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fullsunstrawberry · 8 days ago

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sooooo who’s trying to get freaky with me 😜🥵🫣👹

@lxvesicck

Let Loose pt.2

[Read Part One] It was just supposed to be physical. But every lingering look and playful tease from Riki blurs that line.

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: smut at the start and then the rest is fluff, lots of teasing, FWB, swearing, lightest of angst (jealousy)

authors note: got so much love on the first one had to make part 2 a priority <3

It’s been weeks since the closet incident. Weeks of tiptoeing around glances and pretending the air between you and Riki isn’t awkward.

At first, the guys wouldn’t shut up about it. Every group hangout came with at least one offhanded comment, an exaggerated moan, or someone dramatically flopping into Riki’s lap. Sunoo even renamed your group chat to “7 Minutes of Shame.”

But then something shifted. The jokes started tapering off.

Maybe they got bored.

Maybe they saw the way you and Riki kept avoiding each other—never sitting too close, never staying too late, barely making eye contact unless someone else forced it.

Maybe they realized it wasn’t really funny anymore. Not when it started to feel like tension no one wanted to touch.

Even you and Riki stopped talking about it.

Or talking much at all.

Every interaction was safe. Surface-level. Too normal.

He’d ask if you wanted something from the kitchen.

You’d toss him a controller during Mario Kart.

Polite. Casual. Empty.

The memory of his hands on your skin still lingered under every word you didn’t say.

So when the group chat lights up one random Friday night with a flood of messages like:

Heeseung: guys I can’t hang out tonight

Jake: bro same, I have that chem lab

Sunghoon: I’m out too—family dinner

Sunoo: I was never coming but go off

Jay: Reschedule?

Jungwon: Yeah, tm? *everyone thumbs up message*

You toss your phone onto your bed with a sigh, flopping down beside it. For once, you were actually hoping for a distraction.

Your screen lights up again. A new message. But this time, not in the group chat.

Riki: still wanna hang?

Your heart skips. Then stumbles.

You stare at the message like it’s a trap. Or a test.

Or maybe a second chance.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard for longer than necessary before you finally type back:

Y/n: Yeah.

Y/n: come over?

There’s a beat of silence.

Then:

Riki: omw.

You scroll through TikTok on your bed, pretending your heart isn’t racing.

Because it’s just Riki.

Your friend.

Your friend who gave you one of your best orgasms in a dark closet.

Your friend who hasn’t touched you since.

It’s fine.

You hear the knock a minute later, quick and familiar. You don’t even have to ask who it is—he always knocks like that. You swing the door open with a grin, already in your hoodie and shorts, blanket draped around your shoulders.

“Wow,” Riki says, stepping inside. “Did you dress up for me?”

You roll your eyes, shoving him lightly as you shut the door behind him. “You’re lucky I didn’t cancel when everyone else bailed.”

“I’m honored,” he says, tossing himself onto the far side of your bed like it’s his own. He grabs the remote without asking and starts flipping through Netflix.

You settle in next to him, careful to keep a good few inches between you. You even tuck the blanket tighter around yourself, as if that’ll help.

“So, whatcha gonna pic?” you ask, grabbing a snack off the nightstand. “Something so stupid it’s kind of good?”

He snorts. “Obviously.”

You hum. “Naturally.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Neither do you.

Just the flicker of the TV screen, the rustle of chip bags, the two of you pretending that this is exactly like every other night you’ve hung out. That nothing’s changed.

But it has.

You’re hyper-aware of how close his knee is to yours.

How his fingers brush yours every time he reaches for the snacks.

How he hasn’t looked at you directly once, like he knows too.

Still, you keep it light. Keep it safe.

Because you’re friends.

And you’d rather bury it than risk whatever this friendship is built on.

You glance at him. “You okay?”

He nods, eyes still on the screen. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You believe him. But only a little.

You lean back against the pillows, trying to ignore the way your whole body is tense, like it’s waiting for something you’re not allowed to want.

Neither of you says it.

But neither of you moves away, either.

