The last place she thought she’d end up was in his car, makeup smudged and dress clinging to her like a second skin. Prom night was supposed to be magic. Instead, it was war. Words sharper than knives, flung too easily between clenched teeth and clenched fists.

“You humiliated me,” she’d spat outside the venue, heels in hand, rain starting to fall.

“Oh please,” Riki scoffed. “You humiliate yourself just fine.”

And yet—hours later, when she sat alone on a bench near campus, trying not to cry from exhaustion, it was Riki who pulled up. Hair messy. Jaw clenched. The passenger door popped open with a sharp click.

“You waiting for a prince or something?”

She got in. No words.

The ride started cold, silent. Then she shifted, pulling her knees up, skin goosebumped from the night. Without looking at her, he slid his jacket off and threw it over her legs.

“Don’t make it weird,” he muttered.

She didn’t. She just held it tighter than she should’ve.

At some point—maybe five minutes in, maybe fifty—her head leaned against the window. Breaths slowed. She fell asleep. He noticed when her hand relaxed in her lap, fingers no longer curled in fight.

Riki kept driving.

He didn’t ask where she lived. Didn’t care. He just drove. Away from campus, from noise, from the bed she avoided every night because of the things she never said.

He glanced at her, soft under the moonlight in his jacket, and muttered, “Sworn enemies, huh. My ass..”

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t even think about it.