you sit curled up on your bed, knees to your chest, and tears streaming silently down your face. the math test you spent all night cramming for, the one you poured every ounce of your effort into, feels like a failure. numbers and formulas swirl in your head, taunting you with their elusiveness. math was never your strong suit.

you hear the faint creak of the door. riki steps in, quiet but purposeful. his eyes catch yours immediately, softening when he sees the redness around them. he doesn’t ask right away. he just sits beside you, leaving enough space for you to decide if you want him closer.

“it didn’t go well, huh?” he finally says, his voice gentle.

you nod, swallowing hard to keep more tears from falling. but it’s useless. a sob escapes, and you bury your face in your hands.

riki doesn’t hesitate this time. he closes the gap, pulling you into his arms. “you’re too hard on yourself,” he murmurs, resting his chin lightly on your head. “you studied. you did your best. and even if it didn’t go the way you wanted, it’s not the end of the world.”

“but—” you start, voice cracking, but riki cuts you off.

“but nothing. it’s math. math doesn’t get to decide how amazing you are.”

you almost laugh through the tears. “easy for you to say. you’re good at everything.”

“not true,” he counters, grinning. “i’m bad at one thing.”

“what?” you ask, curious despite yourself.

“seeing you cry,” he admits, voice soft again. “it sucks.”

you blink up at him, his sincerity catching you off guard. riki reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “if i could fight math for you, i would,” he says, and it’s so absurdly riki that you laugh for real this time, a small, shaky laugh.

“there it is,” he whispers, smiling. “there’s my girl.”