It was a quiet afternoon after school, and you were sitting cross-legged on the carpet of Ri-ki’s room. Your notebook was open in front of you as you tried to walk him through some math problems. He had texted earlier saying he needed help, and since you were his girlfriend and honestly kind of good at math, you didn’t think twice before showing up.

But now, twenty minutes in, you were starting to realize he hadn’t processed a single word you’d said.

Ri-ki sat beside you on the edge of his bed, nodding along and humming half-hearted agreements like “yeah” and “mhm,” but his eyes weren’t on the paper. His pencil rested untouched on the side of his notebook, and instead of looking at the problem in front of him, his eyes kept drifting. Lower. Then back up. And lower again—to the edge of your short skirt.