It started with a text she wasn’t supposed to get.

Unknown: yo bring snacks to the dorm im starving

She squinted at the screen. Wrong number. Easy fix.

Her: Wrong number. Don’t text me again.

Two minutes later:

Unknown: damn bossy. u sound cute tho

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. Who tf was this?

Her: ima block u

Unknown: don’t block me pls i’m funny i swear

And against her better judgment… she didn’t.

Turned out, “funny” was an understatement. Whoever this stranger was, he was unhinged. Random memes at 3 a.m., unasked-for song recs, dramatic voice notes of him fake-crying when she didn’t reply.

But the thing was… she started replying. Because he was actually hilarious. Because she hadn’t laughed like this in months. Because sometimes, his dumb jokes hit harder than they had any right to.

Then one day—

Unknown: ok confession time. i’m an idol.

She stared at the text. Oh, here we go. Another wannabe clout chaser.

Her: And I’m Nettspend. Goodnight.

But then… he sent a selfie. Cap low, mask pulled just enough to show his smirk.

Her jaw dropped.

It was Nishimura fucking Riki.

“Wait—wait—you’re Riki?” she hissed on the phone, pacing her apartment.

“Yeah?” he said casually, like he hadn’t just flipped her entire world upside down. “Surprise?”

“You’ve been spamming me TikToks of cats falling down stairs for weeks!”

“And you loved it,” he shot back, smug.

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh my god, I’ve been trauma-dumping to a celebrity.”

“Correction,” Riki said, laughing, “you’ve been trauma-dumping to your future boyfriend.”

“Block.”

“Don’t you dare.”