₊⊹ cold coffee !
pairing. best friend!riku x reader
synopsis. riku constantly thinks of you in the early hours of dawn.
tags. just fluff i think, mainly one sided pining and yearning from riku, no pronouns are specifically used for this! lmk if there's anything missed <3
wc. 0.9k words
notes. if you can’t already tell, this is heavily inspired by the dreamies new song with the same name (i love it so much pls listen to it while u read) yes it js came out a few hours ago and i alr have this out like who am i… also!! HAPPY SAKU DAY!!!! 🩷🩷
꒰ m.list ꒱
sometimes riku thinks he wakes up because of you.
not because you’re beside him—though that’s a dream he revisits often—but because something in him stirs at the edge of dawn, some instinct sharpened by loving you. the sky is still dim, washed in that muted blue before sunrise, and he lies there half-asleep, imagining your name settling softly in his chest like the last note of a familiar song.
he always thinks of you then.
he doesn’t really know when it started, the way you slipped into the quietest parts of him, but it’s there now. you, lingering like the scent of coffee left too long on the table—still warm in memory, still sweet even when cooled by time.
he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. outside his window, the streetlights blink out one by one. he counts them like he always does, a habit he says is silly but never breaks, and every time, by the third or fourth sleepy lamp, he finds himself wondering what you’re doing at this exact moment. are you still dreaming? still curled in your sheets the way he always teases you about? do you know he thinks of you before he thinks of anything else?
you’d probably laugh if he would come to tell you that, nudging his shoulder as you call him dramatic. and maybe he is, but he wouldn’t mind if that’s what you’d think of him.
after all, he likes everything about you.
he likes the way you utter his name under your breath. he likes how your jokes always soften at the end, like you’re careful not to hurt him even when you’re merely jesting. he likes how your eyes always manage to find his, bearing more than words could ever say.
he simply likes you.
riku pushes open his window and rests his chin on the cold metal frame. dawn is slow today. the first streak of pink barely touches the horizon, and it feels like a moment held in suspension, waiting for something.
maybe him.
maybe you.
he doesn’t know why he associates you with mornings. you’re not even a morning person—quite the opposite, actually. yet somehow, when he thinks of warmth, he thinks of you stretching beneath lazy sunlight, voice still laced with sleep. he thinks of the way your presence feels safe, even on his worst days, like the world easing its grip on him.
you’re the person he relies on before he even notices the instinct to reach out.
his phone suddenly lights up with the time displayed. the bright light radiating off the screen served as a reminder that it was far too early for anyone sane to be up, too early to bother you. but the thought of you is enough to pull him out of bed, make him move through the room with a steadiness he doesn’t feel when you’re not in the picture. it’s strange—how loving someone silently can make every small routine feel like purpose.
he walks over to his kitchen and brews coffee he knows he won’t finish, lets it sit on the counter until it goes cold, untouched except for the way he hovers his hands over it, like your warmth could somehow slip through the ceramic. and maybe it does, because he smiles thinking about how you always scold him for leaving drinks unattended.
“riku, seriously, why do you make coffee if you keep forgetting to drink it?” you’d huff out, the image of you crossing your arms over your chest in confusion quickly making its way to his mind.
ah, he wishes you were here to say it out loud.
he wishes for a lot of things.
he wishes you knew that your existence makes him stronger in ways he can’t explain. that memories with you—old ones, new ones, and the ones he hopes for—are what pull him forward when he’s tired or unsure or quietly hurting. he wishes he could tell you that you’ve become the place he goes to in his mind when the world is too loud. that the thought of seeing you later is enough to carry him through a day that would’ve otherwise felt heavy.
and maybe that sounds dramatic too, but he doesn’t care. he’s not really afraid of being honest when it comes to you.
you’re the one person he never wants to hide from.
when he leaves the apartment, the morning is new, the air crisp. each footstep echoes lightly against the pavement, and he feels that familiar flutter—the one that comes from knowing he’ll see you soon. you told him he didn’t have to knock when he came over, that he could just let himself in, that your place was always open for him. you said it casually, like it wasn’t a promise or an invitation or a reassurance he’s replayed a hundred times.
but to him, it meant everything.
he walks with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, breath steady, heart quietly blazing. he thinks about the song stuck in his head, the one he can’t stop humming since you recommended it. he smiles because the lyrics feel like they were written for this moment—this early, soft, quiet certainty that he’s on his way to you.
he’s already imagining your face when you open the door. the way your eyes brighten even if you pretend they don’t. the way you tilt your head slightly, like you’ve been waiting without admitting it.
he ponders once more on whether to tell you everything he’s been keeping to himself, but he won’t.
not out loud.
not just yet.
instead, he picks up his pace, dawn unfolding around him, because you’re ahead—and every morning, he chooses you again.
