riki was the type of guy who made girls laugh, then accidentally made them cry. this time, it was you.

you. the girl who wore mismatched socks on purpose and talked about frogs like they were royalty. the girl who thought cheese tasted better at midnight and once made him laugh so hard he snorted water out of his nose. riki wasn’t ready for you.

his "friends" — a generous word for people who thought emotional destruction was a team sport — bet him he couldn’t get you to fall for him. easy money, they said. a week, tops.

except.

you laughed at his jokes like they were magic. you brought him warm muffins for no reason. you called him out on his crap and fixed his tie. somehow, without even trying, you became the best thing in his chaotic life.

he stopped caring about the money. started caring about how your nose scrunched when you smiled. when he kissed you, he meant it. when he held your hand, he felt it.

then you found out. oh, baby, you found out.

tears. the ugly, dramatic ones. you said “i hope you step on legos barefoot for the rest of your life” and honestly? he deserved it.

you told him he made you feel like a joke, like a sad plot twist in a bad teen movie. he tried to explain. he tried everything. flowers, apologies, a handwritten letter that said “i’m a moron” 27 times.

you? you blocked him, threw a muffin at his head in the hallway, and called him a “sentient red flag.”

he’s still in love.

you’re still furious.

justice is served.