#god ni-ki is so beautiful it's actually so annoying

[maximura]

[rikisakai]

THE SINGER'S BASSIST.

content bassist ! riki x vocalist ! oc, featuring guitarist ! jungwon and drummer ! sunghoon, he fell first and harder, it has always been you warnings profanity, assumed dirty implication sypnosis when the annoying bandmate that has always hated her suddenly starts to act strange around the vocalist of the band. wc 3.4k words

part one.

THE SINGER'S BASSIST.

"Sorry, I sang the wrong note. Let's try that part again," I say, biting my lip while I think about how dry my throat feels. Not only did I sing off pitch, but my voice nearly cracked.

"We've been having trouble crossing this part without problems, Zee. If we can't do it during the concert, how do you think we're going to manage?" The guitarist, Jungwon, says to me. He isn't trying to be mean, but it gets to me.

I take a deeper breath than intended. "Yes, I need to focus. I have no idea what's going on with me." Normally, there are no problems with my voice when I am singing this high.

"You need to practice and consider that the fans paid to watch us. Live up to their standards." Sunghoon, our drummer, is always the one who is able to make me improve.

The bassist to my side is awfully quiet. Perhaps he is bathing in the contentment he feels knowing I struggle. All I know is that he has been staring at me. The whole day—every day, actually. He always stares, likely waiting for me to mess up so he can laugh in secret.

Because he always laughs in secret, I know he does. Never to my face, like the coward he is, but always when I am not looking.

I do my best to not look at him at all, to give him none of my attention, none at all, but then I peek just one glance at him.

He's looking me right in my eyes, grinning evilly once I meet his, raising his eyebrows in challenge. What an asshole. How I despise him and his pretty face.

Ni-ki. The boy that hates me and, unfortunately, has a very, very pretty face. It makes it even harder to not look at him.

"Yeah, Zeve. Practice," he whispers wickedly, and those beautiful features of his turn into the devil's son's right in front of my eyes. Fucking bitch. He grabs for my wrist, but I swat it away, stepping away from him.

I remember times when I have barely known him, when I desired him and his touch, perhaps even loved it. Back when he didn't hate me for a reason I can't figure out to this day.

My nails dig into my fists, and I say nothing, knowing what he hates the most is when his words don't get to me—when I ignore them.

Once again, I take a deep breath. Then I start right over.

A DAY LATER, THURSDAY.

Being a university student and in a band at the same time turned out to be more stressful than I would have ever imagined. That is only due to the popularity we gained, though. We wouldn't push ourselves to this extent if there was no one who wanted to listen and cheer for us anyway.

Over the last year, ENHYPHEN has become huge. It all started with a song that I uploaded and that was only supposed to be out there for the fans, with no promotion, but went viral. People continued to listen until they found out we were an actual band.

And that's how it all started.

Now, we are having a concert that is happening in a few weeks, and I feel as though I am going to put on a disappointing performance.

If only I—

"My god, this girl is still asleep. Wake the hell up!"

I jolt in surprise, a frown on my face. I don't even need to guess who just interrupted my slumber. "I'm awake, asshole." Sending him my worst glare, I stretch my arms out, not helping my claim in any way.

"Thank fuck, I guess. You need to help me. Now." He way he says it makes it sound like an emergency. As if I would ever even help him. Especially if he just woke me up.

He stands and walks over to my side of the table, heavy with books borrowed from this library, grabbing my chin firmly and sitting down next to me. Lifting it up, he watches my eyes, appearing to forget what he was about to say, then remembering again. "You need to ... assist me with the work, yes?"

When I don't answer him, attempting to fully waken, his eyes go to my mouth, just for that one moment, then gone.

"Well, you certainly have a way to get people to do your stuff. Unfortunately for you, I can't help you with that." And then, I put my head down on the table again—or try, because my cheek meets his hand. How come I didn't realize how close he got? Either way, his hand is warm. My sleepy mind will not let me move, forgetting all about the guy I am trying to take a nap on.

"Zeve, I will force you if I have to. Don't make me. You hate it when I do."

