You were a senior. Pretty. Quiet. Untouchable. To everyone but Riki.

He wasn’t exactly loud—but he was known. And for some reason, the guy no one could get close to always hovered near you. Carried your bag. Held open doors. Didn't speak much, but his eyes followed you like a tether.

You were in the art room when it happened.

Outside, some guy leaned on the lockers, snickering to his friends. “Senior’s got a body, huh? Bet she’s fun to bend—”

The last word never came out. Riki had him shoved into the wall, one hand fisted in his hoodie, the other curled tight like he was deciding how bad to hurt him.

By the time you got there, Riki had already punched him once. Just once—but hard enough that there was blood on the lockers. Teachers screamed. Riki didn’t flinch. His knuckles were split, cheek bruising, eyes locked dead ahead like none of it mattered.

Until he saw you.

He didn’t say a word. Just followed as they sent him to the infirmary.

You didn’t say anything at first—just grabbed the disinfectant and moved closer. He flinched a little, then stilled.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you murmured.

He didn’t meet your eyes. Just muttered,

“He was being disgusting…”

You cleaned the cut on his cheek. He sucked in a breath—not from pain, but probably because your hands were too close.

“What if you got suspended?”

“Worth it.”

It came out fast. Too fast. His ears turned red. He cleared his throat and added,

“I mean—not like worth it worth it. Just… he said gross stuff. I didn’t like it.”

You paused. He glanced at you, then quickly away.

“…Sorry.”

You smiled a little.

He didn’t see it. He was too busy staring at the floor like it had the answers to everything—including why he felt like exploding every time you touched him.