you didn’t mean to cry in the middle of dinner, but the rice tasted too much like home and you hated that it still made your chest ache.

nara noticed. of course she noticed. she didn’t say anything, just scooted closer on the couch and let you lean your head on her shoulder. her hand squeezed your knee like it always did when she didn’t know what to say but wanted you to feel safe. she didn’t ask about the bruises or why your phone screen was cracked or why you hadn’t gone back to your house in five days. she just let you stay.

the thing was — you didn’t tell riki. and god, it wasn't because you didn’t trust him. you trusted him more than anything. but he was so swamped lately, between rehearsals and photo shoots and promotions. every time you typed out a message, your thumb hovered over the send button, stomach twisting with guilt. he was already exhausted, barely sleeping. you couldn’t drop this on him. not now.

so you smiled through the facetime calls and laughed at his stupid jokes and said you were just “hanging out with nara a lot this week.” he didn’t question it much. he looked tired. his eyes puffy, hair tousled from a nap he probably took for twenty minutes between schedules. sometimes you caught him staring at you like he was trying to read more than you were saying — but he always let it go.

until friday night.

you were curled up in nara’s bed, scrolling on your phone while she took off her makeup, when your screen lit up with a call.

riki.

“hey,” you answered, trying to sound normal.

“are you home?” he asked.

shit.

“uh, no. still at nara’s.”

“it’s been five days.”

“… yeah.”

“are you fighting with your parents?”

you hesitated. that pause was too loud.

he sighed on the other end, like he already knew. “baby,” his voice softened, “can i come get you?”

you didn’t know how to answer. your throat closed up and you just shook your head even though he couldn’t see. nara looked over from the mirror, concern flickering in her eyes.

“please,” he whispered.

fifteen minutes later, he was downstairs. no cap, no mask, just a hoodie and worry in his eyes. you met him by the door. he looked at you like you were made of glass.

“what happened?” he asked, gently touching your cheek where the bruise had started to fade.

you shook your head. “nothing.”

“don’t lie to me.”

you broke. everything crumbled. the words poured out between sobs you didn’t even realize were coming. how your father had lost his temper again, how he screamed and hit you, how he threw your backpack out the door and told you to never come back. how you were scared. how you didn’t want to bother anyone. how you didn’t know what to do.

riki just pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping so tight around you it felt like he was trying to keep your pieces together.

“you’re coming home with me,” he said, voice low and firm. “fuck him. you’re mine now. i’ll take care of you.”

you nodded into his hoodie, breath hitching.

“you should’ve told me,” he said, forehead resting on yours. “you’re never a burden. i don’t care if i’m tired or busy. i want to know when you’re hurting.”

you didn’t answer. you just kissed his jaw and let him hold you like safety, like love, like everything your father never was.

and for the first time in days, you slept without fear.