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PAIRING: f1 racer!riki x rehab therapist!reader (f)
SUMMARY: ferrari’s newbie driver can’t outrun the guilt of a crash that wasn’t his fault. a sudden brake failure put him in a hospital bed and in his own head. but like a fenice rising from its own ashes, riki is ready to get back on track… as long as you keep watching.
WARNINGS: starring enhypen JAKE, JUNGWON & HEESEUNG and bnd TAESAN. heeseung’s gf is reader in siren sounds, mention of accidents (slight description), hospital settings, mentions of injuries, burns, fighting, riki is a little rude but that’s his coping mechanism, making out, slightly suggestive, panic attack, reader struggles financially, celebrity harassment, trauma, rehabilitation, argument, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD
a/n: you don’t necessarily need to read SIREN SOUNDS first, but for context i heavily advise it. my babies i love them sm! this fic has been my comfort zone to write for the past months 🩷 the ending is very rushed but i was running out of ideas and i didnt want to make it too long 😃 still REBLOGS & COMMENTS are appreciated!!
Riki woke up like he had been dragged upward from the bottom of a black ocean.
There was no gradual return and no soft drifting into awareness. One minute he was stuck in a burning car and the next he woke up gasping for air in a sterile room.
He tried to inhale sharply, and something resisted him. Something was inside his mouth.
His eyes snapped open in panic, but they couldn’t focus well on his surroundings.
The ceiling above him was blinding white, the lights too bright and shapes too blurry.
His vision trembled, refusing to focus. His body felt… gone, not numb in the way a limb fell asleep. Just gone, as if he had been reduced to a head floating in a field of static.
He tried to move his hand, but nothing happened. Not even a finger twitched from his will.
Panic surged like electricity through his chest. His heart rate spiked and he could hear it now, the beeping accelerating in response.
Voices cut through the haze, muffled. “His heart rate is increasing.”
“He’s trying to wake up.”
“Riki? Can you hear me?”
He couldn’t tell where the voices were coming from. They sounded underwater, like someone speaking through thick glass. He tried to turn his head toward the sound, but even that felt impossible.
A face leaned over him. A doctor, maybe. “Riki,” the doctor said slowly, shining a light into his pupils. “Follow the light.”
He couldn’t, hisis eyes struggled to track it. His vision doubled, then blurred, then sharpened just to blur again.
He tried to speak, but pain flared in his throat…. a tube. That was what was there.
He gagged slightly around it, instinctively trying to cough, but the movement sent a ripple of agony through his chest and something… lower?
His left leg. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything below his ribs.
He tried to lift his arm, to thrash, to signal that something was wrong, but nothing moved.
The monitor screamed louder as his panic grew. “Easy, easy.” someone murmured, keeping him down by his chest.
“The sedation might still be heavy, it’s not a good time to wake up while we are cleaning his lungs.” a female voice murmured. They were cleaning his what?
“He’s disoriented.” no shit.
The light flashed in his eyes again. “Pupils are reactive now,” someone muttered.
He wanted to ask what had happened. He wanted to ask if Heeseung was alive. If the families in the stands were alive. If he had killed someone, to ask if it’d been his fault.
But his body betrayed him, because the ceiling blurred again, then the beeping softened.
And the world folded back into black.
🐦🔥.
When he woke the second time, it wasn’t violent. It was slow and thick, like surfacing through the honey in the Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie.
The first thing he noticed was that the tube was gone. His throat felt scraped raw, each breath dry and painful but blessedly unobstructed.
He blinked carefully and this time, the room stayed still.
Riki was in the hospital, he realised.
His head ached, but it was manageable. His chest felt tight, and heavy bandaging wrapped around his right arm.
He tried to shift his shoulders and that fortunately worked. Relief flooded him. Then he tried to move his left leg, but nothing worked. It felt strange, numb from his own body.
His stomach dropped as soon as he looked down.
The blanket rose in a stiff, unnatural angle where his leg lay immobilized.
Metal rods and external fixators peeked from beneath layers of dressing. His thigh was swollen beneath the gauze. The machine beside his bed hummed quietly, pumping fluids through tubes attached to him.
“Don’t try to move it.” A nurse stood near the doorway, watching him carefully. She approached when she saw his eyes fully open.
“You’re in the ICU. You were in surgery for several hours earlier this week after a car accident,” she inforemd, fixing his blanket, “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks.”
Fuck. two weeks felt like an eternity. His voice came out hoarse. “Heeseung?”
The nurse paused just slightly before answering. “Your teammate is alive.”
Riki shut his eyes for a second, relief mixing with something far uglier. “What happened?” he whispered.
She checked his IV fluids as she murmured, “You sustained a compound fracture in your leg. There were additional injuries, but those are healing. And the internal bleeding was minimal. You’re stable now.”
Compound fracture.
The words echoed inside his skull… he knew what that meant. Bone through skin.
The recovery was measured not in weeks— but in months.
He turned his face toward the wall, jaw tightening. His throat burned again, but this time it wasn’t from the tube. It was from the sheer urge it took him not to cry like a fucking baby.
Heeseung came to visit him as soon as he learnt the news of his awakening. Riki wasn't really himself yet, he was still high on morphine, but he felt so relieved.
Heeseung sat there on the wheelchair looking thinner, his own arm wrapped heavily in bandages, faint bruising still shadowing his face.
The burns along his neck were angry and red, partially healed but unmistakable.
He looked like someone who had run through fire, which he had and it was all Riki’s fault.
The second time he visited, Riki could see him better, his brain cooperated and so did his body.
“You’re barbecued,” Riki rasped weakly.
Heeseung huffed out that might have been a laugh. “Job hazard.”
He frowned, gulping hard. “I’m sorry I lost control.”
“And I’m glad I stepped in.” Heeseung replied, thanking the pretty nurse who placed him beside his bed and stepped outside to give them privacy.
“You should’ve let me crash alone.” He murmured.
Heeseung’s eyes sharpened. “There were families there.”
He remembered it now in flashes. The car fishtailing and . the barrier being too close. He remembered panicking when the breaks under his foot stopped working, and then the impact.
Heeseung had taken the hit full on. He had positioned himself between the trajectory and the stands. Between Riki and the worst possible outcome.
A true hero.
The media was already calling him so, he'd peeked from a nurse phone who had caved at his begging.
Riki felt like a reckless child. “You could’ve died,” he whispered.
“So could you.” Silence stretched between them. Riki looked away first as shame crawled under his skin. “It was my fault.”
Heeseung leaned closer despite the stiffness in his movements. “It was an accident.”
And despite it being the truth, Riki couldn’t help but blame himself.
Jake tried to come the next day, but Riki refused him.
“Tell him I’m sleeping,” he told the nurse flatly. “But you’re awake.” she pointed out gently.
“I don’t care, just— don’t let him in, okay?” he ran a stiff hand through his hair and the nurse nodded, closing the door behind her back.
Jake tried again the day after, and the day after the day after.
“No visitors.” He repeated and the nurses respected it. Trauma unit rules were clear, the patient consent mattered.
Riki had been transferred there after the ICU, once he stabilized. The room was quieter and less frantic, as well as less depressing, But the reality settled heavier there.
A compound fracture required at least six months of rehab, of physiotherapy.
It was uncertainty.
He stared at his leg often. At the metal and at the swelling. At the way it no longer felt like part of him.
Would he still drive the same?
Would his reflexes hesitate?
Would fear live in the back of his skull forever?
One month passed by quickly despite the boredom of the four white walls.
One afternoon, a different nurse walked in, he recognized her vaguely. She had been Heeseun’s ex-nurse, and she came to check on him some times.
She moved quietly, efficient but gentle, adjusting his IV and checking his vitals. “How are you feeling today?” she asked softly.
“Like shit,” he answered honestly. She didn’t flinch, just nodded once. “That’s fair.”
Her hands were careful when she adjusted his leg. She didn’t overtalk nor did she pity him. Just did her job with steady precision.
“You’ll start light rehab soon,” she said without sugarcoating. “It’ll hurt at first.”
“I figured.” he gritted out.
“Will Heeseung come to visit me today?” Riki asked, because he felt like he could go insane.
The nurse stopped, her shoulders stuffing. He noticed the change but made no comment whatsoever. “Probably.”
“He’ll start driving again soon.” He felt the need to reassure.
The nurse smiled softly and told him, “So will you.” before closing the door behind her back.
A few days later, he told the nurse, “Let Jake in.” when she gave him his breakfast trail.
When Jake entered the room, Riki braced himself.
He expected anger and disappointment. A lecture about contracts and sponsors and recklessness.
Instead, Jake stopped just inside the doorway.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Riki crossed his arms defensively. “You’re going to start?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. He walked forward slowly. “Oh fuck off, I know I made a mistake—“ Riki rolled his eyes but then Jake wrapped his arms around him carefully, mindful of the injuries, and held him tightly.
He froze, blinking, suddenly at a loss of words.
Jake’s voice broke first. “You scared me.” he whispered.
Riki’s defenses crumbled so fast it almost embarrassed him. His chin trembled as he tried to hold it back and failed.
“I messed up,” Riki choked out.
Jake tightened his hold. “You’re alive.”
“I could’ve—” Jake stopped him, “But you didn’t.”
Riki’s hands clutched weakly at the back of Jake’s shirt. His vision blurred with tears. “I thought you’d be mad,” Riki admitted through tears.
Jake pulled back just enough to look at him. His own eyes were red. “Oh, I am mad at you, but…”
“I don’t care about the car, or the sponsors, or about the headlines,” Jake said firmly. “I care about you.”
The words hit harder than any reprimand could have.
Riki broke. The tears came freely, hot and humiliating and necessary. Jake held him through it, steady and unashamed.
For the first time since waking up in that white ICU room, Riki allowed himself to feel something other than guilt.
🐦🔥.
When Riki was released from the hospital, the silence of his own apartment felt louder than any beeping monitor or whining patient.
The place was not as flashy as Heeseung’s mansion, but it was still polished in that quiet, newly-successful way.
It had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, and the couch was modern and barely touched for weeks.
Framed race photos hung on the walls, one with him smiling with trophies, him in a helmet, him mid-turn on a track at barely eleven years old.
His bedroom was fortunately close to the living room area so he wouldn’t have to navigate the hallway.
The external cast was still wrapped around his leg during the first days home, bulky and humiliating. Crutches leaned uselessly against the wall, since he couldn’t use them yet. A wheelchair waited nearby, unused because he preferred staying horizontal.
He spent most of his time flat on his back, propped slightly by pillows, the television glowing at the foot of the bed.
The accident replayed on every sports channel.
In different angles, then in slow motion with a commentary that layered over the screech of tires.
He watched it once. Then again. And again.
The moment his car fishtailed, the split second where he overcorrected. The frame where the barrier seemed too close, the explosion when metal kissed metal… he memorised it as as if he was living it again.
“If I hadn’t pushed,” he muttered one afternoon, staring at the screen. “If I hadn’t gone full throttle.”
The commentators didn’t blame him outright. They called it “an unfortunate miscalculation.” They praised Heeseung’s intervention. They called Heeseung a hero.
Riki swallowed bitterness that tasted like rust. “If I was just less competitive,” he whispered to the empty room. “If I wasn’t so damn hungry.”
The explosion sound replayed again, loud and violent.
On the second week of bed rest, the frustration finally snapped something inside him.
The remote was in his grip as the crash replayed yet again in high definition. His own voice from an earlier interview echoed over the footage, “I always push to the limit.”
“Shut up.” He said, his eyes fixed on the scene, watching the way ambulances rushed through the race as it got suspended temporarily.
“Guess he pushed too much to the limit, will Ferrari’s golden boy and Ferrari’s newbie be able to race again?” The interviewer said and it made Riki’s blood boil.
“Shut up!” he repeated at the screen.
“News say Heeseung will be back soon in the car while Riki will be substituted by the third pilot—“ With a sudden, furious motion, he hurled the remote at the television, and the plastic cracked against glass.
The screen spider-webbed instantly, a dark fracture spreading from the point of impact by before the display fizzled into black.
The apartment fell silent, while his breathing filled the room, uneven and sharp. He stared at the ruined screen, chest rising and falling rapidly.
For a moment, the silence felt worse than the noise had.
When Jake arrived later that afternoon, grocery bags hanging from both hands, he froze at the sight.
“What happened to the TV?”
Riki didn’t look at him. “It was annoying me.”
Jake set the bags down slowly. “You threw something at it?”
Riki shrugged, jaw tight. He was in no mood for a lecture. He could buy another one if he wanted.
Jake didn’t comment further. He moved through the kitchen, unloading groceries, placing bottles of water in the fridge, fresh fruit in a bowl and some snacks on a riki’s bedside table. The normalcy of the movements contrasted painfully with the tension in the room.
“You need help to shower?” Jake asked gently.
Riki hesitated, pride flaring. Then he exhaled softly “Yeah.”
Jake helped him carefully, with steady hands, practical and respectful.
Steam filled the bathroom, and Riki clenched his jaw while Jake helped him balance, avoiding pressure or water on the injured leg.
Afterward, back in bed, Jake sat at the edge of the mattress. “The external cast is coming off tomorrow,” Jake said, showing him the hospital papers. “The doctor cleared you to start rehab.”
Riki’s eyes flicked up. “Already?”
“It’s time.” Jake’s smile was hopeful and boyish.
He swallowed. Rehab meant reality… it meant effort and pain and acknowledging weakness. Something Riki wasnt really known for.
Jake studied him for a long second. “You don’t have to be strong every second.”
Riki scoffed faintly. “Kind of my job.” Jake’s expression softened. “Your job is to heal right now.”
The next day, there was a knock at the door.
Jake opened it with a welcoming smile. You stepped inside and followed him to Riki’s bedroom.
You tried not to act too surprised by how big the apartment was. How small yours was compared to just his living room.
“My name is Y/N,” you said gently, offering a small smile. “I’ll be working with you for your rehabilitation.”
You were young, fresh out of university, your posture straight with professional determination.
Your clothes were simple but neat, and there was a brightness about you that felt almost out of place in the dim apartment.
Riki studied you from the bed. “You look twelve,” he muttered unapologetically.
You didn’t take offense. You had heard worse from older patients. “I’m twenty-four,” you replied calmly. “And fully licensed.”
Jake hid a smile and stepped aside. You moved further into the room, taking in the crutches, the wheelchair, the broken television.
“You’ll start light exercises today,” you explained, setting your bag down. “We won’t push too hard. The goal is mobility, not speed.”
Riki’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Speed is kind of my thing.”
“Not right now,” you answered softly.
You helped him sit upright, carefully guiding his leg off the side of the bed. His muscles trembled instantly from disuse.
“Breathe,” you instructed. “We’re just flexing first.”
He gripped the edge of the mattress, jaw clenched. Sweat already formed at his temples.
He tried so many times, he started losing hopes. If he couldn’t even flex his leg how could he push on the accelerator?
With your support and guidance, he managed to flex his toes and leg, but it shook violently.
“That’s normal,” you said gently. “Your muscles have been inactive.”
“I can do more than this,” he insisted through his teeth.
“Today, this is enough.” You said, it had taken him thirty minutes to fully flex it.
He hated the word enough.
You guided him through small, controlled movements. Flexing, then llight weight shifts.
He complied at first. But frustration simmered.
“This is useless,” he snapped suddenly. “I’m not an eighty-year-old.”
“You’re recovering from a compound fracture,” you corrected evenly. “Your bone pierced through your skin. It needs structured stress, not reckless strain.”
His eyes flashed. “I’m not reckless.” It had been what the cameras called him, what everyone thought of him.
He wasn’t reckless. Sure, he liked speed and to test limits but he wasn’t reckless… Was he? He hadn’t meant to crash. He hadn’t meant for the break to malfunction.
You held his gaze. “The goal is healing, not proving something.”
With sudden determination, he shifted his weight harder onto the injured leg, attempting to stand up without your cue.
“Riki—” you started but it was too late.
His knee buckled. Pain shot through him like lightning. He gasped sharply, nearly collapsing.
You caught him as best you could, heart racing. “I told you not to push!”
He gritted his teeth, breathing ragged. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” You snapped.
You helped him back onto the bed, your movements firm now rather than soft. You knelt in front of him, examining the leg carefully.
You let your fingers trace his skin. “You just strained healing tissue,” you said, frustration bleeding through despite your effort to remain professional. “If you keep doing that, you’ll delay recovery.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “I need to get back,” he muttered.
“And you will,” you replied firmly. “But not like that.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward. You softened your tone slightly, back to your professional self. “I understand you want progress, and that’s good. But progress is measured. You can’t treat your body like a machine.”
Riki’s chest rose and fell heavily. For a moment, the anger in his eyes flickered into something else… fear, perhaps. The fear of not being enough.
“If I’m not the same,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “If I can’t drive like before…”
You stood slowly, meeting his gaze. “Then we adapt,” you answered. “But you won’t know that until you give yourself the chance to heal properly.”
He didn’t respond to that, he just turned back to the lying position and stared at the broken TV.
You gathered your things, but before leaving, you added gently, “We’ll try again tomorrow,” You emphasised, “Slowly.”
🐦🔥.
Your mornings belonged to the café.
You tied your apron tight around your waist at six thirty, with your hair pulled back and sleeves rolled up. The bell above the door chimed every few minutes as regulars shuffled in, office workers clutching laptops, elderly couples sharing newspapers, university students pretending to study.
The air smelled like espresso and warm milk foam. Taesan leaned against the counter beside you, drying a cup with exaggerated seriousness.
“Table three is on a first date,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
You didn’t look directly, but you adjusted your stance slightly to catch their reflection in the espresso machine. “The guy keeps talking about football,” you whispered back. “She hasn’t blinked in thirty seconds.”
Taesan bit back a grin. “Do you think she’s plotting escape or murder?”
“Both.” you replied solemnly. He snorted, nearly dropping the cup.
You worked well together, with quick hands and shared glances. Inside jokes made the rush easier to survive.
When a man complained that his cappuccino foam wasn’t symmetrical, Taesan leaned toward you and muttered, “Tragic. I’ll call the authorities.” You had to turn away to hide your laugh.
For a few hours, your world was just coffee orders and sarcastic commentary.
