#stariikis

He becomes so vulnerable to the invisible crowd that it hurts you more than it irks you. And sometimes, when confesses struggles even you have never heard from his mouth before, you wonder if you’re not enough for him. Not good enough a listener. Not trustworthy enough for him to confide in. 

How come he only opens up under the pressure of the camera lens?

“Don’t stress out,” you mumble quickly before he presses the red record button on his phone screen. Three simple words and yet they have Riki pausing for a long moment, digesting your words. 

After a while, he nods curtly. “I won’t.” He’s lying through his teeth. But he beckons you closer and as you lean in, he kisses your eyelid. Pulling away, he seems to smile slightly in an effort to coax you into relaxing. As if he wants you to give it up. 

Though the tender action does send a wave of serenity through you, you can’t help but to feel a lingering sense of dread, with questions unanswered running through your mind. When will I get to find out something about him that the fans won’t? Or does he think he should just be honest with everyone at the same time? Is he not conscious of the world being familiar with the very depths of his soul?

Or are you just envious that somebody who isn’t exclusive to him is able to understand him like you do? 

“27 June 2024.” Before you can get lost in your thoughts, Riki starts speaking. You hate with all your heart and soul the exhausted, subdued shadow over his features. He starts talking about their recent concert in Hiroshima — how they hold their Japanese single, ‘Blossom’, close to their hearts; how he’s proud of Jay for pressing through their performance even with an injured knee. 

Then he gets to the hard stuff. 

It’s like he already has one foot out the door when you send him a glare and he ignores it out the corner of his eye. As soon as he opens his mouth again, gaze trailing off to the bottom of the screen, you know it’s coming. The same phrase he likes to repeat over and over again, and then cover up with a ‘but you know, I just love performing in front of you guys.’ 

“I do have some regrets.” 

You hope your glare is like a slap in the face to him. If it’s not, you don’t know what you’re going to do with him. All his following words just seep down the drain. Why does it pain you more than it pains him, to hear the words, ‘I need to work harder’ come out his mouth? Like he genuinely doesn’t see that he’s pushing himself to the limit already? This is exactly why you despise concert season. Coupled with jetlag, the mental form of fatigue seems to strike around these times as does physical, and it’s never good for Riki. 

His words fall on deaf ears. You’re boiling with an inexplicable rage, but it’s the most tame version of the concept of anger.

You just don’t understand, as he stops the recording and turns back to you. You can’t tell if he plain doesn’t get the weight of the situation, or is trying to avoid your gaze solely due to that reason. 

So before he returns to his usual playful self – you can see the light slowly returning to his eyes; he’s about to shove you to the other side of the bed with a snide quip – you grab his wrist and look at him scrutinisingly. 

“Do you mean all those things you said?” You stare at him imploringly in the dim lighting. “Every single one of them?” 

“Do you wish you could say more?” You say breathlessly, desperately looking from eye to eye like they’ll provide all the answers. 

Clearly taken aback, your boyfriend gently pulls his hand from your vice grip. “I mean it,” he murmurs sincerely. “I mean it all. How could I not?” 

Your gaze travels down his neck to the safety-pin necklace he refuses to take off. The meaning behind it is special to him, and likewise, he can’t be seen a day without it. His dedication and sincerity will never be deniable. So why do you feel as if there’s something he’s holding back, not telling you… a truth that he’s altered? 

“There’s nothing more to say?” You press, slightly disappointed because there’s two explanations for this. One, he’s really got nothing left in him to spill, especially not to you. Or two, he just doesn’t want you to know what more he has to say. You can’t decide which’d be worse. 

“...” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He reaches up to fiddle with his necklace as he climbs into bed beside you. “I know. You’re concerned because I hardly open up to you one-on-one. Rather, you have to hear it second-hand when I have ‘conversation’ with the fans.” 

Right. He’s extremely insightful too. How did I forget that about him? 

You just nod, taking care not to look too upset by the situation. 

“Would it be a lame excuse to say that it’s because I don’t trust myself enough?” He whispers as he unzips his patchy blue jacket and unclips his earrings. “To come clean to you, that is.” 

“Yes,” you say instantly, lightheartedly. ‘Okay but seriously, why don’t you trust yourself? Is that the truth, or do you not trust me enough? They’re different, you know.” 

“I know…” he scoots closer to you and lies down on his side, facing you. “To put it simply, I’m scared that what comes out is a sugarcoated version of the truth. When I face you, I don’t want to worry you with… everything. When I face the camera… it’s different. Because what are they going to do about it? There’s nothing they can do to help.” 

You make eye contact with him, and finally a sliver of anxiety crosses his orbs right before your eyes. 

“I don’t like it when you put up a front with me though,” you say. “It worries me even more than you think.” 

