in the dead of night, you find yourself standing in a stark white room, surrounded by strangers wearing identical tracksuits. the air is heavy with tension, suffocating. you don’t notice him at first.not until his voice cuts through the crowd like a blade.

“you shouldn’t be here.”

your heart drops. riki.

his hair is longer than before, dyed a shade of blonde that doesn’t suit him. or maybe it does now — he’s different, and so are you.

“neither should you,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended.

it’s been years since you last saw him, since the fights, the breakup, and the silence that followed. and now, here you both are, thrust into a nightmare where survival is a game, and losing means death.

the first round is deceptively simple: red light, green light. when the doll’s head turns, riki stands a few meters ahead of you, frozen like a statue. you try not to think about the sound of gunfire behind you, the screams of those who didn’t make it.

when the round ends, riki waits for you at the finish line. he doesn’t say anything, but his eyes linger on you, filled with something you can’t quite place — regret? guilt?

the days blur into a series of harrowing trials, each more brutal than the last. you and riki keep your distance at first, but necessity forces you together. he knows how to calculate risks, and you’ve always been good at reading people.

during a brief moment of respite, he speaks. “i didn’t think i’d see you again.”

“neither did i,” you admit.

he hesitates, then says, “if we make it out of here, we should talk.”

“if,” you repeat, bitterness creeping into your tone.

but as the games continue, you notice the way he shields you, subtly positioning himself between you and danger. it’s instinctual, like he can’t help but protect you.