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May 14

◟♯ . / fwb!riki 𝝌 f!reader !

─── Y/N and Ni-ki have been trapped in a casual arrangement since she said yes to his half-joking offer months ago. She fell for him the first time they met on their college rooftop, but he keeps her at arm's length — close enough for convenience, far enough to never call it anything real. Now she's caught between wanting more and pretending she doesn't, while he runs hot and cold in ways that feel less like indifference and more like fear.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : college AU, angst, friends with benefits, toxic situationship, smut (mdni), porn with plot 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : fuckboy!riki, swearing, smoking, mention of weed, alcohol, kissing (a lot during sex), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, fingering, mention of gun shooting, mention of drugs, ni-ki has a bad relationship with his parents, “when it’s good it’s really good, when it’s bad it’s really bad” type of relationship 𝐰𝐜 : 13.1k

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ── (no specific order, i recommend listening to it while reading)

♪ DIE FOR ME - Chase Atlantic ♪ Issues - Julia Michaels ♪ THINGS AND SUCH - PARTYNEXTDOOR ♪ Boyfriend- Ariana Grande ft. Social House ♪ So High - Doja Cat ♪ Right My Wrongs - Bryson Tiller ♪ Come & See Me - PARTYNEXTDOOR ft. Drake ♪ N 2 Deep - Drake ft. Future ♪ I NEED U - BTS ♪ Casual - Doja Cat ♪ Resentment - PARTYNEXTDOOR ♪ Been Like This - Doja Cat ♪ TBH - PARTYNEXTDOOR ♪ Cinderella - Mac Miller ft. Ty Dolla $ign

note : I was inspired by one of my experiences with an ex of mine lol (i was the biggest bird of the flock, and yes i was exactly acting like Y/N) y’all are going to hate me, I can feel it. Enjoyyyy :)

You push through the door, laptop bag sliding off your shoulder, already mentally clocking out of the first lecture before it's even started.

You’re so focused on going to your lecture that you nearly collide with someone.

Ni-ki is always recognizable through his scent most of the time, always that faint coffee smell to hide whatever he smoked on the drive over. His hand shoots out to hold something up between your faces. A small black clip. You spent 10 minutes looking for it yesterday with the little crack in the plastic from when you dropped it in your shower not so long ago.

"You left this," he says flatly.

Two days ago. You remember exactly where you left it ; on his nightstand, next to the empty can of soda and your phone that he'd moved so it wouldn't fall off the edge. He kept it in his pocket like a psychopath until now.

You take it. Your fingers brush his.

"Thanks," you say, because what else is there.

He's already stepping around you, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, heading to the opposite direction of every single one of his classes. You watch the back of his hoodie disappear around the corner.

Jess is already in your usual seats, two rows from the back, her energy drink sweating onto her notebook. She clocks your face the second you sit down.

"God, you look terrified," she says. "What happened?"

You set the clip on the desk. "Ni-ki just returned my hair clip."

Jess's eyebrows go up. She knows, not everything, but enough to figure out your state. She knows you go over there and she knows you don't talk about it.

"And how was that exchange ?"

"Normal, I guess." You pull out your laptop, even though you know you're not going to take notes. "He said 'you left this' and walked away."

"Romantic."

"Right."

She's quiet for a bit, then leans closer, lowering her voice even though no one near you is paying attention. "Okay, real question. Are you, like... keeping track? I mean, number-wise."

You frown. "Like...body counts?"

"Yeah. Like, since this whole thing started. Are you even seeing other people? Are you counting repeats? Because I've been thinking about it and I genuinely don't know what the etiquette is."

"I don't think there is an etiquette for whatever this is." You tap your fingernail against the desk. "And no, I'm not counting anything."

"You should. For records, at least." She grins, but it fades when you don't mirror it. "Fine. Do you want to count him? Like, in a way that means something?"

The professor walks in and you watch the projector screen flicker to life.

"I don't know," you say. And that's the worst part, you don't know if you want him to mean something or if you just want to stop wanting it so badly. The line between the two has been blurred for months now.

Jess sighs. "Boys are so stupid, like actually brain-dead. I swear my ex thought the clit wasn’t a real thing."

That pulls a laugh out of you, tired and a little rough. "He wasn't that bad."

"Your bar is in hell as I can see."

The lecture starts. You zone out ten minutes in, thumb moving over the crack in your hair clip. He kept it in his pocket for two days. You don't know what that means and you're probably not supposed to know.

It's fine. You'll text him tonight. He'll reply with one word or nothing at all. And you'll go over anyway. Because that's what this is.

───

Break time hits and the courtyard is a mess. You find a spot at one of the picnic tables near the old oak tree, Jess refuses to sit at because she says it gives her anxiety. You don’t mind it. It’s farther from the main walkway, which means fewer people trying to make small talk.

Jess is already inside the cafeteria buying a pastry that she kept talking about during the whole lecture, so you’re alone for a minute, scrolling on your phone without really focusing on anything. The sun is too bright and the coffee you had earlier is making your hands feel jittery. You can’t stop thinking about the way Ni-ki held out that hair clip this morning like it was nothing.

You look up because something in your peripheral shifts, and there he is. Two tables over, diagonal across the courtyard, sitting with Jay and Jungwon and another guy you don’t recognize. He’s not paying attention to whatever Jay is saying ; his elbow is propped on the table, chin resting on his knuckles, and he’s looking directly at you.

You hold eye contact because looking away first feels like losing a battle you didn't even initiate.

He tilts his head slightly, lazy but intentional, and mouths something slowly so you catch every syllable: "My place. After classes?"

Sounds like it’s a statement dressed up like one.

You nod once, enough for him to catch it.

He smiles but not a big one, it's a twitch at the corner of his mouth, making it looks like he’s amused by the whole thing, you just confirmed something he already knew. Afterwards, he turns back to his friends like nothing happened, reaching over to steal Jay’s fries without looking at you again.

Oh you hate what you just felt at that exact moment.

Jess drops into the seat across from you a moment later, biting into a croissant that’s shedding crumbs everywhere. “Okay, so I have a chem lab at 2 and then I’m free,” she says, talking around the pastry. “You wanna grab food after? There's that new Thai place that opened and I’ve been thinking about their spring rolls for days.”

You blink at her, still half-focused on the back of Ni-ki’s hoodie across the courtyard.

“Damn, the wind must be really strong today.”

“Sorry. What?”

“Thai place after classes. You in or not?”

You hesitate for a beat too long and Jess’s eyes narrow.

“Oh Lord,” she says slowly, setting down her croissant. “You’re not free, are you?”

You pick at a splinter on the table. “Not tonight.”

“Let me guess.” She leans forward. “Tall and emotionally unavailable.”

“Is that how you see him?”

“Am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, and she groans into her hands.

“You’re actually killing me,” she says. “One day, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been in a situationship with a guy who communicates exclusively through neutral face expressions.”

“He talked to me this morning.”

“He returned your hair clip, that’s not talking. Girl, come on.”

You laugh despite yourself, kicking her foot under the table. “Just text me the menu and I’ll go with you next week.”

She sighs heavily as she picks her croissant back up. “Fine. But you owe me details. Not the weird ones, i don't want to know how he fucks. I just want to know...like his last name. I don’t even know his last name.”

You look back toward the other table. Ni-ki is laughing at something Jungwon said, head tipped back slightly, and for a second he looks younger than 21, less like the version of him that presses you against his mattress and more like the version that offered you a cigarette on a rooftop when you were both strangers.

You still don’t know his last name either.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Me neither.”

