Archive of Our Own

The dorm was quiet when Riki woke up at 5:50 AM, ten minutes before his alarm. He'd learned to wake before the sound could pierce the silence, learned that those stolen minutes of peace were sometimes all he'd get in a day.

He lay still in his bed, the smallest room in the dorm (of course it was his, the maknae didn't need space, didn't deserve it), and listened. The building was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator down the hall and the distant sound of traffic beginning to build on the streets below. In these moments, before the others woke, Riki could almost pretend he lived alone. That he was safe.

His phone buzzed. A message in the group chat from Minho, the leader.

*Maknae, make breakfast. Don't burn it this time*

It was 5:55 AM. Minho had been awake, waiting to send that message the moment he knew Riki would see it. The realization made Riki's stomach clench, that sick and twisting feeling that had become so familiar he barely registered it anymore. Except he did register it. Every single time.

He typed back: *Okay, hyung.*

No emoji. He'd learned not to use them. Jaehyun had mocked him for weeks after he'd sent a heart emoji once, calling him desperate, attention-seeking, pathetic. "The baby needs validation," Jaehyun had sneered, showing the message to the others while Riki stood there, face burning with humiliation.

Riki pulled himself out of bed, his soft cream coloured oversized sweater, the kind fans loved to see him in hanging off his frame. He'd lost weight recently. Not enough that anyone outside the group would notice yet, but enough that his clothes fit differently. Looser. He liked that feeling, even if it scared him.

In the kitchen, he moved quietly, pulling out eggs, rice, vegetables. Cooking had once been something he enjoyed, a skill his grandmother taught him when he was small. Now it was just another task, another opportunity to fail, another moment where he had to be perfect or face consequences.

The eggs sizzled in the pan. Riki watched them carefully, adjusting the heat, making sure the edges didn't brown too much. Minho hated crispy edges.

"Smells like shit."

Riki flinched, nearly dropping the spatula. He hadn't heard Jaehyun come in. The older member stood in the doorway, arms crossed, hair messy from sleep, eyes already cold and assessing.

"Sorry, hyung," Riki said automatically, even though the eggs smelled fine. Normal. Like eggs.

"You're always sorry." Jaehyun moved closer, and Riki's body tensed involuntarily. His heart rate picked up, that familiar acceleration that happened whenever any of them entered his space unexpectedly. "Sorry doesn't make you less useless."

Jaehyun reached past him, deliberately shoving Riki's shoulder hard enough that he stumbled into the counter. "Move. You're in the way."

It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last. These small acts of violence disguised as casual roughness, as hyungs just playing around with their maknae had become so routine that Riki had stopped flinching outwardly. But inside, his nervous system screamed. His hands shook slightly as he plated the eggs.

By the time the others emerged, breakfast was ready. Riki had made enough for everyone, portioned carefully, presented neatly. He stood by the counter while they sat at the table, eating and talking amongst themselves. No one invited him to sit. No one ever did, not unless there were cameras.

"This is bland," Minho said, not looking up from his phone.

"Sorry, hyung."

"You always make it bland. Do you even have taste buds?"

The others laughed. Riki's face burned, but he kept his expression neutral. Bland. He'd add more seasoning next time. Except last week Seungwoo had complained it was too salty. The week before, Taehyun said it was too spicy. There was no winning, and Riki knew that. But he kept trying anyway, kept hoping that maybe if he just got it right, they'd

What? Like him? Accept him? Stop?

He didn't even know anymore.

"Aren't you eating?" Junho asked, finally acknowledging Riki's presence.

"I ate earlier," Riki lied smoothly. He'd gotten good at lying.

"Good. You're looking puffy lately. Lay off the carbs."

Riki's throat tightened. Puffy. He'd looked at himself in the mirror that morning, really looked, and seen nothing but angles and shadows. But Junho said puffy, so maybe he was wrong. Maybe he wasn't seeing himself clearly. Maybe he needed to try harder.

"Okay, hyung."

The day proceeded like all the others. Dance practice where Riki pushed himself until his muscles screamed, desperate to be perfect, to be good enough that they couldn't criticize him. Except they always found something. His timing was off. His expression was too stiff. He took up too much space in formations. He wasn't trying hard enough.

"Again," Minho barked after Riki stumbled slightly during a turn. "Are you even trying?"

"Sorry, I'll-“

"Stop apologizing and just do it right."

Riki's chest felt tight. His breathing had become shallow without him noticing, and now he couldn't seem to get enough air. The practice room felt too small, too hot, the mirrors reflecting eight other people who all seemed to move in perfect synchronization while he

"Riki. Focus."

He ran the choreography again. And again. And again. Until his legs trembled and sweat soaked through his shirt and the room spun slightly at the edges of his vision. Until Minho finally, mercifully, called for a break.

The others clustered together immediately, laughing about something on Seungwoo's phone, sharing a bag of chips someone had brought. Riki sat apart, back against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. No one offered him chips. No one asked if he was okay.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through social media without really seeing it. Fans posting about how cute he was, how much they loved his smile, how lucky he was to be in such a close group. *The members take such good care of their maknae!* one post read, accompanied by a gif from a recent variety show where Jaehyun had ruffled Riki's hair affectionately.

Riki remembered that moment. The cameras had been rolling, and Jaehyun's touch had been gentle, his smile warm. Riki had leaned into it instinctively, starved for any kind of positive physical contact. For those few seconds, he'd let himself believe it was real.

Then they'd gone backstage, and Jaehyun had immediately shoved him away. "Don't get clingy," he'd muttered. "It's just for the cameras, kid."

Riki locked his phone and closed his eyes. His chest still felt tight. His heart was still racing. This was happening more frequently now, these moments where his body seemed to revolt against him, where anxiety flooded his system for no immediate reason. Or maybe there was a reason. Maybe the reason was everything.

That night, after schedules and dinner (which Riki had skipped, claiming he'd eaten at the company, another lie), after showers and the pretense of normalcy, Riki laid in his small room and stared at the ceiling. It was 1:34 AM. He'd been lying there for two hours, exhausted but unable to sleep, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't shut off.

*You're useless. You're a burden. They'd be better without you. You're too fat. Too slow. Too stupid. Not good enough. Never good enough.*

The thoughts weren't even in his own voice anymore. They were Minho's voice, Jaehyun's voice, all of their voices blended together into a constant stream of criticism that played on loop in his head even when they weren't around.

Riki sat up slowly, his heart pounding again. The anxiety was back, that suffocating feeling of being trapped in his own skin, of needing to do something, anything, to make it stop.

He padded quietly to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The fluorescent light was harsh, making him squint. He looked at himself in the mirror, really looked. His face seemed rounder than it should be. His stomach, even concave as it was, felt too soft. His thighs touched. Everything about him felt wrong, excessive, too much.

