Riki showed up at your place after practice, his hoodie tossed halfway over his shoulder, a faint smear of dried blood on his lip, and a bandage lazily slapped over his knuckle. He was always like this after an MMA session—rough around the edges, bruised up, but somehow still annoyingly attractive.

He dropped down onto your bed without warning, limbs sprawled like he’d just finished a full match right there. “Guy caught me with an elbow,” he muttered, thumb brushing his lip .“Doesn’t even hurt. Looks worse than it is.”

“You really should stop getting into fights like this,” you murmured, tone teasing but tinged with concern.

Riki blinked at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Your eyes roamed over the faint swelling under his mouth and the subtle purple shade blooming near his jawline. Without a second thought, you grabbed your lipstick from the nightstand, twisted off the cap, and moved closer.

“Hold still,” you said, pressing your fingers gently to his cheeks to steady him.

Before Riki could ask what you were doing, you were already smudging color onto his lips—the lipstick dragged a little too far to the side, smudged unevenly across his already cut lip, leaving more red there. the marks getting messier with every move. By the end of it, his face looked like a blend of bruises and lipstick.

He blinked at you. Then looked in the mirror. A beat. Then his mouth curled, eyes gleaming he leaned closer, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

“So possessive,” he whispered, feigning offense. “It’s adorable. Honestly—messy lips, bruises, and all? That’s so your style.”

lipstick still smeared across his face like a warning sign: taken.