Then the clock crept toward eleven. Your smile shifted into something more focused, as it always did when it was time to put to work the studies you did.
Taesan noticed. “Rehab guy?” he asked casually while wiping down the counter.
You nodded, untying your apron and disappearing in the kitchen to grab your bag from the hook.
“You still won’t tell me who he is?” he wiggled his brows teasingly.
“I signed confidentiality forms,” you reminded him. “Very official and very serious, unlike you.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I respect the mystery.”
“Try not to judge too many people without me.” you said, waving your hand and hurrying to the door.
“No promises!” he replied, winking.
You stepped out into the late morning sun, the air cooler than inside the café. Your car started on the second try, and you drove faster than you probably should have, mentally rehearsing today’s plan for Riki’s session.
Weight distribution, perhaps some controlled steps if he felt ready. And much, much patience.
Jake had given you the door code days ago so he wouldn’t have to wait around. It felt strange at first, entering a client’s home alone, but professionalism overrode discomfort.
You punched in the code, the door clicking open with a soft mechanical sound.
The apartment was quiet, which was never a good sign with a toddler or with a Formula One driver named Nishimura Riki.
“Riki?” you called gently as you stepped inside, closing the door behind you.
At the absence of responde, you frowned and moved toward the bedroom automatically, your bag already sliding off your shoulder.
“Good morning,” you began as you turned the corner and froze.
Riki was halfway upright. Not upright like you had instructed. Upright like he had dragged himself out of bed without support.
“Oh no.” you breathed.
His back was to you, muscles straining as he gripped the edge of the dresser. The injured leg trembled violently beneath him, knee barely stable.
“Riki,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, even though your pulse spiked. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t turn around. “Standing.” he deadpanned.
“This is not how we practice standing.” you breathed out.
“I’m fine.” He snapped.
“No, you’re not.” You stepped forward quickly, heart racing despite your attempt at composure. Inside, panic clawed at you.
You had worked with stubborn patients before, older men who insisted they could climb stairs two days after surgery. But this was different. He wasn’t just impatient. He was desperate.
“Shift your weight back,” you instructed calmly. “Slowly.”
He replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve got it.” His voice wavered.
You saw it before it happened, the micro-tremor in his thigh and the way his shoulders tightened. “Riki—”
His leg gave out and seconds later he hit the floor hard.
The sound made your stomach flip. You were at his side instantly. “Are you okay? Tell me where it hurts.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” you repeated firmly, kneeling beside him. His height made everything harder. He was long-limbed, heavy with muscle even in recovery.
“On three, we’re getting you up,” you said. “One, two—”
He tried to push himself too quickly, grimacing.
“Stop fighting me,” you snapped before you could soften it. “Work with me.”
He hesitated, but then nodded. Together, slowly and awkwardly, you maneuvered him back onto the bed.
It took effort, and your arms strained under his weight. When he was finally seated, breathing uneven, you stepped back slightly.
“You cannot do that,” you said, voice firm but controlled. “You could have torn something.”
He looked away, embarrassed anger simmering in his eyes. “I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were. But you are healing.” you tried to make your point.
Silence filled the room. Then, without another argument, he nodded faintly.
The session that followed was slower than usual, because he would never be ready for more if he kept pushing. You guided him through measured movements, adjusting his posture and counting repetitions softly.
Two hours passed by slowly and by the end, both of you were tired.
You were crouched beside the bed, writing notes in your folder, when your stomach betrayed you.
A loud, unmistakable growl echoed through the quiet room.
You froze, embarrassed. Riki blinked at you, then he chuckled. “You didn’t eat?” he asked. “I’m fine,” you replied quickly, snapping your folder shut.
Your stomach growled again, louder than the first time, betraying your words.
Riki’s eyebrow lifted. “I can cook,” he offered.
You shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. I don’t need my patients cooking for me.”
“You helped me off the floor,” he countered. “Seems fair.”
“That’s my job—“ Another growl interrupted.
You sighed, cheeks warming slightly. “It’s not appropriate.”
He tilted his head. “You’re starving.” You crossed your arms defensively. “I had a busy morning, but I did have breakfast.”
“Before you can say anything, coffee doesn’t count as breakfast.” He replied matter-of-factly.
You stared at him for a moment. He smiled faintly. “Let me.”
Reluctantly, you helped him into the wheelchair. In the kitchen, sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating the marble counters.
“What do you even have?” you muttered, opening the fridge cautiously.
“Enough,” he said.
You hovered nearby as he maneuvered carefully, one hand steadying himself against the counter. He moved slower than before the accident, but there was determination in every motion.
The wheelchair made him smaller, but he could reach the counter just fine. He moved effortlessly, taking eggs from the fridge, adding them in a pan with butter, bread and cinnamon.
“You’re good at this.” You commented from where you were watching, leaning against the counter.
“I remind you that I live alone,” he replied, placing the french toast on the plate, “It’s either this or take out.”
He turned around, pushing the wheelchair with one hand and before handing you the plate, “Voilà mademoiselle.”
“Thank you.” You replied, taking it in your hand. He wheeled himself to the fridge and took out a can of coke, handing it to you. You noticed he had beers stacked inside as well as energy drinks.
You didn’t think it was very healthy, but you didn’t comment on it. Perhaps you’d secretly take a couple away when he wasn’t aware. You didn’t really want him to drown his guilt on alcohol.
You bit down the french toast and the taste melted in your mouth, the cinnamon mixing with the bread and eggs. Your eyes widened and you sighed contentedly, “This tastes so good!”
Riki shrugged with a smirk, leaning back on the wheelchair, “Glad you like it.”
You ate eagerly and gulped down the can of coke, then you wiped your mouth and smiled at him, “Thank you, Riki.”
“No biggie.” He wiggled his brows. You went behind him and took him to his bedroom, helping him on the bed again.
You tucked him under the cover, “Everything’s good?”
“Nothing is truly good in this world,” he replied, wiggling, trying to find a more comfortable position. “You can go now.”
You just nodded and stepped away, “Goodbye, Riki.”
He waved his hand, “Bye Y/N.”
🐦🔥.
You were supposed to arrive at Riki’s house at eleven sharp, however, fate was cruel because it was 11:15 a.m. and you were still in your apron.
Taesan had called in sick that morning, he had caught a cold and could hardly get out of bed, and nobody could fill in his shift.
You had called your boss at least five times, and he hadn’t picked up once.
You were tempted to just close the shop and call it a day, if you didn’t desperately need it.
But you needed the job as the rehab nurse too…
“Come on…” You tapped your foot impatiently, hurriedly making an espresso and giving it to a customer, “That’ll be one and fifty.”
The old man took out the wallet from his pocket and tried to open it, but his hand shook too hard. He could barely hold the zipper.
Your eyes softened and you quickly slipped in caregiver mode, taking the wallet from his trembling hands and opening it.
You showed him the amount of money you took out and gave the wallet back to him. He smiled widely, “Thank you so much, young girl.”
“Have a nice day!” You replied.
After some minutes, the bell on top of the door chimed. “Welcome—“ You said, but as you turned around you realised it was not a customer, but Han Taesan.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, walking towards him. He really didn’t look well.
“Kai told me he couldn’t cover my shift.” He smiled, already stepping behind the counter despite being worryingly pale, “And I figured the only kind enough to do it was you, but you have to go to the rehab guy, right?”
“Yes,” you frowned. “But you’re sick.”
“Meh,” he shrugged, “I’ve been worse, now go.” He hushed you out of the door.
You turned around and kissed his cheek gratefully, “Thank you! I owe you.”
You probably broke eight different laws of the road to get there in five minutes. You punched in the code to Riki’s apartment, breath slightly uneven from hurrying up the stairs. “Sorry,” you muttered to no one in particular as the door clicked open.
The apartment smelled faintly… toasty.
You stepped inside and immediately noticed it.
On the kitchen counter, neatly placed on a small white plate, sat a sandwich9, with slices of bread cut diagonally and lettuce peeking out. A folded napkin was beneath it like it had been presented deliberately.
You blinked and stepped closer, staring at it like it might explain itself.
“What…” you murmured.
You set your bag down and walked quickly toward the bedroom.
He was propped up against the headboard when you entered, phone in his hand. He looked up when you appeared.
“Good morning,” he said.
You crossed your arms automatically. “Did you make that sandwich?”
“Yes.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “You were in the kitchen?”
He shrugged faintly. “Obviously.”
“Riki.” Your tone carried the beginning of a lecture.
“You’re not supposed to move around unsupervised,” you continued, stepping further into the room. “You could have fallen again.”
“I didn’t,” he replied calmly. “That’s not the point.” You nagger again.
He sighed and shifted slightly. “I figured out how to get onto the wheelchair without putting weight on my leg.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Show me.”
There was a flicker of pride in his expression. “Watch.”
He moved carefully to the edge of the bed. You hovered close, ready to intervene.
Instead of trying to stand upright like before, he positioned the wheelchair at an angle, locked the wheels, and used his arms to lift his body in a controlled motion. His injured leg stayed elevated, barely brushing the floor.
It was awkward, but precise. He transferred himself fully into the wheelchair without grimacing.
You blinked. “That’s…” You paused. “Impressive.”
He smirked slightly. “I told you I’m not helpless.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to experiment without supervision,” you shot back automatically, though your tone softened.
He rolled his eyes lightly. “Eat the sandwich,” he said. “Before you faint.”
You hesitated. “I won’t faint.”
“You look like you might.” You sighed, walking back into the kitchen. The sandwich was still warm. You picked it up, taking a cautious bite.
“Did you toast it?” you called out.
“Yes! i’m a pro.”
You finished it faster than you intended to. Hunger had a way of humbling pride.
When you returned to the bedroom, wiping your hands on the napkin, he was watching you with faint amusement.
“Thank you,” you muttered.
“You’re welcome.” he shrugged.
You clapped your hands lightly. “All right, now it’s rehab time.”
The session began normally. You guided him through controlled leg lifts, assisted stretches, slow weight shifts. He followed instructions, but something felt off.
He kept adjusting in his seat, his responses were delayed and his focus drifted.
“Riki,” you said gently after noticing him wince for the third time. “If it hurts too much, we can stop.”
“It’s fine.” he murmured.
“It doesn’t look fine.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
You crouched in front of him to meet his eyes. “Talk to me, are you tired?”
He looked… frustrated. But not in the usual way. There was a sheepish tension in his jaw.
You waited patiently. Finally, he muttered, “I need to pee.”
You blinked. “Oh.”
Silence hung between you for half a second.
“Jake didn’t come today,” he added quickly, as if that explained everything.
“Okay,” you said carefully. “We’ll pause.” You stood, processing the logistics.
“Why don’t you have someone assisting you full-time?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “You could afford it.”
His expression hardened instantly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
“I meant support,” you corrected calmly. “There’s nothing wrong with having help during recovery.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not paying someone to follow me around twenty-four seven.”
You crossed your arms, meeting his glare evenly. “Needing help doesn’t make you weak.”
His voice dropped. “It feels like it.”
That landed heavier than you expected. You softened slightly. “Let’s just get you to the bathroom.”
Without further argument, he positioned the wheelchair again.
“Watch,” he said, a little sharper now, as if proving something.
He performed the transfer trick again, controlled, careful, avoiding pressure on the injured leg. You stayed close but didn’t intervene.
It was smoother this time.
You wheeled him down the hallway and into the bathroom. The space was wide, adapted with grab bars that you were sure Jake had installed without Riki’s permission.
“All right,” you said, steadying the chair. “On three.”
He gripped the bar and pushed himself up carefully. His good leg bore most of the weight while the injured one hovered lightly.
He couldn’t lean fully on you, the angle didn’t allow it. So he braced one hand against the wall as well, breathing controlled.
“Turn around,” he said quietly.
You nodded immediately and pivoted, facing the opposite wall. “I’m not looking,” you assured him.
There was the faint rustle of fabric. The sound of his uneven breathing. Then the soft, unmistakable sound of relief.
You focused on the tiled wall in front of you, counting silently to give him privacy.
When it ended, you turned slightly. “Do you need help?”
“I can manage.” He gritted out.
You stepped closer cautiously anyway, prepared to assist if needed.
He adjusted himself awkwardly, his movements stiff and awkward.
You reached instinctively to steady him. “I’ve got it,” he said quickly.
You paused. “I can help you clean up,” you offered gently, professional tone intact. “I’ve done it with other patients already.”
He stiffened. “No.”
“It’s part of recovery. There’s nothing embarrassing about it.” you pressed on.
His cheeks flushed faintly. “I said no.”
There was a fragile edge to his voice now, you recognised it as pride.
You studied him for a moment. “All right,” you said softly, stepping back.
He finished on his own, slow and deliberate. When he was ready, you helped him ease back into the wheelchair.
The trip back to the bedroom was quieter. You could feel the shift between you, an understanding of boundaries being tested and reset.
Once he was settled again, you spoke carefully. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”
He stared at the floor. “I know.”
“But you don’t believe it,” you said gently.
He didn’t answer and you didn’t push further.
Instead, you adjusted your notes and said, “We’ll finish with seated exercises today.”
He nodded once.
And this time, when you guided his movements, he followed without trying to prove anything.
🐦🔥.
You had chosen a day where the sky was clear. Not too hot and not too windy. The sunlight felt intentional, like it had decided to show up for a reason.
When you told Riki you were taking him out, he had stared at you like you had suggested skydiving.
“No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“You need fresh air.” You smiled, pointing to the world around.
“I have windows.”beh replied matter-of-factly.
“You need sun.” You now pointed a threatening finger towards his pale skin.
“I have vitamin D supplements.” Riki raised a brow in challenge.
You crossed your arms. “You also have cabin fever.”
He glared at you from the edge of the bed. “I’m not going outside like this.”
“Like what?” You tilted your head.
“In a wheelchair and with people staring.” you rolled your eyes, “They won’t stare.”
“They will.” You softened your tone, stepping closer. “Then we’ll make it harder for them to recognize you.”
Ten minutes later he was wearing a dark hoodie, the hood pulled low, and a cap shadowing most of his face. If someone wasn’t looking closely, he was just another tall guy recovering from an injury.
You adjusted the footrests of the wheelchair carefully before pushing him toward the elevator.
“Y/N,” he muttered as the doors closed, “if this ends badly, I’m blaming you.”
“You blame me for everything already,” you replied lightly.
Outside, the park felt alive. Children ran across the grass, their laughter bright and uncontrolled. A dog barked somewhere near the fountain and leaves rustled softly overhead.
You guided him along the paved path, careful over small cracks. His shoulders were tense at first, hunched slightly inward, as if trying to shrink.
“No one’s looking,” you said quietly. “That’s because they’re being subtle about it” he muttered.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. You stopped near a sunny patch by a bench and locked the wheelchair in place.
“Sunlight is good for bone healing,” you explained, crouching in front of him. “It helps your body produce vitamin D naturally.”
“I already take supplements.” He murmured, watching you with his intense eyes.
“But this is free.”
Before he could protest, you gently lifted the hem of his sweatpants slightly to expose part of his injured leg to the warmth. The skin was still pale from weeks indoors.
He inhaled, surprised by the simple sensation. “It feels… weird,” he admitted.
“It’s just warmth.”
You sat beside him on the bench, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. For a while, neither of you spoke. You watched a little boy chase pigeons, tripping over his own feet and laughing as if falling was the funniest thing in the world.
Riki’s voice came quieter than usual. “When I was in Japan, in kindergarten, I cried all the time.”
You turned your head slightly toward him. “For what?”
“For everything,” he said with a faint huff. “If someone took my toy or if my mom left me at school. I hated it.”
“Why?” you questioned.
“Because the other boys didn’t cry. I felt weak.” You studied his profile beneath the cap’s shadow.
“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” you said gently. “It’s your body’s way of signaling that something hurts, physically or emotionally. It’s… a wayv of communication.”
He stayed quiet for a few moments, “I stopped eventually,” he added. “I told myself it was embarrassing.”
“Or maybe you just learned to hide it,” you replied softly.
Before he could answer, footsteps approached. A couple walked past you, young and laughing at something between them. The boyfriend slowed mid-step, eyes narrowing.
“Wait,” he said, squinting. “Is that…?”
Your stomach dropped, bracing for Riki’s fear materialising.
He stepped closer without invitation. “Yo, you’re Riki, right? The Ferrari driver?” Riki’s hands tightened on the armrests.
“Not now,” you said calmly but firmly. “He’s recovering.”
The boyfriend ignored you. “Dude, that crash was insane. What did it feel like? Did you think you were gonna die?”
Riki’s jaw clenched and he lowered his face, trying to hide it with the cap.
“Please,” you said, standing slightly. “We’re not doing interviews.”
The guy laughed awkwardly. “I’m just asking. It’s public news.”
His girlfriend tugged at his sleeve. “Babe, leave him alone.”
But he stepped even closer, peering at Riki’s leg. “Man, that looks brutal. You think you’ll ever race again?”
“Step back,” you said, sharper now.
He brushed past you slightly as he leaned in, and the sudden shift unbalanced you. You stumbled backward, your foot catching on the edge of the pavement.
You hit the ground as pain shot through your palms.
Riki’s head snapped toward you. “Y/N!”
He gripped the wheels instinctively, as if he could stand, as if he could do something. But he couldn’t.
The wheelchair stayed locked and he stayed unmoving.
The boyfriend froze, startled. His girlfriend rushed forward immediately.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, helping you up gently. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, brushing dirt off your hands.
She turned to her boyfriend sharply. “What is wrong with you? He’s clearly not okay.”
The guy mumbled something defensive but allowed himself to be pulled away.
Silence settled heavy after they left.
Riki didn’t speak, even as you braced for his crash out. You knelt beside him. “I’m sorry.”
But didn’t look at you.
You decided to take him home, unlocking the wheelchair and pushing it.
The park noises faded behind you. His shoulders were tense again, maybe more than before.
“Wait here for one minute,” you said suddenly.
His head snapped up. “What?”
“Just… wait.” You stepped away before he could argue.
“Y/N!” he hissed after you. “Don’t leave me here.”
You ignored the tightness in your chest and hurried down the street toward the small ice cream vendor you had spotted before.
