the pair—two girls—with a bright smile on his face. “South Hall.”

The girls leaned over the steering wheel, beaming. “Hop in! We’ll give you a ride.”

Before you could wave them off, Riki’s hand landed lightly at the small of your back, steering you forward. “Perfect. We’re headed that way.”

Your head snapped up at him. We?

The girls brightened instantly, scooting their bags to make space on the back seat. “Yeah, climb in! Saves you the walk.”

You opened your mouth to protest—no way were you getting chauffeured across campus like his plus-one—but Riki was already sliding into the cart with that casual ease, patting the seat beside him like this was your cue.

“I’m fine walking—” you started.

The girl driving, her nametag reading Sydney—waved you off. “Girl, please. It’s nothing, we’re headed that way anyway.”

“Yeah, they’re already headed that way.” Riki smirked as he watched you step onto the cart. His hands up subconsciously to be ready to catch you if you slipped. 

You settled into the tan leather seats. “Thank you, girls, I appreciate it.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips, clutching your bag tighter than necessary. Sydney grinned back at you in the rearview mirror, while her friend—Maya, judging by the lanyard swinging around her neck—twisted halfway in her seat to wave you off. “Of course! We know how far South Hall is. Nobody should have to trek that after dinner.” The cart kicks as you pull off, breezing past the landscape and contemporary architecture. Paid for courtesy of the money that the athletics teams brought in from various donors and student dollars.

“Especially not after getting smacked in the face with a ball,” Riki added, leaning back like he owned the whole cart.

You shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “You love bringing that up, don’t you?”

“History’s important,” he replied smoothly. “If I don’t remind you, who will?”

Maya giggled like he’d just delivered the funniest punchline of the century. You swore half the school was under his spell.

“Honestly, Riki’s right,” Maya said. “That pass was crazy. You didn’t even cry though. Respect.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to explain yourself. Because the truth was, you had flinched—you just did it internally where no one could see. But now, thanks to Riki, your little moment of public humiliation had become folklore. “You saw it?” Maya nodded, “yeah, I’m the basketball coach’s assistant. Well I didn’t see it but I, for sure, heard it.”

“The smack heard around the world—” Riki laughed, curling into himself as you slapped his rock-solid arm. “Shut up,” you hissed, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

Maya reassured you, “it’s okay. It’s contained. Only a few people saw it.” She shrugged, “the amount of times the guys on the team themselves have been hit is like…”

“Incalculable.” Sydney chimed in as she made a left turn, breezing past other walking students. You frowned at the sight, you wish you could fit them all in the vehicle. 

“Totally,” Riki added. “You remember that game against Boston when Jay—”

“I’ve never seen any of the games.” You interjected, narrowly inspecting your nails—but as soon as you said that the cart almost jerked to a full stop.

Sydney’s head whipped around, eyes wide. “You what?”

Maya gasped, clutching her chest like you’d just told them you hated puppies. “You’ve never—ever?” The cart slowed as a group of students crossed, giving Riki the perfect stage to swivel toward you, brows lifted in mock offense. “Hold on.” His voice was calm, but his expression was all wounded pride. “You’ve been sitting in my arena, my practices, for how long—and you’ve never watched a single game?”

You blinked at him. “I’m there for the cheer practices. Riki—I’ve never even seen you do more than dribble the ball.”

“How is that possible?” He furrowed his brows.

You frowned in thought. “I just never paid any mind to your side of the floor. I just…look where the girls are or my laptop. Mostly my laptop.” 

They finally pulled up to the lecture hall. Both you and Riki slid out—thanking Sydney and Maya as you did. “Good luck, girlie.” Sydney gave one last smile before speeding off ahead. It went by a lot faster than you thought. By this point, the two of you stood on the sidewalk right in front of South Hall. Taking in the silence for the moment as you both looked at the horizon. The sun melted behind the glass neuroscience building. Causing the both of you to turn your gaze to each other as the light reflected into your eyes. The moment Riki did, he grinned. “Okay. You can stop acting cool, no one’s around.” He whispered. “I know you’ve seen me play—one of my games at least.”

You slowly shook your head. “I swear I haven’t.”

He conceded, “Fine. Well…as I was saying before we were interrupted. I’m sorry for hitting you with the ball last week. It was an accident, and I also apologize for being a bit of a dick to you.”

You squinted up at him, arms crossed. “A bit of a dick?”

Riki laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “A little bit…” He pinched his fingers together. You gave him a look as you waited for him to take it back. Letting his words simmer. “Not even just the tip?”

You sighed, running your hands over your face. “Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face—”

“I’m sorry, okay, okay!” He laughs as he waves his hands in front of your face. “I was joking…”

“Mmm…” you tilted your head at him, your heart beating a bit faster than it was before this conversation began.

He pursed his lips as he smiled down at you. A glint in his eyes that you don’t recognize. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“As a token of my apology, I want to invite you to my next game.”

You stared at him like he’d just suggested a blood pact. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon.” His grin widened, like he’d been expecting that answer. “Front row, VIP. I’ll even have your name on the pass list. You don’t even have to cheer for me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Fine, then come and boo. Loud. Make a sign if you want—‘Down with Nishimura’ or something.” He mimed holding up a poster, his expression all faux-serious. “I’ll wave at you from the free throw line.”

You snorted despite yourself, quickly covering it with a cough. “Why would I waste my Friday night watching sweaty dudes run back and forth?”

“Because sweaty dudes running back and forth is basically my art form,” he shot back smoothly. Then he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “Besides…you owe me.”

Your brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For traumatizing me,” he said without hesitation. “Do you know how much it hurts when someone tells you they’ve never seen your masterpiece?”

“That’s something called ego.”

He leaned in, close enough that his voice dropped into something teasingly low. “Same difference.” For a beat, you just stared at him, pulse tripping traitorously. “Dream on, Riki.” You turned, reaching for the heavy doors of South Hall, but his voice caught you right before you slipped inside.

“One game,” he called out, tone softer now. “Just one. If you hate it, I’ll never bother you again.”

You froze, hand on the handle. He had to know you weren’t the type to fold under pressure—so why did his voice sound less like a challenge and more like a genuine ask?

Slowly, you glanced back. He was standing there with his hands shoved into his sweats, rocking back on his heels, watching you with a grin that wasn’t entirely smug.

You squinted. “You expect me to believe that? You’ll leave me alone?”

He pressed a hand over his heart, feigning sincerity. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a scout in your life.”

“Exactly, so I’ve got nothing to lose,” he said easily. “C’mon. You sit in the bleachers twice a week anyway. This time, you get a show.”

You opened your mouth to shoot him down again—but the words got stuck. Maybe it was the sunset painting him in gold, maybe it was the echo of his laugh still buzzing in your chest, maybe it was the faint thrill of saying yes when every fiber of you wanted to say no. You saw why people liked him. When he wasn’t being a pompous, meat for brains, insipid asshole—Riki could be described in a very simple word: charismatic. Everything that he is, does, seems to rub people the right way. But the fact that it took over a week to get a full apology from him always rang in the back of your mind.

“C’mon mama, wherever you need to be, you only have five minutes.” He sang, as he glanced at his blue Superman watch.

You didn’t want to be bought by him, this was just some sick foreplay, if any. He said it himself, he likes people—girls—like you. The ones that despise him and aren’t so easily won. He probably thinks you two are flirting—he has been. You haven’t—not intentionally that is. The last week has shown you the type of person he is. He’s rude, careless, inconsiderate and for sure undeserving of your time. “Quick question.”

He looked up at you, lifting his brow. “Talk to me.”

“Those girls that drove us, Sydney and…Maya. How do you know Sydney?” You pulled the sleeves of your zip-up over your wrist.

Riki cocked his head to the side, “she’s Maya’s girlfriend. Why?”

Okay so, that didn’t exactly satisfy the answer you wanted. 

But this is the problem, you wanted so badly to catch him in something. To see if someone was going to pop out of the bushes and tell you that you’ve been Punk’d. That you were a fool for even thinking that one of the most prolific basketball stars this university’s ever seen wanted your time and attention. But he seemed to. Or maybe it was his guilt. You couldn’t tell. And that was what was eating you alive. That you couldn’t tell. But curiosity was a bitch and maybe Friday night could’ve been for you.

As you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. “So?” He smiled gently, hopeful glints in his eyes.

You sighed, “how do I buy the ticket?” You throw up your hands in defeat as you look to the side and up at the nearly set sun. 

“Yes!” He cheered, pumping a fist in the air like he’d just hit a buzzer beater. Opening his arms wide, “can I give you a hug?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, arms crossing tighter. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, mama, I earned it,” he pleaded, arms still spread like he was about to embrace the whole campus. “You just admitted you’re coming to see me.”

“I admitted nothing,” you corrected, stepping around him toward the South Hall doors. “All I said was I need a ticket.”

“That’s the same thing.” He jogged to keep up with you, a grin plastered across his face. “In fact, it’s even better—you asked me for one. That’s like—” He paused, holding his hands out like he was framing a painting. “—a confession of interest.”

You stopped, deadpan. “I’m not interested,”

“And yet, hater,” he said, tapping his temple as if he’d solved world hunger, “I’ll see you Friday.”

Before you could come up with a scathing comeback, the bell tower chimed the hour. You groaned, clutching your bag. “I’m late. Thanks for that.”

“Thank me later,” he called as you hurried inside. And when you risked one last glance over your shoulder, he was still standing on the steps—hands in his pockets, that infuriating grin aimed right at you like he’d already won.

And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of you worried he had.

—

“Wait what?! Riki invited you to his game?!” 

“Say that any louder would you?” You threw your hands up in irritation as Yasmin’s eyes bulged out of her skull at the news. 

Bella covered her mouth, stifling a laugh as she flipped the waffle maker open. “Wait—hold on, hold on.” She pointed the spatula at you like it was a gavel. “You, you, the number-one Riki Nishimura hater on campus, got personally invited by the man himself, and you said yes?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I didn’t say yes, I just…didn’t say no.”

“That’s a yes,” Yasmin gasped, and she quietly clapped her hands.  “Oh my gosh, you’re going to a game! Our little cynic is finally embracing school spirit!”

The dining hall was typically bustling around this time. Early in the morning, people want to load up on breakfast and catch up with friends before the inundating life of college consumes them. You, Yasmin, and Bella met up at nine AM for breakfast every single morning, no exceptions. Ten on weekends.

“Fuck the school, fuck the spirit.” You groaned. “I’m going because he wouldn’t shut up about it. It’s a one-time thing. A pity acceptance.”

Bella raised a brow. “A pity acceptance is still an acceptance, babe.”

The waffle maker dinged. She lifted the lid and slid a perfect golden square onto her plate, smirking as she doused it in syrup. “Honestly? I’m proud. You’re about to see the campus cult leader in his natural habitat.” She immediately doubled back to put more mix in the press. You and Yasmin always split a waffle. The beautiful, olive skinned girl squealed again. Grabbing your hands and interlocking them. “This is huge! You’re gonna love it—the lights, the crowd, the energy—”

“The egos,” you cut in, tugging your hands back.

“The athleticism,” Yasmin countered, unfazed. “And hey, if you don’t like the game, at least the cheer squad will look amazing. I’ll even throw in a wink just for you.” You wrapped an arm around both girls’ shoulders, to which they rested their heads on yours. “At least I’m guaranteed some type of joy. Seeing my hot friends in their cute cheer outfits.”

Bella laughed, rubbing your tummy as she lifted herself up to check your waffle. “I’ll even give you a lap dance if you ask nicely.”

“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her with the back of her hand, laughing so hard her mascara almost smudged.

“What?” Bella grinned, cutting your shared waffle with surgical precision. 

You snorted into your mango juice. “If Riki’s game is even half as entertaining as this breakfast, maybe I’ll survive.”

“Oh, you’ll more than survive,” Yasmin said confidently. “You’re gonna be converted.”

“Is this guy really that good?” You grabbed two plates for the two and slid them to Bella. 

The two girls nodded in unison. “Putting all dickhead-ism aside, babes. He’s extremely good.” Bella said as she put the halves on both plates.

Yasmin nodded, as you both walked back to your table. “Yeah, it’s freaky. I don’t know, but you’ll see Friday.” She shrugged as you sat at your table. 

Bella pointed her fork at you. “You’re gonna hate how much you agree with her.”

Before you could fire back, a shadow fell across the table.

“Agree with who?”

You nearly choked on your strawberry. Yasmin yelped so loud half the dining hall turned. And Bella? She smacked her fork down like she was about to get very violent.

Standing there, plate balanced casually in one hand, was Riki Nishimura himself. Grinning like the devil.

“Don’t do that!” Yasmin scolded, clutching her chest.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, setting his plate down at the table behind yours. He placed his hand on the back of your chair—something weirdly intimate. You couldn’t assess the feeling. But you felt his body heat radiate off of him.

Bella and Yasmin knew Riki in passing. The basketball team and their cheerleaders—the team that the girls were a part of—were familiar with one another. From the university standpoint, the cheerleaders would hype up the crowd, boost morale, the works. On the other end, a lot of them would date other athletes. Which sounds cliche in hindsight. Riki ‘dated’ many cheerleaders in his day, mostly during high school. Now, he’s calmed down—only having screwed around with three of them in his years at Decelis. Three in two years isn’t that terrible. But that was the thing with Riki, he screwed. That’s all he could do. Wanted to do, really. He knew the power he held here and what man wouldn’t enjoy the flock of women that threw themselves at his feet? Especially when his status was what it was. Riki would make it clear that he didn’t want anything more with them. Abundantly clear that it was just sex, nothing more or less. But of course, there would be a few that would try to change him. Claim him, go around saying things about him that weren’t true to scare other girls out of dating him. Once he started getting attention, sponsorships, ESPN coverage, he couldn’t risk his image being tainted at the hands of a one night stand. From his perspective, he’d rather get in trouble for things he did on his own than something someone else said. Especially if it weren’t true. Besides that, the girls and him essentially ran in the same circles. Plus, Yasmin and one of the other basketball guys had a one-off fling. Brief, fruitless, literally lasted three weeks. Bella was pretty and Riki was sort of eyeing her for a minute, but that crush died. Nothing that Bella did, he just saw you.

“Nothing. Do nothing, Riki.” You looked up at him with a sarcastic smile. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I love the welcome wagon.” He nodded curtly as he lightly, very playfully punched your arm. “Just wanted to remind you that Friday shall not be forgotten.” Yasmin smiles, “it’s not! We were just talking about yo—” Bella immediately kicked her leg, roughly—nearly leaving a bruise. Yasmin’s yelp turned into a strained laugh, way too high-pitched. “—yo, yogurt. We were just talking about yogurt.”

The blonde nodded affirmatively, slowly but going with what the girl writhing in pain said. “Uh-huh. Strawberry yogurt. Very…important conversation.”

Riki squinted, biting into his toast with suspicious slowness. “Yogurt. Right.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “You guys know you’re terrible liars, right?” Bella shoved a piece of waffle into her mouth to avoid answering. Yasmin’s eyes darted everywhere but him. And you? You just stared back at him, unimpressed.

“Relax,” Riki grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “If I wanted to eavesdrop, I’d sit at this table, not behind you. Though—” His knuckles rapped against the back of your chair again, teasing. “This seat has its perks.”

Bella groaned into her plate. Yasmin kicked her under the table this time.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you have a young woman’s life to ruin?” 

He quirked his brows, stealing a slice of kiwi from your plate. “Who, like yours?”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Riki just chewed the kiwi like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade on the table. “I’m saying—” he gestured vaguely with his fork, “—you’re acting like I’ve got a whole victim list when clearly…” His eyes slid to you, gleaming. “…you’re volunteering.”

Bella choked on her waffle. Yasmin slapped her back, sputtering. “Who do you think you are?”

“What? I’m clarifying,” he said innocently, though the corner of his mouth was doing that thing—the smug almost-smile that made your blood heat. Then, without another word, he grabs a chair and his plate from the table he had the food on. Getting comfy as he set himself up. “I’m so sorry I just love girl chat.” He squealed as he scooted inward and entirely too close to you.

Bella’s head snapped up. “Did…did you just squeal?”

“I did.” Riki leaned his elbow on the table, grinning like a cheshire cat. “I’m very in touch with my feminine side.”

Yasmin looks at you with a disappointed sigh, “I see what you were talking about.”

Your fork froze mid-air. “Wow. Betrayal this early in the morning?”

Yasmin just shrugged helplessly, sipping her coffee. “I’m sorry,”

Riki gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “You’ve been slandering me before I even sat down?”

Bella stabbed her waffle with unnecessary force. “We didn’t need to. You do it all yourself.”

He turned to you then, eyes glinting, completely ignoring the other two. “So that’s the verdict? I walk in here, innocent, just trying to enjoy my kiwi—”

“You mean my kiwi?” You gesture to your nearly cleared off plate of fruit. 

“It’s not like you were eating the shit.” He reached in, going for the last few slices. But before he could, you turned the bowl—bringing it out of his reach. Riki froze mid-reach, his hand hovering in the air.

Without any effort, he reached down to the leg of your chair—pulling you closer into his side with the strength of a singular arm. Your heart skipped, and you yanked back slightly, more surprised than scared. “Hey! What—” Riki didn’t budge, just leaned forward to grab the bowl. “What?” His eyes flicked to the bowl of fruit, then back to you, unrepentant as he tested you. Dared you to speak again in a teasing way.

Bella and Yasmin froze mid-bite, their expressions somewhere between horror and fascination. Yasmin whispered, “Uh…maybe…maybe intervene?”

Bella just buried her face in her hands. “Nope. Not my problem.”

—

Friday came faster than you thought it ever could. Which is strange because any other week goes by excruciatingly slow for you. Greatly enough, you didn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the thought of seeing Riki on the court, all energy and mild aggression personified, or maybe it was the memory of him cornering you over a damn kiwi bowl. Either way, you found yourself walking across campus, purse slung over one shoulder, feeling a mix of dread and curiosity that you didn’t entirely understand. The arena loomed ahead, banners flapping in the evening breeze as crowds of people made their way inside. Your chest tightened, not from the usual anxiety of social situations, but from the knowing—knowing that he was here, somewhere in the midst of all that chaos, grinning like he owned the place. After the interactions you had with him, you wondered if Riki ever got nervous before games. If he did some bizarre ritual or had a good luck charm like a pair of socks he wears every game that he hasn’t washed since he was ten. Your lace-trimmed long sleeve was very cute and delicate, definitely not the “athlete-supportive” outfit anyone would expect at a basketball game—but somehow, it felt like armor. You tugged at the hem nervously, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. Inside, the arena buzzed with energy: the squeak of sneakers on the polished court, the rhythmic stomps and chants of the crowd, the banners waving overhead. Somewhere in the middle of it all, you knew Riki would appear larger than life, and honestly…the thought made your palms sweat.

He didn’t lie, there was a seat reserved right in the front row with your name on it.

​​You blinked at the small placard. Your name. Front row.

A mix of irritation and curiosity bubbled up. Who even does that? And yet…part of you couldn’t deny the thrill. Sliding into the seat, you felt the floor vibrate as the players warmed up, sneakers squeaking and balls thumping as the team warmed up. Then you saw him moving across the court, every motion effortless, commanding, magnetic. Even from a distance, you could feel the energy radiating off him, drawing your gaze like gravity. He caught your eye for a brief second, slyly winking at you as he chewed on a mouthguard. His attire was great. Yes, he wore the school colors—purple and white—on his uniform. A large number three at the center of both sides of his jersey. But on his right arm, he had a white arm sleeve. White finger tape decorating his fingers as on the opposite leg—his left—he had a leg sleeve. You’ve seen basketball players wear stuff like this, it seemed to be the style. Your eyes scanned the middle of the court and you spotted Bella and Yasmin—dolled up and looking as gorgeous as ever as they sat on the sidelines. You beamed and immediately took out your phone to snap a photo of them. Oh-so-inconspicuously sending that photo in the group chat. An ‘I’m watching your every step’ message. Nothing too weird, you know. The laugh in your throat bubbled as you broke out into a smile, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd faded into the background. Bella’s perfectly lined eyeliner, Yasmin’s gleaming hair, the way they leaned into each other as they whispered—you could practically hear the unspoken jokes.

Until it was time for tip-off.

—

The buzzer sounded, a sharp crack that made your chest skip a beat, and the ball soared into the air. Riki lunged with impossible timing, leaping higher than anyone else, his arm sleeve flexing with the motion. The crowd erupted as he slammed the ball down with a satisfying thunk, immediately taking control of the game.

From your front-row seat, every movement was mesmerizing: the pivot of his legs, the effortless bounce of the ball, the way his jersey clung just right when he twisted mid-air. And, of course, the occasional glance your way—a subtle lift of the brow, a tilt of the head—just enough to remind you he knew you were watching. Riki crouched low near half-court, dribbling the ball between his legs with that smooth, controlled rhythm that made it look effortless. His eyes flicked up, scanning the defense like a chess player anticipating every move. He didn’t rush—never all-out too early. Every feint, every subtle shift of his weight was calculated, teasing the defenders, building tension, like he was saving the real fireworks for the perfect moment. A defender lunged, trying to predict his next move, but Riki only stayed focused, spinning the ball through a precise between-the-legs crossover. He leaned forward, eyes locked on the basket, energy coiled and measured, every step deliberate. And then—explosion. He exploded past the defender, weaving through the chaos with that signature agility, rising for a perfect, graceful layup that made the crowd roar. Even in motion, his gaze flicked toward you, subtle and teasing, like he was daring you to blink.

—

He always took smart shots. 

Surprisingly enough, Riki was far from a ball hog. He moved like a conductor through the chaos of the game, every dribble, pivot, and pass precise. He orchestrated plays, drawing defenders toward him and then slipping a perfect pass to a teammate cutting to the hoop—playing the point guard role perfectly. Every shot he took was calculated; every assist and pass, effortless. You watched, captivated, as he built the momentum of the game with a controlled fire that was both intimidating and magnetic. Halfway through the second quarter, he caught the ball just inside the three-point line, eyes scanning, defenders breathing down his neck. He dribbled, a subtle hesitation, then spun between his legs, pivoting with that signature agility. A defender tried to stop him, but his shoulder grazed Riki just enough to make him stumble—foul called immediately. He didn’t miss a beat. Rising for the layup, he absorbed the contact and still managed to sink it cleanly. The whistle blew—and one.

As he landed, he slapped his chest with that confident, masculine gesture, exhaling sharply, eyes glinting. The crowd clapped, teammates high-fiving him.Every move seemed designed to entertain as much as to dominate. He drew cheers from the crowd, coordinated plays with teammates, and every so often, that teasing glance toward you reminded you: this was also a show for you.

—

On defense, Riki was a pest. Annoying. The kind of player who never gave you room to breathe. He crouched low, arms wide, reading the offense like he had the playbook in his head before it even unfolded. Every time his opponent tried to drive, he cut them off with quick, sharp footwork, shadowing every step. And when he went for a steal? Ruthless. One second the ball was in his opponent’s hands, the next Riki had stripped it clean, darting down the court. He didn’t just defend—he got under skin. By the third quarter, you could see the frustration written across the faces of the guys stuck dealing with him. He thrived on it too. That sly grin crept back whenever a frustrated guard shoved into him a little too hard, trying to break free. He’d just shrug it off, tap his leg sleeve like try again, and lock back in.

Even from the front row, you could tell—he wasn’t just good. He was exhausting to play against.

—

There were a few times he should’ve got called for a technical foul but wasn’t. A few of the other guys on the team trash-talked. But Riki’s mouth was the worst. You could tell, just like the rest of them, that they got extremely competitive in the heat of the moment. Which was understandable, but you wondered. There have been many times you’ve seen women’s games and the refs have so much to say to them when they get snippy. But the guys are essentially having a dick swinging contest right before the entire country to see. He’d get in the defenders’ faces, bump their shoulders. Take out his mouthguard specifically just to shit talk right in their faces. Whispering foul words to intimidate the player that you couldn’t make out. The guilty part of you was sort of turned on by it, seeing Riki this way. This was the most masculine you saw him. Not the smug tease hovering over your shoulder in the dining hall. Not the boy grinning as he chased you up to class. Here, on the court, chest heaving, jaw tight, trash talk spilling easy—this was Riki in his rawest form. And you hated how much your stomach knotted watching it.

—

By the last thirty seconds, the gym was shaking. 126–126. Decelis ball. Everyone in the stands already knew where it was going—Riki. He dribbled up, face locked in that sharp, predator focus you’d never seen off the court. Two defenders closed in, practically climbing his back. The crowd roared, waiting for him to take the shot. Of course he would. He always did.

He didn’t.

At the last second, Riki snapped his wrist and swung the ball out to a teammate wide in the corner. Perfect pass. The kid launched it. Swish. Decelis up three. The arena exploded, bodies leaping, the bench clearing to scream. Riki didn’t even crack a smile—just hit his chest once, hard, and pointed at his teammate like that’s you.

The other team scrambled for a last shot, missed, and the buzzer went off in a storm of whistles and screams. Decelis: 129. Them: 126. Your ears rang as everyone flooded the court. Players crashing into each other, coaches losing their minds, fans pressed against the rails. And in the middle of it all was Riki, tall and shining and untouchable, sweat dripping down his jaw. While you covered your ears, trying to ensure you didn’t lose your hearing at the tail-end of this event—you got it now. More than anything did you understand why these things weren’t just games. They were spectacles. If people were like this for regular in-season games, imagine what the playoffs and (hopefully) championship games would be like. But besides that, you realized what made your pulse race wasn’t just the scoreboard or the roaring crowd—it was him. Riki, standing there like the center of gravity, chest rising and falling, teammates mobbing him in a blur of jerseys. He hadn’t even taken the final shot, but everyone knew he’d been the engine. The conductor. The spark.

He accepted the praise, but he immediately found the kid that he passed to—hitting his chest as he nodded. Smiling through his mouth guard as they both had some weird, guy conversation. Some celebratory music was playing from the arena speakers, as the fans cheered and stomped, the sound rattling through your bones. Players kept shoving Riki, grabbing his shoulders, hollering in his face like he’d just saved the world. He took it all with that cool, unbothered grin, dapping them up one by one. But then, as the noise stretched on, he peeled away. Sweat dripping down his temple, jersey clinging, he jogged over to the scorer’s table. You frowned, watching as he grabbed the ball from the official’s hands, spinning it once in his palm like it belonged to him.

And then—of course—his gaze cut straight to you.

Your stomach twisted as he looked at you, expectantly—waiting for your approval. Waiting for your okay. For you to tell him how great he already knew he was. But he wanted to hear it—see it—from you. Without a word, you nodded slowly—tipping your bag of sour gummies at him as you leaned back into your seat.

His grin widened around his mouth guard, sharp and almost childlike as he turned back to his teammates—doing cheesy celebratory dances as the arena cleared out. You shook your head, laughing softly as you cleaned up your area. Grabbing the wrappers and water bottles you went through—you hated leaving messes for people to pick up when you were fully capable of doing it yourself. As you walked to the trashcan that was about ten feet away, the girls wrapped their arms around you from either side. Bella’s perfume hit you first, sugary and strong, while Yasmin’s lip gloss smudged your cheek as she leaned in.

“Front row, huh?” Yasmin sing-songed, her grin wicked.

Bella gave you a look that said girl, explain, even as she pretended to focus on the giant foam finger she was waving.

“In my defense, I didn’t think I’d be put there.” You put your hands up, stepping back.

The blonde smiled, poking your arm. “Okay, WAG—”

“No!” You laughed, swatting her hand away. “Not WAG! I’m not—I didn’t—”

Yasmin’s grin widened, clearly loving your flustered flailing. “Relax, relax. We’re just saying, you know…front row. Big stage. Him.”

Bella snorted, waving the foam finger like a banner of proof. “Yeah, yeah, admit it—you enjoyed it.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “I did. The game was good.” Nodding in thought, “y’all were right.” 

Yasmin smiled, “see?! It’s so cute like, we all come together just to sit down and be in community and cheer and it just—” “Okay Miss Frizzle,” Bella placed her hand onto the girl’s shoulder as you all shared a laugh. Bella tugged you guys close, hugging you both tightly. “Okay, so are we ever gonna have the conversation where we cover the fact that Riki totally wants you?”

You froze mid-step, the weight of Bella’s words hitting like a surprise full-court press.

Yasmin snorted behind her hand, eyes sparkling. “Ooh, she’s gonna deny it. Watch.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, trying for casual, but your voice betrayed you anyway.

Bella rolled her eyes, smirking. “Uh-huh. Totally casual. Front row, him looking like a Greek statue on the court, and he somehow looked in your general direction for most of the game? Totally casual. So friendly.”

You nodded, brushing your curls behind your ear. “Mhm, you said it, not me.”

They both give you a look. Sharing one with each other as they both moved you out of the way as there were flocks of people still trying to make their ways out of the arena in one piece. But you somehow forgot about their existence, this has been happening a lot to you the last few hours. And most of your life. This sort of dissociation—only minding the people close to you. The ones you thought were special. Like today, you’d be in a sea of people and if you knew three—you kept them close to your chest. There’s been so many times where people would run into you, or come up to you and greet you and you’d not know who they were until they reminded you that you had your eleven-thirty history class with them and they sat right behind you. This is why Riki crashing into your life these last two weeks has been so surreal for you. And maybe, just maybe, this might be the reason for your subconscious rejection of him. You never actually hated him, you understood that. You simply didn’t like that you and the entire university were being forced to like him simply because he was good at a sport. By this point, the arena was empty sans for you three and some custodians that swept up the floor with pristine efficiency. Proving they’ve done this a thousand times over. 

Yasmin opened her mouth to respond, yet she was interrupted by one of the girls calling from one of the double doors. “Bella! Yasmin! C’mon, Coach is making us take photos and we can’t go without you guys.”

The brunette nodded, “we’re coming!” She called out as she turned to look at you. “Be right back.” She whispered, hugging you tightly—kissing your cheek as she scampered off to the door. 

Bella smiled as she watched Yasmin make a quick break for the doors. Turning back to you, she nodded to the door. “Wanna come?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Sure I—” From the corner of your eye, you see a tall figure jogging toward you. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor pulled your attention, and before you could even finish your sentence, there he was. The man of the hour. Still in his jersey, dried sweat sticking to his skin, his hair damp at the edges. He had ditched his mouthguard somewhere between celebrating and now, flashing that unbothered grin that made your pulse do a somersault. The ball was tucked under one arm like an extension of himself, and his pace—quick, determined—made it obvious: he wasn’t jogging toward anyone. He was jogging toward you. Bella’s brows shot up, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile as she stepped aside like she knew she was witnessing a movie scene unfold. “Ohhh, this should be good,” she murmured, already backing toward the doors to “give you space” but absolutely intending to eavesdrop from ten feet away. She debated, but ultimately decided to go find the team before she had to run ten laps before next practice. “I’ll catch you later, love you.” She whispered, rubbing your shoulder before she scurried off. Your feet stayed planted, though your mind screamed at you to do literally anything else. Riki slowed to a stop in front of you, chest rising and falling, eyes locked onto yours like Bella, the arena, the custodians didn’t exist. “Hi.” Just that—soft, breathless, like he’d been holding it in all night and finally let it spill. He shifted the ball under his arm, free hand tugging at the hem of his jersey like it could keep him grounded. His eyes, though, weren’t grounded at all—they were skating across your face, memorizing, cataloguing, daring you to look away.

“Congrats,” you managed, your voice a little too high, a little too airy, like you hadn’t been practicing something cooler in your head since halftime. “Star of the game, huh?”

His grin returned, a little crooked now, more boy than legend. “Nah. Don’t start with all that.” He leaned in a fraction, enough for you to catch the lingering salt of sweat, the heat radiating off him. “Besides…wasn’t really playing for the crowd tonight.” You raised your brows in slight shock, your heart skipping a little at the flirtation. “Are you flirting with me, sir?” Stifling a laugh as you cock your head.

Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Your stomach dipped like the floor had given out under you, though your face did its best to play it cool. Folding your arms, pretending his answer didn’t just rearrange your insides, you said, “Thank…you?” Riki’s laugh came again, low and disbelieving, like you’d just crossed him up on his own court. “Thank you?” He echoed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the ball. “That’s your response?”

You shrugged, trying to look unfazed even as your pulse thudded in your throat. “Well, what do you want me to say?” That crooked grin tugged at his lips again, boyish and sharp all at once. He angled his chin at you, eyes flicking over your face like he was searching for the crack in your act. “I was hoping for something more like…‘finally.’”

That single word hung between you, heavier than the arena’s fading buzz. Your arms loosened, the folded front slipping without your permission. “Finally?” you repeated, soft, like you weren’t sure if you wanted to challenge him or dare him to keep going. “Yeah,” Riki said, voice quieter now, less bravado and more truth. “Been waiting for a shot. Figured tonight I’d stop warming the bench.” He let the ball go, letting it bounce. He tapped it gently, letting it come back to his hand. He extended it to you with one arm. “For you, beautiful.”

You blinked at the ball, then at him, like he’d just offered you his jersey, his sneakers, and possibly his firstborn all at once. “For me?”

Riki’s smirk tilted into something softer, more earnest. “Yeah. MVP keeps the ball. Tonight…” he shrugged, eyes never leaving yours, “that’s you.”

Without anything else coming to mind, you just take the ball hesitantly. Like it would explode if you were to handle it wrong. “Oh my gosh, Riki…” you smile brightly. “Thank you.”

He laughs softly, “you said that already, mama. You don’t have to thank me.” He waved off as he sighed shakily. “Look…I know…we got off to a rocky start—”

“Rocky?” You echoed, one brow arching as you hugged the ball tighter against your chest.

“Hostile’s the better word.”

You nodded curtly, “for sure.”

Riki chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was taking the hit on purpose. “Yeah, I deserved that.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Glad we agree.”

His grin softened into something a little less cocky, a little more boyish. “But…if hostile was the start, I’m hoping this—” he nodded toward the ball in your arms, “—can be, you know, the reset.”

“So you wanna be friends?” You bounced the ball, dribbling it as you stared down at it. Ensuring it didn’t go anywhere—zero hand-eye coordination on your end.  Riki’s smile brightened as he watched you. “Friends is a good start, that’s not all I want though.” His eyes darted between you and the ball that you seem to have so much trouble dribbling but he just let you go.

Your dribble went sideways, the ball nearly escaping before you caught it with both hands, clutching it like a life preserver. “Not all you want?” you repeated, squinting at him. “You don’t even know if I can make a free throw.” Riki snorted, entertained at seeing you try this with zero grace. “But I do know you can’t dribble. I’m sorry but you are absolutely terrible.” 

“Hey! It’s not even my job to be good at this shit. Sorry I’m not like what’s-his-name.” You switch hands and dribble the ball at an irregular rhythm.

“What is his name, sweetheart?” Riki pursed his lips as he watched you with his hands clasped behind his back. 

You snapped your fingers as if it were able to trigger a thought. “Um…Allen Iverson! Yes! Allen Iverson.” Riki blinked, then burst out laughing, so loud one of the custodians looked over in confusion. “Allen Iverson?!” He bent forward, hands on his knees, grinning at you like you’d just told the funniest joke of the year. “Oh my God—nah, don’t do AI like that. He’s turning in his grave right now—”

“He’s not even dead!” you cut in, indignant, clutching the ball tighter.

Riki straightened, smirk pulling at his lips as he pointed at you. “Exactly. And you still killed him with that comparison.”

You gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “Wow. You’re mean.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, stepping closer again, grin softer now. “Just honest. And besides…” his gaze lingered on you, enough to make your heartbeat stumble, “…you’re way cuter than Iverson anyway.”

You got back to dribbling. “I don’t know…” you sang. “I used to have a crush on him when I was young.” You were focused, tongue sticking out in concentration as you played with the ball. 

He blurted out. “Okay, I’m sorry, I can’t take this anymore.” He scratched his forehead. “You gotta keep your eyes up, mama.” Scrunching his nose a bit as he put his hand on his hip.

“No, Riki, I’m gonna lose it if I do!” 

“Well I’m already losing it.” He laughs at your stubbornness. “You looking down isn’t helping you. If this were a game, I’d steal the ball from you.”

Your eyes stayed down, at this point, you were just pulling his leg. 

He swiftly stole the ball from you. “Hey,” he said firmly, grabbing your chin gently and forcing you to look at him. He bounced the ball at a quick rhythm, “look at me.” Dribbling the ball between his legs as he leans down to your height. 

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your cheeks at how close he suddenly was—his palm warm and steady on your chin, his eyes locked onto yours like he dared you to blink. The ball thudded against the hardwood in a perfect rhythm, the sound echoing in the empty arena. His smirk deepened, lips curling as if he’d just proven his point without saying another word. “See? Easy. You keep your eyes on me, and the ball takes care of itself.”

You scoffed, though it came out softer than intended, your voice a little shaky. “That’s…literally not how physics works.” “Sure it is,” he countered smoothly, still dribbling with one hand, chin tilted with that effortless confidence. “Ball control is focus. And right now, your focus…” he tapped your chin lightly before pulling his hand back, “…is exactly where I want it.” He stops dribbling and presses the ball into your chest.

“You’re such a showoff.” You crossed your arms over the ball, trying to reclaim some authority, though your heart betrayed you with a rapid thump. Riki tilted his head, grin sharpening just enough to be mischievous. “And you’re—

“Yo Riki!”

The both of you turn to see someone from behind you. Turns out it was three people, only one of them shouting out from across the floor. His teammates most likely. “You coming?!”  Confusion coated your features. That and annoyance was on Riki’s as well until realization found him. “Wh—oh shit!” He quickly turned to you with a small smile. “The team’s having an afterparty at one of the frats, wanna come?”

Your eyes widened, “a frat party?” “Well, yes and no. One of the guys on the team, Maki—we have the same name, funnily enough. Whatever that’s not the point—the point is, he’s a part of Phi Gamma Theta. The party’s at his frat house and it’s his turn to buy the beer.” He nods with a shimmy of his shoulders. 

You turn to his teammates that are eyeing you both expectantly, mainly him. At this moment, you really didn’t want to go. Like at all. And you were most certainly going to deny him! But you were so surprised that he was so quick to let you into his world in this way—so quickly. While you liked that he wanted you in the spaces that he occupied, you were weary of both him and the company he kept. You simply didn’t know him that well. 

While it didn’t hurt to make new friends and take on new social scenes, you seriously debated how to spend your Friday night. Bella and Yasmin were going to their dorms right after this they said. They’d been putting in serious work this week and were taking every last day of their weekends to do nothing. You were just going to study for your Latin quiz on Monday—which you hardly did because you were too worried about the Philosophy paper due this afternoon. So either way, you lost. “Uh…I think I’m gonna stay in tonight. Latin quiz on Monday and I’ve hardly studied.”

Riki nodded, “for sure, that’s fine.” He waves off, looking to his teammates and holding up his index finger. Indicating that he wanted a second. They went back to where they came, most likely the locker room. “Text me when you get to your dorm?” You quirked a brow, that confusion making another appearance. “I don’t have your number, Riki.”

He tilts his head, “you for sure do.” His eyes fell to the basketball in your hands then your eyes again.

Your gaze followed where his once was, shifting the ball around in your hands until you come across a slip of paper taped securely to it. Reading: To my MVP. Then the digits followed. Laughing, your heart rate spiking more than you’d like it to. “You’re such a cornball.” “And I got your number from Yasmin already so…don’t even think about flaking on me.” He wagged a finger in your face. “I’m a little crazy too, I hope you know.” He teased.

“Too? As in, you think I’m crazy?” You narrow your eyes as you fold your hands over the ball. He smiled as he reminisced, “well, when one takes a fresh basketball to the face and doesn’t cry, I’d like to think there’s a little something in your wheelhouse.”

You stared at him blankly. “Goodnight, Riki.” Then lightly tossed the ball, watching it bounce right off his forehead before he could react. And funnily enough, it fell right back in your hands. “Huh, I guess ball control really does work.” Riki laughed, rubbing the spot as he stepped closer. “See? Never lied to you.” His hand hovered briefly at the back of your head before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thanks for coming. I mean it. Text me when you get in, okay? Actually—” his grin flickered back as he shook his head, “don’t even bother. I’ll text you in thirty minutes.”

And this might’ve been the very moment that he got you. 

Him getting closer to you as he showed this affection felt like it was in slow motion. Did it last twenty seconds or twenty minutes, you couldn’t tell. As the faint scent of his sweat overtook your senses, you found yourself breathing him in. Taking in every ounce of the time you had with him in this arena. Despite the salty liquid, he smelled of something clean. Like linen, or some sort of fruit—citrus. More so an orange. His body was cooler now, but the heat from his body trying to cool itself down and instead it felt like the heat was all on you now. 

You did this a lot. Taking him in. Soaking up every second despite his presence not wanting to admit how much you enjoyed it. That awareness lingered in your chest, heavy and sweet, like honey that refused to dissolve. You hugged the ball against your stomach, pretending it was the only anchor keeping you steady. Because if you didn’t, you might’ve reached out—might’ve let your fingers graze his jaw, might’ve leaned in just a little too much. He didn’t make it easier, either. Still so close, still looking at you like you were something more than just a distraction. His grin is softer now, less cocky. Like he was letting you see the part of him he didn’t hand out to just anyone.

—

The second you get to your dorm you don’t even text him. You immediately sit at your desk, prop your phone up and move all your books to the side. You felt like you just did ninety lines of cocaine, every bone in your body jittering, every nerve spiked.  To be fully transparent, you hadn’t felt like this since Christmas when you were ten and your parents got you the entire Dork Diaries series after hearing you ask for it since December the year before. Fuck all the Bratz dolls, the Barbies, the dollhouses. Those be damned. Nothing mattered more to you than finally reading the book where Nikki actually didn’t say her comebacks in her head and when Mackenzie wasn’t finally the victim anymore. However, you didn’t get that far in the series anyway.

There had to be a day that you found your Brandon Roberts, and it might’ve not been today. But until then, you had to document every moment to your best friends. As you rang them on the group video call, they both popped in. Yasmin was perched at her desk with a face mask and a fluffy headband like she was running a skincare commercial. Bella was sprawled across her bed, the camera only showing her nose up like she couldn’t be bothered with life.

“Why you calling us like the world’s ending?” Bella groaned, her voice muffled by her pillow.

“Because it is,” you shot back immediately, tucking your legs under your desk chair. “Guys—I think Riki kissed me.”

So, both of them were gagged—full stop. Your screen sparks to life. Yasmin’s in a fluffy headband, cheeks already flushed. Bella’s camera is a nose-up drama shot and both of them look like they’ve seen a ghost and a dream at the same time.

“No way! Wait—what—dude! I thought you didn’t like him like that!” Bella beamed as she smiled into the camera. Holding her heart to keep it from bursting and oozing into the phone. You tilted your head, “I’m easy, I fear…” you bit your finger as you all giggled at your tone. Burying your face into the desk, you screamed into the hardwood. Yasmin asked. “Wait so…what do you mean ‘you think?’ I’m pretty sure you’d know if someone kissed you, girl.” She leaned back in the chair, smiling still as she smushed slime. Letting the glue mold in her hands as she popped some of the air bubbles. 

You grabbed a stress ball from your drawer. “Long story short—”

“Hold up—sorry to interrupt but after I left how long did y’all talk for? Y’all stayed on the floor?” Bella nodded, trying to scope out the scene.

You nodded, “yeah, and we stayed for like…twenty minutes after?”

Yasmin squealed, holding her cheeks. “Ugh, I’m so happy for you! What did y’all talk about?” Shrugging, you shook your head in thought. “We just…talked. It wasn’t anything heavy. But he did say he wanted to be more than friends; and me coming to the game was a way for him to hopefully bridge the gap between us.” A smile spreads onto your face slowly. “It was nice…”

“So how did a kiss happen?” Bella hummed, fully sat for this debrief. 

You clear your throat dramatically, adjusting yourself in your seat. “So basically, he gave me the game ball—” Both girls jumped up like you announced you just won the lottery. “Rejoice! Thank goodness, my girl is finally gonna get some dick!” Bella cried out to the popcorn ceiling, raising her hands in jubilation. 

“But he taped his number to it—and Yas! You gave him my number?!”

Yasmin ducked lower in her chair, a guilty smile creeping across her face while her slime made a wet squelch. “...maybe. Don’t act like you’re mad, you’re literally glowing right now.”

You tossed the stress ball at the wall, rolling your eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck. “That’s beside the point!” Bella was already wheezing, halfway off her bed. “No, no, no, wait. He taped his number to the game ball? Like…actually taped it? That’s the most middle school-romance-movie shit I’ve ever heard. I live.”