Half an episode in, and you’ve hardly registered a single plot point.

The tension is thick but you pretend to be focused, nodding along at scenes, occasionally laughing when he does just to keep things normal.

But it’s hard to ignore the way your legs keep brushing, only the blanket being a barrier.

How every small touch lingers just a second too long.

How neither of you is pulling away anymore.

Eventually, Riki shifts beside you. Leans back a little, arm sliding behind your shoulders—not touching, not quite. Just close enough to feel the heat of it. You stiffen. He notices.

“Too close?” he says, voice low. Teasing, but careful.

You shake your head, not trusting your voice. “No. You’re fine.”

Silence again. But now it’s loaded.

The characters on screen are fighting about something loud and dramatic, but you can’t focus on anything except the way Riki’s breathing has changed. Slower. Heavier.

You can feel him glance over at you.

And then he says it.

“Be honest,” he murmurs. “You’ve been thinking about that night too.”

Your heart kicks up like it’s trying to escape.

You swallow. “Riki…”

He leans in just slightly. Just enough. “Because I haven’t stopped.”

Your breath catches. For a second, you can’t speak. Then, voice barely above a whisper:

“…Me either.”

He nods like he already knew. Like he’s just been waiting for you to say it out loud. You both sit in silence, eyes locked, the unspoken truth hanging so heavy between you it feels like one wrong move might shatter everything."

Then—Riki huffs a soft laugh and shakes his head. “It’s just… physical, right?”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, leaning back an inch. “I mean, obviously. That’s why we keep thinking about it. It’s not, like… emotional or anything.”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, obviously. Just physical.”

“Exactly.” He smirks, a little too proud of how casual he sounds. “We just—had a moment. One really fuckin hot moment.”

“Right.” You force a laugh. “Super hot.”

“Crazy tension.”

“Ridiculous.”

“But that’s it.”

“That’s all.”

You both nod in sync. Silent again.

And then, without thinking, you're leaning in at the same time. Like magnets. Like idiots.

Your lips crash together again—messier this time, too much feeling under the surface for something that’s supposedly just physical. His hands find your waist without hesitation, and yours are already curling into his hoodie like muscle memory.

You pull back just barely, both of you breathless.

“This is such a bad idea,” you murmur, not moving.

He nods, brushing his nose against yours. “The worst.”

He presses another kiss under your jaw, slow and deliberate, and your breath hitches before you catch yourself.

You exhale hard and pull back again, just enough to see his face. “Riki,” you say, voice quieter now, “we can’t—like—we can’t let it get… weird afterward.”

He pauses, gaze softening, though there’s still a teasing curve to his mouth. “You mean like when we can’t look each other in the eye for three days?”

You frown. “Exactly.”

He leans his forehead against yours. “Okay. Ground rules.”

You blink. “…Really?”

He shrugs, arms still loose around your waist. “Sure. Hit me.”

You hesitate for a beat, then nod. “This is just physical,” you say firmly. “No catching feelings. No couple-y stuff.”

His brows lift, just barely, but he nods. “Okay.”

“We’re still friends,” you continue. “We still hang out with everyone like nothing’s different.”

“Right.”

“And if it ever starts feeling like too much, we stop.”

“Deal.”

You bite your lip. “You’re taking this really well.”

He grins. “What, did you want me to cry about it?”

You groan and shove at his chest. “I’m being serious.”

“I know,” he says, catching your hand. “And I promise, I’m not going to make this complicated.”

You don’t tell him you’re the one who might.

Instead, you nod once more, like that’ll make it true. Like rules can really protect you from the way your heart’s already reacting to the smallest things he does.

“Good, Okay– We are really doing this…” you hum.

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

Your breath catches, but you nod, staying committed to the story you’ve told yourself.

You reach for the lamp beside the bed, fingers brushing the switch. “I’m turning the lights off,” you mumble, half to yourself. “Like last time. So it doesn’t feel... weird.”

But Riki gently catches your wrist.

“Leave them on,” he says.

You blink up at him, startled. “Why?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Because I want to see you this time.”