“Well, I know now,” he scoffs, moving the hair out your face and looking at you with such a tender look of love that the surroundings all fade away to dust. “I’m sorry. I’ll confide in you better next time… wow that sounds so…” 

He cringes and buries his head into the pillows cutely. A mixture of affection and relief floods over you at this, and you touch his hands in silence. 

When he lifts his face from the pillow, he pouts endearingly and intertwines your fingers together. “Seriously, there’s nobody I trust more than you, okay? Sorry if it didn’t feel that way.” 

So, even though he’s supposed to be getting rest for their upcoming activities, he spends the rest of the night telling you the full, honest truth — and of course he pairs this with a bunch of kisses, teasing remarks and cuddles.

The first thing you notice as she holds open the door for you to step inside is the fact that it’s a pretty modern, fancy restaurant, not typical of a traditional Chinese food chain. What are you expecting though, in Korea of all places? Along the city streets, everything screams modern. 

The second thing you notice when a waiter that has her making heart eyes – gross – leads you to a seat, is how young the waitresses and waiters seem. Some seem shy of eighteen, while some look like plain teenagers coming to earn a little extra pocket money during the holidays. You don’t judge them though; you’d do that too if you had the luxury of time. 

Today’s an exception from having your nose stuck in piles of homework and assigned reading. After all, within the first week of the holidays you finished almost everything, so you’re free to take a break when you wish. Another reason being, you wanted to catch up with Jungyeong. 

But not like this, her eyes shining as she gazes dreamily at a guy whose uniform nametag states, ‘Sim Jaeyun’. 

“Will you stop staring?” You hide behind the menus to save yourself the embarrassment. “I think they’re noticing.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, but the glaze over her eyes doesn’t dissipate. “He’s really cute, though.” 

“Did you bring me here to have a good meal or to stare at delusion three thousand?” You snap, shoving her copy of the menu towards her. She finally rolls her eyes and flips open the menu. 

She points to a steamed fish dish, “This. This is good.” 

And after she recommends practically the whole menu to you, she looks at you expectantly, pressuring you into making a quick decision. You blink, because it all looks pretty appetising to you, and decide on the first fish dish she showed you. Anyway, you’re too indecisive. If you don’t pick now, you might stay the whole night. 

Since Jungyeong has returned to conjuring up fantasies of the waiter Sim Jaeyun across the room, you raise your hand and grab the attention of a young waiter, who seems the same age as you. He appears nervous as he approaches you with a notepad and pen. Is this his first time working here? 

“What can I get you?” He grins awkwardly, and you have to admit. He looks pretty cute trying to maintain professionalism though he looks like he’s crumbling internally. Smiling kindly, you guide him through your order as gently as you can. As you read out your order, he seems to relax progressively, nodding along. 

Just as he’s about to run off to convey your order to the cooks, he bows and thanks you sincerely. For some reason, your stomach flips in excitement at this, lingering tingles in your chest as he darts off. 

Nishimura Riki, read the nametag. He’s Japanese working at a Chinese restaurant in Korea. 

“So,” Jungyeong waggles her finger in front of your face teasingly. “He’s cute, huh?” She drawls, obviously trying to prove her point. 

You don’t buy it. “He is cute,” — you admit, and your friend raises her eyebrows — “but I’m not going to daydream about him the whole time I’m here. Unlike a certain someone…” You reach out to flick her arm amiably. 

Ironically, even though you say this, as Jungyeong starts to ramble about her life recently, your line of vision inevitably travels to the back of the restaurant, where Jaeyun and Riki are chatting. They seem to be quite close, as Jaeyun pats Riki’s back and laughs. Against your will, you’re interested in the way they interact with each other. Scratch that, you’re interested in the way Riki looks when he’s smiling. 

Out of the blue, the young waiter glances up and meets your gaze, just as Jungyeong starts to catch on that you’re not paying attention. 

“Dude, what a hypocrite,” she scoffs, but you ignore her. Riki quirks an eyebrow at you playfully, as if asking you why you’re casually staring at him. You don’t know why but your heart skips a beat. 

For the next five minutes, all you can focus on is the way your cheeks are overwhelmingly warm and probably look a fiery shade of red. 

Even when your food arrives, you feel sick to your stomach and can only bear to have a few bites before clocking out. Jungyeong looks at you, half worried and half with a tilt of the head that asks, is she going crazy? 

Eventually, you have to ask for a takeout container because your friend clearly can’t finish the whole dish by herself. 

You just think that you need to get out of there as soon as possible, so when Riki himself runs over, handing you both a fortune cookie wrapped in plastic, it comes as a shock. His fingers linger over the snack as he passes it to you, and you swear he’s gazing into the depths of your soul. 

Oooookay, this is uncomfortable. Does he want me to open it in front of his face or… is he being creepy? Or — this is where you panic — is he telling me he was also uncomfortable when I was staring at him? Should I apologise? Do I say something? What does he want from me?