*Puffy.*

Riki opened the cabinet under the sink, his hands shaking slightly. He'd hidden a small blade there three weeks ago, taken from a box cutter in the practice room. He'd told himself he wouldn't use it. That just having it was enough, a safety net, a last resort.

But the anxiety was too much. The thoughts were too loud. And he needed, he needed to feel something else. Something he could control.

The first time had been an accident, sort of. He'd been scratching at his arm during a particularly bad anxiety attack, and his nails had broken skin. The sharp sting had cut through the panic like a knife through fog, bringing sudden, startling clarity. His mind had quieted. For just a moment, everything had stopped.

He'd chased that feeling ever since.

Now, sitting on the closed toilet lid, Riki pressed the blade to his inner forearm, where the marks would be hidden by his ever-present long sleeves. The pain was sharp and immediate, and with it came that same rush of relief, the anxiety receding, the thoughts quieting, his racing heart finally beginning to slow.

He watched the blood well up, small and bright red, and felt nothing but a strange sense of calm. This, at least, he could control. This pain was his choice, not something inflicted on him by others. In a life where everything felt chaotic and overwhelming, where he was constantly at the mercy of people who hated him, this was his.

The shame came after, as it always did. Riki cleaned the wound carefully, applied pressure until the bleeding stopped, then covered it with a bandage. He washed the blade and returned it to its hiding place. He washed his hands twice, then once more for good measure.

In the mirror, his reflection looked the same as always. Tired. Young. The cute maknae everyone loved.

No one would ever know.

Back in bed, Riki finally felt calm enough to sleep. But before he did, he opened the notes app on his phone and added to the list he'd been keeping:

*Breakfast - 0 calories*
*Lunch - 0 calories*
*Dinner - 0 calories*
*Total: 0*

He'd started tracking three weeks ago, around the same time as the first cut. It had begun innocently enough, just wanting to be more aware of what he ate, to make healthier choices. But it had quickly become an obsession, a game he played with himself. How low could he go? How much control could he exert?

The members said he was puffy, that he needed to lose weight. So he would. He'd show them he could be disciplined, that he wasn't the useless burden they claimed he was. He'd be perfect. He'd be so perfect they'd have no choice but to accept him.

Except a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that it wouldn't matter. That nothing he did would ever be enough. That they'd made up their minds about him long ago, and no amount of weight loss or perfect choreography or bland-but-not-too-bland eggs would change that.

Riki silenced that voice the way he silenced everything else lately, by simply not listening. By going numb. By existing in a strange state of emotional flatness punctuated by moments of overwhelming despair.

He used to love dancing. Used to feel joy when he nailed a difficult move, used to lose himself in the music and the movement. Now it was just another task, another opportunity to fail, another thing that brought criticism instead of praise.

He used to love music, used to spend hours listening to different artists, discovering new sounds. Now his earbuds stayed in his drawer, unused. Everything sounded flat. Nothing moved him.

He used to call his family every week, used to look forward to hearing his little sister's voice, his mother's laugh. Now he made excuses, kept the calls short, couldn't bear to hear the concern in their voices when they asked if he was okay. He couldn't tell them the truth. Couldn't admit that he'd made a terrible mistake, that the dream he'd worked so hard for had turned into a nightmare.

So he lied. To them. To the fans. To himself.

"I'm fine," he'd say, smiling that bright, adorable smile that made fans coo over how precious their maknae was. "I'm so happy. I'm so lucky."

And maybe if he said it enough times, it would become true.

Riki's phone buzzed. Another message in the group chat.

*Maknae, you left the kitchen light on. Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Inconsiderate brat.*

It was 2:03 AM. Riki stared at the message, his brief moment of calm evaporating. He hadn't left the light on, he was certain he'd turned it off. But maybe he hadn't. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was as careless and thoughtless as they said.

*Sorry, hyung. Won't happen again.*

He lay back down, pulling his blanket up to his chin despite the warmth of the room. His arm throbbed slightly where he'd cut it. His stomach was empty and aching. His mind was already racing again, anxiety building, the brief respite over.

Tomorrow would be the same. And the day after. And the day after that.

This was his life now. This was what he'd worked so hard for, what he'd sacrificed everything for.

And he was drowning in it.

But in the morning, he'd wake up ten minutes before his alarm. He'd make breakfast. He'd apologize for things that weren't his fault. He'd smile for the cameras and play the role of the cute, clumsy maknae everyone loved.

Because that's what he did. That's all he knew how to do anymore.

The KBS building loomed in front of Riki, all glass and steel and the promise of another performance. Another smile. Another day of pretending.

His manager had told him about the Music Bank hosting gig three days ago, framing it as an opportunity, an honor. "You'll be great," she'd said, scrolling through her phone, not looking at him. "Just be your usual cute self."

Cute. Clumsy. Harmless.

Now, standing in the lobby at 7:43 AM, Riki felt anything but cute. He felt hollow. His oversized cream sweater, the one fans loved, the one that made him look soft and approachable hung off his frame more than usual. He'd lost another two pounds this week. The number on the scale had made him feel accomplished and terrified in equal measure.

He hadn't eaten breakfast. Just water and the lie he'd told himself that he'd eat something later. His stomach had stopped growling days ago, replaced by a constant, dull ache that he'd learned to ignore.

His hands trembled slightly as he checked his phone. No messages from his members. They never wished him luck. Why would they? This was just another schedule, another obligation. Another chance for him to mess up and embarrass them.

*Don't mess this up,* he told himself, the words automatic, a mantra he'd repeated so many times it had worn grooves into his brain. *Don't be awkward. Don't stutter. Don't forget your lines. Don't-

"Riki?"

He looked up, startled, his heart immediately racing. A staff member stood nearby, clipboard in hand, smiling at him with professional politeness. "You can head up to the green room now. Your co-host is already there."

Right. His co-host. Sunoo from ENHYPEN. Riki knew of him, everyone did. Cute, charismatic, beloved by fans. They'd never actually met, though their groups had crossed paths at music shows before. Riki had always been too anxious, too focused on not making mistakes, to really notice anyone else.

The green room was on the third floor. Riki took the stairs instead of the elevator, using the physical exertion to burn off some of the nervous energy thrumming through his body. By the time he reached the door, his breathing was slightly labored, his legs weak. He paused, pressing his palm against the wall to steady himself.

*You're fine. You're fine. Just smile. Be cute. Don't mess up.*

He pushed open the door.

The green room was smaller than he'd expected, cozy almost, with a couch, a mirror surrounded by lights, and a small table with water bottles and snacks. And sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, was Sunoo.