───

The last class of the day finally ends. By the time the professor dismisses you, the sun has already set down, letting the sky being painted in purple and orange shades.

You don't rush to the parking lot. Something about walking too fast feels like admitting out loud that seeing him was the only thing you were looking forward to the whole day. Which it was.

The lot is mostly empty now, most students cleared out ten minutes ago, desperate to escape. Your sneakers scrape against the concrete as you weave between rows of beat-up sedans and the occasional overcompensating truck. And you finally spot his car.

His black Camaro is parked in the far corner, the one closest to the exit, because of course he needs a quick getaway. The engine is already running ; you can tell by the faint exhaust curling from the back ; and through the windshield you can see him slouched in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the wheel.

His head is tilted down, probably at his phone, and for a second you think about turning around and walking away just to see how long it would take him to notice. But your feet keep moving because you're pathetic like that.

You pull open the passenger door and the warmth hits you immediately ; he always runs the heat even when it's not that cold outside. The leather seat creaks under you as you slide in, tossing your bag between your feet.

Ni-ki doesn't look up right away as he finishes typing something, locks his phone, and only then turns his head toward you.

"You took forever," he says.

"Class ran late."

He hums, unconvinced, but he doesn't push it. He reaches over and pulls your seatbelt across you, not because he's being sweet, but because he's watched you forget it three times now and he's tired of the car beeping.

His knuckles brush your collarbone.

He puts the car in reverse and backs out without checking his blind spot, which should terrify you but doesn't anymore. The parking lot exits onto a side street and then he's merging into traffic, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh to some imaginary song.

You watch his profile. The way his jaw is set, the tiny scar near his eyebrow he's never explained, the way his hoodie sleeve falls just right on his wrist.

"So," you say, because sitting in total silence for the whole drive feels like something a hostage would do. "You had a good day?"

He glances at you, and there's something almost amused in his expression. "You don't care about my day."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't." He says it simply, he obviously assumes that you don't actually care about his day because you're only here for one reason. And the worst part is he's not wrong, or maybe he is wrong and you just haven't figured out how to prove it yet.

You look out the window instead. The buildings blur past, a laundromat, a bodega with a faded sign, a bus stop with one tired-looking person waiting. Just normal things.

After a minute, Ni-ki's hand leaves the wheel and lands on your thigh, resting there.

The car keeps moving.

───

His house is too big for one person. That's the same thing you think every time you walk through the front door, and tonight is no different. The entryway alone could fit your entire apartment, and the ceilings are so high you get a little neck cramp looking up at the chandelier that probably costs more than your tuition.

Ni-ki doesn't bother with the lights. He hits a switch near the door and the living room floods with warm overhead light, revealing a space that looks like something out of a magazine ; leather couches, a marble coffee table that's definitely never seen a coffee ring, floor-to-ceiling windows that face a backyard you've only seen once in the dark. Everything is clean.

He kicks off his shoes by the door and you do the same, lining your sneakers up next to his like a silent compromise between his mess and yours.

You're still shrugging off your jacket when he drops onto the massive sectional couch, sprawling across it like a cat going for a nap. His hoodie rides up slightly and you look away because looking at him in that way would feel criminal.

"So," he says, drawing the word out, and there's something in his voice that makes you pause mid-fold of your jacket. "We've done the bed. We've done the floor. We've done the kitchen counter that one time." He tilts his head against the cushion, eyes tracking you across the room. "What about the couch?"

You freeze with your jacket still in your hands.

There's a crease at the corner of his eye that gives him away. He's enjoying this ; the way your shoulders go stiff, the way you suddenly can't look at him directly. The couch is huge and leather and objectively fine, but something about the suggestion makes your face heat anyway. Maybe because it's different, maybe because it feels less like falling into bed and more like something you'd have to think about.

"Don't get shy now," he says, and his voice is lower, teasing but soft underneath. "You literally said yes before I finished asking last time."

"That was something else."

"How?"

You want to answer, but it's embarrassing. You're not shy about him, not really, not anymore. But the couch feels too exposed, too close to the windows, too close to the part of the house where someone could theoretically walk in even though no one ever does. It feels less like a decision and more like a dare.

You drape your jacket over the back of an armchair, stalling. "I'm not shy."

Ni-ki shifts, propping himself up on his elbow. His hair falls over his forehead and he looks annoyingly handsome like this, all loose limbs and lazy confidence. "Yeah? Then come here."

Three words. And your feet move before your brain catches up. He doesn't even have to beg, when he just says things like they've already happened and waits for you to catch up, knowing you will eventually.

You stop at the edge of the couch, looking down at him. He looks back up at you, and his expression softens a little.

"Or we can go upstairs," he says, and it's not a concession.

You hate how easy it is for him to make you feel seen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, close enough that your knee touches his thigh. "The couch is fine."

His eyebrow goes up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His hand finds your waist anyway, pulling you closer until you're half-draped across his chest, and the leather creaks beneath you both. His heart is steady under your palm but yours is not.

"Liar," he murmurs against your hair.

He's right. You are shy, and a really bad liar.

The walk up to his bedroom feels longer than it should, the anticipation is buzzing under your skin. You’re practically vibrating with nervous energy as Ni-ki unlocks the massive door and pushes it open. The room is dark and spacious, lit only by the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He immediately reaches for the hem of his oversized hoodie, yanking it over his head and tossing it carelessly onto the floor. The sight of his bare chest stops you in your tracks. You feel a sudden, overwhelming wave of shyness wash over you, your cheeks flushing hot as you avert your gaze, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.

"Why are you getting shy again?" Ni-ki asks, his voice low and amused as he steps closer, invading your personal space. He tilts his head, his eyes studying your face intently. "You’re not usually like this. What’s up?"

You look up at him, your voice barely a whisper. "Can we...go soft this time?" you ask, feeling vulnerable. He pauses, a glint of confusion crossing his face, but he nods slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Okay," he says, his voice dropping an octave lower. "I'll be soft."

He pulls you in by the waist, his hands warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension building between you. He presses you gently against the doorframe, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. His hands wander down your back, his fingers digging into your flesh, but you don't want to rush. You want to feel every inch of him, dragging this out.

You kiss him back, your tongues tangling together, a slow and deep exploration. His hands slide up your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands move to the waistband of your pants, his fingers teasing the button and zipper. You shiver as he undoes them, letting them pool around your ankles, and you step out of them, kicking them aside.

He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, the mattress sinking beneath you. He climbs on top of you, his weight pressing you into the sheets. He kisses you again, his lips moving from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, his tongue flicking over your sensitive skin. You arch your back, giving him more access, his hands exploring your body, mapping out every curve and dip.

He moves lower, his lips trailing down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He pulls them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He parts your legs, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You gasp, your hips bucking slightly as he touches you there.

He leans down and spreads your legs wider, his fingers sliding into you. He begins to finger you, his movements slow and pleasant, his fingers curling inside you, searching for that sweet spot. You moan his name, your hands gripping a pillow beside you. He adds a second finger, stretching you, his thumb rubbing against your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around his fingers.

He pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the loss. He looks up at you before bringing his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. "Sweet, huh?" he says, smiling, before moving up to kiss you again.

He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locking onto yours. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. You gasp, his eyes rolling back slightly as he stretches you. He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, the friction building between you. "Tell me if it hurts."

"It's okay." You barely could answer.

He begins to move. He watches your face, wanting to see every reaction you have to him. He kisses you deeply, the kiss matching the pace of his hips. The feeling of him filling you up is overwhelming, the sensation of being so full and stretched is intense.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, encouraging him to go faster, but he holds back, his pace steady and controlled. He wants to make this last. He focuses on the sensations, the heat between your bodies.