“And it said ‘To my MVP,’” you admitted begrudgingly, dragging your hands down your face like confessing to a crime. Both of them lost it again. Yasmin fell sideways in her chair, face mask peeling at the edges, while Bella screamed into her pillow like you’d told her BTS showed up at your dorm.

“Oh my god,” Yasmin gasped between giggles. “He’s corny. He’s so corny. But in the best way. Like…cereal box prize corny. The kind you keep forever.” Bella sat up, eyes wild. “Nah, that’s husband behavior. Do you hear me? Husband.”

And despite yourself, you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “Then when we both parted—he and the team were going to a party at the Phi Gamma Theta house. He invited me but I didn’t wanna go—anyway—as we were leaving, he kissed my forehead—AH!” You screamed into the desk again. Not even caring if you got a noise complaint. You cleared your throat as you got back up. “Sorry.” They shook their heads, waving you off without a care. 

“Anyway, he kissed my forehead, thanked me for coming, and said to text him when I got here—I haven’t yet.” You grabbed another toy, your slinky, and played with that. “And that if I didn’t he’d call me in thirty.”

Yasmin nodded, “so why didn’t you text him yet?”

Bella chimed in, “so she can see if he’s the type of guy to do what he says he’s gonna do, Yas.” She nodded with a smirk, tapping her temple in thought.

“Well, he should be calling any—”

Your phone buzzed as it rang from an unknown number—most likely Riki’s seeing as you hadn’t saved it yet. “Oh my gosh, fine shit is calling! What do I do?! Wait! He’s video calling me too!”

“Answer it, fuckface!” Bella laughed.

You yelped, fumbling for the green button as your hands shook. “I—I don’t know if I can!”

“Girl, are you serious?!” Yasmin screeched, squeezing her slime like it owed her money. “Just answer! He’s literally waiting to see your face!”

Bella was practically vibrating off her bed, one hand covering her mouth while the other waved frantically at the screen. “Do it! Pretend you’re calm, but like—you know just play it cool.”

“Okay, okay!” You took a breath and quickly clicked the green button.  Then before you knew it, there stood Riki. Hair slightly damp from the shower and outside air drying, fresh faced, and a black tee that you could only see the neckline of. The streetlight and LEDs that the frat had up illuminated his face so warmly. It was so bizarre, from the neck downward, Riki was beyond what you could imagine an athlete’s physique being like. Lean, agile, cut, not even an ounce of fat on him—but even then, you realize that he was still so handsome anyway. 

He smiled when he saw you. “Hope you didn’t forget about me.”

You waved, “no, I could never.” Opening your arms as you spread the slinky and let it fall back into your hands.

“How was the debrief?” He brushed his hair back, flashing his watch, laughing softly as he saw your shocked face. “What? I have sisters, ma. I know what you girls do.”

You sputter like a bad engine, “uh…I—it was fine?”

Riki chuckled, that low, easy laugh that made your chest feel way too tight. “That’s code for none of my damn business, I assume?”

“You’d assume correctly.” You nodded slowly as you gathered your books. Flipping to the right pages. “How’s the party, brochacho?” Saying absentmindedly as you grab your tablet to notetake.  He laughed softly at the name as he wandered about the lawn. “It’s alright, not really feeling it tonight. Just wanted to make sure you were in one piece. That you didn’t walk into any balls on the way there.”

You rolled your eyes, “yeah I have some balls you can walk into.” 

“Shut up,” he smiled as he sipped from his red cup.

Talking to him was calming, like talking to a friend you’ve known for years. Smooth, simple, easy. The nerves came and went with him. They never stuck.

“You been drinking?” You copied your important notes down from the textbook. Trying to pay attention to the material but your mind was obviously elsewhere. He shrugged, “some beer. Took like a pull of some weed but…” He trailed off with a little sigh, lips puckered in that half-pout that made him look younger than he was. The camera dipped slightly as he adjusted the phone, showing the glow of the house behind him, people laughing, voices spilling into the night. Sitting on the sidewalk, and on their phones as they nursed drinks. “Not really my scene right now.”

Your pen stalled over your tablet, notes forgotten. “Wow, the big campus star skipping out on free booze and bad music? What’s the world come to?”

“You must not know me,” he snorted, laughing at the irony. “I’m always a buzzkill at these shits. I feel like they only invite me just in case.”

Humming, you stood up and gathered your stuff for your shower. Not to take one now, but to prepare your clothes for when you did. “In case of?”

“Just for safety. I sort of…act as a buffer. If we’re caught drinking on campus, it’s a problem, blah blah. Coach is notified but we’re not gonna get real disciplinary action.” He shrugged a shoulder. 

You nodded slowly, “oh to be a man.” Out of view, you bent down to your drawers to pull out your pajamas and fresh underwear.

“No, even the women’s teams do this. Any smart coach wouldn’t let it get to the Dean. We’d get punished internally for shit like that. Run laps, suicides, sacrificing a Saturday to wash his car, I don’t know. Looks bad on him if he benches starters.”

You laughed as you folded your pajamas. “Nah that would piss me off. Making you do suicides for one beer? I’d kill myself, actually.”

Riki shrugged, amused. “You’d be surprised. Guys hate it more than anything. Pride chips away at the sight of a whistle.” He nudged the camera so you could see a pair of teammates arguing over pizza in the background. “Anyway, I should probably go make sure no one’s starting a riot.” You tucked a loose curl behind your ear and grinned. “Go be the responsible one, then. I’ll be the one who aces Latin because I studied all night—” you said as you sat back down, deadpan, and he snorted.

“Mm. Sure you did,” he teased. “The dining halls are closed by now. If you get hungry just tell me. I’ll send you whatever you want, okay?” Your pen hovered over your tablet, heart hitching. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t a whole production, like sending food across campus at midnight was just so normal. “Aww, Riki. You taking care of me with that NIL money?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, furrowing his brows. “I worked hard for that shit.” Laughing as he sipped from his cup. “It’s hard out here.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you scribbled half a Latin conjugation that didn’t even make sense. “Oh my God. Not you acting like a single mom trying to stretch the paycheck.” “Don’t play with me, I am the single mom of this team.” He turned the camera toward the chaos of his teammates wrestling over the last pizza box. “Look at my damn kids. Do you see what I deal with?”

“Serving Reba McEntire realness.”

Riki rubbed his eyes, deadpanning. “Go study, sweetheart.”

“You should wear a red wi—”

“How about that Latin test!” He smiled happily—albeit mocking to shift topics. 

Your laughter rang through the call, and for a second he just looked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he couldn’t help it.

“Alright, go ace your Latin,” Riki said, softer now.

“You go wrangle your kids,” you shot back, smiling.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Riki.”

The screen went dark, leaving you with the echo of his voice and a grin you couldn’t quite wipe off.

—

Two weeks later

—

They say the first high is the best. That once you get it, you spend the rest of your days trying to chase the one you got at the start. 

You didn’t get high—at least not like that anyway.

In your situation, riding the high of Riki Nishimura’s attention felt like its own kind of intoxication. Every ping of your phone, every dumb meme he sent between classes, every “good morning” text when he was already at practice—it was steady, constant, addictive. And instead of chasing it, you were starting to wonder if he was raising the bar higher every time. And in retrospect, Bella was right. Why did it seem like once that buzzer hit, a switch flipped in your mind and you were just indoctrinated like the rest of the Decelis student body? Like he knew exactly what he needed to do to get you. 

You couldn’t put your finger on it but you didn’t want to overthink anything. So many things that you couldn’t comprehend put you here in this very situation and you didn’t want to ruin it by reading too deeply into it. Needless to say, Riki has seamlessly made his way into your routine. You didn’t think he’d find a place within the days that are overtaken by your needs and wants, your best friends, and classes. But if he did anything, it was make your life easier.

Riki never asked you to ditch your friends to be with him. He understood that he only had you for lunch and dinner as you had breakfast with Bella and Yasmin everyday. He messaged you to check up in between classes, already having memorized your schedule. Ensuring that you had snacks so you didn’t lose stamina between lectures—he had successfully put you on to these protein bars, amazing. And they didn’t taste like chalk. Riki even went as far as to start waiting outside your lecture halls—never in a way that felt suffocating, just casual. Leaning against the wall with his hood up, earbuds in, scrolling on his phone until you stepped out. Like he wasn’t the six-foot star guard of Decelis basketball but just some guy, killing time until you showed up.

Sometimes he walked you to the dining hall, sometimes to the library, he always just carried your bag like it was second nature. It wasn’t grand gestures—no flowers, no flashy displays—it was little things. He made space for you without demanding it, and you couldn’t lie, it was disarming. The girls noticed, of course. Yasmin raised a brow every time your phone lit up with his name. Bella, never subtle, outright called him your “NBA boyfriend” and asked if she should start practicing her court-side wave. But kept reminding you that Riki was boyfriend stuff without the actual title.

And maybe you should’ve protested harder, maybe you should’ve insisted it wasn’t that serious. But deep down, some part of you was starting to like the way it sounded.

That conversation had rang in the back of your mind for the rest of the day. And you just kept hearing Yasmin’s “...boyfriend behavior without the title” line, over and over and over again. 

Because was it really true? Were you in a situationship? Really, it’d only been two weeks, is that an appropriate time to get to know someone to further ask them on a date?  In essence, the things that Riki did for you to show he cared, were indeed boyfriend things. Sending you food when you didn’t want to leave your dorm or the spots around campus were closed. Making sure you ate and drank enough water. Never demanded your time even though his life especially, always demanded a lot from him—he ensured that there was some time out of his day for you.

You knew he liked you and he let you know he did. But did he like you enough to take you seriously? Were you just something to do? Something to take his mind off the budding fame and popularity? Funnily enough, before you came to Decelis, one week before your first year, your parents had told you in harmony: don’t date athletes.  Maybe your rejection of Riki at the beginning was just a subconscious effort to suppress your attraction to him from the very start. So that must be why it was so easy to come to terms with liking him. 

Because you always did.

The girls had left your dorm room to go on about their evenings. You just chilled on your beanbag and looked pretty as you watched one of your favorite gamers fail at Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? 

Besides the Riki stuff, you were at peace. Homework done for the rest of the week, you just showered, hair done, nails done. Two of your classes were cancelled tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday. Life was great! Just as you were about to reach for your box of graham crackers, your phone buzzed. Lighting up and alerting you that it was indeed eight PM and someone texted you. 

brochacho: hi pretty, you at your dorm?

you: good evening, and yes i am.

brachacho: good. i’m downstairs. come get me!

Your hand froze mid‑reach for the graham crackers, eyes darting from the notification to the door like he might magically materialize through it.

Downstairs? Now?

You quickly typed back, thumbs flying:

you: what do you mean you’re downstairs???

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

brochacho: literally downstairs. in the lobby. come get me. 

Your pulse jumped. This wasn’t a text saying “hope you’re good” or “goodnight.” This was him—physically here—while you sat in pajama shorts with a crumb in your hand and a streamer yelling about measurements on your laptop. You scrambled up from the beanbag, nearly tripping over your blanket as you tried to get your bearings. Should you change? Brush your hair? Put on perfume? He hadn’t said why he was there. He hadn’t even asked if you were free.

Another buzz.

brochacho: don’t stress. i’m not kidnapping you. just wanted to see you before bed.

You swallowed, staring at the text like it might tell you what to do next. All you knew was your heart was hammering, and Riki Nishimura was in your lobby.

you: ok, give me a sec.

And without a second thought, you tidied your space. He’d never been here before, he only ever walked you to the building itself. You didn’t like surprise visits but shit, why not?

After folding your blankets and placing them on your bed, then spritzing some vanilla room spray, you held your racing heart. Taking deep breaths as you slipped on your baby pink crocs, grabbed your ID card, and deadbolted your door.  You stepped into the hallway, the carpet soft under your feet, and exhaled slowly. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, casting long shadows along the walls. You could hear faint laughter echoing from down the hall; the muffled bass of music drifting up from somewhere in the building. Your heart was still hammering like a drumline, and every step toward the staircase made it beat faster.

Sliding your ID into your pocket, you gripped the railing as you descended the narrow steps two at a time. Normally, you’d take it slow, careful not to rush, but tonight, nerves and excitement propelled you forward. You peeked through the stairwell window down into the lobby, spotting him almost immediately. Riki was leaning casually against the front desk, arms crossed as he scrolled on his phone, hood down and hair a little tousled from the walk. The soft light from the lobby ceiling brushed over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his eyes seemed to catch the gleam from the floor’s polished tiles.

He glanced up, and that small, knowing smile spread across his lips, the one that made your stomach twist and flip like it was auditioning for gymnastics. His eyes scanned the stairwell, catching yours as soon as you emerged, and a tiny spark of mischief danced in them. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse, adjusting the hem of your shirt like it would somehow make you appear composed instead of the jittery mess you felt like inside. The lobby seemed impossibly large all of a sudden, the echoes of your footsteps loud and exaggerated as you approached him. “What do you want?” You smiled as you reached in for a hug, how you always greeted each other.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “There’s that welcome wagon.” The vibrato of his voice rang through the lobby as it was muffled by your curls that always smelled like strawberries. “I come bearing gifts.” You hummed, pulling back but letting your hands linger on his thin waist that you were beyond envious of. “Isn’t that considered love-bombing at this stage?”

He snorted, “yes, but it’s not really a gift.” He reached behind him for a blue crocheted bag and held it up with a bright smile. “I brought dinner. I made some and didn’t wanna eat alone.”

“Nice,” you laughed softly. “But where’d you get the bag from? One of your other twenty girlfriends?”  He rolled his eyes, “my baby sister likes to crochet and I stole it. Don’t tell her I said that.” He smirked, tucking the strap over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world to stroll into your dorm with a handmade bag of food.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “You made dinner? What, like, instant noodles level or are we talking chef Riki over here?”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “I make a mean pasta salad.” You nod to the staircase door. “Good enough,” the door clicked as you swiped your ID card over the receiver. Riki followed behind you, reaching above your head to open the door for you as he closed it behind him. “You made that in your dorm kitchens?”

He shook his head but it wasn’t like you could see him. “Nah, I don’t live on campus. I thought you knew.”

You paused mid-step, turning on the landing to look at him. “Wait, what? You don’t live here?”

Riki tilted his head, a little amused at your wide-eyed reaction. “Nope. I’ve got an apartment off-campus. Closer to the gym, less noise. Plus, dorm showers? Couldn’t do it anymore.” He made a face like the very idea offended him. Your brows lifted as you kept climbing, crocs scraping against the concrete steps. “Hold on. You’ve been walking me back here all this time and then…what? Walking another fifteen minutes to your place?”

“Ten if I’m moving fast,” he corrected with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not that deep.”

Finally you both made it to your dorm—a place he hasn’t seen. Only little parts via video call. You hesitated at your door. The reality of it hit you—Riki Nishimura was about to see your room. Not the polished corners you’d shown him over FaceTime, not the carefully angled shots that hid the mess, but the whole thing. Every detail. Pushing the door open, you stepped aside to let him in first. He slipped past you without hesitation, and immediately the air felt heavier—his presence filling the small dorm like it was too much space for one person and not nearly enough for him.

His gaze roamed quickly but thoroughly. The string lights draped above your bed. The pile of books stacked on your desk. The blanket you’d folded too hastily, still a little crooked at the edges.  He didn’t say anything at first, just kicked his shoes off by the door where he saw you had two other pairs lined up.

Riki had some manners. 

“Finally, I get to see the whole thing.” He looked at you then back to the space, looking at the wall covered with photos by your bed. These he also hadn’t seen.

Some of these were photos of you and your family. Seemingly at your high school graduation. You had changed a lot since then, just by the looks of it. Your eyes were a little duller, but you looked happy to be out of there. “Who’s that?” He pointed to the tall boy that stood next to you in the photo. Darker skin, hair pulled back into cornrows as he was dressed in very casual wear. Shorts and t-shirt for the hot weather you graduated in.

You approached, leaning forward so you could see what he was referencing. “Oh!” You snorted, “that’s my little Bother.”

“Your who?” Riki smiled as he turned to you.

“Bother,” you repeated with a grin, shaking your head. “That’s Elijah, my little brother. So—brother, bother…it stuck when we were kids.” You nodded. “And he actually grew into it because he became the biggest pain in my ass.”

Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he glanced back at the photo. “He doesn’t look little at all. Dude’s towering over you.”

“Tell me about it,” you groaned, folding your arms. “He hit his growth spurt at, like, thirteen and never stopped.”

“How tall is he now?” 

You tilted your head in thought. “Huh…I couldn’t even tell you how old he is.” You shrugged, bursting out into laughter as you grabbed the crocheted bag and sat on the floor. “But he’s around your height? Maybe a little shorter.”

He followed you down to the rug, sitting parallel to you and crossing his legs into butterfly position. 

Riki leaned back on his palms, studying you with that amused little glint in his eyes. “So what you’re telling me is there’s another version of me out there, just younger and genetically programmed to annoy you?” “Basically,” you said through a laugh, tugging the drawstrings of the bag open. “Except Elijah’s way louder, thinks he’s funnier than he is, and eats like he’s never seen food before.” You pulled out two plastic containers, setting them between you.

Riki snorted. “Sounds familiar. Pretty sure that’s just me with different branding.”

You shot him a look, biting back a grin. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. He’s worse. But I think you two would get along, though.” “You think so?” he chuckled, reaching forward to help you peel off the lid of one container. A soft aroma of herbs and parmesan filled the air.

Laughing, you grabbed the two plastic forks he put in the bag. Someone came very prepared. “I know so, actually…” Pause. “Nevermind.”

“No, no, tell me.” He said softly, unzipping his hoodie and placing it next to him. “I’d love to hear about your family.” His tone made your stomach twist a little, but not enough for you to make him aware of the effect it had on you. “Elijah…” you snorted. “Actually wants to come to Decelis. You know…after he graduates high school?”

He nodded slowly, “okay? And that’s embarrassing?”

“Oh my gosh, no. No. Nothing about my brother is embarrassing, it’s just that…” You scrunched your nose as you twist your fork. “He’s a…big fan of yours.”

Riki blinked at you, mid-bite, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. “...A fan of mine?” His tone landed somewhere between amused and genuinely startled, his brows lifting as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or press you for details. You dragged your fork through the pasta salad, trying to play it off, but the heat was already creeping up your neck. “Yeah, like…he likes college basketball a lot already but he thinks that me attending school with and being in the same year as one of the top prospects is cool.”

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Man, your brother’s got way too much faith in me. But…that means a lot. More than I’d probably admit to his face.” He takes a bite of the pasta.

“Woah…” you furrow your brows. “Since when do you doubt your skills? He’s not saying anything different than anyone else does.” He chewed slowly, his gaze dropping to the plate as though your words weighed heavier than he expected. When he finally swallowed, his voice was softer, almost thoughtful. “It’s not that I don’t believe in what I can do,” he said, rolling his fork between his fingers. “I just…know how fast it can all go away. One bad game, one injury, and suddenly all that hype doesn’t mean anything.”

He lifted his eyes back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a small smile that didn’t quite hide the seriousness in his tone. “So yeah, I guess I don’t let myself buy into it too much. Easier to laugh it off than start thinking I’m invincible, you know?” As grateful as you were that Riki was sharing a very vulnerable part of him for the very first time, you couldn’t help but think of yourself—as self absorbed as that is. You were beyond normal. Yes, you had your hobbies, friends, interests. But you never even realized the amount of pressure that Riki underwent each and every day. 

His every move was watched by strangers. There wasn’t a moment that you walked beside him on campus and someone wasn’t greeting him or trying to get his attention. Some people even started doing the same for you seeing as you were now semi-associated with him. That alone bugged you. You let your fork rest against the edge of the container, your appetite forgotten for the moment. The realization pressed into you heavier than the warmth of the room—Riki didn’t just carry his own dreams; he carried the expectations of everyone watching him. And there were a lot of eyes.

It explained the careful way he handled himself, how even his jokes carried a twinge of deflection, how he managed to be approachable without ever letting people in too far. You’d brushed it off as confidence before, but now you saw the cracks. The weight of being Riki Nishimura wasn’t something you could ever fully understand, but sitting across from him, you suddenly wished you could take even a sliver of it off his shoulders. You shifted slightly closer, nudging the pasta container between you. “You know…” you started carefully, trying not to make your words sound like pity, “I may not be able to relate to that but I want you to know as…someone who genuinely cares about you…” You huffed, looking up as you picked your words carefully. “That you are so beyond talented. Like have you seen you play?” You laughed, reaching out to hold his free hand. “The Kyrie comparisons are not far-fetched.” For a moment, he just stared at your hand resting over his, fork frozen in mid-air again like he’d forgotten how to move. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His thumb brushed against your knuckles once, deliberate but subtle, almost as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

“I mean it. You’re absolutely undeniable and while I can only imagine how much pressure is on you, I never want you to forget to live in the moment. Nor forget who you are in the process.” For a beat, his gaze stayed locked on yours, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. The fork slipped quietly from his fingers, forgotten against the edge of the container. His hand stayed under yours though, warm and steady, like he was afraid to let go.

You gave his hand another squeeze, leaning in just a little closer. “Riki, you’re not just some highlight reel or a name on a scouting report. You’re…you. The guy who makes sure I eat, who shows up at my dorm with pasta salad in a crocheted bag, who can make me laugh even when I’m trying not to.” You smiled softly, your eyes searching his. “You’re already enough—more than enough—even without all the basketball.” His jaw tightened, like he was fighting something inside himself, but his eyes softened. That little spark of mischief you were used to seeing in him wasn’t there this time—just something vulnerable, raw. And a tinge of something you could only identify as guilt. But you didn’t see how that could apply to this situation. You didn’t pry further. Riki nodded, then smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but he turned his hand beneath yours to grip it and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Assuming this topic was just extremely touchy for him, you turned your hand to hold his cheek, lightly scratching his jaw. “No need for a ‘thank you.’” His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, like the simple act unraveled something tight in his chest. He leaned into your palm, faint stubble barely grazing your fingertips as his breath steadied against your skin. When he opened his eyes again, there was a quiet earnestness in them that made your stomach flip. “You make me sound so…saint-like.”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, that’s the last word I’d use for your dumbass.”

—

As the night went on, you and Riki found yourself on your bed. 

Nothing intense, nothing extreme. It was a twin XL, what could you really do? But despite that, you two both found some old movie that you’d seen a million times to watch on your projector.

The movie washed your walls in soft flickers of light, the dialogue barely audible under the quiet hum of the projector. Riki stretched out beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other lazily draped near your side like he was claiming space without meaning to. The bed was laughably small for two people, every shift making the springs creak, but neither of you complained. At some point, you realized you weren’t even paying attention to the movie. Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, his shirt soft under your skin, and his steady heartbeat beneath it was far more distracting than whatever was happening on screen.

“Hey,” Riki murmured after a while, his voice low, like even the characters on the screen didn’t need to hear. “Next time…you’re coming to my place. No offense to the twin XL, but it’s not exactly built for two.” You snorted, scooting closer as you wrapped your arm around his waist and leg over his hips. Riki stiffened for half a second at the sudden weight of you practically curling into him, then melted into it, his arm sliding instinctively around your shoulders. A grin tugged at his lips as he tilted his head down to look at you. “Oh, so you like being close, huh? You could’ve just said that instead of pretending the bed was the problem.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your own mouth. “Please. I’m just making the best out of limited square footage.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling you tighter against his side, his fingers idly tracing circles into your upper arm. His free hand ran up and down your bare thigh—the warmth in his hand nothing compared to what was in the room.

The slow drag of his palm along your thigh sent a ripple of heat through you, his touch unhurried but deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing. The movie faded further into background noise, some distant murmur you couldn’t even pretend to follow. “You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” Riki teased, his breath brushing the top of your head. “What happened to all that smart talk about square footage?”

You tilted your chin up, lips twitching into a smirk despite the way your pulse betrayed you. “Maybe I’m conserving energy.” “Oh?” His thumb pressed lightly into your skin before trailing higher, testing the waters. His eyes flicked down to yours, the grin on his face softening just enough to make your chest tighten. “Energy for what, baby?”

The space between you felt paper-thin, your leg hooked over his hip pulling him closer with every breath. His shirt smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something undeniably him—the citrus smell you always caught a whiff of, and suddenly the twin XL didn’t feel too small at all—it felt like it was forcing you into a choice. His question lingered in the air, heavier than the blankets draped over you both. Your heart thudded against your ribs as if it were trying to answer for you. You tilted your face up toward him, close enough now that the glow of the projector painted his features in soft light—sharp jaw, lashes low but trained on you, lips just parted like he was waiting. For a beat, neither of you moved. The hum of the movie filled the silence, but you barely registered it. Then, like gravity had made the choice for you, you leaned in.

Riki met you halfway.

The kiss was unhurried at first, his lips brushing yours in the lightest graze, as though he was testing to see if you’d pull away. But you didn’t—you pressed back, your hand sliding up to curl into his shirt near his chest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His grip at your thigh tightened, pulling you closer, angling you so there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened almost naturally, like you’d both been holding your breath for weeks and finally let go. His hand slid higher on your thigh, steady but not rushed, while your fingers tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt, urging him closer. The twin bed creaked beneath the shifting weight, the closeness of it all making your pulse race.

Riki angled his head, mouth moving against yours with a hunger that surprised even him—like he’d been trying to starve this part of himself and finally gave in. Your hand brushed along his jaw, thumb grazing the faint stubble there, and he made a sound low in his throat that only pulled you deeper into him. He leaned up, turning to hover over you halfway, springs of the bed whining at the action. But then—just as the air between you turned sharp with heat—he stilled. His lips slowed, then parted from yours, lingering close enough that you could still feel his breath ghost across your mouth. His hand fell from your thigh to rest limply against the sheets, no longer holding you.

“Riki?” you whispered, confusion threading your tone.

He didn’t look away, though something flickered in his eyes—something heavy, almost mournful. He managed a small smile, the kind that didn’t reach as far as it should. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Got a little carried away.” You searched his face, wanting to ask more, but the way his thumb brushed over your arm—gentle, reassuring—kept you quiet. He wasn’t shutting you out, not really, but whatever sat on his chest wasn’t something he was ready to spill. “Did something happ—”

Instead, he shook his head and pressed the lightest kiss to your temple, grounding, soft. “No, no, no, baby.” he said softly as the two of you were nearly nose-to-nose. “Nothing happened…” He smiled softly as he brushed a curl from your cheek, lightly letting his thumb brush on your lower lip. “Just…didn’t wanna ruin the moment, that’s all.” Your lips parted, ready to argue, to tell him he could never ruin a moment like this—but the way he looked at you stopped the words in your throat. There was a tenderness there, threaded with something heavier, something you didn’t dare press on in case it shattered the fragile quiet between you. So instead, you nodded faintly, your forehead brushing his as your breath mingled in the inch of space left between you. “You can…” you whispered, though your chest ached with the weight of everything unspoken. Riki’s hand left your lip to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. His smile lingered—gentle, almost apologetic—but his eyes softened in a way that made you feel like he saw you, really saw you, beneath all the noise.

He shifted, pressing another kiss to your hairline this time, lingering just long enough that you felt the sincerity tucked into it. “You want me to?” It seemed like every inch of you was melting into this old, creaky bed. That your literal bodily matter could act as a substitute for WD-40 if you both stayed like this. You’ve experienced intimate moments. Moments that made everything blur into background noise. And right now you heard nothing. Absolutely nothing despite the flickering projector and the soundtrack to the ending of 10 Things I Hate About You playing lightly. Yet all you heard was the pick up of your heart rate in your ears. And maybe your own breath. Despite that, you nodded without another word.

Riki leaned in slowly, kissing your cheek. Letting his pillowy lips get a different taste of you as his hand toys with your small hoop earring on your opposite ear. His touch was maddeningly careful, like he was savoring every second before it slipped away. His lips brushed along your jawline, feather-light, leaving a trail of warmth that had your breath hitching in your throat. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more space, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself. Each kiss was deliberate, patient—not hungry like before, but reverent, like he was mapping you in a language only he knew. He lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Um…I was planning something for this but—” He let out a shaky laugh, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed the grounding. “I feel like it’s something that I don’t want to hold out on anymore.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting from yours to the pillow, then back again like the words were fighting him on the way out. “I was gonna do this all different—make it special, not, y’know, while we’re half-squished on a squeaky bed watching a rom-com—but…” His hand dropped from your earring to rest gently against your chest, right over your racing heartbeat. “But I can’t sit here and pretend I don’t already know what I want.” He paused, breath unsteady. “I want you. As my girlfriend.”

The room went impossibly still, the hum of the projector fading behind the weight of his words. His voice cracked a little on the last word, like even saying it out loud cost him something. His thumb slowed against your collarbone, tracing nothing in particular, a small, restless circle. He was still looking at you—not cocky, not teasing—just wide-eyed, waiting. The guy who could command a whole court with one look suddenly couldn’t seem to breathe until you spoke. “I’m not talking to anyone else,” he added softly, like a confession he’d been holding onto. “Haven’t been. Haven’t even wanted to. I just…don’t wanna assume anything about you. I don’t wanna ruin what we already have.” The way he said it was so un-Riki—tentative, careful—that it almost broke your heart. You could feel his pulse under your palm where you still held his hoodie, just as erratic as yours. You didn’t even realize you were smiling until you were; the kind of smile that cracked you open from the inside out. “Riki…” you murmured, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

His brows pinched, nervous. “In a good way or…?”

“In a way where the answer’s already yes,” you said, your forehead brushing his. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.” The tension bled out of him in an instant, his breath catching on a laugh that sounded like relief. He pressed his forehead fully to yours, eyes closing, and let out a long, shaky exhale before kissing you—slow this time, smiling against your mouth.

—

Four months later

—

Life has been very weird for you. Not weird, weird. Just different. Good different.

Your skin is clear, grades stellar, Yasmin, Bella, and Riki were in one piece and the weather has been decent.

Dating Riki hadn’t turned your life upside down the way you thought it might. It wasn’t all fireworks and Instagram-worthy grand gestures. Instead, it was quieter things—the way he reminded you to eat between classes, the way his hoodie always “accidentally” ended up in your laundry pile, the way his laugh sounded different when it was just for you. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and those walks across an ice-slick campus, you realized: this wasn’t weird at all. This was the new normal. And, surprisingly? You liked it.

A relationship with Riki was nothing like you thought it’d be. In some way he was right, you didn’t really know him. “Public, but private” wasn’t really the right phrase anymore. Riki made sure people knew—he held your hand in the quad, kissed you goodbye outside lecture halls, and didn’t even flinch when Yasmin pulled out her phone to record the two of you bickering like an old married couple. Everyone knew you were his, and he was yours. But still, the most meaningful parts weren’t the ones out loud. Sure, he’d tug you into his lap at parties without caring who saw, but it was the softer moments—the way he’d tie your scarf tighter against the cold, or slide his coffee across the table without asking because he knew you needed it—that stuck with you most. Dating Riki wasn’t about hiding or flaunting. It was about existing together, naturally, in public and in private, like there’d never been a time you weren’t in each other’s lives.

Obviously, your bond with him was different than that of yours with Yasmin and Bella’s. Of course because you weren’t romantic with the girls but the friendship aspect wasn’t the same.  Yasmin and Bella were akin to sisters. Their love and friendship was unconditional, unwavering and greatly enough—you met them at freshman orientation and had been inseparable ever since.  The funny little traditions you had. Getting breakfast together every day, even if it was just coffee and a bagel wolfed down before an eight AM class. Your group FaceTimes that always started as study sessions but somehow devolved into debating which professor was most likely to secretly live in the library. Movie nights in Yasmin’s dorm where Bella inevitably fell asleep twenty minutes in, curled up like it was her own personal bed. With Yasmin and Bella, it was easy, almost familial—like home in human form. With Riki, it was…different. Not better, not worse. Just its own kind of important. He didn’t fit into the category of “friend” or “family.” He was the exception. The outlier that made sense.

Riki was an exception. And you noticed that in almost every avenue he occupied that he was an exception. In anything he put effort toward, he had this sort of competitive spirit that he wanted to be a person that was remembered. Not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in the way he showed up, consistently, like he was determined to leave a mark. On the court, in class, even in the way he memorized the little things about you—your coffee order, your weird habit of doodling stars in the margins of your notes, the fact that you hated the word “moist” enough to dramatically gag every time someone said it. Being with him didn’t feel like you were keeping up with a storm or chasing after someone out of reach. It felt like he wanted you right there, beside him. Your mom called it the honeymoon phase and that very well may be true. But like everything with Riki, you tried to live in the moment. Which is bizarre seeing as you overthink everything else. Lately, the girls have been getting used to seeing him around a lot more. While Riki never wanted to overtake your life nor take time away from your friends, he at times found himself getting cool with them as well.

The girls and you stood at the waffle station like usual. Bella, as always, was overseeing the operation. Yasmin was yapping about something related to the bad Wattpad movie she watched last night. 

“Dude,” you smiled. “What are you waffling about?” You nudge her with your elbow, snickering as you cover your mouth. 

Yasmin froze, looking at you blankly. “You did not—”

“—yes, she did,” Bella cut in, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “Every morning, a new low.”

“Hey! Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” You snorted as you reached around her to grab the mini cups for the syrup. The pounds of syrup that Yasmin liked drenching her waffles in.

The brunette laughed, “we love you because you’re beautiful. But that shit just wasn’t funny.”

You sigh and wrap your arm around the girl, to which she instinctively rests her head on your shoulder, wrapping her arm around your waist. “You guys are fun-suckers.”

Bella snorted, already halfway through pouring batter into the waffle iron. “Please. We’re the only reason you’re tolerable before ten AM.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “You wound me.”

“Good,” she said dryly, snapping the iron shut like she was sealing a deal. “Maybe it’ll stop the puns.”

Yasmin cackled at that, pulling back from your shoulder just enough to look you in the eye. “Nah, she thrives off this. You’d have to physically mute her.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Bella muttered, reaching for her coffee.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. The three of you moved like clockwork—Bella in charge of batter, you in charge of toppings, Yasmin handling the syrup like it was an Olympic sport. The waffle station wasn’t glamorous, but it was your spot. The one ritual you kept no matter how busy the semester got. That’s when you felt a familiar hand snake around your waist from behind. Riki leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Did I miss roll call, or are you guys planning breakfast without me again?”

Bella groaned without even looking up. “Speak of the devil.”

 Riki gently turned you around to face him, taking the toppings from your grip as he leans in. “Hi baby,” placing his lips on yours gently as he moved a hand to rest on your jaw. His thumb grazing your cheek as you reciprocate. “Mm! I missed that.” You felt your cheeks warm instantly, caught off guard by how easily he could do that—just walk into your morning routine and make everything tilt a little. You tasted the faint sweetness of syrup on his lips, the smell of his cologne cutting through the waffle-station chaos.

“Riki,” you murmured against his mouth, a laugh caught in your throat. “You’re gonna make Yasmin drop the syrup.”

“I already did,” Yasmin deadpanned, though when you turned your head she was smirking. “Don’t mind me. Continue your public display of affection.”

Bella groaned dramatically, flipping a waffle with more force than necessary. “Please, at least let me finish cooking before you two start fucking next to the chocolate chips.”

Riki chuckled against your cheek, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “They’re jealous,” he whispered, his thumb still brushing your jaw. “Let them be jealous.”

You swatted at his chest lightly, though your grin betrayed you. “Please,”

And finally, the four of you sat at your usual corner table—Riki having tagged along like it was the most natural thing in the world. The dining hall buzzed with the Monday morning chaos of clinking trays and half-awake chatter, but somehow, your table felt like its own little bubble. Riki slid into the booth beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table, and immediately stole one of your strawberries without shame. You were used to it. Him stealing your food; like a tax, if you will.

“So what are y’all doing with your weekends?” You hum as you watch Riki cut your half of the waffle into pieces.

He perked up mid-cut, glancing at you with that spark in his eyes that always came out when basketball got brought up. “Ooh, we’re having an away game on Thursday,” he said, the words already carrying a hint of excitement. “It’s at Syracuse, so we’ll be gone for like…two nights, maybe three depending on how long Coach decides to torture us.”

Yasmin and Bella roll their eyes simultaneously. “Dude, ‘Cuse is the worst.” Bella sighed as she slumped back into her chair.

“You’re just a big ball of positivity this morning.” Riki hums as he feeds you a piece of waffle. Hovering his hand below it to catch any syrup that might’ve dripped onto his hand.  You accept the food and nod, speaking through your chewing as you cover your mouth with your hand. “Yeah, what’s up with you? You’ve been acting like a buttmunch all morning.”

Bella groaned, stabbing at her strawberries like they’d personally wronged her. “I’m sorry guys, I just really don’t wanna go to that fucking game.” Riki wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side as he leaned back into the cushiony seat. “‘Cuse is not that bad. They play dirty but that’s nothing we can’t get around.”

“Dirty?” You looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah,” Yasmin nodded as she sipped her apple juice. “Last season, they fouled one of the guys—Nicholas—so hard. He went for a layup and they shoved him. Fractured his wrist. It was crazy, I felt so bad.”

Your brows lifted, “no way. Did the ref even call it?”

“They did,” Riki sighed. “But at that point, what can you do? You suspend a player, he’s on the bench for the rest of the season—fine. But one of our players is benched indefinitely, has to go to PT for his wrist, he may not play the same, whatever—it was just so much worse for Nico.” He rolled his eyes as he recounted the events of the past. Stirring anger in his stomach as he remembers watching that happen. Bella shook her head. “Yeah, it was bad. It wasn’t like a life-altering injury or anything but it was so shitty on Syracuse’s part.”

“Well…what are you guys gonna do?” You sigh as you rested your hand on Riki’s muscly thigh and leaned your head on his shoulder. 

Yasmin chimed in, “not much. There’s nothing we can do. I mean, their cheer team isn’t really a problem. They’re always super nice. It’s just the fuckass team that gives these guys issues.” She nods to Riki.

“So when do you guys leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Bella brought a raspberry to her mouth to chew, looking down at the threading of her skirt—her chewing halts suddenly. “Wait…”

Yasmin smiles brightly, “don’t. Because if we’re thinking the same thing then I’m for it.”

“Oh, we are thinking the same thing,” Bella said, setting her fork down with a little clink. “Babes, you should so come with us!”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Wait, what?” you coughed, slapping the table with your free hand. “You’re inviting me to Syracuse?”

Bella leaned forward, eyes sparkling with that dangerous “I have a terrible idea” kind of excitement. “Think about it. Road trip! We have to cheer anyway, eat gas station snacks, complain about hotel beds—”

“—get screamed at by Syracuse fans and possibly catch another stray basketball to the face,” You interrupted, waving her fork. “Yeah, super fun.”

Riki smacked his teeth. “Don’t even joke about shit like that.”

Bella laughed, flicking a crumb at him. “Relax, Captain Protective. She’s not gonna get decked by a ball again.”

“I’m not opposed to her coming.” Riki clarified, “obviously. But we all get to ride on the team bus, why would you waste your own gas?” 

Yasmin grinned, already scheming. “Because we’re not on the team, genius. We’re with cheer, which means we have to take the spirit bus.”

Riki’s expression twisted. “The spirit bus? The one that smells like glitter and spray tan?”

You furrowed your brows as you leaned away from him, letting his arm fall back on the seat. “How do you know what the spirit bus smells like?” You ask him with suspicion—even mildly irritated.

Riki froze, eyes flicking toward you like a kid caught stealing snacks before dinner. “Huh?” he stalled, fork halfway to his mouth. “I mean…I’ve heard things.”

Bella immediately perked up, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Heard things, huh? Or experienced things?”

Riki set his fork down, leaning forward defensively. “Okay, first of all, I was on there one time. One time. Coach made me grab the banner they left behind after homecoming, and it was like stepping into Candyland.”

You raised an unimpressed brow. “Mhm. So what you’re telling me is that you voluntarily stepped foot on the cheer bus, alone, to grab a banner.”

He pointed at you, shaking his head. “Don’t do that tone thing. It wasn’t like that.”

You squinted at him, “I’m not doing anything.”

“Ooh…” Yasmin murmured to Bella. “Boyfriend in trouble…” She sang as she shimmied her shoulders. 

Riki smiled nervously, eyes darting between you and your two grinning friends. “No, no—don’t let her fool you. She’s trying to make this sound like some scandalous cheer bus rendezvous when I was literally in there for thirty seconds.”

Bella gasped dramatically. “Thirty seconds? That’s all it takes.” Yasmin nearly spit out her juice laughing. You pressed your lips together, trying to look serious but failing miserably as Riki’s ears started turning red. “Wow. I thought you’d last longer than that.”

Riki raised his brows in surprise. “Don’t get cute, baby.” He smiles as he feeds you a grape.

Yasmin and Bella gagged dramatically at the sight but decided to move on. The blonde grinned, leaning across the table. “Admit it, you were curious. You wanted to see how the other half lives.”

“The other half smells like hair spray and glitter glue!” Riki protested, groaning as you finally let out a giggle. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You rested your chin on your palm, smirking up at him. “Maybe. It’s cute when you get defensive.”

“You,” He smiled as he pointed at you. “Are evil.”

You gasped in mock offense. “Evil? I prefer ‘charming,’ thank you very much.”

Riki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms but fighting a smile. “Yes, mama—you are very charming but I’d rather you say like messing with me.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you make it so easy.”

Bella snorted. “Yeah, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, dude. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Riki threw her a flat look. “You’re just mad ‘cause your waffles are hard as frisbees.”

“They were abstract,” Bella countered, stabbing one with her fork. “Fuck you, they’re still edible.”

Yasmin laughed so hard she nearly choked on her juice. “Yeah, okay, Picasso.”

You watched the three of them bicker, warmth flooding your chest. Riki didn’t just fit in with your friends anymore—he belonged there, like he’d always been part of the picture. The ease of it all made your heart do that stupid little flip it did whenever you realized how much you liked this boy.

—

Later that day

—

After some relenting, you decided to come with the girls to the game. It didn’t take much convincing.

But even then, something felt amiss. 

Ironically, the day that Riki accidentally knocked you in the face with that ball—it unlocked some type of sixth sense. One where you could just feel, when your left cheek throbbed—that something was about to go left. Yasmin and Bella were making their way off the court and into the arena hallway. Practice was over and they were headed to the locker room to freshen up. As usual, Yasmin was buzzing, Bella was limping. How she hasn’t just quit the team yet, none of you know. As the girls guzzled water, they heard commotion coming from the men’s locker room. The sound was the usual post-practice banter. Laughter, some music echoing off the tile. 

And for some reason, this was the one time the girls decided to be nosy. The guys were pumped after their own practice—adrenaline and testosterone running rapidly through the air. Towels were slung low on hips, sneakers squeaking against the wet tile, music blaring from someone’s speaker. The room smelled like victory and cheap body spray.

“Yo, Riki, be honest,” one of them called out through the steam, “you and that girl—what’s the deal?”

Riki, mid-laugh, froze with a water bottle halfway to his mouth. “What girl?” he asked, but the grin tugging at his lips already betrayed him.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” another chimed in. “The one that’s always waiting after practice. The one with the big eyes. Cute face?”

The guys erupted into hollers and mock ‘oohs.’ Riki shook his head, trying—and failing—to bite back a smile.

Outside the door, Yasmin and Bella’s jaws practically hit the floor.

Yasmin whispered, “Oh, we are so not supposed to be hearing this,” but she leaned in closer anyway.

Bella, deadpan, muttered, “You mean you’re not supposed to. I’m locked in.”

You’d just arrived at the end of the hall when you saw them crouched near the door like undercover agents.

“...What are you guys doing?” you whispered.

Both girls whipped around, wide-eyed, trying and failing to look innocent. Yasmin gestured frantically. “Shh! He’s talking about you!” And just like that, your stomach dropped—and your left cheek started to throb again. You dropped your backpack to the floor as you crouched next to the girls. Stabling yourself against Yasmin as you held her shoulders.

Maki leaned against the opposite lockers, facing Riki with a smirk. “So you get any action yet?”

Riki scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned to his locker—grabbing a clean towel to wipe his bare chest. “Is pussy all you guys think about?”

Some of the guys laughed, Maki included. “Well yeah, sometimes. Especially if I’ve got a girl and she hasn’t put out in the few months we’ve been together.” He whistles, antagonizing the point guard. “I hoped you’d score more than that.” Yasmin’s eyes widened so hard you thought they might fall out of her head. Bella smacked her arm, whisper-yelling, “Oh my god, he did not just say that—”

You didn’t even breathe. Every muscle in your body went rigid, eyes fixed on the thin crack of light between the door and the frame.

Inside, Riki let out a dry laugh, low and humorless. “You don’t know what I do, dumbass. Who do you think I am?”

If there was one thing that you knew about men, it was that it only took but so much to make them crack. They were easy. Toy with them, keep them on their toes. And you prided yourself on knowing Riki. His quirks like touching a doorframe before walking through. Scratching his jaw when he was irritated.