Luckily for the overthinker emerging from you, he makes an unwrapping gesture and smiles silently, as if affectiona– okay, that’s too much.

You take the cracker out the wrapper, and snap it in half as quick as you can. Anything to get you out of this awkward situation. 

A glance over the table shows that Jungyeong has opened hers already, and nothing seems to be out of the blue. So what is Riki trying to get at? 

When you tug the slip of paper from the cracker, you don’t know if you go completely pale or grow even redder. 

A phone number in black pen ink has been written over the paper in an evidently rushed manner. 

You look up at the young waiter, who just shrugs and giggles at how clueless you look. How… did he… huh…? 

As you leave the restaurant in a hurry (mostly because Jungyeong is borderline screaming on your behalf), you swear you catch Jaeyun giving Riki a thumbs up in the corner of your eye.

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guys i'm back after like a month of an unofficial hiatus. sorry to leave yall hanging like that! i'll get back to regular updates soon, i promise lawl. hope you didn't forget the plot of yitr...

“Are you going to start your notes or what?” You shove him with a lighthearted tone, barely concealing the exasperation behind your words. “All that talk about wanting to finally get an A but you still keep yapping. About sports, no less.” 

Riki rolls his eyes and mock-salutes in your direction. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Taking a sip of your matcha latte, you sigh resolutely and return to examine various electronic configurations. Perhaps now, Riki will leave you in peace… 

Only five minutes later, you’re snapped out of focus with a sheepish nudge. 

“What’s a moment…” “OH my days Nishimura Riki how can you not know what a moment is that’s like basic physics you’re supposed to have known that since we started chapter TWO.” 

Shrinking under your scoldings, he glances back at his textbook, reads the definition and looks back towards you. “I don’t get it.” 

With another heavy sigh, you scoot closer and attempt to explain as simply as you possibly can. However, he’s deliberately distracting you, with playful caresses through your hair and touches of kisses as smooth as silk on your cheek. You’ve got to be turning a beetroot red, but you ignore the warmth spreading through your cheeks and continue on. 

“Now repeat what I just said to you.” Refusing to give in to his silly antics, you cross your arms and lean back. Swiping the hair his fingers touched, not too long ago, out the way. 

He pouts, knowing him acting cute is your soft spot. “That’s not fair.” 

“Why?” You press, but relent and hunch back over your notes. “You know what, just focus on relearning your balanced forces. Do you remember what the principles of moments even is?” Oh wait, he doesn’t even know what a moment is. The way he blinks once at his textbook and blinks twice your way proves this. 

“At this point, I’m not dead, you’re more cooked than I am. And I am cooked.” 

Gasping scandalously, he whisper shouts, “You’re literally my academic goal, what are you on? I wish I had the motivation you did. Okay, more like I wish I had your grades, but we both know that’s not happening.” 

He gestures to all the bruises he’s obtained over the past week, scratches and wounds that demonstrate how dedicated he is to all the sports he partakes in. They’re his own personal souveniers. Although most fade quickly, some leave scars burning in his skin, but he’s proud of them all even when you express your concern for him. 

He’s always been like that. Dismissive of concerning matters because he enjoys showing people how strong he is. Internally and externally. The complete opposite of him, one Maths question you get wrong and you start questioning the very bane of your existence. 

You fall into silence, looking back at your notes. You have lost track of where Chemistry starts and ends, your paper copy of the periodic table crumpled and defaced from your bursts of frustration. You may not show it, but there’s so much going on in your head it’s hard to escape the fog you’ve mentally put yourself in. With the crazy STEM course you’ve chosen, you know that you’re definitely on the train tracks with a sign pointing towards a crash site. 

Either you shut yourself out and pass with flying colours, or you enjoy life and fail miserably. There’s no in between. Is it so hard to want to maintain a social life and a healthy relationship, while topping your class and achieving high honours? Perhaps it is. 

Noticing your sudden stillness, Riki panics. “You’re stressing out again. Why are you stressing out again? You’re doing well. Well, compared to me. Should I just do bio? Things with numbers are always complicated..” 

You laugh as he looks back at his noteless textbook. 

“Anyway, I think you’re doing just fine.” Riki murmurs, massaging your back with his hand. “Don’t overwork yourself and you’ll be fine. Just like you were, and always will be. Do you want me to test you?” 

“That’d be nice…” You smile, watching his eyes light up a little too eagerly when he closes his textbook. “But you’re just saying that so you don’t have to study anymore, right?”

“No, I swear it’s not because I’m desperate to go. You’re the one who’s closer to him though?” You shake your head and frown in bewilderment. “Fake friend.” 

Riki whips around in his seat. “Pick me!”

”Bad boyfriend!” You erupt into laughter and lunge forward to ruffle his hair. 