He looked up immediately when Riki entered, and his face broke into a smile not the practiced, camera-ready smile Riki was used to seeing from his own members, but something warmer. Genuine.

"Riki!" Sunoo stood up, setting his phone aside. "Hi! I'm Sunoo. It's so nice to finally meet you properly."

Riki bowed automatically, the motion ingrained. "Hello, sunbaenim. Thank you for-“

"Oh, please, just Sunoo is fine," Sunoo said, waving his hand dismissively but kindly. "We're going to be working together every week, right? Let's not be too formal." He gestured to the couch. "Come sit. Have you been here before? The staff are really nice."

Riki moved toward the couch slowly, unsure. Sunoo's energy was. different. Not demanding. Not cold. Just. warm. Open? Like he was genuinely happy to see Riki, even though they'd never really talked before.

"First time," Riki managed, his voice quieter than he intended. He sat on the far end of the couch, leaving space between them, his body angled slightly away. Defensive positioning. He didn't even realize he was doing it anymore.

"Me too, actually," Sunoo said, settling back into his spot. "Well, first time hosting. I've performed here a million times, but this is different, you know? I'm kind of nervous." He laughed, and it was such an easy, unguarded sound that Riki found himself looking at him properly for the first time.

Sunoo looked... relaxed. Comfortable in his own skin. His smile reached his eyes.

"You're nervous?" Riki asked before he could stop himself. It seemed impossible. Sunoo seemed so confident, so at ease.

"Of course!" Sunoo said, leaning forward slightly. "I've never hosted before. What if I mess up the cue cards? Or trip on stage? Or accidentally say something weird?" He grinned. "At least we'll mess up together, right?"

Something in Riki's chest loosened, just slightly. The way Sunoo said it “we'll mess up together” like it was a given, like mistakes were just part of the process and not catastrophic failures that would result in criticism and coldness and punishment.

"I... yeah," Riki said, and he almost smiled. Almost.

Sunoo's eyes were kind as he looked at Riki, really looked at him, and Riki had to resist the urge to look away. He wasn't used to being looked at like this, like he was a person, not a prop or a problem.

"Have you eaten?" Sunoo asked suddenly, nodding toward the snacks on the table. "They have pretty good stuff here. I already had some of those cookies. They're really good."

Riki's stomach clenched. "I ate before I came," he lied smoothly, the words automatic.

"Oh, good," Sunoo said, but something in his expression shifted, just slightly, just for a moment. Like he'd noticed something but wasn't going to push. "Well, if you get hungry, help yourself. We've got a long day ahead."

They spent the next twenty minutes going over the script together, and Riki found himself gradually relaxing in increments so small he barely noticed. Sunoo was patient when Riki stumbled over a word, laughing it off and stumbling over his own lines a moment later. He asked Riki's opinion on how they should deliver certain segments, actually listening to his answers, nodding thoughtfully.

"I think your idea is better," Sunoo said at one point, marking something on his script. "Let's do it that way."

Riki blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not?" Sunoo looked at him curiously. "You have good instincts."

No one had ever said that to him before. No one had ever asked his opinion and then actually used it. Riki felt something warm and unfamiliar bloom in his chest something that felt dangerously close to hope.

When they were called to the set for rehearsal, Sunoo stood and stretched, then turned to Riki with that same easy smile. "Ready?"

"I think so," Riki said, and he was surprised to find he meant it.

As they walked to the set together, Sunoo kept up a steady stream of conversation, nothing heavy, just observations about the building, a funny story about his members, questions about Riki's week that were casual and undemanding. Riki found himself responding more than he expected, his one-word answers gradually expanding into sentences.

On set, under the bright lights with cameras pointed at them, Riki felt his anxiety spike again. This was where he usually messed up. This was where he became clumsy, awkward, too much and not enough all at once.

But then Sunoo caught his eye and smiled, just a small, reassuring smile, and mouthed, *We've got this.*

And somehow, impossibly, Riki believed him.

The rehearsal went smoothly. Better than smoothly. They had natural chemistry, the director said, pleased. Their banter felt organic. They should keep that energy for the live show.

Afterward, back in the green room, Sunoo flopped onto the couch with a satisfied sigh. "That was fun! You're really good at this, Riki."

"I... thank you," Riki said, still standing, still not quite sure what to do with this kindness, this ease. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Sunoo to suddenly turn cold or critical or dismissive.

But Sunoo just patted the couch next to him. "Sit. We've got a bit before the live show. Want to just hang out?"

Hang out. Like they were friends. Like Riki was someone worth spending time with.

Riki sat, closer this time, and Sunoo started talking about a new game he'd been playing, asking if Riki played games, sharing a funny video on his phone. And Riki found himself laughing actually laughing, the sound surprising him with its genuineness.

"There it is," Sunoo said softly, and when Riki looked at him questioningly, Sunoo's smile was gentle. "Your real smile. It's nice."

Riki's breath caught. He didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to explain that he'd forgotten what his real smile felt like, that he'd been performing for so long he wasn't sure what was real anymore.

But maybe he didn't have to explain. Maybe Sunoo just... saw him. Actually saw him.

"You're quiet," Sunoo observed after a moment, but his tone wasn't accusatory. Just... noticing. "Is that just how you are, or are you nervous? Because if you're nervous, that's totally okay. I'm nervous too, I just talk more when I'm nervous." He laughed. "Obviously."

"I'm..." Riki started, then stopped. What was he? Nervous? Exhausted? Terrified? Hopeful? All of it? "I'm okay," he settled on. "I'm just... not used to this."

"Hosting?"

"No. This." Riki gestured vaguely between them, unable to articulate what he meant. This kindness. This ease. This feeling of being treated like a person.

Sunoo's expression softened with understanding, and Riki had the unsettling feeling that Sunoo understood more than Riki had said. But instead of pushing, Sunoo just nodded.

"Well, I'm glad we're doing this together," Sunoo said simply. "I think we're going to be good friends."

Friends. The word settled into Riki's chest, warm and terrifying and precious.

He wanted to believe it. Wanted to trust this feeling, this person, this moment of peace in the chaos of his life. But trust was dangerous. Trust led to disappointment. Trust meant giving someone the power to hurt you.

Still, as they sat there in the green room, Sunoo showing him another video, laughing together, Riki felt something he hadn't felt in months:

Hope.

Small, fragile, barely there but hope nonetheless.

Maybe, just maybe, this could be different. Maybe Sunoo could be different.

Riki was too afraid to fully believe it yet. But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to.