But you certainly knew his type: you. Because he told you. He made sure you knew through his words but action as well. He likes someone that he can upkeep a rapport with. A fun personality and a sharp mouth to match his. Someone who could keep up with him in a room full of noise, toss a jab back when he threw one first. You’d always joked that you were built to spar with him, not swoon over him. It amazed you, really. Because narrowing down the versions of Riki you saw, you knew that there was one side that you’d experienced up until this point wouldn’t make an appearance. The nasty, egotistical one. 

Your cheek throbbed again.

“I think you’re better than this.” Maki laughed. “You’re whipped.” Snorting as he grabbed his towel to swipe Riki with it as the rest of the team followed. Spanking him with their towels as all of them shared laughs—Riki included. “Hey! Hey hey hey!” He straightened up as he shrunk into himself before. Laughing as he nudged the guys off. “I’m not whipped! Okay? You really think the Riki Nishimura, basketball extraordinaire is whipped?” He says dramatically, as if he’s some king giving a royal decree.

“Oh fuck…” Yasmin mumbled to herself in panic, hand feeling for yours as she gripped it tightly.  But Riki kept going. “All these girls are the same, Maki.” He smiled—slickly, as he got closer to the shorter lowerclassmen. “Just another hole to fill and if you think I can’t get any then you’re as dumb as you look.” Riki’s eyes scanned the younger as he poked his forehead. “Let Big Bro show you something.”

You froze. Your stomach dropped into your shoes, and your left cheek throbbed—not just from the memory of the ball, but from the words echoing across the locker room. Yasmin’s grip on your hand tightened like she was trying to anchor both of you to reality. “Nope. Nope. Nope,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Bella’s jaw had practically hit the floor, a mix of disbelief and shock frozen on her face. “What the fuck?” You didn’t even let yourself finish the thought. Riki’s swaggering smirk, the way he leaned over the younger guy, his words sliding out like they were rehearsed, hit you harder than any basketball ever could. This wasn’t the playful, teasing Riki you knew. This was calculated, confident, and…something darker. Something that felt like a stranger pretending to be the man you loved.

“Show me what? How to not get play?” Maki shook his head with a laugh. “You’re not that guy, trust me.”

“I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing.” Riki shrugged, “fucking around and winning.” Your stomach twisted. That laugh—the arrogance—it didn’t belong to the Riki you knew, the one who kissed and touched you like the prize you were, who stole your kiwi, who teased you just enough to make you laugh. This version was a performance. And part of you hated that you even recognized it, that it was still so convincingly him.

Yasmin leaned closer, whispering in your ear, “We should go…now.” Her hand squeezed yours like she was trying to pull both of you back to safety. You hesitated, eyes glued to Riki. He was laughing now, tossing the younger guy a smirk like it was all a game. The energy was intoxicating, magnetic, but it made your chest feel tight. You wanted to call him out, to make him stop—but at the same time, you were frozen, caught somewhere between anger, disbelief, and the part of you that still loved him fiercely. Yasmin’s voice broke through again, urgently. “Seriously, we’re leaving before this gets worse.” But how could it?  You let her tug you gently, glancing back at Riki one last time. His grin was still there, but now it was softer, more familiar. And somehow, that made your chest ache even more, caught between relief and frustration.

—

The three ended up in Bella’s dorm, which was the closest to the arena. You knew you couldn’t make it all the way to your dorm without breaking down.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, the chaos of the arena felt miles away. The muffled sounds of the men’s locker room were replaced by the faint hum of the radiator and the soft creak of the dorm floorboards. Yasmin dropped onto Bella’s bed with a dramatic groan, clutching her water bottle like it was a life preserver. You sank onto the edge, hands pressed to your face as you tried to steady your breathing. The image of Riki—the conceited, dark version of him—kept flashing in your mind. It wasn’t that you doubted him. You knew him. You thought you did. But that side, that…performative dominance? It was a reminder that there were layers of him you hadn’t touched, weren’t sure you ever would. And then the floodgates came down.

Grabbing one of her pillows, you buried your face as sobs racked through your chest. Yasmin and Bella froze for a moment, exchanging a glance that said without words: do we intervene, or give her a second?

Yasmin was the first to react, gently kneeling beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Hey…hey, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “Breathe. Just breathe.” You couldn’t stop the shaking, couldn’t stop the tears that spilled into the pillow. “I…he’s…he’s not just…he’s…” Your words stumbled and fractured, barely audible. The part of you that tried to rationalize, to ground yourself in months of trust and tenderness with Riki, felt useless against the image of the stranger-like version of him.

Bella joined in, kneeling on the other side and grabbing your hands gently. “I got you,” she said simply. “We’ve got you. Nothing he did—or who he was being in there—changes the fact that we’re gonna be here for you every step of the way.” Your body trembled against them, the sobs coming in uneven waves. Yasmin rested her chin on your shoulder, humming softly like she had when you were a kid after a nightmare. Bella squeezed your hands, her eyes warm but steady. Together, they anchored you, a living reminder that the world wasn’t just Riki and his shadows.

After what felt like an eternity, the sobs slowed. Your chest heaved as you tried to suck in air, finally lifting your face from the pillow to see their concerned, gentle expressions. “I…thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I just…I knew it, bro.” You punched your palm in frustration. “My parents fucking told me.” Your voice wavered as warm tears ran down your face. “I should’ve listened to my fucking gut!” Yasmin’s arms tightened around you, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Hey, hey…shh. No blaming yourself. None of this is on you.” She rubbed small circles into your shoulder, comforting you like she always did.

Bella nodded firmly, her grip on your hands unyielding. “Exactly. You’re not responsible for him being…whatever that was. You’ve been trusting, you’ve been patient—that’s all you could do. And yeah, maybe your gut had warnings, but you didn’t listen—so what? You’re a human being.” You pressed your face back into the pillow, muffling a sob, but the two of them stayed right there, unwavering. The warmth from Yasmin on one side, Bella on the other, felt like the only solid ground in a storm that had your world tilting.

“Hey.” Bella continues firmly, bringing your face up to look at her. Her blue eyes locking with your own eyes. “Fuck that guy. If he wants to speak about you in such a disgusting, deplorable way to stroke his own ego—by all means. But that doesn’t make or break you. It only says something—everything—about him.” You blinked through the tears, letting her words sink in, heavy and grounding all at once. The anger bubbling in your chest mingled with the ache, a strange but familiar cocktail. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly. “It’s not me. It’s…him.” Yasmin squeezed your shoulder, her grip firm, unyielding. “Exactly. And we’re not letting that bullshit stick to you. He can act like a fool all he wants—doesn’t change who you are, or what you deserve.” Bella gave a small, almost fierce smile, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “You are not defined by what some guy tries to pull, okay? Not Riki, not Maki, not anyone. You’re solid. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re a fucking—you’re absolutely stunning. A smoke show. And—fuck it—you’re ours. And we don’t let anyone talk down to our girl.”

You let out a shaky laugh, more release than humor, leaning into their warmth. “I—I just…God, I hate that it stings.” “And it will,” Yasmin said softly, but firmly. “For a second, for a day, maybe even a week. But that’s fine. You feel it, then we leave it there. You don’t have to deal with it alone. Not now, not ever.” The room fell quiet for a moment, save for your uneven breaths and the soft hum of the radiator. And in that silence, you realized something—this wasn’t just comfort. This was armor. Solid, unbreakable, built of friendship and love that no locker room bravado could ever touch. And instead of making you feel some sense of support, love, security—it sent the wrath of the devil through you.

The signs were there from the beginning, the chasing, the bombarding his way into your life. The hesitance during the first kiss. The trying so hard to make you like him then laying it on thick—it was all right in front of you.  You let him encroach on your girl time—the fact that you even let him get close to the two most important people in your life felt like betrayal in itself. Like you handed him the keys to your sanctuary and he just stomped through it.  Blows to your pride were something you didn’t take lightly and this was something you couldn’t just swallow.  What about your feelings? What about the other, maybe, dozens of girls he’d used like a tissue and tossed to the bin?! You were sick and tired of seeing so many girls and women—people—fall victim to assholes like Riki Nishimura. 

Just another hole? Fine. You need retribution. And you need it now.

Heat turned to ice in your veins and something in you snapped neat and clean—not a sob this time, not a plea. A cold, focused fury rose up, quiet and terrible. You didn’t want a meltdown anymore.

“I’m going to ruin his life.” You mumbled to yourself as your jaw clicked. “I’m going to make him wish he never met me.”

Yasmin and Bella froze, giving each other looks. Before Yasmin spoke up, “hey…” She cleared her throat. “Let’s ease up, okay? You’re upset and—”

You sit up straight, getting up from the bed as you angrily paced back and forth. “No. I’m fucking livid. I mean who does this dickhead think he is?! Me?! Nothing but a fucking hole to fuck when he’s the one that damn near—no—begged me to even talk to him?” As the two girls looked at you, both of their expressions differed. Yasmin, like always, led with her heart. Her gentle features framed by her curtain bangs, she was always the one to consider someone before anything. The friend that would give her last meal if it meant you ate. The person that would sit on the phone with you for hours just to hear you vent if it meant that it’d help you.

Bella led with her brain. Her wavy hair was out of her face, wearing her emotions for you to see plainly. She had such a knack for getting the both of you out of sticky, overthink-y situations. She’d tell you when you were being ridiculous but would dive in the deep end with you if you so chose. And yet, they looked at you just as one would expect.  Yasmin was on the verge of tears herself, her eyes brimming as her lips pouted. Seeing you this unhinged was so beyond her and she shook her head, looking down at her own hands. 

Bella was locked, though. Her sharp features rested calmly though her jaw was set. Which made sense. Someone does something outrageous, she’s upset. That makes sense. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice steady in that way that made you want to either hug her or throw something. “Then what’s the plan, genius? You gonna torch his car? Leak something? Because as much as I’d love to see that boy panic for once in his life, I think you want something smarter than that.”

Her calmness only made your pulse pound harder. You wanted movement. Consequence. You wanted Riki’s name to taste like ash in every mouth that said it. But even as the fury roared, Bella’s words dug in—she wasn’t dismissing you. She was challenging you to make it count. Yasmin stood, wiping under her eyes and grabbing your arm gently. “You’re hurt, dude. Like, badly. And that’s okay. But if you do something you can’t take back, you’ll regret it—and he’ll still win. You’re better than this. Don’t stoop to his level.”

“Or what, Yas? Just let him give me his ass to kiss?” You shrugged, laughing humorlessly. “I—”

“Dude, just break up with him! Call it quits. But you don’t have to try to ruin his entire—”

“Look,” Bella stood up as she chimed in. “In some way, Yas is right. While I’d love to see his life ruined—stooping lower doesn’t exactly do you any favors. Because then what? Guys get off easy, you know that. You’d just be the bitter, scorned lover and would have an entire fan base and university hate you. Is it worth that?” She said carefully.

You stared at her like she’d just said something in another language. “So I’m supposed to just…what? Move on? Pretend he didn’t just violate like that?”

Bella exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. I’m saying—you play it smart. He wants you to be emotional. He wants drama because it makes him look composed. Don’t give him that. If you’re gonna do some shit then just know that I don’t condone it. But…” She pursed her lips as she cleared her throat. “I’m down. What are we doing?” Yasmin looks at Bella like she has three heads. “Are we being serious right now?” Then looking back at you. “Hello? Am I speaking a language you don’t understand? Just dump the guy, it’s not worth it—I’m telling you!” She held your arms as she looked at you—pleading. “You may be hot now but I’m telling you —mark my words—you will regret it.”

“Then let me,” you shrug, “look, I’m not gonna kill him or anything.”

Yasmin blinked, her nostrils flaring as she loosened her grip on your arms. Leaning back as she let out a breath. “…Fine. But I still vote you dump him and skip the theatrics. I do not want to be in a courtroom later.”

“Oh stop it, Yasmin.” Bella smacked her teeth as she waved her off. “She’s just going to fuck with him a little probably.”

“Exactly,” you nod. “I have ideas…but I’m not gonna break up with him.” You smiled deviously, “I’m just going to throw him off his game.”

—

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come, mama?” Riki frowned as he stood by his apartment door. 

The Syracuse game was tomorrow and the basketball and cheer teams were leaving in t-minus one hour. Since both your friends and Riki invited you to come along, you figured you’d stay behind. For obvious reasons. “I’m sure, baby.” You sighed as you leaned against the door. “I have a presentation for my Ethics class that I’ve hardly started. I gotta lock in.” 

The tall man nudged his suitcase away, “are you sure? You’re more than welcome to come.” He steps forward, grabbing your hands as he kisses them. Making his way up your wrists and it took everything in you not to vomit in your mouth. “You know I play better with you there.” “Sorry, but I really can’t. If I miss this deadline, I could fail. It’s a major assignment.” You shrug a shoulder. “You know how it is…”

Riki nods, “I do, mama, you know I do.” He pouts as he lets go of your arm and pulls you into a hug. “Well…” He exhales dramatically. “I’ll miss you. And I left you the key and my card on the counter. The place is yours.” He leaned down to peck your lips to which you reciprocated. Kissing Riki at this juncture contested your morals. Half of you felt bitter, the other sweet. That the recollection of his words then and now threw you for a loop. You battled with hating him with your brain but loving him with your body. You cupped his face as you tilted your head into the kiss. Lips gliding across his as smacking reverberated throughout the quiet pad. He hummed into the exchange as his hands rested on your ribcage, just below your breasts. Sliding down to your waist but you pulled back before he got any ideas.

“I’ll call you. I wanna hear all about your night, okay?” Riki kissed your knuckles again like he was sealing a promise and then he was gone—suitcase rolling, keys jangling, the door shutting with that small finality that suddenly made the apartment feel way too big. You stood there an extra beat, breathing out the sight of him walking away down the hall, feeling that weird cocktail of relief and venom fizz in your gut. You locked the door and immediately got to work. You started with something simple.

Going to the fridge, you shuffled through the fridge for his protein shakes and green juices. And without a second thought did you gather them all along the counter. You lined every bottle up like little soldiers about to meet their maker. Vanilla whey, chocolate whey, matcha greens, the ominous “superfuel” one that smelled like spinach and dirt. Every one of them—fuel for his precious pregame routine, the routine he swore by. The same routine he’d bragged about perfecting since middle school.

You grabbed the first bottle.

Twist, breaking the seal with a crack. Pour. Down the sink it went, a depressing brown waterfall glug-glug-glugging into the drain.

It felt like sex.

You didn’t stop there. One by one, you emptied every single drink. Protein? Gone. Greens? Gone. That weird probiotic mango kefir he always insisted “was life-changing?” Down the pipes like it was nothing.

By bottle five, you were humming. By bottle nine, you were laughing. By bottle thirteen, you were leaning your weight on the counter like, wow, I’m actually unwell. But oh, it felt good. When you were done, the counter looked like a crime scene. Caps everywhere. Empty bottles lined up like trophies. The sink foam-green from the mixture of whatever the hell he’d been consuming. You rinsed the sink out of the mess, gathered the bottles in a garbage bag to take out—not leaving a trace. You wiped your hands on a dish towel, chest rising and falling as the first hit of petty victory lit your veins. 

Step one complete. Sabotage the routine.

Step two?

You opened the pantry. Protein powder. Pre-workout. Hydration packs. Then, you took the pre-workout and loosened the lid by half a turn. Just loose enough that, when he inevitably grabbed it in a rush, the powder would pop out in a satisfying puff—onto him, the counter, the floor.

Your phone buzzed.

angel: what’s the status, brittany snow?

You: all the bodily fluids GONEEE

pretty princess: girl PLEASE what does that even mean

You: his nasty ass shakes

pretty princess: EEEYUCK ???

angel: LMFAOOO

You smiled, pocketing your phone.

You walked into his bedroom next—the sanctum. Neat, annoyingly neat. Bed made. Shoes lined up. Posters straight. Laundry basket empty.

Perfect. You didn’t have to destroy anything. You just…shifted.

Nothing too far—just enough out of place that he’d be tearing the room apart in thirty minutes. His practice hoodie? You folded it and tucked it under the bed. His favorite beanie? Behind the headboard.

Small inconveniences. It’s all super silly, but throwing someone out of their rigid routine meant a lot more than one thought.

Then you opened his nightstand drawer and saw it.

The Polaroid of you he kept. The one from your second date. Crooked, sun-washed, you laughing with your face turned away from the camera. You simply flipped it faced down.

That was enough. He’d open the drawer and know something had shifted.

And then, for the finishing touch, you slid a sticky note onto his mirror. hi baby, did some cleaning up <3

You stepped back to survey the apartment—quiet, calm, meticulously disturbed.

A masterpiece of emotional warfare.

You dusted off your hands and whispered to yourself, almost sweetly: 

Your cheek didn’t throb this time. It pulsed.

You weren’t done. 

Not even close.

— Two days later

1 Missed Call from Riki

riki: baby what happened to all my shakes and juices…?

you: can’t call, in class rn what do you mean?

riki: sorry mama but i got back to the crib and i saw that all of my juices were gone did you clean?

you: yeah i left a note, sorry idk why i didn’t just text you that i cleaned up lmao ??

You stared at the blinking cursor, tongue poking into your cheek as you imagined him standing in front of his open fridge, hands on his hips like somebody’s stressed single mother. Perfect.

riki: ok but like all of my juices? every single one?

you: …why does that matter?

Three dots. Then none. Then the message bubble disappeared like he was pacing around his kitchen trying to form a coherent thought with no electrolytes in his bloodstream.

riki: i’m not mad, baby just confused they were FULL bottles did you throw them away??

You leaned back against the couch, laughing as you snuggled into your duvet.

you: yeah, they were old. dates looked weird. didn’t wanna risk expired protein diarrhea in my lover <3

Another long pause.

riki: babe those were bought THREE DAYS AGO like t h r e e  d a y s  a g o ??

you: oh. baby i’m so sorry.

There was something deeply satisfying about imagining him standing there, fridge light illuminating the disbelief on his face, probably blinking like he’d been smacked with a baguette.

riki: ok…it’s fine…it’s fine i’ll just get more in the morning before shootaround it’s cool

Liar. You could smell the stress through the phone.

you: you good? you seem stressed

riki: no i’m good i gotta go to team meetings rn but can i call u later? want ur voice before i sleep, or maybe u could sleepover

You stared at the message. You could almost feel the shift—like he was trying to recalibrate, shake off the unease creeping under his skin.

you: we’ll see. depends on my workload.

Saying that but you know damn well you’re going to sleepover.

riki: …ok i love you

You typed. Erased. Typed again.

you: love you too

You locked your phone, letting it drop onto your thigh as the familiar pulse flickered through your left cheek. That tiny, electric reminder of what started all this.

—

Later that day

—

“Goodnight, mama.” 

“Night, baby.” You smiled as you leaned over, pressing a kiss to Riki’s lips as he sighed into it. He ran his hand down your back as he broke the kiss to press a smooch to your cheek. “I love you forever.” He mumbled against your cheek. “You love me?”

You rolled your eyes, chest burning with anguish and resentment. But you had to keep the ruse. “Mhm,” turning your face to peck his jaw as you found he looked at you. Resting his hand on your cheek as his chocolatey eyes melted at the sight of you under the warm light.  And somehow, seeing him—seeing him look at you in this way almost entrapped you again. Made you remember who he was to you. The pop-ups with dinner, the random dates, the proud affection he gave you.  But it was just that. Because what happened? What did you do? Where did you go wrong? And how was he just able to turn it on and off that way? You saw the glint in his eyes, the way he slightly towered over his junior in the locker room as he degraded you for tens of other people to hear. As humiliating as it is, he knew you’d have to be around those same people. Greeting them, sitting courtside and cheering them on. It was almost sociopathic.

“Good. Because I love you even more.” He leaned in to peck your lips repeatedly. “Push me off or I won’t leave these lips alone.” He purred, bringing his hand to your jaw. 

You smiled, returning them before you pulled back and he let you. “Go to sleep, casanova.” Riki grinned—soft, lazy, stupidly in love—like the world outside that bedroom didn’t exist. Like he hadn’t gutted you less than a week ago without even knowing he held the knife. He lay back, tugging you down with him until your foreheads brushed and his thumb stroked your cheek with that reverent tenderness reserved for saints and girlfriends. Not holes.

“Mm…I’ll sleep if you kiss me one more time,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice dipped in honey. “C’mon, mama…just one.”

He was so close you could feel every breath, warm and even, laced with trust so blind it felt like a dare. You huffed a soft laugh, leaning in, letting your lips graze his—barely there, feather-light. Just enough to sell it. Just enough to keep him wrapped in the version of you he thought he owned. His lids fluttered shut like it was instinct, like your touch was the last thing he needed to sleep.

He whispered it again, softer this time. “Love you. Forever.”

The words slid under your skin like ice.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his mouth as he nuzzled into your palm like a spoiled cat. You gave him your warmest smile—sweet, sleepy, harmless. “Goodnight, baby.” He sank into the pillow with a little satisfied exhale, reaching blindly for your hand like he couldn’t fall asleep without it. His fingers threaded through yours, grip loose and trusting. Within a minute, his breathing evened out, lashes still against his cheekbones, lips parted just a little.

Peaceful. Completely unaware.

You watched him for a long moment—watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, the slow flutter of his fingers as they loosened around yours, the way his features looked almost boyish in dream-light. The version of him he let you have. The one no one else got.

The one he weaponized behind your back.

Your smile faded the second his breathing confirmed he was fully under.

You slipped your hand from his, slow and soundless. Sat up. Watched him one last time—because you needed to—then stood.

His phone glowed faintly on the nightstand, screen half-lit from a notification.

You snuck over, bare feet silent on the floor. Up close he looked smaller, somehow—all that swagger folded into the slow rise and fall of sleep. Your hand hovered for a second, then moved without drama: you pulled the cable from the phone. The charger came free with a soft click that sounded way louder in the hush than it should have. The phone screen blinked, then dimmed to black as charging stopped. Then you quietly placed the phone on the floor between the bedside table and bed. So you could suggest that maybe just maybe, it fell while he was asleep.

There was no time for you to feel bad. No space for you to have any regard for him and his feelings.  You slipped back into your side of the bed, lifting the comforter just enough to slide under without shifting the mattress. Riki didn’t even twitch—just mumbled something incoherent and rolled slightly toward your now-empty hand, searching for it in his sleep. The kind of soft instinct that once melted you.

Now it just hardened your resolve. You settled onto your pillow, facing him. His lashes brushed his cheeks, his dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and the corners of his mouth were relaxed—none of that locker-room arrogance, none of that cruel swagger. Just a boy sleeping.

Your cheek pulsed again. You breathed out slowly, quietly. No hesitation. No guilt. If anything, a sharp, wicked satisfaction bloomed low in your chest. He’d wake up groggy, confused, panicked from oversleeping, trip over his own excuses. Miss warmups. Piss off his coach. Maybe his whole rhythm would be off for the rest of the day. And it wouldn’t be traced back to you. Cute.

You turned your head on the pillow, watching the faint glow of the digital clock on the wall.

11:23 PM.

Plenty of time before he needed to wake up.

Plenty of time for his phone—now unplugged and hidden—to drain just enough.

You shifted slightly, the bedsprings creaking faintly. Riki moved too, instinctively throwing an arm over your waist, pulling you back into him with sleepy strength. His breath warmed the back of your neck.

If someone walked in, they’d think this was love.

But you stared straight ahead, eyes open, awake and focused, your mind already sketching the next domino to tip.

—

The morning was a quiet, serene one. The sun’s grace poured through the windowpane as it painted the bedding in gold, catching on the dust motes swirling lazily in the air. The apartment was warm, still, the way it only ever was when fall-winter sunlight decided to be nice for once. Riki shifted behind you with a soft groan, his arm tightening for a second before he blinked himself awake. You didn’t move—just breathed evenly, eyes half-closed like you’d been asleep, not wide awake planning the trajectory of his downfall. “Mmm…what time is it…?” he mumbled, voice low and raspy with sleep. One of those sounds that used to make your stomach turn to lava.

Now it curled your lip.

He reached over your waist, patting blindly along the nightstand until his hand hit nothing but wood. He frowned, still groggy, lifting his head to look. “Huh?”

Your lashes fluttered open just enough to watch him through the tiniest sliver.

He pushed himself up onto an elbow, hair sticking in every direction. “Where’s my phone…?”

You stretched slowly, selling the morning softness. “I don’t know,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “You tossed and turned like crazy.” He blinked, confused. “Did I?” He leaned over the edge of the bed, eyes widening slightly when he spotted the phone wedged between the table and frame—exactly where you left it.

“Oh. Damn.” He grabbed it, pressing the side button.

Nothing.

He held it down longer.

Still nothing.

“What the—” his brows furrowed. “Baby, it’s dead? It was charging.”

You sat up, pulling the blanket around your shoulders like you were just as confused as him. “Did the cable come out? You know that outlet is loose.”

Riki shoved the cord into the phone again and flipped it over—and the second he saw the blank battery symbol flash and disappear, panic lit his whole face. “Oh shit—what time is it?!” He scrambled, grabbing the digital clock on the nightstand like it held the secrets of the universe.

07:42 AM.

Workouts were at six.

Scrimmage started at seven-thirty.

His entire body went rigid. “Baby, baby—fuck, I’m late—Coach is gonna fuck me up—”

You let your expression twist into perfectly curated worry. “Oh my god, Riki—go! Hurry, go!” He shot out of bed, nearly tripping as he yanked on sweatpants with one leg still tangled. His heartbeat practically pulsed through the apartment as he raced around, grabbing his duffel, portable charger, shoving random shirts inside, searching frantically for his warmup jacket. Scrambling through his closet, throwing shirts and pants off the rack and onto the floor. “What the fuck?! Where’s my fucking sweater?”

“What sweater, baby?” You yawned as you stood up, your socks hitting the carpeted floor.  “My purple Decelis fleece? The one—nevermind I don’t have time.” He turned back around to grab a random, black pullover. You padded into the kitchen with the blanket still around your shoulders, half-yawning, half-smirking into the fabric where he couldn’t see. Behind you, you heard the frantic gargling, toothbrush clattering into the sink, the thud of cabinet doors closing too hard.

You opened the fridge, all innocent-like, and pulled out the protein pancake mix he loved—the one he always made on game days for “optimal energy.” You set it on the counter on purpose, knowing damn well he wouldn’t have the time to use it, but the sight alone would salt the wound. “Baby—!” Riki called through toothpaste foam, stumbling out of the bathroom, hair a wild disaster. “Have you seen my arm sleeve? The black one with the—fuck—never mind—”

He barreled past you, nearly knocking into the counter as he tore through the drawers. You stepped aside, clutching your blanket tighter, doing a very convincing impression of a sleepy, supportive girlfriend instead of the overseer of operations. The puppet master. “You want me to make you a quick smoothie?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes like breakfast was even possible.

He huffed, chest heaving. “No—I—shit—I don’t have time.” He dropped to his knees to search under the couch. “Coach is gonna kill me. He’s literally gonna kill me.”

You peeked over the edge of the counter. “Did you check the rack by the door?”

“For what?!” His voice cracked in panic as he scrambled back to his feet.

“Your arm sleeve.”

Riki sprinted to the entryway—and there it was. Right next to his shoes. Propped neatly. Like a little gift.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, shoving it into his duffel. “I love you—I literally love you—” You smiled softly, touching your chest like his words warmed you instead of making your stomach curdle. “I know, baby. Don’t forget your protein powder.” You hugged the blanket closer to you.

He groaned, “you’re right.” He brushed past you and to the cabinet. Opening it quickly and reaching for the tub by the lid. And before he could make another step, it was like it started snowing.  With a clatter and thud, the tub hit the counter before its contents spilled all over the floor.

A cloud of chalky white billowed up like a blizzard in a snow globe someone had just punted across the room. Protein powder went everywhere—on the counter, the floor, his socks, your socks, the air itself. It was a crime scene. A lactose-based natural disaster. A winter wonderland from hell. Riki froze mid-motion, one hand still gripping the lid, the other suspended like he wasn’t sure whether to catch the explosion or just accept defeat. His pupils blew wide with pure, uncut panic.

“…No.” He whispered it like a prayer, a curse, and an obituary all at once. “No, no, no—bro, what the fuck—”

You gasped, covering your mouth with both hands. “Oh my god!” Your hands smothered your laugh, your chest caving in nearly gave you away.

“I don’t—shit—fuck—WHY IS IT SO FULL?!” He coughed violently as the powder puffed straight into his face, coating his lashes and settling in his hair like freshly fallen frost.

You rushed forward, blanket trailing behind you like a cape of sympathy. “Oh—don’t breathe, don’t breathe—okay, wait, no—do breathe—you need oxygen—” He spun in a frantic circle, slipping slightly on the powder-covered tile. “Coach is gonna kill me and I look like I just got baptized in whey protein! I can’t—baby, I can’t—”

“Riki,” you said softly, reaching out to brush some of the powder from his cheek. “It’s okay. Just…wipe it off. You still have time.”

“No I fucking don’t.” He grabbed the edge of the sink and leaned over it like he was about to weep. “I’m already late. I was meant to be there—” he squinted at the blinking oven clock through his snowstorm bangs, “—FIFTEEN minutes ago!”

“Don’t yell at me!” You brushed your socks off. “It’s not like I made you late for practice for the first time in—”

“Never! I’ve never been late.” He wiped his face aggressively with a dish towel, leaving streaks that made him look like he’d been lightly dusted by a pastry chef. Powder still clung to his hoodie, his sleeves, the entire front of his body like static made of sadness.

He gave one last distressed look around the kitchen, defeated. “I—fuck—okay—no shake today—I don’t need it—I’ll eat a banana or some shit—oh my god—”

You did your best wide-eyed, supportive girlfriend impression. “You’re gonna be okay. Just go! Talking to me about it does nothing.”

Riki nodded once—shaky, determined, a man on the brink—then darted back toward the door, leaving a trail of protein footprints behind him. Before he left, he popped back in, pressed a powder-scented kiss to your forehead, and whispered: “Love you—lock up when you leave—text you later—please pray for me. Leave the mess, I’ll clean when I get back.”

And then he was gone again, bolting down the hallway like a man fleeing a crime scene.

When the door shut, the powder finally settled.

And so did your laughter. 

Pulling out your phone, you figured a group FaceTime was underway. 

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye—not from sadness, but from laughing so hard your ribs hurt. The kitchen looked like the inside of a snow globe that had been shaken by a toddler with vengeance issues. And the image of Riki sprinting out the door, looking like the Ghost of Christmas Past, would feed you for weeks. Still snickering, you reached for your phone, thumbing open FaceTime and tapping on the group chat with Yasmin and Bella: The Holy Trinity™.

It rang twice.

And then both girls appeared on your screen in chaotic split view—Yasmin in her bonnet, mascara smudged under her eyes like she’d just woken up or cried or both, and Bella with her hair clipped back, already slurping iced coffee like it was noon instead of seven-something in the morning. “Oh my gosh,” Bella groaned, squinting at your background. “Why does it look like you’re filming from inside a cocaine factory?”

“Bro,” Yasmin choked, leaning closer to the camera. “Is that snow? Did it snow in his kitchen? Why is there…why is there powder on your tits—”

You burst into another fit of laughter, nearly dropping the phone. “Guys—guys, wait—he dropped the tub of protein that I placed.”

Bella’s jaw dropped. “No. No, don’t lie to me. Tell me he looked stupid.”

“So fucking stupid,” you said proudly. “He looked like Frosty the Snowman on creatine.” You chuckled, flipping the camera to reveal the catastrophe. Bella screamed. Not yelled—not gasped—she let out the kind of shriek that could summon emergency services. Yasmin laughed so loud that the microphone didn’t even pick up the sound. They couldn’t see you laughing though the camera shook as you tried to get ahold of yourself. “Oh shit…this is way more fun than I thought.” You wiped a tear from your eye as you flipped the camera back to yourself. “Guys…he said ‘please pray for me’ before running out the door. Like he was going to war. Like he was going to send me letters from the trenches or something.”

“Ooh, what else is there?”

—

As a result of the last two weeks of torment you put Riki through, you’ve been nothing but happy to see him slowly become a fragmented, mildly skittish and paranoid shell of himself.  And you didn’t even have to do anything to him. A lot of these things were self-inflicted. Whenever you approached him on campus, he would jump before you could make him aware that it was you.

When he showered, he somehow found that his shampoo was always nearly empty. Hardly enough to even lather up. And when he did have to replace it (now almost weekly), he always felt like there was a Nair-y stench to it.  The protein powder remained in the cracks of the kitchen’s wooden floor. He felt that his hair was thinning even though it clearly wasn’t. Riki also discovered that he had a fish allergy—courtesy of the fried cod you made him. The reaction was very mild, just an antihistamine and it knocked him right out. You didn’t know he had this allergy. 

You’re not that crazy.

Unfortunately, the only thing that the universe—with the interference of you—couldn’t seem to shake was that fucking basketball shit. No matter how many times you tried to curb his alarms (he set multiple and bought an alarm clock), hide stuff (he packs his bag the night before now), and secretly pray for his downfall—it just never happened. Riki’s stats still stayed the exact same. Averaging thirty points per game, seven rebounds, eight assists. He hardly called you after practice with weight on his voice. And that was the only thing that Riki did his best to protect. Basketball was his sanctuary and as vain as it sounded: he considered himself to be a seasoned vet already. If he learned anything from playing—enduring—this sport for his whole life it was two things: don’t be a selfish player—not just in game, but in life. And leave any and all personal shit off the court. 

And that if he held both of these things close to his heart and led with love, then he was going to be alright. 

But he was a human being. Most importantly, he was a man. An egomaniacal, self centered man. And just like any other human being, he made mistakes and with those two values he held tightly to his chest—if he slipped then he’d feel it. So everyday, for the last two weeks—he reflected. What exactly did he do to be so out of whack recently? He wasn’t selfish. He loves you, honors you, does everything that a boyfriend should right?  Yeah, Coach yelled at him the day he was late. But he ultimately suffered no consequences as that was his first offense. But still, despite that—he ran three laps around the arena to be fair to his teammates. You and him haven’t argued yet. In the four months that you had been together, everything went swimmingly. Nothing that you’ve done has sincerely pissed him off. The closest thing might’ve been the day with his juices being gone. But it was an honest mistake. But besides that, everything that he felt for you from the start remained—if anything, it only intensified. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t want to be in your skin. To hold you and tell you how breathtaking you were. How every conversation with you felt like talking to a friend. Like he’s known you his whole life.  So what did he do? What did he do to be having such a tough time? What was he getting karma for?

—

You sat in your dorm, munching on a salad as you were working on an assignment that was ten days past due. But truthfully, it was already beyond late—you didn’t care about making it up anymore.

Your main concern was your next point of action: kill Riki Nishimura. Not like actually kill him or anything. 

This was going to be your magnum opus: killing him socially. Bella and Yasmin didn’t think you could do it. More like they didn’t want you to. But you had it all mapped out. And your beloved boyfriend had no clue. Not one. He made it easy with how weird he was being. The best revenge comes from doing hardly nothing at all. Watching him feel like a stranger in his own skin brought you enough joy to last you three lifetimes. 

But you were greedy.

—

The arena’s noise was thick. You could feel it in your ribs—the music from the above speakers, the chatter, the sharp whistle of sneakers on the waxed court. You sat front row, dead center. The perfect sightline. The perfect stage. Your fingers shook—not from nerves, but from the kind of adrenaline that comes before impact. You had the note written out. Printed. Folded once. Sitting like a loaded weapon in your lap. You could feel the weight of it pressing through your jeans. Bella had clocked it the second she saw you. Yasmin’s eyes darted to the paper, then to your face, then back again. They didn’t even need to say it out loud; the girl telepathy was loud enough to deafen. The blonde’s attention remained on you but she placed her hand on Yasmin’s arm. “What the fuck is she doing?”

“I don’t know!” The olive skinned girl shrugged as her doe eyes widened in fright. “She didn’t say anything about doing something public.”

Bella shook her head. “Oh fuck no, she’s lost her goddamn mind.” She stood, waving her arms to catch your attention. “Don’t,” she hissed, barely moving her lips.

But you were already standing.

The announcer’s voice bled into the air, “—and now, your starting five!”

You didn’t hear the cheers. Didn’t see the team running out. You only saw him. Riki, jogging onto the court, smiling easily, looking like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks unraveling.

He waved to the crowd, scanning briefly—just long enough for your eyes to catch. He froze. Blinked. His smile faltered for a second. Then returned, practiced and bright.

You unfolded the paper.

“Don’t you dare,” Yasmin whispered, gripping your arm so tightly her nails pressed crescents into your skin.

You shook her off. “He deserves this.”

Bella stood too, half-blocking you from view. “No, he doesn’t. Not like this. This is too fucking far!” But you didn’t even hear her. The mic was right there—abandoned on the sideline after the anthem. You could take three steps and it’d be in your hand. You could read the note, the one that started with ‘Three weeks ago, starting point guard, Riki Nishimura, had degraded me—’ It’d be over for him. You’d make sure of it.

And that’s when Yasmin, bless her, full-body tackled your arm and snatched the paper clean out of your hand. “You’re done,” she hissed, shaking her head. “This isn’t justice, this is suicide.”

“What—” you started, but then Bella’s voice cut through, low and warning. “He’s looking.”

And he was.

Riki had stopped dribbling during warmups, staring right at the three of you. His brows pulled together, confusion, worry. Then he started jogging toward you, calling your name.

The crowd noise dimmed into static in your ears.

He reached the sideline, cluelessly. “What’s going on?” Tilting his head as he raised his taped hand to brush your coils off your shoulder to toy with the ‘R’ pendant on the necklace he gave you. A habit, something he did as a means of soothing both you and him. “Everything okay?” Yasmin shook her head slightly. “This has gone entirely too far, dude.” She sniffled, dabbing her fallen tears in an effort to not ruin her makeup.

“You gotta tell him.” Bella said firmly. 

Riki looked around, scanning the arena for any cameras that were on him. “What? Tell me what?” He squinted, genuinely baffled—like he was trying to fit the scene into a scoreboard in his head. You stayed silent, your eyes fiery and skin crawling at the feeling of his touch now. Your eyes fell right to the microphone where you could do your final bidding. Eyes watering and heart heavy, you crumpled the paper in your fist as you avoided Riki’s gaze.

Bella exhaled, all impatience and exactness. “Can we do this somewhere where there aren’t cameras?” Her eyes fell on the guy before you three.  Riki’s expression hardened a little, glancing at the gigantic clock at the top of the stands. Twenty minutes til tip-off. Without another word, he nodded to the tunnel which led to the locker room. The only private area where he knew no one would be passing through. “Quickly.” He said lowly as he rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “Please.” You stayed planted where you were, your eyes glaring a hole into his. As if lasers would beam through if you tried hard enough. Yasmin grabbed you by the bicep, “come on.” She said shakily, which in any other case would’ve weighed you down with her. 

The tunnel smelled like old sweat and floor cleaner—half of the arena’s life lived in a stale chemical cloud. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, turning everyone’s skin a little too pale. The noise from the court faded to a distant roar; here it was only your voices and the scrape of sneakers against concrete. Then squeaking as you entered the empty locker room. Riki kept his jacket half off, breath shallow, eyes darting between the three of you like he was trying to memorize which way the exits led. “Talk to me.”

You stayed silent, folding your arms to your chest as if it could keep your guts from spilling out.  “Hello? Did you hear him? He’s speaking to you—” Bella tapped your shoulder.

Riki interjected sharply, brows furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t fucking speak to her like that—”

“No! This shit has gone way off the rails and now she’s acting like a fucking baby. Speak up, I’m not coddling you anymore!” The girl insisted. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bella.” You snapped, “don’t try to sit here and ‘tough love’ me now when you know you’re the one that held my hand through this in the first place.” Turning to her as you jabbed her shoulder with your finger. 

Bella scoffed, “But I never told you to go this far! You—” “Why the fuck are we talking in code?! I have shit to do and y’all here playing!” Riki clapped his hands in urgency.

Yasmin blurted it out. “We heard you talking about her.” She huffed nervously.

Riki’s eyes flit to the side in confusion. “So? I talk about her and to her every single day.” “No.” You finally interjected, turning your attention to him as you were able to take your anger out. “When you stood in here and said to Maki that I was ‘just another hole to fill’ and how not whipped you are?” You squinted your eyes as your posture straightened. “That all girls are the same and how much play you’re gonna get—” You smiled bitterly at the memory as you spoke with your hands. “And how you’re just gonna keep ‘fucking around and winning? Huh?” You nodded. “Remember that, baby?”

Riki froze. Like someone had just yanked the oxygen straight out of his lungs. For a second, the world went completely soundless—even the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to cut out. His jaw twitched once, twice, before he let out a shaky exhale and blinked at you, eyes wide, almost boyish in disbelief.

“Wait—” he said hoarsely, “you heard that?”

You laughed, sharp and humorless. “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. That it was just locker room talk, right?”

He ran a hand over his face, backing up until he hit the edge of a locker with a dull thud. His expression twisted — confusion, panic, then shame flickering like a glitch he couldn’t smooth out. “No, that’s not—fuck, that’s not what I meant. It was a—Maki was—”

“Maki was what, Riki?” Bella snapped. “A part of your stand-up routine? Or your echo chamber?” “Bella, stop,” he hissed, voice cracking under strain. He turned back to you, hands slightly raised like he was pleading his case to a judge who’d already heard the verdict. “It wasn’t about you like that. It was—God, it was a joke. I was trying to sound cool, and—”

Your eyes narrowed. “Cool?” The word landed like poison.

“You think degrading me makes you cool?”

Riki’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He was crumbling in real time—his composure, that stupid practiced charm, the performative calm he always wore when things got ugly. He looked twenty different kinds of small now. “Say it again,” you whispered, stepping closer, voice shaking not from weakness but from the sheer weight of it all. “Say it to my face this time. Say I’m just another hole to fill.”

Riki’s throat bobbed. “Don’t—”

“Say it!”

“I didn’t mean it!” he exploded, voice ricocheting off the walls. The sound of it startled even him. “I swear to God, I didn’t—” He stopped himself, chest heaving, eyes flicking to Bella, then Yasmin, before finally settling on you again. His voice dropped. “You think I’d ever mean that? About you?” You blinked, your vision blurring with the beginnings of tears you didn’t want to shed—not here, not in front of him. “I don’t give a fuck what you meant. You deserved everything I fucking did to you and more of it!”

“What…?” His voice cracked. “Wh–what did you do?”

Yasmin spoke up. “Can I interject…?” She stepped forward from the corner to stand beside Bella, who was letting her ponytail down as she felt her head starting to throb. “Riki…we decided to—”

“No.” You kindly shut Yasmin down. “I—neither of them had any involvement in anything—decided to pay you back. I poured out your juices. Loosened your protein tub. Unplugged your phone—everything weird that’s been happening to you for the last two weeks was me fucking with you.” Riki blinked once. Then again. Like maybe if he gave his brain enough time to reboot, it’d spit out a version of this scene that made sense.

“You—” he breathed out, the word shaky and small. “You what?” He stared at you—searching, scanning, trying to find some hint that you were joking. But your face didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even twitch. “Everything weird that’s been—” he stopped, eyes darting back and forth as the puzzle pieces rearranged in his head. “My shampoo, the alarms, the fucking—my protein—” His voice rose an octave, breaking off in disbelief. “The fish?!”

You blinked. “Okay, that one wasn’t on purpose. And I didn’t do anything to your shampoo.” He laughed. But it wasn’t funny. It was breathless and sharp—half a gasp, half hysteria. “Oh my God,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my fucking God.”

Bella winced. Yasmin quietly muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer.

Riki dropped his hand and looked back at you, eyes glossy—not with tears, but something worse. Something that looked like betrayal and heartbreak all twisted together. “You made me think I was losing my mind,” he said quietly. “For weeks.” You crossed your arms, defensive now. “You made me feel worthless.”

“So you poisoned me?”

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come.

“You unplugged my phone, you messed with my stuff, you—” he gestured wildly, like he couldn’t even pick which violation to name first. “You messed with my head, and for what? To even the score?”

“Don’t you dare make me the bad guy here,” you snapped, voice cracking on the edge of your fury. “You’re the one who said that shit about me.” “And I said I didn’t mean it!” he fired back, stepping closer. The sound of his voice filled the entire locker room—loud, raw, desperate. “You think I’m proud of that? You think I sleep easy knowing that came out of my mouth? I’ve been trying to figure out what I did to deserve all this—turns out, you were just—” He cut himself off, choking back whatever word was about to fall next.

“Just what?” you bit.

He stared at you. His throat bobbed. “Cruel.”

