it started as a joke. just a funny thought you and riki had one night after watching a documentary about alternate dimensions. he said something like, “imagine if i had a double who was just way more annoying,” and you laughed, because honestly? one riki was already enough.

but then ni-ki showed up.

he looked exactly like riki. same bleached hair, same sharp jawline, same sleepy expression that made you wonder if he ever fully woke up. but where riki was cool and careful, ni-ki was chaos. lazy, dramatic, constantly barefoot, and always — always — in your business.

at first, you thought it was a prank. some elaborate bit your boyfriend cooked up just to mess with you. but ni-ki stayed. he flopped on your couch. claimed a drawer in your shared dresser. even started using your fancy shampoo without asking.

you and riki had talked about living together for months. it was supposed to be this sweet new chapter in your relationship — cooking together, late-night cuddles, him giving you the first sip of his bubble tea like he always did. instead, you got ni-ki throwing chips at you while riki tried to kiss you on the kitchen counter.

“can you not?” you’d snap, dodging a flying dorito.

“can you not?” ni-ki would reply, not even looking up from his phone.

riki found it funny at first. “he’s like my evil twin,” he said, poking ni-ki’s cheek while the latter scowled. “but like… not evil. just kind of pathetic.”

“i’m right here,” ni-ki would say, mouth full of cereal.

you tried to establish boundaries. you printed out a chore chart. you locked your bedroom door. once, in a moment of pure desperation, you even faked a pregnancy scare just to get ni-ki to leave for a weekend.

he didn’t.

instead, he brought home baby books and started calling himself "uncle ki."

the worst part? he wasn’t even completely horrible. sometimes he’d clean up when he knew you were overwhelmed. once, when you had the flu, he made you tea with honey and muttered “don’t die, that’d be annoying.” and occasionally, he’d disappear for hours, giving you and riki the illusion of privacy.

but it never lasted.

you’d be making out with riki on the couch, finally getting lost in the softness of his lips, the warm weight of his hands on your hips — then ni-ki would walk in, sit on the armrest, and start loudly eating pickles from the jar.

“carry on,” he’d say. “just needed a snack.”

riki would groan, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. “why is he like this?”

“because you let him stay,” you’d hiss.

“i thought he’d leave eventually!”

“he made a spare key, riki.”

“i found it under your pillow,” ni-ki added.

you started fantasizing about ways to kick him out. hiring an exorcist. staging a fake haunting. one night you whispered to riki, “what if we just move without telling him?”

“he’d find us,” riki said. “he’s like a cursed cat.”

still, there were nights — rare, fleeting nights — when ni-ki wasn’t there. maybe he’d crashed at a friend’s place, or wandered off to torment someone else. and in those quiet moments, riki would curl around you in bed, his voice low and soft in your ear.

“i like it best when it’s just us,” he’d whisper.

“me too.”

“maybe someday… we’ll have a place just for us. ni-ki-free.”

you’d smile, eyes fluttering shut, and try not to jinx it.

the next morning, ni-ki would be sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing your robe and sipping your coffee. “you guys are loud,” he’d say, not looking up from your kindle. “also, we’re out of almond milk.”

riki would sigh. you’d scream into a pillow. and ni-ki? he’d just keep living there, like a mold you couldn’t scrub off. annoying, clingy, weirdly charming ni-ki — your boyfriend’s doppelgänger, your uninvited roommate, and the third wheel in your relationship.

honestly?

you were starting to think he might never leave.