Something stirs in your chest, and you hate it. You swallow it down, not showing how much it truly affected you.

Riki’s eyes flicker, catching the shift in your expression. His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, and before you can react, he’s tugging you into his lap with zero warning.

You yelp softly, hands bracing against his shoulders as you settle against him.

He raises a brow, all smug and too sure of himself. “So, what—are we only capable of hooking up in closets? Should I start scouting coat racks and musty jackets to set the mood?”

You narrow your eyes, but you’re biting back a smile. “Wow. You’re hilarious.”

“I’m serious,” he says, dragging his fingers slowly up your thighs, playful and cocky and way too comfortable now. “Some people like candles. You like cramped storage spaces..”

You roll your eyes, even as your heart hammers in your chest. “That was one time.”

“One very fun time,” he says, leaning in again, lips brushing just under your jaw now. “You practically begged for me.”

“Riki—”

“I’m just saying,” he murmurs, hot against your skin. “This feels a lot better than the back of a closet.”

And it does. But that doesn’t make it less terrifying.

So you grip his hoodie tighter, grounding yourself.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, trying to keep your head straight—even with him looking at you like that. Even with his hands warm and steady on your thighs, like they belonged there.

You’re not supposed to want more than this.

He tilts his head slightly, still watching you. “You’re thinking too hard.”

You blink. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.” His fingers trail along the hem of your shorts, lazy and featherlight. ��Your face gets all serious when you’re overthinking.”

“I’m just…” You hesitate. “Trying not to ruin this.”

His brows lift slightly. “Ruin what? We already agreed—we’re just having fun.”

You nod slowly, like you believe it. Like saying it again might make it easier to ignore how fast your pulse is racing. “Right. Fun.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Exactly.”

He watches you for a beat longer—then kisses you again, deeper this time. Less teasing, more real.

His mouth moves against yours, slow at first—almost cautious. But that fades fast. Because the second your hips shift up against him, Riki groans quietly, and everything between you starts to burn.

His hands slip under your hoodie like he’s done it a thousand times in his head, fingers dragging up your sides, teasing the edge of your bra. You gasp softly against his mouth, and his smirk curves against your lips.

“Still just as whiny?” he murmurs, voice low and maddeningly amused.

You breathe out a laugh, tugging his hoodie up over his head. “Shut up.”

He grins. “Didn’t say stop.”

You yank him back down, lips crashing again—hotter now, less careful. His hands roam your skin like he’s been waiting for this since that first time, like he knows exactly where to touch to make you melt. And he does.

When he pulls your hoodie off, his eyes drag down your body slowly, like he’s drinking it in. His gaze lingers, heat darkening his expression.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he breathes, almost to himself.

You try not to react. You try to play it cool. But your heart stutters.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” you mutter, chest rising and falling.

“Why not?” he says, crawling over you again, mouth ghosting over your neck. “It’s not against the rules.”

You open your mouth to argue, but then his lips find the spot behind your ear, and your breath hitches instead.

“Riki—”

“Mm,” he hums, dragging his teeth lightly across your jaw. “You’re already shaking. Haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

“Then touch me,” you whisper, bolder now, arching into him. “Or are you all talk?”

That flips a switch.

His mouth is on you in seconds, all heat and teasing hunger. He makes you feel every inch of his attention—hands gripping your hips like he owns them, lips dragging fire across your skin, hips grinding down just enough to make you whimper.

“Thought about this,” he mumbles, voice wrecked. “About how you sounded in that damn closet…”

You bite your lip, trying not to moan too loud.

He smirks again. “Yeah. Just like that.”

Clothes come off in pieces, breathless and messy, until there’s nothing left but skin and tension and his mouth trailing down your stomach. He takes his time—because he can—because this time there’s no risk of someone stumbling in, no rush.

“You’re seriously—” you pant, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses down your thigh— “so cocky right now.”

He just grins, glancing up at you from between your legs, eyes dark. “Shh let me make you feel good .”