The word sliced clean through the air.

You flinched, but didn’t back down. “You talk about me like I’m replaceable and you think I’m cruel?”

“You tried to ruin me!”

“Oh, please,” you wave off. “You’d still be fine. You always land on your feet.”

Riki shook his head, eyes glazed. His eyes caught the folded loose leaf in your hand, gesturing to it. “What is that?” 

Without a second guess, you shoved it into his chest. Not even causing him to stumble but he snatched it. Opening it and doing his best to make it out beneath the crinkles.  And right then, was the angriest you’ve seen him up until this moment. The desperate, flabbergasted Riki that was before found new ground to stand on. His nostrils flared as he licked his bottom lip; fingers curling around the paper. “You were going to read this in front of people?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to—your silence was already too loud.

Riki’s laugh was low and humorless. “You were going to humiliate me.” He said it like he was testing the words out loud, like saying them would somehow make them less insane. “In front of my team? My coach? The entire nation, are you fucking crazy?”

“I was going to tell the truth,” you shot back, eyes glinting. “That’s all it was. The truth.”

“The truth?” He took a step closer, paper trembling in his fist. “No, no—you wanted revenge. You wanted blood, not closure.”

You rolled your eyes, though your pulse was slamming in your throat. “Don’t get poetic now, Riki. You said what you said.” “And I told you I didn’t mean it! How many times do I have to—” He held up the note like evidence in court. “This—this is you trying to destroy me because you’re hurt. You were really going to try to ruin my life’s work and career over this when you could’ve just fucking talked to me?! Or even dumped me?”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you called me just another hole to fill.”

He went still. The sound of sneakers squeaking from the court outside was a faint, haunting rhythm beneath the tension between you.

Riki lowered his head, voice dropping to something barely human. “You really hate me that much, huh?”

“I don’t hate you,” you said coldly. “I just wanted you to feel small for once.”

He let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Congratulations. You did it.” He held up the crumpled paper like it was a white flag—like you’d already won the war you started. “You’ve made me feel smaller than I ever have in my entire life.”

You swallowed, your anger flickering like a dying candle. “Good.” Riki stared at you for a long, long moment—jaw tight, eyes glassy, chest rising with restrained fury and heartbreak. Then, quietly, he tore the note in half. Once, twice, until the pieces fluttered from his hands like ash. “Hope it was worth it,” he muttered, voice shaking. And when he walked past you toward the locker room exit, he didn’t look back.

The girls followed in his direction with shaking of their heads. But were interrupted by your voice. “Where are you guys going?” They stopped, turning around. Yasmin’s eyes sparkled from the overhead lighting as tears misted her eyes. “We also have shit to do.”

You threw your hands up, “oh so now I’m the bad guy?” You laughed humorlessly, “you guys—” “We didn’t tell you to do anything!” Bella waved her finger. “Yas was against this from the beginning. I said I was just gonna support you. We support each other! Right, wrong, or indifferent. But I didn’t think you would lose yourself like this?” She gestured to your frame. “I mean who even are you anymore?”

“I’m me. I’m still me, guys—” You stepped forward with your voice shaking. Smile vanished as you swallowed what seemed to be a knot of nervousness. “C’mon…don’t turn your backs on me too…” Yasmin sniffled, “if we did then we wouldn’t have saved you just now. This isn’t my best friend,” Yasmin whispered, shaking her head. Her voice cracked mid-sentence, soft but sharp enough to land. “My best friend doesn’t do shit like this.”

You froze. “Yas—”

“No,” she said, stepping back a little. Rubbing her temples as frustrated tears streaking down her cheeks. “You’re not even listening to yourself anymore.” Bella exhaled, crossing her arms. “You became the thing you swore you hated. You’re standing here, trying to justify ruining someone’s life just because he bruised your ego. That’s not love. That’s obsession.”

Your throat closed up. “You think I wanted to turn into this?”

Bella didn’t answer right away—she just blinked at you, disappointed. “No. I think you got hurt and didn’t know where to put it. But you don’t get to burn down someone else’s peace to feel better about your pain.” The silence that followed was unbearable. Only the muffled sound of the crowd bleeding in from the court—cheers, drums, whistles—made the moment real again.

Yasmin took a shaky breath, voice quiet. “You can still fix this. Maybe not with him, but with yourself.” You stared at them, every word hitting like shrapnel, and for the first time since the whole spiral began—you didn’t have anything to say. The weight of what you’d done, what almost happened, started to settle in your stomach like lead.

Bella grabbed Yasmin’s hand. “We’re going to go. You should go get some rest.” You watched them walk away through the tunnel lights, the sound of the game roaring back to life behind them. You stood there, still holding the blanket of your own rage and regret—realizing it was never warmth at all. And the walk back to your dorm was a cold one.

—

For three days, you disappeared. The campus kept spinning without you—the chatter of students, the clatter of cafeteria trays, the hum of a world that refused to pause—but your room stayed still. Curtains drawn, phone facedown, mind circling the same moment over and over until it felt like static. The guilt wasn’t sharp anymore; it was heavy, dragging. Every notification with his name felt like another bruise you didn’t remember getting.

Bella and Yasmin tried to reach you—knocks at the door, texts, calls—but nothing stuck. Riki was radio silent; as expected. On the fourth day, you sat up and climbed off your creaky twin XL. You walked up to your desk and removed the pillowcase covering it and for the first time in days, you were able to stomach looking at yourself. Your reflection in the dark monitor felt like a stranger. Eyes swollen, lips cracked from lack of hydration, skin dry and textured. And immediately you put your head down. Holding your stomach as you wept into yourself. It came out of you like a flood you’d been holding back too long—all the anger, the shame, the grief. You tried to breathe, but it only made the sobs louder. You pressed a hand to your mouth as if you could stuff it all back down, but it was useless. You cried until your ribs hurt, until your knees gave out and you sank onto the floor, arms wrapped around yourself like you were the only thing keeping from coming undone completely. “Oh God—” You held your chest as you heaved. “What have I done?”

—

By the fifth day, the silence became unbearable. You couldn’t stand the sound of your own thoughts anymore—the echoes of Riki’s voice, the look on Bella’s face, the way Yasmin’s eyes had glistened before she walked away. So for the first time in almost a week, you took positive first steps. You showered, scrubbing yourself to the point where you swore your skin was about to peel off. Brush your teeth, following your meticulous oral care routine. And you put on lotion, perfume, did your hair and finally…you felt you were halfway worth looking at again.

—

The campus air touched differently after a self-imposed exile—too bright, too loud, like the world had the audacity to move on. You found Bella and Yasmin outside on the quad, sprawled on the grass with open laptops and snacks, their laughter cutting short the second they saw you.

“Hey,” you said softly, voice half-stuck in your throat.

Bella shut her laptop, sitting up. Yasmin didn’t say anything yet—just watched you with that mix of worry and quiet anger that made you feel twelve years old again. “I know,” you started, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was a dick. To both of you. And you didn’t deserve that.” You looked between them, heart pounding. “You were just trying to look out for me, and I…I took it way too far. I wanted to hurt him so bad that I forgot who I was. And who you guys were to me. I’m sorry. But I just wanted to say thank you for gathering me before I inevitably got worse.”

Neither spoke for a beat. Then Bella sighed, resting her chin on her knee. “Yeah, you were a dick,” she said flatly, but there was the ghost of a smile there. Yasmin exhaled, eyes softening. “We were worried sick. You don’t just vanish like that, dude. We thought you—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “Like at least an ‘I’m okay’ text would’ve been enough. Just…” She sighed, “don’t do that again.”

You nodded quickly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I won’t. I swear.” Bella patted the spot beside her. “Good. Then sit your dramatic ass down and eat something. We made sandwiches.”

Tears finally came down as you smiled. Sitting down between them as you hugged them to you. Both their heads on your shoulders as they squeezed you. “Are you guys still mad at me?”  “Oh definitely,” Yasmin smiled as she nuzzled your shoulder. “You have some serious making up to do.” Huffing as she leaned up and let go.

You looked down at the blanket and your crossed legs, “Can I start by saying you were right and that you owe me an ‘I told you so?’” To which that elicited laughs from both girls on either side of you.  “Forgiven!” Yasmin giggled as she clapped her hands excitedly. Like she wasn’t twenty but a little kid. And as you sat between them, the tension eased, the world didn’t feel quite as tilted anymore.

—

You were mid-laugh when it happened—Bella had just said something snarky about the “post-breakdown glow” you apparently had going on. And for a moment, things felt easy again. Like it always had with these two. The three of you were walking up the stone path toward the dining hall, the smell of pizza and fryer oil already drifting through the air, when a familiar voice froze you in your tracks.

“Hey!” He was coming down the opposite side of the path, still in his team jacket, backpack slung over his shoulders, hair a little messy like he’d just showered. His teammates had already gone ahead, but he stopped the moment he saw you.

Bella glanced between you two and sighed under her breath. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Yep,” Yasmin muttered. “Definitely our cue.”

They shared a look before Bella patted your arm. “We’ll, uh…grab our table. Take your time.”

And just like that, they slipped inside the dining hall, leaving you and Riki alone under the faint hum of campus noise.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You just stared at him, at how tired he looked—eyes a little red, hands balled up as he adjusted his sleeves.

“You look alive,” he said finally, a small half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Barely,” you replied, managing a smirk. “You?”

He shrugged. “Playing like I’m mad at the whole planet, but we’re winning, so…guess that counts for something.”

You nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the ground. “Riki, I—”

He shook his head before you could continue. “Don’t. It’s done.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not mad anymore. I mean, I was. But now…I get it.”

You searched his face for bitterness and found none—just exhaustion, and something softer hiding under it. “It’s not an excuse.” Shaking your head, you pulled your hoodie sleeves over your hands as you balled your fists. “You hurt me and instead of being a good, mature girlfriend…I went to the extreme. I’m so sorry, Riki.” “I deserved it, mama.” He stepped closer, whispering as he reached his hands up to frame your face—not touch it. “What I said was inexcusable. Absolutely repulsive and inappropriate and no one should speak about a person—especially their girlfriend—like that. I’m sorry too.”

“I guess neither of us are perfect.” You sighed, as you gently brought his hands back down. The radiating warmth leaving your cheeks and replacing it with the evening chill.

His mouth curved, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I think we both kinda nuked the moral high ground.”

A weak laugh slipped out of you. “That’s one way to put it.” For a moment, it was quiet—just the wind cutting through the trees and the sound of students laughing somewhere across the quad. You stared at the space between your sneakers, the weight of everything that happened hanging between you.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you said softly. “Even after all that.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I couldn’t even if I tried.”

That made you look up. His gaze was steady, not pleading, just…honest. The kind of look that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to name yet. “Did you mean any of it? Like when you said you loved me?” His eyes searched yours, “I’m sorry, it’s just been driving me crazy and I need to know.” The look in his eyes was layered in desperation and heartbreak. Only half of what you encountered in the locker room that day. “Please. For my own sanity—” “I did.” You sniffled, dabbing your eyes with your sleeve to prevent tears from coming out. “It…”

Riki pulled you to a small bench, tucked away from possible prying eyes as this was becoming an intimate moment. The first one in what seemed like forever. He wiped the bench with his hands, getting any debris—branches, dirt, cigarette ashes—off and away. “It was that I loved you so much that I did what I did.” You sat down as he did beside you. “When I heard you saying those things about me, it…it just—a switch just flipped in my brain. Like…everything that I thought about you beforehand was just confirmed. That my parents were right…”

Riki’s eyes widened a bit, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he gulped. “You—your parents?” You nodded, “they always said not to date athletes. That they’d either cheat, lie, or dog you. Maybe all three.” Fiddling with your manicured nails, clicking them slightly. “In a way, me getting revenge just felt like I was doing every single person that was wronged by every athlete, right. But I got greedy. Selfish. And really, I could’ve just spoken to you about it.” Riki leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground like it might offer him a manual on how to handle this conversation. “I wish you did,” he said quietly. “I would’ve told you the truth. That I was talking out of my ass, trying to look tough in front of the guys because I was scared of how much I actually loved you. I mean I’ve never felt like this before, y’know?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s not an excuse.”

“I know,” he said, glancing at you. “But it’s the truth. I said those things because I thought if I made it sound like I didn’t care, then they’d just get off my dick about it. In actuality, I was never thinking about sex with you.”

You shot him a look.

He smiled, “okay, I was.” Laughing as you did, but he leaned up. “But it wasn’t at the front of my mind. I didn’t lead every interaction with you with the expectation that you’d let me have any.” The words hung between you like fog, dense and heavy. You looked up at him then, and the sharpness you’d carried for weeks softened. He looked older somehow. Not in a bad way—just like he’d been through something real. “But even with the four months that we were together, I didn’t even want to bring it up because I didn’t want to scare you.”

“The idea of sex with you didn’t scare me, Riki. But the fact that when I thought I could trust you to keep certain things of our relationship private, you fell through. And disrespected me at that.” You went on. “Because how did Maki even know that we hadn’t done anything? Were these things regular conversations and I just happened to catch one?” Riki’s jaw tightened, his knee bouncing slightly. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. I swear, I didn’t go around talking about our business. Maki was being an asshole that day, asking questions, making jokes and assumptions, and I—” He paused, running a hand over his face like he could erase what came next. “I took the bait. I wanted to sound cool. Like I wasn’t some lovesick loser.” You stared at him, the memory of that locker room replaying in your mind like a cruel film reel. “So you threw me under the bus to impress him?” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, guilt written across every line of his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And the second it left my mouth, I wanted to take it back. It was just talk. It was just…I don’t know.”

You looked away, lips pressing together. The bench between you suddenly felt like a chasm. “I really thought you were different, Riki,” you said softly. “You made me believe it.” He winced like the words cut him. “I am different. Or at least I was trying to be. I just—” He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t think about how much weight my words had. I didn’t think about how much they’d hurt you if you heard them. I was trying to protect my ego instead of the one person I actually gave a shit about.” The silence after that was long and brittle. You could hear students laughing in the distance, the scrape of skateboard wheels against pavement. Ordinary sounds in a world that felt anything but ordinary right now. And it only left one question: “So what now?”

Riki shook his head firmly, turning to you. “Look I love you. Still—”

You sighed, closing your eyes in distress but he insisted. “No, no, no. Just listen to me.” He hesitantly reached for your hands. “I know we both have work to do. But I don’t want anybody else. And I mean that. You’re everything to me and even after the bullshit and what you were going to do…I still look at you the same.” You stared at him, the ache in your chest twisting into something you couldn’t name. “You shouldn’t,” you said softly. “You should look at me differently.”

He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t. I’ve tried.”

You wanted to laugh, or scream, or both. Instead, you just looked down at your intertwined hands—his fingers trembling slightly against yours. “Please don’t romanticize it, Riki. That was the ugliest I’ve seen myself in…ever. And I don’t know if I wanna be with someone that brings that out of me.” “But I do,” he smiled softly. “I want to be with someone that drives me crazy. That makes me feel every possible human emotion and that person was you.” He brought your hands to his lips to kiss them, like he always used to. “This is going to be what you want at the end of the day. But I won’t stop fighting for you. When I said I loved you forever, I meant it. As a friend, a lover. Anything. I just wanna be in your life.” For a split second, you could almost feel your heart stop. The rawest you’d ever seen Riki was in this moment—before you—as he practically begged to be in your world. A person who’s so used to the inverse. And he didn’t stop. “Since the day I saw you, I’ve not been able to get you off my mind. And I don’t wanna forget that feeling. Call me obsessed, desperate. But even then, I don’t care,” he finished, voice breaking slightly. “Because I’d rather be desperate for you than indifferent to anyone else.”

You swallowed hard, blinking fast. His eyes were glassy now, full of something that looked too much like the boy you fell for—reckless, sincere, and way too intense for his own good. “Riki…” “I know,” he said, shaking his head quickly, cutting you off before you could form the words. “You don’t have to say it. I just needed you to know. Even if you never look at me the same again, even if you find someone who actually deserves you—I needed to say it out loud once.”

You felt the world slow down around you, the hum of the dining hall muffling into static. His confession sat between you, too heavy to move around and too fragile to touch. “I think…I think it’s best that we be friends. For now…” He nodded immediately, “anything you want—wait, you said for now?” He tried to hide the way his lips curved, but failed.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh. “Don’t push it.” And then, almost without thinking, you scooted forward. He met you halfway, arms slipping around your waist like muscle memory. You pressed your face into his shoulder, breathing him in—the faint trace of detergent, cologne, and something you couldn’t name but still remembered.

It wasn’t a reconciliation. It wasn’t a promise. It was just…quiet understanding. He melted into your arms, remembering the warmth he once felt there as it hadn’t ever gone away. Rubbing your back as the both of you fell into the comfort of each other again. “I won’t…I promise.” He said softly as he sniffled. You felt his breath hitch against your neck, the sound muffled but raw. His arms tightened just a little, like he was afraid that if he let go too soon, the moment would vanish. You rubbed slow circles into his back, grounding him, grounding yourself.

“I know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red but steady. “I just don’t ever want you to think I didn’t care,” he said quietly. “Not for a single second.”

You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over the corner of his hand where it still held onto you. “I never did,” you admitted. “But time will tell.” For a moment, neither of you moved—just stayed there, breathing the same air, hearts syncing in that familiar rhythm you both tried so hard to forget. And when you finally stepped apart, it wasn’t out of anger or regret. It was because you both knew what this was.

Something that wasn’t over. Just paused.

— epilogue!

The semester was coming to an end and things were looking up! Spring was underway, you traded in your hoodies for tube tops and life wasn’t as hard as it was a month ago. Bella and Yasmin are the same: reliable, solid, harassing—typical. As for Riki…

You and him had stayed true to the “friends for now” thing…with a few cracks around the edges. You were doing pretty well with the whole “platonic equilibrium” mindset. Riki, though…was doing his best, which—coming from him—meant trying really hard not to accidentally flirt every five minutes. There was always a soft awkwardness in the air whenever he was near, a kind of gentle hesitation that felt new. Like he was relearning how to exist around you without crossing lines he used to dive over headfirst. Whenever you ran into him around campus, he’d light up—just a little, almost like he wished he didn’t. He’d start to reach for your hand out of habit, stopping mid-motion with a small, embarrassed laugh. Sometimes he’d call you “baby” without thinking, freeze like he’d just triggered a bomb, and mumble a panicked “sorry.” It was…cute. Annoyingly cute.

But here’s the thing—he didn’t push. Not once. He didn’t corner you, didn’t force conversations, didn’t try to speedrun your healing. He gave you space without disappearing, presence without pressure. It was the most mature thing you’d ever seen him do, and honestly? Kinda hotter than when he was your actual boyfriend. Slowly, the tension stopped feeling sharp and started feeling warm. The kind you notice on slow walks across campus or when you catch him staring from across a study lounge. The kind that makes your stomach dip but not in a painful way anymore.

He was still your Riki—loud, unserious, overwhelmingly athletic, always carrying a million and one snacks in his bag. But this version of him was steadier. Softer. Careful with you in ways he never had to think about before. Spring was blooming, and so were you. And somewhere in the mess of new beginnings, slow healing, and accidental almost-romantic moments…you could feel it.

You and Riki weren’t done. Not even close.

riki: hey girlieee

you: hi riki lmao

riki: rq, what are ur thoughts on selena gomez?

you: random?? LMAOO ??? but 10/10 no notes. she’s mother. omg i love her blushes too

riki: she sells makeup??

you: yeah…everyone knows that

riki: literally why would i know that but thanks, noted.

you: why tho? what happened?

riki: <3

you: …? that’s not an answer…?

riki: <33

you: ok

Riki left you on read after that last “ok,” which was suspicious behavior for him. Usually he double-texted entirely too often. But whatever—maybe he was in the gym…benching a car or some shit.

Two weeks rolled by in this weird limbo where he acted normal but also not normal. A week ago he’d shown up outside your lecture hall just to hand you a juice box because, quote, “You always look dehydrated after class.” Three days ago, he’d pretended to trip just so you’d laugh. Yesterday he’d sat next to you in the library, headphones in, sharing a pack of gummies and tapping your knee every time he thought of something funny. And you didn’t miss the shift in him—this boy was planning something. You could practically hear the cartoon gears grinding in that brain of his.

Then Friday came. A warm, breezy, stupidly pretty spring evening. You were chilling in your dorm, headphones in one ear as you reviewed for your microeconomics final. And that’s when you heard it.

“It’s been said and done…Every beautiful thought’s been already sung…”

And comedically, your head popped up. Brows furrowed as you turned your head to get a grip on the muffled, crackled noise coming from the outside. But you just figured it was the student union having one of their last hurrah’s before the year was finished and y’all were right back in three months.

“And I guess right now, here’s another one…So your melody will play on and on…With the rest of them…”

Your phone buzzed.

pretty princess: girl look tf out ur window rn.

You blinked at the notification, confusion already tugging at your face. Yasmin never texted like that unless something was either (A) horrifying or (B) gobsmacking. There was never an in-between with her. You shoved your chair back, nearly tripping over your backpack as you crossed the room. You pulled the blinds open—

And your stomach dropped to your ass.

Because there he was.

Riki. On the quad. Holding an actual boombox over his head like he was auditioning for an eighties rom-com.

The thing was massive, probably older than both of you, and blasting Selena Gomez’s “Love You Like a Love Song” at a volume that was definitely violating at least six campus rules. Students were recording him but he didn’t care. He spotted you instantly.

That stupid, boyish, heart-squeezing grin lit up his whole face the second your eyes met. He lifted the boombox even higher—like his arms weren’t already shaking—and he yelled up at your window: “HI!”

Just “hi.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, partially to smother your gasp and partially to keep from laughing out loud like someone who lost any and all gumption. Heat crawled up your neck. “No he didn’t,” you whispered.

Oh, but he did. And he wasn’t stopping.

People started chanting his name—half because they loved drama and half because the acoustics were terrible and the song was starting to echo off the buildings like some kind of chaotic love anthem.

You opened the window. “RIKI!”

He perked up like a golden retriever hearing treats shake. “YEAH?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“I’M—” He paused, laughing. “I’M TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC BUT THIS THING IS REALLY HEAVY! AND LOUD!”

You nearly melted on the spot. Your brain was soup. Your heart? Gone.

He lowered the boombox slightly—possibly because his arms were probably about to give out—and yelled, “COME DOWN! PLEASE! I DON’T WANNA DROP THIS AND DIE. THAT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING.” He wasn’t struggling, his arms weren’t trembling. He wasn’t out of breath. 

You squinted down at him, realization hitting you like a brick made of pure annoyance and affection. “Riki…are you faking struggling right now?”

He flashed you a guilty little half-smile, shrugging with one shoulder while still holding the boombox like it weighed absolutely nothing. “Uh…maybe. For dramatic effect. Gotta sell the moment, y’know?”

You groaned into your hands. “Oh my god.”

He adjusted his grip again—effortless, casual, absolutely not dying as previously advertised—and yelled, “C’MON! DON’T MAKE ME LOOK STUPID IN FRONT OF LIKE—” he glanced around, “—WAY TOO MANY PEOPLE!”

You rolled your eyes so hard you saw last semester. But you threw on your hoodie, shoved your feet into whatever shoes were closest, and bolted for the stairs.

By the time you reached the quad, people were still filming, still chanting his name, still acting like they were witnessing a Hallmark movie. Riki stood there proudly, boombox now resting against his shoulder as the chorus blasted:

“I-I-I love you like a love song, baby…”

He grinned the second he saw you and the crowd dissipated as they saw him put the boombox down to the grass and lower the music. “Hi…”

“Hi?” You laughed as you reached him. “What in the world is this?” You gestured to the boombox now at your feet.

“A…boombox—”

“I know what a boombox is, Riki!” You hold your hands up. “I mean…why?” You said softly. 

He sighed. “Okay, look. I know you’ve said sorry before. And I did too. But I was saying it like…someone who wanted to fix a scratch, not someone that had the capability of ruining an entire relationship with words.” He frowned slightly as he reached out for your hands. Inhaling before he mustered up the courage to grasp them. “You don’t make it easy for me. You don’t worship me. You don’t pretend I’m a big deal. You roll your eyes and tell me when I’m being a dick—and that’s the first time in a long time I’ve actually had to listen.” He went on.

“When we stopped talking, I still couldn’t stop thinking about you. When you liked me for half a second, I didn’t know what to do with it. When you loved me…I felt like I was caught with my pants down.” The breeze blew at his dark locks, brushing his silky hair just right as the perfectly timed sunset kissed his tan skin. “You said once that you don’t understand why people lose their minds over athletes. I get it now. I’m the guy who people cheer for and I still don’t get it either. But when you look at me, it’s not because I made a basket—it’s because you actually see me. And I don’t want to lose that. And…” He huffed, eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve gone these last few months with an attempt to change everything about myself. But the one thing that I couldn’t seem to shake is that I really am selfish. Only when it comes to you.” He shakes his head as his lips quivered. “I love you, I kiss the ground you walk on and I can’t shake that. I just wanna be around you. All the time and it eats at me every waking moment that I fucked this up. That the idea of you being with someone else makes me irrationally angry. Seeing another guy even look your way makes me—and I’m so sorry. It’s so unfair.”

You felt something in your chest pull tight—like every word he spoke tugged a different thread you’d been trying so hard to knot back together. “Riki…” you whispered, but he wasn’t done. He stepped closer, eyes shining in that way that always made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something huge.

“I know it’s not healthy. I know I shouldn’t think like that,” he said, voice cracking as he blinked fast. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried to get over you. I’ve tried to be chill, to be normal, to be the guy who just ‘moves on.’ I can’t. I can’t pretend I don’t still look for you every time I walk across campus or step into the dining hall or hear your stupid laugh echo in my apartment when I look back at old videos of us.”

You let out a quiet breath—a little shaky, a little overwhelmed. “And I know it sucks,” he added, softer now. “I know it’s messy. I know it’s not fair to you. But I’m standing here, blasting Selena Gomez like a psychopath, because I needed you to know that I love you in a way that makes me spend two hundred dollars on boomboxes. Getting scammed for old CDs online to look for them to put in the boombox.” He smiled, laughing softly. “And spending almost four hundred dollars on makeup because I couldn’t figure out which one you liked so I bought them all!” He bent down to open his backpack to pull out a black and white striped Sephora bag to hand it to you. Filled to the brim, all thirteen blushes. Simply because you mentioned liking it once.

You stared at the bag. Then at him. Then back at the bag—because there was no way. No way.

“Riki…” Your voice cracked.

He held both hands up like he was surrendering to the police. “I know. I know. It’s crazy. Please—”

You almost laughed. Almost. Riki rolled his eyes but stayed locked on you—smiling regretfully. “I’m not saying any of this to make you feel guilty. I’m saying it because I’m tired of pretending I don’t care when I care so much it makes me do…this.” He gestured around helplessly, as if the chaos wasn’t literally his own fault. “I’m a mess.” You swallowed. Hard. “Why now?”

“Because,” he said, stepping closer to the dorm entrance, “I realized something that night in the locker room.”

Your breath hitched. “That I would rather embarrass myself in front of everyone. Teammates, coaches, sports analysts, scouts—than let you think you weren’t worth fighting for. And you can nuke my protein and rig my alarms—”

You cut him off with a kiss. For half a second, he froze—eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between oh my god and ‘no way no way no way.’ Then he melted. Like actually melted. His shoulders dropped, his hands hovered in the air like he was terrified to touch you, and then very, very gently, they settled on your waist as you dropped the bag. Letting it thud into the grass.

He kissed you back like he’d been holding his breath for months and finally got oxygen. Pulling you into him as he gently cradled your head, tilting his own to deepen the kiss. You felt his breath hitch against your mouth, the kind that said finally with every exhale. His fingers threaded into your hair like he’d been memorizing the motion in his head for weeks, rehearsing it in private like some lovesick maniac. He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he wanted to make sure you understood exactly how long he’d been waiting for this. His thumb swept the hinge of your jaw, gentle, reverent, like he was scared you’d disappear if he touched too roughly.

You pulled back just an inch, just enough to breathe, and he chased you a little—just a tiny lean forward, like he hadn’t meant to lose contact. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing too hard for a kiss that lasted maybe ten seconds.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. He cupped your cheek, brushing your skin with the back of his fingers like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I’m so in love with you,” he said—quiet, shaky, honest in a way that punched you right in the throat.

Your heart stuttered. “I love you too, Riki.” Leaning in to hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Oh…” He exhaled in relief as he picked you up and spun you around. “I missed you, baby. Oh I missed my baby so much!”

Your laugh broke against his shoulder, breathless and warm, and he clutched you like he was afraid gravity might snatch you away again. His hands slid under your thighs automatically, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck with this completely unhinged, lovesick groan. “I missed you so much,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin. “You have no idea—oh my god. I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m dizzy. Is this normal? Am I dying?”

You snorted. “Put me down, idiot.”

“No,” he said immediately, hugging you even tighter, rocking you side to side like a toddler with their favorite plush. “Absolutely not. You said you love me. That means you’re legally my emotional support human now.”

“Riki…”

“Shh,” he whispered dramatically, pressing an overly loud kiss to your cheek. “Let me have this.” Riki didn’t care. Zero shame. Negative shame even. He finally set you down but kept your waist locked in his hands like he didn’t trust reality to keep you there. He leaned back to look at you properly—eyes bright, hair messy from the wind, chest rising like he’d sprinted here from three counties over. “You love me,” he whispered again, like he was tasting the words, like they were cotton candy on his tongue. “Say it one more time.”

You raised a brow. “Riki—”

“Please,” he said, already smiling like he knew he was ridiculous and didn’t care. “Just one more. I need to hear it clearly, I’ve been hearing nothing but this fucked up speaker for the last hour.”

Your cheeks warmed as you whispered, “I love you, Riki.”

He shut his eyes like the words physically hit him. Head back, hand over his heart, dramatic and sincere at the same time. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. I feel like I just did ten lines. I’m never messing this up again.” Then, with a soft grin creeping up his face, he added: “Now c’mon, baby. Let’s go turn off my damn boombox before I get fined again.” You bent down to grab your Sephora bag and his backpack. Him with the boombox as he went two tracks over to put on ‘Who Says.’ You both laughed as you sang, “I wouldn’t wanna be anybody else!” 

He twirled you with his hand as you both walked into the direction of his apartment. “You know my favorite Selena song is ‘Naturally.’ For future reference.”

Riki laughed as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, bringing you close to him. “I’ll add that to the wedding playlist.”

“Woah, woah—”

He sang. “You wouldn’t wanna be a WAG?” 

Copyright: © zorange13. 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

Six-foot nothing-but-trouble, starting point guard, baby-faced assassin with a highlight reel that ESPN couldn’t stop drooling over. The kind of guy who could miss class for two weeks straight and still have professors grinning at him when he finally walked in. Though his frame didn’t scream trouble, his game said otherwise. His playing style was all crossovers and footwork, the kind that had commentators whispering words like Kyrie Irving and generational talent. He didn’t just play basketball. He performed it.

If Riki were a heavenly figure, he’d be Christ.

To you, he was just a regular human being. Why exalt someone that did nothing to benefit you personally? Did he cure world hunger? Leak the cure for cancer—because you could promise one exists. Build homes for displaced families? Relieve students of crippling debt? Anything? The answer is no. So why? Why? Why do athletes make more than doctors? Teachers? Why do people that save the world and make positive contributions to society not get even a sixteenth of the recognition of those that run up and down a court or field for a living? That, you couldn’t find the answer to.

But besides that, Riki was everywhere. It was freaky, seeing his face plastered in various campaigns beside other college athletes. You couldn’t even walk into the dining hall without Riki’s face smirking at you from a Gatorade cutout. He was on billboards, a few campus shuttles, hell—probably someone’s phone wallpaper. You could almost see his New Balance campaign now, how many times you came across it. And the stupid slogan, hearing him say: “Nishimura. New Game. New Balance.”

Okay, while the line was kind of clean—it was just him that pissed you off.

And it was insane because you never even met this guy to judge him. While you were in proximity to him, your best friends being cheerleaders and sharing the terrifyingly large court with them—you really had nothing bad to say about his character. For all you knew, Riki could be an amazing guy with an even more amazing personality. But you never knew him, never spoke to him, never even locked eyes with this guy if it weren’t via an obnoxious billboard. You’d never seen this man play. Every time you stumbled on a highlight, you swiped away. He didn’t do shit to you, you simply hated the hype around athletes. Around sports in general.

Even in basketball, it was all so negative. All the commentators and fans did was discuss the past. ‘Jordan this. LeBron that.’ And if not that, they’d find some way to bash a player they claim to love. If you love this player so much, why say they’re washed up? At least you could respect football fans—they were delusional behind their teams.

Still, you didn’t hate Riki. Didn’t even dislike him.

Not until today.

—

Like most days, you sat in the Decelis Arena. Right on one of the bleachers in the student section. Your best friends, Yasmin and Bella, were cheerleaders and shared the arena with the basketball team most weekdays. So you hung out there, got some work done as you watched your girls from their side of the floor. The coach never said anything, it was an open practice as far as you were concerned. Plus you never gave them any issues. Never distracted, just stayed quiet and typed on your laptop—it was great. You got to be around your girls and be productive. The only downside was looking to the left and seeing the men’s basketball team.

But it wasn’t so bad to hear them get degraded while they were conditioning and running drills. The sound carried in the arena—sneakers squeaking, basketballs smacking the hardwood, coaches barking like drill sergeants. On the other end, your girls were bright and polished, high ponytails bouncing in perfect sync.

You sat tucked on the bleachers, typing away, invisible. As their practice came to an end, the men kept going. But Yasmin and Bella walked up to you and you felt them before you heard them. Thus, you closed your laptop as you peered up at them with a bright smile.

“You guys look dazzling as ever,” you teased, though Yasmin’s mascara was halfway down her cheek and Bella looked one toe cramp away from retirement. They stopped in front of you, grinning but panting in exhaustion as they simultaneously wiped sweat off their foreheads. “Dude,” Bella huffed as she plopped next to you. “I can’t do—” Yasmin pointed at her fiercely. “I don’t wanna hear that shit, Bells. I told you. ‘Can’t’ isn’t—” “In our vocabulary,” you and Bella chorused, laughing at the girl’s optimism.

Yasmin Alamilla was one of the kindest, most supportive women you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Always cheery (no pun intended), wise, and to be honest, at times her optimism when you were feeling low was almost annoying. Because how can one person just be so happy all of the time? But you loved her from the moment you met her and wouldn’t trade her for the world.

Bella Powell was the opposite. Sharp-tongued, dramatic, and stubborn in a way that could make you want to strangle her one second and hug her the next. She complained more than anyone you knew, but she was also the first to show up at your door with fries and milkshakes when you weren’t feeling it. Loyal to the bone—even if she’d never admit it out loud.

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Yasmin rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’ll be thanking me later.” She leaned her head back as she sipped from her purple water bottle. Bella groaned as she helped you pack your stuff, holding your backpack open as she looked at the girl still standing. “I will thank you, just right now my body’s not thanking me.”

“Did you stretch beforehand?” you asked. The answer was no. But before she could admit it, a freshly pumped basketball came beaming across the court. It wasn’t a throw; it was a bullet. A missile. Before anyone could yell “Heads!” or even “Duck!” it was already too late. The ball cracked against the side of your face, cheek first, the sting blooming hot and instant. The sound was sickening, a hollow thwack that echoed louder in your head than in the gym.

Your vision tilted for a split second, your cheekbone pulsing like it might’ve cracked under the pressure. The ball ricocheted to the floor, rolling harmlessly now, but your cheek burned like fire. Yasmin’s gasp came first, Bella’s curse second. Your pencil pouch slipped from your hands, pens scattering. The feeling was akin to when you’re taking something out of the toaster oven and you accidentally touch the hot rack—only this time the burn wasn’t a split second. It felt everlasting.

As shock rang through the arena, you could hear a pin drop. And that wasn’t even the most embarrassing part—it was the collective “Ooh…” from the people around you. “Yo—” a voice cut through the chaos, low and sharp. Sneakers squeaked across the court as Riki jogged over, sweat still glistening down his temple. He scooped the ball up in one fluid motion, spinning it on his finger before tucking it under his arm like he hadn’t just nearly concussed you.

“You good?” His eyes flicked to your face—quick, but not quick enough to hide the way he lingered on your cheek. “I’m fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, pressing your palm against the sting. “Doesn’t look fine.” He crouched slightly to your level, smirk tugging at his lips even though his brows pinched with something closer to guilt. “Bet you’ll have the Wilson logo on your face for the next hour.” Bella shot him a glare. “Not funny, Riki.”

Riki turned his head to Bella, amused, then looked back at you—smirk faltering as his gaze locked on you again. “Seriously, though. You want ice?” Maybe you were just reading into things. And as someone who tended to take up the observer role, you truly felt in your heart of hearts that this guy was the asshole you thought he was. To make a joke out of your pain—and no one’s saying he had to call the national guard—but to spin the ball like he was putting on a show? Rage bloomed hot in your stomach.

“I’ll get my own,” you muttered. Riki’s smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, that same infuriating confidence he always carried. “Next time,” he said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly, “don’t sit so close.” And just like that, he pivoted, jogging back to drills, sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, leaving you to gather your pens and seething pride. You pressed your palm harder against your cheek, the sting sharp, and glared after him. Unbelievable.

The girls bent down to pick up your scattered pens and highlighters. Bella scoffed, “He’s such a dick sometimes. I’m so sorry, babes.” Yasmin frowned, brows creasing in worry. “That ball hit you something serious.” She handed you your fully stocked pouch. Tears brimmed your eyes. “I’m solid, this shit just hurts—Ow.” You hissed, leaning forward. “Here. Take this.” Yasmin rushed to grab Bella’s frozen water bottle and gently rubbed your back.

Yasmin gave you a soft, sympathetic look. “You really should’ve sat farther back. That kid’s got rockets for hands.”

You groaned, wincing as the sting radiated through your jaw. “Yeah, thanks for the tip,” you muttered under your breath, still glaring toward the court. Sure enough, Riki was back at it, running drills, tossing the ball between his teammates with that infuriating ease, smirking every time someone fumbled a pass.

“Ugh,” Bella muttered, nudging you. “You hate him already, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers tightening around the strap of your backpack. Hate was a strong word. But there was no denying the wrath that had just been lit inside you. Something about the way he’d spun that ball, flashed that smirk, and then walked away like none of it mattered…it was aggravating. But you stood, your hand still glued to your cheek as you grabbed your bag. “I don’t hate. I detest. I resent. And I hold grudges because I’m childish.” You grit out, luckily the bottle gave you some relief. And as the two of you walked out of the arena, you moved the bottle from your face for the first time, the air hitting the stinging sensation and making you wince. “Does one side of my face look fatter than the other?” You stopped midway on the sidelines to give them space to inspect you. Bella squinted dramatically, tilting your chin this way and that like she was about to submit you to America’s Next Top Model. “Hmm. Honestly? You look like you just lost a round to Mike Tyson.”

“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her arm, glaring before softening as she leaned in. “It’s not that bad. A little rough, but the swelling isn’t obvious yet. Ice will help.”

“Yet?” you groaned, pressing the bottle back to your cheek like it was a lifeline. “Oh, fantastic. So tomorrow I’m gonna look like Quasimodo.”

Bella snorted, looping her arm through yours as you all started walking again. “A little bit, but at least you can brag that the Riki Nishimura was in your face and ice was involved.”

“Shut the hell up,” you laughed.

Yasmin shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible, Bella.”

“Impossible but not wrong,” Bella sing-songed, squeezing your arm. “Half the girls on campus would kill to have him that close, even if it meant getting smacked with a ball.”

Yasmin smiled, “yeah but those aren’t the balls they wanna be smacked with.”

You pointed to her with a dry look. “That’s disgusting.”

—

Next week

—

You returned to their practice despite debating even coming back to this place ever again. But this time you took the Head Huncho’s advice and did in fact sit a little higher up on the bleachers. The girls were getting changed and in the meantime, you got set up on the bleachers. Typical stuff. Laptop, cola, and your person—you.  The arena was relatively silent as it was just you and the sound of you unzipping and settling into the spot you were gonna be occupying for the next hour or so. So you got to typing, chipping away at the Philosophy essay you had due in a week. 

You heard footsteps coming your way and just assumed it was Yasmin—no one seemed to be as light on their feet as her. 

“Forgot your water again?” you called without looking up, fingers still flying across your keyboard.

Except…no answer. Just the scrape of sneakers against the bleachers and a low chuckle that definitely didn’t belong to Yasmin.

Your head snapped up, and there he was—Riki Nishimura himself—standing two steps below you, spinning a basketball against his palm like he was born with it.

“Bold of you,” he said, smirk firmly in place, “to sit in the line of fire again. Thought you learned your lesson last week.” You narrowed your eyes, instinctively bringing a hand to your cheek even though the swelling was long gone. You opened your mouth to respond but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your jaw clicked as you turned back to your computer.

He didn’t stop though, he just got closer. “How’s your face? I got you good didn’t I?”

“Fine,” you said robotically.

“Really?” He tilted his head, not seeming convinced. 

“Really.”

“Hm…” He nodded, the same smirk planted on his face. “Did you sleep on your right side for a few days?” He tested, letting his words hang with a teasing undertone. You sucked in a breath, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard as you turned to glare at him. “Do you go around asking random girls about their sleeping positions, or am I just lucky?”

Riki’s grin widened, infuriatingly boyish. “You’re funny.” He let out a small laugh, taping his fingers mindlessly—like this was second nature. Because it was.

“You really are as insufferable as they say.”

“And you,” he said, pointing the ball at you like a teacher with a chalk stick, “sit through two hours of sweaty practices when you probably don’t even like basketball. Which, respectfully, makes you insufferable.” Your face was plagued with repulsion. “I’m here because my friends are cheerleaders. I’m here for them. There’s people whose world doesn’t revolve around you, you know?” You scoff. “Fuck off, seriously.” Going back to your laptop, you angrily type. Your keyboard one more click away from not having a letter F. 

“Yes…Bella and Yasmin.” He hums as he points at you with a knowing look. “I like them. Both very beautiful girls.”

You ignored him because he hadn’t said anything untrue. But in any case, he needed to tread lightly when mentioning your friends.

“They are,” you said flatly, eyes glued to your screen.

Riki tilted his head, smirk tugging wider as if he’d caught a flicker of irritation in your tone. “Relax. I wasn’t hitting on them.” He spun the ball in his hands, the squeak of rubber filling the silence before he added, “Not my type.”

You arched a brow, finally glancing at him. “Oh, so you have a type?”

His grin was infuriating. “Don’t we all?”

“Careful,” you sing song. “New Balance wouldn’t want to know you’re out here objectifying women instead of selling sneakers.”

He huffed out a laugh, “cute, cute. You’re very cute.” Riki bounced the ball between his legs haphazardly, lifting a leg cavalierly as he looked at you. “You know, I really like girls like you. Girls that don’t like me. Turns me on.” “Oh my gosh, I never told you. But I write my name with yours in my notebook every single night before I go to sleep. I’m in love with you.” You deadpanned, saying this with no inflection whatsoever. For a second he actually froze, like you’d handed him an unexpected plot twist. Then the grin came back—slow, smug, all teeth. He bounced the ball twice before holding it steady in his hands. “Is that right? Interesting bedtime ritual.”

You felt your stomach do a stupid little flip and immediately hated it.

“You know what?” he continued, like he was considering the absolute worst and most entertaining idea. “I like a challenge.”

You raised a brow. “Do you now?”

“I do.” He tapped the ball once, twice. “Let’s see how long it takes me to make you say that without the sarcasm.”

“I’d sooner die.” 

“That’s the only thing that keeps me going.” He moves back. “Keep that pretty face safe for me.” He waves, batting his eyes as he jogs to the other side of the court. Dribbling the ball and swiftly passing it to one of his teammates, laughing with them as they overhear his teasing. And still, that seething rage in your stomach hasn’t left in over a week. 

It still persists. Even more so now.

—

Later that day

—

It was a nice, peachy evening. Clouds akin to cotton candy and the sun a cute lollipop in the sky. Bella and Yasmin were headed back to their dorms to get ready for bed. If they valued anything it was their beauty sleep. Which…real.

You, however, couldn’t enjoy your night. No. Not even in the slightest. In just twenty short minutes, you had a class. Never did you think you’d be one of the people taking an evening class, but your registration slot was less than favorable.

But some good music and walking off your heavy dinner was enough to keep your mood up. You zipped your hoodie up tighter as the evening breeze picked up, tugging at stray strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail. The sidewalks were practically empty, the campus bathed in that soft, peach-and-lollipop light that made everything look harmless. But you weren’t harmless. Not tonight. Not when every memory of Riki Nishimura—grinning, teasing, infuriating—was still pressed into your brain like a damn watermark.