He pulls out slightly, then pushes back in, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans down and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan his name, the sound echoing in the room. He smiles against your skin, a small, satisfied smile, knowing he’s making you feel good.

He picks up the pace just a little, his thrusts becoming a little more urgent, but still slow. He wants to be inside you for as long as possible. The friction is delicious, sending sparks flying through your body. He kisses you again, his tongue tangling with yours, the taste of you driving him wild.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him. You look up at him, your eyes glazed with pleasure. "Ni-ki," you breathe out, your voice breathless and ragged. "I'm going to come," you whisper.

He nods, his eyes locking onto yours, and he keeps thrusting, his pace remaining steady, but he focuses on the spot that makes you see stars. You cry out his name as you unravel, your body clamping down on him. He follows moments later, his hips bucking against yours as he releases inside you, filling you completely.

He stays inside you for a long time, the silence of the room broken only by your ragged breathing. He leans down and kisses your forehead, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. "Fuck...that was good," he says, his voice quiet and tired.

He reaches for the bedside table and pulls out a small baggie and a lighter. He packs a bowl, taking a long drag, and then offers it to you.

You take a hit, your lungs filling with the smoke, and you cough slightly. He laughs, his chest vibrating against your back. He leans over you, blowing the smoke directly on your face. He pulls back, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Come closer," he whispers, his voice husky. He blows another cloud of smoke into your mouth, sealing it with a kiss. You feel the smoke swirl in your mouth and then pass it back to him, the taste of weed and mint mixing on your tongues.

"Ayy, that was kinda cool," he says, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb.

"Was it?" you ask, a smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah," he says, his eyes darkening. "You should come over more often."

You just smile, content and relaxed, feeling the weight of the day melting away.

The bedroom is a mess of tangled blankets and discarded clothes by the time you both settle into the quiet evening. The floor lamp in the corner casts everything in a golden glow, just enough to see the shape of his arm resting above his head, the way his chest rises and falls.

You're on your back, staring at the ceiling, your shirt thrown somewhere near the night table.

Ni-ki hasn't moved to touch you. His hand is draped off the edge of the bed, fingers grazing the floor, and he's looking at the wall with that blank expression that could mean anything or nothing.

You don't know why you ask it and the words just fall out.

"Have you ever thought about getting a girlfriend?"

It sounds almost too casual. You keep your eyes on the ceiling so you don't have to see his reaction.

For a moment he doesn't answer. Then you feel him shift beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as he props himself up on one elbow. When you glance over, he's looking down at you with something unreadable on his face.

"What kind of question is that?" he says.

You shrug with one shoulder. "Just wondering."

He's quiet again, and you think maybe he's going to ignore it, change the subject or reach for his phone like he usually does. He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, and runs a hand through his hair.

"There's this girl," he says, and your stomach drops. "She keeps calling me, texts me like three times a week. She wants to come over and fuck again."

You keep your face neutral. "And ?"

"And I don't really want to. She's kind of annoying, to be honest." He pauses, tilting his head like he's considering something. "But I might consider it. It kinda gets boring doing the same thing all the time."

The same thing. You. He means you.

Your jaw tenses and you look back at the ceiling because if you look at him right now, he'll see it ; the glint of something stupid. Jealousy. Over a girl you don't even know, over a guy who isn't yours and has never pretended to be.

You swallow it down. "So do it then," you say, and your voice comes out steady. "Not like we're exclusive."

"Exactly." He says it so easily.

There's a beat of silence. He shifts again, and you feel his gaze on your profile.

"What about you," he says. "You ever want a relationship? Like, one day."

The question catches you off guard. He's never asked you anything personal before. The closest he's gotten was asking if you wanted water that one time, and even that felt like an accident.

You should say yes. I mean you do want one. Just not with someone else. Maybe with him. But that's not what he's asking and you know it.

"No," you say, and the lie tastes bitter. "That's too much work."

He stares at you for a second longer before he drops back onto the mattress, arm going over his eyes. "Yeah," he says, voice muffled. "Same."

You lie there in the darkening room, his body warm next to yours but not touching, and you listen to the silence stretch.

He reaches for his phone on the floor and you reach for your shirt.

That's how it goes.

───

Friday afternoon, the sky is gray and it looks like it might rain but probably won't. You find yourself climbing the stairs to the rooftop before you've fully decided to go there. The pack of cigarettes in your pocket feels like an excuse, but it's the only one you have.

The door creaks when you push it open, and the air hits you instantly, a little damp, carrying the distant sound of traffic from the main road. You step out onto the gravel, lighter already in your hand.

Ni-ki is already there, leaning against the railing at the edge of the roof, the same spot where you first met him 8 months ago. His back is to you, shoulders hunched, a thin curl of smoke rising from between his fingers. He doesn't turn around when the door closes behind you. Either he didn't hear or he doesn't care.

For a second you think about leaving, turning around and going back down the stairs, pretending you never came up here. But your feet don't move, and neither does he, so you walk over to the opposite side of the railing and lean against it a few feet away.

You pull out a cigarette, light it and take a drag. The smoke burns on the way down.

Neither of you speaks for a long minute. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair, and he finally glances sideways at you. His eyes look tired, you already know he hasn't been sleeping at all.

"You smoke too much," he says, not even greeting you.

"So do you."

He huffs something that might be a laugh but it's hollow. He turns back to look at the skyline, the cluster of buildings and trees and the far-off blur of the highway. His jaw is tight, you could see it.

You should leave it alone. That's the agreement ; you don't do feelings, you don't do problems, you just do each other's bodies and then go home. But something about how his shoulders are set like he's holding something heavy, makes the words come out anyway.

"You okay?"

He takes a long drag, holds it and exhales. The smoke gets carried away by the wind.

"My parents," he says finally, and his voice is flat. "They want to cut me off."

You wait. He doesn't elaborate so you push. "Cut you off from what?"

"Everything." He flicks ash onto the gravel. "Money. My car. My card. All of it." A pause. "They say I've been doing bad things with it. That I'm out of control."

You can guess ; the late nights, the people he knows, the way his eyes look red sometimes when he picks you up. You've never asked before,it never felt like your place.

"So what are you going to do?" you say.

He looks at you then and there's something sharp in his expression. "What am I supposed to do? Get a job that I don't even like? Work at a café like a normal person?" He says it like the words taste bad.

You take a drag, thinking. "Maybe you could talk to them. Explain that—"

"I'm not explaining anything." His voice is harder now. "They don't listen. They never have. They just throw money at problems and then get mad when the problems don't magically disappear."

"Okay, but if they take the car, how are you going to—"

"I don't know." He cuts you off, pushing off from the railing and turning to face you fully. His cigarette is burning down between his fingers.

You take another drag. "You could...I don't know, sell some stuff? Or try to— "

"You don't get it."

His voice cuts through yours sharper than you expected. You turn to look at him. He's still facing forward, but his shoulders are tense now, his hand gripping the edge of the railing.

"I'm not saying I get it," you say carefully. "I'm just trying to help."

"Help." He says the word like an offense. "You can't help. You don't know what it's like to have everything and then have it pulled away. To have people look at you like you're just a spoiled kid who fucks up and that's all you'll ever be." His eyes are darker than usual. "You don't come from that. You don't understand."

It stings. Not because he's wrong about your background, he's not, you've never hidden that you're on scholarships and financial aid but because he's shutting you out in that particular way he does, it makes you feel like you're on the other side of a wall you can't climb.

"I'm not trying to fix it," you say, quieter now. "I just care. That's all."