You came back less than three minutes later, and the look on Riki’s face told you he wasn’t mildly irritated. “You can’t just—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw what you were holding.
A cone of chocolate ice cream, slightly melting at the edges.
You walked toward him slowly, holding it out like a peace offering. “I assumed you liked chocolate,” you said softly.
He blinked at it. “What is this?”
“Ice cream,” you replied gently. “When I was sad as a kid, my mom used to buy me ice cream. It didn’t fix anything, but it made things better.”
He stared at you as if you had grown three heads.
“You don’t have to eat it,” you added quickly. “I just thought maybe it would help.”
He looked down at his hands. Then back at the cone. “You left me alone in the street for ice cream?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yes…. well, with good intentions.”
He took the cone carefully from your hand and licked it slowly, tentatively. “Thank you.” he murmured.
“Anytime.” You smiled.
🐦🔥.
Riki sat on the edge of the bed wit his left leg extended stiffly.
You knelt beside him, your hands gentle but firm as you adjusted the brace around his leg. It had been full months of hardship, bickering and trying to get the F1 racer to collaborate with you, and with great effort, you managed to establish a relationship based on collaboration and bribing.
“Alright, Riki.” you said softly, your voice carrying the encouragement that had become your shared language. "Let's try walking again. Remember, slow and steady, no rushing."
He nodded, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, those sharp eyes, usually so fierce on the track, now softened by frustration and determination.
The limp was pronounced, a halting drag that pulled at your heart each time, but progress was there, inch by inch.
That day, though, the session felt heavier, the lateness of the hour weighing on both of you. You'd noticed how his energy flagged earlier than usual, the pain etching deeper lines into his young face.
To lighten the mood, you'd invented a game earlier that week, something simple to turn the monotony of rehab into a challenge. "Okay, let's play 'Track Lap,'" you announced with a playful smile, helping him to his feet.
He leaned on the sturdy cane you'd provided, its rubber tip thudding softly against the floor. "You have to 'lap' the hallway and back to the room without stopping. I'll time you, but the goal isn't speed— it's completing the circuit. Winner gets bragging rights."
Riki's lips quirked into a rare grin, the first genuine one you'd seen all evening. "Bragging rights? You're on. But if I win, you owe me a weird story from your physiotherapy sessions." His voice was low, laced with that competitive edge that hadn't dulled despite the accident.
You chuckled, steadying him as he took his first step. The hallway stretched out from the bedroom door, a long corridor lined with abstract art and a few framed photos of Riki on the podium, his helmet tucked under one arm.
He moved deliberately, the cane planting ahead, his injured leg swinging forward with effort.
You walked beside him, not touching unless needed, your presence a quiet anchor. "One lap down," you murmured as he rounded the corner, his breath coming in measured puffs.
The game worked its magic: his focus sharpened, the limp less about defeat and more about strategy.
Back in the room, after two full circuits, sweat beaded on his brow, and his grip on the cane tightened. He paused by the bed, chest rising and falling. "I think that's enough for today," he admitted, his tone apologetic, as if pushing himself was the only option he knew.
You nodded, concerned,. "You did great! better than last time. Let me help you back." But as you reached for his arm, he shook his head, a spark of stubborn pride igniting.
"I can do it alone.” he insisted, his jaw set. Slowly, painfully so, he shuffled the remaining steps to the bed.
Each movement was a testament to his resilience, the way his good leg bore the weight, the subtle tremor in the injured one, and the soft grunt he let escape when he finally lowered himself onto the mattress.
It took what felt like an eternity, the room silent save for the distant hum of the air conditioning, but he made it without your aid. Pride swelled in your chest as you watched.
Once settled, you moved to tuck him under the covers, pulling the soft duvet up to his waist with care.
The fabric whispered against his skin, and he sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. You sat on the edge of the bed beside him, your hand resting lightly on the blanket over his leg.
The proximity felt natural now, after weeks of shared vulnerability, the boundaries of professional distance blurring in the quiet intimacy of these late sessions.
"I'm very happy with the results, Riki," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "You've come so far. I’m sure in just a couple of weeks, you'll be walking without that limp holding you back. Back to striding like the champion you are."
His eyes met yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper flickering there, a gratitude that bordered on affection. "Thanks to you," he murmured. "Couldn't do it without... this." He gestured vaguely between you, his fingers brushing the air.
To help him unwind further, you shifted closer, your hands returning to his leg. "Let me give you a quick massage to relax the muscles.” you offered.
Gently, you worked your fingers over the taut flesh above the brace, kneading in slow circles. The skin was warm under your touch, the scar a textured map you navigated with care.
Riki closed his eyes, his body melting into the bed, a low hum of contentment escaping his lips. The room seemed to shrink around you both, the outside world fading as his breathing steadied.
As your hands moved, conversation drifted to safer topics, but your mind wandered to the news you'd caught earlier. "I saw Heeseung on the news today," you said casually, though you knew the topic was a raw nerve.
Heeseung, with now only minor burns marring his skin, was already back on the track, dominating practice sessions while Riki still languished in recovery.
The substitution by the third pilot, Noah, a talented but unproven rookie, had been a bitter pill, splashed across headlines as the team's pragmatic move.
Riki's body tensed slightly under your hands, but he didn't pull away. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken resentment. You pressed on gently, hoping to acknowledge the pain without dwelling "It must be tough, seeing him out there while you're sidelined."
He exhaled slowly, his eyes still closed. "Yeah, tough." The words were clipped, laced with the frustration of a man caged by his own body.
Curiosity, or perhaps a need to connect on that shared scar tissue, prompted your next question. "Were you burnt during the accident too? The reports were vague about your side of things."
He didn't reply at first, the quiet amplifying the soft sounds of your massage.
Then, with a deliberate motion, he lifted the sleeve of his loose shirt, exposing his forearm. The skin there was marred by a jagged scar, pale and healed, twisting like a frozen lightning bolt from wrist to elbow.
"Heeseung's car was the one that blew up," he said finally, his voice even but distant. "He took the hit for me. I got this when they pulled me out, because the flames were close, but I was already fading. It healed on its own while I was in the coma for those two weeks. Didn't feel much... or anything, really."
Your fingers paused, drawn inexorably to the mark. You traced it lightly, the pad of your index finger following the raised edges, feeling the story etched into his flesh.
The texture was rough yet smooth in places, a testament to time's imperfect healing.
Something stirred in you, an impulse born of empathy and the closeness of the moment. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to the center of the scar, your lips brushing the warm skin in a gesture that was tender, almost reverent.
Oh shit.
The realization hit like a cold splash— very unprofessional. Heat flooded your cheeks as you pulled away sharply, your heart pounding. "I-I'm sorry," you stammered, ready to retreat.
But Riki's hand moved swiftly, fingers tangling in your hair, gentle yet insistent. He tugged you back, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. Before you could protest, he pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss was electric, a spark igniting the air between you. You melted against him, a soft moan escaping your throat as his mouth moved with surprising urgency.
His tongue invaded, teasing at the seam of your lips until you parted them, allowing him deeper.
The taste of him flooded your senses, your body responding instinctively. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as your lips danced together, the rhythm building from tentative to fervent.
Emboldened, you shifted, and he guided you, his hands on your hips as you swung a leg over to straddle him.
The position was awkward with his injury, your weight was carefully distributed to avoid pressure on his leg, but neither of you cared.
The bed dipped under the new balance, sheets rustling as you settled atop him. Experimentally, you ground your hips down, the friction sending a jolt through you both. He rewarded you with a deep groan, the sound vibrating against your lips, his fingers tightening in your hair.
Concern pierced the haze of desire. You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, "Am I hurting you? Your leg—"
His response was immediate, his voice rough with need. "Only if you stop."
Reassured, you dove back in, your mouths fusing once more. The making out intensified, tongues tangling in a heated exploration and breaths mingling in short gasps.
Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palm, while his free hand slid up your back, pulling you closer. The grind of your hips became rhythmic, a slow roll that elicited more groans from him, his body arching slightly despite the restraint. Heat built between you, the room charged with the scent of arousal and the soft sounds of lips smacking, moans muffled against skin.
Time blurred in the cocoon of the bed, the world narrowing to the press of his body, the way his scar brushed your arm as you leaned in.
His fingers traced patterns on your spine, sending shivers racing down your body. You nipped at his lower lip, drawing another low sound from him, your own desire pooling hot and insistent.
Then, abruptly, the front door burst open with a resounding thud that echoed through the hallway. The spell shattered.
You jumped away from him, scrambling off the bed in a flurry of motion, your face burning with mortification.
With your heart racing, you gathered your things fumbling as footsteps approached. Riki sat up straighter, his expression shifting to casual nonchalance, though his lips were still swollen from the kisses.
Jake entered the room without knocking further, arms laden with grocery bags bulging with fresh produce and protein shakes.
He was oblivious, his focus on the task, whistling a tuneless melody. "Hey, man, got the stuff you asked for, extra greens for that rehab diet. Traffic was a nightmare, sorry I'm late."
“Oh, hi Y/N.” He said as he entered the bedroom to check on his driver, “Are you okay? You look flushed.”
You straightened, clutching your bag like a shield, words tumbling out in an awkward stutter. "I-I should go, the session’s over. Great progress tonight, Riki. See you tomorrow."
Without waiting for a response, you hurried out, brushing past Jake in the doorway, your pulse thundering in your ears as you escaped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.
Jake frowned, glancing at Riki. “Did you say something to her?”
Riki sighed, sinking further on the mattress, “I wish.”
🐦🔥.
The evening sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the half-drawn curtains of Riki's bedroom.
The room, still carrying the faint scent of your perfume, felt heavier now, charged with the residue of unspoken tension.
Riki lay propped against the pillows, his injured leg elevated on a cushion, staring blankly at the wall.
The king-sized bed seemed too vast for him alone, the white sheets rumpled from the day's exertions.
The front door clicked open again, but this time, the footsteps were heavier, more purposeful.
Heeseung stepped into the apartment, his presence announced by the faint jingle of car keys and the rustle of a jacket being shrugged off.
He'd been absent for over one month, swallowed by his own whirlwind of rehabilitation sessions and relentless press conferences.
The media hounded him as the hero of the accident, the driver who'd sacrificed his car to save his teammate, but the glow of that narrative couldn't mask the toll it took.
His own recovery was a grind, physical therapy for the burns that mottled his hands and arms, sessions where he gripped steering wheels only to feel the skin pull tight and raw.
He pushed open the bedroom door without knocking, his eyes immediately drawn to the broken TV.
The sight of hit him like a punch to the gut: he knew Riki's temper, the way frustration boiled over when the world moved on without him.
Glass shards glinted under the lamp light, a stark symbol of the isolation Riki had been stewing in. Heeseung's expression softened, a mix of concern and understanding etching deeper lines into his face.
He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling a chair from the corner desk and positioning it beside the bed. The wooden legs scraped softly against the floor, breaking the silence.
Riki's gaze flicked to him, surprise flickering before settling into something weary. Heeseung sat down, the chair creaking under his weight, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Look who finally showed his face after I got out of the hospital.” Riki teased.
"Hey, man," he said. "I’m so sorry, I’ve been busy with press conferences and practice, but I know Jake was taking care of you, no?”
Riki nodded faintly, his fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. Heeseung launched into the update, needing to fill the space with something normal, something racing-related to bridge the gap.
“Want to hear something funny? No matter how much rehab I have, my hand won’t collaborate! I finished tenth in the last race. Tenth. Can you believe it?" He flexed his right hand experimentally, wincing as the scarred knuckles protested. “I give you the permission to laugh at me.”
He spoke for a few more minutes, but Riki's attention wandered. His eyes drifted to the window, then back to the ceiling, his responses limited to hums and nods that lacked conviction.
Heeseung paused, studying his teammate's face, the distant look that spoke volumes. He'd seen it before, in the garages after a bad qualifying, but this was deeper, laced with something personal.
"Alright, spill it," Heeseung said, straightening up. "You're not even hearing me. What's eating you?"
Riki sighed softly, the sound escaping like a deflating tire. He shifted against the pillows, his injured leg twitching slightly under the covers.
For a moment, he hesitated, chewing on his lower lip, but the weight of the evening pressed too hard to keep it bottled. "Hypothetically speaking," he started, his voice tentative, eyes fixed on a spot on the blanket, "what would you do if you accidentally made out with your rehab therapist?"
Heeseung's eyebrows shot up, surprise rippling across his features. He leaned back in the chair, processing the question, a low chuckle escaping despite himself. "Oh shit. Well, first of all, my girlfriend would be very mad." The words hung in the air, casual but loaded.
Riki's eyes widened, snapping to Heeseung's face with genuine shock. "Wait— you have a girlfriend? Since when?"
Heeseung nodded, a huge smile tugging at his lips, softening the edges of his exhaustion.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that pulled at the collar of his shirt, revealing faint scarring along his collarbone. "Yeah, it's the nurse who followed me in the hospital after the accident. The one with zero tolerance for my bullshit, I believe you remember her. We made it official a few weeks back, but we kept it quiet. She doesn't want any part of the press life, and i respect it.” His voice warmed at the mention, a rare glimpse of vulnerability from the unflappable driver.
Then, Heeseung cleared his throat,"But hypothetically," he pressed, "how much of that making out would be a mistake, and how much... right?"
The room fell quiet again, and Riki sighed deeper this time, running a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "It isn’t hypothetical," he admitted, his voice dropping. "I kissed my therapist. And she kissed me back. But maybe it wasn't... I don't know, anything about feelings? We see each other every day, and she's the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm Riki the Ferrari driver, the guy who crashed out. She sees just... me. But maybe that's all professional, you know? Just her job."
Heeseung watched him, the pieces clicking into place.
Oh man, Riki was truly fucked.
Heeseung leaned forward again, his expression turning serious. "Sounds like it's more than professional to me.”
He gave Riki a small smile “But yeah, it's a minefield. You've got to figure out what it means before it derails everything." He didn't push further, letting the advice settle.
“Ah, whatever, I’ll figure it out.” Riki sat up straighter, “Now tell me about you and the pretty nurse, uh?”
Meanwhile, the following morning dawned crisp and bustling in the heart of the city. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the sweet tang of pastries, steam rising from the espresso machine like a fog.
Sunlight filtered through the large front windows, casting warm patterns on the wooden counters and the mismatched stools lining the bar.
Your shift started early as always, but today, your mind was elsewhere, replaying the heated press of lips, the tangle of fingers in your hair, and the abrupt interruption that had sent you fleeing.
Clumsiness plagued you from the moment you clocked in. The first mishap came during the breakfast rush, when a customer ordered a latte,p and as you reached for a cup, your elbow knocked into a stack on the shelf.
Two ceramic mugs tumbled, shattering on the tiled floor with a sharp crack that drew stares from the line.
Shards scattered like confetti, white and blue fragments glinting under the lights. "Sorry," you muttered, grabbing the broom from the back, cheeks flushing as you swept up the mess.
Taesan, your dear coworker, shot you a concerned glance from behind the register. Not even ten minutes later, disaster struck again. While prepping an Americano, you fumbled the syrup bottle, but it was the espresso that did you in.
As you pulled the shot, your hand slipped on the hot portafilter, the scalding metal brushing your palm.
Pain bloomed instantly, a red welt rising as you hissed and dropped the tamper with a clang. The machine hissed back, oblivious as steam curling upward. You plunged your hand under cold water at the sink, biting your lip to stifle a yelp, the cafe's chatter fading into a dull roar in your ears.
Taesan hurried over, wiping his hands on a towel, his brow furrowed with worry. "Y/N, you okay? You’ve broken two cups today and now this? You don't look well— did you even sleep?"
You shook your head, drying your hand gingerly on a clean cloth, the burn throbbing like a guilty heartbeat.
"I did something very unprofessional last night," you confessed, your voice low to avoid the ears of the patrons. The words tasted bitter, laced with regret.d
Taesan raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. He glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping before grinning playfully. "Unprofessional? What, did you kiss your rehab guy or something? Come on, spill, you've been hiding his identity like it's state secrets." His tone was light, teasing, the kind of joke that usually elicited a laugh from you.
But you didn't reply, your silence stretching as you busied yourself wiping down the steamer, avoiding his gaze.
The lack of denial hit him like a revelation. His eyes widened, and he gasped so hard it echoed over the soft jazz playing from the speakers.
Heads turned from nearby tables, customers raised their eyebrows in mild curiosity before they returned to their own worlds.
"Wait, seriously?" Taesan whispered urgently, pulling you toward the back of the counter, away from prying eyes. "You actually did? Oh my god, Y/N, sit down and tell me everything. Now."
You sank onto a stool behind the espresso machine, the wooden seat cool against your jeans while your burned hand cradled in your lap.
Taking a deep breath, you let it out in a rush. "It was after the session. He showed me his burn scars on his arm, from the accident that broke his leg. He looked so... sad, Taesan. I just traced them with my fingers, and then... I kissed it.”
You gripped your hair in your hands, “But it was so stupid, so unprofessional. And then he…. he pulled me in, and we kissed. Really kissed. But we're still working together. He just started walking with the cane properly, and now this? Gosh, I'm so stupid. He could report me for harassment!”
Your words tumbled out, laced with self-reproach and your free hand gesturing wildly before you caught yourself.
The burn on your palm pulsed in time with your racing thoughts, a physical echo of the inner turmoil. Taesan listened, his initial shock giving way to a thoughtful nod, though his eyes sparkled with a mix of concern and intrigue.
He crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Okay, hold up— did he kiss you back? Like, was it mutual?"
You hesitated, the memory flashing vivid in your mind: the tangle of his fingers in your hair, the groan against your lips, the way he'd insisted you continue. "Well... yes," you admitted, your voice softening. "He kissed me back. But that's so not the point! I initiated it, I crossed every line. It was unprofessional, full stop. I need to apologize and set boundaries. I'll do it after my shift ends. Clear the air before it poisons everything."
Taesan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding amid the cafe's bustle. "Hey, breathe. if he kissed back, maybe it's not all on you. Just... be careful. Apologize if it feels right, but don't beat yourself up too hard. You've got this."
You nodded, though doubt lingered, the weight of the impending confrontation settling like steam on the counter.