His hands slide down—fingertips brushing the backs of your thighs before gripping them and pulling you flush against him, grinding up slow and deliberate. The pressure makes you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your breath stutters. Heat pulses through you like a warning.

He knows what he’s doing. He’s doing it on purpose.

“Riki,” you whisper, moving against him again. Desperate now. Needy. “Please…”

He leans back slightly, eyes locked on yours, smug as hell. “Please what?”

You bite your lip, trying to fight it—but the ache in your body is louder than your pride.

“Please fuck me,” you say, breath hitching. “I need you.”

His smirk slips, just for a second—something more raw flickering in his eyes.

Then he’s leaning down so your back is on the bed, lips crashing into yours like a reward and a punishment all at once. His voice is low against your skin as he kisses down your neck, trailing lower.

“You want it that bad?” he teases, dragging it out even now. “Want me to ruin you?”

You nod fast, breathless. “Yes. Riki. Please.”

“Good,” he mutters, kissing the space just below your collarbone. “Because I’ve been dying to.”

You gasp when you feel him press against you, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. His name leaves your lips like a prayer, soft and pleading. He looks down at you for a beat longer, like he’s checking one last time, like he needs to be sure this is what you want.

Then, finally—he pushes in.

The air leaves your lungs in one sharp exhale. Your back arches instinctively, fingers digging into his shoulders. It’s too much and not enough all at once. Every nerve feels alive, every breath feels shared.

He groans, low and raw, forehead pressing to yours as your bodies lock together.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice barely holding steady.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Riki… move.”

And he does—slow at first, deliberate, like he’s afraid of going too fast. Like he’s trying to feel everything.

You clutch at him, breath catching as he lowers his forehead to yours. His breathing is just as uneven, his hands skimming along your sides like he’s trying to hold on to every second of this—of you.

The pace builds slowly at first, until it becomes something deeper—needier. Your fingers dig into his back, your legs tightening around him as the room fills with soft, stuttered gasps and whispered names.

He moves like he knows exactly what you need—teasing you with rhythm and restraint, pulling a soft whine from your lips every time he slows down just to hear it again. And when you bury your face in his shoulder, practically trembling, he breathes out a laugh.

“Say it,” he murmurs against your neck, voice rough and low. “Tell me.”

You bite your lip, too breathless to pretend anymore. “Don’t stop,” you whisper. “Riki—please.”

His name leaves your lips like a prayer, and that’s all it takes—his restraint slipping, movements deepening, hands gripping your waist with purpose.

It’s overwhelming. Every brush of skin, every sound, every glance.

And when release finally comes, you feel it everywhere. A full-body rush that leaves you breathless, weightless, completely undone in his arms.

He presses a kiss to your temple as you both come down, chests heaving in sync, the silence now thick.

You shift slightly beneath him, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your skin against his, the stickiness, the quiet hum of your pulse.

Eventually, Riki moves first, slow and careful as he pulls away. His hair’s a mess, cheeks still flushed, and for a second, he just looks at you — like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

But he doesn’t.

He just lets out a breath and slowly pulls away.

You watch as he stands, reaching for his shirt on the floor and tugging it over his head. Then his boxers. The silence stretches as he pads out of the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

You let your eyes fall closed for a second, the cool air hitting your bare skin in contrast to the heat still lingering all over you.

A minute later, he returns — a warm, damp towel in one hand and something else you can’t see in the other.

You blink up at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he says simply, kneeling at the edge of the bed. “Just… hold still.”

You do.

It’s quiet, his movements gentle, but there’s something oddly intimate about it — something you try not to read into. He’s just cleaning up. That’s all this is.

When he’s done, he tosses the towel into the laundry bin and heads over to your dresser without asking.

You sit up on your elbows, brows raised. “What are you doing?”

“Finding you something to wear,” he mutters, casually pulling open drawers. “Unless you wanna sleep like that.”

Your face heats. “I was gonna get it myself.”

“Too late,” he says, tossing a pair of underwear onto the bed, followed by a worn oversized tee — one he’s definitely seen you in before.

He turns his back after that, fiddling with the drawer again like he’s giving you privacy.