He stares at you for a long second. His expression flickers, something almost vulnerable, almost soft, and then it's totally gone.

"Care," he repeats. "We're not close, Y/N. We fuck and that's it. You don't have to pretend like there's more, you know?."

He pauses. "I know what you're trying to do." His voice drops. "But you can't. You don't have parents like mine. You don't have...you live in a normal apartment and you worry about normal things. I can't just 'talk to them.' I can't just 'figure it out.' It's not the same."

Your chest tightens, you want to argue, you want to tell him about the hair clip, about the hundred small things that felt like something when you knew it didn't at all.

But you don't. Because he's right, isn't he? That's what you agreed to.

He drops his cigarette, grinds it out under his shoe, and stands. He doesn't look at you again.

You open your mouth to say something but he's already stepping back, dropping his cigarette to the gravel and grinding it out with his shoe.

"Forget it," he says. "I shouldn't have said anything."

He walks past you. The rooftop door creaks open, then shut.

You're alone.

The cigarette in your hand has burned down to the filter. You drop it, watch the last wisp of smoke rise up into the gray sky, and you don't follow him.

That's not your role and it never was.

───

The sand is hot enough to burn your feet by the time you and Jess find a spot near the water. You spread your towels out, anchor them with bags and a half empty bottle of sunscreen, and Jess immediately starts complaining about the seagulls.

"It's fine," you say, pulling your shirt over your head. "They're not gonna attack you."

"You don't know that."

You're about to respond when a volleyball smacks into the sand a few feet away from your towel. Jess jumps in surprise and you look up.

Jay is jogging toward you, already laughing, hand raised in apology. Behind him, Jake is doubled over for some reason, Jungwon is heading towards the shores, and further back, near the water, Ni-ki is standing with his hands in his shorts pockets, watching the horizon.

"Sorry," Jay says, grabbing the ball. "Jake's aim is ass today."

"Jake's aim is always ass," Jess says with a smile. She's known Jay since high school, and some habits don't fade.

Jay waves toward the others. "You guys wanna hang out? We've got a net set up. Well, Jake found a net. We're not sure where it came from though."

You glance at Jess and she shrugs.

"Yeah, okay," you say.

Walking over feels like walking into something you're not prepared for. The sand is soft, slipping under your feet with every step. Jake waves when he sees you. Jungwon is already in the water up to his knees, ignoring everyone. And Ni-ki is standing slightly apart from the group, not looking at you, which is fine because you're not looking at him either.

You haven't talked since yesterday at the rooftop, since he left you there with your cigarette burning down to nothing.

So you don't look at him and he doesn't look at you.

"We should play," Jake says, grabbing the ball from Jay. "Let’s make teams. Y/N, you're with me."

"You're gonna lose," Jess says.

"Bold talk from someone who hasn't touched a volleyball since middle school."

Jess flips him off.

The game is messy, no one really knows the rules except Jay, who keeps trying to enforce them, and Jungwon who doesn't care. You're next to Jake, which means you're laughing more than you're playing because he keeps making stupid comments every time he misses the ball.

"That was on purpose," he says after a ball flies past his head.

"Sure it was."

"I was just testing your reflexes."

You roll your eyes and serve. The ball actually goes over the net, it feels like a miracle. Ni-ki is on the other side, you realize. He misses it and watches it land in the sand next to him.

Jake whoops. "Good job Y/N."

The game ends when someone (no one knows who) decides it's over. Jess is already walking toward the water, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. Jay follows her.

"Race you," Jake says, and he's already running before you can answer.

You run after him because you're competitive, and the water is cold when it hits your shin, colder when you fall forward trying to dodge a wave. Jake is laughing at you, so you push water at his face.

You two have a full on play fight right there in the shallows, splashing, shoving, Jake grabbing your wrist to spin you around. He's stronger than he looks, but he's also not holding that hard, so you manage to shove him back once, twice. His foot slips on a rock and he goes down, half sitting in the water, still laughing.

"Oh you're so dead," he says.

"You already are."

He lunges for your ankle and you stumble, catching yourself on his shoulder. For a second you're both just standing there, out of breath, water dripping down your faces.

Jake is still loosely holding your wrist.

"You fight dirty," he says.

"Just admit you're slow."

He laughs and lets go, wading deeper, already turning to find Jay.

You look toward the shore without meaning to. Ni-ki is standing at the edge of the water, watching the whole scene. His arms are crossed. His expression is blank.

You hold his gaze for a second but he looks away first.

Jess appears next to you, hair soaked and grinning. "Jake's gonna ask you out by the end of the summer. Watch it."

"He's not."

"Did you see the way he looked at you the whole time ?."

"It was a play fight."

Jess gives you a look. "Sure. And Ni-ki is definitely not standing over there looking like he wants to punch someone."

You glance back at the shore. Ni-ki is walking toward the towels, not toward the water. His steps are quick.

"Hey," Jay calls out. "You’re getting in or what?"

Ni-ki doesn't stop. "Got stuff to do."

"We’re at the beach. What stuff?"

He doesn't answer and grabs his shirt from his bag, shakes the sand off, and starts walking toward the parking lot.

Jake watches him go, frowning. "What's his deal?"

No one answers. Jay looks at you.

"I'm gonna go get some water," you say, because you don't know what else to say.

Jess grabs your arm before you can move. "Don't."

"What?"

"You're gonna chase after him. I can see it on your face. And he's just gonna say something shitty and you're gonna feel worse."

You pull your arm back. "I'm not going to chase after him."

"Okay."

"I'm not."

She holds her hands up. "Okay."

You stand in the water, salt drying on your skin, and watch the spot where his car was parked until the space is empty. Jess is right. You'd only feel worse, but it doesn’t matter since you already do.

───

The door to your apartment clicks shut behind you and you drop your beach bag on the floor, sand already spilling out onto the tiles. Your shoulders are pink from the sun, your hair still damp and tangled with salt, and all you want is a cold shower and an unhealthy amount of time of scrolling on your phone.

You plug your phone in first because it died somewhere between the volleyball game and the drive home. The screen lights up after a few seconds, and you blink at the notification.

13 missed calls.

All from the same number. It’s unknown.

Your first thought is spam. Your second thought is a wrong number. Your third thought, the one you don't want to acknowledge, is him.

You hesitate for a moment, thumb hovering over the call button, you press “call”.

The line rings four time before going to voicemail. A generic automated voice telling you to leave a message. You hang up without saying anything.

You're about to toss the phone onto your bed when it rings again. The same number. You answer. For a few seconds, no one speaks. There's just a slow and uneven breathing, and something in the background that sounds like a TV.

"Hello?" you say.

Still nothing, so you decide to assume that it’s him.

"I know it's you," you say. "You called me thirteen times. You can at least say something."

A pause and you hear his voice, low and slurred around the edges. "Hey."

Ni-ki.

You close your eyes and lean against your bedroom wall. "You okay?"

"Define okay."

"You're high."

"I guess so."

You can hear him exhale, long and slow, probably smoke. It’s definitely weed. His words are sticky, running into each other like he's thinking too hard about each one before it leaves his mouth.

"I didn't like it," he says suddenly. "Today. At the beach."

Your chest tightens. "Didn't like what?"

"You know what. The way you were with Jake. All close and laughing and..." He trails off, and you hear him take another drag. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I don't care. You do whatever you want."

"You just said you didn't like it."

"I said it doesn't matter."

The line goes quiet for a moment. You can picture him ; probably sprawled on that massive leather couch in his empty living room, the high ceilings and the chandelier that cost at least a kidney. One hand holding the phone, the other holding whatever he's smoking. His eyes half-closed, looking like a hot disaster.