🐦🔥.
That afternoon, the weight of what had happened before seemed to follow you all the way up the stairs to Riki’s apartment, pressing against your chest with every step until even the simple act of breathing felt deliberate.
It hadn’t been planned, hadn’t been calculated, and that made it worse, because it meant it had been honest.
And honesty, in your line of work, could be dangerous.
By the time you entered the code and stepped inside, your fingers felt colder than usual, despite the mild weather outside. The apartment greeted you with its usual quiet, a stillness that had become familiar over the past weeks. You closed the door softly behind you, almost as if loud sounds might break something fragile that lingered in the air.
“Hello?” you called out, your voice carefully even.
“In here,” Riki answered.
You found him in the bedroom, sitting upright against the pillows, his injured leg stretched out in front of him.
He looked better, there was no denying that. Less pale and less hollow. But there was something in his gaze when it met yours that made your stomach tighten.
You looked away first. “Let’s start with cleaning the skin around the case,” you said, moving into routine as if it could shield you.
You set your bag down and pulled out gloves and ointment. your hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over where your thoughts faltered.
You sat beside him on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to notice the faint scent of his soap.
You focused on your work, gently lifting the edge of the case padding, careful not to irritate the skin underneath.
the silence wasn’t uncomfortable in the usual sense. It was heavier than that, filled with something unspoken, something waiting.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you said suddenly, your voice quieter than you intended.
Your hands didn’t stop moving, but your fingers slowed slightly against his skin.
“For yesterday,” you continued. “That shouldn’t have happened. It was unprofessional, and I really hope you can forget it. And… forgive me.”
The words felt rehearsed, like you had practiced them in your head too many times, worn them thin before even saying them out loud.
Riki didn’t respond immediately. You felt his gaze before you saw it, the weight of it settling on your face, studying you in a way that made it impossible to pretend nothing had shifted between you.
“Do you really want me to forget it?” he asked.
The question caught you off guard, even though you should have expected it.
Your heart stuttered. Truthfully? No.
Truthfully, you didn’t want him to forget the way his hand had tightened slightly against your waist, the way his breath had changed, the way it had felt so natural to be that close to him.
You didn’t want to forget how it had stirred something in you that had nothing to do with professionalism and everything to do with something softer, deeper and more dangerous.
You wanted him to kiss you again, to pull you closer and to bury his fingers in your hair like he had almost done.
But you couldn’t say that.
So you looked down again, focusing on the careful motion of applying ointment along the edge of his skin, your voice steady despite the quiet storm inside your chest. “Yes,” you said. “I really do.”
“Okay,” he said simply, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. And somehow, that made it worse.
You continued working, finishing the cleaning, rewrapping the padding with practiced care. The routine steadied you again, grounding you in something familiar.
Rehab that day was quieter than usual, but not tense. There was a strange kind of understanding settling between you, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
He followed your instructions without pushing too far, without trying to prove anything. His movements were more controlled now and the progress was subtle but undeniable.
Days turned into weeks. And then, at the end of the month, something shifted again. “I want to go outside,” he said one late afternoon.
You blinked at him, surprised “Really?”
He nodded, a little uncertain but determined. “Yeah. I think… I think I’m ready to try again.”
The smile that spread across your face came before you could stop it. “Okay,” you said, almost breathless with relief. “Okay, yes, we can do that.”
You helped him get dressed carefully, adjusting the brace, making sure everything was secure.
He wore a cap, a mask, and a hoodie, layers of anonymity that made him feel safer.
Outside, the air was cooler than expected, the sky a soft gray that hinted at rain.
The streets weren’t crowded, which helped. You stayed close to him as he walked, his hand gripping the cane, his steps slow but steady.
The limp was still there, but it was less pronounced now. “You’re doing really well,” you said quietly.
He shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride in the movement. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“It will,” you replied. “You’re getting there.”
After a while, he spoke again. “You never really talk about yourself.”
You glanced at him, surprised. “There’s not much to say.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said.
You hesitated, then exhaled softly. “I graduated recently from university.”
“What did you study?” he questioned genuinely
“Rehabilitation therapy,” you answered, smiling faintly. “Obviously.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I also work at a café in the mornings,” you added. “To pay rent. And… finish paying my fees.”
He glanced at you, something thoughtful in his eyes. “Why this job?” he asked. “Why rehab?”
You looked ahead, your gaze softening as the memory surfaced.
“My best friend,” you began slowly, “her name is Karina and in high school, she was…. an increible gymnastic. The kind that made everything look effortless.”
You paused, the image vivid in your mind. “She fell during a routine and broke her knee badly. It wasn’t just the injury… it was what came after. She lost herself for a while, completely. She stopped smiling… stopped caring about anything.”
Riki listened quietly, and you continued. “But then she went through rehab,” you continued. “And it wasn’t easy, it took months, but she got better. She found her way back. Not just to gymnastics— but to herself.”
You smiled faintly. “I want to do that for people. To help them find their way back.”
There was a silence after that, not empty but full. “And you?” you asked gently. “Why racing?”
He let out a quiet breath, his gaze drifting ahead. “My dad used to take me to watch races,” he said. “When I was a kid. I didn’t understand everything, but I loved the sound… the speed, the feeling of it all.” He shifted his grip on the cane.
“I think… I wanted to feel like that. Like I was part of something bigger. Like I was in control.” You nodded, understanding more than you expected.
Something wet hit his cheek, and he frowned. Then, something wet hit your head too.
It took only a couple of seconds for the sky to open completely, rain pouring down. “Oh—” you laughed softly, looking up. “Of course.”
You turned around, walking back to his apartment. People all rushed to find shelter, but there was no need. Riki could not run, and you were content just by being by his side.
Riki groaned. “I hate this.”
“You hate rain?” Your eyes widened.
“Yes.”
You shook your head, smiling. “I love it. It makes everything feel… free.”
“Free?” he echoed, incredulous.
“Yes. Especially when you’re inside, under a blanket, listening to it.” He huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it.
The rain soaked through your clothes, your hair clinging to your face and your shoes growing heavier with each step. But there was something strangely peaceful about it, something that made the moment feel… alive.
By the time you reached his apartment, both of you were drenched. “Okay,” you said, pushing the door open. “First priority: getting you dry.”
You helped him out of his wet clothes carefully, mindful of his leg, his balance. You handed him a towel, then moved to the wardrobe to grab something clean.
“You should change too,” he said.
“I’m fine—” you dismissed, but he insisted. “You’re soaked.”
He pulled out a hoodie and sweatpants, handing them to you. They were too big, the fabric soft and warm. “Here.”
“Thanks,” you murmured.
You changed quickly in the bathroom, the dry fabric a relief against your skin. When you stepped back into the room, the clothes hung loosely on you, sleeves too long and the waistband gathered awkwardly at your hips, tied with a hair tie
Riki looked up and stilled. There was a shift in his expression, it made your breath catch. You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the space between you.
“So, today…” you began softly, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of the hoodie. “Today is the last day.”
He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“The contract,” you explained. “It was for five months, today marks five months from our first session.”
Understanding flickered across his face. “Oh.” He nodded slowly. “Of course, yes.”
But there was something in his eyes now. Something that hadn’t been there before. “You went a long way, uh? From being stubborn to almost being my best patient. I might even give you a star sticker.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood.
He pushed himself up, not using the cane this time. He just had a slight limp as he crossed the space between you.
And then he wrapped his arms around you. “I’m glad you helped me,” he said quietly, his voice close to your ear. “You gave me my hope back.”
Your chest tightened and you smiled, even if he couldn’t see it.
“I hope I see you on TV again one Sunday,” you replied softly.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. “You will.”
You nodded, stepping away before the moment could stretch any further.
You gathered your things slowly, your movements deliberate, as if rushing would make it harder to leave.
“Goodbye, Riki.” You said for the last time.
“Bye, Y/N.”
🐦🔥.
The clearance to go back racing wasn’t dramatic. There was no dramatic announcement, no applause abd no flashing cameras waiting outside the hospital doors.
Just a doctor flipping through a chart, nodding once, and saying, “You can start driving again. Slowly and no pressure. Listen to your body.”
Riki had nodded too, but the words hadn’t landed the way everyone expected them to.
They didn’t feel like freedom, not yet. They felt like a door opening to something he wasn’t sure he could step through.
Still, that evening, he went to the track.
The city circuit stretched out under a fading sky, the asphalt still warm from the day with lights flickering on one by one as the sun dipped lower.
The place smelled the same way, of burnt rubber, fuel and metal. It was familiar in a way that should have been comforting, but instead, it made something in his chest tighten.
He stood near the pit boxes, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, cap low over his eyes.
The sounds of engines roaring past surrounded him. Noah was on track with Riki’s car. He watched it pass once, then again, the sleek red body slicing through the circuit like nothing had ever happened to it. There was no trace of the crash that had nearly ended everything five months ago.
It almost looked like a stranger’s car.
When Noah finally pulled back into the pit lane, the engine whined down as the car rolled into position, Riki didn’t move at first. He just stared, his gaze fixed on the vehicle like it might shift if he blinked too hard.
Noah climbed out, pulling off his helmet with a grin. “As good as new,” he said, clapping Riki on the shoulder as he passed. “All yours.”
Riki barely reacted, he was somewhere else. Maybe he was still inside it as it almost crashed against the bleachers, or maybe he was still at the hospital, in a coma.
So much so that he didn’t notice Heeseung approaching until an arm suddenly hooked around his shoulders and a sharp nudge hit his side, a knee, quick and familiar.
Riki jolted slightly, blinking out of whatever trance had held him. “What the fuck—”
Heeseung grinned. “Payback.” Because that had been the joke Riki always did to Heeseung when he was nervous.
Riki exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re annoying.”
“You started it,” Heeseung shot back easily, his arm still loosely draped over Riki’s shoulders. “So, you ready to get back on track, huh?”
Riki’s eyes flicked back to the car. Ready… the word felt heavy.
“Jake even had your racing suit fixed and polished.” Heeseung informed, pushing Riki towards a table where his old racing suit rested.
He reached out, fingers brushing the fabric before gripping it fully. “Thanks.”
The changing room felt smaller than he remembered. Or maybe it was just him. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The suit hung from his hands, heavier than it should have been.
He changed slowly, pulling the fabric over his body felt strange after months of loose clothes, hoodies, and sweatpants. The suit hugged him tightly, outlining muscles that had weakened and then rebuilt, reminding him of every inch of his body that had been broken and stitched back together.
He stared at himself in the mirror and for a second, he didn’t recognize the reflection.
Then he grabbed his helmet and stepped back out, reaching for his car.
He slid into the seat, his movements more careful than they used to be. The harness clicked into place across his chest, the familiar pressure grounding and suffocating all at once.
His hands wrapped around the wheel, then he flexed his injured leg slightly, testing it against the pedal. It responded, stiff and a little sore, but functional.
“Radio check,” a voice crackled through his helmet.
Yang Jungwon. His trusted radio friend. “Yeah,” Riki replied, his voice steady but quieter than usual.
“Conditions are clear, the track’s yours and the brake system was fully checked and fixed,” Jungwon continued. “Take it easy. No need to push.”
Riki swallowed the lump in his throat “Got it.”
The engine roared to life beneath him. The vibration traveled through his body, up his spine and went into his chest.
For a moment, it felt like coming home. he eased out of the pit lane. Slow and controlled at first, then faster.
The straight opened up in front of him, long and inviting. His foot pressed down on the accelerator, the engine responding instantly as the car surged forward.
He was at 100, then the number climbed, reaching 200 km/h.
The wind roared against the chassis, the world narrowing into speed and motion.
For a split second, everything aligned. his muscles, his memory, the feeling of control…
But then the turn came.
A familiar one. One he had taken hundreds of times without thinking.
But now his mind was filled with something else. It was somewhere else.
His foot slammed on the brake, too hard. The car jerked violently, swerving slightly as the tires protested against the sudden force.
“Riki, ease up,” Jungwon’s voice cut in, sharper now. “Control the car.”
Riki’s grip tightened on the wheel as his breath peaked up. “Move the car off the racing line,” Jungwon continued. “Heeseung’s coming up behind you.”
But the words barely registered, because that turn wasn’f just a simple turn. It was again that moment. That crash. That loss of control.
“I can’t—” he muttered under his breath. Instead of correcting, instead of continuing, he pulled off abruptly, stopping near the edge of the track.
He unlatched the harness with shaking hands, ripping the helmet off as he climbed out.
He left the car there, left himself behind and rushed back toward the pit building, his limp more pronounced now.
The changing room door slammed shut behind him. A silence, heavy and suffocating filled the room. He sat down hard on the bench, elbows on his knees while hands gripped his head.
Then, during his not so internal turmoil, the door that connected the reception to the changing rooms opened.
“Hello?” a voice called softly.
As Riki looked up, he noticed that it was you. You stood there, slightly out of place among the harsh lighting and metallic surroundings, a cartoon-patterned bag in your hand.
Your hair caught the artificial light, your expression shifting quickly from neutral to concerned as you took in the sight of him.
“Y/N?” he said, confused.
“I— Jake texted me,” you explained, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “He said to bring your clothes back here because you weren’t home.” You paused, studying him more closely.
He was still in his racing suit, half unzipped, damp with sweat. His chest rose and fell too quickly while his hands trembled faintly.
“Are you okay?” you asked gently.
Something in your voice, soft and familiar, something he’d heard for five whole months, broke whatever fragile control he had left.
He dropped his head into his hands again, fingers digging into his hair. “I can’t do it,” he said, his voice cracking.
You stepped closer instinctively. “I can’t,” he repeated, louder this time, frustration and fear tangling together. “I got in the car and it was fine, and then the turn came and I—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “I froze.”
You set the bag down slowly, approaching him as if he was a wounded animal. “I thought I was ready,” he continued, his words rushing now. “Everyone thinks I’m ready. But I’m not. I’m—” He let out a harsh laugh. “I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.”
The confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. “I’m a coward,” he finished quietly.
You didn’t hesitate. You moved in front of him and dropped to your knees, the motion quick but deliberate, forcing him to look at you.
“No,” you said firmly.
His eyes flicked up, surprised.
“I have never seen cowardice in you,” you continued, your voice steady despite the intensity in your chest. “Not once.”
“You didn’t see me out there,” he shot back bitterly. “I slammed the brakes like I’d never driven before.”
“I saw you fight to get back on your feet when you couldn’t even stand,” you replied. “I saw you push through pain every single day. I saw you rebuild something you thought you’d lost.”
He shook his head. “That’s different.”
“It’s not,” you insisted. “It’s the same strength.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “I see fire in you,” you said softly.
His laugh was hollow. “Yeah. I saw fire too, right before i slammed the break.”
You leaned forward slightly, your voice gentler now but no less certain. “You saw it because it scared you. Because you remember what happened. That doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.”
“I believe in you,” you added quietly. “You’re not going back to who you were before,” you continued. “You’re going to be better. Stronger. You’ve been through something most people wouldn’t survive, and you’re still here.”
You reached for his helmet, which lay discarded beside him, and picked it up. For a moment, you just held it. Then you stood and placed it gently into his hands.
“If you want,” you said softly, “I’ll watch you.”
He stared at the helmet, foreign in your hands, and something shifted in his expression.
He exhaled slowly, then he stood. He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you for a long second, something unspoken passing between you.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Follow me.”
He held out his hand, and despite everything in your brain telling you not to take it, to turn around and go back to your life, you took it.
🐦🔥.
The pit lane was louder now, harsher after the silence inside.
The entire place felt like a world built on precision and speed, and you stood there, just slightly out of place.
Riki was already back at his car, standing beside it with the helmet in his hands, shoulders squared in a way that looked more like resolve than confidence. Noah had brought it back, parked neatly in the pit box, the red body gleaming under artificial lights as if it had never betrayed him before.
You watched as he slipped the helmet on again, the motion more deliberate this time, less rushed, like he was bracing himself instead of escaping.
As he climbed in, the engine roared back to life, vibrating through the ground beneath your feet.
It startled you slightly, even though you had heard it before ci.
You stayed near the edge of the pit area, unsure where you were allowed to stand, unsure of the invisible rules that seemed to govern everything around you. No one stopped you, but no one acknowledged you either.
So you stayed still..
The car pulled out again, smoother this time, merging back onto the track.
Your hands clasped together unconsciously. You didn’t know how this worked. You didn’t know what you were supposed to look for, what was considered good or bad.
All you knew was him, the way he had looked in that room and the way his voice had broken when he admitted he was afraid.
That was what you were watching for. Not the car, but him.
“Hey.” The voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
You turned, and a tall man stood a few steps away, studying you with mild curiosity.
His posture was relaxed, but there was something sharp in his gaze, something observant.
“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.
You hesitated for a second, caught off guard. “I— uhm…” you started, suddenly aware of how out of place you must have looked. “I’m with… Riki?”
The sentence came out unsure, like you weren’t entirely certain what you were to him anymore. “And your name?” he asked.
“Y/N, I was his rehab therapist.” you shuffled on your feet awkwardly.
He frowned before recognition burned in his eyes. “So you’re that Y/N.”
“That?” you echoed, confused.
He smiled faintly, extending a hand. “Heeseung.”
You shook it, his grip was warm and firm. You noticed then, the faint scars that wrapped around his neck, peaking out from under the collar of the racing suit.
“Come,” he said, gesturing for you to follow. “You probably shouldn’t just stand there, let’s go watch him.”
You fell into step beside him, weaving through the organized chaos of the pit lane until he led you to a set of monitors set up under a shaded structure.
A man with headphones sat in front of them, eyes glued to the screens while his fingers moving quickly over controls.
“This is where we watch everything,” Heeseung explained, nodding toward the screens. “Positions, speed… well, all the fun stuff.”
You nodded, even though most of it went over your head.
The screens showed Riki’s car from different angles: onboard views, overhead shots with data scrolling alongside in numbers and lines you couldn’t decipher.
“He’s out again,” Heeseung added, glancing at the main monitor.
You leaned slightly closer, your eyes fixed on the moving image.
As the car approached the turn, a simple one, it slowed down until it stopped aburptly.
