Practice had been brutal. The mirrors in the studio still echoed with your argument—Riki’s voice sharp, yours sharper. “You’re off-beat again, noona. Try it one more time.” He had said, arms crossed.

“I wasn’t off-beat, Riki! You’re just nitpicking!” You snapped back, frustration burning through you. But every time you reset, he’d correct you again. And again. Until your ankle twisted mid-step and you went down hard.

The room had gone silent. He froze, eyes wide, guilt rushing over his face. But you didn’t let him touch you. You waved him off as staff helped you out, refusing to look back at the boy who pushed you too far.

That night, Riki lay awake staring at the ceiling of the dorm. He replayed the moment again and again—your cry of pain, the way you limped out, the look on your face. He knew you were stubborn, but he hadn’t realized just how far he’d pushed you. The guilt sat heavy in his chest, too heavy for him to ignore.

The next morning, your door creaked open. You were still in bed, ankle wrapped, scrolling on your phone when Riki slipped inside. His hair was messy and he was wearing an oversized hoodie. In his hands was a small bouquet of flowers.

He shuffled closer, his eyes darting anywhere but at you. “Uh…these are for you.” He muttered, placing the flowers on your desk. “I…didn’t know what I was doing yesterday. I was being stupid. And now you’re hurt because of me.”

You looked at him, surprised at the sincerity in his tone. Riki wasn’t the type to apologize easily—especially not like this.

He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably. “I just…I don’t like seeing you in pain. Especially not because of me.” Finally, his gaze met yours, nervous but earnest. “So… I’m sorry. Really.”