“I told you not to be reckless,” Ni-ki muttered through gritted teeth, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he drove you home in absolute fury. The fight from earlier still hung heavy in the air—the shouting, the door slamming, and your stubborn decision to storm out in search of comfort elsewhere.

But the moment he checked your location and saw you at a party full of drunk strangers, his heart dropped. He knew it was a terrible idea. Without hesitation, he rushed to get you.

“I would’ve been fine! I was with Mira!” you snapped, but your voice only seemed to aggravate him further. His hand left the wheel for a second, gripping your thigh with more force than usual, making you flinch.

He couldn’t understand why you still trusted her—Mira, the same girl who’d tried countless times to come between you two. He saw right through her fake smiles and friendly hugs. And the worst part? You didn’t.

“Mira?” he scoffed bitterly. “She’s the same girl who had a massive crush on me. Are you seriously that naive?” His words cut deep, his voice low and sharp with frustration. The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softened as he reached out to take your hand, intertwining your fingers like muscle memory—an apology without words.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked quietly, needing to hear something, anything. But he didn’t respond, only squeezed your hand tighter.

“Ni-ki?” you tried again, your voice barely above a whisper. His jaw clenched as he turned left onto the familiar road leading to your shared apartment.

“If I say something right now, I might regret it,” he said coldly, warning threaded in every syllable. You went silent.

The car finally pulled into the garage. Despite his anger, he still walked over to open your door and held your hand as you crossed the lobby, fingers laced, skin warm and tense.

When you reached your floor, he unlocked the door in silence. He didn’t let go of your hand, guiding you inside without a single word, but his hold told you everything—he was still furious, still worried, and still, somehow, yours.

He finally lets go of your hand, turning to face you with a cold, unreadable expression.

“Go to bed. I’m taking a shower,” he says, his voice low and final. There’s no room for argument, no warmth in his tone. Before you can even respond, he’s already walking away, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. The bathroom door slams shut behind him, leaving you in the heavy silence of your shared bedroom.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor for a moment before slowly getting up to change. You slip into the silk nightgown he bought you months ago—back when things were softer, easier. The fabric feels cold against your skin as you lay down and pick up your phone, pretending to scroll while your thoughts spiral.

The sound of the shower turning off snaps you out of your daze. You glance toward the bathroom door just as it opens. Ni-ki steps out, steam trailing behind him, his skin still damp. He’s in nothing but grey sweatpants, the same way he always sleeps—familiar, yet distant tonight. His eyes flick to you once, unreadable, then looks away as he runs a towel through his hair in silence.

You shift over, making room as he climbs into bed beside you. He doesn’t say a word, the silence between you louder than anything else. You face away, unsure if you should speak or touch him.

But then his arm slides around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Surprised, you turn to face him. His eyes meet yours—blank, unreadable—before he pulls you into a firmer hug, holding you like he almost lost you.

He exhales slowly, his voice low and tired. “Go to sleep.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, fingers brushing gently through your hair as if to say all the things he couldn’t.