You slip the clothes on in silence.

And when you’re dressed, he finally turns back around.

“Feel better?” he asks.

You nod, unsure what to say.

He moves to sit at the edge of the bed again — like he doesn’t quite know whether to stay or go.

Neither do you.

You clear your throat, tugging the oversized shirt down over your legs as you settle back against the pillows. Riki is still hovering at the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees like he’s waiting for a cue.

Your voice comes out a little quieter than you expect. “You can stay… if you want. Like you usually do.”

He glances over at you, eyes searching, like he’s double-checking you mean it.

You do.

“Yeah?” he says, and it’s not cocky this time. Just careful.

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s not weird. We always crash after movies and stuff.”

“Right. Totally normal,” he says, and the corner of his mouth twitches up — not quite a smirk, but close.

Without another word, he grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and climbs in beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He tosses the blanket over both of you and shifts closer, arm slipping around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You tense for a split second — but then you let it happen.

Because it is normal. Or at least, it used to be.

Riki exhales, forehead brushing your temple as he nestles against you.

“Night,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “Night.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzbuzzbuzz.

You groan softly, squinting at the screen on your nightstand, and your blood immediately runs cold.

7 missed calls. 14 texts. Group chat blowing up.

JAY: "Hello??? Open the door??"

SUNOO: "Y/N I see your car in the parking lot don’t play with me"

JAKE: “Why are we locked out 😭”

SUNGHOON: “We usually hangout at 11. It’s 11:14. Do you hate us?”

HEESEUNG: “I swear if you are still asleep…”

You jolt upright, sheets falling around your waist. “Oh my god.”

Beside you, Riki stirs with a muffled grunt, face half-buried in the pillow. “Wha—?”

You swing your legs out of bed in a panic. “They’re here.”

“Huh?”

“The guys. The guys are here. For the hangout. I forgot we rescheduled—shit, shit—” You trip over your own feet trying to find pants, nearly face-planting into the dresser.

Riki blinks up at you, barely awake. “Okay, so? Just let them in.”

“I can’t let them in, Riki! You’re here. We’re—like this. My hair’s a mess, the bed’s clearly slept in—what if they—what if they put two and two together?!”

He rubs his eyes, still groggy. “It’s not like we murdered someone, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll treat it like we did.”

Your phone buzzes again.

JAY: “If you’re dead we’re breaking in.”

Riki groans, finally sitting up and grabbing his hoodie off the floor. “Alright, alright. Chill. I’ll get dressed.”

“You don’t get it, they’re gonna freak,” you say, heart pounding as you throw on the first pair of pants you find.

He finally looks at you properly, a little more awake now, a crease forming between his brows. “Why are you freaking out this much?”

You freeze. “I’m not. I just… I don’t want things to get weird, okay?”

He doesn’t push. Just shrugs while putting his hoodie and sweatpants back on. “Okay. Then let me sneak out of the fire escape like we’re in high school.”

You give him a deadpan look. “I’m on the seventh floor.”

“Oh. Right.”

Another buzz.

SUNOO: “I SWEAR I HEARD SOMETHING INSIDE. JAY’S GONNA KICK THE DOOR DOWN.”

“Okay, okay,” you hiss, grabbing your phone. “You wait in here while I distract them.”

Riki snorts. “I feel like one of your one night stands.”

You shoot him a glare as you tiptoe toward the front door.

“Riki, not the time.”

But he’s grinning now, watching you panic with way too much amusement.

"Just saying," he mumbles as he tugs his hood over his head. "You're cute when you're spiraling."

You glare, but your heart jumps anyway.

“Go back in my room and be quiet!” you shoo him and wait till you hear the door close before you yank open the front door, putting on a smile.

And there they all are—leaning against the hallway, arms crossed, suspicious as hell.

Sunoo narrows his eyes. “What took you so long?”

You laugh. It’s way too high-pitched.

“ I—I just overslept.”

Jay raises a brow. “You’re usually up by now?”