"I really need you right now," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word.

Your heart does a flip.

"That's not fair," you say quietly.

"I’m sorry."

"You can't just call me when you're high and say stuff like that."

"I know."

Silence. The sound of the TV in the background on his end. You can hear your own breathing.

"Can you come over?" he asks, and he sounds smaller than you've ever heard him. Needy like he never lets himself be. "Please."

You could’ve say no, tell him to sleep it off and call you in the morning when he's sober and less likely to say things he'll pretend didn't happen. You have to protect yourself for once.

And here you are, already grabbing your keys.

───

The drive takes twenty minutes. His house is dark when you pull into the driveway, the only light coming from somewhere deeper inside. The front door is unlocked as it always is, and you let yourself in, kicking off your sandals by the entryway.

The living room is a mess. Everything is scattered. There’s a blanket on the floor, empty glasses on the coffee table and his hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. And there he is, slouched in the corner of the sectional, phone on the cushion beside him, a half smoked joint balanced on the edge of an ashtray.

His eyes are red and his hair is a mess. He looks up at you when you walk in and something in his expression changes. It’s relief, you might think.

"There’s no way you really came," he says like he's surprised.

"You called me thirteen times."

"Right."

You drop your bag by the door and walk over to him. The coffee table has a pitcher of water and some takeout containers from somewhere you don't recognize. You push them aside and sit on the edge of the couch, facing him.

"You're an asshole," you say.

"Yeah."

"Like, genuinely an asshole."

He's not arguing back so that's how you know he's really high.

You reach out and take the joint from the ashtray, stubbing it out even though there's still some left. He watches your hands, your fingers, the way you're sitting close enough that your knee almost touches his.

"When did you eat last?" you ask.

He blinks at you like the question requires calculus. "I don't know. Lunch?"

"It's almost ten."

"Oh."

You sigh and stand up, heading toward the kitchen. His kitchen is massive and spotless and useless because he barely uses it. You find bread, peanut butter, a banana that's not too brown. You make him a sandwich without asking if he wants one because he's not in a state to make good decisions. When you come back, he hasn't moved an inch. You hand him the plate and he stares at it for a second before taking it.

"Eat," you say.

"You're bossy when you're annoyed."

"I'm always annoyed. You just don't notice."

He takes a bite, chews and swallows. His eyes stay on you the whole time.

You sit back down, closer this time, and you watch him eat until half the sandwich is gone. You take the plate away and set it on the coffee table.

"Water," you say, pouring a glass from the pitcher. You hand it to him and he drinks. When he's done, he sets the glass down and leans his head back against the couch, eyes closed. His breathing is slower now.

"You didn't have to come, you know." he says.

"You asked me to."

"Yeah. But you didn't have to."

You look at him ; the dark circles, the dried salt on his skin from the beach he barely touched, the way his hands are trembling just slightly. He's a mess. He's always been a mess, yet he's sitting here, in this big empty house, and he called you. Amongst everyone he knew, he called you.

"Yeah, well," you say quietly. "I'm here anyway so..."

He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at you. His gaze is heavy and unfocused.

"You're gonna stay?" he asks. "For a bit?"

You have to go home, because you have class tomorrow. Your hair is still damp from the ocean and you're tired and you know that staying will only make things more complicated.

"Yeah," you say. "For a bit."

He shifts on the couch, making room, and you take the hint. You sit next to him, close enough that your shoulder presses against his arm, and he doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

After a few minutes, his head drops onto your shoulder. His breathing evens out. He's not asleep, heavy and warm against you.

You stare at the dark windows, the empty room, the ghost of smoke curling from the ashtray.

This isn't going to fix anything. You know that and he knows that. But for now, he's not pushing you away, so everything feels fine.

The high wears off slowly. You notice that his breathing changes, it’s less shallow and more present. His fingers stop trembling too. His head lifts from your shoulder and he blinks at the room like he's seeing it for the first time.

He's still loose, still soft around the edges, but he's coming back to himself. You can feel it.

"You okay?" you ask.

He nods, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Yeah. Starting to feel human again."

"Good."

A silence settles between you, he turns his head, looking at you with those half-lidded eyes, and his voice is quieter when he speaks. "Did you shower yet? After the beach?"

You glance down at yourself. Your skin still has salt residue, your hair is stiff with dried seawater. "No. I came straight here."

He's quiet for a moment. "We could take a bath."

You look at him. His expression isn't teasing like usual, and it’s almost soft.

"A bath ?" you repeat.

"Uh yeah. The tub's big enough." There’s a pause. "We don't have to do anything. I just—I don't want to be alone right now."

That's the most honest thing he's said all night.

You nod. "Okay."

───

Even if you were already used to every corner of his house, you’d never get over how huge his bathroom is. Marble floors, a tub that could fit three people, candles on the counter that he never lights. He runs the water while you sit on the edge of the sink, watching him test the temperature with his wrist.

He's still in his beach clothes ; shorts, a loose t-shirt and a silver chain with a cross that he never takes off. You're in your bikini top and the oversized button-up you threw on over it.

When the tub is full, he turns off the water and looks at you. "You first."

You slide off the sink and step toward the tub, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel even though you've done much more than this with him. You take off your button-up and step out of your shorts, leaving your bikini on the floor. He does the same ; he pulls his shirt over his head, kicks off his shorts and his boxers.

The water is warm, almost too warm, and you sink into it with a sigh. The salt washes off your skin immediately, and you can feel your muscles relaxing. He gets in behind you, settling against the end of the tub, his legs on either side of yours.

For a minute, neither of you speaks. The water ripples softly. A candle flickers, he must have lit it while you weren't looking. You can feel him shifting, moving closer, and his arms come around your waist from behind. He pulls you back against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You freeze for half a second. He's never done this before. The fact of having this kind of moment with him doesn’t even feel real to you. You two have been intimate in so many ways but never like this.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs, breath warm against your neck.

"Yeah," you whisper. "It's okay."

His arms tighten slightly, holding you a little closer. You lean your head back against his shoulder and close your eyes.

This is new and terrifying. This is everything you've wanted without letting yourself admit it, but you know that things like that don’t really last. So you have to accept it.

───

The water starts to cool after a while, his thumb is tracing shapes on your stomach, absent-minded.

You think about what brought you here and how he sounded so small when he said he needed you.

"Ni-ki," you say quietly.

"Mm?"

You hesitate. You don't want to ruin whatever this is. But it's been sitting in your chest since all the times you've watched him disappear into himself.

"Those friends of yours that you mentioned before," you say. "The ones who got you into this stuff."

His hand stops moving.

"I'm not trying to start a fight," you add quickly. "I’m just worrying about you. You said they owe you money…And they're always pushing you to do more."

He's quiet for a long moment.

"They're not in my life anymore," he says finally.

You turn your head slightly, trying to see his face. "What?"

"I cut them off, like, a few weeks ago." His voice is steady and clearer. "They weren't friends. They just wanted someone to pay for everything and someone to get high with. I got tired of it."

You don't know what to say. He's never told you this or anything.

"Why didn't you say something?" you ask.

He shrugs, the movement rippling the water. "Didn't seem important."

"Not important? Ni-ki, they were using you."

"I know but," He presses his cheek against your hair. "That's why I stopped answering their calls. They'll figure it out."

You turn in his arms so you're facing him, knees on either side of his hips, water sloshing against the edges of the tub. His face is inches from yours. You can see that his eyes are tired.

"And the money they owe you?" you ask.