I move my head, lips meeting his soft skin, sliding them across the back of his hand. Ni-ki moves as though a shudder has just gone through him. "Zeve."

Feeling his hand on my cheek, I give in and sit back in my chair. His ears are red, and I cannot tell if they were when he last made me look into his eyes. "What's with your ears?" I blurt out.

"What?" he nearly yells, getting up from his seat and bringing a hand to his left ear. Then, he grabs his beanie and pulls it over his head, covering the entirety of his ears.

I blink. "Okay," I whisper, confused.

"Anyway," he clears his throat, "let's get started now, shall we?" Ni-ki gains his composure and is looking at me exactly as he always does. Like he's challenging me. Messing with me. But just a moment ago, he seemed so flustered. And not just by anyone. By ... me.

A WEEK LATER, FRIDAY.

"We did well today, you guys. Sleep over, and tomorrow we'll practice harder than we did the past four hours. Let's give ourselves a break." Sunghoon is right, we should probably stop working without end. We deserve some time for just our band. To bond like people usually do, not through tirelessly practicing songs.

But Hoon's soundproof room in his house has been my favorite place ever since we started playing here. Before that, it had been my garage, and before that, Ni-ki's backyard, in which we could never be too loud because the neighbors would be complaining about the kids playing their music too loud.

When I turn, I notice half of my water bottle empty. I cannot remember drinking it all. How weird, I think. But then I steal a glance at the smirking boy beside me and feel like stabbing him.

"Don't drink my water, you disgusting shit! I don't want to have all your bacteria in my mouth!"

He raises his brow, looking at me funnily. "You're saying that, but secretly, you wish I put all of my bacteria down your—"

"Shut the hell up! Don't say that. Ever. Again. You little shit. Gross," I reply dramatically, a deep frown on my face. Ni-ki grins at me, his fingers going to my jaw, pouting as though he might actually be sad.

"Aww. Don't want me to kiss you? Scared you'll like it?" When he whispers that, one part of me wants to hit him, tell him that never, ever, would I let him. The other wants to surprise him, putting my lips on his, just so he'll have to live knowing he actually craves kissing me. Because I will make him crave it. And I will be in peace, knowing I do not feel the same.

"You wish," I only answer bitterly, knowing my ego is too big to kiss him first to begin with.

"Alright, you two, now that it's all solved, can we order food?" Jungwon asks, and for a second, I forgot me and Ni-ki were not alone.

He seems to have, too, turning his head in a surprised manner, showing me a perfect view of his side profile. Or, more so, of his ears—a glowing red.

"Please, I'm so fucking hungry," I hear Sunghoon say, grabbing his phone and mumbling about whether he wants pizza or sushi, but I drown it out.

Instead, I go to my room—which is not actually mine, officially, but is the one I always sleep in—and decide to change out of my tight clothes.

Roaming through the closet, I have a big, comfortable shirt in front of my eyes that I have never seen nor worn, with my black shorts that barely cover my thighs, but I often wear. I have never felt uncomfortable about revealing stuff to any of them, not even Ni-ki. They're like my family, like my brothers.

Well, except Ni-ki. Not him, the damn—

There! Shrieking with triumph, I grab out a white shirt, rather a jersey, and put it over my head in an instant. It's so soft, perfect to sleep in. I take a note to thank Sunghoon for having bought this (even if it was for him, not me) once I'm ready for Ni-ki to interrupt me when I do start talking.

With a smile, I trot into the living room, walking to the boys who are split on the couch and at the table. Ni-ki looks at me first. His eyes widen at the sight of me. What's wrong with him? I thought he didn't mind when my legs showed?

But his gaze is not on my legs. It is locked on my shirt. On the jersey.

Am I wearing the number of his least favorite soccer player or something? I turn to the mirror in the hall, perfectly visible from where I am standing, and realize.

10

Riki

Not his least favorite. Mine, rather.

Fuck.

"That's my jersey you're wearing, Zee." His voice surprises me. He isn't seeming to be messing with me. Right now, he seems rather shocked.