“Usually,” you say, already walking toward the kitchen. “But you know me. I like my naps. I was up late… journaling.”

Journaling? You silently curse yourself. That’s the best you had?

As the guys shuffle into the living room —out of sight from the front door— tossing pillows and cracking jokes, you tiptoe back toward your room and crack the door open.

Riki’s sitting on the edge of your bed fully alert and clearly listening in. He raises a brow when he sees your face.

“All good?”

“No,” you whisper. “Sunoo’s already suspicious.”

Riki snorts. “When isn't he.”

“I need you to sneak out,” you whisper. “And just knock on the door like you just got here.”

He blinks. “So I’m full-on spy mode now?”

“Yes,” you say urgently. “Unless you want them to know you slept over and ruin everything.”

He stands and grabs his hoodie, straightening it out with a soft laugh. “This is so dumb.”

“Riki.”

“Okay, okay.” He moves to the window, cracking it open. “Wish me luck.”

You stare. “You are not climbing out the fire escape.”

“You said spy mode.”

“I meant quietly sneak down the hall.”

He sighs like he’s disappointed, but heads for the door instead. You peek out into the hall to make sure it’s clear, then wave him forward. He dashes to the front door, slipping out just as Jake calls from the couch:

“Y/N, did you hear something?”

You whip around. “That was...me.”

You cough. “Anyway! Who wants snacks?”

The front door opens a minute later, and Riki strolls in like he didn’t just stealth exit your bedroom five minutes ago.

“Yo,” he calls casually, “Hope I’m not late.”

Sunoo eyes him suspiciously. “You didn’t text the group.”

“Forgot,” Riki says smoothly, dropping onto the couch. “I overslept.”

You shoot him a look.

He winks.

And somehow—miraculously—they buy it.

The hangout starts like usual. Everyone’s piled onto the couch or the floor, yelling over each other during Mario Kart and fighting over snacks like it’s the end of the world.

But you’re distracted.

Because Riki is relentless.

It starts small—he sits next to you, thigh pressed flush against yours, closer than he needs to be given there’s literally half the couch open. You glance at him, but he’s staring at the TV like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

Then his hand finds your knee under the blanket draped over both your legs. You stiffen.

“Stop,” you mouth.

He grins like a menace.

Jake throws popcorn at Jay, and the whole room erupts with laughter. In the chaos, Riki’s fingers trail just a little higher.

You grab his wrist.

He leans in, whispering like he’s about to tell you a joke.

“I think I left a mark on your inner thigh,” he murmurs low, smug.

You nearly choke on air. “You what?”

“No one’s gonna see,” he hums, squeezing your knee again. “Unless you keep squirming like that.”

You elbow him, heart hammering, cheeks burning—but he doesn’t stop.

Every time someone else’s attention drifts, his hand slips beneath the blanket. Ghosting over your thigh, brushing dangerously close, then pulling away like nothing happened. He passes you the chips with the same hand like he’s innocent.

You lean in with a glare. “Do you want to die?”

“Just making sure last night stays fresh in your mind.”

“Oh my god.”

Jay groans from the floor. “What are you two whispering about now?”

“Riki’s being annoying,” you say quickly, snatching a controller.

“Same old, then,” Jake mutters.

Riki laughs under his breath, leaning back smugly while his fingers trail up your spine—hidden perfectly as he acts like he’s focused on the screen.

You try your hardest not to react. But you know the second the guys leave, he’s dead.

After a few more games, Sunghoon calls out, “Who wants ramen? I’m making some!”

“Me!” Jake shouts, raising a hand.

“Same,” Jay adds. “Y/N?”

You nod quickly. “Yeah, sure.”

As the group starts heading to the kitchen, Riki leans toward you again, voice low and smug. “You’re blushing.”

“Shut up.”

“You love it.”

You glare at him. “Keep it up and I’ll shove you off the couch.”

He just grins, kicking his feet up and stretching his arms behind his head like he owns the place. “You’re lucky they’re still here. Was hoping for a repeat of last night.”

You huff and head to the kitchen—but not before flicking him in the forehead as you pass.