Playing along, Riki gets up and pushes you gently away from him. But at the same time his fingers grab ahold of your wrist, holding you close, like he doesn’t really mean it. He’s casting the bait, eyes that look deeply and adoringly into yours glimmering with enthusiasm. 

“You’re taking it to heart. Don’t take it to heart,” he murmurs, and leans in to kiss you, voice dropping down to a low. “Pathological liar.” Before you have time to protest, he giggles, hugging you close as if daring you to spit out another one of your alleged, ‘lies’. 

When you both reach the station, its difficult to see through the sardine-packed crowd of people in front of you. “It… is so crowded,” you tiptoe to be able to whisper in Riki’s ear – and even that’s not enough, he has to lean down with a huff of amusement for you to reach. “Why is it so crowded today?” 

Shrugging his shoulders loosely, Riki slips his hand into yours, squeezing it tight. “You’re the one who wanted to go to this art show.” He mutters quietly. “Kim Sunoo’s, no less. You know we can just ask him to conduct a private show for us?” 

“Is supporting your friends a concept nonexistent to you?” You snap, feigning irritation but responding by rubbing your thumb over his. Your boyfriend pretends to be hurt by this, staggering backwards as much as he can in the crowd. His free hand clutching his chest, the playful atmosphere set by your banter fades when he looks at you. Wearing a gentle smile, he leads you into the train when the doors and gates slide open. 

He manages to secure you both a spot along the wall near the right-hand-side doors. You can tell by the guilt in his eyes that he wants to find you a seat too, but you’re probably going to get dirty looks from the elderlies if you do so. Luckily, he saves you the social torture and doesn’t force you to take a seat. 

The first few stops the train makes are still bearable. Riki is squashed a little too close for comfort at times, caging you in against the wall while you just stare ahead as if nothing’s happening. You ignore the tingles the situations send, all the way from your neurons down to your toes. However, when the crowd dissolves as they alight at their respective stations, you can breathe a sigh of relief. 

Like usual, Riki makes a snide remark about your morning breath (even though you’re quite certain your dental routine is competent), and returns to scroll on his phone. What disheartens you, though, is how genuinely uninterested he seems in Sunoo’s exhibit. And how bored he seems to be, despite being here with you. 

There’s a nonchalant faze across his face as he scrolls social media, leaning in close with a hand adjusting its grip on the grab bar next to you. You tilt your head, chest starting to ache. Does he really not care as much as you’d like to think he does? To not even feel an ounce of excitement in this moment? 

The train screeches to a halt as if agreeing with your intrusive thoughts. There’s still a long way to travel downtown to where the exhibit is held, and unfortunately for you, this is the most crowded station the train has stopped at by far. So many people pour into the carriage that it’s not even five seconds before Riki’s whole body is pressed up against yours. 

He drops the arm holding his phone down to his side. 

People are pushing you on both sides, and suddenly there’s a wave of gratefulness that you’re not stuck in the middle of the carriage. As if your current situation isn’t painful enough. Your boyfriend can’t meet your eyes, and it’s not surprising. With your noses mere inches apart (only because of the height difference), even you, usually assertive and confident, have to look into the distance. 

“Sorry…” Riki says in a hushed tone, moving his lips closer to your ear. His head has practically dropped down onto your shoulder, and you can feel yourself filled with vigorous tremors. He slips his phone into his back pocket, and the hand previously holding it snakes protectively around your waist. You blink up at him, expecting a warm look down, but all you’re met with is narrowed eyes carefully scanning the surroundings. 

His neck still dipped downwards, he hugs you close when the final few people slip into the train. Clearly feeling you shaking, he hums soothingly into your ear, “you’re safe”. “You have me.” “Don’t be too scared.” Anything else he says goes in one ear and goes out the other. 

Because. In such a situation, what would you expect your boyfriend to proceed to do? a), Accept fate and stay in position, b), shyly turn away from the deathly awkwardness, or c), giggle and tilt his head to pepper kisses along your neck? 

Riki chose C. 

He’s so gross, you think, but only when you’re stumbling out the train and running all the way to Sunoo’s exhibit to save yourself from remembering the situation more. Why did he ever do that? I should have shoved him away and called him a pervert and acted as if I didn’t know him. 

What a lie — when he was pressing a final kiss against your cheek your first thought wasn’t even remotely close to wanting to shove him away. Rather, you had pouted, arms wrapped around his neck, because he’s going to have to make up for being both indifferent towards you and making you so late. 

(It is never really his fault.)

thank you for reading! i'm so sorry for the lack of uploads recently, life has just gotten a little bit busier and i finally got a lil break so i decided to write this prompt i thought of a while back!

He parades around as if he’s the most popular boy in the whole school (he probably is), and every day without fail he’ll show up with a new racket, ball or the equipment of whatever his newest obsession is. However, what blows you off the most is the fact that, as your seatmate, he and his friends like to disturb you when you’re just trying to study. 

