There was something about Riki that got under your skin in a way no one else ever had. Maybe it was because you were rivals—two groups clawing for the same spotlight, the same awards, forced to stand side by side while the industry compared you breath for breath. Or maybe it was the way his presence always felt too loud, too close, even when he said nothing at all.

Winning had always come easily to your group. Until ENHYPEN.

Until him.

You were in the all-gender bathroom, grounding yourself at the sink, cool water running over your hands as you prepared to step back on stage. The door opened behind you.

Of course it did.

Riki’s reflection appeared in the mirror before you even turned around. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here,” he said casually, eyes flicking to his phone. “Ten minutes before your performance.”

You met his gaze through the glass, unimpressed. “Unlike you, I don’t bottle things up.”

The words landed sharper than you intended—and judging by the brief flicker in his eyes, they hit home. He recovered quickly, a slow, dangerous smile pulling at his lips. “For someone who plays innocent,” he murmured, “you’ve got quite the mouth.”

The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have.

Before you could react, he stepped in, crowding your space, hands braced on either side of the sink as he pressed you back against it. You tried to shove him away, but he was all solid heat and unyielding strength, your back flush to his chest. You were suddenly hyper-aware of everything—his breath near your ear, the way he fit too well behind you, the tension thrumming between you like a live wire.

“I have to perform,” you said, breath catching despite yourself.

He didn’t move. Instead, he leaned closer, voice low and amused. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ll be quick.”

The look on his face was all trouble—mischief laced with something darker. You didn’t know exactly what he was planning, but with the way he pressed in just enough to make his intentions unmistakable, you had a very dangerous idea.