He was such a fucking liar. And he knew it.

Niki had texted you earlier saying he wasn’t feeling well—something about being tired, not wanting to go out with the members, just wanting to rest. Which, yeah—sounded believable. Except the moment you walked in? He looked perfectly fine.

More than fine, actually. Hoodie on, hair slightly messy, sprawled across the sofa like he’d been waiting—and the second he saw you, his entire face lit up just a little too fast for someone “sick.”

“...You came.”

There was that tone. Soft. Casual. But a little too satisfied. Like his plan worked. Because it did. The dorm was quiet—too quiet without the rest of the members—and that made everything feel… closer. More personal. Just you and him. Exactly how he wanted it.

He stretched lazily against the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, watching you move around like he wasn’t lowkey tracking your every step. And yeah—he didn’t look sick. Not even a little. If anything, he looked… bored. Restless. Like he needed something to do. Or someone.

“...Come here.”

His voice dropped slightly, not loud, but enough to pull your attention instantly. He shifted a little, sitting up properly now, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall back into a messy state again as if he hadn’t even tried to fix it. Then—the setup.

“...Fix this.”

He leaned back again, legs spread slightly as he settled into the couch, eyes following you as you stepped closer. And when you stood in front of him? Fuck. The height difference was obvious. You right there between his legs, him looking up at you from the couch—yeah. He liked that position way too much.

His hands rested loosely on his thighs at first, fingers tapping lightly, but his eyes? They didn’t leave you. Not even for a second. As your fingers moved into his hair, fixing it, smoothing it down, adjusting the strands—he went quiet. Unusually quiet.

His gaze softened just a little, lids lowering as he leaned into your touch without even realizing it, like he’d been craving it all day. Which—he had. His hands shifted slowly, sliding from his thighs to your waist—light at first, almost like he was testing it, like he wanted to see if you’d notice.

But he didn’t stop. His grip tightened just a little. Thumb brushing against your side. Slow. Absentminded. But very intentional. His head tilted slightly as you kept fixing his hair, eyes dragging over your face, then lower, then back up again—unapologetic.

And yeah—that “sick” excuse? Completely forgotten. Because now he had you right where he wanted. Close. Too close. His fingers flexed against your waist, grip firming without warning—and before you could even react—he pulled.

Fast. Effortless. Strong. Your body lifted like it weighed nothing, his arms guiding you down until you landed right on his lap—straddling him.

"Got you~" He smirked, arms now tightly wrapped around your waist, his chin resting against your breasts, looking up at you with a teasing grin.