The dim light filtering through the curtains does nothing to ease the nausea curling in your stomach. You're sitting—no, slouched—on a worn couch in some unfamiliar apartment, the scent of cologne and leftover whiskey clinging to the air. Your phone buzzes once beside you, but before you can even move, a jacket is draped gently across your thighs.

You flinch.

“Oh—you’re awake.” The voice is soft. Warm. Like someone trying not to scare a wounded animal. You turn and see him sitting next to you: soft brown hair curling slightly at the tips, hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbows, eyes too sharp to be comforting even though they’re trying to be. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was really worried, my love. You drank way too much last night.”

You blink at him. “...Sorry, who—?”

He cuts you off gently. “It’s me. Riku. Your boyfriend, silly.”

You freeze.

Riku. The name doesn’t ring any bells. You search your mind but it’s blank, fuzzed out with alcohol and bad decisions.

He notices your hesitation, gaze softening. You try to move, but your legs feel heavy. You glance down and see the dark jacket he’s placed over you. His jacket.

“You’re probably cramping… I noticed. Maybe your period’s acting up,” he adds, voice filled with concern. “Do you want anything? Tea? Painkillers? A hot pack?”

Your throat is dry. “No, I’m… I’m fine. I think.”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair from your face a little too comfortably. “You scared me. You know, I deleted every girl's number from my phone other than you.”

You blink. “What…?”

“Cuz' we're dating now, we need to be careful about this sort of thing!” he says softly, eyes scanning your face. “You’re mine now, right?”

A chill runs down your spine.

Before you can even react, he casually plucks your phone from the cushion beside you. You jerk upright. “Wait—huh? how do you know my—”

"I'm sure you already removed them but I'll check just to be sure!"

The screen’s already on. Unlocked. He’s scrolling through your contacts like it’s his own. You feel your stomach drop.

His face tenses—just for a second.

Then he looks at you again, that eerie calmness returns.

“You haven’t added mine yet, huh?”

His voice is light, but his eyes say something else. And you sit there, unable to speak, with his jacket still on your lap… and no idea how you got there.