he was the kind of boy who existed on the edge of everything — your classes, your parties, your memories. tall, quiet, always with that lazy smile that said he knew something you didn’t. he wasn’t loud like your friends, or flirty like the guys who tried too hard.

he was just there.

sometimes you’d catch him staring across the hallway, like he was trying to remember your face. sometimes he’d say something weirdly specific — “you used to like mint tea more than coffee” — and you’d frown, because you’d never told him that.

you thought he was strange. not dangerous. just strange.

until the elevator.

it was late, and you were on your way back to your dorm. the elevator doors were closing when a hand shot through — pale, steady. riki slipped in, earbuds in, head tilted toward you in greeting.

you didn’t talk. just stood there, the hum of the elevator filling the silence.

then the lights flickered.

and didn’t come back on.

the air felt heavy, like the space between heartbeats. you turned to your phone, but there was no signal. the emergency button didn’t work.

“great,” you muttered.

riki leaned back against the wall, calm as ever. “it happens sometimes.”

“yeah, but—”

“don’t panic.” he smiled faintly, eyes glinting in the dark. “you didn’t panic last time.”

you froze. “what do you mean, last time?”

he didn’t answer. he just looked at you. really looked.

“you always forget,” he murmured. “but that’s okay.”

the floor shuddered beneath your feet. your stomach dropped—

—and suddenly, it stopped.

the lights flickered back on.

except you weren’t in the elevator anymore.

you were in a small apartment. sunlight leaking through white curtains. the smell of something cooking. your breath caught in your throat.

photos lined the walls — you and riki. laughing. kissing. standing together in front of a Christmas tree.

you turned slowly.

he was standing by the counter, in a hoodie and sweatpants, stirring something in a pan.

“good morning,” he said softly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “i was gonna wake you once breakfast was ready.”

your voice came out a whisper. “where…where are we?”

he smiled, gentle. “home.”

you stepped back. “no. no, no— we were just— we were in an elevator—”

his brow furrowed, the corners of his smile faltering. “you’re doing it again.”

“doing what?” you demanded.

“forgetting.”

you stared at him, heart hammering. “i don’t— i’ve never— we’re not—”

he crossed the room in a few strides, cupping your face like you were something fragile. his hands were warm. his eyes soft.

“we are,” he whispered. “we’ve been together for years. you just don’t remember until it happens.”

you shook your head, but the gold ring on your finger glinted under the light. matching the one on his.

“this isn’t real,” you said, breathless.

“then why does it hurt when you say that?” he asked quietly.

and it did. god, it did. something in your chest twisted, sharp and deep.

riki leaned in, his voice low, steady. “you found it again, didn’t you?”

you blinked. “found what?”

“the thing that always brings you back.”

his gaze flicked toward the corner of the room — and there, on the table, was a small, black coin. etched with those same impossible symbols. humming faintly.

your pulse stuttered. “what is that?”

he smiled sadly. “a promise.”

you stared at him, tears threatening to rise. “i don’t understand.”

he reached up, brushing your hair back gently. “you will. you always do.”

and before you could speak, he kissed you — soft, slow, heartbreakingly familiar.

for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

and when you opened your eyes again, you were standing in the basement.

alone.

the medallion sat on the floor, glowing faintly.

your phone buzzed in your pocket — a text from your mom.

“can you grab the mail? riki said he left a package for you.”

you looked at the coin, your reflection warped on its surface.

what the hell did he mean “you always come back”?