I ignore the fact that he just called me by my nickname, Zee, which he has almost never done before. Perhaps that is because we've always lacked the friendship aspect in our relationship, one way or another, but then I don't see why he is calling me that now.

"No shit." My hands to go my hips, thinking about what to do next. Neither Jungwon nor Sunghoon say anything, but I don't miss how they laugh when they catch each other looking at Ni-ki's face.

It's not hard to miss, considering how loud they are in unison.

"Uh, well, I'm gonna—"

"Keep it on. Don't stress over it. You can keep the shirt. I don't need it anyways," he says, the way he's looking at me so different from usually. Ni-ki sends them his worst glare, and I think I might be dreaming.

Now that I think about it, I have never seen him angry or annoyed. Ever. He isn't even in this moment, but it is the closest thing I will get to it. Which I am grateful for.

If I didn't know better, I'd think he wanted me to keep the shirt. His shirt. That if he needed it, he'd still give it to me.

Then it's good that I know he's not romantic. At all. Not in the least. Most of all, not with me. Why would he be? He hates me. He can't stand me. He never could.

He hates you, my mind tells me when I sit on the couch next to him. Don't forget that.

He hates you, I look to him, just once, actually smiling at his red cheeks. And you hate him too.

He hates you, even when he puts a hand on your thigh, caressing it like he might just like you.

My face heats up, and I think about how much I despise anyone having an effect on me. When the bell rings shortly later though, it is what saves me.

In my bed, my eyes are wide open. If I was asked why I am awake now, my mouth would hang open, searching for an answer in my head.

For a lie.

Why are you awake? I can't sleep.

Why are you awake? I don't know.

Why are you awake? I have no idea why I am.

Why are you awake? I am thinking about a boy.

"What boy?"

Jumping in my seat, I turn the chair to face the door. Ni-ki. He's here. Sitting on my bed. Meaning he has been here for at least 20 seconds. Which is about the timespan of all the answers I just gave.

His beautiful face is neutral, curious, but also knowing. Awaiting my answer, so patiently.

I will not give him the satisfaction of telling him that he has managed to get through to me, with ... absolutely nothing. He has done basically nothing, and I am already here, thinking about him as though I'm some sixteen year old girl.

This is all his fault. His flustered face and the thought of kissing him made me like this. The thought he put in my head to begin with.

"I ... I can't tell you."

Face stoic, he stands and walks toward me, determination engraved on his features. "Can't tell me?" he repeats, and weakly, I shake my head.

He kneels in front of me, never looking away from my face, making my heart swell and ache from how pretty he is. It feels good to acknowledge without fighting it. I cannot move from my bed. It feels as though he froze all my movements.

"Hmm. And what can't you tell me?" he asks again, but this time, he drives his hand under my blanket but over my clothes, on my stomach, then my waist, my thigh, driving his fingers across my body, featherlight touches all over my skin, making me feel dizzy.

"The answer to your question," I clench my teeth together.

"And why is that?" He explores my shoulders, my throat, my neck now, the sensation unbearable—I want to have my hands on him, too. Want to feel his body just like this.

"Because I don't want to admit how much I do like you."

The words hang in the air. The touch freezing, and I see a cautious thought behind his eyes. When those beautiful eyes meet mine, I've never wanted to kiss him more.

"Riki," I whisper, putting my hands on his shoulder and neck.

His eyes widen, just slightly. Similarly to how I have barely heard him call me Zee, I have never used the name Riki for him. In his presence. To him. Ever. I can't, for the life of me, remember how I went without calling him by his real name.

His hand covers my own on his shoulder, and when he leads me to sit on my bed next to him, I follow.

Putting both of his hands on my face, he searches my eyes for something. Wheels turn in my head as I ask myself what he could be looking for. My mind can't give me a single reason as to why this could possibly be unusual.

A big smile finds his lips when he looks down, at the shirt that belongs to him, on my body. "It suits you. You should wear my name more often."

"Why ..." I start, and hate myself for the whiny tone of my voice, "why are you like this so suddenly? You've never liked me." My statement makes the corners of his mouth curl up.

