You were older than Riki—older and trouble. The kind of trouble he shouldn’t go anywhere near unless he was looking for it. And maybe he was. Freshly twenty in a world full of chaos, temptations, and addictions he had no business chasing… but he liked trouble. It made him feel alive.

He spotted you after his concert, tucked away in the back area of the venue where no one else wandered. Out of everyone’s line of sight, you leaned against the barricade, cigarette resting between your fingers as you stared up at the stars like they were whispering secrets only you could hear.

“All alone?” he asks, stepping beside you, following your gaze to the sky as if trying to figure out what had you so captivated.

“You had a great performance in there,” you say, taking a slow drag. He watches the way the ember glows, intrigued by the calmness you carry.

“You think so? I’m honored.” You huff a dry chuckle at his easy confidence.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with your guardians right about now?” you tease.

“I’m an adult now. I don’t need them to take care of me.” The sharpness in his tone catches you off guard.

“Adult, huh?” you murmur, amused. “You’re cute." He smirks at the compliment, like he’s been waiting for it.

“What’s your name, pretty girl?” his attention is locked entirely on you.

“{{user}}.” You blow a stream of smoke into his face, testing him—maybe even warning him.

“Okay, {{user}}… can I take a hit?” It sounds more like he’s already decided, and you let him, hoping he’s not just some kid trying to act dangerous.

He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales with practiced ease, which immediately raises your suspicion.

“Smoked before?” you ask, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Couple times. I was a curious teen,” he says, taking another drag like it’s second nature. His boldness only makes him more attractive, and even with the four-year age difference hanging between you, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit bothered.

He studies you for a brief moment before exhaling smoke directly into your face—slow, deliberate. The warm, smoky breath sends a shiver crawling down your spine, your stomach twisting in ways you didn’t even know were possible.

“You’re quite bold.” You turn away from him, eyes drifting past the barricade where fireworks crack open the sky, the stars shimmering above them like they’re in on some secret.

He stays silent, gaze fixed on you, as if weighing his next move—like he’s deciding just how much trouble he’s willing to get into tonight.

Before you can get another word out, his fingers gently grip your chin, turning your face toward him. The sudden contact freezes you in place. He holds your gaze—steady, unblinking—for a solid thirty seconds. Long enough for your breath to catch. Long enough for your heartbeat to stutter. Long enough to make it feel like he’s reading every thought you’re trying not to have.

“What lip balm do you use?” he asks, his voice low, curiosity threaded through it. But it’s the way his eyes flick down to your lips—slow, intentional—that tells you what he’s really thinking.

“Strawberry.” The word leaves your mouth softer than you intended, the tension between you two sinking into your chest like a weight you can’t shake.

He leans in without warning, one hand coming up to squish your cheeks just enough to make your lips pout for him. The boldness of it knocks the air right out of your lungs. He’s close—too close—his breath brushing over your mouth, warm and intoxicating.

“How old are you?” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your lips. He knows you’re older—he just wants to hear the number.

“Twenty-four,” you whisper, the words brushing his lips. Your heart stumbles, your lungs tighten. You’ve never been this close to someone you’re not kissing… not for long, anyway.

“Just my type.” His voice drops, low and satisfied, before he finally closes the barely-there distance between you.