#nishimura

“Deadline?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, voice a little raspy like he’d been recording.

“Group project from hell. I’m one ‘can you send the file’ away from throwing my laptop out the window.”

He stepped aside without saying much, letting you in.

That was the first time you actually hung out in his apartment instead of just awkward hallway nods and small talks. His place smelled like vanilla candles mixed with whatever cologne he wears that makes your brain short-circuit. There were monitors glowing in the corner — his mini home studio setup — and you could hear a beat looping faintly.

You ended up on his couch with your laptop while he went back to tweaking something. Two hours later your assignment was submitted, you were both eating instant ramen like it was gourmet, and the conversation had slid from “what’s your major” to “be honest, how many girls have you had in here at 3am?”

Niki laughed, leaning back with that signature smirk, legs spread casually. “None. I don’t bring people here. Too messy.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “So I’m the exception?”

“You’re the neighbor who looks cute when she’s stressed and shows up in fuzzy socks. Different category.”

The vibe shifted hard after that. The air got thicker. You blamed the late hour and the way his eyes kept drifting to your bare legs every time you moved on the couch.

You don’t remember who moved first.

One minute you were teasing him about the expensive mic setup in the corner, the next you were in his lap, hoodie pushed up, his hands gripping your thighs like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

“Been wanting to do this since you knocked this late on my door,” he muttered against your neck, voice low. “You walking around in these tiny shorts ? Straight up torture.”

You laughed breathlessly, fingers threading through his damp hair. “Torture? Dramatic much?”

“Shut up,” he grinned, but it melted into a groan when you rolled your hips against him.

He didn’t rush it. Niki took his time peeling your clothes off like he was savoring every second. When he had you on the small studio couch, he dropped to his knees, hands spreading your thighs while the Limbo instrumental he’d been recording earlier still played softly in the background.

“Look at me,” he said, eyes dark as he pressed his mouth to you. The first lick had your back arching, hand flying to his hair. He hummed against you, the vibration making your toes curl.

“Ow— riki—”

He pulled back just enough to smirk. “Sound even better than the ad-libs I was recording earlier.”

By the time he stood up and finally pushed inside you, slow and deep, both of you were breathing hard. The mirror on the studio wall caught everything — the way his hand gripped your hip, the way your mouth fell open with every thrust, sweat making your skin glow under the dim monitor lights.

He kept the Limbo beat playing low, the rhythm matching the way his hips moved. “Been thinking about you every time I record in here," he admitted, voice rough as he went deeper. “Now every time I play this track I’m gonna remember how you feel.”

You came hard the first time with his fingers circling your clit and his mouth on your neck. He flipped you for the second round, bending you over the desk gently, the Limbo instrumental still looping like background music to your moans.

When he finally finished, buried deep inside you, whispering your name like it was a secret, the studio fell quiet except for your heavy breathing.

Niki pulled you against his chest on the couch, arms wrapped around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. His forehead pressed to yours, that soft side coming out after how intense it got.

“You staying or you sneaking back like this didn’t just happen?” he asked, half-teasing but you could hear he wanted you to stay.

You snorted lightly, poking his side. “My legs are jelly, dude. I’m not moving.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your messy hair. “Good. ‘Cause i still need to rerecord that bridge on Limbo tomorrow. Might need your opinion.”

You smiled against his chest, the some music faintly restarting in the background.

For once, your dead wifi felt like the best thing that ever happened.