And yeah, maybe you’re already thinking about how to get back at him the second the others leave.

The days pass in a quiet blur, each one somehow slipping further from the rules you swore you’d follow.

What started as a one-time thing… then a second time… has turned into something that’s becoming harder to define.

It’s not always just hooking up anymore.

Sometimes, Riki doesn’t even touch you like that. Sometimes he just… shows up.

He’ll text you in the middle of the afternoon—“you want boba?”—and swing by twenty minutes later like it’s a normal thing for him to be at your place without the guys this often.

He’ll help you fold laundry while cracking jokes about your mismatched socks. He offers to chop vegetables while you cook, and then insists he’s a better stirrer than you. He’ll crash on your couch, long legs stretched across your lap, scrolling TikTok like he lives here. Like this is his routine too.

One night, you’re scrubbing down the counter when he wanders in from the bathroom, freshly showered in one of your oversized t-shirts—his hoodie slung over your chair from last time. He leans against the fridge like he’s done it a hundred times.

“You missed a spot,” he says, pointing to the counter.

You roll your eyes, tossing the sponge at him. “Then clean it.”

He grins and actually does, wiping the spot down with exaggerated care.

It’s starting to feel… cozy. Domestic. Like a version of a relationship you’re both pretending isn’t one.

You know you should say something. Rein it back in. Re-draw the line you swore wouldn’t move.

But it’s hard.

Because when he brings over ingredients for your favorite pasta unprompted, or when he laughs at your dumbest jokes like they’re the funniest thing he’s ever heard—when he falls asleep next to you without even trying to initiate anything—you don’t want to stop him.

You don’t want to admit how good it feels to have him here.

Another lazy afternoon at your place.

Everyone’s over again—half-sprawled across your couch, snacks on the table, some dumb movie playing in the background. It's loud and chaotic, but in a comfortable way. You’re curled up at the edge of the sectional, feet tucked under you, a bag of chips in your lap.

And for once, Riki’s been on his best behavior.

No wandering hands. No whispered teasing. No smirks across the room that make your face heat up.

He’s just sitting there, next to Sunghoon, scrolling his phone like the rest of them.

You let yourself relax. It’s been a good day. Easy.

Until Heeseung suddenly pipes up, voice way too casual:

“Yo, Riki—how’s that girl you’ve been texting?”

Your head snaps up before you can stop it.

Riki looks up, blinking. “What girl?”

Heeseung grins. “Don’t play dumb. I saw you texting someone saved as ‘Cutie’ the other day.”

The room goes loud with oohs and whistles.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “Cutie? Damn, you’re down bad.”

Riki scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not,” Heeseung says, snatching a handful of popcorn. “You were smiling at your phone, bro. Real soft.”

You laugh weakly along with them, keeping your expression neutral, but your chest tightens.

You don’t say anything. You don’t ask who ‘Cutie’ is.

You don’t have the right to.

Still, your stomach twists, eyes flicking toward Riki out of the corner of your eye.

He glances at you quickly—too quickly—like he knows you heard. Like he’s waiting to see if you’ll react.

But you don’t.

Instead, you turn your attention back to the screen, pretending to be way too invested in whatever the actors are doing. Pretending your heart isn’t racing and your throat isn’t closing up.

Riki doesn’t say anything else either.

But he puts his phone down.

And for the rest of the hangout, you didn't smile once.

The door clicks shut behind the last of them, leaving behind a trail of empty soda cans.

You start gathering things on autopilot—wrappers, half-eaten snacks, pillows tossed on the floor. Anything to keep your hands busy. To avoid the weight of Riki’s stare from where he lingers by the kitchen counter, arms folded.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you move around the room until the silence stretches too long.

“You okay?” he finally asks, voice careful. “You were kind of quiet tonight.”

You shrug without looking at him. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t buy it. “Right.”

You give him a tight smile and head to the fridge. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

You grab two water bottles, hand him one. The cool air from the fridge brushes your face as you stare inside, pretending like you're considering something else. But your heart’s pounding.