A frustrated groan came from the man with the headphones. “Again.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“That’s Jungwon,” Heeseung said quietly to you. “Our radio technician.”
Jungwon leaned forward, pressing a button. “Riki, you need to keep moving.” he said into the mic, his tone controlled but strained.
On the screen, the car stayed still for a beat too long. Heeseung exhaled slowly beside you, but then something shifted in his expression.
He looked at you, then back at the screen and then at you again. “I have an idea,” he said.
Before you could ask what he meant, he reached over and gently, but very decisively, lifted the headphones off Jungwon’s head.
“Hey—!” Jungwon protested immediately, turning around. “What are you doing?”
“Relax,” Heeseung replied easily, already placing the headphones into your hands. “We’re trying something.”
“I need those—”
Heeseung rolled his eyes “You’ll get them back.”
Jungwon looked like he was about to argue more, but Heeseung had already turned his attention to you.
“Talk to him,” he said.
Your eyes widened. “What?”
“Talk to him,” he repeated. “Maybe he needs to hear you.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the headphones. “I don’t know what to say…” you admitted.
Jungwon leaned closer, clearly still annoyed but focused. “Just tell him what I tell you. He’s alone on the track right now, but he needs to keep moving.”
You swallowed, and then you put the headphones on. You pressed the button hesitantly.
“Riki?” you said, your voice softer than expected.
There was a pause, a shaky exhale. “Yes?”
Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. “I—” you glanced quickly at Jungwon.
“He’s alone,” Jungwon whispered. “Tell him that.”
“You’re the only one on the track,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady. “There’s no one around you. You can take it slow, but you have to keep going.”
“I’m right here,” you added, softer now. “And… I believe in you.”
There was another pause before the engine roared again and the car on the screen began moving.
Your eyes locked onto it, your entire body tense with anticipation.
“Keep your line,” Jungwon murmured beside you. “Keep your line.” you repeated into the mic, your voice steady now.
The car turned, not perfectly, definetly not, but it went over the turn and continued on the track. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped your lips.
“He did it.” Jungwon muttered, almost to himself.
You relayed every instruction Jungwon gave you, about speeds, adjustments and small corrections. Your voice became a thread he could hold onto.
Until finally, he pulled back into the pit boxes.
You removed the headphones slowly, as ykur hands slightly trembled.
Heeseung was already walking toward the car, and you followed, your steps quick despite the lingering uncertainty in your chest.
When his eyes found you, he smiled. He flexed his leg slightly, almost instinctively, as if showing you without needing to say anything.
You stepped closer immediately. “Does it hurt?”
You dropped down slightly, your hands already reaching to check, your instincts taking over.
But he caught your wrist gently. “Hey,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not working right now, remember?”
You blinked, then let out a quiet breath, straightening. “Right.”
Behind him, Heeseung watched the exchange with a knowing look, something almost amused flickering in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, though. He just gave Riki a light pat on the shoulder.
“I’ll give you two a minute.” he said casually, already stepping away.
The space around you shifted again. Riki looked at you for a moment, before speaking “Did you come here with your car?” he asked.
You shook your head. “No, it broke down a few days ago. It’s at the mechanic, but…” You hesitated slightly. “I don’t really have the money to fix it right now. So I took the bus.”
He frowned. “Wait here,” he said suddenly.
Before you could ask anything, he turned and walked back toward the building.
You stayed where you were, confused but oddly calm, watching as he disappeared inside.
A few minutes later, he came back , he had changed out of his racing suit, back in normal clothes and carrying the bag you had brought.
He walked straight to you and without a word, he reached for your hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and steady as if it was a normal thing.
“Come on,” he said.
His car was, well, expensive, here was no other way to describe it. A black, sleek Cadillac. It felt like stepping into a different world entirely as you got in, the interior smelling faintly of leather and. You gave him your address quietly as he started the engine.
You watched the city pass by through the window, the lights beginning to glow as evening settled in. When he pulled up in front of your building, the engine idling softly, neither of you moved immediately.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
He nodded once. “Anytime.”
You reached for the door, then paused.
Before you could overthink it, you leaned slightly toward him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
You pulled back immediately, your heart racing slightly. “Goodnight, Riki.”
Riki smiled, “Good night, Y/N.”
And he started the engine again only when he was sure you were safe in the house. You knew it because you had peaked from behind the curtain, your heart fluttering.
🐦🔥.
The café wasn’t supposed to be busy, that was part of its charm, the reason people loved it, the reason you had chosen it in the first place.
It was tucked away between two narrow streets, almost hidden unless someone already knew where to look.
The kind of place where regulars came for quiet mornings, where conversations stayed low and unhurried and where the sound of the espresso machine was usually the loudest thing in the room.
But that day, something had shifted.
From the moment you tied your apron and stepped behind the counter, there had been a steady flow of people, the bell above the door chiming over and over until it lost its meaning.
Orders piled up, cups lined the counter, and the air grew thick with the scent of coffee and warm pastries.
You moved quickly and taesan was beside you, just as quick, though less composed.
“What is happening today?” he muttered under his breath as he wiped the counter for the third time in five minutes.
“I don’t know,” you replied, adjusting a cup beneath the espresso machine. “Maybe the world discovered us overnight.”
“Or maybe they’re all lost,” he said dryly.
“I’ll take the orders.” you called, turning toward the tables instead of the counter this time, a small notepad already in your hand.
A man sat near the window. His presence didn’t match the others. While the café buzzed with chatter and movement, he seemed… still.
You approached him anyway. “Good afternoon, what would you like to order?” you asked, your voice professional, neutral.
He lifted his head… and everything in you stilled.
You knew that face. Even partially hidden under the cap, even softened by natural light instead of flashing cameras and polished interviews— you knew it instantly.
Nishimura Riki.
Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself, your breath catching sharply in your throat as recognition hit all at once.
“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but loud enough that your own shock echoed in your ears.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, “I never told you the name of the cafe where i work.”
He tilted his head slightly, something almost amused flickering in his eyes. “I have my ways,” he said simply.
You stared at him. “Of course you do.” you replied flatly, trying to regain control of yourself.
“A cappuccino, please.” he said, as if this was a normal interaction, as if he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere and shattered your sense of order. “With cocoa.”
You scribbled it down mechanically. “Anything else?”
He shook his head.
You nodded once and turned away, your heartbeat still uneven as you walked back behind the counter.
Taesan noticed immediately. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” he said, leaning closer as you set the notepad down.
His gaze went to the man you had just taken the order of, “Oh my God,” Taesan breathed, his voice rising before you could stop him. “Is that—”
You grabbed his arm instantly. “Lower your voice,” you hissed.
His eyes snapped back to you, wide. “That’s Nishimura Riki,” he whispered harshly. “What is he doing here?”
You busied your hands with the coffee machine, focusing on the mechanical process just to ground yourself.
“I don’t know.” you muttered.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “The way he’s looking at you—”
“He’s not looking at me.” You snapped too quickly.
Taesan raised a brow “He is looking at you.”
You ignored him, concentrating on pouring the milk inside the coffee, the steady motion helping you keep your composure.
“You said your rehab client was private,” Taesan continued, his voice dropping into something more curious than teasing. “You never told me who it was.”
You didn’t respond again and that tipped you off.
“It was him!” he said suddenly, realisation hitting him all at once.
Your head snapped toward him. “Shut up,” you snapped under your breath.
He leaned back slightly, stunned. “You kissed Nishimura Riki?”
“If you say his name one more time, I will throw this coffee at you.” you threatened, your voice low and deadly serious.
He raised his hands in surrender, though his expression was still full of disbelief.
You turned back to the counter, finishing the cappuccino with steady hands despite everything swirling inside you. You added the cocoa on top, just like he had asked, the small detail grounding you.
When you brought it to him, the café had shifted.
People had started noticing, a dad was trying to get his kid to get Riki’s autograph, while others had cameras clearly aimed at his face.
He sat there, completely at ease in the attention, as if it were just another part of his day.
It felt strange, seeing him so confident in his own skin.
You placed the mug in front of him. “Cappuccino with cocoa,” you said, your tone carefully neutral.
“Thanks.” he replied, his voice softer than the chaos around you.
You worked through the rest of your shift mechanically, your thoughts circling back to him over and over.
When he finally stood, the movement caught your attention immediately. The limp became less pronounced each time you saw him.
He walked toward the counter. “How much?” he asked.
“Two and thirty.” You replied, typing on the register. “Alright,” he said, reaching in his pocket, “Can I tip?” he added casually.
You hesitated. “Sure.” you said, though something in his tone made you wary.
He pulled out money. Too much money. Way too much. “Take it,” he said.
“No.” you replied instantly, your voice sharper than intended.
“It’s fine.” He said, holding it out for you. “It’s not fine.” You took only what was needed for the cappuccino, pushing the rest back toward him.
“I’m not a charity case.” you said firmly.
His brows furrowed slightly. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Then don’t treat me like one,” you snapped.
“Okay.” He didn’t argue. He just took the money back and left.
The rest of your shift dragged heavy. Your mood lingered somewhere between frustration and something heavier, something harder to define.
Who did he think he was?
You stepped outside for your break, needing air, needing space away from the noise and the constant motion.
The door closed behind you, but it didn’t bring salvation.
Because there Riki was, leaning against his sleek Cadillac parked just outside, his arms crossed loosely and his head tilted slightly as if he had been waiting.
He straightened immediately when he saw you, pushing off the car and jogging the short distance toward you.
“I told you to go away,” you said before he could speak, your voice still edged with irritation. “I’m not working for you anymore.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “Just— hear me out.”
Hesitation flickered in your eyes before sighing, “Fine.”
He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly less composed than he had been inside.
“This is new for me,” he admitted.
You frowned slightly. “What is?”
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you. “Feeling like this.”
“I’m good at flirting,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “At being… cocky, at saying the right things. But this?” He shook his head slightly. “This is different.”
You didn’t interrupt, afraid to shatter the vulnerability of the moment.
“The way you make me feel,” he said, meeting your eyes, “it’s not something I know how to handle.”
“I wanted to help you,” he added. “To fix things. To make things easier for you.”
“That’s not your job.” you said.
“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”
He took a step closer. “I wanted to take away some of your burdens. That’s why I gave you that money.”
Your jaw clenched slightly as he continued. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
His voice softened. “I just… wanted you to be okay.” he added more quietly, “Can you let me do that?”
You frowned. “Do what?”
“Take care of you,” he said.
The words were simple, but they carried weight.
“We don’t have to rush anything,” he added quickly. “We can take it slow. Just… see where it goes.”
You looked at him, really looked at him.
At the boy who was so stuck in his own head just months ago. At the boy who blamed himself for something that wasn’t his fault.
At the man Riki had become, not Riki the driver.
“It’s weird hearing you say you don’t want to rush,” you said lightly. “Considering you’re very good with speed.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess this is different too.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said. “I can give you a chance.”
The word hung in the air for a second, and then his hand found your waist. And he kissed you.
This time, there was no hesitation, no interruption. Just warmth and certainty and something that felt… right.
You melted into it for a moment before pulling back slightly. “People might see us.” You murmured.
“I don’t care.” he replied.
And then he kissed you again, your hands grasping his shirt while his fingers pulled you flush against his chest.
When you finally pulled away, with your breath uneven and your heart racing, he smiled faintly.
“I might have done something else that could make you mad.” He announced sheepishly.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “What did you do?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.
Your breath caught when you recognised them. “No way…”
He held them out. “Your car,” he said simply. “I picked it up from the mechanic. It’s fixed.”
“You’re unbelievable!” you muttered, hitting his arm lightly.
He winced dramatically. “Ow.”
You grabbed the collar of his shirt, kissing him again. You weren’t sure of many things: you didn’t know if you could manage paying rent, or if you could actually make a living with rehab.
You didn’t even know what to eat for breakfast, always debating whether you preferred toast or cereal.
But what you were sure of was that if you gave your heart to this man, he wouldn’t break it.
a/n: it’s been a while but i’m back! i know i said i was gonna work on the sunghoon fic but in light of me attending the bts concert soon i had an idea😛
INSPIRED BY: Even If This Love Disappears Tonight
synopsis: she doesn’t know if she’ll ever live a normal life again. but he’ll make sure she’ll live a happy one. whether she remembers…or not.
genre: jimin x oc, best friends to lovers, romance, jimin x character, angst, !!mentions of death!! (if you have watched this movie before and yk what happens keep spoilers to yourself plsss)
wc: 4.6k
!!everything mentioned in this story is completely fiction. if you are not comfortable with the topics covered, please don’t read!!
Remember Me
The sound of sirens, red and blue flashing lights, and gasps from neighbors and their friends filled the night. It was an accident that would leave a mental mark on the whole neighborhood. But for Mei-li Chen, it left a different kind of mark.
You have anterograde amnesia due to an accident 10 years ago. Your journal is located on your desk explaining your memories.
It was a repetitive routine. Colored post-it notes hung around the beige walls with different names, phrases, and photos, signs of hope that maybe someday, they will finally hold meaning.
You have a best friend. His name is Jimin Park. He doesn’t know you have amnesia, so don’t tell him.
She went through the school day as normally as possible, alternating between reading her journal and reading the notes on her phone. It contained everyone she had ever had an interaction with and what she thought of them. This had prevented anyone from ever suspecting her condition. It was perfect. Mei-li wasn’t popular, but she wasn’t a nobody. Instead, she acted estranged. This kept her circle small and her mind more clear.
“Mei!” An excited yell was heard across the hall. It was Jimin. “Are you ready for today?” he asked.
Today was supposed to be us finally going to an amusement park.
She smiled at him, matching his excitement. “Of course I am!”
Jimin wrapped his arms around her as they walked side by side through the hallway. Out of everyone in the school, Mei-li kept him close — through her many protests. There were days where she didn’t understand why he wanted to be such close friends with her. He wasn’t much taller than her — 5 inches at most, but he held so much charisma and confidence that people were drawn to him nonetheless. His famous eye-smile and blonde hair that almost looked natural kept him as the school’s “heartthrob” — as cliche as that title is. But no matter his title or what people said about their relationship, Mei-li was beyond lucky to have someone like him to call a forever friend.
The school day went by like no other. However, Mei-li could barely sit still, feeling exhilarated to spend the day at the one place she’s been wanting to go to since she was a child: Lotte World. Exciting places like Lotte World were foreign to her, considering her condition. She avoided amusement parks, aquariums, or even a fun road trip with friends, knowing she would have no memory of it as soon as her eyes opened the next day. Jimin’s endless begging finally rubbed off on her, agreeing to let loose enjoy the day for as long as possible.
Lotte World felt like walking right into a fairytale. The first thing Mei-li saw was a castle, similarly to the one at Disneyland, with millions of people walking on the bridge towards it. Her heart swelled with happiness as she and Jimin ran across the bricked walk-way.
“So, where to first, Mr. Expert?” Mei-li asked.
Jimin sets his pointer finger on his chin and looks up, contemplating. He hummed before answering. “Let’s go with,” he paused, then looked at the deer eyed brunette, smirking, “The French Revolution.”
Her eyes immediately widened. “Isn’t that ride the scariest?”
“Yup!” he smiles. “But don’t worry. I’ll be there to hold your hand. I’m not scared at all.” Jimin interlocks their fingers, sending heat to Mei-li’s cheeks.
A piercing scream of agony could be heard from outside the park. Jimin’s hand grabbed Mei-li’s for dear life, almost cutting off her circulation, as he practically punctured his lungs, screaming, while on the roller coaster. They step off the ride, Jimin’s legs shaking with every step they take. Mei-li falls into a pit of laughter. “Not scared, my ass,” she mocks, earning a scowl from the blonde.
On every ride they rode on, Jimin felt as if his soul was being ripped out of him and it brought Mei-li a little more joy than it should. They decided to visit the arcade for the rest of their visit, both of their competitive nature taking over. Jimin ultimately won, earning back his confidence.
“That’s not fair, you’re more athletic than I am,” Mei-li complains. He laughed, ruffling her hair. “I may be more athletic, but you’re braver than I was on those death traps.” She chuckled, feeling better at her lack of arcade game expertise.
Night fell upon them, as they ended their adventure with the photobooth. The pair finally left the park, waiting on a bench at the nearest bus stop. They sat in silence, winding down after the eventful and tiring day that they’ve had. Mei-li leaned her head on Jimin’s shoulder, her eyes feeling heavy. He placed his phone down, turning his head towards the sleeping girl beside him. He felt his heart beating faster as he observed her features. She was always beautiful, he didn’t deny it. Even the times where she was in a simple hoodie and sweatpants, he found her breathtakingly adorable. However, he’d always had this hidden attraction towards her that he would never admit. Mei-li had guys ask her out before, but they all ended in rejection. Jimin considered himself lucky to be able to be by her side. The way she smiled was so bright that it could bring him out of any disparity he felt. She doesn’t talk much, preferring to listen, which he had always admired. He felt safe around her – comfortable, and loved. He wondered if there would ever be a day where they could be more than best friends.
Mei-li’s eyes started to flutter open, lifting her head from Jimin’s shoulder. He was about to greet her, but stopped, furrowing his eyebrows. Mei-li looked oddly confused. She started looking around, scared. She finally turned towards Jimin, fear evident in her eyes.
“Mei? What’s wrong?” Jimin asked worriedly.
Mei-li backed away, slowly standing up from her seat. “Who are you?”
He laughed awkwardly. “What do you mean ‘who are you’? It’s me, Jimin.”
She shook her head frantically, looking clearly terrified. “I’m sorry. I don’t- I’m sorry.” Mei-li started to walk away, but Jimin stopped her, grabbing her forearm. She snatched it back, holding her bag close to her body like she was protecting herself.
“Mei-li, it’s me. Jimin. Jimin Park. What happened? I’m your best friend.” Jimin was confused. But worst of all, he was worried. He knew Mei-li wasn’t playing games, like he was a complete stranger she had never met.
As the bus arrived, she took the chance to climb on, running away from the man who claimed to be her best friend. Jimin stood there, debating whether to follow her or to leave her alone, giving her space. Before he could think further, the doors closed and the bus began to drive off, leaving him under the dark night sky.
