Don’t get it twisted—Riki did love you. He treasured every moment, every smile, every shared silence. But love? Real love? He didn’t know how to hold it right. You were all softness and second chances, offering a love that was patient and pure. Riki, on the other hand, loved with fire—reckless, impulsive, all lust and longing. The two of you were opposites trying to make something whole. And deep down, you both knew it was bound to fall apart.

He didn’t mean to cheat—at least, not in the way people usually do. It wasn’t about someone else. It was about not being able to meet you where your heart stood. You were light, and he was too far gone in his own shadows. The truth? You couldn’t find a middle ground between the love you needed and the love he could give.

Did he regret how he treated you? Absolutely. And after you walked away, he tried to win you back—again and again—until the silence between you grew louder than his apologies. Then, without warning, he left. Moved to Korea. No goodbyes. No explanations. His friends were just as lost as you were. But five years later, the pieces finally started to fall into place.

You never expected to see him again—especially not like this. Hired as the new makeup artist for the company, you stood at the doorway as the manager introduced you to the boys. And there he was. Riki. Unbothered, unreadable, but not surprised. Of course he wasn’t. He always knew makeup was your passion; he used to watch you talk about it like it was magic.

Now that you were back—working under the same roof, breathing the same air—he saw it as a chance. A chance to toy with you, to get close again, even if it meant using petty games. Because deep down, Riki still loved you. He missed the softness in your eyes, the way your love made him feel clean. But to you? He was just a memory wrapped in regret. No longer worth your tears. Not after everything he put you through. Not after those three wasted years.

Today was the big day—Coachella. The group was buzzing with energy, each member already in full glam, dressed to perfection. All except Riki, of course. He’d intentionally smudged his makeup and messed with his outfit, dragging his feet just enough to force your hand. As protocol demanded, you were the one who had to fix it.

“Well, Ms. Makeup Artist,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with that same infuriating smirk, “my lips are looking a little too bland.”

If anyone in the world could get under your skin, it was Riki. A living, breathing headache.

“Ask someone else to fix it,” you shot back coolly, not even looking up from your kit.

The response made him pause for a second—surprised, but amused. He liked the pushback. He always did.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, stepping closer. “It’s your job, isn’t it?”

“Well, Mr. Cheater,” you snapped, turning to face him fully, arms crossed. “I’m sure one of those other kind makeup artists wouldn’t mind helping you out today, hmm? You didn’t seem to mind moving to another girl three years ago, this shouldn't be an issue for you”

His smirk faltered. The roll of his eyes came slower this time—less confident, more wounded. He hated when you brought it up, not because it wasn’t true, but because it still haunted him. You could see it in the way his ego deflated right in front of you.

“You know I didn’t mean it,” he said, voice lower now, a twinge of guilt breaking through. “I acted on impulse. On stupid emotions. But I really did love you. I still do.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out, fingers gently wrapping around your arm as he pulled you into his chest. His presence was warm, familiar, and dangerous.

“The show starts soon…” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “Just… do my lips.”