"It's just money." He says it like it means nothing. Or maybe to him, it doesn't. "I'd rather lose that than keep pretending they gave a shit about me."

Your hands find his shoulders, thumbs brushing over his collarbones and he lets you touch him.

"You're not going to fall back into that?" you ask. "When things get hard again?"

He looks at you for a long time.

"No," he says. "You’re here anyway. Everything feels different."

Your heart cracks a little.

"You can't rely on me to fix you," you force yourself to say, because you have to say it, you've seen too many people drown trying to save someone else.

"Y/N," He cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I'm not asking you to fix me. I…I don't want to be alone anymore. It scares me more than you think."

The water is barely warm now. Your knees are starting to ache from the position.

"Okay," you whisper.

He smiles at you softly, and you nearly thought it meant something.

"We should get out," he says. "The water's cold."

"Yeah."

He pulls the plug and grabs a towel from the rack, wrapping it around your shoulders before his own. You step out of the tub together, dripping on the marble floor.

───

7:12 AM and your phone is rattling against the wood of your nighstand like it's trying to wake the dead. You grope for it blindly, eyes half-open and your brain still somewhere in a dream you can't even remember.

Ni-ki's name on the screen.

You answer. "Hello?"

"You sound like shit." His voice is rough like he hasn't slept either.

"Thanks. It's fucking seven in the morning."

"Well, no shit. Get dressed, I'm picking you up in twenty."

You sit up, rubbing your face. The memories from two nights ago flicker through your mind ; the bath, his arms around you. You brush it off as soon as the reality catches you.

You push it all down. "For what?"

"Does it matter?"

You're too tired to fight back. And a part of you, the stupid part, just wants to see his face.

"Fine," you say. "Twenty minutes."

He hangs up with no goodbye. Of course.

You throw on jeans and a sweater, brush your teeth. When you hear the engine outside, low and guttural, you grab your bag and head out. It's not the black Camaro. It's a Mustang GT ; sleek, black, newer than anything you've ever sat in. He's leaning against the driver's door, arms crossed, wearing a leather jacket and that same blank expression.

"New car?" you ask.

"Yeah, got bored of the old one." He opens the passenger door for you. "Get in."

The interior smells new and fresh. You buckle up as he slides into the driver's seat and pulls away from the curb without checking his blind spot. Some things never change. The city is waking up around you, coffee shops opening, joggers on the sidewalk.

You watch his profile, observing the sharp line of his jaw and his thumbs tap against the steering wheel like he usually does everytime he drives.

"You're staring," he says without looking at you.

" Am I not allowed ?"

He doesn't respond to that.

You take a breath. "Ni-ki."

"What."

"Why are you so cold sometimes?"

The question hangs in the air between you. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel before he relaxes.

"You think I'm cold?" he asks.

"Sometimes. You disappear, you push me away and...you say things you don't mean or you don't say anything at all." You're watching his face, looking for a crack. "I just want to know why."

He stays quiet for a long moment. The car slows at a red light and he finally glances at you. His eyes are tired again, that's how you know he smoked on the drive over.

Unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitches.

"You're cute when you're curious," he says.

"That's not an answer."

"Well," The light turns green, he accelerates. "I'll work on it."

───

The mall is mostly empty this early. A few senior citizens walking laps around the food court, some moms with strollers, employees unlocking gates. Ni-ki walks next to you, hands in his pockets. His presence is heavy but not uncomfortable. You wander past stores without really looking until one catches your eye ; a vintage thrift shop, the expensive kind with every luxury brands where clothes are curated and priced like art pieces.

You step inside more out of curiosity than intention. The racks are organized by color, the lighting warm, and there's a section in the back with dresses probably worn by celebrities considaring their prices.

Your fingers trail over the fabric ; silk, lace, velvet. One of them catches your eyes. A black dress, slip style but not cheap. It makes you think of old Hollywood movies and rooftop parties in the 60s. The price tag is tucked inside, and when you pull it out you actually laugh.

"300 dollars," you say, turning to Ni-ki. "For a thrifted dress."

He's standing a few feet away, watching you with a neutral expression. "Do you want it?"

"I want a lot of things I can't afford."

"That's not what I asked."

You look back at the dress, running your fingers over the fabric again. "It's gorgeous. But no. It's stupid to spend that much."

He pulls the dress off the rack and walks toward the counter without saying a word.

"Ni-ki. What are you doing?"

"Buying the dress."

"No. Ni-ki, come b─."

He ignores you, pulling out his wallet. The cashier, a girl with pink hair, looks between the two of you with mild amusement.

"Sir, would you like a bag?"

"Yes."

"Ni-ki, I'm serious." You grab his arm, but he doesn't stop. "You can't just buy me things like this."

He turns to look at you, and his face is softer than you expected. "Why not?"

"Because—" You don't even exactly know why. Maybe because it's too much or because it looks like it means something. He nods toward the rack, toward a deep red dress you didn't even realize you touched earlier. "You looked at that one first," he says. "I saw you run your fingers over it before you picked up the black one."

You blink. "You noticed that?"

"You touched it for like five seconds. I have to buy it now."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Too bad then." He tells the cashier to add the red dress too. She does, wrapping both in tissue paper.

You stand there, mouth slightly open, watching him pay nearly six hundred dollars for two dresses you never asked for.

"Try them on," he says, handing you the bag. "If you don't like them, we'll return them."

You stare at him and he stares back.

"Fine," you mutter, grabbing the bag and heading toward the fitting room.

The room is small, with a full-length mirror and a velvet stool. You pull off your jeans and sweater and slide the black dress over your head. It falls perfectly, hitting just above the knee, hugging your waist, the fabric cool against your skin. You turn in the mirror, and for a second, you don't recognize yourself.

You step out of the fitting room.

Ni-ki is leaning against the wall across from the door, phone in hand. His eyes lift to you, and something shifts in his face. His jaw goes slack for just a moment.

"Well?" you ask, suddenly self conscious.

He looks at you ; up and down, slow, like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

"You look," he starts then suddenly pauses. "It's fine."

"Just fine?"

He pushes off the wall and walks toward you, close enough that you have to tilt your head up to see his face.

"I should return it," he says, there's a teasing edge to his voice now.

"Why?"

"I don't really feel like fighting someone today."

Your face heats. "Shut up."

"I'm dead serious."

"Stop acting like that."

He almost smiles. "Keep the dress. Both of them."

───

The park is small, tucked between a residential street and a community garden. You're sitting on a bench near the pond, ice cream cones in hand ; his is chocolate, yours is strawberry. The sun is higher now, warm enough to make you take off your sweater.

He eats his ice cream in silence, staring at the water. You watch a duck paddle in circles.

"So," he says, not looking at you. "You and Jake seem close."

Your spoon pauses halfway to your mouth. "We're friends."

"Friends." He says lowly. "You were pretty cozy at the beach. I mean, sharing towels...wrestling in the water, all of that."

You narrow your eyes. "Are you jealous?"

He scoffs. "No."

"You're deflecting."

"I can't be observant ?" He casually takes a bite of his ice cream. "Just saying. He's around a lot."

"He's your friend too."

"Yeah, but he doesn't look at me the way he looks at you."

"Nothing's going on with Jake," you say finally.

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter. You do what you want."

There it is again ; that same line he always falls back on. He's always trying to make it sound normal but it comes out like a permission, you're always feeling like it's a test he's making you take.

"I don't want anything with Jake," you say. "I want—" You stop yourself.

He looks at you, waiting for you to continue.

You look away. "Never mind."

The ice cream drips onto your fingers.

"You have ice cream," he says.

"Where?"

He leans in.

