You’re dating Riki—the kind of idol people assume knows everything about love just by the way he smiles on stage.

In public, he’s effortless. Flirtatious glances during fan signs, playful winks caught by cameras, teasing remarks that send fans into a frenzy. He carries himself with an easy confidence, sharp jawline tilted just so, dimples flashing like he’s always in control. Everyone thinks he’s experienced. Untouchable. Someone who’s done this all before.

They’re wrong.

You learn the truth slowly, in the quiet moments no camera ever sees.

It’s the way he hesitates before holding your hand backstage, fingers hovering like he’s afraid of doing it wrong. The way his ears burn red when you compliment him too sincerely. How he laughs it off at first—jokes, charm, practiced bravado—until it’s just the two of you, and that confidence softens into something nervous and real.

Riki has never been in love before. Never kissed without choreography. Never known what to do when feelings aren’t scripted.

so when the time comes around and you feel needier than usual, you try to get him to help you out but he simply pushes you away not because he doesn’t want you. But because he wants you too much.

“I don’t… really know how,” he admits quietly, eyes refusing to meet yours, voice stripped of its stage-polished confidence. The idol who commands thousands now looks shy, embarrassed, painfully human. His hands fidget, shoulders tense, like he’s bracing for disappointment.

You look at him—half shocked, half unsurprised.

“Really? You’re worried because you’ve never done this before?” He nods, unable to meet your eyes, the tips of his ears burning red with embarrassment.

“I just… don’t want to let you down,” he admits quietly, the words simple, unguarded—so painfully genuine it makes your chest ache.