You hated that he was everywhere. Again, in the dining hall right on the fountains—his jersey number—three—next to a Gatorade logo. Now, as you’re walking—a shuttle passes. He was unavoidable, his every being plagued your existence and before it was used to just be a ‘whatever, this is just annoying’ kind of way. But because he seemed to know you now, and target you in some way—it escalated from annoyance to near disdain. 

But of course, it seemed like you couldn’t think about him without it costing you. 

He smoothly stepped right in front of you—a smile as bright as the sun—cutting you off in your path. “Hey girl,” It honestly seemed like he came from nowhere and you stopped short, bumping right into his chest. He smelled like fresh laundry and faint cologne, the kind that lingered just enough. Worse, his chest was warm, solid—completely unfair. Head to toe in the signature New Balance sweats—grey—with the popular 530s to match. Very typical of him. 

You looked up at him, and this was the first time you’d seen him really up close. Upright that is. He wasn’t as small as the camera, or as huge as the cutout—or even his ego—made him seem. Granted, he was tall. Standing a solid six foot one. Beside his teammates, he was shorter. Which made sense, you didn’t need to be extremely tall to be a point guard—you knew that much. He carried the duality of a superstar and a regular guy all at once. Nothing about him was special yet, every last thing about him is. But you didn’t dare fix your lips to say anything remotely positive about him. You pursed your lips and sighed in defeat, not even having the energy for this at the moment—you quietly brushed past him without another word. But you didn’t make it very far, he was much faster than you ever were.

“Ooh, not so fast, mama.” He quickly stepped in front of you, holding his hands up in defense as you bumped into him again.

So in response, you stepped to the left.

He also stepped to the left.

You stepped to the right.

He also stepped to your right. 

You tapped your foot in frustration, nostrils flaring as you glared at him. Eyes narrowing when you saw the feign of ennui on his face. “I’m very good at this game…” He frowned, sighing as he waited for you to break. You lifted your non-dominant hand and checked your watch. You had less than fifteen minutes to get to your class and you didn’t have time to waste. With a groan, you looked back at him. “What the fuck do you want?”

The smile he greeted you with reappeared as he clasped his hands together. “Okay so…I wanted to apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” you nodded curtly as you brushed past him once more. He still reminded you that he wasn’t letting you go just yet. You sped walked in the direction of your class and he followed closely beside—his long legs eating up the space between you without another breath.

“Wait, I’m not done.” He matched your pace as he looked down at you. “Just let me get my shit off then I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Why do I feel like I’m not the only girl that’s heard that before?” You peered up at him with a sarcastic smile. 

Riki nodded slowly, accepting the jab. “Okay. Well, I just wanted to say I was sorry for being so rude to you. I should’ve been more careful—while my pass wasn’t terrible, my teammate didn’t catch it and it just happened to hit you—”

“Why’re you blaming others in the midst of your own apology?” You scoffed as you turned a corner to go to the lecture hall. 

Before he could open his mouth, someone from afar shouted his name out. “Hey Riki!”

You instinctively turned your head the opposite direction. Not because you thought people would give a fuck—they most likely wouldn’t. It just seemed to be reflexive—you didn’t have much of an explanation for it. Almost like the one-off, fictitious bubble you thought you had with him burst and you couldn’t look at anything but the bushes to bring you back to reality.

Two people pulled up beside you two in a golf cart. Riki’s mood perked up as he greeted them. “Oh, hi guys,”

“Where you headed?”

Riki turned his head to you. “Where you going?” He said lowly, obviously taking your shyness into account. 

Your eyes flit to the side then back to his gaze. “South Hall.” 

He turned to the pair—two girls—with a bright smile on his face. “South Hall.”

The girls leaned over the steering wheel, beaming. “Hop in! We’ll give you a ride.”

Before you could wave them off, Riki’s hand landed lightly at the small of your back, steering you forward. “Perfect. We’re headed that way.”

Your head snapped up at him. We?

The girls brightened instantly, scooting their bags to make space on the back seat. “Yeah, climb in! Saves you the walk.”

You opened your mouth to protest—no way were you getting chauffeured across campus like his plus-one—but Riki was already sliding into the cart with that casual ease, patting the seat beside him like this was your cue.

“I’m fine walking—” you started.

The girl driving, her nametag reading Sydney—waved you off. “Girl, please. It’s nothing, we’re headed that way anyway.”

“Yeah, they’re already headed that way.” Riki smirked as he watched you step onto the cart. His hands up subconsciously to be ready to catch you if you slipped. 

You settled into the tan leather seats. “Thank you, girls, I appreciate it.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips, clutching your bag tighter than necessary. Sydney grinned back at you in the rearview mirror, while her friend—Maya, judging by the lanyard swinging around her neck—twisted halfway in her seat to wave you off. “Of course! We know how far South Hall is. Nobody should have to trek that after dinner.” The cart kicks as you pull off, breezing past the landscape and contemporary architecture. Paid for courtesy of the money that the athletics teams brought in from various donors and student dollars.

“Especially not after getting smacked in the face with a ball,” Riki added, leaning back like he owned the whole cart.

You shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “You love bringing that up, don’t you?”

“History’s important,” he replied smoothly. “If I don’t remind you, who will?”

Maya giggled like he’d just delivered the funniest punchline of the century. You swore half the school was under his spell.

“Honestly, Riki’s right,” Maya said. “That pass was crazy. You didn’t even cry though. Respect.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to explain yourself. Because the truth was, you had flinched—you just did it internally where no one could see. But now, thanks to Riki, your little moment of public humiliation had become folklore. “You saw it?” Maya nodded, “yeah, I’m the basketball coach’s assistant. Well I didn’t see it but I, for sure, heard it.”

“The smack heard around the world—” Riki laughed, curling into himself as you slapped his rock-solid arm. “Shut up,” you hissed, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

Maya reassured you, “it’s okay. It’s contained. Only a few people saw it.” She shrugged, “the amount of times the guys on the team themselves have been hit is like…”

“Incalculable.” Sydney chimed in as she made a left turn, breezing past other walking students. You frowned at the sight, you wish you could fit them all in the vehicle. 

“Totally,” Riki added. “You remember that game against Boston when Jay—”

“I’ve never seen any of the games.” You interjected, narrowly inspecting your nails—but as soon as you said that the cart almost jerked to a full stop.

Sydney’s head whipped around, eyes wide. “You what?”

Maya gasped, clutching her chest like you’d just told them you hated puppies. “You’ve never—ever?” The cart slowed as a group of students crossed, giving Riki the perfect stage to swivel toward you, brows lifted in mock offense. “Hold on.” His voice was calm, but his expression was all wounded pride. “You’ve been sitting in my arena, my practices, for how long—and you’ve never watched a single game?”

You blinked at him. “I’m there for the cheer practices. Riki—I’ve never even seen you do more than dribble the ball.”

“How is that possible?” He furrowed his brows.

You frowned in thought. “I just never paid any mind to your side of the floor. I just…look where the girls are or my laptop. Mostly my laptop.” 

They finally pulled up to the lecture hall. Both you and Riki slid out—thanking Sydney and Maya as you did. “Good luck, girlie.” Sydney gave one last smile before speeding off ahead. It went by a lot faster than you thought. By this point, the two of you stood on the sidewalk right in front of South Hall. Taking in the silence for the moment as you both looked at the horizon. The sun melted behind the glass neuroscience building. Causing the both of you to turn your gaze to each other as the light reflected into your eyes. The moment Riki did, he grinned. “Okay. You can stop acting cool, no one’s around.” He whispered. “I know you’ve seen me play—one of my games at least.”

You slowly shook your head. “I swear I haven’t.”

He conceded, “Fine. Well…as I was saying before we were interrupted. I’m sorry for hitting you with the ball last week. It was an accident, and I also apologize for being a bit of a dick to you.”

You squinted up at him, arms crossed. “A bit of a dick?”

Riki laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “A little bit…” He pinched his fingers together. You gave him a look as you waited for him to take it back. Letting his words simmer. “Not even just the tip?”

You sighed, running your hands over your face. “Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face—”

“I’m sorry, okay, okay!” He laughs as he waves his hands in front of your face. “I was joking…”

“Mmm…” you tilted your head at him, your heart beating a bit faster than it was before this conversation began.

He pursed his lips as he smiled down at you. A glint in his eyes that you don’t recognize. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“As a token of my apology, I want to invite you to my next game.”

You stared at him like he’d just suggested a blood pact. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon.” His grin widened, like he’d been expecting that answer. “Front row, VIP. I’ll even have your name on the pass list. You don’t even have to cheer for me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Fine, then come and boo. Loud. Make a sign if you want—‘Down with Nishimura’ or something.” He mimed holding up a poster, his expression all faux-serious. “I’ll wave at you from the free throw line.”

You snorted despite yourself, quickly covering it with a cough. “Why would I waste my Friday night watching sweaty dudes run back and forth?”

“Because sweaty dudes running back and forth is basically my art form,” he shot back smoothly. Then he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “Besides…you owe me.”

Your brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For traumatizing me,” he said without hesitation. “Do you know how much it hurts when someone tells you they’ve never seen your masterpiece?”

“That’s something called ego.”

He leaned in, close enough that his voice dropped into something teasingly low. “Same difference.” For a beat, you just stared at him, pulse tripping traitorously. “Dream on, Riki.” You turned, reaching for the heavy doors of South Hall, but his voice caught you right before you slipped inside.

“One game,” he called out, tone softer now. “Just one. If you hate it, I’ll never bother you again.”

You froze, hand on the handle. He had to know you weren’t the type to fold under pressure—so why did his voice sound less like a challenge and more like a genuine ask?

Slowly, you glanced back. He was standing there with his hands shoved into his sweats, rocking back on his heels, watching you with a grin that wasn’t entirely smug.

You squinted. “You expect me to believe that? You’ll leave me alone?”

He pressed a hand over his heart, feigning sincerity. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a scout in your life.”

“Exactly, so I’ve got nothing to lose,” he said easily. “C’mon. You sit in the bleachers twice a week anyway. This time, you get a show.”

You opened your mouth to shoot him down again—but the words got stuck. Maybe it was the sunset painting him in gold, maybe it was the echo of his laugh still buzzing in your chest, maybe it was the faint thrill of saying yes when every fiber of you wanted to say no. You saw why people liked him. When he wasn’t being a pompous, meat for brains, insipid asshole—Riki could be described in a very simple word: charismatic. Everything that he is, does, seems to rub people the right way. But the fact that it took over a week to get a full apology from him always rang in the back of your mind.

“C’mon mama, wherever you need to be, you only have five minutes.” He sang, as he glanced at his blue Superman watch.

You didn’t want to be bought by him, this was just some sick foreplay, if any. He said it himself, he likes people—girls—like you. The ones that despise him and aren’t so easily won. He probably thinks you two are flirting—he has been. You haven’t—not intentionally that is. The last week has shown you the type of person he is. He’s rude, careless, inconsiderate and for sure undeserving of your time. “Quick question.”

He looked up at you, lifting his brow. “Talk to me.”

“Those girls that drove us, Sydney and…Maya. How do you know Sydney?” You pulled the sleeves of your zip-up over your wrist.

Riki cocked his head to the side, “she’s Maya’s girlfriend. Why?”

Okay so, that didn’t exactly satisfy the answer you wanted. 

But this is the problem, you wanted so badly to catch him in something. To see if someone was going to pop out of the bushes and tell you that you’ve been Punk’d. That you were a fool for even thinking that one of the most prolific basketball stars this university’s ever seen wanted your time and attention. But he seemed to. Or maybe it was his guilt. You couldn’t tell. And that was what was eating you alive. That you couldn’t tell. But curiosity was a bitch and maybe Friday night could’ve been for you.

As you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. “So?” He smiled gently, hopeful glints in his eyes.

You sighed, “how do I buy the ticket?” You throw up your hands in defeat as you look to the side and up at the nearly set sun. 

“Yes!” He cheered, pumping a fist in the air like he’d just hit a buzzer beater. Opening his arms wide, “can I give you a hug?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, arms crossing tighter. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, mama, I earned it,” he pleaded, arms still spread like he was about to embrace the whole campus. “You just admitted you’re coming to see me.”

“I admitted nothing,” you corrected, stepping around him toward the South Hall doors. “All I said was I need a ticket.”

“That’s the same thing.” He jogged to keep up with you, a grin plastered across his face. “In fact, it’s even better—you asked me for one. That’s like—” He paused, holding his hands out like he was framing a painting. “—a confession of interest.”

You stopped, deadpan. “I’m not interested,”

“And yet, hater,” he said, tapping his temple as if he’d solved world hunger, “I’ll see you Friday.”

Before you could come up with a scathing comeback, the bell tower chimed the hour. You groaned, clutching your bag. “I’m late. Thanks for that.”

“Thank me later,” he called as you hurried inside. And when you risked one last glance over your shoulder, he was still standing on the steps—hands in his pockets, that infuriating grin aimed right at you like he’d already won.

And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of you worried he had.

—

“Wait what?! Riki invited you to his game?!” 

“Say that any louder would you?” You threw your hands up in irritation as Yasmin’s eyes bulged out of her skull at the news. 

Bella covered her mouth, stifling a laugh as she flipped the waffle maker open. “Wait—hold on, hold on.” She pointed the spatula at you like it was a gavel. “You, you, the number-one Riki Nishimura hater on campus, got personally invited by the man himself, and you said yes?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I didn’t say yes, I just…didn’t say no.”

“That’s a yes,” Yasmin gasped, and she quietly clapped her hands.  “Oh my gosh, you’re going to a game! Our little cynic is finally embracing school spirit!”

The dining hall was typically bustling around this time. Early in the morning, people want to load up on breakfast and catch up with friends before the inundating life of college consumes them. You, Yasmin, and Bella met up at nine AM for breakfast every single morning, no exceptions. Ten on weekends.

“Fuck the school, fuck the spirit.” You groaned. “I’m going because he wouldn’t shut up about it. It’s a one-time thing. A pity acceptance.”

Bella raised a brow. “A pity acceptance is still an acceptance, babe.”

The waffle maker dinged. She lifted the lid and slid a perfect golden square onto her plate, smirking as she doused it in syrup. “Honestly? I’m proud. You’re about to see the campus cult leader in his natural habitat.” She immediately doubled back to put more mix in the press. You and Yasmin always split a waffle. The beautiful, olive skinned girl squealed again. Grabbing your hands and interlocking them. “This is huge! You’re gonna love it—the lights, the crowd, the energy—”

“The egos,” you cut in, tugging your hands back.

“The athleticism,” Yasmin countered, unfazed. “And hey, if you don’t like the game, at least the cheer squad will look amazing. I’ll even throw in a wink just for you.” You wrapped an arm around both girls’ shoulders, to which they rested their heads on yours. “At least I’m guaranteed some type of joy. Seeing my hot friends in their cute cheer outfits.”

Bella laughed, rubbing your tummy as she lifted herself up to check your waffle. “I’ll even give you a lap dance if you ask nicely.”

“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her with the back of her hand, laughing so hard her mascara almost smudged.

“What?” Bella grinned, cutting your shared waffle with surgical precision. 

You snorted into your mango juice. “If Riki’s game is even half as entertaining as this breakfast, maybe I’ll survive.”

“Oh, you’ll more than survive,” Yasmin said confidently. “You’re gonna be converted.”

“Is this guy really that good?” You grabbed two plates for the two and slid them to Bella. 

The two girls nodded in unison. “Putting all dickhead-ism aside, babes. He’s extremely good.” Bella said as she put the halves on both plates.

Yasmin nodded, as you both walked back to your table. “Yeah, it’s freaky. I don’t know, but you’ll see Friday.” She shrugged as you sat at your table. 

Bella pointed her fork at you. “You’re gonna hate how much you agree with her.”

Before you could fire back, a shadow fell across the table.

“Agree with who?”

You nearly choked on your strawberry. Yasmin yelped so loud half the dining hall turned. And Bella? She smacked her fork down like she was about to get very violent.

Standing there, plate balanced casually in one hand, was Riki Nishimura himself. Grinning like the devil.

“Don’t do that!” Yasmin scolded, clutching her chest.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, setting his plate down at the table behind yours. He placed his hand on the back of your chair—something weirdly intimate. You couldn’t assess the feeling. But you felt his body heat radiate off of him.

Bella and Yasmin knew Riki in passing. The basketball team and their cheerleaders—the team that the girls were a part of—were familiar with one another. From the university standpoint, the cheerleaders would hype up the crowd, boost morale, the works. On the other end, a lot of them would date other athletes. Which sounds cliche in hindsight. Riki ‘dated’ many cheerleaders in his day, mostly during high school. Now, he’s calmed down—only having screwed around with three of them in his years at Decelis. Three in two years isn’t that terrible. But that was the thing with Riki, he screwed. That’s all he could do. Wanted to do, really. He knew the power he held here and what man wouldn’t enjoy the flock of women that threw themselves at his feet? Especially when his status was what it was. Riki would make it clear that he didn’t want anything more with them. Abundantly clear that it was just sex, nothing more or less. But of course, there would be a few that would try to change him. Claim him, go around saying things about him that weren’t true to scare other girls out of dating him. Once he started getting attention, sponsorships, ESPN coverage, he couldn’t risk his image being tainted at the hands of a one night stand. From his perspective, he’d rather get in trouble for things he did on his own than something someone else said. Especially if it weren’t true. Besides that, the girls and him essentially ran in the same circles. Plus, Yasmin and one of the other basketball guys had a one-off fling. Brief, fruitless, literally lasted three weeks. Bella was pretty and Riki was sort of eyeing her for a minute, but that crush died. Nothing that Bella did, he just saw you.

“Nothing. Do nothing, Riki.” You looked up at him with a sarcastic smile. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I love the welcome wagon.” He nodded curtly as he lightly, very playfully punched your arm. “Just wanted to remind you that Friday shall not be forgotten.” Yasmin smiles, “it’s not! We were just talking about yo—” Bella immediately kicked her leg, roughly—nearly leaving a bruise. Yasmin’s yelp turned into a strained laugh, way too high-pitched. “—yo, yogurt. We were just talking about yogurt.”

The blonde nodded affirmatively, slowly but going with what the girl writhing in pain said. “Uh-huh. Strawberry yogurt. Very…important conversation.”

Riki squinted, biting into his toast with suspicious slowness. “Yogurt. Right.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “You guys know you’re terrible liars, right?” Bella shoved a piece of waffle into her mouth to avoid answering. Yasmin’s eyes darted everywhere but him. And you? You just stared back at him, unimpressed.

“Relax,” Riki grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “If I wanted to eavesdrop, I’d sit at this table, not behind you. Though—” His knuckles rapped against the back of your chair again, teasing. “This seat has its perks.”

Bella groaned into her plate. Yasmin kicked her under the table this time.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you have a young woman’s life to ruin?” 

He quirked his brows, stealing a slice of kiwi from your plate. “Who, like yours?”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Riki just chewed the kiwi like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade on the table. “I’m saying—” he gestured vaguely with his fork, “—you’re acting like I’ve got a whole victim list when clearly…” His eyes slid to you, gleaming. “…you’re volunteering.”

Bella choked on her waffle. Yasmin slapped her back, sputtering. “Who do you think you are?”

“What? I’m clarifying,” he said innocently, though the corner of his mouth was doing that thing—the smug almost-smile that made your blood heat. Then, without another word, he grabs a chair and his plate from the table he had the food on. Getting comfy as he set himself up. “I’m so sorry I just love girl chat.” He squealed as he scooted inward and entirely too close to you.

Bella’s head snapped up. “Did…did you just squeal?”

“I did.” Riki leaned his elbow on the table, grinning like a cheshire cat. “I’m very in touch with my feminine side.”

Yasmin looks at you with a disappointed sigh, “I see what you were talking about.”

Your fork froze mid-air. “Wow. Betrayal this early in the morning?”

Yasmin just shrugged helplessly, sipping her coffee. “I’m sorry,”

Riki gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “You’ve been slandering me before I even sat down?”

Bella stabbed her waffle with unnecessary force. “We didn’t need to. You do it all yourself.”

He turned to you then, eyes glinting, completely ignoring the other two. “So that’s the verdict? I walk in here, innocent, just trying to enjoy my kiwi—”

“You mean my kiwi?” You gesture to your nearly cleared off plate of fruit. 

“It’s not like you were eating the shit.” He reached in, going for the last few slices. But before he could, you turned the bowl—bringing it out of his reach. Riki froze mid-reach, his hand hovering in the air.

Without any effort, he reached down to the leg of your chair—pulling you closer into his side with the strength of a singular arm. Your heart skipped, and you yanked back slightly, more surprised than scared. “Hey! What—” Riki didn’t budge, just leaned forward to grab the bowl. “What?” His eyes flicked to the bowl of fruit, then back to you, unrepentant as he tested you. Dared you to speak again in a teasing way.

Bella and Yasmin froze mid-bite, their expressions somewhere between horror and fascination. Yasmin whispered, “Uh…maybe…maybe intervene?”

Bella just buried her face in her hands. “Nope. Not my problem.”

—

Friday came faster than you thought it ever could. Which is strange because any other week goes by excruciatingly slow for you. Greatly enough, you didn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the thought of seeing Riki on the court, all energy and mild aggression personified, or maybe it was the memory of him cornering you over a damn kiwi bowl. Either way, you found yourself walking across campus, purse slung over one shoulder, feeling a mix of dread and curiosity that you didn’t entirely understand. The arena loomed ahead, banners flapping in the evening breeze as crowds of people made their way inside. Your chest tightened, not from the usual anxiety of social situations, but from the knowing—knowing that he was here, somewhere in the midst of all that chaos, grinning like he owned the place. After the interactions you had with him, you wondered if Riki ever got nervous before games. If he did some bizarre ritual or had a good luck charm like a pair of socks he wears every game that he hasn’t washed since he was ten. Your lace-trimmed long sleeve was very cute and delicate, definitely not the “athlete-supportive” outfit anyone would expect at a basketball game—but somehow, it felt like armor. You tugged at the hem nervously, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. Inside, the arena buzzed with energy: the squeak of sneakers on the polished court, the rhythmic stomps and chants of the crowd, the banners waving overhead. Somewhere in the middle of it all, you knew Riki would appear larger than life, and honestly…the thought made your palms sweat.

He didn’t lie, there was a seat reserved right in the front row with your name on it.

​​You blinked at the small placard. Your name. Front row.

A mix of irritation and curiosity bubbled up. Who even does that? And yet…part of you couldn’t deny the thrill. Sliding into the seat, you felt the floor vibrate as the players warmed up, sneakers squeaking and balls thumping as the team warmed up. Then you saw him moving across the court, every motion effortless, commanding, magnetic. Even from a distance, you could feel the energy radiating off him, drawing your gaze like gravity. He caught your eye for a brief second, slyly winking at you as he chewed on a mouthguard. His attire was great. Yes, he wore the school colors—purple and white—on his uniform. A large number three at the center of both sides of his jersey. But on his right arm, he had a white arm sleeve. White finger tape decorating his fingers as on the opposite leg—his left—he had a leg sleeve. You’ve seen basketball players wear stuff like this, it seemed to be the style. Your eyes scanned the middle of the court and you spotted Bella and Yasmin—dolled up and looking as gorgeous as ever as they sat on the sidelines. You beamed and immediately took out your phone to snap a photo of them. Oh-so-inconspicuously sending that photo in the group chat. An ‘I’m watching your every step’ message. Nothing too weird, you know. The laugh in your throat bubbled as you broke out into a smile, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd faded into the background. Bella’s perfectly lined eyeliner, Yasmin’s gleaming hair, the way they leaned into each other as they whispered—you could practically hear the unspoken jokes.

Until it was time for tip-off.

—

The buzzer sounded, a sharp crack that made your chest skip a beat, and the ball soared into the air. Riki lunged with impossible timing, leaping higher than anyone else, his arm sleeve flexing with the motion. The crowd erupted as he slammed the ball down with a satisfying thunk, immediately taking control of the game.

From your front-row seat, every movement was mesmerizing: the pivot of his legs, the effortless bounce of the ball, the way his jersey clung just right when he twisted mid-air. And, of course, the occasional glance your way—a subtle lift of the brow, a tilt of the head—just enough to remind you he knew you were watching. Riki crouched low near half-court, dribbling the ball between his legs with that smooth, controlled rhythm that made it look effortless. His eyes flicked up, scanning the defense like a chess player anticipating every move. He didn’t rush—never all-out too early. Every feint, every subtle shift of his weight was calculated, teasing the defenders, building tension, like he was saving the real fireworks for the perfect moment. A defender lunged, trying to predict his next move, but Riki only stayed focused, spinning the ball through a precise between-the-legs crossover. He leaned forward, eyes locked on the basket, energy coiled and measured, every step deliberate. And then—explosion. He exploded past the defender, weaving through the chaos with that signature agility, rising for a perfect, graceful layup that made the crowd roar. Even in motion, his gaze flicked toward you, subtle and teasing, like he was daring you to blink.

—

He always took smart shots. 

Surprisingly enough, Riki was far from a ball hog. He moved like a conductor through the chaos of the game, every dribble, pivot, and pass precise. He orchestrated plays, drawing defenders toward him and then slipping a perfect pass to a teammate cutting to the hoop—playing the point guard role perfectly. Every shot he took was calculated; every assist and pass, effortless. You watched, captivated, as he built the momentum of the game with a controlled fire that was both intimidating and magnetic. Halfway through the second quarter, he caught the ball just inside the three-point line, eyes scanning, defenders breathing down his neck. He dribbled, a subtle hesitation, then spun between his legs, pivoting with that signature agility. A defender tried to stop him, but his shoulder grazed Riki just enough to make him stumble—foul called immediately. He didn’t miss a beat. Rising for the layup, he absorbed the contact and still managed to sink it cleanly. The whistle blew—and one.

As he landed, he slapped his chest with that confident, masculine gesture, exhaling sharply, eyes glinting. The crowd clapped, teammates high-fiving him.Every move seemed designed to entertain as much as to dominate. He drew cheers from the crowd, coordinated plays with teammates, and every so often, that teasing glance toward you reminded you: this was also a show for you.

—

On defense, Riki was a pest. Annoying. The kind of player who never gave you room to breathe. He crouched low, arms wide, reading the offense like he had the playbook in his head before it even unfolded. Every time his opponent tried to drive, he cut them off with quick, sharp footwork, shadowing every step. And when he went for a steal? Ruthless. One second the ball was in his opponent’s hands, the next Riki had stripped it clean, darting down the court. He didn’t just defend—he got under skin. By the third quarter, you could see the frustration written across the faces of the guys stuck dealing with him. He thrived on it too. That sly grin crept back whenever a frustrated guard shoved into him a little too hard, trying to break free. He’d just shrug it off, tap his leg sleeve like try again, and lock back in.

Even from the front row, you could tell—he wasn’t just good. He was exhausting to play against.

—

There were a few times he should’ve got called for a technical foul but wasn’t. A few of the other guys on the team trash-talked. But Riki’s mouth was the worst. You could tell, just like the rest of them, that they got extremely competitive in the heat of the moment. Which was understandable, but you wondered. There have been many times you’ve seen women’s games and the refs have so much to say to them when they get snippy. But the guys are essentially having a dick swinging contest right before the entire country to see. He’d get in the defenders’ faces, bump their shoulders. Take out his mouthguard specifically just to shit talk right in their faces. Whispering foul words to intimidate the player that you couldn’t make out. The guilty part of you was sort of turned on by it, seeing Riki this way. This was the most masculine you saw him. Not the smug tease hovering over your shoulder in the dining hall. Not the boy grinning as he chased you up to class. Here, on the court, chest heaving, jaw tight, trash talk spilling easy—this was Riki in his rawest form. And you hated how much your stomach knotted watching it.

—

By the last thirty seconds, the gym was shaking. 126–126. Decelis ball. Everyone in the stands already knew where it was going—Riki. He dribbled up, face locked in that sharp, predator focus you’d never seen off the court. Two defenders closed in, practically climbing his back. The crowd roared, waiting for him to take the shot. Of course he would. He always did.

He didn’t.

At the last second, Riki snapped his wrist and swung the ball out to a teammate wide in the corner. Perfect pass. The kid launched it. Swish. Decelis up three. The arena exploded, bodies leaping, the bench clearing to scream. Riki didn’t even crack a smile—just hit his chest once, hard, and pointed at his teammate like that’s you.

The other team scrambled for a last shot, missed, and the buzzer went off in a storm of whistles and screams. Decelis: 129. Them: 126. Your ears rang as everyone flooded the court. Players crashing into each other, coaches losing their minds, fans pressed against the rails. And in the middle of it all was Riki, tall and shining and untouchable, sweat dripping down his jaw. While you covered your ears, trying to ensure you didn’t lose your hearing at the tail-end of this event—you got it now. More than anything did you understand why these things weren’t just games. They were spectacles. If people were like this for regular in-season games, imagine what the playoffs and (hopefully) championship games would be like. But besides that, you realized what made your pulse race wasn’t just the scoreboard or the roaring crowd—it was him. Riki, standing there like the center of gravity, chest rising and falling, teammates mobbing him in a blur of jerseys. He hadn’t even taken the final shot, but everyone knew he’d been the engine. The conductor. The spark.

He accepted the praise, but he immediately found the kid that he passed to—hitting his chest as he nodded. Smiling through his mouth guard as they both had some weird, guy conversation. Some celebratory music was playing from the arena speakers, as the fans cheered and stomped, the sound rattling through your bones. Players kept shoving Riki, grabbing his shoulders, hollering in his face like he’d just saved the world. He took it all with that cool, unbothered grin, dapping them up one by one. But then, as the noise stretched on, he peeled away. Sweat dripping down his temple, jersey clinging, he jogged over to the scorer’s table. You frowned, watching as he grabbed the ball from the official’s hands, spinning it once in his palm like it belonged to him.

And then—of course—his gaze cut straight to you.

Your stomach twisted as he looked at you, expectantly—waiting for your approval. Waiting for your okay. For you to tell him how great he already knew he was. But he wanted to hear it—see it—from you. Without a word, you nodded slowly—tipping your bag of sour gummies at him as you leaned back into your seat.

His grin widened around his mouth guard, sharp and almost childlike as he turned back to his teammates—doing cheesy celebratory dances as the arena cleared out. You shook your head, laughing softly as you cleaned up your area. Grabbing the wrappers and water bottles you went through—you hated leaving messes for people to pick up when you were fully capable of doing it yourself. As you walked to the trashcan that was about ten feet away, the girls wrapped their arms around you from either side. Bella’s perfume hit you first, sugary and strong, while Yasmin’s lip gloss smudged your cheek as she leaned in.

“Front row, huh?” Yasmin sing-songed, her grin wicked.

Bella gave you a look that said girl, explain, even as she pretended to focus on the giant foam finger she was waving.

“In my defense, I didn’t think I’d be put there.” You put your hands up, stepping back.

The blonde smiled, poking your arm. “Okay, WAG—”

“No!” You laughed, swatting her hand away. “Not WAG! I’m not—I didn’t—”

Yasmin’s grin widened, clearly loving your flustered flailing. “Relax, relax. We’re just saying, you know…front row. Big stage. Him.”

Bella snorted, waving the foam finger like a banner of proof. “Yeah, yeah, admit it—you enjoyed it.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “I did. The game was good.” Nodding in thought, “y’all were right.” 

Yasmin smiled, “see?! It’s so cute like, we all come together just to sit down and be in community and cheer and it just—” “Okay Miss Frizzle,” Bella placed her hand onto the girl’s shoulder as you all shared a laugh. Bella tugged you guys close, hugging you both tightly. “Okay, so are we ever gonna have the conversation where we cover the fact that Riki totally wants you?”

You froze mid-step, the weight of Bella’s words hitting like a surprise full-court press.

Yasmin snorted behind her hand, eyes sparkling. “Ooh, she’s gonna deny it. Watch.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, trying for casual, but your voice betrayed you anyway.

Bella rolled her eyes, smirking. “Uh-huh. Totally casual. Front row, him looking like a Greek statue on the court, and he somehow looked in your general direction for most of the game? Totally casual. So friendly.”

You nodded, brushing your curls behind your ear. “Mhm, you said it, not me.”

They both give you a look. Sharing one with each other as they both moved you out of the way as there were flocks of people still trying to make their ways out of the arena in one piece. But you somehow forgot about their existence, this has been happening a lot to you the last few hours. And most of your life. This sort of dissociation—only minding the people close to you. The ones you thought were special. Like today, you’d be in a sea of people and if you knew three—you kept them close to your chest. There’s been so many times where people would run into you, or come up to you and greet you and you’d not know who they were until they reminded you that you had your eleven-thirty history class with them and they sat right behind you. This is why Riki crashing into your life these last two weeks has been so surreal for you. And maybe, just maybe, this might be the reason for your subconscious rejection of him. You never actually hated him, you understood that. You simply didn’t like that you and the entire university were being forced to like him simply because he was good at a sport. By this point, the arena was empty sans for you three and some custodians that swept up the floor with pristine efficiency. Proving they’ve done this a thousand times over. 

Yasmin opened her mouth to respond, yet she was interrupted by one of the girls calling from one of the double doors. “Bella! Yasmin! C’mon, Coach is making us take photos and we can’t go without you guys.”

The brunette nodded, “we’re coming!” She called out as she turned to look at you. “Be right back.” She whispered, hugging you tightly—kissing your cheek as she scampered off to the door. 

Bella smiled as she watched Yasmin make a quick break for the doors. Turning back to you, she nodded to the door. “Wanna come?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Sure I—” From the corner of your eye, you see a tall figure jogging toward you. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor pulled your attention, and before you could even finish your sentence, there he was. The man of the hour. Still in his jersey, dried sweat sticking to his skin, his hair damp at the edges. He had ditched his mouthguard somewhere between celebrating and now, flashing that unbothered grin that made your pulse do a somersault. The ball was tucked under one arm like an extension of himself, and his pace—quick, determined—made it obvious: he wasn’t jogging toward anyone. He was jogging toward you. Bella’s brows shot up, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile as she stepped aside like she knew she was witnessing a movie scene unfold. “Ohhh, this should be good,” she murmured, already backing toward the doors to “give you space” but absolutely intending to eavesdrop from ten feet away. She debated, but ultimately decided to go find the team before she had to run ten laps before next practice. “I’ll catch you later, love you.” She whispered, rubbing your shoulder before she scurried off. Your feet stayed planted, though your mind screamed at you to do literally anything else. Riki slowed to a stop in front of you, chest rising and falling, eyes locked onto yours like Bella, the arena, the custodians didn’t exist. “Hi.” Just that—soft, breathless, like he’d been holding it in all night and finally let it spill. He shifted the ball under his arm, free hand tugging at the hem of his jersey like it could keep him grounded. His eyes, though, weren’t grounded at all—they were skating across your face, memorizing, cataloguing, daring you to look away.

“Congrats,” you managed, your voice a little too high, a little too airy, like you hadn’t been practicing something cooler in your head since halftime. “Star of the game, huh?”

His grin returned, a little crooked now, more boy than legend. “Nah. Don’t start with all that.” He leaned in a fraction, enough for you to catch the lingering salt of sweat, the heat radiating off him. “Besides…wasn’t really playing for the crowd tonight.” You raised your brows in slight shock, your heart skipping a little at the flirtation. “Are you flirting with me, sir?” Stifling a laugh as you cock your head.

Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Your stomach dipped like the floor had given out under you, though your face did its best to play it cool. Folding your arms, pretending his answer didn’t just rearrange your insides, you said, “Thank…you?” Riki’s laugh came again, low and disbelieving, like you’d just crossed him up on his own court. “Thank you?” He echoed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the ball. “That’s your response?”

You shrugged, trying to look unfazed even as your pulse thudded in your throat. “Well, what do you want me to say?” That crooked grin tugged at his lips again, boyish and sharp all at once. He angled his chin at you, eyes flicking over your face like he was searching for the crack in your act. “I was hoping for something more like…‘finally.’”

That single word hung between you, heavier than the arena’s fading buzz. Your arms loosened, the folded front slipping without your permission. “Finally?” you repeated, soft, like you weren’t sure if you wanted to challenge him or dare him to keep going. “Yeah,” Riki said, voice quieter now, less bravado and more truth. “Been waiting for a shot. Figured tonight I’d stop warming the bench.” He let the ball go, letting it bounce. He tapped it gently, letting it come back to his hand. He extended it to you with one arm. “For you, beautiful.”

You blinked at the ball, then at him, like he’d just offered you his jersey, his sneakers, and possibly his firstborn all at once. “For me?”

Riki’s smirk tilted into something softer, more earnest. “Yeah. MVP keeps the ball. Tonight…” he shrugged, eyes never leaving yours, “that’s you.”

Without anything else coming to mind, you just take the ball hesitantly. Like it would explode if you were to handle it wrong. “Oh my gosh, Riki…” you smile brightly. “Thank you.”

He laughs softly, “you said that already, mama. You don’t have to thank me.” He waved off as he sighed shakily. “Look…I know…we got off to a rocky start—”

“Rocky?” You echoed, one brow arching as you hugged the ball tighter against your chest.

“Hostile’s the better word.”

You nodded curtly, “for sure.”

Riki chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was taking the hit on purpose. “Yeah, I deserved that.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Glad we agree.”

His grin softened into something a little less cocky, a little more boyish. “But…if hostile was the start, I’m hoping this—” he nodded toward the ball in your arms, “—can be, you know, the reset.”

“So you wanna be friends?” You bounced the ball, dribbling it as you stared down at it. Ensuring it didn’t go anywhere—zero hand-eye coordination on your end.  Riki’s smile brightened as he watched you. “Friends is a good start, that’s not all I want though.” His eyes darted between you and the ball that you seem to have so much trouble dribbling but he just let you go.

Your dribble went sideways, the ball nearly escaping before you caught it with both hands, clutching it like a life preserver. “Not all you want?” you repeated, squinting at him. “You don’t even know if I can make a free throw.” Riki snorted, entertained at seeing you try this with zero grace. “But I do know you can’t dribble. I’m sorry but you are absolutely terrible.” 

“Hey! It’s not even my job to be good at this shit. Sorry I’m not like what’s-his-name.” You switch hands and dribble the ball at an irregular rhythm.

“What is his name, sweetheart?” Riki pursed his lips as he watched you with his hands clasped behind his back. 

You snapped your fingers as if it were able to trigger a thought. “Um…Allen Iverson! Yes! Allen Iverson.” Riki blinked, then burst out laughing, so loud one of the custodians looked over in confusion. “Allen Iverson?!” He bent forward, hands on his knees, grinning at you like you’d just told the funniest joke of the year. “Oh my God—nah, don’t do AI like that. He’s turning in his grave right now—”

“He’s not even dead!” you cut in, indignant, clutching the ball tighter.

Riki straightened, smirk pulling at his lips as he pointed at you. “Exactly. And you still killed him with that comparison.”

You gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “Wow. You’re mean.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, stepping closer again, grin softer now. “Just honest. And besides…” his gaze lingered on you, enough to make your heartbeat stumble, “…you’re way cuter than Iverson anyway.”

You got back to dribbling. “I don’t know…” you sang. “I used to have a crush on him when I was young.” You were focused, tongue sticking out in concentration as you played with the ball. 

He blurted out. “Okay, I’m sorry, I can’t take this anymore.” He scratched his forehead. “You gotta keep your eyes up, mama.” Scrunching his nose a bit as he put his hand on his hip.

“No, Riki, I’m gonna lose it if I do!” 

“Well I’m already losing it.” He laughs at your stubbornness. “You looking down isn’t helping you. If this were a game, I’d steal the ball from you.”

Your eyes stayed down, at this point, you were just pulling his leg. 

He swiftly stole the ball from you. “Hey,” he said firmly, grabbing your chin gently and forcing you to look at him. He bounced the ball at a quick rhythm, “look at me.” Dribbling the ball between his legs as he leans down to your height. 

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your cheeks at how close he suddenly was—his palm warm and steady on your chin, his eyes locked onto yours like he dared you to blink. The ball thudded against the hardwood in a perfect rhythm, the sound echoing in the empty arena. His smirk deepened, lips curling as if he’d just proven his point without saying another word. “See? Easy. You keep your eyes on me, and the ball takes care of itself.”

You scoffed, though it came out softer than intended, your voice a little shaky. “That’s…literally not how physics works.” “Sure it is,” he countered smoothly, still dribbling with one hand, chin tilted with that effortless confidence. “Ball control is focus. And right now, your focus…” he tapped your chin lightly before pulling his hand back, “…is exactly where I want it.” He stops dribbling and presses the ball into your chest.

“You’re such a showoff.” You crossed your arms over the ball, trying to reclaim some authority, though your heart betrayed you with a rapid thump. Riki tilted his head, grin sharpening just enough to be mischievous. “And you’re—

“Yo Riki!”

The both of you turn to see someone from behind you. Turns out it was three people, only one of them shouting out from across the floor. His teammates most likely. “You coming?!”  Confusion coated your features. That and annoyance was on Riki’s as well until realization found him. “Wh—oh shit!” He quickly turned to you with a small smile. “The team’s having an afterparty at one of the frats, wanna come?”

Your eyes widened, “a frat party?” “Well, yes and no. One of the guys on the team, Maki—we have the same name, funnily enough. Whatever that’s not the point—the point is, he’s a part of Phi Gamma Theta. The party’s at his frat house and it’s his turn to buy the beer.” He nods with a shimmy of his shoulders. 

You turn to his teammates that are eyeing you both expectantly, mainly him. At this moment, you really didn’t want to go. Like at all. And you were most certainly going to deny him! But you were so surprised that he was so quick to let you into his world in this way—so quickly. While you liked that he wanted you in the spaces that he occupied, you were weary of both him and the company he kept. You simply didn’t know him that well. 

While it didn’t hurt to make new friends and take on new social scenes, you seriously debated how to spend your Friday night. Bella and Yasmin were going to their dorms right after this they said. They’d been putting in serious work this week and were taking every last day of their weekends to do nothing. You were just going to study for your Latin quiz on Monday—which you hardly did because you were too worried about the Philosophy paper due this afternoon. So either way, you lost. “Uh…I think I’m gonna stay in tonight. Latin quiz on Monday and I’ve hardly studied.”

Riki nodded, “for sure, that’s fine.” He waves off, looking to his teammates and holding up his index finger. Indicating that he wanted a second. They went back to where they came, most likely the locker room. “Text me when you get to your dorm?” You quirked a brow, that confusion making another appearance. “I don’t have your number, Riki.”

He tilts his head, “you for sure do.” His eyes fell to the basketball in your hands then your eyes again.

Your gaze followed where his once was, shifting the ball around in your hands until you come across a slip of paper taped securely to it. Reading: To my MVP. Then the digits followed. Laughing, your heart rate spiking more than you’d like it to. “You’re such a cornball.” “And I got your number from Yasmin already so…don’t even think about flaking on me.” He wagged a finger in your face. “I’m a little crazy too, I hope you know.” He teased.

“Too? As in, you think I’m crazy?” You narrow your eyes as you fold your hands over the ball. He smiled as he reminisced, “well, when one takes a fresh basketball to the face and doesn’t cry, I’d like to think there’s a little something in your wheelhouse.”

You stared at him blankly. “Goodnight, Riki.” Then lightly tossed the ball, watching it bounce right off his forehead before he could react. And funnily enough, it fell right back in your hands. “Huh, I guess ball control really does work.” Riki laughed, rubbing the spot as he stepped closer. “See? Never lied to you.” His hand hovered briefly at the back of your head before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thanks for coming. I mean it. Text me when you get in, okay? Actually—” his grin flickered back as he shook his head, “don’t even bother. I’ll text you in thirty minutes.”

And this might’ve been the very moment that he got you. 

Him getting closer to you as he showed this affection felt like it was in slow motion. Did it last twenty seconds or twenty minutes, you couldn’t tell. As the faint scent of his sweat overtook your senses, you found yourself breathing him in. Taking in every ounce of the time you had with him in this arena. Despite the salty liquid, he smelled of something clean. Like linen, or some sort of fruit—citrus. More so an orange. His body was cooler now, but the heat from his body trying to cool itself down and instead it felt like the heat was all on you now. 

You did this a lot. Taking him in. Soaking up every second despite his presence not wanting to admit how much you enjoyed it. That awareness lingered in your chest, heavy and sweet, like honey that refused to dissolve. You hugged the ball against your stomach, pretending it was the only anchor keeping you steady. Because if you didn’t, you might’ve reached out—might’ve let your fingers graze his jaw, might’ve leaned in just a little too much. He didn’t make it easier, either. Still so close, still looking at you like you were something more than just a distraction. His grin is softer now, less cocky. Like he was letting you see the part of him he didn’t hand out to just anyone.