The weeks that followed should have been easier. In many ways, they were, Music Bank hosting became the highlight of Riki's week, those few hours with Sunoo a reprieve from the suffocating darkness of his daily life. They fell into an easy rhythm, their chemistry natural enough that the producers praised them constantly. Sunoo made him laugh. Made him feel seen. Made him feel, for brief, precious moments, like maybe he wasn't completely worthless.

But hope, Riki discovered, came with its own kind of torture.

Because if he was going to be around Sunoo bright, perfect Sunoo who smiled at him like he mattered, then Riki needed to be better. Smaller. Less. He needed to deserve that kindness, and the only way he knew how to earn anything was through control. Through discipline. Through making himself as small and unobtrusive as possible.

The voice in his head that sounded like Minho, like Jaehyun, like all of them, whispered constantly now: *You don't deserve this. You don't deserve him. Look at yourself. You're disgusting. Fat. Useless. Why would someone like Sunoo want to be around someone like you?*

So Riki restricted harder.

It started with skipping breakfast entirely, easy enough since he'd been making it for everyone else anyway. He'd plate their food, watch them eat, and tell himself he'd eaten earlier. The lie came so naturally now he almost believed it himself.

Lunch was trickier. The company provided meals, and eating together was expected. But Riki had learned the art of pushing food around his plate, cutting things into smaller pieces, rearranging them to make it look like he'd eaten more than he had. He'd take a few bites when people were watching, then excuse himself to the bathroom where he'd throw the rest away, wrapping it in paper towels so no one would see.

"You barely touched your food," their manager said one day, frowning at Riki's still-full plate.

"I had a big breakfast," Riki said smoothly, the lie automatic. "I'm just not that hungry."

She'd accepted it. Everyone always did. Because Riki had become an expert at this, at deflection, at excuses that sounded reasonable and at making people look away.

Dinner was the easiest to skip. He'd claim he'd eaten at the company, or that he'd grabbed something with friends, or that his stomach hurt. His members never questioned it. Why would they? They didn't care if he ate or not. If anything, they seemed pleased by his shrinking frame.

"Finally losing that baby fat," Seungwoo had commented last week, poking Riki's stomach hard enough to leave a bruise. "Took you long enough."

Riki had smiled, said thank you, and felt a sick sense of accomplishment. See? He was doing it right. He was getting smaller. Better.

But it was never enough.

"Your face still looks puffy," Jaehyun said three days later, studying Riki with critical eyes during their morning meeting. "Are you retaining water? You need to cut back on sodium."

Riki's face wasn't puffy. He knew it wasn't, he'd stared at himself in the mirror for an hour the night before, cataloging every angle, every shadow. His cheekbones were more prominent than they'd ever been. But Jaehyun said puffy, so maybe he was wrong. Maybe he wasn't seeing himself clearly.

He started drinking excessive amounts of water to flush his system, filling his empty stomach with liquid until he felt bloated and sick. At least the fullness was something, even if it was just water. At least it quieted the constant, gnawing ache.

The numbers became an obsession. Riki tracked everything in the notes app on his phone, every calorie consumed, every calorie burned. He'd started weighing himself multiple times a day, watching the number drop with a mixture of satisfaction and terror.

118 pounds. 116. 114. 112.

Each pound lost felt like an achievement. Proof that he had control over something, that he could discipline himself, that he wasn't the useless burden his members claimed he was.

But his body was starting to rebel.

Dance practice became increasingly difficult. Riki had always been good, dancing was the one thing he'd been confident in, the one area where he'd felt competent. But now, halfway through rehearsals, his vision would blur at the edges. His legs would shake. His heart would race uncomfortably, and he'd have to grip the barre to steady himself.

"Focus, Riki," Minho snapped during one particularly bad practice. "Why are you so sluggish today? Did you not sleep?"

"Sorry," Riki gasped, trying to catch his breath. His chest felt tight. The room was spinning slightly. "I'll do better."

He pushed through, ignoring the way his muscles screamed, ignoring the cold sweat on his skin, ignoring the voice in his head that whispered he was going to pass out. He couldn't be weak. Couldn't give them another reason to criticize him.

That night, he added an extra hour of exercise to his routine, jumping jacks in his room, planks until his arms gave out, anything to burn more calories, to earn the right to exist in the space he occupied.

The cold was constant now. Even in the heated dorm, even under layers of his oversized sweaters, Riki couldn't get warm. His fingers were always ice-cold, his lips tinged slightly blue. He'd started wearing even baggier clothes, not just for the aesthetic fans loved, but to hide how his clothes hung off his frame, how his collarbones jutted out sharply, how his wrists looked too thin, too fragile.

His mind felt foggy most of the time, thoughts moving through sludge. Concentrating during interviews or variety shows became a monumental effort. He'd forget what he was saying mid-sentence, lose track of conversations, stare blankly when someone asked him a question.

"Earth to Riki," Taehyun said mockingly, snapping his fingers in front of Riki's face during a group meeting. "Are you stupid or just not paying attention?"

"Sorry," Riki mumbled, trying to focus. What had they been talking about? He couldn't remember. Everything felt distant, muffled, like he was underwater.

"Useless," Taehyun muttered, and the others laughed.

Riki's hands trembled in his lap. He clasped them together tightly, digging his nails into his palms until the pain sharpened his focus. Pain he could understand. Pain made sense.

With Sunoo, though, everything was different. Better. During their Music Bank recordings, Riki felt almost normal. Sunoo's presence was like a warm light cutting through the fog, making everything clearer, easier. They'd developed inside jokes, comfortable silences, a way of communicating with just looks.

"Want to grab food after?" Sunoo asked one day, after they'd finished recording. "There's this really good place nearby. My treat."

Riki's stomach clenched with anxiety. Food. Eating in front of Sunoo. The thought made him want to run. "I... I actually have a schedule right after this," he lied, the words coming easily now. "Rain check?"

"Oh, okay," Sunoo said, and was it Riki's imagination, or did he look slightly disappointed? "Next time, then."

Next time came, and Riki had another excuse. And another. He was good at this, at deflecting without seeming like he was deflecting, at making it seem like he wanted to but circumstances kept getting in the way.

But Sunoo was observant. Riki was starting to realize that.

"You seem tired lately," Sunoo said one day, studying Riki's face with concern. They were in the green room, waiting for their cue. "Are you sleeping okay?"

"Yeah, just busy," Riki said, forcing a smile. "Comeback preparations, you know."

"Are you eating enough?" Sunoo asked, and the question was so direct, so gentle, that Riki almost broke. Almost told him everything. "I just... you seem like you've lost weight."

"I'm fine," Riki said quickly. Too quickly. "Actually, I've been eating really well. Our manager has been making sure we eat properly during comeback prep."