His lips are cold from the chocolate, but his tongue is warm when it swipes across the corner of your mouth. You freeze, and you find him kissing you, deep and slow, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. It's not the kind of kiss you share in public, so obviously it surprises you.

When he pulls back, you're breathless. You can feel your face burning.

"What was that for?" you manage.

He shrugs, excluding the fact that his ears are pink. "You had ice cream on your mouth."

"That's not a fucking way to wipe off ice cream."

"It is now."

You stare at him and he stares back, expression carefully neutral, nethertheless you can see the cracks. His fingers are still resting on your neck and he's not pulling away.

"You're such a jerk," you whisper.

"Yeah," he says. "Might get strawberry next time."

You shove him in the chest in embarassement, which made him chuckle slightly.

All of this is not making you think about unanswered calls, the days where he decides to be insanely cold or whether he's going to push you away again. So you try to enjoy it as much as you can.

The sun has dropped behind the trees. The bench has gone from comfortable to uncomfortable about an hour ago. Your tailbone is starting to ache and you've shifted positions at least six times, each time less effective than the last.

"I'm bored," you announce.

Ni-ki glances at you from the other end of the bench, one arm stretched along the back, his ice cream cone long gone. "You're always bored."

"Come on, it's been an hour since we sat here."

He watches you with a half-lidded expression. You stand up and brush off the back of your jeans. "There's a playground over there. Let's go."

"A playground." He says flatly, unimpressed by your idea.

"Yeah. You know...swings, slides, kids stuff. Don't tell me you're too cool for swings."

He doesn't agree yet he stands up anyway.

The playground is maybe fifty meters from the bench, a small fenced area with wood chips instead of sand, a plastic slide that's seen better days, and a set of swings hanging from a metal frame. The chains squeak slightly when the wind blows.

You make a beeline for the swings, feet crunching on the wood chips, and plant yourself on the closest one. The rubber seat is cold through your jeans. You grip the chains and kick off just a little.

"Push me," you say, looking back at him.

He's standing at the edge of the wood chips, hands in his pockets, watching you like you from afar. "Push yourself, you're not a kid."

"That's not the point."

He sighs ; a theatrical and put-upon sound ; but he walks over anyway. He positions himself behind you, hands hovering near your lower back for a moment before he gives a firm shove. The swing arcs forward, the chains rattling, and you let out a small laugh. The air rushes past your face. Behind you, he pushes again, harder this time.

"You know," he says, voice carrying over the squeak of the chains, "I've seen this before. Like in a movie. A guy pushes a girl on the swing. Very romantic."

"It's not that romantic. Trust."

"Mm." There's another push. "In the movie, they usually end up doing it in the bushes after."

You kick your feet out, trying to go higher. "What ?"

"You heard it right."

"You're disgusting."

"You're the one who wanted to come here."

He pushes one more time before he steps back. The swing slows gradually, the arc shrinking until you're just swaying. He walks around and sits down on the swing beside you, the chains groaning under his weight. He's taller than you so his legs stretch out longer, boots dragging in the wood chips.

"Be careful," he says, watching you swing forward again. "You're gonna flip over the bar."

"I'm not even that high."

"You could be."

"You worry too much."

He shakes his head. "I just don't want you to stain my new car if you get yourself hurt."

You push off again, swinging higher this time, the chains straining. The wind whistles past your ears. For a second you feel like you could lift right off the seat and keep going.

"See?" you call out. "I'm fine."

"You're gonna eat shit."

"I don't care."

It's a challenge and he hears it. You see him tense from the corner of your eye. You can feel that he's off his swing, boots crunching toward you, and before you can swing back again, his hands are on your waist.

He catches you mid-arc, steadying you, slowing the momentum. His fingers press into your sides through your sweater. The swing creaks to a halt, your feet finding the wood chips, his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating through his leather jacket.

"I know you care," he says quietly. "You just pretend you don't."

You're looking up at him, your hands still on the chains and his on your waist. The sky is almost dark now and a single light on the playground flickers to life somewhere behind him.

"I don't know," you say. "Maybe I learned from the best."

His thumbs press into your waist, just slightly. Something in his face softens.

"Come on," he says, letting go and stepping back. "It's getting dark."

He doesn't wait for you, already walking toward the path, hands back in his pockets, back to his usual distance.

You watch him for a second, then push off the swing one last time, just to feel the air rush past.

He stops and looks back at you. "Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah," you say, hopping off the swing. "I'm coming."

───

One week after, and he disappeared again without a single text, like he always did, but this time it hurt more than usual. It would've hurt less if you haven't hang out with him like there was a title for what you were for each other. But here you are. The lecture hall is half-empty because it's Friday and no one wants to be here, including the professor. You're slouched in your seat while Jess doodles in the margin of her notebook. The guy in front of you is watching YouTube on his laptop with the brightness all the way down. No one seems to care today.

Your phone buzzes against the desk. You glance at the screen. ‘Ni-ki’

Ni-ki [10:22 AM]

going out of town for the weekend

you can fuck anyone u want

don’t wait for me.

You stare at it for a while. You don't know what to say because there's nothing to say. Why is he giving you permission for something you never asked permission for ?

Jess notices your face. "What?"

You turn the phone toward her. She reads it, and her expression shifts from curious to annoyed.

"That's weird," she says quietly.

"Yeah."

"He found another chick, maybe." She chuckled before going back to her doodles.

You lock the phone and set it face-down on the desk. The rest of the lecture drags and sit there, replaying the message in your head, trying to figure out what it actually means.

───

After class, you wait until you're outside, standing under the covered walkway where the smokers hang out. Jess lingers nearby, pretending to check her phone but definitely listening.

You call him.

It rings four times. You think he's going to ignore it, but then he picks up.

"Hey." His voice is flat, sounding like he’s distracted.

"Ni-ki." You grip your phone tighter. "What was that message?"

"What message."

"The one about me fucking whoever I want."

You hear him exhale ; he’s smoking a cigarette. "Just saying. You have options."

"I don't want options."

He's quiet for a second. "Why not?"

The question catches you off guard. You expected him to brush it off, to say it was nothing, to change the subject but not this.

"Because I don't," you say. "I'd rather not, with anyone else."

Another exhale, his voice lower now. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." You already know it's not nothing. The tone he takes when he says it ; clipped and distant, it sounds like he’s already out of the conversation.

You lean against the brick wall, watching people stream past with their coffee cups and backpacks. Jess catches your eye and you shake your head slightly.

"Ni-ki," you say, " What's happening ? You've been distant again for a whole week without texting me once, even after you said that you would work on it. Are you fucking someone else ?"

He doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches, and you can hear the faint sound of traffic wherever he is, maybe already driving out of town.

"That's not it," he says finally.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know." His voice cracks a little. "I’m—I don't know what this is…and I don't know why you keep showing up when I keep being an asshole."

You close your eyes. "Could be that I like assholes."

"You really shouldn't."

"Yeah but that's not your call."

He laughs in frustration. "See? That's the problem. You don't let me push you away. You just keep coming back and I don't know how to handle that."

Your chest aches. "So you're leaving for the weekend because you can't handle me staying?"

"I'm leaving for the weekend because my dad wants to have a conversation about my future and I need to get it over with." He pauses. "The text was...I don't know. A test."

"A test for what?"

"To see if you'd get mad."

"Did I pass?"

"You got mad. So yes." He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in it. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to not be that guy who sends impulsive texts and pushes people away."

You slide down the wall until you're sitting on the concrete, knees pulled up to your chest. Jess sits down next to you without saying anything, her shoulder warm against yours.