—

The second you get to your dorm you don’t even text him. You immediately sit at your desk, prop your phone up and move all your books to the side. You felt like you just did ninety lines of cocaine, every bone in your body jittering, every nerve spiked.  To be fully transparent, you hadn’t felt like this since Christmas when you were ten and your parents got you the entire Dork Diaries series after hearing you ask for it since December the year before. Fuck all the Bratz dolls, the Barbies, the dollhouses. Those be damned. Nothing mattered more to you than finally reading the book where Nikki actually didn’t say her comebacks in her head and when Mackenzie wasn’t finally the victim anymore. However, you didn’t get that far in the series anyway.

There had to be a day that you found your Brandon Roberts, and it might’ve not been today. But until then, you had to document every moment to your best friends. As you rang them on the group video call, they both popped in. Yasmin was perched at her desk with a face mask and a fluffy headband like she was running a skincare commercial. Bella was sprawled across her bed, the camera only showing her nose up like she couldn’t be bothered with life.

“Why you calling us like the world’s ending?” Bella groaned, her voice muffled by her pillow.

“Because it is,” you shot back immediately, tucking your legs under your desk chair. “Guys—I think Riki kissed me.”

So, both of them were gagged—full stop. Your screen sparks to life. Yasmin’s in a fluffy headband, cheeks already flushed. Bella’s camera is a nose-up drama shot and both of them look like they’ve seen a ghost and a dream at the same time.

“No way! Wait—what—dude! I thought you didn’t like him like that!” Bella beamed as she smiled into the camera. Holding her heart to keep it from bursting and oozing into the phone. You tilted your head, “I’m easy, I fear…” you bit your finger as you all giggled at your tone. Burying your face into the desk, you screamed into the hardwood. Yasmin asked. “Wait so…what do you mean ‘you think?’ I’m pretty sure you’d know if someone kissed you, girl.” She leaned back in the chair, smiling still as she smushed slime. Letting the glue mold in her hands as she popped some of the air bubbles. 

You grabbed a stress ball from your drawer. “Long story short—”

“Hold up—sorry to interrupt but after I left how long did y’all talk for? Y’all stayed on the floor?” Bella nodded, trying to scope out the scene.

You nodded, “yeah, and we stayed for like…twenty minutes after?”

Yasmin squealed, holding her cheeks. “Ugh, I’m so happy for you! What did y’all talk about?” Shrugging, you shook your head in thought. “We just…talked. It wasn’t anything heavy. But he did say he wanted to be more than friends; and me coming to the game was a way for him to hopefully bridge the gap between us.” A smile spreads onto your face slowly. “It was nice…”

“So how did a kiss happen?” Bella hummed, fully sat for this debrief. 

You clear your throat dramatically, adjusting yourself in your seat. “So basically, he gave me the game ball—” Both girls jumped up like you announced you just won the lottery. “Rejoice! Thank goodness, my girl is finally gonna get some dick!” Bella cried out to the popcorn ceiling, raising her hands in jubilation. 

“But he taped his number to it—and Yas! You gave him my number?!”

Yasmin ducked lower in her chair, a guilty smile creeping across her face while her slime made a wet squelch. “...maybe. Don’t act like you’re mad, you’re literally glowing right now.”

You tossed the stress ball at the wall, rolling your eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck. “That’s beside the point!” Bella was already wheezing, halfway off her bed. “No, no, no, wait. He taped his number to the game ball? Like…actually taped it? That’s the most middle school-romance-movie shit I’ve ever heard. I live.”

“And it said ‘To my MVP,’” you admitted begrudgingly, dragging your hands down your face like confessing to a crime. Both of them lost it again. Yasmin fell sideways in her chair, face mask peeling at the edges, while Bella screamed into her pillow like you’d told her BTS showed up at your dorm.

“Oh my god,” Yasmin gasped between giggles. “He’s corny. He’s so corny. But in the best way. Like…cereal box prize corny. The kind you keep forever.” Bella sat up, eyes wild. “Nah, that’s husband behavior. Do you hear me? Husband.”

And despite yourself, you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “Then when we both parted—he and the team were going to a party at the Phi Gamma Theta house. He invited me but I didn’t wanna go—anyway—as we were leaving, he kissed my forehead—AH!” You screamed into the desk again. Not even caring if you got a noise complaint. You cleared your throat as you got back up. “Sorry.” They shook their heads, waving you off without a care. 

“Anyway, he kissed my forehead, thanked me for coming, and said to text him when I got here—I haven’t yet.” You grabbed another toy, your slinky, and played with that. “And that if I didn’t he’d call me in thirty.”

Yasmin nodded, “so why didn’t you text him yet?”

Bella chimed in, “so she can see if he’s the type of guy to do what he says he’s gonna do, Yas.” She nodded with a smirk, tapping her temple in thought.

“Well, he should be calling any—”

Your phone buzzed as it rang from an unknown number—most likely Riki’s seeing as you hadn’t saved it yet. “Oh my gosh, fine shit is calling! What do I do?! Wait! He’s video calling me too!”

“Answer it, fuckface!” Bella laughed.

You yelped, fumbling for the green button as your hands shook. “I—I don’t know if I can!”

“Girl, are you serious?!” Yasmin screeched, squeezing her slime like it owed her money. “Just answer! He’s literally waiting to see your face!”

Bella was practically vibrating off her bed, one hand covering her mouth while the other waved frantically at the screen. “Do it! Pretend you’re calm, but like—you know just play it cool.”

“Okay, okay!” You took a breath and quickly clicked the green button.  Then before you knew it, there stood Riki. Hair slightly damp from the shower and outside air drying, fresh faced, and a black tee that you could only see the neckline of. The streetlight and LEDs that the frat had up illuminated his face so warmly. It was so bizarre, from the neck downward, Riki was beyond what you could imagine an athlete’s physique being like. Lean, agile, cut, not even an ounce of fat on him—but even then, you realize that he was still so handsome anyway. 

He smiled when he saw you. “Hope you didn’t forget about me.”

You waved, “no, I could never.” Opening your arms as you spread the slinky and let it fall back into your hands.

“How was the debrief?” He brushed his hair back, flashing his watch, laughing softly as he saw your shocked face. “What? I have sisters, ma. I know what you girls do.”

You sputter like a bad engine, “uh…I—it was fine?”

Riki chuckled, that low, easy laugh that made your chest feel way too tight. “That’s code for none of my damn business, I assume?”

“You’d assume correctly.” You nodded slowly as you gathered your books. Flipping to the right pages. “How’s the party, brochacho?” Saying absentmindedly as you grab your tablet to notetake.  He laughed softly at the name as he wandered about the lawn. “It’s alright, not really feeling it tonight. Just wanted to make sure you were in one piece. That you didn’t walk into any balls on the way there.”

You rolled your eyes, “yeah I have some balls you can walk into.” 

“Shut up,” he smiled as he sipped from his red cup.

Talking to him was calming, like talking to a friend you’ve known for years. Smooth, simple, easy. The nerves came and went with him. They never stuck.

“You been drinking?” You copied your important notes down from the textbook. Trying to pay attention to the material but your mind was obviously elsewhere. He shrugged, “some beer. Took like a pull of some weed but…” He trailed off with a little sigh, lips puckered in that half-pout that made him look younger than he was. The camera dipped slightly as he adjusted the phone, showing the glow of the house behind him, people laughing, voices spilling into the night. Sitting on the sidewalk, and on their phones as they nursed drinks. “Not really my scene right now.”

Your pen stalled over your tablet, notes forgotten. “Wow, the big campus star skipping out on free booze and bad music? What’s the world come to?”

“You must not know me,” he snorted, laughing at the irony. “I’m always a buzzkill at these shits. I feel like they only invite me just in case.”

Humming, you stood up and gathered your stuff for your shower. Not to take one now, but to prepare your clothes for when you did. “In case of?”

“Just for safety. I sort of…act as a buffer. If we’re caught drinking on campus, it’s a problem, blah blah. Coach is notified but we’re not gonna get real disciplinary action.” He shrugged a shoulder. 

You nodded slowly, “oh to be a man.” Out of view, you bent down to your drawers to pull out your pajamas and fresh underwear.

“No, even the women’s teams do this. Any smart coach wouldn’t let it get to the Dean. We’d get punished internally for shit like that. Run laps, suicides, sacrificing a Saturday to wash his car, I don’t know. Looks bad on him if he benches starters.”

You laughed as you folded your pajamas. “Nah that would piss me off. Making you do suicides for one beer? I’d kill myself, actually.”

Riki shrugged, amused. “You’d be surprised. Guys hate it more than anything. Pride chips away at the sight of a whistle.” He nudged the camera so you could see a pair of teammates arguing over pizza in the background. “Anyway, I should probably go make sure no one’s starting a riot.” You tucked a loose curl behind your ear and grinned. “Go be the responsible one, then. I’ll be the one who aces Latin because I studied all night—” you said as you sat back down, deadpan, and he snorted.

“Mm. Sure you did,” he teased. “The dining halls are closed by now. If you get hungry just tell me. I’ll send you whatever you want, okay?” Your pen hovered over your tablet, heart hitching. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t a whole production, like sending food across campus at midnight was just so normal. “Aww, Riki. You taking care of me with that NIL money?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, furrowing his brows. “I worked hard for that shit.” Laughing as he sipped from his cup. “It’s hard out here.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you scribbled half a Latin conjugation that didn’t even make sense. “Oh my God. Not you acting like a single mom trying to stretch the paycheck.” “Don’t play with me, I am the single mom of this team.” He turned the camera toward the chaos of his teammates wrestling over the last pizza box. “Look at my damn kids. Do you see what I deal with?”

“Serving Reba McEntire realness.”

Riki rubbed his eyes, deadpanning. “Go study, sweetheart.”

“You should wear a red wi—”

“How about that Latin test!” He smiled happily—albeit mocking to shift topics. 

Your laughter rang through the call, and for a second he just looked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he couldn’t help it.

“Alright, go ace your Latin,” Riki said, softer now.

“You go wrangle your kids,” you shot back, smiling.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Riki.”

The screen went dark, leaving you with the echo of his voice and a grin you couldn’t quite wipe off.

—

Two weeks later

—

They say the first high is the best. That once you get it, you spend the rest of your days trying to chase the one you got at the start. 

You didn’t get high—at least not like that anyway.

In your situation, riding the high of Riki Nishimura’s attention felt like its own kind of intoxication. Every ping of your phone, every dumb meme he sent between classes, every “good morning” text when he was already at practice—it was steady, constant, addictive. And instead of chasing it, you were starting to wonder if he was raising the bar higher every time. And in retrospect, Bella was right. Why did it seem like once that buzzer hit, a switch flipped in your mind and you were just indoctrinated like the rest of the Decelis student body? Like he knew exactly what he needed to do to get you. 

You couldn’t put your finger on it but you didn’t want to overthink anything. So many things that you couldn’t comprehend put you here in this very situation and you didn’t want to ruin it by reading too deeply into it. Needless to say, Riki has seamlessly made his way into your routine. You didn’t think he’d find a place within the days that are overtaken by your needs and wants, your best friends, and classes. But if he did anything, it was make your life easier.

Riki never asked you to ditch your friends to be with him. He understood that he only had you for lunch and dinner as you had breakfast with Bella and Yasmin everyday. He messaged you to check up in between classes, already having memorized your schedule. Ensuring that you had snacks so you didn’t lose stamina between lectures—he had successfully put you on to these protein bars, amazing. And they didn’t taste like chalk. Riki even went as far as to start waiting outside your lecture halls—never in a way that felt suffocating, just casual. Leaning against the wall with his hood up, earbuds in, scrolling on his phone until you stepped out. Like he wasn’t the six-foot star guard of Decelis basketball but just some guy, killing time until you showed up.

Sometimes he walked you to the dining hall, sometimes to the library, he always just carried your bag like it was second nature. It wasn’t grand gestures—no flowers, no flashy displays—it was little things. He made space for you without demanding it, and you couldn’t lie, it was disarming. The girls noticed, of course. Yasmin raised a brow every time your phone lit up with his name. Bella, never subtle, outright called him your “NBA boyfriend” and asked if she should start practicing her court-side wave. But kept reminding you that Riki was boyfriend stuff without the actual title.

And maybe you should’ve protested harder, maybe you should’ve insisted it wasn’t that serious. But deep down, some part of you was starting to like the way it sounded.

That conversation had rang in the back of your mind for the rest of the day. And you just kept hearing Yasmin’s “...boyfriend behavior without the title” line, over and over and over again. 

Because was it really true? Were you in a situationship? Really, it’d only been two weeks, is that an appropriate time to get to know someone to further ask them on a date?  In essence, the things that Riki did for you to show he cared, were indeed boyfriend things. Sending you food when you didn’t want to leave your dorm or the spots around campus were closed. Making sure you ate and drank enough water. Never demanded your time even though his life especially, always demanded a lot from him—he ensured that there was some time out of his day for you.

You knew he liked you and he let you know he did. But did he like you enough to take you seriously? Were you just something to do? Something to take his mind off the budding fame and popularity? Funnily enough, before you came to Decelis, one week before your first year, your parents had told you in harmony: don’t date athletes.  Maybe your rejection of Riki at the beginning was just a subconscious effort to suppress your attraction to him from the very start. So that must be why it was so easy to come to terms with liking him. 

Because you always did.

The girls had left your dorm room to go on about their evenings. You just chilled on your beanbag and looked pretty as you watched one of your favorite gamers fail at Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? 

Besides the Riki stuff, you were at peace. Homework done for the rest of the week, you just showered, hair done, nails done. Two of your classes were cancelled tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday. Life was great! Just as you were about to reach for your box of graham crackers, your phone buzzed. Lighting up and alerting you that it was indeed eight PM and someone texted you. 

brochacho: hi pretty, you at your dorm?

you: good evening, and yes i am.

brachacho: good. i’m downstairs. come get me!

Your hand froze mid‑reach for the graham crackers, eyes darting from the notification to the door like he might magically materialize through it.

Downstairs? Now?

You quickly typed back, thumbs flying:

you: what do you mean you’re downstairs???

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

brochacho: literally downstairs. in the lobby. come get me. 

Your pulse jumped. This wasn’t a text saying “hope you’re good” or “goodnight.” This was him—physically here—while you sat in pajama shorts with a crumb in your hand and a streamer yelling about measurements on your laptop. You scrambled up from the beanbag, nearly tripping over your blanket as you tried to get your bearings. Should you change? Brush your hair? Put on perfume? He hadn’t said why he was there. He hadn’t even asked if you were free.

Another buzz.

brochacho: don’t stress. i’m not kidnapping you. just wanted to see you before bed.

You swallowed, staring at the text like it might tell you what to do next. All you knew was your heart was hammering, and Riki Nishimura was in your lobby.

you: ok, give me a sec.

And without a second thought, you tidied your space. He’d never been here before, he only ever walked you to the building itself. You didn’t like surprise visits but shit, why not?

After folding your blankets and placing them on your bed, then spritzing some vanilla room spray, you held your racing heart. Taking deep breaths as you slipped on your baby pink crocs, grabbed your ID card, and deadbolted your door.  You stepped into the hallway, the carpet soft under your feet, and exhaled slowly. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, casting long shadows along the walls. You could hear faint laughter echoing from down the hall; the muffled bass of music drifting up from somewhere in the building. Your heart was still hammering like a drumline, and every step toward the staircase made it beat faster.

Sliding your ID into your pocket, you gripped the railing as you descended the narrow steps two at a time. Normally, you’d take it slow, careful not to rush, but tonight, nerves and excitement propelled you forward. You peeked through the stairwell window down into the lobby, spotting him almost immediately. Riki was leaning casually against the front desk, arms crossed as he scrolled on his phone, hood down and hair a little tousled from the walk. The soft light from the lobby ceiling brushed over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his eyes seemed to catch the gleam from the floor’s polished tiles.

He glanced up, and that small, knowing smile spread across his lips, the one that made your stomach twist and flip like it was auditioning for gymnastics. His eyes scanned the stairwell, catching yours as soon as you emerged, and a tiny spark of mischief danced in them. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse, adjusting the hem of your shirt like it would somehow make you appear composed instead of the jittery mess you felt like inside. The lobby seemed impossibly large all of a sudden, the echoes of your footsteps loud and exaggerated as you approached him. “What do you want?” You smiled as you reached in for a hug, how you always greeted each other.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “There’s that welcome wagon.” The vibrato of his voice rang through the lobby as it was muffled by your curls that always smelled like strawberries. “I come bearing gifts.” You hummed, pulling back but letting your hands linger on his thin waist that you were beyond envious of. “Isn’t that considered love-bombing at this stage?”

He snorted, “yes, but it’s not really a gift.” He reached behind him for a blue crocheted bag and held it up with a bright smile. “I brought dinner. I made some and didn’t wanna eat alone.”

“Nice,” you laughed softly. “But where’d you get the bag from? One of your other twenty girlfriends?”  He rolled his eyes, “my baby sister likes to crochet and I stole it. Don’t tell her I said that.” He smirked, tucking the strap over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world to stroll into your dorm with a handmade bag of food.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “You made dinner? What, like, instant noodles level or are we talking chef Riki over here?”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “I make a mean pasta salad.” You nod to the staircase door. “Good enough,” the door clicked as you swiped your ID card over the receiver. Riki followed behind you, reaching above your head to open the door for you as he closed it behind him. “You made that in your dorm kitchens?”

He shook his head but it wasn’t like you could see him. “Nah, I don’t live on campus. I thought you knew.”

You paused mid-step, turning on the landing to look at him. “Wait, what? You don’t live here?”

Riki tilted his head, a little amused at your wide-eyed reaction. “Nope. I’ve got an apartment off-campus. Closer to the gym, less noise. Plus, dorm showers? Couldn’t do it anymore.” He made a face like the very idea offended him. Your brows lifted as you kept climbing, crocs scraping against the concrete steps. “Hold on. You’ve been walking me back here all this time and then…what? Walking another fifteen minutes to your place?”

“Ten if I’m moving fast,” he corrected with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not that deep.”

Finally you both made it to your dorm—a place he hasn’t seen. Only little parts via video call. You hesitated at your door. The reality of it hit you—Riki Nishimura was about to see your room. Not the polished corners you’d shown him over FaceTime, not the carefully angled shots that hid the mess, but the whole thing. Every detail. Pushing the door open, you stepped aside to let him in first. He slipped past you without hesitation, and immediately the air felt heavier—his presence filling the small dorm like it was too much space for one person and not nearly enough for him.

His gaze roamed quickly but thoroughly. The string lights draped above your bed. The pile of books stacked on your desk. The blanket you’d folded too hastily, still a little crooked at the edges.  He didn’t say anything at first, just kicked his shoes off by the door where he saw you had two other pairs lined up.

Riki had some manners. 

“Finally, I get to see the whole thing.” He looked at you then back to the space, looking at the wall covered with photos by your bed. These he also hadn’t seen.

Some of these were photos of you and your family. Seemingly at your high school graduation. You had changed a lot since then, just by the looks of it. Your eyes were a little duller, but you looked happy to be out of there. “Who’s that?” He pointed to the tall boy that stood next to you in the photo. Darker skin, hair pulled back into cornrows as he was dressed in very casual wear. Shorts and t-shirt for the hot weather you graduated in.

You approached, leaning forward so you could see what he was referencing. “Oh!” You snorted, “that’s my little Bother.”

“Your who?” Riki smiled as he turned to you.

“Bother,” you repeated with a grin, shaking your head. “That’s Elijah, my little brother. So—brother, bother…it stuck when we were kids.” You nodded. “And he actually grew into it because he became the biggest pain in my ass.”

Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he glanced back at the photo. “He doesn’t look little at all. Dude’s towering over you.”

“Tell me about it,” you groaned, folding your arms. “He hit his growth spurt at, like, thirteen and never stopped.”

“How tall is he now?” 

You tilted your head in thought. “Huh…I couldn’t even tell you how old he is.” You shrugged, bursting out into laughter as you grabbed the crocheted bag and sat on the floor. “But he’s around your height? Maybe a little shorter.”

He followed you down to the rug, sitting parallel to you and crossing his legs into butterfly position. 

Riki leaned back on his palms, studying you with that amused little glint in his eyes. “So what you’re telling me is there’s another version of me out there, just younger and genetically programmed to annoy you?” “Basically,” you said through a laugh, tugging the drawstrings of the bag open. “Except Elijah’s way louder, thinks he’s funnier than he is, and eats like he’s never seen food before.” You pulled out two plastic containers, setting them between you.

Riki snorted. “Sounds familiar. Pretty sure that’s just me with different branding.”

You shot him a look, biting back a grin. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. He’s worse. But I think you two would get along, though.” “You think so?” he chuckled, reaching forward to help you peel off the lid of one container. A soft aroma of herbs and parmesan filled the air.

Laughing, you grabbed the two plastic forks he put in the bag. Someone came very prepared. “I know so, actually…” Pause. “Nevermind.”

“No, no, tell me.” He said softly, unzipping his hoodie and placing it next to him. “I’d love to hear about your family.” His tone made your stomach twist a little, but not enough for you to make him aware of the effect it had on you. “Elijah…” you snorted. “Actually wants to come to Decelis. You know…after he graduates high school?”

He nodded slowly, “okay? And that’s embarrassing?”

“Oh my gosh, no. No. Nothing about my brother is embarrassing, it’s just that…” You scrunched your nose as you twist your fork. “He’s a…big fan of yours.”

Riki blinked at you, mid-bite, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. “...A fan of mine?” His tone landed somewhere between amused and genuinely startled, his brows lifting as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or press you for details. You dragged your fork through the pasta salad, trying to play it off, but the heat was already creeping up your neck. “Yeah, like…he likes college basketball a lot already but he thinks that me attending school with and being in the same year as one of the top prospects is cool.”

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Man, your brother’s got way too much faith in me. But…that means a lot. More than I’d probably admit to his face.” He takes a bite of the pasta.

“Woah…” you furrow your brows. “Since when do you doubt your skills? He’s not saying anything different than anyone else does.” He chewed slowly, his gaze dropping to the plate as though your words weighed heavier than he expected. When he finally swallowed, his voice was softer, almost thoughtful. “It’s not that I don’t believe in what I can do,” he said, rolling his fork between his fingers. “I just…know how fast it can all go away. One bad game, one injury, and suddenly all that hype doesn’t mean anything.”

He lifted his eyes back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a small smile that didn’t quite hide the seriousness in his tone. “So yeah, I guess I don’t let myself buy into it too much. Easier to laugh it off than start thinking I’m invincible, you know?” As grateful as you were that Riki was sharing a very vulnerable part of him for the very first time, you couldn’t help but think of yourself—as self absorbed as that is. You were beyond normal. Yes, you had your hobbies, friends, interests. But you never even realized the amount of pressure that Riki underwent each and every day. 

His every move was watched by strangers. There wasn’t a moment that you walked beside him on campus and someone wasn’t greeting him or trying to get his attention. Some people even started doing the same for you seeing as you were now semi-associated with him. That alone bugged you. You let your fork rest against the edge of the container, your appetite forgotten for the moment. The realization pressed into you heavier than the warmth of the room—Riki didn’t just carry his own dreams; he carried the expectations of everyone watching him. And there were a lot of eyes.

It explained the careful way he handled himself, how even his jokes carried a twinge of deflection, how he managed to be approachable without ever letting people in too far. You’d brushed it off as confidence before, but now you saw the cracks. The weight of being Riki Nishimura wasn’t something you could ever fully understand, but sitting across from him, you suddenly wished you could take even a sliver of it off his shoulders. You shifted slightly closer, nudging the pasta container between you. “You know…” you started carefully, trying not to make your words sound like pity, “I may not be able to relate to that but I want you to know as…someone who genuinely cares about you…” You huffed, looking up as you picked your words carefully. “That you are so beyond talented. Like have you seen you play?” You laughed, reaching out to hold his free hand. “The Kyrie comparisons are not far-fetched.” For a moment, he just stared at your hand resting over his, fork frozen in mid-air again like he’d forgotten how to move. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His thumb brushed against your knuckles once, deliberate but subtle, almost as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

“I mean it. You’re absolutely undeniable and while I can only imagine how much pressure is on you, I never want you to forget to live in the moment. Nor forget who you are in the process.” For a beat, his gaze stayed locked on yours, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. The fork slipped quietly from his fingers, forgotten against the edge of the container. His hand stayed under yours though, warm and steady, like he was afraid to let go.

You gave his hand another squeeze, leaning in just a little closer. “Riki, you’re not just some highlight reel or a name on a scouting report. You’re…you. The guy who makes sure I eat, who shows up at my dorm with pasta salad in a crocheted bag, who can make me laugh even when I’m trying not to.” You smiled softly, your eyes searching his. “You’re already enough—more than enough—even without all the basketball.” His jaw tightened, like he was fighting something inside himself, but his eyes softened. That little spark of mischief you were used to seeing in him wasn’t there this time—just something vulnerable, raw. And a tinge of something you could only identify as guilt. But you didn’t see how that could apply to this situation. You didn’t pry further. Riki nodded, then smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but he turned his hand beneath yours to grip it and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Assuming this topic was just extremely touchy for him, you turned your hand to hold his cheek, lightly scratching his jaw. “No need for a ‘thank you.’” His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, like the simple act unraveled something tight in his chest. He leaned into your palm, faint stubble barely grazing your fingertips as his breath steadied against your skin. When he opened his eyes again, there was a quiet earnestness in them that made your stomach flip. “You make me sound so…saint-like.”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, that’s the last word I’d use for your dumbass.”

—

As the night went on, you and Riki found yourself on your bed. 

Nothing intense, nothing extreme. It was a twin XL, what could you really do? But despite that, you two both found some old movie that you’d seen a million times to watch on your projector.

The movie washed your walls in soft flickers of light, the dialogue barely audible under the quiet hum of the projector. Riki stretched out beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other lazily draped near your side like he was claiming space without meaning to. The bed was laughably small for two people, every shift making the springs creak, but neither of you complained. At some point, you realized you weren’t even paying attention to the movie. Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, his shirt soft under your skin, and his steady heartbeat beneath it was far more distracting than whatever was happening on screen.

“Hey,” Riki murmured after a while, his voice low, like even the characters on the screen didn’t need to hear. “Next time…you’re coming to my place. No offense to the twin XL, but it’s not exactly built for two.” You snorted, scooting closer as you wrapped your arm around his waist and leg over his hips. Riki stiffened for half a second at the sudden weight of you practically curling into him, then melted into it, his arm sliding instinctively around your shoulders. A grin tugged at his lips as he tilted his head down to look at you. “Oh, so you like being close, huh? You could’ve just said that instead of pretending the bed was the problem.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your own mouth. “Please. I’m just making the best out of limited square footage.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling you tighter against his side, his fingers idly tracing circles into your upper arm. His free hand ran up and down your bare thigh—the warmth in his hand nothing compared to what was in the room.

The slow drag of his palm along your thigh sent a ripple of heat through you, his touch unhurried but deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing. The movie faded further into background noise, some distant murmur you couldn’t even pretend to follow. “You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” Riki teased, his breath brushing the top of your head. “What happened to all that smart talk about square footage?”

You tilted your chin up, lips twitching into a smirk despite the way your pulse betrayed you. “Maybe I’m conserving energy.” “Oh?” His thumb pressed lightly into your skin before trailing higher, testing the waters. His eyes flicked down to yours, the grin on his face softening just enough to make your chest tighten. “Energy for what, baby?”

The space between you felt paper-thin, your leg hooked over his hip pulling him closer with every breath. His shirt smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something undeniably him—the citrus smell you always caught a whiff of, and suddenly the twin XL didn’t feel too small at all—it felt like it was forcing you into a choice. His question lingered in the air, heavier than the blankets draped over you both. Your heart thudded against your ribs as if it were trying to answer for you. You tilted your face up toward him, close enough now that the glow of the projector painted his features in soft light—sharp jaw, lashes low but trained on you, lips just parted like he was waiting. For a beat, neither of you moved. The hum of the movie filled the silence, but you barely registered it. Then, like gravity had made the choice for you, you leaned in.

Riki met you halfway.

The kiss was unhurried at first, his lips brushing yours in the lightest graze, as though he was testing to see if you’d pull away. But you didn’t—you pressed back, your hand sliding up to curl into his shirt near his chest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His grip at your thigh tightened, pulling you closer, angling you so there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened almost naturally, like you’d both been holding your breath for weeks and finally let go. His hand slid higher on your thigh, steady but not rushed, while your fingers tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt, urging him closer. The twin bed creaked beneath the shifting weight, the closeness of it all making your pulse race.

Riki angled his head, mouth moving against yours with a hunger that surprised even him—like he’d been trying to starve this part of himself and finally gave in. Your hand brushed along his jaw, thumb grazing the faint stubble there, and he made a sound low in his throat that only pulled you deeper into him. He leaned up, turning to hover over you halfway, springs of the bed whining at the action. But then—just as the air between you turned sharp with heat—he stilled. His lips slowed, then parted from yours, lingering close enough that you could still feel his breath ghost across your mouth. His hand fell from your thigh to rest limply against the sheets, no longer holding you.

“Riki?” you whispered, confusion threading your tone.

He didn’t look away, though something flickered in his eyes—something heavy, almost mournful. He managed a small smile, the kind that didn’t reach as far as it should. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Got a little carried away.” You searched his face, wanting to ask more, but the way his thumb brushed over your arm—gentle, reassuring—kept you quiet. He wasn’t shutting you out, not really, but whatever sat on his chest wasn’t something he was ready to spill. “Did something happ—”

Instead, he shook his head and pressed the lightest kiss to your temple, grounding, soft. “No, no, no, baby.” he said softly as the two of you were nearly nose-to-nose. “Nothing happened…” He smiled softly as he brushed a curl from your cheek, lightly letting his thumb brush on your lower lip. “Just…didn’t wanna ruin the moment, that’s all.” Your lips parted, ready to argue, to tell him he could never ruin a moment like this—but the way he looked at you stopped the words in your throat. There was a tenderness there, threaded with something heavier, something you didn’t dare press on in case it shattered the fragile quiet between you. So instead, you nodded faintly, your forehead brushing his as your breath mingled in the inch of space left between you. “You can…” you whispered, though your chest ached with the weight of everything unspoken. Riki’s hand left your lip to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. His smile lingered—gentle, almost apologetic—but his eyes softened in a way that made you feel like he saw you, really saw you, beneath all the noise.

He shifted, pressing another kiss to your hairline this time, lingering just long enough that you felt the sincerity tucked into it. “You want me to?” It seemed like every inch of you was melting into this old, creaky bed. That your literal bodily matter could act as a substitute for WD-40 if you both stayed like this. You’ve experienced intimate moments. Moments that made everything blur into background noise. And right now you heard nothing. Absolutely nothing despite the flickering projector and the soundtrack to the ending of 10 Things I Hate About You playing lightly. Yet all you heard was the pick up of your heart rate in your ears. And maybe your own breath. Despite that, you nodded without another word.

Riki leaned in slowly, kissing your cheek. Letting his pillowy lips get a different taste of you as his hand toys with your small hoop earring on your opposite ear. His touch was maddeningly careful, like he was savoring every second before it slipped away. His lips brushed along your jawline, feather-light, leaving a trail of warmth that had your breath hitching in your throat. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more space, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself. Each kiss was deliberate, patient—not hungry like before, but reverent, like he was mapping you in a language only he knew. He lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Um…I was planning something for this but—” He let out a shaky laugh, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed the grounding. “I feel like it’s something that I don’t want to hold out on anymore.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting from yours to the pillow, then back again like the words were fighting him on the way out. “I was gonna do this all different—make it special, not, y’know, while we’re half-squished on a squeaky bed watching a rom-com—but…” His hand dropped from your earring to rest gently against your chest, right over your racing heartbeat. “But I can’t sit here and pretend I don’t already know what I want.” He paused, breath unsteady. “I want you. As my girlfriend.”

The room went impossibly still, the hum of the projector fading behind the weight of his words. His voice cracked a little on the last word, like even saying it out loud cost him something. His thumb slowed against your collarbone, tracing nothing in particular, a small, restless circle. He was still looking at you—not cocky, not teasing—just wide-eyed, waiting. The guy who could command a whole court with one look suddenly couldn’t seem to breathe until you spoke. “I’m not talking to anyone else,” he added softly, like a confession he’d been holding onto. “Haven’t been. Haven’t even wanted to. I just…don’t wanna assume anything about you. I don’t wanna ruin what we already have.” The way he said it was so un-Riki—tentative, careful—that it almost broke your heart. You could feel his pulse under your palm where you still held his hoodie, just as erratic as yours. You didn’t even realize you were smiling until you were; the kind of smile that cracked you open from the inside out. “Riki…” you murmured, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

His brows pinched, nervous. “In a good way or…?”

“In a way where the answer’s already yes,” you said, your forehead brushing his. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.” The tension bled out of him in an instant, his breath catching on a laugh that sounded like relief. He pressed his forehead fully to yours, eyes closing, and let out a long, shaky exhale before kissing you—slow this time, smiling against your mouth.

—

Four months later

—

Life has been very weird for you. Not weird, weird. Just different. Good different.

Your skin is clear, grades stellar, Yasmin, Bella, and Riki were in one piece and the weather has been decent.

Dating Riki hadn’t turned your life upside down the way you thought it might. It wasn’t all fireworks and Instagram-worthy grand gestures. Instead, it was quieter things—the way he reminded you to eat between classes, the way his hoodie always “accidentally” ended up in your laundry pile, the way his laugh sounded different when it was just for you. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and those walks across an ice-slick campus, you realized: this wasn’t weird at all. This was the new normal. And, surprisingly? You liked it.

A relationship with Riki was nothing like you thought it’d be. In some way he was right, you didn’t really know him. “Public, but private” wasn’t really the right phrase anymore. Riki made sure people knew—he held your hand in the quad, kissed you goodbye outside lecture halls, and didn’t even flinch when Yasmin pulled out her phone to record the two of you bickering like an old married couple. Everyone knew you were his, and he was yours. But still, the most meaningful parts weren’t the ones out loud. Sure, he’d tug you into his lap at parties without caring who saw, but it was the softer moments—the way he’d tie your scarf tighter against the cold, or slide his coffee across the table without asking because he knew you needed it—that stuck with you most. Dating Riki wasn’t about hiding or flaunting. It was about existing together, naturally, in public and in private, like there’d never been a time you weren’t in each other’s lives.

Obviously, your bond with him was different than that of yours with Yasmin and Bella’s. Of course because you weren’t romantic with the girls but the friendship aspect wasn’t the same.  Yasmin and Bella were akin to sisters. Their love and friendship was unconditional, unwavering and greatly enough—you met them at freshman orientation and had been inseparable ever since.  The funny little traditions you had. Getting breakfast together every day, even if it was just coffee and a bagel wolfed down before an eight AM class. Your group FaceTimes that always started as study sessions but somehow devolved into debating which professor was most likely to secretly live in the library. Movie nights in Yasmin’s dorm where Bella inevitably fell asleep twenty minutes in, curled up like it was her own personal bed. With Yasmin and Bella, it was easy, almost familial—like home in human form. With Riki, it was…different. Not better, not worse. Just its own kind of important. He didn’t fit into the category of “friend” or “family.” He was the exception. The outlier that made sense.

Riki was an exception. And you noticed that in almost every avenue he occupied that he was an exception. In anything he put effort toward, he had this sort of competitive spirit that he wanted to be a person that was remembered. Not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in the way he showed up, consistently, like he was determined to leave a mark. On the court, in class, even in the way he memorized the little things about you—your coffee order, your weird habit of doodling stars in the margins of your notes, the fact that you hated the word “moist” enough to dramatically gag every time someone said it. Being with him didn’t feel like you were keeping up with a storm or chasing after someone out of reach. It felt like he wanted you right there, beside him. Your mom called it the honeymoon phase and that very well may be true. But like everything with Riki, you tried to live in the moment. Which is bizarre seeing as you overthink everything else. Lately, the girls have been getting used to seeing him around a lot more. While Riki never wanted to overtake your life nor take time away from your friends, he at times found himself getting cool with them as well.

The girls and you stood at the waffle station like usual. Bella, as always, was overseeing the operation. Yasmin was yapping about something related to the bad Wattpad movie she watched last night. 

“Dude,” you smiled. “What are you waffling about?” You nudge her with your elbow, snickering as you cover your mouth. 

Yasmin froze, looking at you blankly. “You did not—”

“—yes, she did,” Bella cut in, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “Every morning, a new low.”

“Hey! Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” You snorted as you reached around her to grab the mini cups for the syrup. The pounds of syrup that Yasmin liked drenching her waffles in.

The brunette laughed, “we love you because you’re beautiful. But that shit just wasn’t funny.”

You sigh and wrap your arm around the girl, to which she instinctively rests her head on your shoulder, wrapping her arm around your waist. “You guys are fun-suckers.”

Bella snorted, already halfway through pouring batter into the waffle iron. “Please. We’re the only reason you’re tolerable before ten AM.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “You wound me.”

“Good,” she said dryly, snapping the iron shut like she was sealing a deal. “Maybe it’ll stop the puns.”

Yasmin cackled at that, pulling back from your shoulder just enough to look you in the eye. “Nah, she thrives off this. You’d have to physically mute her.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Bella muttered, reaching for her coffee.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. The three of you moved like clockwork—Bella in charge of batter, you in charge of toppings, Yasmin handling the syrup like it was an Olympic sport. The waffle station wasn’t glamorous, but it was your spot. The one ritual you kept no matter how busy the semester got. That’s when you felt a familiar hand snake around your waist from behind. Riki leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Did I miss roll call, or are you guys planning breakfast without me again?”

Bella groaned without even looking up. “Speak of the devil.”

 Riki gently turned you around to face him, taking the toppings from your grip as he leans in. “Hi baby,” placing his lips on yours gently as he moved a hand to rest on your jaw. His thumb grazing your cheek as you reciprocate. “Mm! I missed that.” You felt your cheeks warm instantly, caught off guard by how easily he could do that—just walk into your morning routine and make everything tilt a little. You tasted the faint sweetness of syrup on his lips, the smell of his cologne cutting through the waffle-station chaos.

“Riki,” you murmured against his mouth, a laugh caught in your throat. “You’re gonna make Yasmin drop the syrup.”

“I already did,” Yasmin deadpanned, though when you turned your head she was smirking. “Don’t mind me. Continue your public display of affection.”

Bella groaned dramatically, flipping a waffle with more force than necessary. “Please, at least let me finish cooking before you two start fucking next to the chocolate chips.”

Riki chuckled against your cheek, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “They’re jealous,” he whispered, his thumb still brushing your jaw. “Let them be jealous.”

You swatted at his chest lightly, though your grin betrayed you. “Please,”

And finally, the four of you sat at your usual corner table—Riki having tagged along like it was the most natural thing in the world. The dining hall buzzed with the Monday morning chaos of clinking trays and half-awake chatter, but somehow, your table felt like its own little bubble. Riki slid into the booth beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table, and immediately stole one of your strawberries without shame. You were used to it. Him stealing your food; like a tax, if you will.

“So what are y’all doing with your weekends?” You hum as you watch Riki cut your half of the waffle into pieces.

He perked up mid-cut, glancing at you with that spark in his eyes that always came out when basketball got brought up. “Ooh, we’re having an away game on Thursday,” he said, the words already carrying a hint of excitement. “It’s at Syracuse, so we’ll be gone for like…two nights, maybe three depending on how long Coach decides to torture us.”

Yasmin and Bella roll their eyes simultaneously. “Dude, ‘Cuse is the worst.” Bella sighed as she slumped back into her chair.

“You’re just a big ball of positivity this morning.” Riki hums as he feeds you a piece of waffle. Hovering his hand below it to catch any syrup that might’ve dripped onto his hand.  You accept the food and nod, speaking through your chewing as you cover your mouth with your hand. “Yeah, what’s up with you? You’ve been acting like a buttmunch all morning.”

Bella groaned, stabbing at her strawberries like they’d personally wronged her. “I’m sorry guys, I just really don’t wanna go to that fucking game.” Riki wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side as he leaned back into the cushiony seat. “‘Cuse is not that bad. They play dirty but that’s nothing we can’t get around.”

“Dirty?” You looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah,” Yasmin nodded as she sipped her apple juice. “Last season, they fouled one of the guys—Nicholas—so hard. He went for a layup and they shoved him. Fractured his wrist. It was crazy, I felt so bad.”

Your brows lifted, “no way. Did the ref even call it?”

“They did,” Riki sighed. “But at that point, what can you do? You suspend a player, he’s on the bench for the rest of the season—fine. But one of our players is benched indefinitely, has to go to PT for his wrist, he may not play the same, whatever—it was just so much worse for Nico.” He rolled his eyes as he recounted the events of the past. Stirring anger in his stomach as he remembers watching that happen. Bella shook her head. “Yeah, it was bad. It wasn’t like a life-altering injury or anything but it was so shitty on Syracuse’s part.”

“Well…what are you guys gonna do?” You sigh as you rested your hand on Riki’s muscly thigh and leaned your head on his shoulder. 

Yasmin chimed in, “not much. There’s nothing we can do. I mean, their cheer team isn’t really a problem. They’re always super nice. It’s just the fuckass team that gives these guys issues.” She nods to Riki.

“So when do you guys leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Bella brought a raspberry to her mouth to chew, looking down at the threading of her skirt—her chewing halts suddenly. “Wait…”

Yasmin smiles brightly, “don’t. Because if we’re thinking the same thing then I’m for it.”

“Oh, we are thinking the same thing,” Bella said, setting her fork down with a little clink. “Babes, you should so come with us!”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Wait, what?” you coughed, slapping the table with your free hand. “You’re inviting me to Syracuse?”

Bella leaned forward, eyes sparkling with that dangerous “I have a terrible idea” kind of excitement. “Think about it. Road trip! We have to cheer anyway, eat gas station snacks, complain about hotel beds—”

“—get screamed at by Syracuse fans and possibly catch another stray basketball to the face,” You interrupted, waving her fork. “Yeah, super fun.”

Riki smacked his teeth. “Don’t even joke about shit like that.”

Bella laughed, flicking a crumb at him. “Relax, Captain Protective. She’s not gonna get decked by a ball again.”

“I’m not opposed to her coming.” Riki clarified, “obviously. But we all get to ride on the team bus, why would you waste your own gas?” 

Yasmin grinned, already scheming. “Because we’re not on the team, genius. We’re with cheer, which means we have to take the spirit bus.”

Riki’s expression twisted. “The spirit bus? The one that smells like glitter and spray tan?”

You furrowed your brows as you leaned away from him, letting his arm fall back on the seat. “How do you know what the spirit bus smells like?” You ask him with suspicion—even mildly irritated.

Riki froze, eyes flicking toward you like a kid caught stealing snacks before dinner. “Huh?” he stalled, fork halfway to his mouth. “I mean…I’ve heard things.”

Bella immediately perked up, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Heard things, huh? Or experienced things?”

Riki set his fork down, leaning forward defensively. “Okay, first of all, I was on there one time. One time. Coach made me grab the banner they left behind after homecoming, and it was like stepping into Candyland.”

You raised an unimpressed brow. “Mhm. So what you’re telling me is that you voluntarily stepped foot on the cheer bus, alone, to grab a banner.”

He pointed at you, shaking his head. “Don’t do that tone thing. It wasn’t like that.”

You squinted at him, “I’m not doing anything.”

“Ooh…” Yasmin murmured to Bella. “Boyfriend in trouble…” She sang as she shimmied her shoulders. 

Riki smiled nervously, eyes darting between you and your two grinning friends. “No, no—don’t let her fool you. She’s trying to make this sound like some scandalous cheer bus rendezvous when I was literally in there for thirty seconds.”

Bella gasped dramatically. “Thirty seconds? That’s all it takes.” Yasmin nearly spit out her juice laughing. You pressed your lips together, trying to look serious but failing miserably as Riki’s ears started turning red. “Wow. I thought you’d last longer than that.”

Riki raised his brows in surprise. “Don’t get cute, baby.” He smiles as he feeds you a grape.

Yasmin and Bella gagged dramatically at the sight but decided to move on. The blonde grinned, leaning across the table. “Admit it, you were curious. You wanted to see how the other half lives.”

“The other half smells like hair spray and glitter glue!” Riki protested, groaning as you finally let out a giggle. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You rested your chin on your palm, smirking up at him. “Maybe. It’s cute when you get defensive.”

“You,” He smiled as he pointed at you. “Are evil.”

You gasped in mock offense. “Evil? I prefer ‘charming,’ thank you very much.”

Riki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms but fighting a smile. “Yes, mama—you are very charming but I’d rather you say like messing with me.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you make it so easy.”