You would be pouring over your Biology textbooks, desperately trying to cram all sorts of structures into your head, and Riki would bring over his basketball friends. Jake and Heeseung, still in their dirt-scarred, rumpled jerseys, would tease you for just the hope of getting a perfect score for it. 

You could be buried deep in your self-made notes, trying to make sense of equations and funny symbols. Riki would stop Sunghoon on his way back to his seat, figure skates slung over his back before the famous skater’s practice. They would proceed to talk loudly about their plans for the next day. And all you could ever do would be to get out of your seat and leave. Of course, Riki never spared you a look as you left. Or that’s what you thought. 

Yang Jungwon and Kim Sunoo are two of Riki’s more bearable friends. They’re sweet and are close to some of your friends as well. But when they look over and shoot you glances that seem to have hidden messages you can’t decipher… you can only squirm uncomfortably.  

“Riki! Pay attention,” you scolded him one day before the Maths exam, pushing the textbook closer to him. He wouldn’t stop teasing you with insensitive jokes. Part of you wanted to storm up to your head teacher and beg for a seating plan change, but the other part of you was used to his insufferable antics. You just bore with the pain and tried to explain one more time. 

It was enough that you were spending precious time trying to tutor this hopeless boy, who could barely differentiate right from left if you asked him on the spot. But you also had to put up with everything you hated about him slowly turning into things that made you more than okay with his presence hovering over you like a guardian angel. 

The burning sensation of his eyes flickering upwards to look at you as you searched for the words to explain why 5x squared should be brought over to the other side of the equation. The oddly attractive way he clicked and unclicked his pen; a concentrated frown taking over his features as he hesitated to write his answer down. 

That was not all. You were trying to ignore the way his knee knocked slightly against yours as he turned back to his own desk with a short nod. Leaning over the worksheet-cluttered desk, he looked genuinely serious for once. It had been a long time since you saw him like this. Actually, it may have been your first time. 

His hair fell over his eyes as he continued to scribble over his textbook. 

Are you happy now? You asked yourself, as you watched him. He’s finally not trying to bother you, or distract you from your studies, or… 

He chewed on his lower lip, tilting his head to the side and staring at the question as if it would give him the answer he needed. At this, you shivered, because this side of Riki was so foreign to you. It was so unfamiliar that you did not feel comfortable. Because why would Riki, with a bunch of rowdy, carefree friends from his dance club, ever turn to a life of books? Even you, who broke down at the first glance of a C grade, had accepted that it’s a sad life. 

When Sunoo walked past your conjoined tables just a few minutes before the bell rang, he shot you a smug look. It sent a small shudder down your spine – something really was up that day. But as you did everything that happened in school, you ignored it and stood up promptly to lead the class in greeting the teachers. 

Now, although it’s an unknown concept to you, you and him are on the borderline definition of friends. You may have sworn deep inside your heart to hate him till the end of time, with his arrogant airs and his constant over-the-top quips. But beneath the careless exterior lays a young boy who just wants to appear older than he actually is. 

At eleven in the night, as you both burned the midnight oil studying for an exam the next day, he quietly confessed that more than anything, he just wanted to look cool. Like his Heeseung hyung who always seemed to ace anything he tried. Like his Jay hyung who was such an inspiration and influence to his style. Like his Jake, Sunghoon and Jungwon hyungs, who were pros in their own sports. Like his Sunoo hyung, who always knew just what to say and how to say it. 

And when you looked up from your messy notes, heart wrenching upon hearing these words coming from someone you hated for the longest time, you could only see hints of sadness dotting his eyes. 

The boy who had utterly ruined your first impression of him by bumping into you without apologising. In a haste to receive the football, he darted in front of you and had you sent to the nurse’s during your PE lesson. The next time you saw him after that was a shy peek of his head into the sick bay. The apology note he wrote was promptly torn up into a million pieces for the trash. 

This boy was struggling in his own ways. He wasn’t untidy and disorganised. He was trying his very hardest to manage all the pieces of work he had overdue and unfinished. The boy you believed used his popularity and luck to squeeze his way into the class. His hard work and efforts were and are still easily commendable. 

Perhaps it’s the reason why teachers are more lenient on him not submitting homework. Maybe it’s why they seem to give him special treatment after he returns from a competition, sometimes victorious and sometimes defeated. 

Today, it’s another late night call for both of your Chemistry exams tomorrow morning. On the other end of the call, Riki is silent – all you can hear are the scratches of graphite probably calculating some form of mass. You look up at your computer screen to check in on him, knowing that today he lost a match as the centre. It is probably the sportsman’s equivalent to failing a subject you normally excel at. 

