Chapter Text
Riki hates nights like this.
He realizes it would be one of those dreaded nights when his bedsheets start feeling like they're clinging to his skin like a second layer, making him feel hot and itchy. The relentless hum of the air conditioning grates his nerves, refusing to fade into the background. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, refusing to grant him a moment's peace. The moon feels more like a blaring flashlight rather than a soothing presence as its bright white sheen pours past the curtains.
Riki’s head hurts like hell.
His forehead is drenched in sweat and his hair sticks to his clammy skin. Even his oversized black shirt and loose sweatpants feel oppressive, a suffocating cocoon refusing to offer the comfort they once did. These restless nights have become a recurring theme in his life, especially after the demanding promotions for Orange Blood and the Fate Plus tour. He can’t remember the last time he felt this worked to the bone, not even during debut or other album promotions.
No matter how much Riki tries to fall asleep, his body keeps waking him up like some kind of sick joke. The pounding in his head is enough to keep him from getting the sleep his mind so desperately craves, and his eyes stay wide open, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. It feels as if someone is prodding his brain with hot blades. He can hear light snoring coming from some of the other members and oh, how he envies them for being able to sleep through the night.
Riki scrolls endlessly on his phone for what feels like hours, trying to fatigue himself until he passes out. It usually works, and all it costs is a dead phone by the morning time. Unfortunately for him, his usual method is proving useless and soon enough, Riki ends up on the wrong side of the internet, now actively reading hate comments. Even though he knows better, knows that it’s Idol 101 to not look yourself up, he can’t resist the urge to subject himself to this nightly torment.
How exactly did he end up here at this low point? He's not too sure himself.
There was a time when he was happy. He is happy…but things have become more and more difficult to deal with lately. So much has changed over the years. He questions how time has seemingly so quickly slipped through his very fingers like a ghost, simultaneously snatching his childhood with it.
Riki has never felt so lost.
Summoning every ounce of willpower, he fights off the urge to fling his phone across the room, the annoyance of being restless potent like poison. He wants to scream, wants to throw things, wants to cry like there’s no tomorrow and he doesn’t even know why, and that alone only adds to the frustration. His mind is clouding with fog and he feels like he’s floating in a place of limbo.
With another sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing to scroll on his phone. He sees videos of himself dancing on stage and others of him in the practice room, the comments sections littered with praise. Sometimes, he feels that he doesn’t deserve all those compliments, especially not the lofty title of the fourth-generation dance prodigy. It doesn’t feel right. Despite knowing his abilities as a dancer, he couldn't help but doubt himself. In truth, Riki doesn’t think that highly of himself at all.
Although he doesn’t regret pursuing a career as an idol, there are times when he can’t help but wonder what a normal life as a teenager would have been like. He feels a twist in his chest at the thought of being home with his parents and sisters. It hurts so, so much, and now he wants to go home because the shared dorm room is suddenly starting to become suffocating and unwelcoming and he just needs to get out now because he’s going to start crying and his head hurts and—
Struggling to lift himself out of bed, his legs instantly betray him, sending him crashing back onto the mattress. A scowl paints on his face. Stupid feet! Stupid, stupid-
Though no one sees him since they are still fast asleep, his face burns with embarrassment. Riki grits his teeth, clenching his fists tightly. He fights the irrational wave of feelings consuming him, clenching his fists tightly, his bottom lip trembling as his throat tightens. He’s trapped in turmoil and has no idea how to escape the labyrinth.
Riki stumbles out of the room, in need of fresh air, in need of pure solitude. The world feels so vast, and he feels so small and insignificant. Before he can even reach the front door, he collapses onto one of the couches in the living room, overcome by a tidal wave of despair. It starts as a tear or two sliding down his cheeks but it quickly devolves into gut-wrenching and messy sobs as he weeps into his hands.
Sure, he cries a lot when he’s alone, there’s no denying that, but it’s never been this intense. He’s never felt so alone in a building full of people. All he can do is surrender to his pain and let the tears flow.
He wants to be in his mother’s arms, not here. He yearns to be wrapped in his mother's embrace, his heart torn between his love for his group members and his family in Japan. He wants his mom so badly, so much that it physically hurts. He wants to go home!
Riki doesn't know how long he ends up crying. Before he knows it, there's snot running down his face and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. He's so cold. He pays no mind to the loudness of his sorrow, and the thought of someone hearing hasn't crossed his mind, not when he’s so focused on the loss of his innocence and youth. He knows he’s still young but it feels like he’s somehow lost out on so much.
Riki brings his knees up to his chest, rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to comfort himself as his body aches for parental warmth.
He is absolutely drained and filled with dread, utterly powerless against the anguish that escapes his lips. His head aches terribly, and he’s never felt more helpless in his life. All he wants is his mother's presence, and as he cries, something in him hopes she will hear him and rush in to soothe his pain and kiss him better. He knows that obviously won’t happen and it kills him. His body shakes as his head gets fuzzier and fuzzier, his vision blurring as he shrinks in on himself further.
He doesn’t hear the sound of someone shuffling into the living room.