Bella snorted. “Yeah, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, dude. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Riki threw her a flat look. “You’re just mad ‘cause your waffles are hard as frisbees.”

“They were abstract,” Bella countered, stabbing one with her fork. “Fuck you, they’re still edible.”

Yasmin laughed so hard she nearly choked on her juice. “Yeah, okay, Picasso.”

You watched the three of them bicker, warmth flooding your chest. Riki didn’t just fit in with your friends anymore—he belonged there, like he’d always been part of the picture. The ease of it all made your heart do that stupid little flip it did whenever you realized how much you liked this boy.

—

Later that day

—

After some relenting, you decided to come with the girls to the game. It didn’t take much convincing.

But even then, something felt amiss. 

Ironically, the day that Riki accidentally knocked you in the face with that ball—it unlocked some type of sixth sense. One where you could just feel, when your left cheek throbbed—that something was about to go left. Yasmin and Bella were making their way off the court and into the arena hallway. Practice was over and they were headed to the locker room to freshen up. As usual, Yasmin was buzzing, Bella was limping. How she hasn’t just quit the team yet, none of you know. As the girls guzzled water, they heard commotion coming from the men’s locker room. The sound was the usual post-practice banter. Laughter, some music echoing off the tile. 

And for some reason, this was the one time the girls decided to be nosy. The guys were pumped after their own practice—adrenaline and testosterone running rapidly through the air. Towels were slung low on hips, sneakers squeaking against the wet tile, music blaring from someone’s speaker. The room smelled like victory and cheap body spray.

“Yo, Riki, be honest,” one of them called out through the steam, “you and that girl—what’s the deal?”

Riki, mid-laugh, froze with a water bottle halfway to his mouth. “What girl?” he asked, but the grin tugging at his lips already betrayed him.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” another chimed in. “The one that’s always waiting after practice. The one with the big eyes. Cute face?”

The guys erupted into hollers and mock ‘oohs.’ Riki shook his head, trying—and failing—to bite back a smile.

Outside the door, Yasmin and Bella’s jaws practically hit the floor.

Yasmin whispered, “Oh, we are so not supposed to be hearing this,” but she leaned in closer anyway.

Bella, deadpan, muttered, “You mean you’re not supposed to. I’m locked in.”

You’d just arrived at the end of the hall when you saw them crouched near the door like undercover agents.

“...What are you guys doing?” you whispered.

Both girls whipped around, wide-eyed, trying and failing to look innocent. Yasmin gestured frantically. “Shh! He’s talking about you!” And just like that, your stomach dropped—and your left cheek started to throb again. You dropped your backpack to the floor as you crouched next to the girls. Stabling yourself against Yasmin as you held her shoulders.

Maki leaned against the opposite lockers, facing Riki with a smirk. “So you get any action yet?”

Riki scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned to his locker—grabbing a clean towel to wipe his bare chest. “Is pussy all you guys think about?”

Some of the guys laughed, Maki included. “Well yeah, sometimes. Especially if I’ve got a girl and she hasn’t put out in the few months we’ve been together.” He whistles, antagonizing the point guard. “I hoped you’d score more than that.” Yasmin’s eyes widened so hard you thought they might fall out of her head. Bella smacked her arm, whisper-yelling, “Oh my god, he did not just say that—”

You didn’t even breathe. Every muscle in your body went rigid, eyes fixed on the thin crack of light between the door and the frame.

Inside, Riki let out a dry laugh, low and humorless. “You don’t know what I do, dumbass. Who do you think I am?”

If there was one thing that you knew about men, it was that it only took but so much to make them crack. They were easy. Toy with them, keep them on their toes. And you prided yourself on knowing Riki. His quirks like touching a doorframe before walking through. Scratching his jaw when he was irritated.

But you certainly knew his type: you. Because he told you. He made sure you knew through his words but action as well. He likes someone that he can upkeep a rapport with. A fun personality and a sharp mouth to match his. Someone who could keep up with him in a room full of noise, toss a jab back when he threw one first. You’d always joked that you were built to spar with him, not swoon over him. It amazed you, really. Because narrowing down the versions of Riki you saw, you knew that there was one side that you’d experienced up until this point wouldn’t make an appearance. The nasty, egotistical one. 

Your cheek throbbed again.

“I think you’re better than this.” Maki laughed. “You’re whipped.” Snorting as he grabbed his towel to swipe Riki with it as the rest of the team followed. Spanking him with their towels as all of them shared laughs—Riki included. “Hey! Hey hey hey!” He straightened up as he shrunk into himself before. Laughing as he nudged the guys off. “I’m not whipped! Okay? You really think the Riki Nishimura, basketball extraordinaire is whipped?” He says dramatically, as if he’s some king giving a royal decree.

“Oh fuck…” Yasmin mumbled to herself in panic, hand feeling for yours as she gripped it tightly.  But Riki kept going. “All these girls are the same, Maki.” He smiled—slickly, as he got closer to the shorter lowerclassmen. “Just another hole to fill and if you think I can’t get any then you’re as dumb as you look.” Riki’s eyes scanned the younger as he poked his forehead. “Let Big Bro show you something.”

You froze. Your stomach dropped into your shoes, and your left cheek throbbed—not just from the memory of the ball, but from the words echoing across the locker room. Yasmin’s grip on your hand tightened like she was trying to anchor both of you to reality. “Nope. Nope. Nope,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Bella’s jaw had practically hit the floor, a mix of disbelief and shock frozen on her face. “What the fuck?” You didn’t even let yourself finish the thought. Riki’s swaggering smirk, the way he leaned over the younger guy, his words sliding out like they were rehearsed, hit you harder than any basketball ever could. This wasn’t the playful, teasing Riki you knew. This was calculated, confident, and…something darker. Something that felt like a stranger pretending to be the man you loved.

“Show me what? How to not get play?” Maki shook his head with a laugh. “You’re not that guy, trust me.”

“I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing.” Riki shrugged, “fucking around and winning.” Your stomach twisted. That laugh—the arrogance—it didn’t belong to the Riki you knew, the one who kissed and touched you like the prize you were, who stole your kiwi, who teased you just enough to make you laugh. This version was a performance. And part of you hated that you even recognized it, that it was still so convincingly him.

Yasmin leaned closer, whispering in your ear, “We should go…now.” Her hand squeezed yours like she was trying to pull both of you back to safety. You hesitated, eyes glued to Riki. He was laughing now, tossing the younger guy a smirk like it was all a game. The energy was intoxicating, magnetic, but it made your chest feel tight. You wanted to call him out, to make him stop—but at the same time, you were frozen, caught somewhere between anger, disbelief, and the part of you that still loved him fiercely. Yasmin’s voice broke through again, urgently. “Seriously, we’re leaving before this gets worse.” But how could it?  You let her tug you gently, glancing back at Riki one last time. His grin was still there, but now it was softer, more familiar. And somehow, that made your chest ache even more, caught between relief and frustration.

—

The three ended up in Bella’s dorm, which was the closest to the arena. You knew you couldn’t make it all the way to your dorm without breaking down.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, the chaos of the arena felt miles away. The muffled sounds of the men’s locker room were replaced by the faint hum of the radiator and the soft creak of the dorm floorboards. Yasmin dropped onto Bella’s bed with a dramatic groan, clutching her water bottle like it was a life preserver. You sank onto the edge, hands pressed to your face as you tried to steady your breathing. The image of Riki—the conceited, dark version of him—kept flashing in your mind. It wasn’t that you doubted him. You knew him. You thought you did. But that side, that…performative dominance? It was a reminder that there were layers of him you hadn’t touched, weren’t sure you ever would. And then the floodgates came down.

Grabbing one of her pillows, you buried your face as sobs racked through your chest. Yasmin and Bella froze for a moment, exchanging a glance that said without words: do we intervene, or give her a second?

Yasmin was the first to react, gently kneeling beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Hey…hey, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “Breathe. Just breathe.” You couldn’t stop the shaking, couldn’t stop the tears that spilled into the pillow. “I…he’s…he’s not just…he’s…” Your words stumbled and fractured, barely audible. The part of you that tried to rationalize, to ground yourself in months of trust and tenderness with Riki, felt useless against the image of the stranger-like version of him.

Bella joined in, kneeling on the other side and grabbing your hands gently. “I got you,” she said simply. “We’ve got you. Nothing he did—or who he was being in there—changes the fact that we’re gonna be here for you every step of the way.” Your body trembled against them, the sobs coming in uneven waves. Yasmin rested her chin on your shoulder, humming softly like she had when you were a kid after a nightmare. Bella squeezed your hands, her eyes warm but steady. Together, they anchored you, a living reminder that the world wasn’t just Riki and his shadows.

After what felt like an eternity, the sobs slowed. Your chest heaved as you tried to suck in air, finally lifting your face from the pillow to see their concerned, gentle expressions. “I…thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I just…I knew it, bro.” You punched your palm in frustration. “My parents fucking told me.” Your voice wavered as warm tears ran down your face. “I should’ve listened to my fucking gut!” Yasmin’s arms tightened around you, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Hey, hey…shh. No blaming yourself. None of this is on you.” She rubbed small circles into your shoulder, comforting you like she always did.

Bella nodded firmly, her grip on your hands unyielding. “Exactly. You’re not responsible for him being…whatever that was. You’ve been trusting, you’ve been patient—that’s all you could do. And yeah, maybe your gut had warnings, but you didn’t listen—so what? You’re a human being.” You pressed your face back into the pillow, muffling a sob, but the two of them stayed right there, unwavering. The warmth from Yasmin on one side, Bella on the other, felt like the only solid ground in a storm that had your world tilting.

“Hey.” Bella continues firmly, bringing your face up to look at her. Her blue eyes locking with your own eyes. “Fuck that guy. If he wants to speak about you in such a disgusting, deplorable way to stroke his own ego—by all means. But that doesn’t make or break you. It only says something—everything—about him.” You blinked through the tears, letting her words sink in, heavy and grounding all at once. The anger bubbling in your chest mingled with the ache, a strange but familiar cocktail. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly. “It’s not me. It’s…him.” Yasmin squeezed your shoulder, her grip firm, unyielding. “Exactly. And we’re not letting that bullshit stick to you. He can act like a fool all he wants—doesn’t change who you are, or what you deserve.” Bella gave a small, almost fierce smile, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “You are not defined by what some guy tries to pull, okay? Not Riki, not Maki, not anyone. You’re solid. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re a fucking—you’re absolutely stunning. A smoke show. And—fuck it—you’re ours. And we don’t let anyone talk down to our girl.”

You let out a shaky laugh, more release than humor, leaning into their warmth. “I—I just…God, I hate that it stings.” “And it will,” Yasmin said softly, but firmly. “For a second, for a day, maybe even a week. But that’s fine. You feel it, then we leave it there. You don’t have to deal with it alone. Not now, not ever.” The room fell quiet for a moment, save for your uneven breaths and the soft hum of the radiator. And in that silence, you realized something—this wasn’t just comfort. This was armor. Solid, unbreakable, built of friendship and love that no locker room bravado could ever touch. And instead of making you feel some sense of support, love, security—it sent the wrath of the devil through you.

The signs were there from the beginning, the chasing, the bombarding his way into your life. The hesitance during the first kiss. The trying so hard to make you like him then laying it on thick—it was all right in front of you.  You let him encroach on your girl time—the fact that you even let him get close to the two most important people in your life felt like betrayal in itself. Like you handed him the keys to your sanctuary and he just stomped through it.  Blows to your pride were something you didn’t take lightly and this was something you couldn’t just swallow.  What about your feelings? What about the other, maybe, dozens of girls he’d used like a tissue and tossed to the bin?! You were sick and tired of seeing so many girls and women—people—fall victim to assholes like Riki Nishimura. 

Just another hole? Fine. You need retribution. And you need it now.

Heat turned to ice in your veins and something in you snapped neat and clean—not a sob this time, not a plea. A cold, focused fury rose up, quiet and terrible. You didn’t want a meltdown anymore.

“I’m going to ruin his life.” You mumbled to yourself as your jaw clicked. “I’m going to make him wish he never met me.”

Yasmin and Bella froze, giving each other looks. Before Yasmin spoke up, “hey…” She cleared her throat. “Let’s ease up, okay? You’re upset and—”

You sit up straight, getting up from the bed as you angrily paced back and forth. “No. I’m fucking livid. I mean who does this dickhead think he is?! Me?! Nothing but a fucking hole to fuck when he’s the one that damn near—no—begged me to even talk to him?” As the two girls looked at you, both of their expressions differed. Yasmin, like always, led with her heart. Her gentle features framed by her curtain bangs, she was always the one to consider someone before anything. The friend that would give her last meal if it meant you ate. The person that would sit on the phone with you for hours just to hear you vent if it meant that it’d help you.

Bella led with her brain. Her wavy hair was out of her face, wearing her emotions for you to see plainly. She had such a knack for getting the both of you out of sticky, overthink-y situations. She’d tell you when you were being ridiculous but would dive in the deep end with you if you so chose. And yet, they looked at you just as one would expect.  Yasmin was on the verge of tears herself, her eyes brimming as her lips pouted. Seeing you this unhinged was so beyond her and she shook her head, looking down at her own hands. 

Bella was locked, though. Her sharp features rested calmly though her jaw was set. Which made sense. Someone does something outrageous, she’s upset. That makes sense. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice steady in that way that made you want to either hug her or throw something. “Then what’s the plan, genius? You gonna torch his car? Leak something? Because as much as I’d love to see that boy panic for once in his life, I think you want something smarter than that.”

Her calmness only made your pulse pound harder. You wanted movement. Consequence. You wanted Riki’s name to taste like ash in every mouth that said it. But even as the fury roared, Bella’s words dug in—she wasn’t dismissing you. She was challenging you to make it count. Yasmin stood, wiping under her eyes and grabbing your arm gently. “You’re hurt, dude. Like, badly. And that’s okay. But if you do something you can’t take back, you’ll regret it—and he’ll still win. You’re better than this. Don’t stoop to his level.”

“Or what, Yas? Just let him give me his ass to kiss?” You shrugged, laughing humorlessly. “I—”

“Dude, just break up with him! Call it quits. But you don’t have to try to ruin his entire—”

“Look,” Bella stood up as she chimed in. “In some way, Yas is right. While I’d love to see his life ruined—stooping lower doesn’t exactly do you any favors. Because then what? Guys get off easy, you know that. You’d just be the bitter, scorned lover and would have an entire fan base and university hate you. Is it worth that?” She said carefully.

You stared at her like she’d just said something in another language. “So I’m supposed to just…what? Move on? Pretend he didn’t just violate like that?”

Bella exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. I’m saying—you play it smart. He wants you to be emotional. He wants drama because it makes him look composed. Don’t give him that. If you’re gonna do some shit then just know that I don’t condone it. But…” She pursed her lips as she cleared her throat. “I’m down. What are we doing?” Yasmin looks at Bella like she has three heads. “Are we being serious right now?” Then looking back at you. “Hello? Am I speaking a language you don’t understand? Just dump the guy, it’s not worth it—I’m telling you!” She held your arms as she looked at you—pleading. “You may be hot now but I’m telling you —mark my words—you will regret it.”

“Then let me,” you shrug, “look, I’m not gonna kill him or anything.”

Yasmin blinked, her nostrils flaring as she loosened her grip on your arms. Leaning back as she let out a breath. “…Fine. But I still vote you dump him and skip the theatrics. I do not want to be in a courtroom later.”

“Oh stop it, Yasmin.” Bella smacked her teeth as she waved her off. “She’s just going to fuck with him a little probably.”

“Exactly,” you nod. “I have ideas…but I’m not gonna break up with him.” You smiled deviously, “I’m just going to throw him off his game.”

—

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come, mama?” Riki frowned as he stood by his apartment door. 

The Syracuse game was tomorrow and the basketball and cheer teams were leaving in t-minus one hour. Since both your friends and Riki invited you to come along, you figured you’d stay behind. For obvious reasons. “I’m sure, baby.” You sighed as you leaned against the door. “I have a presentation for my Ethics class that I’ve hardly started. I gotta lock in.” 

The tall man nudged his suitcase away, “are you sure? You’re more than welcome to come.” He steps forward, grabbing your hands as he kisses them. Making his way up your wrists and it took everything in you not to vomit in your mouth. “You know I play better with you there.” “Sorry, but I really can’t. If I miss this deadline, I could fail. It’s a major assignment.” You shrug a shoulder. “You know how it is…”

Riki nods, “I do, mama, you know I do.” He pouts as he lets go of your arm and pulls you into a hug. “Well…” He exhales dramatically. “I’ll miss you. And I left you the key and my card on the counter. The place is yours.” He leaned down to peck your lips to which you reciprocated. Kissing Riki at this juncture contested your morals. Half of you felt bitter, the other sweet. That the recollection of his words then and now threw you for a loop. You battled with hating him with your brain but loving him with your body. You cupped his face as you tilted your head into the kiss. Lips gliding across his as smacking reverberated throughout the quiet pad. He hummed into the exchange as his hands rested on your ribcage, just below your breasts. Sliding down to your waist but you pulled back before he got any ideas.

“I’ll call you. I wanna hear all about your night, okay?” Riki kissed your knuckles again like he was sealing a promise and then he was gone—suitcase rolling, keys jangling, the door shutting with that small finality that suddenly made the apartment feel way too big. You stood there an extra beat, breathing out the sight of him walking away down the hall, feeling that weird cocktail of relief and venom fizz in your gut. You locked the door and immediately got to work. You started with something simple.

Going to the fridge, you shuffled through the fridge for his protein shakes and green juices. And without a second thought did you gather them all along the counter. You lined every bottle up like little soldiers about to meet their maker. Vanilla whey, chocolate whey, matcha greens, the ominous “superfuel” one that smelled like spinach and dirt. Every one of them—fuel for his precious pregame routine, the routine he swore by. The same routine he’d bragged about perfecting since middle school.

You grabbed the first bottle.

Twist, breaking the seal with a crack. Pour. Down the sink it went, a depressing brown waterfall glug-glug-glugging into the drain.

It felt like sex.

You didn’t stop there. One by one, you emptied every single drink. Protein? Gone. Greens? Gone. That weird probiotic mango kefir he always insisted “was life-changing?” Down the pipes like it was nothing.

By bottle five, you were humming. By bottle nine, you were laughing. By bottle thirteen, you were leaning your weight on the counter like, wow, I’m actually unwell. But oh, it felt good. When you were done, the counter looked like a crime scene. Caps everywhere. Empty bottles lined up like trophies. The sink foam-green from the mixture of whatever the hell he’d been consuming. You rinsed the sink out of the mess, gathered the bottles in a garbage bag to take out—not leaving a trace. You wiped your hands on a dish towel, chest rising and falling as the first hit of petty victory lit your veins. 

Step one complete. Sabotage the routine.

Step two?

You opened the pantry. Protein powder. Pre-workout. Hydration packs. Then, you took the pre-workout and loosened the lid by half a turn. Just loose enough that, when he inevitably grabbed it in a rush, the powder would pop out in a satisfying puff—onto him, the counter, the floor.

Your phone buzzed.

angel: what’s the status, brittany snow?

You: all the bodily fluids GONEEE

pretty princess: girl PLEASE what does that even mean

You: his nasty ass shakes

pretty princess: EEEYUCK ???

angel: LMFAOOO

You smiled, pocketing your phone.

You walked into his bedroom next—the sanctum. Neat, annoyingly neat. Bed made. Shoes lined up. Posters straight. Laundry basket empty.

Perfect. You didn’t have to destroy anything. You just…shifted.

Nothing too far—just enough out of place that he’d be tearing the room apart in thirty minutes. His practice hoodie? You folded it and tucked it under the bed. His favorite beanie? Behind the headboard.

Small inconveniences. It’s all super silly, but throwing someone out of their rigid routine meant a lot more than one thought.

Then you opened his nightstand drawer and saw it.

The Polaroid of you he kept. The one from your second date. Crooked, sun-washed, you laughing with your face turned away from the camera. You simply flipped it faced down.

That was enough. He’d open the drawer and know something had shifted.

And then, for the finishing touch, you slid a sticky note onto his mirror. hi baby, did some cleaning up <3

You stepped back to survey the apartment—quiet, calm, meticulously disturbed.

A masterpiece of emotional warfare.

You dusted off your hands and whispered to yourself, almost sweetly: 

Your cheek didn’t throb this time. It pulsed.

You weren’t done. 

Not even close.

— Two days later

1 Missed Call from Riki

riki: baby what happened to all my shakes and juices…?

you: can’t call, in class rn what do you mean?

riki: sorry mama but i got back to the crib and i saw that all of my juices were gone did you clean?

you: yeah i left a note, sorry idk why i didn’t just text you that i cleaned up lmao ??

You stared at the blinking cursor, tongue poking into your cheek as you imagined him standing in front of his open fridge, hands on his hips like somebody’s stressed single mother. Perfect.

riki: ok but like all of my juices? every single one?

you: …why does that matter?

Three dots. Then none. Then the message bubble disappeared like he was pacing around his kitchen trying to form a coherent thought with no electrolytes in his bloodstream.

riki: i’m not mad, baby just confused they were FULL bottles did you throw them away??

You leaned back against the couch, laughing as you snuggled into your duvet.

you: yeah, they were old. dates looked weird. didn’t wanna risk expired protein diarrhea in my lover <3

Another long pause.

riki: babe those were bought THREE DAYS AGO like t h r e e  d a y s  a g o ??

you: oh. baby i’m so sorry.

There was something deeply satisfying about imagining him standing there, fridge light illuminating the disbelief on his face, probably blinking like he’d been smacked with a baguette.

riki: ok…it’s fine…it’s fine i’ll just get more in the morning before shootaround it’s cool

Liar. You could smell the stress through the phone.

you: you good? you seem stressed

riki: no i’m good i gotta go to team meetings rn but can i call u later? want ur voice before i sleep, or maybe u could sleepover

You stared at the message. You could almost feel the shift—like he was trying to recalibrate, shake off the unease creeping under his skin.

you: we’ll see. depends on my workload.

Saying that but you know damn well you’re going to sleepover.

riki: …ok i love you

You typed. Erased. Typed again.

you: love you too

You locked your phone, letting it drop onto your thigh as the familiar pulse flickered through your left cheek. That tiny, electric reminder of what started all this.

—

Later that day

—

“Goodnight, mama.” 

“Night, baby.” You smiled as you leaned over, pressing a kiss to Riki’s lips as he sighed into it. He ran his hand down your back as he broke the kiss to press a smooch to your cheek. “I love you forever.” He mumbled against your cheek. “You love me?”

You rolled your eyes, chest burning with anguish and resentment. But you had to keep the ruse. “Mhm,” turning your face to peck his jaw as you found he looked at you. Resting his hand on your cheek as his chocolatey eyes melted at the sight of you under the warm light.  And somehow, seeing him—seeing him look at you in this way almost entrapped you again. Made you remember who he was to you. The pop-ups with dinner, the random dates, the proud affection he gave you.  But it was just that. Because what happened? What did you do? Where did you go wrong? And how was he just able to turn it on and off that way? You saw the glint in his eyes, the way he slightly towered over his junior in the locker room as he degraded you for tens of other people to hear. As humiliating as it is, he knew you’d have to be around those same people. Greeting them, sitting courtside and cheering them on. It was almost sociopathic.

“Good. Because I love you even more.” He leaned in to peck your lips repeatedly. “Push me off or I won’t leave these lips alone.” He purred, bringing his hand to your jaw. 

You smiled, returning them before you pulled back and he let you. “Go to sleep, casanova.” Riki grinned—soft, lazy, stupidly in love—like the world outside that bedroom didn’t exist. Like he hadn’t gutted you less than a week ago without even knowing he held the knife. He lay back, tugging you down with him until your foreheads brushed and his thumb stroked your cheek with that reverent tenderness reserved for saints and girlfriends. Not holes.

“Mm…I’ll sleep if you kiss me one more time,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice dipped in honey. “C’mon, mama…just one.”

He was so close you could feel every breath, warm and even, laced with trust so blind it felt like a dare. You huffed a soft laugh, leaning in, letting your lips graze his—barely there, feather-light. Just enough to sell it. Just enough to keep him wrapped in the version of you he thought he owned. His lids fluttered shut like it was instinct, like your touch was the last thing he needed to sleep.

He whispered it again, softer this time. “Love you. Forever.”

The words slid under your skin like ice.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his mouth as he nuzzled into your palm like a spoiled cat. You gave him your warmest smile—sweet, sleepy, harmless. “Goodnight, baby.” He sank into the pillow with a little satisfied exhale, reaching blindly for your hand like he couldn’t fall asleep without it. His fingers threaded through yours, grip loose and trusting. Within a minute, his breathing evened out, lashes still against his cheekbones, lips parted just a little.

Peaceful. Completely unaware.

You watched him for a long moment—watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, the slow flutter of his fingers as they loosened around yours, the way his features looked almost boyish in dream-light. The version of him he let you have. The one no one else got.

The one he weaponized behind your back.

Your smile faded the second his breathing confirmed he was fully under.

You slipped your hand from his, slow and soundless. Sat up. Watched him one last time—because you needed to—then stood.

His phone glowed faintly on the nightstand, screen half-lit from a notification.

You snuck over, bare feet silent on the floor. Up close he looked smaller, somehow—all that swagger folded into the slow rise and fall of sleep. Your hand hovered for a second, then moved without drama: you pulled the cable from the phone. The charger came free with a soft click that sounded way louder in the hush than it should have. The phone screen blinked, then dimmed to black as charging stopped. Then you quietly placed the phone on the floor between the bedside table and bed. So you could suggest that maybe just maybe, it fell while he was asleep.

There was no time for you to feel bad. No space for you to have any regard for him and his feelings.  You slipped back into your side of the bed, lifting the comforter just enough to slide under without shifting the mattress. Riki didn’t even twitch—just mumbled something incoherent and rolled slightly toward your now-empty hand, searching for it in his sleep. The kind of soft instinct that once melted you.

Now it just hardened your resolve. You settled onto your pillow, facing him. His lashes brushed his cheeks, his dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and the corners of his mouth were relaxed—none of that locker-room arrogance, none of that cruel swagger. Just a boy sleeping.

Your cheek pulsed again. You breathed out slowly, quietly. No hesitation. No guilt. If anything, a sharp, wicked satisfaction bloomed low in your chest. He’d wake up groggy, confused, panicked from oversleeping, trip over his own excuses. Miss warmups. Piss off his coach. Maybe his whole rhythm would be off for the rest of the day. And it wouldn’t be traced back to you. Cute.

You turned your head on the pillow, watching the faint glow of the digital clock on the wall.

11:23 PM.

Plenty of time before he needed to wake up.

Plenty of time for his phone—now unplugged and hidden—to drain just enough.

You shifted slightly, the bedsprings creaking faintly. Riki moved too, instinctively throwing an arm over your waist, pulling you back into him with sleepy strength. His breath warmed the back of your neck.

If someone walked in, they’d think this was love.

But you stared straight ahead, eyes open, awake and focused, your mind already sketching the next domino to tip.

—

The morning was a quiet, serene one. The sun’s grace poured through the windowpane as it painted the bedding in gold, catching on the dust motes swirling lazily in the air. The apartment was warm, still, the way it only ever was when fall-winter sunlight decided to be nice for once. Riki shifted behind you with a soft groan, his arm tightening for a second before he blinked himself awake. You didn’t move—just breathed evenly, eyes half-closed like you’d been asleep, not wide awake planning the trajectory of his downfall. “Mmm…what time is it…?” he mumbled, voice low and raspy with sleep. One of those sounds that used to make your stomach turn to lava.

Now it curled your lip.

He reached over your waist, patting blindly along the nightstand until his hand hit nothing but wood. He frowned, still groggy, lifting his head to look. “Huh?”

Your lashes fluttered open just enough to watch him through the tiniest sliver.

He pushed himself up onto an elbow, hair sticking in every direction. “Where’s my phone…?”

You stretched slowly, selling the morning softness. “I don’t know,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “You tossed and turned like crazy.” He blinked, confused. “Did I?” He leaned over the edge of the bed, eyes widening slightly when he spotted the phone wedged between the table and frame—exactly where you left it.

“Oh. Damn.” He grabbed it, pressing the side button.

Nothing.

He held it down longer.

Still nothing.

“What the—” his brows furrowed. “Baby, it’s dead? It was charging.”

You sat up, pulling the blanket around your shoulders like you were just as confused as him. “Did the cable come out? You know that outlet is loose.”

Riki shoved the cord into the phone again and flipped it over—and the second he saw the blank battery symbol flash and disappear, panic lit his whole face. “Oh shit—what time is it?!” He scrambled, grabbing the digital clock on the nightstand like it held the secrets of the universe.

07:42 AM.

Workouts were at six.

Scrimmage started at seven-thirty.

His entire body went rigid. “Baby, baby—fuck, I’m late—Coach is gonna fuck me up—”

You let your expression twist into perfectly curated worry. “Oh my god, Riki—go! Hurry, go!” He shot out of bed, nearly tripping as he yanked on sweatpants with one leg still tangled. His heartbeat practically pulsed through the apartment as he raced around, grabbing his duffel, portable charger, shoving random shirts inside, searching frantically for his warmup jacket. Scrambling through his closet, throwing shirts and pants off the rack and onto the floor. “What the fuck?! Where’s my fucking sweater?”

“What sweater, baby?” You yawned as you stood up, your socks hitting the carpeted floor.  “My purple Decelis fleece? The one—nevermind I don’t have time.” He turned back around to grab a random, black pullover. You padded into the kitchen with the blanket still around your shoulders, half-yawning, half-smirking into the fabric where he couldn’t see. Behind you, you heard the frantic gargling, toothbrush clattering into the sink, the thud of cabinet doors closing too hard.

You opened the fridge, all innocent-like, and pulled out the protein pancake mix he loved—the one he always made on game days for “optimal energy.” You set it on the counter on purpose, knowing damn well he wouldn’t have the time to use it, but the sight alone would salt the wound. “Baby—!” Riki called through toothpaste foam, stumbling out of the bathroom, hair a wild disaster. “Have you seen my arm sleeve? The black one with the—fuck—never mind—”

He barreled past you, nearly knocking into the counter as he tore through the drawers. You stepped aside, clutching your blanket tighter, doing a very convincing impression of a sleepy, supportive girlfriend instead of the overseer of operations. The puppet master. “You want me to make you a quick smoothie?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes like breakfast was even possible.

He huffed, chest heaving. “No—I—shit—I don’t have time.” He dropped to his knees to search under the couch. “Coach is gonna kill me. He’s literally gonna kill me.”

You peeked over the edge of the counter. “Did you check the rack by the door?”

“For what?!” His voice cracked in panic as he scrambled back to his feet.

“Your arm sleeve.”

Riki sprinted to the entryway—and there it was. Right next to his shoes. Propped neatly. Like a little gift.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, shoving it into his duffel. “I love you—I literally love you—” You smiled softly, touching your chest like his words warmed you instead of making your stomach curdle. “I know, baby. Don’t forget your protein powder.” You hugged the blanket closer to you.

He groaned, “you’re right.” He brushed past you and to the cabinet. Opening it quickly and reaching for the tub by the lid. And before he could make another step, it was like it started snowing.  With a clatter and thud, the tub hit the counter before its contents spilled all over the floor.

A cloud of chalky white billowed up like a blizzard in a snow globe someone had just punted across the room. Protein powder went everywhere—on the counter, the floor, his socks, your socks, the air itself. It was a crime scene. A lactose-based natural disaster. A winter wonderland from hell. Riki froze mid-motion, one hand still gripping the lid, the other suspended like he wasn’t sure whether to catch the explosion or just accept defeat. His pupils blew wide with pure, uncut panic.

“…No.” He whispered it like a prayer, a curse, and an obituary all at once. “No, no, no—bro, what the fuck—”

You gasped, covering your mouth with both hands. “Oh my god!” Your hands smothered your laugh, your chest caving in nearly gave you away.

“I don’t—shit—fuck—WHY IS IT SO FULL?!” He coughed violently as the powder puffed straight into his face, coating his lashes and settling in his hair like freshly fallen frost.

You rushed forward, blanket trailing behind you like a cape of sympathy. “Oh—don’t breathe, don’t breathe—okay, wait, no—do breathe—you need oxygen—” He spun in a frantic circle, slipping slightly on the powder-covered tile. “Coach is gonna kill me and I look like I just got baptized in whey protein! I can’t—baby, I can’t—”

“Riki,” you said softly, reaching out to brush some of the powder from his cheek. “It’s okay. Just…wipe it off. You still have time.”

“No I fucking don’t.” He grabbed the edge of the sink and leaned over it like he was about to weep. “I’m already late. I was meant to be there—” he squinted at the blinking oven clock through his snowstorm bangs, “—FIFTEEN minutes ago!”

“Don’t yell at me!” You brushed your socks off. “It’s not like I made you late for practice for the first time in—”

“Never! I’ve never been late.” He wiped his face aggressively with a dish towel, leaving streaks that made him look like he’d been lightly dusted by a pastry chef. Powder still clung to his hoodie, his sleeves, the entire front of his body like static made of sadness.

He gave one last distressed look around the kitchen, defeated. “I—fuck—okay—no shake today—I don’t need it—I’ll eat a banana or some shit—oh my god—”

You did your best wide-eyed, supportive girlfriend impression. “You’re gonna be okay. Just go! Talking to me about it does nothing.”

Riki nodded once—shaky, determined, a man on the brink—then darted back toward the door, leaving a trail of protein footprints behind him. Before he left, he popped back in, pressed a powder-scented kiss to your forehead, and whispered: “Love you—lock up when you leave—text you later—please pray for me. Leave the mess, I’ll clean when I get back.”

And then he was gone again, bolting down the hallway like a man fleeing a crime scene.

When the door shut, the powder finally settled.

And so did your laughter. 

Pulling out your phone, you figured a group FaceTime was underway. 

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye—not from sadness, but from laughing so hard your ribs hurt. The kitchen looked like the inside of a snow globe that had been shaken by a toddler with vengeance issues. And the image of Riki sprinting out the door, looking like the Ghost of Christmas Past, would feed you for weeks. Still snickering, you reached for your phone, thumbing open FaceTime and tapping on the group chat with Yasmin and Bella: The Holy Trinity™.

It rang twice.

And then both girls appeared on your screen in chaotic split view—Yasmin in her bonnet, mascara smudged under her eyes like she’d just woken up or cried or both, and Bella with her hair clipped back, already slurping iced coffee like it was noon instead of seven-something in the morning. “Oh my gosh,” Bella groaned, squinting at your background. “Why does it look like you’re filming from inside a cocaine factory?”

“Bro,” Yasmin choked, leaning closer to the camera. “Is that snow? Did it snow in his kitchen? Why is there…why is there powder on your tits—”

You burst into another fit of laughter, nearly dropping the phone. “Guys—guys, wait—he dropped the tub of protein that I placed.”

Bella’s jaw dropped. “No. No, don’t lie to me. Tell me he looked stupid.”

“So fucking stupid,” you said proudly. “He looked like Frosty the Snowman on creatine.” You chuckled, flipping the camera to reveal the catastrophe. Bella screamed. Not yelled—not gasped—she let out the kind of shriek that could summon emergency services. Yasmin laughed so loud that the microphone didn’t even pick up the sound. They couldn’t see you laughing though the camera shook as you tried to get ahold of yourself. “Oh shit…this is way more fun than I thought.” You wiped a tear from your eye as you flipped the camera back to yourself. “Guys…he said ‘please pray for me’ before running out the door. Like he was going to war. Like he was going to send me letters from the trenches or something.”

“Ooh, what else is there?”

—

As a result of the last two weeks of torment you put Riki through, you’ve been nothing but happy to see him slowly become a fragmented, mildly skittish and paranoid shell of himself.  And you didn’t even have to do anything to him. A lot of these things were self-inflicted. Whenever you approached him on campus, he would jump before you could make him aware that it was you.

When he showered, he somehow found that his shampoo was always nearly empty. Hardly enough to even lather up. And when he did have to replace it (now almost weekly), he always felt like there was a Nair-y stench to it.  The protein powder remained in the cracks of the kitchen’s wooden floor. He felt that his hair was thinning even though it clearly wasn’t. Riki also discovered that he had a fish allergy—courtesy of the fried cod you made him. The reaction was very mild, just an antihistamine and it knocked him right out. You didn’t know he had this allergy. 

You’re not that crazy.

Unfortunately, the only thing that the universe—with the interference of you—couldn’t seem to shake was that fucking basketball shit. No matter how many times you tried to curb his alarms (he set multiple and bought an alarm clock), hide stuff (he packs his bag the night before now), and secretly pray for his downfall—it just never happened. Riki’s stats still stayed the exact same. Averaging thirty points per game, seven rebounds, eight assists. He hardly called you after practice with weight on his voice. And that was the only thing that Riki did his best to protect. Basketball was his sanctuary and as vain as it sounded: he considered himself to be a seasoned vet already. If he learned anything from playing—enduring—this sport for his whole life it was two things: don’t be a selfish player—not just in game, but in life. And leave any and all personal shit off the court. 

And that if he held both of these things close to his heart and led with love, then he was going to be alright. 

But he was a human being. Most importantly, he was a man. An egomaniacal, self centered man. And just like any other human being, he made mistakes and with those two values he held tightly to his chest—if he slipped then he’d feel it. So everyday, for the last two weeks—he reflected. What exactly did he do to be so out of whack recently? He wasn’t selfish. He loves you, honors you, does everything that a boyfriend should right?  Yeah, Coach yelled at him the day he was late. But he ultimately suffered no consequences as that was his first offense. But still, despite that—he ran three laps around the arena to be fair to his teammates. You and him haven’t argued yet. In the four months that you had been together, everything went swimmingly. Nothing that you’ve done has sincerely pissed him off. The closest thing might’ve been the day with his juices being gone. But it was an honest mistake. But besides that, everything that he felt for you from the start remained—if anything, it only intensified. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t want to be in your skin. To hold you and tell you how breathtaking you were. How every conversation with you felt like talking to a friend. Like he’s known you his whole life.  So what did he do? What did he do to be having such a tough time? What was he getting karma for?

—

You sat in your dorm, munching on a salad as you were working on an assignment that was ten days past due. But truthfully, it was already beyond late—you didn’t care about making it up anymore.

Your main concern was your next point of action: kill Riki Nishimura. Not like actually kill him or anything. 

This was going to be your magnum opus: killing him socially. Bella and Yasmin didn’t think you could do it. More like they didn’t want you to. But you had it all mapped out. And your beloved boyfriend had no clue. Not one. He made it easy with how weird he was being. The best revenge comes from doing hardly nothing at all. Watching him feel like a stranger in his own skin brought you enough joy to last you three lifetimes. 

But you were greedy.

—

The arena’s noise was thick. You could feel it in your ribs—the music from the above speakers, the chatter, the sharp whistle of sneakers on the waxed court. You sat front row, dead center. The perfect sightline. The perfect stage. Your fingers shook—not from nerves, but from the kind of adrenaline that comes before impact. You had the note written out. Printed. Folded once. Sitting like a loaded weapon in your lap. You could feel the weight of it pressing through your jeans. Bella had clocked it the second she saw you. Yasmin’s eyes darted to the paper, then to your face, then back again. They didn’t even need to say it out loud; the girl telepathy was loud enough to deafen. The blonde’s attention remained on you but she placed her hand on Yasmin’s arm. “What the fuck is she doing?”

“I don’t know!” The olive skinned girl shrugged as her doe eyes widened in fright. “She didn’t say anything about doing something public.”

Bella shook her head. “Oh fuck no, she’s lost her goddamn mind.” She stood, waving her arms to catch your attention. “Don’t,” she hissed, barely moving her lips.

But you were already standing.

The announcer’s voice bled into the air, “—and now, your starting five!”

You didn’t hear the cheers. Didn’t see the team running out. You only saw him. Riki, jogging onto the court, smiling easily, looking like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks unraveling.

He waved to the crowd, scanning briefly—just long enough for your eyes to catch. He froze. Blinked. His smile faltered for a second. Then returned, practiced and bright.

You unfolded the paper.

“Don’t you dare,” Yasmin whispered, gripping your arm so tightly her nails pressed crescents into your skin.

You shook her off. “He deserves this.”

Bella stood too, half-blocking you from view. “No, he doesn’t. Not like this. This is too fucking far!” But you didn’t even hear her. The mic was right there—abandoned on the sideline after the anthem. You could take three steps and it’d be in your hand. You could read the note, the one that started with ‘Three weeks ago, starting point guard, Riki Nishimura, had degraded me—’ It’d be over for him. You’d make sure of it.

And that’s when Yasmin, bless her, full-body tackled your arm and snatched the paper clean out of your hand. “You’re done,” she hissed, shaking her head. “This isn’t justice, this is suicide.”

“What—” you started, but then Bella’s voice cut through, low and warning. “He’s looking.”

And he was.

Riki had stopped dribbling during warmups, staring right at the three of you. His brows pulled together, confusion, worry. Then he started jogging toward you, calling your name.

The crowd noise dimmed into static in your ears.

He reached the sideline, cluelessly. “What’s going on?” Tilting his head as he raised his taped hand to brush your coils off your shoulder to toy with the ‘R’ pendant on the necklace he gave you. A habit, something he did as a means of soothing both you and him. “Everything okay?” Yasmin shook her head slightly. “This has gone entirely too far, dude.” She sniffled, dabbing her fallen tears in an effort to not ruin her makeup.

“You gotta tell him.” Bella said firmly. 

Riki looked around, scanning the arena for any cameras that were on him. “What? Tell me what?” He squinted, genuinely baffled—like he was trying to fit the scene into a scoreboard in his head. You stayed silent, your eyes fiery and skin crawling at the feeling of his touch now. Your eyes fell right to the microphone where you could do your final bidding. Eyes watering and heart heavy, you crumpled the paper in your fist as you avoided Riki’s gaze.

Bella exhaled, all impatience and exactness. “Can we do this somewhere where there aren’t cameras?” Her eyes fell on the guy before you three.  Riki’s expression hardened a little, glancing at the gigantic clock at the top of the stands. Twenty minutes til tip-off. Without another word, he nodded to the tunnel which led to the locker room. The only private area where he knew no one would be passing through. “Quickly.” He said lowly as he rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “Please.” You stayed planted where you were, your eyes glaring a hole into his. As if lasers would beam through if you tried hard enough. Yasmin grabbed you by the bicep, “come on.” She said shakily, which in any other case would’ve weighed you down with her. 

The tunnel smelled like old sweat and floor cleaner—half of the arena’s life lived in a stale chemical cloud. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, turning everyone’s skin a little too pale. The noise from the court faded to a distant roar; here it was only your voices and the scrape of sneakers against concrete. Then squeaking as you entered the empty locker room. Riki kept his jacket half off, breath shallow, eyes darting between the three of you like he was trying to memorize which way the exits led. “Talk to me.”

You stayed silent, folding your arms to your chest as if it could keep your guts from spilling out.  “Hello? Did you hear him? He’s speaking to you—” Bella tapped your shoulder.

Riki interjected sharply, brows furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t fucking speak to her like that—”

“No! This shit has gone way off the rails and now she’s acting like a fucking baby. Speak up, I’m not coddling you anymore!” The girl insisted. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bella.” You snapped, “don’t try to sit here and ‘tough love’ me now when you know you’re the one that held my hand through this in the first place.” Turning to her as you jabbed her shoulder with your finger. 

Bella scoffed, “But I never told you to go this far! You—” “Why the fuck are we talking in code?! I have shit to do and y’all here playing!” Riki clapped his hands in urgency.

Yasmin blurted it out. “We heard you talking about her.” She huffed nervously.

Riki’s eyes flit to the side in confusion. “So? I talk about her and to her every single day.” “No.” You finally interjected, turning your attention to him as you were able to take your anger out. “When you stood in here and said to Maki that I was ‘just another hole to fill’ and how not whipped you are?” You squinted your eyes as your posture straightened. “That all girls are the same and how much play you’re gonna get—” You smiled bitterly at the memory as you spoke with your hands. “And how you’re just gonna keep ‘fucking around and winning? Huh?” You nodded. “Remember that, baby?”

Riki froze. Like someone had just yanked the oxygen straight out of his lungs. For a second, the world went completely soundless—even the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to cut out. His jaw twitched once, twice, before he let out a shaky exhale and blinked at you, eyes wide, almost boyish in disbelief.

“Wait—” he said hoarsely, “you heard that?”

You laughed, sharp and humorless. “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. That it was just locker room talk, right?”

