the thing is, you had no intention of going out that night. not with nara, not with taki, and especially not as the unwanted third wheel to their painfully sweet couple energy. you had your evening perfectly planned: a bowl of instant ramen, a blanket and maybe some random movie you'd half-watch while scrolling through your phone. but nara had that way of asking, well, more like begging. she'd sent three voice messages in a row, each one progressively more dramatic. "come on, it'll be fun, i promise! it's not even a date thing, just us hanging out! please, you owe me for that time i helped you sneak out of that boring family dinner!"

so here you were, standing in front of the café they picked, cursing your life choices and, more importantly, your outfit. you’d thrown on the first thing you saw: a michael jackson shirt and baggy jeans that made you look like you’d walked straight out of 2003. your sneakers squeaked with every step. your hair? barely brushed. your mood? somewhere between "meh" and "i should’ve stayed home."

nara waved like a maniac from the corner table, her grin too wide for a supposedly chill night out. taki was beside her, the perfect picture of the supportive boyfriend: arm around her chair, that casual, easy charm radiating off him. but then your eyes caught on someone else. someone who wasn’t supposed to be there.

he was tall, like annoyingly tall, the kind of tall that made you automatically straighten your back. hair slightly messy in a way that was definitely intentional, a jacket that looked expensive without trying too hard, and a smile that made something in your chest feel stupidly aware of itself.

nara jumped up, practically dragging you forward. "this is riki! taki's best friend! i didn't tell you he was coming because i knew you'd make an excuse and bail."

you forced a smile, muttered a polite "hey," and sat down, all the while cursing nara internally. and yourself. because if you had known, you would've at least worn mascara. or something that didn’t scream "i gave up on life at 6 p.m."

riki, though, didn’t seem to mind. in fact, his eyes lingered on your shirt, and a small, amused smirk tugged at his lips. "michael jackson, huh?"

"what's that supposed to mean?" you asked, raising a brow.

"it means i like it," he said easily, leaning back in his chair. "not a lot of people can pull that off."

you scoffed, half to hide the fact that your ears were getting warm. "pull off what? looking like a disaster?"

"nah," he shook his head, still smiling, "pulling off being real. everyone tries too hard when they go out. it’s kinda refreshing."

and just like that, you hated how your stomach did a little flip. the evening dragged on, it was supposed to. you expected to spend the night awkwardly sipping your drink while nara and taki whispered sweet nothings across the table, but riki was… easy. he asked about the band shirt, about your favorite songs, about everything that wasn’t small talk. he laughed at your sarcasm. he didn’t look away when you talked.

somewhere between the shared fries and the offhand jokes, you realized you weren’t the third wheel anymore. or maybe you were, but in a different car now, one that didn’t feel so bad to ride in.

when you all stepped out into the night, the city buzzing with neon and the faint chill of early autumn, nara gave you that look. the one that said i told you so without saying anything at all. you rolled your eyes, muttering a silent curse for ever listening to her.

riki walked beside you, hands in his pockets, matching your pace without effort. "so," he said, glancing at you with that too-casual smile, "you always dress like that, or was tonight special?"

"why? you got a problem with michael?"

he chuckled, shaking his head. "no. i kinda love it, actually."

and you cursed yourself again, but this time for a whole different reason — because a part of you wanted to see him again. maybe next time, though, you'd leave the ramen shirt at home. or maybe not. he seemed to like it.