denial - Ni-ki
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pairing : niki x black!fem!reader — genre : fluff, just major fluff, slow burn , older reader — requested: no - warnings: none, just a very dedicated yearning Ni-ki
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I can still smell the studio from the first day I met Konon—clean wood floors, faint lemon disinfectant, the bass thumping softly through the walls. My mom had signed me up for dance classes to help me adjust after our move to Japan for the military. I didn’t want to go, but she said it would help me “settle in.” I felt anything but settled.
I stood by the mirror, pretending to stretch, when a girl with a high ponytail and bright eyes walked up to me.
“Hi! I’m Konon. You’re new, right? Want to be my partner?”
Her voice was warm, her smile easy, and that was all it took. By the end of class, we were laughing through every missed step. She introduced me to lemon tea from the vending machine, and by the end of the week, she’d invited me to her house.
That’s where I met Niki.
He peeked around the corner mid-dance practice, pretending not to stare. “Konon, who’s that?”
“This is Y/N,” she said. “My new friend. Don’t bother us.”
He ignored her, his curious eyes wide. “You dance really good.”
I laughed. “Thanks, kid.”
From then on, every Saturday turned into a routine — class, vending machine tea, and practice at Konon’s house with her siblings popping in and out. Misora, the youngest, always wanted her hair braided, and Niki always wanted to “show me his new moves.”
He’d spin around the living room, arms flailing until he fell over, then look up grinning. “Did I do it right?”
“Almost,” I’d laugh, helping him up. “You’ll get it.”
Konon rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage him!”
But I did. Every week.
Their parents treated me like family. Their mom always insisted I eat more, and their dad told endless stories that made everyone laugh until they cried. I never said it out loud, but their home became the first place in Japan that felt like home to me too.
⸻
Years passed like changing seasons.
By the time I turned sixteen, Niki was fourteen — still lanky and energetic but different somehow. Taller. More confident.
Sometimes he’d wander into the studio when Konon and I practiced. “Show me that turn again,” he’d say, pretending it was casual.
I’d adjust his stance, my hand brushing his shoulder. “Here, engage your core, not your arm.”
He’d freeze — not because he didn’t understand, but because he didn’t want to move.
We both pretended not to notice.
One night after dinner, we sat outside on the swings. The air smelled like summer — damp grass and the faint sweetness of night flowers. The moonlight made everything feel quieter.
“Y/N,” he said suddenly, “can I tell you something?”
I hummed. “Sure.”
“I think I like you.”
The words dropped like pebbles into a still pond.
He kept staring forward, voice small but steady. “Not like a crush that goes away. I mean, I like you.”
I froze, heart thudding. He was only fourteen. I was sixteen. And beyond that—he was Konon’s brother.
“You’ll meet someone better,” I said softly.
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re younger. And I’m… different.” I hesitated. “You deserve someone who makes sense for you.”
He turned toward me. “You make sense to me.”
That line stayed with me for years.
But I still stood up, pretending I needed to help Konon with dishes.
I didn’t look back.
A week later, my parents got transferred again. I left Japan without saying goodbye properly.
⸻
Military life moved me around like luggage with no destination. I tried to stay in touch with Konon, and we messaged every few months. Misora sent photos, and Niki… his texts were quieter. Random.
“Good luck on your exams.”
“Look at this sunset.”
“Remember that dance you taught me?”
Each message felt like a thread, tying me to something I wasn’t ready to let go of.
When I was nineteen, Konon called me one night.
“Y/N, you’re coming to visit this summer. No excuses. We miss you.”
And I said yes before I could think twice.
⸻
The streets of their neighborhood hadn’t changed much.
The same shop signs, the same little park, even the same house with flowers spilling over the gate. My heart thudded as I stood at the door.
Konon opened it first, nearly tackling me in a hug. “You look the same! Well, older, but still you.”
Then a familiar voice from inside:
“Did you really come all this way without telling me first?”
I turned. And there he was.
Niki.
Older. Taller. His hair slightly longer, his voice deeper.
He leaned against the wall with a knowing half-smile. “You still remember me?”
I laughed, trying not to stare. “As if you’d let me forget.”
