#bf fnf

was thinking abt when ppl were doing edits of the art from the pitstop trailer w/ their own designs. ignore that im a year late to joining in ok!!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ pairing: ni-ki x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ -angst/fluff

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the moonlight is sharp, a cold silvery blade cutting through the gap in the blinds and landing across the empty side of the bed.

it’s the kind of night that feels like it’s made of glass and static.

you’re staring at the digital clock on the bedside table, the red numbers bleeding into the darkness as they tick past 3:00 am. you hear the front door click shut, the sound echoing through the hollow hallway like a finality you aren't ready to face.

a few moments later, the bedroom door creaks open. you don't move, keeping your back turned and your breathing shallow, pretending to be lost in a sleep that hasn't come for hours. you listen to the familiar, tired rhythm of his movements. the rustle of his bag being dropped, the heavy thud of his sneakers hitting the floor. the mattress shifts, a heavy sigh breaking the silence. it’s not the warm, inviting weight you used to crave; now it just feels like distance.

you can feel riki sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. he doesn’t reach out. there is only the scent of the practice room, stale sweat and cold air clinging to him like a second skin. the silence between you is heavy with the grit of the last three days. there was no blowout fight, just a series of sharp clipped sentences and him retreating further into the studio until he became a ghost in this apartment.

"riki," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "are you even here?"

he doesn't answer at first. he just sits there, his head hanging low, his large hands resting limp on his knees. he looks smaller than usual, the bravado of the stage stripped away by the shadows. he isn't the type to pour his heart out or explain the exact moment the stress became too much to carry home. finally, he moves. he doesn't say he’s sorry. not with words. instead, he just falls back onto the bed, crawling toward you in the dark.

he doesn't look you in the eye. instead, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his cold nose pressing against your warm skin. he stays like that for a long time, just breathing you in, his hands fumbling to find yours under the duvet. when he finally finds your fingers he interlocks them with his, squeezing so tight his knuckles go white.

"it's just a lot," he mumbles, the words muffled against your skin. it’s the most you’re going to get, the only admission that the pressure had made him shut down. "everything is just... a lot right now."

he doesn't have a grand apology, but he pulls your joined hands up to his lips, lingering there for a beat too long. it’s his way of saying i'm back, even if he doesn't know how to say i'm sorry. he begins to make it up to you in the way he knows best: proximity. he drags you closer until your back is flush against his chest, his long limbs hooking around you like he’s anchoring himself to the present.

he reaches out and clicks off the digital clock as if stopping the time will stop the world from demanding anything else from him. "stay like this," he whispers, his voice dropping into that deep, sleepy register. he spends the rest of the night refusing to let go. every time you shift, his grip tightens instinctively. he’s not talking about the schedule or the arguments. he’s just there, his heartbeat a steady, grounding thrum against your shoulder blade.

it isn't a perfect fix, but as he nudges his face into your hair and finally lets out a relaxed sigh the room stops feeling like a cage. with the moon finally fading and the quiet weight of him holding you together, you realize that for riki, this is him opening every door he has. he's trying. for you.

im so scared to post this im not used to drawing such a fluffy thinggg fuuuuuuck