The lie tasted bitter. But it was necessary. He couldn't let Sunoo see the truth, couldn't let him see how broken Riki really was. If Sunoo knew, he'd leave. Everyone always left once they saw the real Riki, the damaged, worthless version underneath the cute maknae persona.

"Okay," Sunoo said slowly, but his eyes lingered on Riki's face, on the shadows under his eyes, on the way his sweater hung off his shoulders. "But if you ever need to talk, or if something's wrong I'm here. You know that, right?"

Riki nodded, not trusting his voice. The kindness in Sunoo's words made him want to cry, made him want to confess everything. But he couldn't. Wouldn't.

Instead, he went home that night and restricted harder. Because he didn't deserve Sunoo's concern. Didn't deserve his kindness. The only way to earn it was to be better, and better meant smaller, meant taking up less space, meant disappearing bit by bit until maybe, finally, he'd be good enough.

The internal logic made perfect sense to Riki. This was the one thing he could control. His members controlled everything else, where he went, what he said, how he acted. They controlled his body with their violence, his mind with their cruelty. But this? This was his. His choice. His discipline. His power.

110 pounds. 108. 106.

The numbers dropped, and with them, Riki's energy, his warmth, his ability to think clearly. But he felt accomplished. Victorious, even. See? He could do this. He was strong. Disciplined. In control.

He didn't recognize the irony, that in his desperate attempt to control something, he'd lost control entirely. That the eating disorder that had started as a choice had become a compulsion, a voice in his head that was louder than his own thoughts, more demanding than his members' cruelty.

During their next Music Bank recording, Riki stumbled slightly during a transition. Nothing major, just a small misstep that he recovered from quickly. But Sunoo noticed. Of course he noticed.

"You okay?" Sunoo whispered during a commercial break, his hand on Riki's elbow, steadying him.

"Yeah, just... dizzy for a second," Riki admitted, because that much was true. The room had tilted, his vision had darkened at the edges. "I'm fine now."

"Have you eaten today?" Sunoo asked, and there was something in his voice, worry, suspicion, knowledge.

"Of course," Riki lied, and he was so good at lying now that it sounded completely genuine. "I had a big lunch."

He hadn't eaten in thirty-six hours.

That night, alone in his room, Riki stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was gaunt, his eyes too large in his thin face, his collarbones sharp enough to cast shadows. He looked sick. He looked like he was disappearing.

And some part of him, the part that wasn't consumed by the eating disorder, the part that still remembered what it felt like to be okay recognized that he was in trouble. That this had gone too far. That he was hurting himself in ways that might be irreversible.

But that voice was quiet, easily drowned out by the louder voice that said: Not thin enough. Not good enough. Not yet. Keep going. You're almost there. Just a little more.

Riki pulled on his softest sweater, a mint-colored one that fans loved, that made him look small and cute and harmless. He looked at himself and saw someone who was finally, finally getting it right.

He didn't see someone who was dying.

The contradiction was stark: every moment with Sunoo filled him with hope, with the possibility that maybe life could be different, that maybe he could be happy. But that hope made him feel unworthy, made him push harder to earn it through restriction and control.

He was experiencing the best and worst of his life simultaneously, finding genuine connection while destroying himself from the inside out.

And the worst part? Riki didn't know how to stop. Didn't know if he wanted to stop. Because this control, this discipline, this slow disappearance was the only thing that made sense anymore.

It was the only thing that felt like his.

The Seoul Music Awards venue was overwhelming, all glittering lights and camera flashes and the buzz of hundreds of idols, staff, and press packed into one massive space. Riki stood in the staging area with his group, trying to steady his breathing, trying to ignore the way the room tilted slightly at the edges of his vision.

He'd eaten nothing today. Well, that wasn't quite true he'd had half an apple at 6 AM, carefully logged in his phone: 47 calories. Then water. So much water his stomach sloshed when he moved, but at least it was something filling the emptiness.

The suit they'd put him in hung off his frame despite the stylist's best efforts. She'd pinned it in the back, taken it in at the waist, but there was only so much she could do. Under the stage lights, Riki knew he looked gaunt. His cheekbones cast shadows. His wrists looked fragile where they emerged from his sleeves.

"Stop fidgeting," Minho hissed, not looking at him. They were waiting for their cue to enter the main hall, and Riki had been unconsciously tugging at his collar, trying to make it sit right. "You look nervous. Smile."

Riki smiled. The expression felt painted on, artificial, but it was the smile fans expected. Cute. Harmless. The baby of the group.

His heart was racing, had been racing since they'd left the dorm. Anxiety thrummed through his veins like electricity, making his hands shake, making his breath come too fast. He felt lightheaded. Disconnected. Like he was watching himself from outside his body.

Just get through tonight, he told himself. Just survive this.

When they finally entered the venue, the noise hit him like a physical force, screaming fans, music, announcements. Riki followed his members down the aisle, keeping his smile fixed, waving when appropriate. His legs felt weak. Each step required conscious effort.

And then he saw them.

ENHYPEN, seated three rows ahead, already settled in their designated area. And there, laughing at something Jungwon said, was Sunoo.

Something in Riki's chest loosened. Just slightly. Just enough to let him breathe a little easier.

As if sensing his gaze, Sunoo looked up. Their eyes met across the crowded venue, and Sunoo's face lit up with genuine delight. He waved, not the practiced idol wave but something more enthusiastic, more real. Riki felt his painted-on smile become something softer, more genuine.

"Stop staring," Jaehyun muttered as they passed ENHYPEN's section. "You look desperate."

The warmth in Riki's chest immediately froze over. He looked away, following his members to their assigned seats. And then

"Oh, you're right next to us!"

Riki looked up to find that their groups had been seated adjacent to each other, the sections separated only by a small aisle. And through some miracle of seating arrangements, Riki's assigned seat was directly next to Sunoo's.

"Riki!" Sunoo was already standing, reaching across the small gap between their sections. "This is perfect! We can actually talk during the boring parts."

Despite everything, the exhaustion, the anxiety, the constant ache of hunger Riki felt himself smile. Really smile. "Hi," he said softly, and the word felt inadequate for the relief flooding through him.

"Come here," Sunoo said, gesturing him closer. "Sit, sit. You look tired. Long day?"

Riki settled into his seat, hyperaware of how close Sunoo was, how easy it would be to just... reach out. Touch. Connect. "Yeah," he said, which was perhaps the understatement of the century. "Busy week."

"Tell me about it," Sunoo said, launching into a story about ENHYPEN's recent schedule chaos. As he talked, his hand came to rest on the armrest between them, close enough that Riki could feel the warmth radiating from it.

Slowly, tentatively, Riki let his own hand drift closer. Their pinkies touched, just barely, just enough to send a spark of warmth up Riki's arm. Sunoo didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly, letting their hands rest more fully together.

