⚠️ warning: this explores emotional dependency and childhood trauma. it’s purely fictional and not a healthy relationship model.

you had always known riki carried wounds deeper than he’d admit. he grew up learning to shrink himself just to be noticed, constantly seeking approval from a mother who only looked at him when he disappointed her. so he became gentle, overly kind, almost painfully sweet, convincing himself that if he gave enough, he’d finally be worth loving. he never learned what affection truly felt like — until he met you.

with you, he clung hard, like your presence was oxygen. sometimes, it felt like he didn’t just want your love, he needed it to function. tonight, he sat at the edge of the bed, messy hair falling over his eyes, fiddling with his sleeves. “did i do okay today?” he asked quietly, voice almost trembling. it was just a normal day, but he needed to hear it, needed your validation like a child awaiting praise.

you nodded, and his tense shoulders relaxed, a shy smile forming. he leaned into your touch instantly, eyes fluttering closed when your fingers brushed his cheek. “i knew you’d say that,” he whispered, but his tone betrayed relief so raw it hurt. riki loved you, genuinely, but there was something else too — an unconscious search for the nurturing he never received, like he saw you not only as his girlfriend but as someone who could fix what she didn’t break.

he laid his head on your chest, heartbeat quickening. “don’t leave, okay? ever.” you froze, because he wasn’t just afraid of losing you, he was terrified of losing the only source of warmth he’d ever known. he loved deeply, desperately, and sometimes it felt like being the sun to someone who never felt warmth could burn you both.

“i’m here,” you replied softly, even if the weight of his dependency made your breath catch. his arms tightened around you, possessive yet shaky. “i try so hard to be good,” he mumbled, voice muffled, “because if i mess up... you’ll stop loving me too.”

you felt the sting in your chest. riki didn’t understand that love wasn't something earned by perfection. years of emotional starvation had taught him that making mistakes meant being discarded.

“you don’t have to be perfect,” you whispered, fingers tangled in his bleached strands. he shook his head slowly. “but i want to be, for you.”

the room was silent except for his soft breathing against your skin. he felt safe like this — held, grounded — but also lost, confusing affection with approval, thinking love could vanish if he didn’t constantly prove his worth.

you pressed a kiss to his forehead, and his eyes glistened. “you’re all i have,” he admitted. not in a romantic way, but in a heartbreaking one. he needed you the way he once needed his mother, and that truth sat heavy between you.

still, as he tucked himself closer, fragile but loving, you held him anyway, wondering if loving someone so starved could heal him, or slowly consume you instead.