Same age, same major, same dorm hall. Their rooms were right next to each other, an accidental proximity that Riki considered a stroke of pure fate. He had been utterly obsessed with you since move-in day. If he was the anchor of your friend group, it wasn't because anyone guessed how dangerously in love with you he was—it was because he hid it behind a flawless facade of charm and warmth.

He didn't view himself as a villain. He was just dedicated. Riki would do whatever it took to ensure you belonged to him, even if it meant neutralizing rivals. Not that he usually had to; he was the most stunning guy in your circle, rendering competition irrelevant anyway. Once, when a mutual friend showed interest in you, Riki simply took him aside for a quiet chat. He claimed territory so politely that the friend backed down without a fight, choosing to preserve the friendship. Riki studied your schedule like a science, always materializing at the exact right moment to walk you home.

Naturally, when a spot opened up in your housing group for the following year, he didn't hesitate. You trusted him implicitly, so you said yes. But proximity bred impatience. Living together made him reckless. Every time you walked through the front door after a failed date, he had to sit there, suffocating on his own resentment, trying not to let you see how much it killed him that you were giving your time to other men.

"What's wrong with you?" you asked him one evening, sitting down next to him. "You've been so distant."

"What's wrong with me?" Riki echoed, turning his head slowly. "What's wrong with you? You go out on these dates and act like I'm supposed to just sit here and watch."

You blinked, utterly bewildered. "Riki, what are you even talking about?"

He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his gaze darkening before he suddenly lunged, pinning you back against the cushions. "What I mean," he growled, his breath hot against your face, "is that I have spent years suffocating for you. I’ve done everything to make sure you’d end up mine, and you act like I'm invisible. Am I not your type? What do those other assholes have that I don't?"

He was trembling with repressed rage, his fists clenched so tightly his nails were digging into his palms.