It was such a small thing. Such a simple gesture. But Riki felt it like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

As the show began, they fell into an easy rhythm. Sunoo would lean over to whisper commentary about performances, making Riki laugh despite himself. When a particularly loud group performed, Sunoo reached over and took Riki's hand properly, squeezing it in mock fear at the volume. Riki squeezed back, and somehow their hands just... stayed linked.

"Is this okay?" Sunoo asked quietly during a commercial break, his thumb brushing over Riki's knuckles.

Riki nodded, not trusting his voice. More than okay. This was the most okay he'd felt in weeks.

Around them, cameras flashed. Fans in the audience were definitely noticing, definitely filming. Riki could see phones pointed in their direction, could imagine the tweets already being composed: Riki and Sunoo holding hands at SMA! The friendship is so cute!

But for once, Riki didn't care about the cameras. Didn't care about the performance of it all. Because this, Sunoo's hand warm in his, Sunoo's shoulder pressed against his as they leaned together to share whispered jokes, this was real. This mattered.

"You're shaking," Sunoo observed quietly, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you cold?"

Riki was always cold now. But he shook his head. "Just nervous. Big crowd."

"Here." Sunoo shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Riki's shoulders in a side hug. "Better?"

It was better. It was so much better that Riki felt tears prick at his eyes. He blinked them back quickly, leaning into Sunoo's warmth, letting himself have this moment of comfort. Of safety.

They stayed like that through several performances, Sunoo's arm a steady weight around Riki's shoulders, occasionally squeezing gently when something particularly exciting happened on stage. The other ENHYPEN members kept glancing over with knowing smiles, but they didn't tease. They just seemed... happy. Happy that their Sunoo had found a friend. Happy that Riki was there.

"Your group's performance is coming up," Sunoo said eventually, reluctantly pulling away as the announcer called the next act. "You'll be amazing. You always are."

Riki had to leave then, had to join his members backstage for their performance. As he stood, Sunoo caught his hand one more time, squeezing it.

"I'll be watching," Sunoo said, and the simple statement felt like a promise. Like support. Like someone actually cared whether Riki did well or not.

Backstage, the warmth evaporated immediately.

"Stop making those faces," Minho snapped as they prepared for their entrance. "You look constipated when you smile like that."

Riki's face burned. He adjusted his expression, made it more neutral.

The performance itself was a blur. Riki moved through the choreography on autopilot, his body remembering what his mind couldn't focus on. The stage lights were too bright. The music too loud. His legs trembled with exertion, his vision swimming. But he made it through. Didn't fall. Didn't mess up. That was all that mattered.

When they returned to their seats, breathless and sweaty, the atmosphere shifted.

Cameras were everywhere now, focused on them, capturing their post-performance reactions.

"Our maknae did so well!" Minho's voice was warm, affectionate, nothing like the cold snap from backstage. His arm came around Riki's shoulders, pulling him close. "Wasn't he amazing?"

Riki stiffened in surprise, but Minho's grip tightened, keeping him in place. The touch was firm. Possessive. For the cameras.

"So proud of you," Jaehyun cooed, reaching over to ruffle Riki's hair. His fingers were gentle, almost tender, as they carded through the strands. "Our baby did such a good job."

The other members joined in, creating a cocoon of apparent affection around Riki. Seungwoo squeezed his shoulder. Taehyun patted his cheek. Junho pulled him into a side hug, whispering loud enough for nearby microphones to catch: "You're the best maknae."

And Riki

Riki melted into it.

He couldn't help it. Couldn't stop himself. He was so starved for touch, so desperate for any scrap of affection from these people he lived with, that even knowing it was fake, even knowing it was only for the cameras, he leaned into it. He let Minho hold him close. Let Jaehyun play with his hair. Let them coo over him and praise him and touch him with a gentleness they never showed behind closed doors.

For these few minutes, he could pretend it was real. Could pretend they actually cared. Could pretend he was actually their precious maknae and not the burden they complained about constantly.

His eyes drifted to where Sunoo sat, and he found Sunoo watching with a soft smile. Sunoo probably thought this was normal. Thought Riki's group always treated him this way. The thought made Riki's stomach twist with shame, but he couldn't pull away. Couldn't reject this touch, even knowing what it cost him.

"Speech time," Minho murmured, still holding Riki close as their group was called to accept an award. "Remember to look grateful."

On stage, under the blinding lights, the performance continued. Minho kept his arm around Riki throughout the entire speech. When it was Riki's turn to speak, Jaehyun stood close behind him, hands on his shoulders, supportive and warm. The fans screamed. The cameras flashed.

"Thank you so much," Riki said into the microphone, his voice steady despite the chaos in his chest. "I'm so grateful to my members for always taking care of me."

The lie tasted like ash. But he smiled. He always smiled.

Backstage, the moment they were out of sight of cameras and fans, everything changed.

Minho's arm dropped from Riki's shoulders like he'd been burned. "Finally," he muttered, stepping away quickly. "That was exhausting."

"You were too stiff," Jaehyun said, his voice cold, nothing like the warm coo from minutes ago. "When I touched your hair, you barely reacted. You're supposed to look happy about it."

"I- sorry," Riki stammered, the whiplash making his head spin. "I'll do better”

"You always say that." Seungwoo shoved past him, deliberately knocking into Riki's shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "But you never actually improve."

They moved as a unit toward their dressing room, and Riki followed, his heart sinking with each step. The warmth from their public affection was already fading, replaced by the familiar cold dread.

In the dressing room, away from any possible cameras or witnesses, Taehyun turned on him.

"You looked like you were going to pass out up there," he said, his voice sharp with disgust. "Could you be any more pathetic? We're trying to look professional, and you're stumbling around like you're drunk."

"I wasn't-“

"Don't talk back." Jaehyun's hand shot out, striking the back of Riki's head. Not hard enough to leave a visible mark, but hard enough to sting, to remind Riki of his place. "God, you're useless. We have to work twice as hard to make up for your incompetence."

"And clinging to that ENHYPEN kid all night?" Minho's voice was mocking. "Desperate much? You looked pathetic. Like a lost puppy begging for attention."

The words hit harder than the physical blow. Because Riki had felt safe with Sunoo. Had felt, for those brief hours, like maybe he mattered to someone. And now his members were twisting it, making it ugly, making him feel ashamed for wanting connection.

"He's just being nice to you out of pity," Seungwoo added, scrolling through his phone. "You know that, right? No one actually wants to be around you. They're just too polite to say it."

Riki stood there, taking it, his arms wrapped around himself. The suit that had been pinned to fit him suddenly felt too tight, constricting, suffocating. His chest hurt. His throat burned with unshed tears.