Mei-li sat down, her heart beating out of her chest as tears fell down her cheeks. She looked back, finding the boy she ran away from crouched down in the middle of the road, clutching his chest and his eyes watering. Was he running after me?
You have anterograde amnesia due to an accident 10 years ago. Your journal is located on your desk explaining your memories.
You have a best friend. His name is Jimin Park. He doesn’t know you have amnesia, so don’t tell him.
She sat at a park bench in the neighborhood she had written down in her phone. Regret filled her heart as she saw the photos and notes she took throughout the day.
“Hey,” a voice called out, gasping. She turned, seeing Jimin walking over, panting. Sweat was dripping off the side of his forehead and his hands were visibly shaking, but quickly hid them behind his back. He sat next to her, glancing at her phone filled with every activity they’ve done that day. He never questioned why she wrote these things down. He figured she was just overly organized. However, now he finally knew why.
“I have amnesia,” Mei-li muttered, tears welling up in her eyes. “When I sleep…I wake up and forget everything after the accident. I can’t make new memories.” She paused, thinking she’d get a response. When she didn’t she continued. “I’m sorry I kept this from you. I had the accident before I met you and I didn’t want you to see me differently.” She looked down, ashamed, fidgeting with her hands.
He reached over, taking her hands into his. “I would never see you differently. I’m just upset that I wasn’t there for you when you needed a friend.” Mei-li smiled, thanking him. They sat in silence for a moment, holding each other's hands, as if the other would disappear if they’d let go.
He looked over at her phone screen and an idea popped into his head. “Delete the notes of the past few hours.” Mei-li perked up with a puzzled expression. Jimin continued. “I’ll pretend you never told me you have amnesia. I had an amazing time today and you’re my best friend… I don’t want anything to change between us, so let’s trick tomorrow-you, together.”
He gave her his famous eye-smile, warming up her heart. “Are you sure?” she asked.
Jimin hummed in agreement. “I know I wasn’t there for you during your darkest times, but I promise you, Mei, that I will try to make you happy every day. Whether you remember it…or not.”
You have anterograde amnesia due to an accident 10 years ago. Your journal is located on your desk explaining your memories.
You have a best friend. His name is Jimin Park. He doesn’t know you have amnesia, so don’t tell him.
Do I like him?
Jimin kept his promise. He spent each day bringing joy to Mei-li. Whether it was going on a new adventure, visiting the beach, aquarium, or a simple school event, he was determined to make sure his best friend felt only happiness. And it was working. Mei-li could only smile for the next two months, feeling like she was constantly on cloud nine. Unbeknownst to her, that happiness came with a price. Every passing day, she had unknowingly gained feelings for Jimin. The fear of forgetting the adventures she’s been going on with him slowly grew to the point where Mei-li had refused to sleep, so she could remember those moments — remember him.
The boy started to notice something off with Mei-li. The circled around her eyes started to darken and she was becoming more and more sluggish. Has she been sleeping? he thought. He wasn’t sure what to do since he was doing such a good job pretending not to know her condition. At night, Jimin would research more and more about the effects of anterograde amnesia. His desk was covered in textbooks he borrowed from the library and his computer with thousands of tabs open to articles and websites. He wanted to do everything he could to help Mei-li live a life as normal as possible. However, he could only do so much without raising suspicion. With each passing day, they’ve grown closer — closer than what friends should be — that he was afraid to fracture it.
So when he found out that his precious Mei had been pulled out of school by her parents, he was utterly devastated. He stormed towards her house the same day he got wind of the news, ignoring the pain in his chest, knocking on the wooden door of his best friend’s house.
“If the kind of friend you are is the one where my daughter ended up refusing to get any rest, then you best stay away from her.” That was the only thing Jimin had remembered from that interaction. He had thought Mei-li’s mother was always this sweet lady, however her expressions held only hatred towards him. Jimin regretted not trying hard enough that day if he’d known it would be the last he’d see her for a long time.
You have anterograde amnesia due to an accident 10 years ago. Your journal is located on your desk explaining your memories.
You have a best friend. His name is Jimin Park. He
doesn’t know you have amnesia, so don’t tell him.
Do I like love him? I love Jimin Park.
They say your college years would be the best years of your life. But they say that about every stage of a person’s life. For Mei-li, college was just like high school — just like how high school was just like middle school, and so forth. The routine was endless. She felt like she wasn’t truly there, trudding through the days trying to reach something that was always a little too far. She wondered why her notes felt like something was missing – or someone. She’d stare at the same crossed off note each morning, her head hurting from the effort of trying to remember, however to no avail. After college, she had given up on the mysteries of her past. On the boy that she had claimed to have loved. In fact, she had given up on the hope that things could get better.
Jimin Park. An internet-wide, award winning singer sensation at the age of only 25 years old. Idols come and go in this country’s industry, most because of how toxic the fans can be. They force you into a box of their expectations and criticize your every move and word if it doesn’t fit what they deemed acceptable. Jimin wasn’t different, but he was one of the most strong-willed. He didn’t care about the people who mocked him or unfairly criticized him. He didn’t care about the crazy fans that would follow his every move and even show up at his apartment. The only thing he cared about was whether or not his Mei would finally notice him. He wasn’t allowed near her vicinity, her parents refusing to let him “corrupt” their daughter once more. So he decided to bring her joy using another method. He had quit participating in sports and pursued his newfound love for music. This way, he would be able to somehow reach her, writing his lyrics to try and connect with her.
Mei-li could only feel confusion. Staring at her TV, she wondered why the name of the boy who was in her journal was on her screen. Now in her very own apartment, she spent all night researching everything about this “Jimin Park”. She watched his performances, entranced by his voice. Was the man on her screen really the same one she claimed she had a connection with? What happened to their relationship? Mei-li felt like her head was going to explode as she scribbled in her journal while finally drifting off to sleep.
You have anterograde amnesia due to an accident 10 years ago. Your journal is located on your desk explaining your memories.
You have a best friend. His name is Jimin Park. He
doesn’t know you have amnesia, so don’t tell him.
Do I like love him? I love Jimin Park.
Jimin Park. Age 25. Idol. Fan? His voice is so calming.
Every once in a while Mei-li would pass by Lotte World. She wasn’t sure why since she has no evidence of her visiting, but there was something about this place that drew her in. Today, she decided to stay a little longer than usual. She sat at a nearby bench with her journal and began drawing. She observed the castle and the bridge, feeling a sense of familiarity, like she had walked on that path before. Her pen flowed seamlessly on the paper, capturing each detail of the castle and even the people walking by.
Her focus was solely on creating art that she had failed to notice the man that had sat beside her. She finally turned to see the man already looking at her with widened eyes. He wore a black hat and mask, concealing his identity, with nothing but his blonde hair cascading to his shoulders.
“Do I know you?” Mei-li asked, tilting her head.
It took the man a few seconds to react, clearing his throat before speaking.
“No. Sorry, I thought you were…someone else.”
He stood up and left, leaving Mei-li alone on the bench once again. She furrowed her eyebrows, not because of the odd interaction, but because she was unsure why her heart suddenly felt tighter at the sound of his voice.
Jimin felt stupid. She was right there, you piece of shit, he thought. He had envisioned every possibility where they could meet again, going over what he would say, but he never thought that when the time had finally come, he would just run away.
He waited by the same bus stop where he first found out about Mei-li’s condition, feeling a sense of dread that he blew his only chance of being with her again. He sat at the back of the bus, wallowing in his own self-pity.
But maybe fate really does exist. Because when she had stepped foot onto the bus, Jimin felt his world turned upside down once again. Mei-li sat more towards the front, plugging in her headphones and reading the journal he never thought he’d see again. Jimin spent the entire bus ride scripting out his words as his palms became uncomfortably sweaty and his leg constantly bouncing up and down.
“Hey! Wait!” Jimin called out as soon as Mei-li stepped off the bus.
She turned, seeing the same man who was on the bench. A normal person would run away, thinking he was a creepy stranger, but she stayed, thinking that if she left she would regret it later on.
“Um,” Jimin stuttered, not knowing how to introduce himself. “I don’t know if you know who I am, but,” He looked around the area for any unwanted eyes. Once he saw none, he carefully took off his mask. “My name is Jimin Park. We uh…we used to know each other.”
Silence filled the night as Mei-li struggled to find a response. The atmosphere became unbearably awkward. Hari cleared his throat as his hand went to the back of his neck.
“Here, um, I’ll show you.” He took out his phone and walked closer to her. Surprisingly, she didn’t back up. He smiled at that. He showed her all of the times they spent together. Mei-li’s first time playing basketball, their first class trip at the zoo, all of the times they visited the park near their houses, every meal they shared together, and their first trip to Lotte World – he showed her all of it. Before she could realize it, tears were streaming down her face and she looked at Jimin – really looked at him. She looked at how warm his smile was while going through the memories they shared together – memories she had unfortunately forgotten. She looked at his eyes. His nose. His hair. Everything about him felt familiar. Safe. Her heart was telling her he was someone extremely special to her, but her mind had no recollection of their time together.
Mei-li finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I believe you, but I just…it’s hard for me…to remember things. Those pictures. They’re me… but they aren’t…me. You’re a stranger to me.”
He looked at her with such softness, but there was a hint of hurt. “I know. But I don’t have to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know your heart still knows me. So I’m taking a chance. Let’s start over.”
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to him and the phone with a photo of them smiling. “What if it doesn’t work? Do you really think I still feel some type of way towards you?”
Jimin took her shaking hands into his, brushing her knuckles softly with his thumb. “Well, you didn’t run. So I think that’s a step in the right direction.”
You have anterograde amnesia due to an accident 10 years ago. Your journal is located on your desk explaining your memories.
You have a best friend. His name is Jimin Park. He
doesn’t know you have amnesia, so don’t tell him.
Do I like love him? I love Jimin Park.
Jimin Park. Age 25. Idol. Fan? His voice is so calming.
I want to remember him.
At first their conversations felt small, like they were walking on eggshells around each other. Jimin saw the girl he used to be around with every day during high school, but he also saw a completely different woman. Mei-li was more mature, the silly girl who would make fun of him all the time was now a bit closed off and distant. It took a few weeks for them to get used to each other's company. Jimin couldn’t spend as much time with her as he pleased, as his schedule was more demanding than the average person. Nevertheless, he’d make the effort to meet up with her with every chance he had, even if it was for a second.
“You don’t have to do all of this. You must be tired.” Mei-li looked down at her coffee cup, her hands gripping the sides.
He laughed softly at her concern. “Even if I do get tired, seeing you smile washes that all away.”
The atmosphere became lighter with every interaction. Despite the distance they experienced from each other for 5 years, the spark was still there. The connection between the two had appeared once more – stronger, even. Every shared laugh, every inside joke they would create again, every quiet moment of comfort is something chosen in real time, not carried over from memory.
Under the moonlight of his balcony after a concert he had invited her to, Jimin had finally confessed his feelings to Mei-li. He felt like a little kid uttering the words “I like you” with a hint of pink on his cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to be in her life again and was beyond joyful that she shared the same emotions. She wasn’t sure when he started falling for him. But maybe those feelings don’t just disappear along with your memory. Because even if your mind forgets, your heart still remembers.
You have anterograde amnesia due to an accident 10 years ago. Your journal is located on your desk explaining your memories.
You have a best friend. His name is Jimin Park. He
doesn’t know you have amnesia, so don’t tell him.
Do I like love him? I love Jimin Park.
Jimin Park. Age 25. Idol. Fan? His voice is so calming.
I want to remember him. I don’t want to forget him.
I want to spend my life with him.
“A date?” questioned Mei-li.
“It’s only fitting that I take my girlfriend out on a date, no?” Jimin tilted his head, smiling teasingly.
She blushed, but quickly brushed it off, rolling her eyes. Yet inside, her heart was beating out of her chest.
Rehearsal took longer than Jimin expected and was unusually more tiring than usual. He sat on the floor against the wall, catching his breath. His manager, a man much older than him but was almost like an uncle to the younger, approached Jimin with a worried look on his face.
“Are you sure you’re doing alright? You’ve been overworking yourself lately. You know it’s not good for you.”
“Just say I’m aging, Mr. Kim,” Jimin joked.
“I’m serious, Jimin. I’ve been talking to your doctor and-”
“I’m fine, Mr. Kim,” he cuts off, his expression cold. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Jimin leaned against his car, waiting for Mei-li. When she walked out, he felt like time had stopped. She was wearing a black dress that stopped right before her knees with silver heels to match the silver jewelry she had. Her brown hair was curled and cascaded along her shoulders. She was stunning.
“You’re gawking, Mr. Park,” Mei-li smirked.
“I prefer the term ‘admiring’,” he responded, opening the car door for her.
They spent their dinner talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Jimin talked about the time a fan showed up to his concert dressed like a glow in the dark stick figure, when he embarrassed himself during a live interview, and the time he showed up to rehearsal drunk – which he’d never do again. Mei-li talked about her life during the past 5 years, though she said it wasn’t as interesting as Jimin’s, he gave her his undivided attention.
After dinner, the couple walked side by side under the city lights. Mei-li stopped her tracks, Jimin turning around to face her. She looked down, biting her lip out of nervousness, but spoke anyway. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate to say it now…but when I’m with you, I feel less alone. And it’s hard not to feel that way for a person like me. I want to spend every day with you. I want to choose you even if I have to do it over and over again,” she looked into his dark brown eyes that held the light that she struggled to grasp for so long.
Jimin smiled, taking her hand in his. “You don’t have to say it. You mean more to me than the entire universe, Mei. I told you before that I will do everything in my power to bring you happiness every day, and I’ll stand by that.”
He would’ve given her the world.
Because to him, nothing mattered more than her.
The door clicked behind him as he shook his shoes off. The only light that was illuminating the living room was from the moon through the open window. He liked it like that. Jimin’s cheeks felt sore from smiling all night, but he didn’t care. He stood behind the kitchen island, looking around his apartment. The silence that used to be deafening was filled with the boy’s sweet humming. He envisioned what it would be like if he and Mei-li would live together. What their shared living space would look like. He was so excited, he could hardly breathe.
Hardly breathe.
He clutched his chest, hunching over the counter for some kind of support.
Water.
He reached for a glass, his other hand shaking as he tried to cough up a breath.
Just a few steps.
The fridge was right there. A few steps. But he could only walk one.
The glass shattered on the floor as he fell, his chest tightening with each attempt of salvation. He couldn’t move. His phone was left on the top of the counter, an area that was now unreachable. Tears now filled the cheeks that were holding his smile and his vision blurred.
He thought of everything he could’ve done differently. He should’ve held her hand longer. He should’ve gazed into her eyes longer. He should’ve kissed her when he had the chance. He should’ve told her that he loved her.
And as Jimin took his last breath, he could only croak out one thing:
“Mei.”
Just like that, the deafening silence he thought was gone, was back once more.
JIMIN PARK.
AGE 25.
POP IDOL SENSATION FOUND DEAD IN HIS APARTMENT DUE TO SEVERE HEART FAILURE.
Grief works and can be applied in many ways. There’s people who grieve the loss of a loved one. Those who grieve for something lost. Or those who grieve for what could’ve been. Because not everything is permanent. The only thing that’s permanent is the feeling – happiness, anger, sadness, love. It’s what you do with that feeling that determines how you live the rest of your life. A lesson Mei-li should’ve learned with him. Not because of him.
You have anterograde amnesia due to an accident 10 years ago. Your journal is located on your desk explaining your memories, but try to remember what you did each day!
synopsis ⿻ content : you and jay were the ideal couple— cruising through high school and college together; known as nothing less than the definition of forever to most. you were both aware your futures held different stories; yet you still spent all of college hoping it would mesh into one. as you moved abroad to seoul to continue your studies, jay stays put in new york, settling into the corporate, white collar job he had always pined for. coming to reality with the fact that you cannot have jay in your world— you let him go. that is, only to find him at a rock concert 4 years later in the borough you called home, tearing up to the song that screamed your name like a mantra in his mind.
a/n : my first fic in almost 2 years . . i hope everyone enjoys this as much as i did writing it ! ! ( yes, i did cry. )
fic playlist ⤿ ** la la lost you— niki, david— lorde, mean it— lauv, purple rain— prince.
New York is the kind of city where you can see your past flicker and your future glow.
as a child, i've always dreamt of the horizons beyond the upper west side— the brownstones, the local bakeries and the high school football field.
running around with my friends past 7 everyday, watching the sunset, i had always wondered if there was anything beyond the familiar world i had bathed in for 16 years.
that's when i met jay.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀—to me, he was the extension of my viewpoint. life felt so much more full— to say the least. with him, it felt like i could let my passions grow, that i could achieve the unachievable.
he was the one who i had sworn to love up and down.
i still remember our first kiss— well, it's quite hard to forget.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀the minute our lips touched, i felt your warmth; the love, swallowing me. it was a feeling i had never experienced before, a feeling that made me want to continue, a feeling that would later ricochet into the biggest blessing of my life.
i remember the night i became yours, too. how could i forget?
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀it was sophomore prom, you had asked me with a big corny poster and a dramatic promposal with all of our friends. i called you cringe, and i cried. but what i hadn't told you was that i had never felt more love radiate from someone in my entire life, i felt like i had finally been picked, like i had been chosen.
our love story started that night.
it looked liked the city skyline from brooklyn bridge during 7pm sunsets; or the barista at the coffee shop around our neighborhood, who had our orders memorized, religiously.
it looked like the rest of my life.
until you stepped foot into the airport. you take in the air and you're reminded of the life you've built in New York. you turn around and you're reminded of the life you've built with jay, too.
all the times when you would lay awake in bed, holding onto one another like you were each others only consolity. studying for mid-terms till the clock striked 3am; but even then, none of it felt miserable because you were with him. past you who would've cried herself to sleep would never believe that you were giggling yourself to sleep— laced in the arms of a boy whom you carried so close to your heart.
you brought yourself back to the airport, you shouldn't be crying now; this was your decision. you chose to abandon your hometown to travel back to your native country— to extend your studies and to explore more of this unfamiliar world.
you look behind you to the boy holding your suitcase, tears cascading down his pretty face, the look in his eyes begging you for one more day.