A sigh leaves him every once in a while, and a hint of blue indicating sound coming from the call flickers in your periphery. At this rate, you can’t focus on your work. You’re scared to ask and at the same time you’re scared to stay quiet. 

“... Are you okay?” you ask tentatively, reaching out to adjust the volume. When Riki doesn’t answer for a few moments, your stomach twists into a knot so tight you feel like choking. 

“I’m fine,” he finally answers, quietly, so soft you can barely hear him. He doesn’t look up from his worksheets, but his shoulders remain slumped and he can’t even meet your eyes for a second. He’s clearly lying and as usual, going to cover it up with a jocular facade. 

“Oh my gosh, yn,” he mutters on cue, letting out a huff of forced laughter. “I think I’m going to fail if you don’t help me.” 

He’s trying to brush it off. You know. You’ve been in his shoes before, in a different situation and circumstance. And the feeling of being at the lowest of lowests is not a pleasant one. “Riki…”

The boy’s smile instantly fades and his gaze darts to the side. “Right. Sorry. Um, I didn’t play very well today.” 

There it is. “Let yourself have a break. You know that you’re doing your best, right?” 

Never in a million years would the you at the start of the year imagine that you would be uttering these words to your seatmate. Sincerely, and you truly mean it. You would never have thought your heart would ache to make his tattered and torn one whole. 

“Right.” With the weight of one word hanging over both your shoulders, you get the feeling that he has more to say that he ultimately never will. “Thanks.” 

You offer him a slight, sad smile in return. After a while of studying and comforting him, you shut off your lamp and bid him goodbye whilst telling him he probably needs to get some rest for tomorrow. The memory of him returning your smile boxily still lingers after you shut down your computer and leave your room. You hate him so much. You hate him for making you feel like you’re not alone in this world. You hate that you see yourself in him and that he makes you feel seen, validated, real…

The next day, you walk up to your seats at the back of the classroom. Surprisingly, Riki’s sitting there before you are, an unusual sight especially since he normally comes in hours late after games. He’s pouring over his own Chemistry notes, the first you’ve ever seen. His handwriting is messy in the pretty kind of way, lacing over the small pages. 

“Riki,” you call him softly, to get his attention. He looks up at you, eyes rounded cutely, and your heart does a small flutter. “Here, this is for you. Are you feeling better?” 

He blinks rapidly as you pull out a small goody bag filled with snacks and candies. And at the bottom, although he doesn’t see it yet, is a note that you’ve poured your heart and soul into. It sounds like a well-obscured confession, and maybe to him it may be, but it’s a thank you for being in my life. Thank you for being here even though I know you probably don’t want to.

Why does he look like he’s never been gifted anything before? His cheeks go red and he looks at you with the happiness of a toddler. Eyes shimmering in the dawn light, he grins. “Thank you.” 

For a moment, the empty classroom goes silent. With a quarter an hour to seven, your classmates are going to start coming in soon, to collectively mug and cry over Chemistry. So before that happens, you clap your hands and point at the bag. 

“Open it now! And read what’s inside!” You babble, taking a seat beside him. Your knees touch again, and he seems to be reading your whole face with his eyes alone, but the adrenaline has you fearless for once. 

He slowly begins to unfold the note you hid at the bottom, an uncertain and suspicious frown on his face. But underneath it, you just know his heart is beating as hard as yours is. As if the anticipation is contagious – or you’re simply an expert empath.

dear riki,

i hate you. 

yes, you read that right. i despise you with every fibre of my being. i can’t take your presence beside me in class, ticking me off with every smart remark you make in the middle of math. i can’t take the way you look at me with hopeless defeat or arrogant victory when you get back from any one of the many sports you play. i hate how talented you are, how cool you seem to me, how much you remind me of me when you tell me what’s on your mind. 

because i worked so hard to get into this class and worked so hard for a reputation of being the best student leader and the smartest girl in school. and you – you seemed not to work at all. you would walk into this classroom like you owned it. and i hated it. 

until i started to like it. 

i liked the way you smiled. i liked the way you teased me. i liked the way you rolled your eyes when you saw me fretting over physics yet again. what made me change my mind, you ask? well, a small glimpse into your life shows me you do work hard. you probably work twice as hard as i ever can and will. i like that. 

and as much as i never say it, i like you. 

When Riki’s eyes reach the bottom of the square-shaped paper, you see him start to tear like never before. It scares you to the core. You have never seen him so emotional. 

“You’re joking,” he laughs boyishly, running a hand through his hair and looking at you. Is this the first time you have seen his cheeks so rosy and vibrant, the first time you’ve seen his eyes squinted in such joy? “You are joking right now.”

“I’m not,” you smile back, “rea–” 

And he interrupts you by leaning in and kissing you, sweet and gentle and shy just like all the other times he’s ever interacted with you. He gets up from his seat and leans on the back of yours for support. You can feel his smile against your lips, genuine and real for the first time in forever. It feels new yet it feels like solace. 