The evening was full of noise and warmth — Konon telling stories, Misora showing dance videos, their parents insisting I eat until I couldn’t move.
Their mom kept refilling my bowl. “You’ve gotten too thin! Eat, eat.”
Their dad teased, “You say that to everyone.”
Konon rolled her eyes. “It’s her love language.”
And Niki? He just smiled quietly across the table. Every time I laughed, he looked like he was memorizing the sound.
When their mom caught us locking eyes, she smiled knowingly. “It’s good to have you back, Y/N. The house feels full again.”
I smiled. “It feels like I never left.”
⸻
That night, after everyone went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I stepped outside to the balcony, breathing in the quiet.
“You always liked the balcony,” a voice said behind me.
I turned. “You always liked sneaking up on me.”
He chuckled softly, walking to stand beside me. The space between us felt smaller than it used to.
“I meant what I said back then,” he said quietly. “I never stopped liking you.”
The words hit harder than I expected. “You were fourteen, Niki. You didn’t even know what that meant.”
He turned toward me, serious now. “Maybe not then. But I do now.”
I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to laugh it off again, to protect the memory of what we were. But another part of me — the one that remembered the way he used to look at me even as a kid — knew he was telling the truth.
He took a small step closer. “Do you still see me the same way?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
His eyes softened. “Good.”
Silence fell between us, the kind that hums.
He reached up and brushed a curl away from my face, his touch gentle, careful. “You used to call me cute.”
I smiled faintly. “You were cute.”
“Still am,” he teased, his voice low.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
But when I looked up, he was already looking at me — really looking. The kind of look that feels like a confession.
He leaned in slowly, giving me time to move away. I didn’t.
The first touch was hesitant — the kind of kiss that asks a question. My heart answered before my mind could catch up.
When we finally pulled away, the air felt lighter somehow.
He smiled. “Guess I finally grew up enough for you to see me.”
I laughed softly, still catching my breath. “Guess you did.”
⸻
We didn’t say anything for a while. Just stood there, listening to the wind move through the trees.
He reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “You know,” he said quietly, “I used to think you’d disappear again before I got the chance to tell you.”
“Not this time,” I said.
And as the first light of morning stretched across the sky, I realized how strange and beautiful it was — how the boy who used to chase me around the living room had somehow become the person I was finally ready to stop running from.
The next few days blurred into sunlight and music.
Konon dragged all of us to a community showcase where her students performed; somehow she convinced Niki and me to help set up chairs. When the crowd thinned after the last dance, we stayed behind sweeping confetti off the floor, laughing every time the broom bristles stuck with static.
On the walk home, the air smelled like grilled food from a nearby stall. Misora skipped ahead. Their dad called after her, “Careful, it’s slippery!”
Their mom fell into step beside me. “It’s good to see you with them again,” she said in the gentle English she’d practiced for years. “You and Niki always had… how to say… matching hearts.”
I blinked. “You noticed that?”
She smiled, eyes crinkling. “Of course. Parents notice everything.”
At dinner that night their dad joined in, half-teasing, half-serious. “We used to joke you two would end up partners one day—either dancing or in life. Looks like we weren’t so wrong, hm?”
Konon choked on her rice. “Dad!”
But he only laughed, waving his chopsticks. “I said what I said.”
I hid my face, cheeks warm, and caught Niki’s grin across the table. It wasn’t smug—just soft, like a shared secret suddenly not so secret anymore.
Later, as the dishes clattered in the sink and everyone drifted off to bed, Niki found me by the sliding door. The night hum of cicadas filled the pause between us.
“They really said that,” he murmured, still smiling.
I shrugged, pretending to inspect the stars. “Guess they knew before we did.”
He reached for my hand, fingers brushing mine. “Then I guess we don’t have to keep pretending it’s a surprise.”
I laughed quietly. “Guess not.”
The house behind us glowed faintly through the paper windows, voices fading into the steady rhythm of family. Out here, the summer air was warm against my skin, and for the first time in years I felt perfectly placed—like the long journey had been leading right back to this porch, this laugh, this moment.
Niki squeezed my hand once. “Home feels different when you’re in it.”
And it did.
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Was a little heartbroken these last few days but im back :))
