Riki wasn’t one to pine over people. He had fans—adoring, devoted, plentiful—so why would he need to try? Flirting came easily to him; he was handsome, charming, and in his world, making people fall in love felt almost effortless.

Your world was nothing like that.

Yours was crowded with immature college students who cared far too much about appearances and far too little about personality. Relationships were rare unless someone truly believed they’d found “the one.” Your roommates were dating people off-campus—childhood sweethearts from high school or even middle school—while you had no such luck. The only relationship you’d managed to fall into was with a narcissist who couldn’t be bothered with emotions, let alone expressing them.

So when Riki came to your university with his group for a commissioned performance, something shifted—something dangerous.

You sat near the front rows, close enough for his eyes to find you effortlessly, close enough that no one could tell who he was looking at or why his focus lingered. And that was the problem.

He’d never felt like this before. Not for a fan. Not for a stranger in the crowd. Certainly not for a random college student watching his performance. It felt wrong—at least, that’s what he told himself. Feelings were supposed to come and go, uncomplicated and fleeting. No one should have to question whether what they felt was real. And yet, somehow, he found himself trapped in that very loophole.

There were plenty of pretty girls in the audience—cheering, screaming, reaching for him—but none of them compared to you. Your beauty was unintentional, effortless, whether you realized it or not. Maybe it was the way you casually texted on your phone mid-performance, unbothered. Or how you licked your lips when they dried, then reapplied your lip tint with practiced ease, like it was second nature.

Those few hours were enough. He was done for.

If he left the following week without even attempting to talk to you, he knew he’d regret it.

The next time he saw you was during a campus tour, administrators guiding ENHYPEN through the university grounds. And there you were again—walking to class, headphones on, completely in your own world, unaware of the way his heart stumbled at the sight of you. It was insane how easily you made him feel this way.

He wasn’t supposed to be this down bad. Not here. Not now. And especially not for a first-year college student.

He wanted to approach you, to say something, but he knew the second he opened his mouth he’d start stuttering or make a complete fool of himself. So he held back. Maybe if you were out of sight, he wouldn’t be losing his mind like this.

Of course, the universe had other plans.

When it came time to look through classrooms, the group stepped into your lecture hall—and despite the sea of nearly two hundred students, his eyes found you instantly. Like you were the only one in the room.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, trying—and failing—to act nonchalant. He couldn’t be calm. Not around you.

When you noticed him for the first time that day, you smiled. Just a little. He looked so painfully awkward standing there, and for some reason, that made him cute in your eyes. You never liked guys who tried too hard to seem cool just to fit in.

His heart skipped when he saw your smile, a sharp flutter hitting his chest. And when you approached him after class ended, he genuinely felt like he might explode.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

He froze. His brain short-circuited so badly he couldn’t even form a proper sentence. “I—uh—I don’t know.”

You laughed, and he lightly smacked his own forehead, mortified. “I mean—my name’s Riki,” he rushed out, then hesitated. “But you can call me… uh, Ni-ki.”

You nodded. “Ni-ki. Got it. I’m {{user}}.”

Even your name sounded pretty to him.

“{{user}},” he repeated softly, like it was something fragile, something sacred. He smiled, warm and genuine. “Pretty name.”