“You’re the class president,” he whispers in the intimacy of both your gazes. So close yet so out of reach. His hands shake and he cradles the top of your head hesitantly. “and I’m the boy who does anything but study. Why me?”

You hum and shrug your shoulders. “You’re the sportiest boy I know, and all I ever do is study so I can be the top student. Right back at you.” 

The giggle Riki lets out before he leans in and kisses you again will remain forever engrained in your mind. 

“i love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

thank you for reading! please please please do send me feedback and share your opinions! i would love to hear you guys in my asks n dms as well ;) have a good day everyone!

Date, date, date… it’s all Jungwon’s fans can think about. Because of their influence, it’s all you can think about too. It doesn’t mean you don’t feel guilty when the thought of Jungwon taking you out crosses your mind, though. It’s like you’re desperate, or something. The beginning of a scowl prods at your lips – at fourteen, you vowed never to be the desperate one, after comforting your best friend through a difficult break-up. 

Sneaking a glance down at his initials on your wrist, you start to contemplate getting up and going for dance practice with your trainee friends instead. Oh, the scolding you’ll give Jungwon when he finally answers your texts… he’s going to wish he never even said hello to you, that first day when you showed up to the company, freshly fifteen. What kind of stupid reason for being tardy will he give this time, you wonder? 

Just as you’ve given up on waiting for him and started to get ready to leave, thunder rumbles loudly outside. Whipping your head around to check the only window in the quaint café, your heart sinks. Raindrops strike the clouded glass, each one a representation of the shards of panic stabbing you. 

How are you going to leave now? You’re never going to listen to the morning radio’s weather forecasts anymore. Next time, you’ll be guaranteed to bring a damn umbrella around. This day isn’t going very well for you, is it? 

While you’re sulking, slumped over your table-for-two hopelessly, you don’t notice Jungwon bursting through the door and coming up to you. He is completely drenched from head to toe, brown cotton trench coat not doing much to block out the rain. A small puddle of wetness forms on your shirt as he taps your shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly when you turn your head in confusion. “The line at the bakery was super long.” 

You blink at him, dumbfounded, as he hands you a huge plastic bag with assorted breads. A couple beads of rain drip down the sides. 

“I’m really craving bread,” you whine, flopping down onto the wooden ground during one of your breaks. Jungwon pulls the beanie off his head and sits down beside you with a tiny grunt. 

“Bread? That’s a really weird craving,” he teases you, craning his neck to seek agreement from Sunoo and Riki, who’ve joined you that day for dance practice. They simultaneously glare daggers at Jungwon as if saying they don’t want to get involved, and so Jungwon turns his attention back to you. “What kind of bread, though?” 

Is what he asks innocently, as if he hasn’t just taunted you for wanting to eat it. 

“The one with strawberry paste inside. I haven’t tried it myself, but I heard it’s super go-” 

“IT REALLY IS SUPER GOOD!” Sunoo slides over and interrupts, truly the foodie of his group. “You should try the blueberry paste one too! And the new one where they put raspberry bits into the dough…” 

You snap out of the memory and unwrap the plastic bag, checking what’s inside. Sunoo’s list of recommendations are all inside, and some extras that Jungwon knows are your favourites. It’s so out of the blue and sweet of him that it makes you laugh. 

“This is why you’re late, isn’t it?” You mutter, feigning annoyance. 

He looks down at his shoes, looking ashamed. “Maybe. Sorry if they’re soggy. I didn’t have an umbrella because I believed the stupid weather forecast this morning.” And he looks utterly dejected about it.

How cute. 

“It’s okay,” you pull him into a gentle hug, patting his back soothingly. “It’s the thought that counts.” 

Take that, delusionalists in the crowd here. Jungwon is mine! 

“But…” Jungwon moves his head closer to your ear, and you get the eerie feeling something is coming. You’re proved correct as he hesitates, then whispers lowly, “but now how am I going to properly ask you out?” 

You quickly look up from your phone to cross the road, slowly growing tired of the repetitive posts you’re viewing. 

But you’re pretty much used to it. Some of Sunoo’s fans have asked you whether or not you get jealous often, and you can safely (and honestly) say that you don’t. They look at you disbelievingly, but don’t question you further. They just slink back into the crowd, desperate for a glimpse of their idol. 

You can’t blame them for being curious. 

What you don’t ask them, however, even though you’re sorely tempted to, is, ‘why would I ever feel jealous?’ What’s there to be jealous about when Sunoo gives you morning kisses that only you receive? Why would you be overcome with envy seeing lame high-fives when you’re getting daily welcome-home hugs? 

Don’t you get the best treatment out of all of them? Even though sometimes you do wish you could have the same memory, a moment you'll be able to cherish in your mind forever.

