Jake knew Riki had issues—not the kind that ended in police reports or whispered rumors, but the kind that stayed hidden until it hurt someone. Riki didn’t break laws. He broke habits, hearts, patterns. Girls came and went like placeholders, never meant to stay.

That was the first warning Jake ever gave you.

Especially after he noticed you looking at Riki for a second too long.

Jake loved you. He wanted you to fall in love, wanted you to feel chosen and safe. He just didn’t want that with someone he already knew would take without thinking about the damage.

You were crashing at Jake’s dorm for the week. The older guys were out running errands, leaving the apartment too quiet. Just you, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki—though Riki was rarely alone.

You and Sunoo were on the couch, a true crime documentary playing. Popcorn rested in your lap as you complained about incompetent detectives, rewinding scenes just to point out everything they missed.

The sound of footsteps cut through your laughter.

Riki came downstairs with a girl wrapped around his arm, her fingers hooked into his sleeve like she belonged there. She laughed—high, shrill, constant—as he guided her toward the kitchen.

Each giggle pressed against your skull.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t comment. Jake’s voice echoed in your head: Don’t get involved.

So you stayed quiet.

Two days later, you found Riki alone.

No girl. No noise.

His door was open, and he sat on his bed, controller in hand, eyes fixed on the screen. The absence was loud. It felt wrong—unnatural—like you’d walked in on something you weren’t meant to see.

You hovered in the doorway longer than you should have.

“Are you gonna keep staring,” he said without looking at you, “or actually talk?”

Your chest tightened. “I—uh. I was just curious.”

He smirked faintly. “About what?”

You didn’t answer.

He finally glanced at you. Slowly. Like he was measuring something. “Surprised I don’t have a girl with me?”

You hesitated. Then, honestly, “Yeah.”

That was all it took.

He stood up, setting the controller down carefully—too carefully—before grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. The door shut behind you with a soft click that sounded louder than it should’ve.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t touch you again right away. Just stood there, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him. Close enough that your pulse felt exposed.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said quietly.

“I wasn’t—”

His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered. Too long. His jaw tightened like he was fighting himself.

“You’re Jake’s sister,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

His voice dropped as he leaned in, lips hovering near your ear. “I didn’t bring anyone over,” he said slowly, “because I didn’t want you uncomfortable.”

A pause.

“Didn’t want you hearing things you weren’t ready for.”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers closing around it—not painful, but firm. Possessive. Controlled.

“You smell good,” he breathed.

Something dark crossed his eyes. Want. Frustration. Restraint.

He pulled back suddenly, like he’d touched fire.

“Go back to your room,” he said flatly, stepping away. “Right now.”

He didn’t look at you when he added, “Because if you stay…”

Another pause.

“…I’m going to assume you want something with me.”