"Clean yourself up," Minho ordered, already turning away. "We have to go back out for the ending. And try not to embarrass us this time."

They left him there, alone in the dressing room, and Riki finally let himself breathe. His hands were shaking violently now. His vision blurred with tears he refused to let fall.

The contrast was devastating. Minutes ago, they'd held him close, touched him gently, called him their precious maknae.

And now. Now he was nothing again. Worse than nothing. A burden. An embarrassment.

Riki looked at himself in the mirror. His reflection stared back, too thin, too pale, eyes too large in his gaunt face. He looked exactly like what he was: someone breaking apart.

A knock on the door made him jump.

"Riki?" Sunoo's voice, concerned and gentle. "Are you in there? I saw you guys come back here and wanted to check-“

Riki quickly wiped his eyes, forced his expression into something neutral. "Yeah, just- just a second."

He opened the door to find Sunoo standing there, still in his performance outfit, his face creased with worry.

"Hey," Sunoo said softly. "Are you okay? You looked really pale during your performance, and I just wanted to make sure-“

"I'm fine," Riki said automatically, the lie so practiced it came out smooth. "Just tired. It's been a long day."

But Sunoo was looking at him too closely, seeing too much. His eyes tracked over Riki's face, down to where his hands were still trembling slightly, back up to meet Riki's gaze.

"Riki," he said quietly. "What's wrong? And please don't say nothing. I can see something's wrong."

For a moment, just a moment, Riki wanted to tell him everything. Wanted to collapse into Sunoo's arms and confess all of it: the bullying, the starvation, the self-harm, the desperate, aching loneliness. Wanted to admit that he was drowning and didn't know how to save himself.

But then he heard his members' voices in the hallway, getting closer, and the moment shattered.

"I'm okay," Riki said, stepping back, putting distance between them. "Really. I should go. We have to get ready for the ending."

"Riki-“

"Thank you for sitting with me tonight," Riki said, and he meant it. Those hours with Sunoo had been the only good part of this entire nightmare. "It meant a lot."

Before Sunoo could respond, before he could push further, Riki closed the door.

He leaned against it, listening to Sunoo's footsteps eventually retreat down the hallway. His chest felt hollow. His eyes burned.

Tonight had shown him two versions of affection: Sunoo's genuine warmth, freely given, asking nothing in return. And his members' calculated performance, affection as currency, touch as manipulation.

The contrast made everything worse. Made him realize just how starved he was for real connection, real care. Made him understand that what his members gave him, even in those brief moments of public tenderness was poison disguised as sustenance.

But knowing that didn't make him crave it any less. Didn't make him any less desperate for those scraps of false affection. Because at least it was something. At least, for those few minutes, he could pretend someone cared.

Even if it was killing him.

Riki pushed off the door, straightened his suit, fixed his hair. Painted on his smile.

Time to go back out. Time to perform.

Time to survive.

"So I was thinking," Sunoo said as they wrapped up another Music Bank recording, his voice casual but his eyes hopeful.

"There's this café near here that makes really good pastries. Want to go? Just us, no cameras, no schedules. Just... hanging out?"

Riki's immediate instinct was to say no. To make an excuse. To protect himself from the vulnerability of being seen outside the controlled environment of work.

But something in Sunoo's expression, the genuine hope there, the lack of any ulterior motive made him pause.

"I..." Riki started, his mind already racing through potential problems. What if someone saw them? What if he had to eat? What if he said something wrong and Sunoo realized how broken he really was?

“I don't know if I have time-“

"You told me earlier you didn't have any schedules after this," Sunoo said gently, not accusatory, just more observant.

“But if you don't want to, that's okay too. No pressure."
And that was the thing about Sunoo he always gave Riki an out. Never pushed him, Never demanded. Just offered, and let Riki choose.

"Okay," Riki heard himself say, surprising himself. "Yeah. That sounds... nice."
Sunoo's face lit up with such genuine delight that Riki felt something warm unfurl in his chest.
When was the last time someone had been this happy just to spend time with him?

The café was small and tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place that felt like a secret. Sunoo had clearly chosen it deliberately, somewhere they could exist without being immediately recognized, without the pressure of performance.

Inside, it smelled like coffee and fresh bread, warm and inviting. Sunoo led them to a corner table, away from the windows, and Riki felt grateful for the consideration even though Sunoo hadn't said anything about it.

“What do you want?" Sunoo asked, already pulling out his phone to look at the menu. "Their strawberry cake is amazing. Oh, and the croissants. Actually, everything is good. I'm getting way too much, want to share?"
Riki's stomach clenched with anxiety. Food. He'd have to navigate food.

“I'm not really hungry," he said automatically. "Maybe just tea?"
Sunoo looked up from his phone, and there was something in his expression, not necessarily judgment, but more like awareness. Like he was filing that information away.

“Okay," he said simply. "But I'm getting some stuff anyway, and if you change your mind, you can have some of mine."
He ordered at the counter, tea for Riki, an iced coffee for himself, and despite his claim of getting "way too much," he only ordered one slice of cake and one croissant.
Enough to share if Riki wanted, but not so much that it would feel overwhelming or wasteful if he didn't.

When Sunoo returned to the table, he didn't immediately bring up food or eating. Instead, he started talking about a variety show ENHYPEN had filmed recently, telling a funny story about Heeseung getting his head stuck in a cardboard box during a game and the entire cast losing it trying to help him out.

His voice was animated, his laughter genuine, and Riki found himself relaxing incrementally.

"You're easy to talk to," Sunoo said after a while, his voice softer now. "I feel like I can just... be myself around you. Does that make sense?"

Riki nodded, because it did make sense. He felt the same way, even though it terrified him. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I know what you mean."

"Can I ask you something?" Sunoo's tone was careful, gentle. "And you can totally tell me if I'm overstepping. But... are you okay? Like, really okay?"

Riki's first instinct was to lie. To smile and say of course, everything's fine, why wouldn't it be? But something about the way Sunoo was looking at him, with genuine concern, with patience, with no expectation of a particular answer, made the automatic lie stick in his throat.

"I..." Riki started, then stopped. His hands were trembling slightly around his tea cup. "It's just... it's been hard lately."

"Hard how?" Sunoo asked, and there was no pushiness in the question. Just an invitation. A door left open that Riki could walk through or not.

"My members," Riki said slowly, testing the words, seeing how they felt in the air between them. "They're... they're not always easy to live with."
It was the most honest thing he'd said to anyone in months, and even that felt like too much.

Sunoo didn't laugh or dismiss it. He leaned forward slightly, his full attention on Riki.
"Not easy how?" he asked gently.