" yn. . . " he suddenly spoke. " what's wrong? "
" we'll be able to handle long distance well, right? all my friends have broken up with their long distance relationships but— but. . . i know we're not like them, yn. . . we know better than that right? " he took a breath in between, winded from the sobbing, chest heaving.
" please don't leave. " he huffed out, breaking out into a weep. he leaves your suitcase in the same idle position and rushes forward into your arms, holding you like his closest lifeline. he holds you like you'll disappear the moment he lefts go. you can feel his body trembling against yours, his hands shake. the tears continue to plummet down his face and he is left gasping for air, crying your name.
" oh. . baby. " you whisper into his ear as you take your hat off, wrapping your arms around his body, you let your tears surge. you ruffle your fingers through his hair, relishing in his warmth. you caress the nape of his neck because you know he loves that.
" i'll always be here for you, no matter what— and we'll get through this. we'll get through all of it and when i'm back in 4 years— we'll hug, and we'll kiss like before. baby, i promise. "
" because it's only ever been you, jay. and it will always, forever continue to be you. "
just like that, your time savored has been cut short. you peel his arms off of you— and when you look up your heart aches at the sight; his swollen eyes, his puffy cheeks. nonetheless, he still forces a smile as he tells you to turn around and start walking.
you've heard it in videos, on the news, when you see compilations of people parting ways with their families at the airport. the unbearing tactic of having to turn around and put one foot infront of the other despite hearing the cries and pleas from the person behind you.
you cherish his face, tracing your eyes down every feature, almost memorizing him. immediately once you turn around, you hear his chants, spoken with his hoarse voice. with each step you take, you hear your heart falling apart slowly, brick by brick.
" baby, don't forget to eat well! "⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀" text me when you're on the plane, okay? "⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀" if anything ever happens, please call me, okay baby? " ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀" i'm so proud of you yn! " ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀" if you ever feel like a stranger— text me. i will never be your stranger. " ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀" i love you so much yn, please stay safe. "
and just like that, you had left.
left the city you fought so hard to keep close to your heart— though none of it mattered now. all you can do is stay calm and fight on the world seoul had to offer for you.
you quickly realize seoul was the other half of the horizon you had always wanted to explore. your university, it's beautiful. the 7/11 around the corner, the 4 story library, and your apartment which sat in your complex, waiting for you.
of course, you hadn't forgotten about jay. you texted him in between every class, and you called him when you got home late, when you needed someone to talk to. he always answered, never missing a beat.
though as time went on, you felt this cycle reoccuring over and over again. it felt repetitive— staged. it no longer felt natural. you acknowledge that part of this could have been because he was halfway across the world with no other way of reaching you, you felt alone even though you were in love.
you didn't have anyone else; hell that was far from what you were experiencing. every night after your part-time, you'd come home and lay on your bed wondering if jay was happy, if he was eating out with his friends all the time still, or if he had found someone else to bathe his joy in. that's what you were scared about.
being so far from him, you started to let the distance settle in, it was impossibly painful but you couldn't do anything about it.
he stopped picking up all your daily calls; stopped texting back within the minute, and stopped mailing you letters. you thought it was work. we're all busy, aren't we? he told you it was work, so you believed it.
but part of you always knew in the back of your mind that, it was because of how draining this was.
with a heavy heart and shaking hands, you decide to let him go, to erase yourself from his world.
some would call it a "fresh new start," but for you, it was your love story cut short.
after deleting all of your previous social media and blocking him on everything, your world dimmed a little; it became quiet. a silence you were never quite used to, a silence you didn't want to get used to.
you'd stay up at night, wondering if this was the right decision. you'd replay your old videos, clips of you and him laying on the benches in central park; clips of you both walking around at MoMa.
a gallery full of memories, pictures, videos. they were all him, you skimmed through them every night. no matter how badly you tried to delete him from your life to save the pain, you couldn't. every turn around the corner, every song reminded you of him.
you began to live your life in a haze— almost subconscious. you lived robotically, nothing like the life you used to have.
just like that, 4 whole years had passed. 4 years of not speaking to him, hearing his voice, seeing his face. although it wasn't his fault, it was yours, you made this verdict.
" Guns N' Roses 2025 World Tour "
you lept from your seat, the band that you had loved since you were a kid. the band that sat in company with you when things got hard, the band that you and jay bonded over. this was your chance to see them after years of hiatus.
you scrolled through the dates,
' europe . . . london, uk. . . asia . . . thailand, bangkok . . ' your eyes scanned the image on your phone.
finally, you paused at the united states— New York. your favorite band was coming to the state that you had loved more than anything in the world. you hadn't planned to go back so quickly, you wanted to see if the job market here was good, if the living quarters in other provinces were suitable as well.
but the urge to see them was greater than anything in your mind at that moment, and so you booked the plane tickets. you booked the concert tickets, and surprisingly, scored a pretty decent general admission ticket. you triumphed, finally being able to live out the dream you had longed for since you were a kid.
as you got off the plane, you surveyed your surroundings. you were in New York again— the city you knew like the palm of your hand, the city that changed everything. when you got off the subway, immediately inhaling the familiar cent of brand new lipstick and smoked cigars.
you trace your steps back to your mom's house, the same neighborhood.
honestly, it looked like it hadn't changed much. the same chalk stain on the concrete, the same kids playing in the yard, except now they were so much older. even the scent that lingered was the same.
you were home.
you greet your parents, surprising them with a warm hug, and teary eyes. you quickly settle all of your belongings into your old room, looking out the window at the New York skyline— soaking it all in. you're back, back in the city where you saw your past flicker and your future glow.
you fell asleep that night wondering about all of your friends, how were they? where were they? you hadn't caught up with anyone yet, you hardly opened your social media. you lift your phone up in the darkness of your room and you open Instagram.
immediately, you're caught up with hundreds of notifications you never bothered to check within the last few months, hundreds of childhood friends asking " yn! your studies are finally over, when will you come back? "
though some of them asked you where you had gone. " yn, are you doing okay? jay can't find you. please contact him as soon as possible, " and others had asked if you were attending the Guns N' Roses world tour, " yn, are you going to the Bangkok stop?! me and my friends wanted to go! "
little did they know you were here, in New York.
that night you slept realizing everyone had still remembered you, you felt like an imebecile. ghosting everyone, disappearing from their lives like you had never owned that spot in their heart. you didn't deserve them— especially not jay. you told yourself the ultimatum was that you would force yourself to never see him again, you had to save yourself the pain, the suffering. but most importantly— the guilt.
the guilt of deleting a 6 year relationship from your life like it meant nothing to you. sure you knew it came with heartache, you knew there was absolutely on way you'd be forgiven after this, but that's what you wanted. you wanted him to let go of you, of this. you couldn't be here for him, you wanted him to be with someone who acknowledged his presence. someone who would drive him home when he was drunk, someone who would cook for him and someone who wasn't a thousand miles away in a different continent, ghosting him.
the day of the concert you awoke to quiet. it was peaceful, you heard your parents chatting downstairs, making breakfast, talking about how excited they were to have you back. you were too, beyond ecstatic.
you quickly got ready. your regular routine you perfected in korea— shower, makeup, hair, outfit.
you went out of the way to buy a cute rock-punk styled outfit in korea for the concert before you came back to New York, you thought it fit well with the vibe.
you ate the breakfast like you had been starved for the past 5 years, it was so nice to finally taste the familiar cooking again. you swore you could almost cry.
you waved goodbye to your parents and made your way to the subway station, just like before. you had your phone out, looking for directions of the venue. when you finally got off, you stood right infront of the concert venue, hands clutching your phone like it was a distant dream. it felt unreal, to say the least.
the rest of the day mainly consisted of buying merch, buying snacks, and waiting hours in line to get your general admission wrist bands. after the chaos, you were finally allowed into the venue.
and god, was it huge. it was bigger than you had imagined, a venue where you would hear your favorite artists' music rebound off the walls.
you caught a pretty good standing spot in general admission, drink in hand, phone fully charged and storage cleared.
you had briefly browsed through the setlist beforehand, all amazing songs. as the singers came out and the set started, you had noticed that more people came piling in from all sides. you looked down and realized you were at the very front, clutching onto the border of the barricade walls. " damn, i'm lucky. " you thought, and laughed to yourself.
when the first notes of "November Rain" were played, you found your heart recognizing that song before your mind did. the song you and jay danced to in the kitchen, the song you would play together when nights got lonely. this song was everything to you. you started to sway your head and hum along to the tune with everyone in the audience.
somewhere in the midst of all the music, you hear sniffling. almost. . . crying? you open your eyes and scan to the right, going on your tippy toes, wondering if anyone had been hurt.
then you swung your head to the left, scanning the audience; before your eyes landed on him.
it was jay.
he had come.
and it was him; it was him who was tearing up to the song.
your heart stopped, you had never rehearsed for this moment, where you'd ever be seeing him again. you weren't sure how to react, till the tears started flowing and your legs started bottoming out.
in that moment, you saw his head snap towards you, looking in your direction,
and then his eyes met yours.
you couldn't quite grasp the look in his eyes, but it was enough to break you.
as soon as the set ended for "November Rain," you pushed past everyone and quietly left the venue, legs almost bottoming out.
and then you heard it, his voice. " Y/N! WAIT UP! "
it was jay. fuck—- his voice made you want to swallow your heartache and point a gun at yourself. it was broken; he was broken. but somehow, all you did was run and push faster.
when you broke past the clear glass doors of the venue, you turned the corner and dived into the nearest alleyway. you had always been scared of the alleys in New York, not to mention at this egregious hour.
just as soon as you thought you had lost him, you hear footsteps.
and then he appeared, infront of you.
he was clutching onto his heaving chest, beads of sweat laced on his forehead, tears streaming down his face.
you were surprised, he still had the same face you fell in love with years ago.
" yn— yn please, don't run anymore. " he said as he inched closer to you, trying to close the distance slowly, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.
" jay. . . ? " you huffed out, short of breath.
as he moved closer to you, your body stopped, you couldn't move, it felt suffocating.
" please don't run, "
" . . i missed you. "
you hadn't noticed it but unshed tears were already glistening from your eyes.
" jay, i- "
" please tell me you're real. " he cried out. and for fucks sake— that was your breaking point. your legs bottomed out, your hand reached to hold onto your heart, weeping out whilst staring at the concrete floor.
immediately, he closes the distance between you both, getting on his knees infront of you and pulling you into his chest. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest in a fetus position, cradling you. he ran his fingers through your hair, with his best attempt to calm you down.
on the floor of a random alley in New York, not quite the reunion you had imagined.
" yn, where were you? " he whispered in your ear, arms still laced around your torso.
" jay, please don't do this. " you attempted to pull back from him, but he saw through you. in return, he forced you back into his arms, pulling on your even harder.
" yn, you don't need to explain right now— but please, please don't leave me. please, i don't wanna be alone again. "
" will you hold me? let me hold you? that's all i need. yn, i'm begging you. " he sobbed, voice croaking and broken.
and you did, you cried into each others arms.
and for the first time in long time— you didn't feel the need to be strong just for yourself.
though deep down, you knew you didn't deserve any of it, still. his forgiveness, his love, his touch. as selfish as it may sound, it was the last thing on your mind.
even for someone as "selfish", you let him hold you.
as the cities final promise, you let him sink his face into your shoulders like before, and you whispered his name like you were struggling to come to terms with his existence.
you were finally whole— not literally, but with him, it was the closest you'd ever get.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
tysm gais for reading my fic hehe ! ! i'll be opening a perm taglist for this fic since it will come in more parts, so please comment if you'd like to be added ˙ᵕ˙ love u all sm
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im so sorry for not updating “blinded fate” for over two weeks . . college is beating my ass into the ground and I recently just got a new job plus being a gom for pc’s is hard . . forgive me . .
hi everyone , thank you for supporting me and @h3vanlee for blinded fate, you guys mean a lot to us. the recent news of heeseung leaving is devastating, and unfortunately i will not post chapter 8, at least for a long time if not at all. i’ll be off social media for a while, im healing, @h3vanlee will be healing too.
take care, i can’t promise that we’ll come back, but i love you.
i want to take this time to talk about something that has been the reason for not posting.
first of all, let’s talk about heeseung leaving the group. when i found out about the news, i was already in a tough spot. college, dancing, and my overall mental health has been weighing me down tremendously. i constantly felt alone amongst being with friends who care which has been portrayed in my stories. i have been an enhypen stan for 6 years, my love for the art of music and storytelling growing along with it. i chose my career in digital media wanting to become a creative director in the future to be a part of such a fascinating team of individuals who bring storytelling to music. heeseung was someone i looked up to. his talented voice and hardworking mentality motivated me throughout the years to do the same no matter the hardships. although these news are devastating, i hope everyone will continue to support heeseung and enhypen as seven.
writing has been something i take pride in, writing in ways that portray something that i’ve felt, wanted, and a sense of comfort. however, there were too many instances where the bad times outweigh the good — today being an example. i cannot promise i will continue to write in the future. however, i have a project i am still willing to continue: a sunghoon fanfiction. i cannot promise when it will come out, but i can promise it will once i have taken the time to not only heal after the news with heeseung, but to take care of myself. this means that i will be taking a very long break from social media.
i want to thank everyone who has supported my stories, especially blinded fate. take care.
im so sorry for not updating “blinded fate” for over two weeks . . college is beating my ass into the ground and I recently just got a new job plus being a gom for pc’s is hard . . forgive me . .
hi everyone , thank you for supporting me and @h3vanlee for blinded fate, you guys mean a lot to us. the recent news of heeseung leaving is devastating, and unfortunately i will not post chapter 8, at least for a long time if not at all. i’ll be off social media for a while, im healing, @h3vanlee will be healing too.
take care, i can’t promise that we’ll come back, but i love you.
im so sorry for not updating “blinded fate” for over two weeks . . college is beating my ass into the ground and I recently just got a new job plus being a gom for pc’s is hard . . forgive me . .
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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𝜗ৎ ── where you’re on your period and your subtle way of saying “this week will be hell” is by asking your boyfriend riki one simple question . .
초콜릿을 드세요 . . scene ₊ᰔ bf ! riki x reader relationship fluff teasing kissing hickies suggestive? petnames wc684
麦星 ‘s ── library
• mai’s 注記 ── finally posted a proper riki fic woohoooo! don’t know what took me so long since he’s literally my bias and i made almost everyone else in the group a scene . . . hope u all enjoy ! p.s : thank you for showing so much love to jake’s + hee’s scene fics huhu
────────────────────────
it was finally your day off, which meant you and your boyfriend riki would be spending the whole day together. now that your days were filled with college lectures and his was filled with dance practices, the chances of the both of you having a free day on the same day were very low, but never zero.
you both settled on watching a movie because you both agreed neither of you two would’ve been able to focus on anything more. soon it just became white noise as you both of you either scrolled on your phones or just rested your eyes.
your legs were planted on his lap on the other end of the couch when you felt a warmth between your thighs spill.
“shit,” you instinctively whispered, which brought him to cock an eyebrow at you and smile.
“what is it baby?” leaning over towards you, brushing your thigh with his hand.
you blushed at the contact, not because it was new or because you were shy, but because you realized you just started your period. you quickly grabbed the pillow from under your head and placed it above your abdomen, causing him to retract his hand.
a confused expression crossed his face, but didn’t think nothing of it as he hovered over you, brushing your loose hair strands aside. as if he didn’t already make you blush like a maniac, this definitely got something out of you he hadn’t seen in a while.
“you’re so cute when you’re like this,” he said, followed by a kiss, “tell me what’s wrong.”
you shook your head, eye contact still wandering far off to whatever you could focus on.
“not gonna talk to me?” he questioned, but still continued his movements, causing the couch to creek.
he caressed your cheek and made his way down your chin, making you look at him as he planted another kiss. they started to travel down your neck, slow but hungry. his hand then creeped up between the pillow you placed and your clothed warmth, not moving just placing where his hand rested.
you let out a low groan, almost forgetting the situation you were in. you tapped his shoulder and tried prying away from his chest, “wait…riki,” your voice breathy and slurred.
he hummed in respond, still focused on the situation he started — hot wet marks bruising on your neck.
“riki,” you said with a little more clarity this time, because if you couldn’t stop him now you wouldn’t be able to stop him ever.
he sat up, searching your eyes for any discomfort, “sorry did i go too far?” his demeanor changed in an heartbeat.
“no no baby it’s just,” you paused, embarrassed by the thought of it. though you were together for almost a year and nothing knew came out of talking about female hygiene — seeing him after a long time of distance made your tolerance for his presence almost unbearable, causing you to become flushed easily. you’ve forgotten just how much of a flirt your boyfriend really was.
“what is it?” reassured but still searching for any discomfort.
you finally looked up at him, his hair fell perfectly between his brows, shoulders broad and exposed thanks to that black tank top you gave him last christmas, and his lips painted a soft swollen red from the marks he’d left you.
“do you have chocolate?”
he looked at you not saying a word for a second, then smiled, which then turned into an uncontrollable laughter. he giggled, showing his boxy smile, “is that what you’re so worried about?”
you rolled your eyes throwing the pillow at the boy, “whatever, just answer the damn question.”
his laughter lowed to a gentle smile, kissing the peck of your forehead. he hugged you and grabbed a weighted blanket from under the couch, a practiced habit he grew to learn whenever this time of the month came.
he made sure your position was comfortable, tucking the ends of the blanket around your body. he then threw on his grey hoodie and grabbed his keys from the counter.
두 번째 . . smau texts 𝜗ৎ repaired friendship with riki , turns into something unidentified ? — ( m.list )
scenario : riki’s mind is still filled with what happened during the date and hasn’t been able to sleep wells since — so he decides to take matters into his own hands . .
𝜗ৎ ── where you’re on your period and your subtle way of saying “this week will be hell” is by asking your boyfriend riki one simple question . .
