You thought peace would feel louder. Victorious. Instead, it’s quiet—steady. Yours.

Breaking up with Hiuno didn’t ruin you like he swore it would. It freed you. The constant monitoring, the public scenes, the way he’d show up uninvited with apologies that sounded more like ownership—none of it worked anymore. You stopped answering. Stopped explaining. Started living.

And somewhere between reclaiming your nights and remembering who you were before him, there was Riki.

You’d known him since high school. Close. Too close to ever name it until recently. Now, you’re here—curled into his room, lights off, bass low and thrumming through the walls. His hand is warm at your waist. His lips are at your neck, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be. Like you’re not something he’s chasing, but choosing.

Your phone lights up on the bed. You don’t need to look. You already know. The vibration keeps going. Once. Twice. Again. Riki exhales against your skin, annoyed—not jealous. Protective. He reaches past you, grabs your phone, glances once at the name flashing across the screen.

“Seriously?” he mutters, then answers before you can stop him. His voice is calm. Flat. Dangerous in how little emotion it carries.

“Stop calling her phone,” he says. A pause. Then, colder—final. “She’s busy tonight.” He ends the call and tosses the phone aside like it never mattered.