You run towards where the crowd congregates, screams and whistles for all the members arising from the hundreds of fans. A few brightly coloured heads at the edge of the crowd helps you distinguish where the members are. Rushing forward with only one purpose (to greet all the members, not just Sunoo, of course!), you squeeze past all the people. You don’t bother to wave towards all the fans who recognise you. 

“Kim Sunoo!” You scream, probably blending in with all his fangirls when you reach the barricade and lean against it. You whip your phone out to capture this moment, whether he notices you or not, because all you want is to have your very own video to post, to caption with the tag “‘Kim Sunoo noticed me!”

He’s busy on the other side of the street, forming hand-hearts with dazed teenagers and waving cheerily at their general crowd. You’re starting to lose hope in him even seeing you, but when he turns around to check in on your side of the road, his eyes sparkle when they meet yours. He pretends not to act pleasantly surprised when you beckon him over.

“My girl,” he whispers happily, ignoring the collective gasp from everyone around you as he pulls you in and kisses your cheek. Heart starting to race, your cheeks grow warm where he kissed you, and you can’t help but gaze starstruck after him as he walks off, giggling teasingly your way.

And you capture it all on camera – granted, it’s most likely angled awkwardly towards the ground – but at least now you can caption a post with ‘My boyfriend noticed me!’. A beautiful, lasting memory that’s purely yours.

You could be so tired that colourful spirals would blur your vision. So utterly lost in your own little brain that you start to lose parts of yourself. You lose the ability to feel, to reach out and grab your emotions like they’re tangible objects you can manoeuvre with your bare hands. 

Then, Riki would reach out and sweep you into an embrace that solely aims to comfort. With a hug so tight you forget why your head is even spinning anymore. A soft kiss would caress your temple and prevent you from slipping further into crazed oblivion. 

It’s no different this time, as a blank stare graces your face and you mindlessly drop your bag onto the floor. And then collapse right beside it. The tears you’ve been holding back are finally given permission to break free. Riki, who immediately looked up in excitement the moment you got home, dropped everything and came to your side. 

You can’t take it anymore. Your hands shake and you think you’re explaining what’s happened to your boyfriend, but you’re probably just spewing incomprehensible gibberish. Your whole face feels so repulsive and so soaked as he brings your head close to his chest. His lips are moving along your ear, and you can’t tell whether he’s saying anything or not. 

When you finally come down, breaths so heavy they seem to search for no answer, Riki angles your head towards him. The way so much emotion seeps into his gaze should make you dissolve into even more tears. But you just hold his stare, seeking a validation you can’t explain in words. With a helplessness that is so intense you can’t describe it. 

It’s not working. Nothing is. An inky blotch of pain forms in your chest. Riki isn’t helping anymore, and without his help, you’re nothing. You’re absolutely useless. 

Feeling translucent like a ghost, hazy and penetrable but still oh, so alive, you can sense the energy draining from your body. Slumping over Riki’s shoulder, you try and fail to catch your breath. How could you do this to yourself? Just a while back you promised yourself that you would heal. You wouldn’t fall into the demon’s trap again, you wouldn’t plummet into the depths of your struggles. Most importantly, you wouldn’t burden Riki to take care of you instead of you managing yourself. 

You know he, too, has been through a lot. So much more than he would ever dare to admit. But the moment you saw him curl into himself, in an almost foetal position, in the middle of the dance studio… it’s enough for your own heart to break on his behalf.

His voice faltering as he mutters, “It’s never good enough…” 

It’s a memory you would never want to relive. It’s a reminder that replays like a beloved childhood movie, over and over again, every single time your body dares to succumb to the numbness. How dare you. How dare you feel this kind of hurt when Riki has been through so much more than you have? Your vision blurs over once more like you’re cross-eyed. 

“You’re enough,” Riki whispers, scooting away so you can look at him directly. Genuity lies in his gaze. It gives you a flicker of hope. A flame that hopefully will eventually start to spread. “You’re always enough.” 

It sounds like he’s saying it from experience, and it pains you even more at the thought. 

But you slowly feel yourself coming back to earth. Coming back into his arms. Nishimura Riki’s arms. He repeats it like a spell, like an incantation he has to recite for you to get it in your head. “You’re good enough for me.” 

Surprisingly, after he drops a kiss to your neck and rests his head on your shoulder, you can feel wet patches starting to dot your clothes. Riki, your precious boy, who you’d give the world for, and vice versa. 

He will never know how many times he’s saved you from the utter brink of death.

thank you for reading! even though i poured out my heart into this i'm not very satisfied and i don't really know how to be ! but i'll post it anyway and see how it does (dont flop im begging....)

remember to check out you in the rain , a ni-ki fic MUCH fluffier and cuter than this one. it's for all the taylor stans and wifty fans <3