"Just go see your dad," you say. "Text me when you get back."

"You're not going to fuck anyone else?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because I need to hear you say it."

You swallow. The words feel too heavy. You say them anyway.

"I don't want anyone else. Just you. Even when you're being an asshole."

Long silence. "Okay. Love you."

"Wait wha—"

He hangs up. And you sit there on the sidewalk with Jess, phone in your lap, trying to process what he just said. You know it’s going to hurt as he doesn’t want you to stay. He’s an asshole and you’re aware of it. But you can’t help but see the broken person he is, wanting to take care of him and give him everything he needs.

───

You've been staring at it for an hour now, counting the seconds between the creaks of the old building settling. The clock on your nightstand says 11:47 PM, then 11:58, then 12:03.

Sunday night. He was supposed to be back by now. He didn't say when exactly, but Thursday to Sunday felt like a window that's already closed.

You checked your phone maybe 40 times since Friday, but no messages nor calls. You're stuck on the same text thread sitting there, his last words about fucking whoever you want that you haven't responded.

Your eyes are heavy but your brain won't shut up. You turn onto your side, then onto your back, then onto your stomach. Everything is wrong.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand and you grab it before the second vibration.

Jake's name.

You don't talk to Jake often, maybe a few times in group chats. He's not the type to call you at midnight for no reason.

You answer. "Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N." His voice is different. "Sorry to call so late. You heard from Ni-ki?"

Your stomach drops. "No. Why?"

A pause on his end. You can hear him exhale. "He left Thursday, right? He said he was going to see his dad and was supposed to be back Saturday. It's Sunday now and no one's heard from him. Not me, not Jay, not even Jungwon. His phone's going straight to voicemail."

You sit up, your heart pounding. "Have you tried calling his house?"

"Yeah. No answer. I don't have the landline or whatever. I just have his cell."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, already standing. "Okay. Let me try something."

"You think he's okay?"

"I don't know." You're pulling on a hoodie, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder. "I'll call you back."

"Alright. Be careful."

You hang up and immediately dial Ni-ki's number. It rings once, twice, three times. Then voicemail. You call again. It goes straight to voicemail this time. Not even a single ring.

You try one more time but nothing.

The clock says 12:15 now. You stare at your reflection in the dark window. Your own face looks back, pale and anxious.

You text him.

You [12:16 AM]

Hey

Jake said you're not back

Call me when you get this.

Then you lie back down, but you don't sleep.

───

It's Monday morning. You skipped your first class, you could afford to miss.

You take the bus. You don't know why you bother with the bus when he's not there to pick you up, but walking would take an hour and you don't have the patience for that

The house looks the same as always. Big and quiet. The gate is closed but not locked. You push it open and walk up the driveway, the gravel crunching under your sneakers.

You ring the doorbell. The door opens, but not by much. An older man stands there, maybe in his sixties, wearing a simple button-up shirt. You've seen him before, once, maybe twice, always in the background. The butler, you guess or the house manager, something like that.

"Can I help you?" His voice is polite but guarded.

"I'm looking for Ni-ki. His friends haven't heard from him since Thursday." You try to keep your voice steady. "Is he here?"

The butler hesitates. His eyes scan your face, probably deciding if you're worth talking to.

"Mr. Riki is not currently at the residence," he says.

"When will he be back?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

You feel frustration building in your chest. "Is he okay? Did something happen with his dad?"

The man's expression doesn't change. "I'm afraid I can't discuss the family's private matters."

"Please." Your voice cracks. "I'm not some random person. I'm his...I'm a friend. He's not answering his phone. We're all worried."

The butler looks at you in slience. He then glances over his shoulder, into the dark hallway behind him, before stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door mostly shut behind him.

"He left for his father's estate on Thursday afternoon," the man says quietly like he's not supposed to be telling you this. "There was a scheduled meeting regarding his future. Finances, education, that sort of thing." He pauses. "I have not seen him since. The family's driver returned alone on Saturday."

Your heart drops. "Alone? Where is he?"

"I don't know. I wasn't told." His voice softens slightly. "If you're a friend of his, I would suggest waiting. He tends to...disappear, when things get difficult."

That's totally the opposite reassuring.

"Can you at least tell him I came by?" you ask. "Y/N. He has my number."

The butler nods once. "I'll relay the message."

He steps back inside and closes the door. You stand on the porch for a minute, staring at the wood grain, your hands shaking. Afterwards you turn and walk back down the driveway, gravel biting through the soles of your shoes.

You call Jake on the way to the bus stop. He picks up immediately.

"Anything?" he asks.

"No. He's not there. The butler said the driver came back alone on Saturday." You swallow. "No one knows where he is."

Jake is quiet for a second. "That's not like him."

You want to say that you don't know what's like him anymore. That every time you think you understand, he does something else.

"Yeah," you say instead. "I know."

The bus pulls up. You get on, find a seat by the window, and watch the big house shrink behind you until it's just a smudge in the distance.

───

The best you could was getting to Jess's apartment. You've been sitting on her couch for twenty minutes, not really watching whatever Jake has on the TV, not really listening to Jay argue with him about something related to F1. Your phone is faced down on the coffee table. You stopped checking it an hour ago.

Jess is in the kitchen, the sound of running water and the clink of a mug against the counter. You can smell tea, something herbal.

"You good?" Jay asks from the armchair, not looking at you, because he's learned from Jess that direct eye contact when you're upset makes you clam up.

"No," you say. "But it's fine, I guess."

Jake glances over. "Still no word?"

You shake your head.

The TV is playing some local news channel. A middle-aged woman is talking about a road closure downtown. You tune it out.

Jess comes in with a tray of mugs, setting it on the coffee table. She hands you one without asking if you want it. The mug is warm against your palms.

"Thanks," you murmur.

She sits next to you. "Have you eaten?"

"Not really."

"I'll order something later."

You nod. The TV cuts to a breaking news graphic ; red and white, it seems urgent.

"We're receiving reports of a shooting in the industrial district," the anchor says, her voice steady but grave. "Details are limited, but we understand the altercation occurred around 2:00 this afternoon and involved individuals associated with drug dealing and money laundering operations in the area."

Jake whistles low. "Damn. That part of town is getting worse."

Jay shushes him.

"One person has been confirmed shot," the anchor continues. "According to sources close to the investigation, the victim is reportedly a tall male in his early twenties. He is believed to be the son of a prominent entrepreneur in the region. Authorities have not released a name pending family notification, but we have obtained a photo from witnesses who apparently recognized the victim during the scene."

The screen cuts to a photograph.

Your hand freezes around the mug.

It's him. Ni-ki. The photo is from some event ; he's in a dark jacket, looking off to the side, jaw set, eyes half-lidded.

"The victim's identity has not been officially confirmed," the anchor says as text scrolls across the bottom of the screen. "However, our sources indicate that the body has not yet been recovered from the scene. Police are continuing their investigation."

The mug slips from your fingers. It hits the coffee table and tea spills everywhere, soaking a magazine, dripping onto the carpet. You're staring at the screen, at his face, at the words scrolling past.

Body not recovered.

Jess grabs your arm. "Y/N. Y/N, breathe."

Jake is standing now, phone already in his hand, calling Jungwon. Jay is frozen, eyes wide, looking between you and the TV, still not believing what he saw. The anchor moves on to the next story and the graphic disappears. The screen fills with footage of a city council meeting.

You don't remember standing up but you're on your feet now, and the room is spinning, Jess is saying your name over and over, and all you can think is : His body hasn't been found.

Which means he could be alive, or he could be dead.

You don't know anything at all.