초콜릿을 드세요 . . scene ₊ᰔ bf ! riki x reader relationship fluff teasing kissing hickies suggestive? petnames wc684
麦星 ‘s ── library
• mai’s 注記 ── finally posted a proper riki fic woohoooo! don’t know what took me so long since he’s literally my bias and i made almost everyone else in the group a scene . . . hope u all enjoy ! p.s : thank you for showing so much love to jake’s + hee’s scene fics huhu
────────────────────────
it was finally your day off, which meant you and your boyfriend riki would be spending the whole day together. now that your days were filled with college lectures and his was filled with dance practices, the chances of the both of you having a free day on the same day were very low, but never zero.
you both settled on watching a movie because you both agreed neither of you two would’ve been able to focus on anything more. soon it just became white noise as you both of you either scrolled on your phones or just rested your eyes.
your legs were planted on his lap on the other end of the couch when you felt a warmth between your thighs spill.
“shit,” you instinctively whispered, which brought him to cock an eyebrow at you and smile.
“what is it baby?” leaning over towards you, brushing your thigh with his hand.
you blushed at the contact, not because it was new or because you were shy, but because you realized you just started your period. you quickly grabbed the pillow from under your head and placed it above your abdomen, causing him to retract his hand.
a confused expression crossed his face, but didn’t think nothing of it as he hovered over you, brushing your loose hair strands aside. as if he didn’t already make you blush like a maniac, this definitely got something out of you he hadn’t seen in a while.
“you’re so cute when you’re like this,” he said, followed by a kiss, “tell me what’s wrong.”
you shook your head, eye contact still wandering far off to whatever you could focus on.
“not gonna talk to me?” he questioned, but still continued his movements, causing the couch to creek.
he caressed your cheek and made his way down your chin, making you look at him as he planted another kiss. they started to travel down your neck, slow but hungry. his hand then creeped up between the pillow you placed and your clothed warmth, not moving just placing where his hand rested.
you let out a low groan, almost forgetting the situation you were in. you tapped his shoulder and tried prying away from his chest, “wait…riki,” your voice breathy and slurred.
he hummed in respond, still focused on the situation he started — hot wet marks bruising on your neck.
“riki,” you said with a little more clarity this time, because if you couldn’t stop him now you wouldn’t be able to stop him ever.
he sat up, searching your eyes for any discomfort, “sorry did i go too far?” his demeanor changed in an heartbeat.
“no no baby it’s just,” you paused, embarrassed by the thought of it. though you were together for almost a year and nothing knew came out of talking about female hygiene — seeing him after a long time of distance made your tolerance for his presence almost unbearable, causing you to become flushed easily. you’ve forgotten just how much of a flirt your boyfriend really was.
“what is it?” reassured but still searching for any discomfort.
you finally looked up at him, his hair fell perfectly between his brows, shoulders broad and exposed thanks to that black tank top you gave him last christmas, and his lips painted a soft swollen red from the marks he’d left you.
“do you have chocolate?”
he looked at you not saying a word for a second, then smiled, which then turned into an uncontrollable laughter. he giggled, showing his boxy smile, “is that what you’re so worried about?”
you rolled your eyes throwing the pillow at the boy, “whatever, just answer the damn question.”
his laughter lowed to a gentle smile, kissing the peck of your forehead. he hugged you and grabbed a weighted blanket from under the couch, a practiced habit he grew to learn whenever this time of the month came.
he made sure your position was comfortable, tucking the ends of the blanket around your body. he then threw on his grey hoodie and grabbed his keys from the counter.
scenario: ira comes up with a plan to finally bring her friends back together
- ‘,✄ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
WRITTEN
“you ready to go?” heeseung asks as ira, as she unexpectedly buckled her seatbelt and slammed the car door a little too hard. it startled him, causing heeseung to glance at her for a slight second. while observing, he noticed that her eyebrows were furrowed, her cheeks were tinted with a rosey red, and he could tell that she got ready in a rush considering she kept tugging the loose strands of her ponytail.
“you okay?”
“yeah sorry, could we hurry up? I’m afraid my manager is going to yell at me again if im a minute late,” she said, though she felt bad for lying because really her manager adored her and would never raise their tone towards ira. heeseung noticed her eyes gleamed with mischief, preparing for something that was going to come, but he never questioned it.
“oh yeah of course, i’ll try my best,” and with that, he stepped on the gas pedal.
ira’s eyes wandered outside the widows, looking for anything to distract her mind until the time hit three. she kept checking her watch, fiddling with her thumbs, even tapping her exposed knees. she prayed that her plan would work, though she never thought she would find herself in this situation.
the tension felt too thick, too dull, she never knew that a silly little misunderstanding could cause the distance of their falling out. the three of them were her closest friends, mingled through her messy tangled life. being with them was like a breath of fresh air and though she hated to admit it, she wanted to see riki. she wanted to see him be himself again. mai stepping in their lives has brought the both of them light they never thought they needed, especially riki.
heeseung was friendly, getting to know him each time he picked her up to drop her off at work was something she surprisingly looked forward to. though ira didn’t know much about him, he could tell that his friendship with mai was valuable, that it was worth saving. so it was up to her.
her chest felt heavy with each stop light heeseung passed.
after what felt like years, they finally arrived. she stepped out of heeseung’s car, her heart beating faster by the second. heeseung, like the gentleman he is, opened the door for her. she scanned the cafe, her eyes gleaming with hope once she saw riki leaning against the counter on his phone.
heeseung narrowed his eyes, immediately noticing riki. “i thought you said he wasn’t coming to work?”
she smirked, grabbing a hold of his arm, dragging him towards a table. heeseung, being the love struck boy he was, blushed at the sudden touch. she sat him on a chair, turning to riki to do the same. the two boys stared each other down, anger boiling for all the wrong reasons. it was a funny scene, the table consisting of a horrendous stare down and a girl who looks way too happy to be there.
“why is he here?” heeseung and riki say simultaneously, turning to ira, their eyes burning into her soul.
she isn’t bothered — rather she’s extremely entertained. “you’ll see! we aren’t at full attendance yet.”
just then, the bell rang, signifying a new customer. ira didn’t need to look, knowing exactly who walked through that door. she quickly stood up, running towards the one and only mai before she could walk out that door. she paid no attention to mai’s protest, sitting her down in between heeseung and riki. ira felt proud of herself, her plan working.
she crossed her arms, observing the three. they were obviously either angry or extremely uncomfortable. heeseung was the first to speak. “i don’t have time for this.” he prepared to stand up, but, of course, ira didn’t let it happen.
“sit.” ira demanded. her tone was different. mai and heeseung have never heard her talk so seriously. riki, however, knew very well. and he knew to never cross that line. he never wants another black eye ever again.
heeseung immediately sat, his posture straightening in the process.
“how do i put this simply…” she says calmly. out of nowhere, she suddenly slammed her hand on the table, the sound ringing around the cafe. her three friends jumped at the sound, their fear increasing. “get your shit together.”
“you,” she points to riki, “stop being a fucking coward and talk to mai.” she points to heeseung, “you,” then points to mai, “and you. are you really going to let a petty ass argument over something that’s not true ruin over a decade of friendship?”
they look down, and ira sighs, seeing her best friends in such an emotional state. “look. you guys are important to me. and seeing you all break over something so stupid? i couldn’t let it slide. mai, heeseung. your friendship is something i admire. it’s normal for friends to fight, but this? over something that someone said? i don’t know the details and i won’t ask for it, but please, you guys.”
there was silence, no one at the table speaking for at least 5 minutes. mai gulped and turned to heeseung, deciding to speak. “i guess…we said things that we didn’t mean. i was just…hurting. riki ghosting me got me really emotional, so i guess i took it out on you. and i shouldn’t have done that.”
heeseung stayed quiet, longer than he should’ve. ira began to speak. “heeseung.”
“what?” he said. “heeseung.” she said again, but more pressing. they stared at each other, as if they were talking through their minds. he sighed, breaking eye contact and turned to mai.
“i said things that i didn’t mean, too. i was just mad. but…ira’s right. you kinda… mean a lot to me. as a friend. losing you over something stupid kinda…sucked.”
“i never planned on leaving. i was lying when i said that,” mai responded.
ira smiled at the two, their friendship forming once again. she turned to riki who’s head was still down, his hair covering his eyes. “riki.” he looked up, his eyes glassy. he looked miserable and it broke her inside. she tilted her head in mai’s direction, signaling for him to talk to her.
his head turns to mai and his brain malfunctioned. he hasn’t seen her in days. “m-mai..” he stuttered. mai turns, her smile dropped at him. that did not help his confidence.
“i…i’m sorry.”
“for what?”
he gulped, feeling his ears heat up. “i’m sorry for ghosting you. i was…fuck. i was scared. i was scared that i wasn’t good enough for you. i thought heeseung was better than me and i didn’t know what to do. i thought…i thought you liked him more. i’m sorry. for running away.”
“riki, i like you. sure heeseung’s been with me all my life, but it’s you i wanna be with romantically.”
“…really?”
mai chuckled, finally smiling. god, he loved her smile. “yes riki. it’s you i want. don’t listen to that guy at the restaurant.”
ira finally felt light. her friends are smiling once again, so she can smile, too. “okay!” she clapped, “riki and i need to get to work, so see you two later? maybe you guys should hang out again.”
“i’m down! hee?” mai smiles at heeseung’s direction. “yea. sure,” he responded, also smiling.
they walk out the door, bickering and laughing. everything was back to normal. but what she was really happy about was that riki was finally back at work. her labor was finally subtracted by what felt like a billion.
“hey, i’ve been meaning to ask,” riki spoke.
she hummed, putting her apron on.
“that guy…who comes to cafe once in a while. what’s his name?”
“which guy?”
“the one you think is cute. he flirts with you.”
ira blushed, knowing exactly who he’s talking about. “sunghoon?”
“…yea.”
“what about him?”
“what do you see in him?”
she’s not sure why he’s asking such questions. but she doesn’t mind it. “he’s just…nice. i doubt he’d finally ask me out though.”
riki stays quiet. he knew ira has had a thing for sunghoon for a long time, but the day he saw him at the restaurant, he started having doubts. they’ve been in the flirting stage for quite some time, so he didn’t want to ruin it for her. especially since ira hasn’t had a successful relationship in a long time. but the pit in his stomach started to grow larger.
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𝜗ৎ ── when your heavy mornings are filled with reminiscent memories of your ex boyfriend riki
너의 한 조각 . . scene ₊ᰔ ex boyfriend ! riki x reader reminiscing heartbreak mentions of burnout wc658
麦星 ‘s ── library
• mai’s 注記 ── this was the intro to my unfinished riki fic i made last year and you can tell LMAO . . . anyways here’s a depressing drabble to keep you guys on you’re toes
────────────────────────
everyday becomes a battle between what your heart wanted and what your mind knew. you woke up instinctively reaching for the phone on the nightstand beside you, because your body is so used to texting riki goodmorning texts the first thing you woke up. blinking slowly, your eyes adjusting to the bright light shining on your face, secretly hoping there was a text from him.
nothing.
your mind wanders back to riki’s skin, his touch still lingering on yours as your body naturally craved his warmth. his soft hair which used to caress the nape of your neck when he’d gently pressed his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around you. the smell of his grey hoodie that he used to wear whenever you two went on night walks, now folded into a corner of your bedroom, untouched and starting to collect dust. you glanced at it from the bed, memories shooting back as if they happened yesterday.
it’s 6:00am, you had no time for this. you sat up opening the phone to pick your daily playlist that you listened to every morning. stumbling upon shirts and jeans that end up on the floor. you quickly take a shower, change into clothes, then put on light makeup to make yourself look at least a little more put together before going to school.
it all felt too repetitive, mindless routine. ever since you two broke up a month ago, everyday felt more dull without a slight hint of bliss or change. though you weren’t sure if it was better than arguing with riki everyday. there was always some stupid reason either one of you would be upset about, whether it was something you said or he did. you could see it was draining riki’s sense of self. summer days filled with date ideas turned into a battle of who would ignore the other person the longest. moments at school where you’d sneak out of class just to walk through the hallways then later kiss under the bleachers turned into arguments outside on the baseball field. endless nights talking on the phone, sending each other sweet messages turned into bitter petty insults.
he was no longer the person who knew how to comfort your overwhelming thoughts and impulsive behavior, and you were no longer the person that had the ability to stay when he was hurt; which led you to believe that you were the one who could’ve possibly caused this version of the relationship to be the end result. no, you knew you were the one to blame. you couldn’t recall what your last argument was, but just by looking at his teary eyes and your broken sense of self that you could no longer gather, you knew you had no other choice. the two of you had dated for almost two years, january 30th would’ve been the anniversary, which is only three weeks away from today.
it was hard enough to go to school, plastering a smile on your face just so that you wouldn’t look just as pathetic as you did at home. Not to mention you saw him everyday at school. again, all routine.
“im leaving now,” you said loud enough for mom to hear but not loud enough for dad to wake up.
“make sure to bring a jacket, it’s raining.”
tugging on the black suede coat riki bought for you last winter, you resentfully slip my arms through the sleeves making your skin crawl at the thought of him. mom walked you to the door carrying a lunch bag she prepared, waking up at the crack of dawn just so you wouldn’t have to spend money on school lunch
she gave you a reassuring look with her lips lighting pressing against each other, recognizing the coat you haven’t touched in months, “take care of yourself y/n,” planting a kiss on your forehead then handing you the lunch bag.
scenario: a glimpse into riki's mind after the tragic events with mai and that "dumbass jerk", sunghoon . . .
WRITTEN
he couldn’t describe the ache in his chest when he dropped off mai without saying a word. he had everything to say, with nothing to prove but his silence.
riki had stopped coming to work overall, avoiding any possible interaction he might’ve come across with her. it pained him in a way he never really had a feel for prior to meeting her. he thought it was stupid, that it was his fault for letting his feelings go too far before actually knowing her history. he should have known from the start.
he thought to text her back, as any normal human being with common sense would — but his pride, his ego, and his boyish mind told him otherwise. he went with what he did to get his mind off of things that had no business of putting stress on the poor boy: drink.
ignoring the 38 missed calls from ira yelling at him to come to work, 80 spam emails, and of course Mai’s messages, he relentlessly asked sunoo and jake to meet at their usual spot. and to no avail — of course, considering the escapade he caused the last time they went drinking — they declined without a second thought.
there, he found himself at the door of mr. hung’s late hour pub later that night.
“riki! my boy, how’ve you been?” the old man with a pepper shaded beard grinned behind the bar, “haven’t been here in a minute yeah?”
he simply nodded, head low and groaned as he pulled up a chair, “something heavy mr.hung.” the man chuckled, seeing this arrogant boy grow up to be a suitable young man, showing up to his bar late at night, seeing this scene countless times. they’ve become family, and have created too many memories to keep track.
mr.hung poured the only thing he knew that would help, and ironically was the only thing riki asked for whenever he went to go drink at his pub — a hard cold shot of whiskey.
as he took the glass, he drank with one swift motion before setting it down with a sturdy thump. he looked at the boy, slung over the seat with his legs spread on opposite sides of the chair, hair barely touched yet fell so restlessly against his skin.
“It’s a girl huh?”
riki shot a look of realization, but quickly looked away, “what makes you say that?”
he chuckled, “i wasn’t born yesterday, i know when a man is heartbroken.”
his remarks left riki in a scoffed position, not knowing weather to bandage his apparent open wound or give in to the man, proving his point. But if there was one thing about Mr. Hung’s and riki’s relationship, it’s that there was never a moment where words were enough, they understood each other through body language, how the slurred words became an incomprehensible sentence. so he laughed, nudging the man because there were no needs for words in this case, he already knew.
“pass me another shot.”
𓂃₊ ⊹
riki lazily unlocks his apartment door after a long and lonely day. he’s been conflicted for more than he’d like, while on top of that, his friends would rather get run over by the nearest train than to drink with him. he was ready to just lay down and sleep.
he shook his shoes off, but he noticed something different. these aren’t my shoes, he thought. his drunken state led him to believe an intruder was inside his apartment. he grabbed the nearest item he could find, which was a random book he had never read on the counter, and started walking ever so slowly around his home. his eyes turned to his bedroom, the door slightly cracked open.
bingo.
he aggressively kicked the door open, ready to throw the book at the intruder, but he immediately froze, seeing his one and only cousin, unfazed by the book about to be thrown at her, folding his clothes.
“ira, what the fuck are you doing here?” riki says angrily, dropping the book on the floor.
she ignored his question, not looking at him. “what the fuck are you doing not comin to work?”
he dramatically sighed, rubbing his temple with his two fingers. “shut up, my head hurts. your bossy attitude is making it worse.”
ira stopped folding his clothes, narrowing her eyes at him. “did you go drinking again? i told you not to bother mr. hung during late hours, rik.”
riki waved his hand, dismissing her. “chill, i only had a couple drinks.”
“you say that as if we didn’t grow up together. you’re such a bad liar.”
he sat on the bed next to ira, watching her continue to fold his clothes. she would always take care of him, even when they were kids. it made sense since she was 3 years older. he’s not sure how he’d live without her. he sighed, looking down. “look, just give me some time to get my shit together.”
ira chuckled, standing up to place his clothes in his dresser. “tell that to the manager, not me.” once she finished, she turned around observing her younger cousin. “tell me what’s going on, riki.”
he bit his lip, the words daring to come out. but he was too drunk to care about what he says. “i… I’ve never liked someone as much as i like mai. it’s always girls who chase after me.” ira rolled her eyes. “there goes your big ego again.”
she sat down next to him on the bed, trying to observe his expressions. “let me finish,” he paused, fidgeting with his fingers. “i ran because i got scared of the fact that heeseung and mai are always so close, i mean thats not a bad thing it's just… a guy at the restaurant.”
“what guy?”
he scoffed, running his fingers through his hair. “fuck if i know. i just know he goes to the same school as them. anyways, he said something along the lines of thinking her and heeseung have been dating and i just…didn’t know what to do.”
she shook her head, disagreeing. “but they aren’t, and there’s nothing between them. you should know that since she agreed to go on the date you asked her to go out on.”
riki laid down, his arms sprawled on his sheets. “i miss her.”
“then go talk to her.”
“i’m too drunk for this,” he groaned, placing his arm on top of his head, “get out of my apartment.”
“we live in the same complex,” ira deadpanned.
“i’m taking your spare key.”
ira left, leaving riki alone to his thoughts once again. he will talk to her, but not now. not when he’s a ball of emotions.
however, he’s not sure when all of these emotions will calm down.
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