You’d been part of Enhypen since the beginning. No late additions, no awkward introductions—you debuted with them, trained with them, grew up alongside them. And as the maknae, you’d earned a certain privilege: knowing exactly where everyone hid their spare keys, their snacks…and their clothes.

Which is how you ended up in Riki’s room.

Riki was busy doing a quick interview down the hall—fifteen minutes, tops. Plenty of time. His closet was a goldmine: oversized hoodies, baggy jeans, chrome hearts accessories draped like they were casually expensive. You tugged on one of his jackets, sleeves swallowing your hands, grinning at your reflection. “Okay, but why does everything you own go kinda hard,” you muttered, adjusting the chain around your neck.

You were midway through swapping hoodies—half-laughing, half-concentrating—when the door clicked open behind you. You froze.

Riki stepped in, eyes flicking from the jacket on your shoulders to the pile of his clothes on the bed. He didn’t say anything at first. Just closed the door quietly and leaned back against it, arms crossing. “…You good?” he asked, voice calm, but curious.

You turned slowly. “You were supposed to be gone.”

He hummed, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable but focused. “And you’re supposed to be in your own room.”

You shrugged. “Borrowing.”

He tilted his head. “Borrowing what, exactly?” You opened your mouth to answer and he reached out, fingers brushing the sleeve of the jacket you were wearing