“Niki…?” Sunghoon’s voice startles him as the older boy calls out in a hushed tone, “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Sunghoon stumbles over his words as he takes in the distressing sight before him, his thick eyebrows furrowing with concern.
Hyung! A part of Riki's brain sings happily at the sight of Sunghoon, that static feeling intensifying. Maybe Sunghoon can help him!
“Want my mom.” He sputters in between sobs, hoping that his hyung can go get the person he wants to see most. Riki’s not reasoning about anything at this point. His eyes are wide and glossy, slightly glazed over as they peer up at Sunghoon.
Sunghoon appears momentarily confused, his expression frozen. He tries to conceal the frown that tugs at his lips, pursing them into a thin line. He looks at the boy, pitying the sight before him. It’s as though Sunghoon has been shot in the chest, the way he staggers back.
“You’re homesick?” Sunghoon asks softly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as his heart breaks. Riki doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t deny it either, and the more Sunghoon looks at him, the more he realizes that the boy isn’t all that there right now. His gaze is so distant and unfocused. He's not entirely sure what to do.
Sunghoon, admittedly, isn’t the best at providing comfort or giving advice, not compared to the other members.
He remains still, fearing that any movement might worsen the situation, wearing an awkward expression. It hurts to see Riki look so distraught, so in pain, and yet, Sunghoon is just standing there like an idiot while the boy's body wracks with an endless torrent of tears.
This is Riki, their precious maknae, his sweet boy, shattered into a million little pieces. He is beautiful, broken pottery, and Sunghoon wants to be the gold that mends him back together.
He quickly snaps himself out of his thoughts, approaching slowly. Sunghoon’s hands are trembling as he sits on the couch, gently, albeit, hesitantly taking Riki into his embrace.
Sunghoon doesn’t think he’s ever been good at this type of thing, but nothing has ever felt so right as it does right now with Riki in his arms. His body goes on autopilot and the next thing he knows, he’s carding his fingers through Riki’s hair with one hand, cradling the back of his head with the other. He lets the younger boy cry into the crook of his neck.
The lanky teenager seems nothing more than a distressed child, his face flushed and tear-streaked. Sunghoon can’t remember the last time Riki ever looked this vulnerable.
Perhaps there’s a reason Sunghoon was the only member to hear Riki’s cries, he thinks. Maybe the universe intended for him to be the one to find Riki in this state. As much as it aches to see the boy in tears, Sunghoon is grateful that he awoke when he did. He doesn’t even want to think about how many nights Riki has spent suffering alone.
“I got you. It’s okay.” Sunghoon murmurs and Riki just melts.
The maknae’s shoulders droop slightly as he eases into the position more comfortably. For a moment, just a moment, Riki calms down because of the body contact. He tries to speak, but nothing except a string of blubbers leaves his lips. It’s irritating, trying to get a sentence out, only for it to come as incoherent babbling.
Words are too hard and it’s annoying! The fuzzy feeling in Riki's head is amplified by what feels like a million, and his body tingles as if a thousand butterflies are dancing ballet on his skin.
His hands grip Sunghoon’s shirt, clinging on for dear life, sniffling as his cries momentarily die down into hiccups. Hyung is warm, so warm and safe, a barrier between him and the scary world.
But hyung isn't his mom.
Just like that, Riki’s comfort disappears. He jolts upward, hot tears continuing to stream down his face.
“N-No! Not okay!” Riki suddenly hisses in Japanese, weakly shoving at Sunghoon, who only looks at him with widened eyes, stunned at the outburst.
Riki instantly regrets his actions but his mind is too clouded with the want, no, the need to be in his mother’s arms, to be lulled to sleep by her. He hiccups loudly, not wanting to look his hyung in the eyes. “Wan’ my mom! Go away!”
Despite being taken aback by the younger boy's unexpected aggression, Sunghoon remains steadfast. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, Niki," he whispers calmly, continuing to run his fingers through Riki’s hair. I wish I could make it better, he wants to add as he presses a gentle kiss to Riki’s forehead. Despite the maknae’s attempts to push him away, Sunghoon refuses to let go.
Riki can only cry.
What the hell is wrong with him?!
His brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. He's filled with a rush of self-loathing after acting so childishly in front of his hyung, who’s trying his best to console him.
Feeling a cross between shame and bewilderment over his actions, Riki struggles to apologize, “I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with- with me…” He whimpers in broken Korean, fully hiding his face in Sunghoon's shirt to conceal his expression of shame.
Dumb brain! Dumb mouth! Everything is dumb!
The frustration becomes too much for him and everything comes crashing down like a building with a poor foundation. His wailing only becomes louder and he starts to feel lightheaded from all of the crying but the waterworks refuse to stop. It's a miracle nobody else has woken up yet. Riki wants to scream but nothing except a choked sob escapes his throat.
Sunghoon embrace engulfs him further. He whispers gently, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”
Riki wants to go back to sleep and wants the weird feeling in his head to just go away and leave him alone but his hyung's voice is only making the mental fog stronger.
He sobs until the tears finally run out and his poor, aching heart can’t take it anymore. Sunghoon gives him another kiss, this time to the top of his head. Riki whines pitifully into the curve of the older boy's neck.
And through everything, Sunghoon just holds him.