He ran a hand over his face, backing up until he hit the edge of a locker with a dull thud. His expression twisted — confusion, panic, then shame flickering like a glitch he couldn’t smooth out. “No, that’s not—fuck, that’s not what I meant. It was a—Maki was—”

“Maki was what, Riki?” Bella snapped. “A part of your stand-up routine? Or your echo chamber?” “Bella, stop,” he hissed, voice cracking under strain. He turned back to you, hands slightly raised like he was pleading his case to a judge who’d already heard the verdict. “It wasn’t about you like that. It was—God, it was a joke. I was trying to sound cool, and—”

Your eyes narrowed. “Cool?” The word landed like poison.

“You think degrading me makes you cool?”

Riki’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He was crumbling in real time—his composure, that stupid practiced charm, the performative calm he always wore when things got ugly. He looked twenty different kinds of small now. “Say it again,” you whispered, stepping closer, voice shaking not from weakness but from the sheer weight of it all. “Say it to my face this time. Say I’m just another hole to fill.”

Riki’s throat bobbed. “Don’t—”

“Say it!”

“I didn’t mean it!” he exploded, voice ricocheting off the walls. The sound of it startled even him. “I swear to God, I didn’t—” He stopped himself, chest heaving, eyes flicking to Bella, then Yasmin, before finally settling on you again. His voice dropped. “You think I’d ever mean that? About you?” You blinked, your vision blurring with the beginnings of tears you didn’t want to shed—not here, not in front of him. “I don’t give a fuck what you meant. You deserved everything I fucking did to you and more of it!”

“What…?” His voice cracked. “Wh–what did you do?”

Yasmin spoke up. “Can I interject…?” She stepped forward from the corner to stand beside Bella, who was letting her ponytail down as she felt her head starting to throb. “Riki…we decided to—”

“No.” You kindly shut Yasmin down. “I—neither of them had any involvement in anything—decided to pay you back. I poured out your juices. Loosened your protein tub. Unplugged your phone—everything weird that’s been happening to you for the last two weeks was me fucking with you.” Riki blinked once. Then again. Like maybe if he gave his brain enough time to reboot, it’d spit out a version of this scene that made sense.

“You—” he breathed out, the word shaky and small. “You what?” He stared at you—searching, scanning, trying to find some hint that you were joking. But your face didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even twitch. “Everything weird that’s been—” he stopped, eyes darting back and forth as the puzzle pieces rearranged in his head. “My shampoo, the alarms, the fucking—my protein—” His voice rose an octave, breaking off in disbelief. “The fish?!”

You blinked. “Okay, that one wasn’t on purpose. And I didn’t do anything to your shampoo.” He laughed. But it wasn’t funny. It was breathless and sharp—half a gasp, half hysteria. “Oh my God,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my fucking God.”

Bella winced. Yasmin quietly muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer.

Riki dropped his hand and looked back at you, eyes glossy—not with tears, but something worse. Something that looked like betrayal and heartbreak all twisted together. “You made me think I was losing my mind,” he said quietly. “For weeks.” You crossed your arms, defensive now. “You made me feel worthless.”

“So you poisoned me?”

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come.

“You unplugged my phone, you messed with my stuff, you—” he gestured wildly, like he couldn’t even pick which violation to name first. “You messed with my head, and for what? To even the score?”

“Don’t you dare make me the bad guy here,” you snapped, voice cracking on the edge of your fury. “You’re the one who said that shit about me.” “And I said I didn’t mean it!” he fired back, stepping closer. The sound of his voice filled the entire locker room—loud, raw, desperate. “You think I’m proud of that? You think I sleep easy knowing that came out of my mouth? I’ve been trying to figure out what I did to deserve all this—turns out, you were just—” He cut himself off, choking back whatever word was about to fall next.

“Just what?” you bit.

He stared at you. His throat bobbed. “Cruel.”

The word sliced clean through the air.

You flinched, but didn’t back down. “You talk about me like I’m replaceable and you think I’m cruel?”

“You tried to ruin me!”

“Oh, please,” you wave off. “You’d still be fine. You always land on your feet.”

Riki shook his head, eyes glazed. His eyes caught the folded loose leaf in your hand, gesturing to it. “What is that?” 

Without a second guess, you shoved it into his chest. Not even causing him to stumble but he snatched it. Opening it and doing his best to make it out beneath the crinkles.  And right then, was the angriest you’ve seen him up until this moment. The desperate, flabbergasted Riki that was before found new ground to stand on. His nostrils flared as he licked his bottom lip; fingers curling around the paper. “You were going to read this in front of people?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to—your silence was already too loud.

Riki’s laugh was low and humorless. “You were going to humiliate me.” He said it like he was testing the words out loud, like saying them would somehow make them less insane. “In front of my team? My coach? The entire nation, are you fucking crazy?”

“I was going to tell the truth,” you shot back, eyes glinting. “That’s all it was. The truth.”

“The truth?” He took a step closer, paper trembling in his fist. “No, no—you wanted revenge. You wanted blood, not closure.”

You rolled your eyes, though your pulse was slamming in your throat. “Don’t get poetic now, Riki. You said what you said.” “And I told you I didn’t mean it! How many times do I have to—” He held up the note like evidence in court. “This—this is you trying to destroy me because you’re hurt. You were really going to try to ruin my life’s work and career over this when you could’ve just fucking talked to me?! Or even dumped me?”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you called me just another hole to fill.”

He went still. The sound of sneakers squeaking from the court outside was a faint, haunting rhythm beneath the tension between you.

Riki lowered his head, voice dropping to something barely human. “You really hate me that much, huh?”

“I don’t hate you,” you said coldly. “I just wanted you to feel small for once.”

He let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Congratulations. You did it.” He held up the crumpled paper like it was a white flag—like you’d already won the war you started. “You’ve made me feel smaller than I ever have in my entire life.”

You swallowed, your anger flickering like a dying candle. “Good.” Riki stared at you for a long, long moment—jaw tight, eyes glassy, chest rising with restrained fury and heartbreak. Then, quietly, he tore the note in half. Once, twice, until the pieces fluttered from his hands like ash. “Hope it was worth it,” he muttered, voice shaking. And when he walked past you toward the locker room exit, he didn’t look back.

The girls followed in his direction with shaking of their heads. But were interrupted by your voice. “Where are you guys going?” They stopped, turning around. Yasmin’s eyes sparkled from the overhead lighting as tears misted her eyes. “We also have shit to do.”

You threw your hands up, “oh so now I’m the bad guy?” You laughed humorlessly, “you guys—” “We didn’t tell you to do anything!” Bella waved her finger. “Yas was against this from the beginning. I said I was just gonna support you. We support each other! Right, wrong, or indifferent. But I didn’t think you would lose yourself like this?” She gestured to your frame. “I mean who even are you anymore?”

“I’m me. I’m still me, guys—” You stepped forward with your voice shaking. Smile vanished as you swallowed what seemed to be a knot of nervousness. “C’mon…don’t turn your backs on me too…” Yasmin sniffled, “if we did then we wouldn’t have saved you just now. This isn’t my best friend,” Yasmin whispered, shaking her head. Her voice cracked mid-sentence, soft but sharp enough to land. “My best friend doesn’t do shit like this.”

You froze. “Yas—”

“No,” she said, stepping back a little. Rubbing her temples as frustrated tears streaking down her cheeks. “You’re not even listening to yourself anymore.” Bella exhaled, crossing her arms. “You became the thing you swore you hated. You’re standing here, trying to justify ruining someone’s life just because he bruised your ego. That’s not love. That’s obsession.”

Your throat closed up. “You think I wanted to turn into this?”

Bella didn’t answer right away—she just blinked at you, disappointed. “No. I think you got hurt and didn’t know where to put it. But you don’t get to burn down someone else’s peace to feel better about your pain.” The silence that followed was unbearable. Only the muffled sound of the crowd bleeding in from the court—cheers, drums, whistles—made the moment real again.

Yasmin took a shaky breath, voice quiet. “You can still fix this. Maybe not with him, but with yourself.” You stared at them, every word hitting like shrapnel, and for the first time since the whole spiral began—you didn’t have anything to say. The weight of what you’d done, what almost happened, started to settle in your stomach like lead.

Bella grabbed Yasmin’s hand. “We’re going to go. You should go get some rest.” You watched them walk away through the tunnel lights, the sound of the game roaring back to life behind them. You stood there, still holding the blanket of your own rage and regret—realizing it was never warmth at all. And the walk back to your dorm was a cold one.

—

For three days, you disappeared. The campus kept spinning without you—the chatter of students, the clatter of cafeteria trays, the hum of a world that refused to pause—but your room stayed still. Curtains drawn, phone facedown, mind circling the same moment over and over until it felt like static. The guilt wasn’t sharp anymore; it was heavy, dragging. Every notification with his name felt like another bruise you didn’t remember getting.

Bella and Yasmin tried to reach you—knocks at the door, texts, calls—but nothing stuck. Riki was radio silent; as expected. On the fourth day, you sat up and climbed off your creaky twin XL. You walked up to your desk and removed the pillowcase covering it and for the first time in days, you were able to stomach looking at yourself. Your reflection in the dark monitor felt like a stranger. Eyes swollen, lips cracked from lack of hydration, skin dry and textured. And immediately you put your head down. Holding your stomach as you wept into yourself. It came out of you like a flood you’d been holding back too long—all the anger, the shame, the grief. You tried to breathe, but it only made the sobs louder. You pressed a hand to your mouth as if you could stuff it all back down, but it was useless. You cried until your ribs hurt, until your knees gave out and you sank onto the floor, arms wrapped around yourself like you were the only thing keeping from coming undone completely. “Oh God—” You held your chest as you heaved. “What have I done?”

—

By the fifth day, the silence became unbearable. You couldn’t stand the sound of your own thoughts anymore—the echoes of Riki’s voice, the look on Bella’s face, the way Yasmin’s eyes had glistened before she walked away. So for the first time in almost a week, you took positive first steps. You showered, scrubbing yourself to the point where you swore your skin was about to peel off. Brush your teeth, following your meticulous oral care routine. And you put on lotion, perfume, did your hair and finally…you felt you were halfway worth looking at again.

—

The campus air touched differently after a self-imposed exile—too bright, too loud, like the world had the audacity to move on. You found Bella and Yasmin outside on the quad, sprawled on the grass with open laptops and snacks, their laughter cutting short the second they saw you.

“Hey,” you said softly, voice half-stuck in your throat.

Bella shut her laptop, sitting up. Yasmin didn’t say anything yet—just watched you with that mix of worry and quiet anger that made you feel twelve years old again. “I know,” you started, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was a dick. To both of you. And you didn’t deserve that.” You looked between them, heart pounding. “You were just trying to look out for me, and I…I took it way too far. I wanted to hurt him so bad that I forgot who I was. And who you guys were to me. I’m sorry. But I just wanted to say thank you for gathering me before I inevitably got worse.”

Neither spoke for a beat. Then Bella sighed, resting her chin on her knee. “Yeah, you were a dick,” she said flatly, but there was the ghost of a smile there. Yasmin exhaled, eyes softening. “We were worried sick. You don’t just vanish like that, dude. We thought you—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “Like at least an ‘I’m okay’ text would’ve been enough. Just…” She sighed, “don’t do that again.”

You nodded quickly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I won’t. I swear.” Bella patted the spot beside her. “Good. Then sit your dramatic ass down and eat something. We made sandwiches.”

Tears finally came down as you smiled. Sitting down between them as you hugged them to you. Both their heads on your shoulders as they squeezed you. “Are you guys still mad at me?”  “Oh definitely,” Yasmin smiled as she nuzzled your shoulder. “You have some serious making up to do.” Huffing as she leaned up and let go.

You looked down at the blanket and your crossed legs, “Can I start by saying you were right and that you owe me an ‘I told you so?’” To which that elicited laughs from both girls on either side of you.  “Forgiven!” Yasmin giggled as she clapped her hands excitedly. Like she wasn’t twenty but a little kid. And as you sat between them, the tension eased, the world didn’t feel quite as tilted anymore.

—

You were mid-laugh when it happened—Bella had just said something snarky about the “post-breakdown glow” you apparently had going on. And for a moment, things felt easy again. Like it always had with these two. The three of you were walking up the stone path toward the dining hall, the smell of pizza and fryer oil already drifting through the air, when a familiar voice froze you in your tracks.

“Hey!” He was coming down the opposite side of the path, still in his team jacket, backpack slung over his shoulders, hair a little messy like he’d just showered. His teammates had already gone ahead, but he stopped the moment he saw you.

Bella glanced between you two and sighed under her breath. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Yep,” Yasmin muttered. “Definitely our cue.”

They shared a look before Bella patted your arm. “We’ll, uh…grab our table. Take your time.”

And just like that, they slipped inside the dining hall, leaving you and Riki alone under the faint hum of campus noise.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You just stared at him, at how tired he looked—eyes a little red, hands balled up as he adjusted his sleeves.

“You look alive,” he said finally, a small half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Barely,” you replied, managing a smirk. “You?”

He shrugged. “Playing like I’m mad at the whole planet, but we’re winning, so…guess that counts for something.”

You nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the ground. “Riki, I—”

He shook his head before you could continue. “Don’t. It’s done.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not mad anymore. I mean, I was. But now…I get it.”

You searched his face for bitterness and found none—just exhaustion, and something softer hiding under it. “It’s not an excuse.” Shaking your head, you pulled your hoodie sleeves over your hands as you balled your fists. “You hurt me and instead of being a good, mature girlfriend…I went to the extreme. I’m so sorry, Riki.” “I deserved it, mama.” He stepped closer, whispering as he reached his hands up to frame your face—not touch it. “What I said was inexcusable. Absolutely repulsive and inappropriate and no one should speak about a person—especially their girlfriend—like that. I’m sorry too.”

“I guess neither of us are perfect.” You sighed, as you gently brought his hands back down. The radiating warmth leaving your cheeks and replacing it with the evening chill.

His mouth curved, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I think we both kinda nuked the moral high ground.”

A weak laugh slipped out of you. “That’s one way to put it.” For a moment, it was quiet—just the wind cutting through the trees and the sound of students laughing somewhere across the quad. You stared at the space between your sneakers, the weight of everything that happened hanging between you.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you said softly. “Even after all that.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I couldn’t even if I tried.”

That made you look up. His gaze was steady, not pleading, just…honest. The kind of look that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to name yet. “Did you mean any of it? Like when you said you loved me?” His eyes searched yours, “I’m sorry, it’s just been driving me crazy and I need to know.” The look in his eyes was layered in desperation and heartbreak. Only half of what you encountered in the locker room that day. “Please. For my own sanity—” “I did.” You sniffled, dabbing your eyes with your sleeve to prevent tears from coming out. “It…”

Riki pulled you to a small bench, tucked away from possible prying eyes as this was becoming an intimate moment. The first one in what seemed like forever. He wiped the bench with his hands, getting any debris—branches, dirt, cigarette ashes—off and away. “It was that I loved you so much that I did what I did.” You sat down as he did beside you. “When I heard you saying those things about me, it…it just—a switch just flipped in my brain. Like…everything that I thought about you beforehand was just confirmed. That my parents were right…”

Riki’s eyes widened a bit, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he gulped. “You—your parents?” You nodded, “they always said not to date athletes. That they’d either cheat, lie, or dog you. Maybe all three.” Fiddling with your manicured nails, clicking them slightly. “In a way, me getting revenge just felt like I was doing every single person that was wronged by every athlete, right. But I got greedy. Selfish. And really, I could’ve just spoken to you about it.” Riki leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground like it might offer him a manual on how to handle this conversation. “I wish you did,” he said quietly. “I would’ve told you the truth. That I was talking out of my ass, trying to look tough in front of the guys because I was scared of how much I actually loved you. I mean I’ve never felt like this before, y’know?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s not an excuse.”

“I know,” he said, glancing at you. “But it’s the truth. I said those things because I thought if I made it sound like I didn’t care, then they’d just get off my dick about it. In actuality, I was never thinking about sex with you.”

You shot him a look.

He smiled, “okay, I was.” Laughing as you did, but he leaned up. “But it wasn’t at the front of my mind. I didn’t lead every interaction with you with the expectation that you’d let me have any.” The words hung between you like fog, dense and heavy. You looked up at him then, and the sharpness you’d carried for weeks softened. He looked older somehow. Not in a bad way—just like he’d been through something real. “But even with the four months that we were together, I didn’t even want to bring it up because I didn’t want to scare you.”

“The idea of sex with you didn’t scare me, Riki. But the fact that when I thought I could trust you to keep certain things of our relationship private, you fell through. And disrespected me at that.” You went on. “Because how did Maki even know that we hadn’t done anything? Were these things regular conversations and I just happened to catch one?” Riki’s jaw tightened, his knee bouncing slightly. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. I swear, I didn’t go around talking about our business. Maki was being an asshole that day, asking questions, making jokes and assumptions, and I—” He paused, running a hand over his face like he could erase what came next. “I took the bait. I wanted to sound cool. Like I wasn’t some lovesick loser.” You stared at him, the memory of that locker room replaying in your mind like a cruel film reel. “So you threw me under the bus to impress him?” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, guilt written across every line of his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And the second it left my mouth, I wanted to take it back. It was just talk. It was just…I don’t know.”

You looked away, lips pressing together. The bench between you suddenly felt like a chasm. “I really thought you were different, Riki,” you said softly. “You made me believe it.” He winced like the words cut him. “I am different. Or at least I was trying to be. I just—” He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t think about how much weight my words had. I didn’t think about how much they’d hurt you if you heard them. I was trying to protect my ego instead of the one person I actually gave a shit about.” The silence after that was long and brittle. You could hear students laughing in the distance, the scrape of skateboard wheels against pavement. Ordinary sounds in a world that felt anything but ordinary right now. And it only left one question: “So what now?”

Riki shook his head firmly, turning to you. “Look I love you. Still—”

You sighed, closing your eyes in distress but he insisted. “No, no, no. Just listen to me.” He hesitantly reached for your hands. “I know we both have work to do. But I don’t want anybody else. And I mean that. You’re everything to me and even after the bullshit and what you were going to do…I still look at you the same.” You stared at him, the ache in your chest twisting into something you couldn’t name. “You shouldn’t,” you said softly. “You should look at me differently.”

He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t. I’ve tried.”

You wanted to laugh, or scream, or both. Instead, you just looked down at your intertwined hands—his fingers trembling slightly against yours. “Please don’t romanticize it, Riki. That was the ugliest I’ve seen myself in…ever. And I don’t know if I wanna be with someone that brings that out of me.” “But I do,” he smiled softly. “I want to be with someone that drives me crazy. That makes me feel every possible human emotion and that person was you.” He brought your hands to his lips to kiss them, like he always used to. “This is going to be what you want at the end of the day. But I won’t stop fighting for you. When I said I loved you forever, I meant it. As a friend, a lover. Anything. I just wanna be in your life.” For a split second, you could almost feel your heart stop. The rawest you’d ever seen Riki was in this moment—before you—as he practically begged to be in your world. A person who’s so used to the inverse. And he didn’t stop. “Since the day I saw you, I’ve not been able to get you off my mind. And I don’t wanna forget that feeling. Call me obsessed, desperate. But even then, I don’t care,” he finished, voice breaking slightly. “Because I’d rather be desperate for you than indifferent to anyone else.”

You swallowed hard, blinking fast. His eyes were glassy now, full of something that looked too much like the boy you fell for—reckless, sincere, and way too intense for his own good. “Riki…” “I know,” he said, shaking his head quickly, cutting you off before you could form the words. “You don’t have to say it. I just needed you to know. Even if you never look at me the same again, even if you find someone who actually deserves you—I needed to say it out loud once.”

You felt the world slow down around you, the hum of the dining hall muffling into static. His confession sat between you, too heavy to move around and too fragile to touch. “I think…I think it’s best that we be friends. For now…” He nodded immediately, “anything you want—wait, you said for now?” He tried to hide the way his lips curved, but failed.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh. “Don’t push it.” And then, almost without thinking, you scooted forward. He met you halfway, arms slipping around your waist like muscle memory. You pressed your face into his shoulder, breathing him in—the faint trace of detergent, cologne, and something you couldn’t name but still remembered.

It wasn’t a reconciliation. It wasn’t a promise. It was just…quiet understanding. He melted into your arms, remembering the warmth he once felt there as it hadn’t ever gone away. Rubbing your back as the both of you fell into the comfort of each other again. “I won’t…I promise.” He said softly as he sniffled. You felt his breath hitch against your neck, the sound muffled but raw. His arms tightened just a little, like he was afraid that if he let go too soon, the moment would vanish. You rubbed slow circles into his back, grounding him, grounding yourself.

“I know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red but steady. “I just don’t ever want you to think I didn’t care,” he said quietly. “Not for a single second.”

You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over the corner of his hand where it still held onto you. “I never did,” you admitted. “But time will tell.” For a moment, neither of you moved—just stayed there, breathing the same air, hearts syncing in that familiar rhythm you both tried so hard to forget. And when you finally stepped apart, it wasn’t out of anger or regret. It was because you both knew what this was.

Something that wasn’t over. Just paused.

— epilogue!

The semester was coming to an end and things were looking up! Spring was underway, you traded in your hoodies for tube tops and life wasn’t as hard as it was a month ago. Bella and Yasmin are the same: reliable, solid, harassing—typical. As for Riki…

You and him had stayed true to the “friends for now” thing…with a few cracks around the edges. You were doing pretty well with the whole “platonic equilibrium” mindset. Riki, though…was doing his best, which—coming from him—meant trying really hard not to accidentally flirt every five minutes. There was always a soft awkwardness in the air whenever he was near, a kind of gentle hesitation that felt new. Like he was relearning how to exist around you without crossing lines he used to dive over headfirst. Whenever you ran into him around campus, he’d light up—just a little, almost like he wished he didn’t. He’d start to reach for your hand out of habit, stopping mid-motion with a small, embarrassed laugh. Sometimes he’d call you “baby” without thinking, freeze like he’d just triggered a bomb, and mumble a panicked “sorry.” It was…cute. Annoyingly cute.

But here’s the thing—he didn’t push. Not once. He didn’t corner you, didn’t force conversations, didn’t try to speedrun your healing. He gave you space without disappearing, presence without pressure. It was the most mature thing you’d ever seen him do, and honestly? Kinda hotter than when he was your actual boyfriend. Slowly, the tension stopped feeling sharp and started feeling warm. The kind you notice on slow walks across campus or when you catch him staring from across a study lounge. The kind that makes your stomach dip but not in a painful way anymore.

He was still your Riki—loud, unserious, overwhelmingly athletic, always carrying a million and one snacks in his bag. But this version of him was steadier. Softer. Careful with you in ways he never had to think about before. Spring was blooming, and so were you. And somewhere in the mess of new beginnings, slow healing, and accidental almost-romantic moments…you could feel it.

You and Riki weren’t done. Not even close.

riki: hey girlieee

you: hi riki lmao

riki: rq, what are ur thoughts on selena gomez?

you: random?? LMAOO ??? but 10/10 no notes. she’s mother. omg i love her blushes too

riki: she sells makeup??

you: yeah…everyone knows that

riki: literally why would i know that but thanks, noted.

you: why tho? what happened?

riki: <3

you: …? that’s not an answer…?

riki: <33

you: ok

Riki left you on read after that last “ok,” which was suspicious behavior for him. Usually he double-texted entirely too often. But whatever—maybe he was in the gym…benching a car or some shit.

Two weeks rolled by in this weird limbo where he acted normal but also not normal. A week ago he’d shown up outside your lecture hall just to hand you a juice box because, quote, “You always look dehydrated after class.” Three days ago, he’d pretended to trip just so you’d laugh. Yesterday he’d sat next to you in the library, headphones in, sharing a pack of gummies and tapping your knee every time he thought of something funny. And you didn’t miss the shift in him—this boy was planning something. You could practically hear the cartoon gears grinding in that brain of his.

Then Friday came. A warm, breezy, stupidly pretty spring evening. You were chilling in your dorm, headphones in one ear as you reviewed for your microeconomics final. And that’s when you heard it.

“It’s been said and done…Every beautiful thought’s been already sung…”

And comedically, your head popped up. Brows furrowed as you turned your head to get a grip on the muffled, crackled noise coming from the outside. But you just figured it was the student union having one of their last hurrah’s before the year was finished and y’all were right back in three months.

“And I guess right now, here’s another one…So your melody will play on and on…With the rest of them…”

Your phone buzzed.

pretty princess: girl look tf out ur window rn.

You blinked at the notification, confusion already tugging at your face. Yasmin never texted like that unless something was either (A) horrifying or (B) gobsmacking. There was never an in-between with her. You shoved your chair back, nearly tripping over your backpack as you crossed the room. You pulled the blinds open—

And your stomach dropped to your ass.

Because there he was.

Riki. On the quad. Holding an actual boombox over his head like he was auditioning for an eighties rom-com.

The thing was massive, probably older than both of you, and blasting Selena Gomez’s “Love You Like a Love Song” at a volume that was definitely violating at least six campus rules. Students were recording him but he didn’t care. He spotted you instantly.

That stupid, boyish, heart-squeezing grin lit up his whole face the second your eyes met. He lifted the boombox even higher—like his arms weren’t already shaking—and he yelled up at your window: “HI!”

Just “hi.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, partially to smother your gasp and partially to keep from laughing out loud like someone who lost any and all gumption. Heat crawled up your neck. “No he didn’t,” you whispered.

Oh, but he did. And he wasn’t stopping.

People started chanting his name—half because they loved drama and half because the acoustics were terrible and the song was starting to echo off the buildings like some kind of chaotic love anthem.

You opened the window. “RIKI!”

He perked up like a golden retriever hearing treats shake. “YEAH?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“I’M—” He paused, laughing. “I’M TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC BUT THIS THING IS REALLY HEAVY! AND LOUD!”

You nearly melted on the spot. Your brain was soup. Your heart? Gone.

He lowered the boombox slightly—possibly because his arms were probably about to give out—and yelled, “COME DOWN! PLEASE! I DON’T WANNA DROP THIS AND DIE. THAT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING.” He wasn’t struggling, his arms weren’t trembling. He wasn’t out of breath. 

You squinted down at him, realization hitting you like a brick made of pure annoyance and affection. “Riki…are you faking struggling right now?”

He flashed you a guilty little half-smile, shrugging with one shoulder while still holding the boombox like it weighed absolutely nothing. “Uh…maybe. For dramatic effect. Gotta sell the moment, y’know?”

You groaned into your hands. “Oh my god.”

He adjusted his grip again—effortless, casual, absolutely not dying as previously advertised—and yelled, “C’MON! DON’T MAKE ME LOOK STUPID IN FRONT OF LIKE—” he glanced around, “—WAY TOO MANY PEOPLE!”

You rolled your eyes so hard you saw last semester. But you threw on your hoodie, shoved your feet into whatever shoes were closest, and bolted for the stairs.

By the time you reached the quad, people were still filming, still chanting his name, still acting like they were witnessing a Hallmark movie. Riki stood there proudly, boombox now resting against his shoulder as the chorus blasted:

“I-I-I love you like a love song, baby…”

He grinned the second he saw you and the crowd dissipated as they saw him put the boombox down to the grass and lower the music. “Hi…”

“Hi?” You laughed as you reached him. “What in the world is this?” You gestured to the boombox now at your feet.

“A…boombox—”

“I know what a boombox is, Riki!” You hold your hands up. “I mean…why?” You said softly. 

He sighed. “Okay, look. I know you’ve said sorry before. And I did too. But I was saying it like…someone who wanted to fix a scratch, not someone that had the capability of ruining an entire relationship with words.” He frowned slightly as he reached out for your hands. Inhaling before he mustered up the courage to grasp them. “You don’t make it easy for me. You don’t worship me. You don’t pretend I’m a big deal. You roll your eyes and tell me when I’m being a dick—and that’s the first time in a long time I’ve actually had to listen.” He went on.

“When we stopped talking, I still couldn’t stop thinking about you. When you liked me for half a second, I didn’t know what to do with it. When you loved me…I felt like I was caught with my pants down.” The breeze blew at his dark locks, brushing his silky hair just right as the perfectly timed sunset kissed his tan skin. “You said once that you don’t understand why people lose their minds over athletes. I get it now. I’m the guy who people cheer for and I still don’t get it either. But when you look at me, it’s not because I made a basket—it’s because you actually see me. And I don’t want to lose that. And…” He huffed, eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve gone these last few months with an attempt to change everything about myself. But the one thing that I couldn’t seem to shake is that I really am selfish. Only when it comes to you.” He shakes his head as his lips quivered. “I love you, I kiss the ground you walk on and I can’t shake that. I just wanna be around you. All the time and it eats at me every waking moment that I fucked this up. That the idea of you being with someone else makes me irrationally angry. Seeing another guy even look your way makes me—and I’m so sorry. It’s so unfair.”

You felt something in your chest pull tight—like every word he spoke tugged a different thread you’d been trying so hard to knot back together. “Riki…” you whispered, but he wasn’t done. He stepped closer, eyes shining in that way that always made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something huge.

“I know it’s not healthy. I know I shouldn’t think like that,” he said, voice cracking as he blinked fast. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried to get over you. I’ve tried to be chill, to be normal, to be the guy who just ‘moves on.’ I can’t. I can’t pretend I don’t still look for you every time I walk across campus or step into the dining hall or hear your stupid laugh echo in my apartment when I look back at old videos of us.”

You let out a quiet breath—a little shaky, a little overwhelmed. “And I know it sucks,” he added, softer now. “I know it’s messy. I know it’s not fair to you. But I’m standing here, blasting Selena Gomez like a psychopath, because I needed you to know that I love you in a way that makes me spend two hundred dollars on boomboxes. Getting scammed for old CDs online to look for them to put in the boombox.” He smiled, laughing softly. “And spending almost four hundred dollars on makeup because I couldn’t figure out which one you liked so I bought them all!” He bent down to open his backpack to pull out a black and white striped Sephora bag to hand it to you. Filled to the brim, all thirteen blushes. Simply because you mentioned liking it once.

You stared at the bag. Then at him. Then back at the bag—because there was no way. No way.

“Riki…” Your voice cracked.

He held both hands up like he was surrendering to the police. “I know. I know. It’s crazy. Please—”

You almost laughed. Almost. Riki rolled his eyes but stayed locked on you—smiling regretfully. “I’m not saying any of this to make you feel guilty. I’m saying it because I’m tired of pretending I don’t care when I care so much it makes me do…this.” He gestured around helplessly, as if the chaos wasn’t literally his own fault. “I’m a mess.” You swallowed. Hard. “Why now?”

“Because,” he said, stepping closer to the dorm entrance, “I realized something that night in the locker room.”

Your breath hitched. “That I would rather embarrass myself in front of everyone. Teammates, coaches, sports analysts, scouts—than let you think you weren’t worth fighting for. And you can nuke my protein and rig my alarms—”

You cut him off with a kiss. For half a second, he froze—eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between oh my god and ‘no way no way no way.’ Then he melted. Like actually melted. His shoulders dropped, his hands hovered in the air like he was terrified to touch you, and then very, very gently, they settled on your waist as you dropped the bag. Letting it thud into the grass.

He kissed you back like he’d been holding his breath for months and finally got oxygen. Pulling you into him as he gently cradled your head, tilting his own to deepen the kiss. You felt his breath hitch against your mouth, the kind that said finally with every exhale. His fingers threaded into your hair like he’d been memorizing the motion in his head for weeks, rehearsing it in private like some lovesick maniac. He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he wanted to make sure you understood exactly how long he’d been waiting for this. His thumb swept the hinge of your jaw, gentle, reverent, like he was scared you’d disappear if he touched too roughly.

You pulled back just an inch, just enough to breathe, and he chased you a little—just a tiny lean forward, like he hadn’t meant to lose contact. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing too hard for a kiss that lasted maybe ten seconds.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. He cupped your cheek, brushing your skin with the back of his fingers like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I’m so in love with you,” he said—quiet, shaky, honest in a way that punched you right in the throat.

Your heart stuttered. “I love you too, Riki.” Leaning in to hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Oh…” He exhaled in relief as he picked you up and spun you around. “I missed you, baby. Oh I missed my baby so much!”

Your laugh broke against his shoulder, breathless and warm, and he clutched you like he was afraid gravity might snatch you away again. His hands slid under your thighs automatically, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck with this completely unhinged, lovesick groan. “I missed you so much,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin. “You have no idea—oh my god. I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m dizzy. Is this normal? Am I dying?”

You snorted. “Put me down, idiot.”

“No,” he said immediately, hugging you even tighter, rocking you side to side like a toddler with their favorite plush. “Absolutely not. You said you love me. That means you’re legally my emotional support human now.”

“Riki…”

“Shh,” he whispered dramatically, pressing an overly loud kiss to your cheek. “Let me have this.” Riki didn’t care. Zero shame. Negative shame even. He finally set you down but kept your waist locked in his hands like he didn’t trust reality to keep you there. He leaned back to look at you properly—eyes bright, hair messy from the wind, chest rising like he’d sprinted here from three counties over. “You love me,” he whispered again, like he was tasting the words, like they were cotton candy on his tongue. “Say it one more time.”

You raised a brow. “Riki—”

“Please,” he said, already smiling like he knew he was ridiculous and didn’t care. “Just one more. I need to hear it clearly, I’ve been hearing nothing but this fucked up speaker for the last hour.”

Your cheeks warmed as you whispered, “I love you, Riki.”

He shut his eyes like the words physically hit him. Head back, hand over his heart, dramatic and sincere at the same time. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. I feel like I just did ten lines. I’m never messing this up again.” Then, with a soft grin creeping up his face, he added: “Now c’mon, baby. Let’s go turn off my damn boombox before I get fined again.” You bent down to grab your Sephora bag and his backpack. Him with the boombox as he went two tracks over to put on ‘Who Says.’ You both laughed as you sang, “I wouldn’t wanna be anybody else!” 

He twirled you with his hand as you both walked into the direction of his apartment. “You know my favorite Selena song is ‘Naturally.’ For future reference.”

Riki laughed as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, bringing you close to him. “I’ll add that to the wedding playlist.”

“Woah, woah—”

He sang. “You wouldn’t wanna be a WAG?” 

Copyright: © zorange13. 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

you really don’t know how it happened. one moment you were asking your sweet boyfriend to take pictures of you on your new camera and the next he has you pinned down, skirt tossed up, with his face buried in your cunt.

“nghh, y-yun please!”

jake peers up at you from between your thighs, his fluffy brown hair a tangled mess from your fingers and his big pointy nose glistening from your heavenly juices. he only groans in response, focus steady on your throbbing clit he is currently suckling between his plump lips, causing you to thrash beneath his grasp.

“please what, bunny?” his slender fingers tug your panties farther to the side, granting him more access to your needy cunt. “ya keep beggin’ but not telling me what for, hm?” he hums into your folds, the tip of his skilled muscle dragging down from your sweet bundle of nerves towards your entrance without breaking eye contact.

“mm p-please i. . . i want you inside,” you whine out pathetically, covering your flushed face in embarrassment which only makes jake chuckle lightly in response at your cuteness. his eyes flicker towards the digital camera propped against the nightstand, the red dot flashing at you almost tauntingly.

his gaze wanders up with a thoughtful expression, lips curled in a small pout — but you could already tell he was merely pretending to consider your request.

“nah, i have a better idea.”

“fuck— fuck! hold still babydoll,” jake pants as his thick, veiny cock disappears into the makeshift hole he ripped in the bottom of your little panties. the large print of his shaft bulging through the soaked thin fabric from your mixed arousal.

his red, weeping tip catches against your clit on every upward stroke, making you writhe beneath him and cry out borderline pornographic moans as the room fills with the obscene sound of wet skin rubbing together. your poor swollen, puffy lips hugging the underside of his shaft so perfectly while he continues his assault between them.

jake runs his fingers through the damp strands of his hair, pushing it back as his free hand brings the camera up towards your fucked out face, the bright flash from the camera making you squint.

“smile, my pretty girl. . .” he cooes, before lowering the lens down to your joined areas molding and squelching together.

you are so slick that your panties have practically become a second skin, sticking to you in a way that allows for jake to see the outline of your puffy lips through the material as he slides his cock through the tight pocket he’s created, the glans rubbing between your smooth folds so deliciously.

“jakey. . . ah- put your cock in my pussy please,” you plead.

“shh, be a good girl and take what i give you, angel,” he taps your lips with his middle and ring fingers, signaling for you take them into your mouth as he brings the camera back up to your face to capture the way your damp, doe eyes look up at him so innocently and drools slips from the corner of your lips while it’s stuffed full.

“fuck— you are beautiful, all fucking mine.” he turns the camera lens towards himself and flashes it a boyish grin, wiggling his eyebrows as he angles it to catch both your spread silhouette and his face perfectly. he dips his head, lips latching onto the soft peaks of your breasts, a soft, wet popping sound emitting in the space as he lets each of them go.

you moan in response, unable to form any coherent words as you are overwhelmed by the sensations he provides. you instinctively tilt your hips upward in attempt for the ridge of his cock to catch against your creamy, ringed entrance on his downward stroke, succeeding when you feel his cockhead sink in slightly.

he quickly pulls away with a hiss, grabbing your face with his free hand while the camera stays focused on his cock teasing your pussy. “say it.”

he leans down to lick the hot tears streaming down your cheeks due to the pent up pleasure and frustration from his teasing. jake crashes his lips against yours in a salty kiss, his tongue dragging across your teeth hungrily. “mmph— all yours,” you moan back into his lips.

“yeah you are. shit baby! fuckfuck— ‘m gonna fuckin nut,” he moans, jaw slack as his grip on the camera tightens a fraction while he fucks his cock between your folds. it’s become such a mess that he slips out every now and then but his relentless press against your clit makes the coil in your belly unwind fairly quickly. “cum for me, yeah?”

his words send you over the edge as your walls clench around nothing and a gush of thin clear juices seep from your cunt, coating his dick.

you gasp when you feel the warm splatters of his sticky semen spurt across your folds, the milky cream slowly oozing down your slit and out of the hole from your ruined panties. his hips roll forward slowly, body twitching as his balls empty his load all over your labia, which are slightly spread open like a pretty little flower from the shape of his cock molding them that way for so long.

jake smacks his teeth with a low tsk. biting his lip until he tastes blood as he grabs ahold of his heavy, throbbing cock and smearing his hot seed along the mushroom tip. he nudges the head between your lips and drags downward until he finally dips inside of your aching hole, which swallows him up greedily.

the initial stretch of his thick cockhead entering your warm pussy makes your back arch of the bed and your toes curl in satisfaction. he moans at the warm envelope from your cunt. his eyebrows knit together as he slowly fucks himself as well as his seed deep within your gummy tunnel.

“ohmygod yes! baby— t-thank you!” you cry out, eyes rolling back.

“fuckin’ cockdrunk,” he laughs, stroking half of his length inside of you at cruel pace before bottoming out until his deflated balls rutt against your ass, “this tiny cunt is all f’ me, hm?” he thrusts slowly, dragging his length up and down your velvety walls.

jake only continues to praise you through strokes, being sure to spear against that spongey patch and dragging another messy orgasm from you. he follows, pulling his hips back slightly so only the tip remains as he pumps hot cum at the entrance of your pussy.

“haa-ah, ngh n-no more jakey,” you whine, hips still rolling to meet his thrusts despite yourself.

he chuckles, littering soft kisses to your cheeks, forehead, nose and then lips until he notices a white frothy ring around his shaft. finally, he withdrawals with a wince, his softening cock slipping out with a soft, wet pop.

jake spreads your pussy lips with his fingers and brings the camera closer to witness the fresh creampie he delivered as it slowly dribbles out from between your swollen lips and down your ass. he watches as your hole opens and closes forcing a glob of love milk out when he commands you to push more.

“mm, good girl. fuuuck baby— you’re stuffed so full like a pastry. thats so hot, can’t wait to beat my cock to this later. my personal little pornstar.”

always has to be touching you in some way. sitting on the couch? pulls you sideways into his lap immediately, arms wrapped around your waist like a seatbelt, chin hooked over your shoulder so he can watch whatever you’re watching on your phone. his big hands slide under your hoodie or shirt every single time, palms flat against your bare tummy or your lower back, thumbs rubbing slow little circles just because he loves how soft your skin feels.

loves when you wear his clothes. steals your hoodies? no no. he gives you his. oversized ones that drown you, sleeves flopping over your hands, hem hitting mid-thigh. he’ll see you in one n immediately make that tiny “oh my god” whine, scoop you up bridal style n carry you around the dorm/apartment while kissing every inch of your face he can reach. “you look so tiny in my clothes… wanna keep you in them forever.”

super grippy. when you’re walking together his hand is always on your lower back or your waist, fingers splayed wide like he’s claiming territory. in crowded places he’ll hook two fingers in your belt loop or the waistband of your skirt/pants to keep you close. if you try to walk ahead he just tugs you back gently, pulls you against his side n mumbles “stay with me baby… don’t wanna lose my girl.”

puppy cuddles are his favorite. flops on top of you when you’re lying down, face buried in your neck or your chest, arms wrapped so tight around you it’s hard to breathe (but in the best way). he’ll nuzzle n nuzzle until you giggle, then kiss wherever his lips land; your collarbone, your jaw, the tip of your nose, whispering “love you… love you… my baby…” over n over like he can’t stop saying it.

loves when you play with his hair. sits on the floor between your legs while you’re on the couch, head tipped back against your tummy so you can scratch his scalp n run your fingers through his waves. he literally purrs, low happy rumbles in his chest. eyes fluttering shut, big hands resting on your thighs just to feel you. if you stop even for a second he whines “nooo keep going… please baby…”

super soft kisses. always. pecks on your forehead when you’re busy, slow deep ones when you’re alone, little sleepy kisses on your shoulder when you’re napping together. he’ll kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your eyelid, your temple. anywhere he can reach, murmuring “so pretty… my pretty girl…” against your skin every single time.

gets pouty when you have to leave. stands by the door holding both your hands, swinging them back n forth, giving you those big sad puppy eyes. “do you have to go? can’t you stay five more minutes? ten? forever?” when you finally pull away he follows you to the door, hugs you from behind n buries his face in your neck for one last long squeeze before letting you go.

in bed he’s even clingier. spoons you so tight your back is completely pressed to his chest, one arm under your head like a pillow, the other wrapped around your waist with his hand splayed over your tummy. he’ll nuzzle your neck, kiss your shoulder, whisper “love you… love you so much…” until you fall asleep to his heartbeat n his soft breathing.

if you’re ever sad or tired he turns into full comfort mode. pulls you into his lap, rocks you gently side to side like you’re a baby, kisses your tears away, murmurs “it’s okay angel… i’ve got you… my sweet girl… you’re safe with me…” while his hands rub slow soothing circles everywhere he can reach.

always starts with cuddles that turn filthy super slow. pulls you into his lap “just to hold you” but five minutes later his big hands are sliding under your shirt, palms flat on your tummy, thumbs brushing lower n lower until he’s cupping your tits so gently it makes you shiver. he’ll kiss your neck soft n whisper “love how they feel in my hands… so perfect for me” while he rolls your nipples slow until you’re squirming n soaking through your panties against his thigh.

loves when you straddle him on the couch. grips your hips tight n rocks you back n forth over his lap so you grind on his hard cock through his sweats. he’ll look up at you with those big puppy eyes n pout “baby… you’re making me so hard just from sitting here… can’t help it when you’re this cute on top of me” then slips his hand between your legs n rubs you over your shorts until you’re dripping n begging.

super into missionary because he can hold you close n kiss every tear away. folds you up nice n deep, knees to your chest, ankles locked behind his neck, so he can watch your face while he slides in slow. “look at you taking me so good angel… so tiny under me… love how your pussy squeezes me like it never wants me to leave” he’ll kiss your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids while he thrusts deep n steady, whispering “i love you” every time he bottoms out.

gets extra grippy when he’s close. hands everywhere. gripping your wrists above your head, cupping your face to keep your eyes on him, sliding down to squeeze your ass so he can pull you down harder on his cock. “don’t move baby… stay right here… let me fill you up… wanna feel you cum around me while i’m so deep”

loves when you ride him slow n sweet. sits against the headboard, hands on your hips guiding you, but lets you set the pace. he’ll look up at you all soft n wrecked, biting his lip while you bounce, murmuring “so pretty… my pretty girl riding me so good… love how your tits bounce… love how your pussy grips me” he’ll reach up to play with your nipples, pinch them gently until you’re crying out n clenching hard around him.

aftercare is TOO good. never lets you go right after. cums deep inside you n stays buried, grinding slow little circles while he kisses every inch of your face. “stay like this angel… keep me warm… love feeling you full of me” then carries you to the shower (still inside if he can manage it lol), washes your hair so gently, soaps your body with his big hands, kisses your shoulders n whispers “you did so good for me… love you so much… my perfect baby”