You close the fridge slowly. Then—like you’ve been holding the words back for too long—you turn around.

“Who’s Cutie?”

Riki blinks. “What?”

You force a laugh, but it’s too sharp. “I mean, you don’t have to explain or anything. It’s not like we’re—y’know—we’re not, like… together. I know that.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“I just—” You blow out a breath, gesturing vaguely. “If you’re talking to someone else, that’s fine. Really. I’m not mad, it’s just… if this thing between us is getting in the way or making it complicated, we can just stop. We probably should’ve already, honestly. I don’t want to—”

“Y/N.”

You stop rambling instantly at the sound of your name.

He steps forward, slow and easy, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s you.”

You blink. “What?”

“Cutie.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s you.”

You just stare at him, speechless.

“I didn’t want the guys to know,” he adds. “They’d never let me live it down.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He takes another step closer. “Swear.”

You’re suddenly hyperaware of how close he is. How warm your apartment feels. How much you want to believe him even though your head is still spinning.

“Oh,” you say. Because your brain is useless.

He tilts his head, watching you with a little smirk now. “So… still want to stop hooking up?”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

And then finally: “…Shut up.”

He laughs, and suddenly the tension breaks, just enough.

He takes the bottle of water from your hand, sets it down on the counter behind you, and leans in.

“You’re really bad at hiding when you’re jealous,” he teases, his voice low and smug in your ear.

You push his shoulder, but your heart’s racing again—for a whole different reason this time.

“Whatever,” you mutter, but you don’t move away.

Neither does he.

He stays close, his breath warm against your skin, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips like he’s working something out in his head.

Then, softly—too softly—he murmurs, “Let’s end this stupid arrangement.”

You freeze.

The words hit harder than you expect, sinking into your chest like a weight. Your stomach drops, and you pull back just slightly to look at him.

“Oh,” you say, voice quiet. You try to mask the sting with a small nod. “Right. That makes sense.”

His brows knit the second he sees your face.

“Wait—no.” He exhales, shaking his head and gently taking your wrist before you can turn away. “That’s not what I meant.”

You glance up, still not sure you want to hear the rest.

“I want to end it,” he says, firmer now, “because I want something real. I want to be able to call you mine.”

Your breath catches.

He watches you, no teasing smile this time—just wide eyes and a rare kind of vulnerability. “You already feel like mine anyway.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, every part of you suddenly too warm, too aware of him standing there.

“I didn’t mean to make you think I was done,” he adds. “I’m just done pretending this is casual. You’re not just some hookup to me. You’ve never been.”

You stare at him, stunned silent. Until finally—softly, carefully—you ask, “Are you sure?”

He leans in again, lips brushing yours like a promise. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m sure.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment, the weight of his words settling between you. All the teasing, the late nights, the quiet mornings after—it all flashes through your mind, reframed with new meaning.

You reach up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “Okay,” you whisper, heartbeat loud in your ears. “Then I’m yours.”

His breath catches, just for a second—like he wasn’t sure you’d say it. Then he smiles, slow and genuine, the kind that makes your stomach flutter.

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because I don’t think I could’ve gone another night pretending I didn’t want more.”

You laugh, quiet and nervous and happy all at once, and he wraps his arms around you.

There’s no more pretending, no more rules or lines to blur.

Just you and him.

Exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Crazy that this all started because of a closet

Taglist: @haechansbbg @chenlesfeetpic @talkingsaxy @haolovre @vampgege @naqkja @yuyita-rosier @katseye4mimi @nocturnebite @ily6968 @sunooselle @staarflowerr @luvteyamm @ys2hee @nuggets4lifers @kristynaaah @the2000girlani (click here to be added)

Taglist from part 1: @en-chantedtomeetyou @ceremonialgrade @lxvesicck @lobservateuur @loveg4lore @kumitaaa @ihanflwr @jaeyunswifee @v1shwa-xo @0hb0 @annovaz @hecrtful @andassortedkpop @iluvmacatss (tysm for interacting with the first part!)

#best comment award #lxvesicck

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