"Oh, my poor Zee. You have no idea how wrong you are." He lets go of me, but leans in so close that his nose touches mine, that his red cheeks nearly come in contact with my own.

"Do you even want to know for how long I've liked you? Would that be something you would be interested in hearing—you know, since you don't care about me at all," he mocks, eyebrows raised.

"How can you lie to me like this? And you would think it is the most obvious thing in the entire world that you have always only wanted to bring me down and to make fun of me and my mistakes and never even think to—"

Quite odd how fast things can change when you don't know what's happening.

Just one moment ago, I was angry at him, mad that he would use me like that, that he would so blandly tell those lies right into my face, and the next, his mouth presses hard against mine.

The breath is knocked out of my lungs. For a quick moment, I don't do anything but feel his lips move against mine, firm but soft. In the next, I have my hand on his chest and kiss him back.

He sighs, and I smile against his lips, feeling more satisfied every second and so, so different from just a few moments ago, when I was angry at him. Dizziness slowly clouds my mind. I've known him for years, yet I have never seen him kiss a girl, nor known if he's ever had a girlfriend, therefore it comes as a surprise that he can kiss the way he can.

Even if he would want me to, perhaps if it would even give him reassurance and would surely make him happy, I will never admit how much I like kissing him. But when you find out new things about yourself that you do enjoy doing, sometimes you wonder how you went that long without having done it, that certain thing.

He comes closer, puts one of my legs between his and the other to his right one, brushes a strand out of my face that touches his own, and I have no idea how he makes it feel like we have always been doing this.

Pulling away, he grins at me, looking to my eyes and then down to my lips, smiling wider when he meets my gaze again.

"I have liked you ever since we first met," he interrupts my train of thought, confessing his secret. Shocked beyond thought, I don't respond, I only stare at him, his red, swollen lips.

"If you knew how long I've spent thinking about this, what it would be like. So long to imagine all the different ways I could feel, and still, it can't compare."

My cheeks burn, his are also flushed, and I note how they feel warmer the longer I stroke my thumbs along them. What shocks me is that he actually lets me, that he doesn't protest at all and simply lets himself be touched, even enjoying it. How long have I shied away from his touch? How long have I let myself not enjoy it?

"Zee," he whispers, eyes heavy, and I give him a kiss to his jaw, feeling silly and oddly affectionate toward a guy I would have claimed to hate a few hours ago, before grabbing his hand and bringing him up with me, leading him to his room.

"What are you doing? Where are you bringing me?" he raises an eyebrow, looking at me as though I am somewhat unreasonable. My head can't find a reason as to why that could be, so I continue walking him through the corridors.

Along the way, we hear Sunghoon snoring. "Bringing you to your bed? You're tired, Riki. Hence, you need to sleep." I open his bedroom door, getting ready to leave, but he holds me by the waist.

Bringing his face close to mine, he attempts to get my full attention, and it works. Suddenly, I feel nervous. Riki looks so serious, seems so stern when he's sleepy.

"Why do you think I went to your room in the first place? What if I want to sleep with you?"

My eyes go the most wide they have ever been. "Excuse me?"

"Oh my God, I meant in your room, you moron. Ew. Who do you think I am?" His face contorts in disgust, though a playful smirk is playing on his pretty lips. "What a dirty girl."

I sigh, wanting to go back to my room when I hear his footsteps behind me, blabbering some more in his state of half-sleep. "And perhaps in your bed. I'm not a very great nap-on-the-floor-guy. Forgive me. But you're still dirty."

And I invite him into my room, then watch as he lets himself fall onto the sheets, unmoving as soon as his head hits the pillow.

During the night, in his endless moving and shuffling to find a good position, in a moment that in slumber, feels like a dream, he mumbles a name. "Zee."

my first post on here. this sucks, but i'll still write a second part.

© all rights reserved, rikisakai.

[marichild]

you're my star; sunsun.

—"What are stars to you, then?" "You."

—inspired by the time sunoo asked sunghoon why he teases him so much.

—fluff, canon compliant, my love for riki shows | word count: 804

"Sunghoon hyung, what are stars to you?"

