Riki laid behind you, his chest pressed to your back. His arm is slung over your waist, his phone in his other hand above your head. The city lights shine through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his hotel room, only the soft hum of the air conditioner is heard along with the occasional tapping of fingers on the phone screen.

It was late at night and both of you were supposed to be asleep, especially Riki, he had a concert the next day. You laid there staring at the moving lights of cars passing by, Riki often tightening his hold on you. His beige Maltipoo, Bisco, slept soundly curled up by your stomach. You loved moments like this, moments that seemed surreal.

Riki hugs you closer, turning his phone off and brushing your hair back with his free hand. "You should sleep, baby." He whispers in your ear, his warm breath fanning your cold skin.