The innocent question put forth by the oh-so-innocent Sunoo, in the sense that he's rather optimistic and cheery in his view of the world, makes Sunghoon's heart nearly, a little too slow, skip a beat, as soon as he processes the question. It's because he'd just, a little less than a minute ago, been thinking about how Sunoo is like a star in the center of his universe.

Then again, it's sensible that they were having similar trains of thought. It's one of the nights after a music show appearance and they're too tired to do anything but too wired to sleep. At least, in the case of Sunoo, Ni-ki and Sunghoon. Ni-ki was playing his games for maybe half an hour, while Sunoo and Sunghoon watched, but then he conked out in the middle of a game and in his sleep, he looked so cute, curled up on the couch with a content expression, that they didn't have the heart to ask him to get up and go to bed.

So now it's just the two of them sitting by the window in the room they share with both Ni-ki and Jungwon. Their young leader's off visiting his parents for two days, without any show of it, and the sight of his clean, perfectly tidy bed makes Sunghoon miss the kid too much. He's really grown so attached to these idiots since debuting. Then again, he's always been fond of honest, blunt, down-to-earth, shy Jungwon. Him joining Big Hit Entertainment was a refreshing change from hyper-to-shy Heeseung and bold Jay.

And then there's Sunoo, the one who was different from everyone else right off the bat. Even as they sit here under the window, looking up at the extraordinarily clear, starlight-bright night sky, he thinks about how Sunoo would fit right up there with them. He's refreshing, in a way. Sunoo's bright and hyper in a different way from most others.

Sunoo talks a lot, and though Sunghoon acts annoyed by it, secretly, he can listen to the adorable boy talk on and on forever. Sunoo gets excited by the things he loves, even if it happens to be monstrosities like mint chocolate, and that's adorable. Most of all, he's unfailingly loyal and unswervingly sincere. Not to mention admirably brave, too.

Kim Sunoo is different from them; Kim Sunoo is beautiful in a different way. And for Sunghoon, a quiet, not so talkative boy, that's all it took for him to fall hard and fast—giving him new energy and happiness with every smile and laugh.

"I don't know," Sunghoon responds. "What are they to you, Sunoo-yah?"

"You do know," Sunoo accuses. His raven-dark hair seems to shine in combination of starlight, moonlight, and streetlight. It is, of course—but in a different way. Kim Sunoo does everything in his own way if he can help it, even if he's not exactly aware of what he's doing.

"Maybe I do," Sunghoon laughs. "Maybe I just want to hear what you think first."

"Fine," Sunoo grumps. That's another adorable thing about him—most of the time, if he's upset, he kind of pouts and sulks instead of getting angry. Of course, pissing him off is never a good idea. But he's adorable all the same. "Stars make me think of a very, how should I say...cliché sort of thing. Soulmates."

Sunghoon snorts. "Do you actually believe in all that crap?"

"No, but I like the idea of it!" Sunoo defends himself. "I mean...it's cute."

"Huh, you seem to think a lot of things are cute."

"Stop that!" he whines. "Why do you tease me so much?!"

"Sunoo-yah," Sunghoon says seriously, "teasing you is my joy."

"God, you're awful," Sunoo pouts. "So, what are stars to you, then?"

"You."

"W-what?" Sunoo blinks, a light color dusting his cheeks. "Stop messing around, really, hyung. It's not funny."

"I'm not messing around, I mean it," Sunghoon says, leaning his head against Sunoo's. They're sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor, so it's easy. "To me, stars are symbolic of people we see as stars in real life. You're my star, because you shine so bright and, in a way that makes you seem like your fire will never burn out. And, well, it also gives me the energy and happiness I need."

He slides his hand across Sunoo's thighs to lace his fingers with the younger's, his open palm's fingers tucked between Sunoo's own from above. "Honestly, most of the time, a smile from you is all I need to start my day."

Sunoo laughs. "Sunghoon hyung, you're so cheesy," he says, placing his other hand on top of their intertwined ones. "I like this side of you."

"For you, it's going to stay right here. When we're alone, anyway."