Riki's throat felt tight. "They just... they're different when cameras aren't around. More critical. More..." He couldn't say it. Couldn't say cruel, couldn't say abusive, couldn't admit the full truth. "It's just hard sometimes."

"That sounds really difficult," Sunoo said, and his voice was so full of genuine empathy that Riki felt tears prick at his eyes. "I'm sorry you're dealing with that. That's not... that's not how it should be."

The validation hit Riki like a physical force. Someone believed him. Someone thought it wasn't okay. Someone wasn't telling him he was being too sensitive or that he should try harder or that it was his fault.

"It's probably not that bad," Riki said quickly, backtracking, the instinct to minimize so ingrained he couldn't stop it. "I'm probably just-“

"Riki." Sunoo's hand reached across the table, hovering near Riki's but not quite touching, giving him the choice. "If it feels bad to you, then it's bad. You don't have to downplay it."

Riki stared at Sunoo's hand, at the offer of comfort, of connection. Slowly, hesitantly, he moved his own hand closer until their fingers touched. Sunoo immediately wrapped his hand around Riki's, warm and steady.

"Thank you," Riki whispered, and he wasn't entirely sure what he was thanking Sunoo for. For listening. For believing him. For being here. For all of it.

They sat like that for a while, hands linked across the table, and Sunoo didn't push for more information. Didn't demand details or explanations. Just held Riki's hand and let him exist in this moment of honesty.

"Have you eaten today?" Sunoo asked eventually, his voice still gentle but with an edge of concern. "I don't mean to pry, but I've noticed... you always say you've eaten, but I never actually see you eat."

Riki's chest tightened. He'd been so careful. How had Sunoo noticed? "I eat," he said, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"Riki." Sunoo squeezed his hand. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm just... worried. You've lost weight since we started hosting together. And you seem tired all the time. I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

The concern in Sunoo's voice was so genuine, so devoid of judgment, that Riki felt something crack inside him. "It's hard," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Eating. It's... it's become really hard."

"Okay," Sunoo said, and there was no shock or horror in his voice. Just acceptance. "Thank you for telling me. Can I help? Would it be easier if we ate together sometimes? No pressure, just... I could be there, if that would help."

Riki looked up, meeting Sunoo's eyes, and found only kindness there. Only genuine desire to help. "Maybe," he said. "I don't know. But... maybe."

"That's okay," Sunoo said. "We can figure it out together. Whatever you need."
Together. The word settled into Riki's chest, warm and terrifying and precious.

The first time Sunoo invited Riki to hang out with the other ENHYPEN members, Riki almost said no. The thought of being around so many people, of having to perform and be "on," felt exhausting.

"It's just at our dorm," Sunoo had said. "Super casual. We're ordering food and playing games. Everyone's been looking forward to hanging out with you outside of work."

Someone wanted to hang out with him. The concept felt foreign.
But Riki went, because Sunoo asked, and because some part of him was desperately curious about what it would be like to be around a group that actually seemed to like each other.

The ENHYPEN dorm was warm and lived-in, with shoes scattered by the door and jackets thrown over chairs. It felt like a home, not just a place where people existed in proximity to each other.

"Riki!" Sunghoon came over immediately, his smile wide and genuine. "Finally! We've been wanting to hang out properly."

"He's right," Jungwon said, coming over to greet Riki with a warm handshake. "It's nice to finally spend time together outside of the broadcast. Make yourself comfortable."

And they meant it. Over the next few hours, Riki watched in amazement as the ENHYPEN members just existed together. They teased each other, but it was gentle, affectionate.

When Jake made a mistake in the game they were playing, the others laughed with him, not at him.

When Heeseung mentioned he was tired, Sunghoon immediately offered to make him tea.

They included Riki naturally, asking his opinions, laughing at his jokes, making space for him in their circle without making it feel like charity.

When food arrived, no one commented on how much or how little Riki took. When he was quiet, no one called him boring or told him to speak up.

"You okay?" Sunoo asked quietly during a lull, sitting next to Riki on the couch.
Riki nodded, and realized he meant it. "Yeah. This is... this is really nice."

"They like you," Sunoo said, smiling. "I knew they would."

Later, when Riki was helping clean up (an automatic instinct, always clean up, always be useful, always earn your place), Jay stopped him.

"You don't have to do that," Jay said kindly. "You're a guest. Just relax."

"I don't mind," Riki said automatically.

"I know," Jay said, his eyes understanding in a way that made Riki wonder what Sunoo had told them.

“But you don't have to earn your place here. You're welcome just because we like having you around."

The words hit Riki hard. He'd spent so long believing he had to earn every scrap of kindness, had to work for every moment of acceptance.

The idea that he could just... exist, and that would be enough, felt revolutionary.

As the evening wound down and Riki prepared to leave, Jungwon pulled him aside.

"Hey, so, we're going to this dance workshop next week," he said. "Want to come? It's just for fun, no pressure. But I think you'd really enjoy it."

"I..." Riki started, then stopped. His members would probably say no. Would probably have some schedule he'd forgotten about, some reason he couldn't go. But he wanted to. God, he wanted to.

"Yeah. I'd like that."
"Cool!" Jungwon's smile was bright. "I'll text you the details."

On the way out, Sunoo walked Riki to the door. "Thanks for coming," he said. "I know it probably felt weird at first, but I'm glad you gave it a chance."

"Thank you for inviting me," Riki said, and he meant it more than Sunoo could possibly know. "Your members are... they're really nice."

"They are," Sunoo agreed. "And they think you're great, by the way. Jungwon told me you're welcome anytime."

Anytime. Not just when it was convenient. Not just when they needed something from him. Just... anytime.

"Sunoo," Riki said, his voice catching slightly.
“Why are you so nice to me?"

Sunoo looked genuinely confused by the question. "Because I like you," he said simply. "Because you're kind and funny and talented and you deserve to have people who care about you. Why wouldn't I be nice to you?"

Riki didn't have an answer for that. Couldn't explain that he'd spent so long being told he was worthless that kindness felt like a trick, like something that would be taken away the moment he started to believe in it.

But maybe he could start to believe that Sunoo meant it. That this wasn't performance or manipulation. That this was just real.

"I'm really glad I met you," Riki said quietly.
Sunoo's smile was soft, genuine. "Me too."
As Riki rode back to his own dorm, he felt something unfamiliar settling in his chest. It took him a while to identify it, to put a name to the feeling.

Hope.

Real hope. Not the desperate, grasping kind that came from his members' occasional scraps of false affection.

But genuine hope that maybe, just maybe, there were people in the world who could care about him without conditions.

Who could see him, really see him, and not turn away.

It was terrifying. It was precious. It was the most dangerous thing he'd ever allowed himself to feel.

But as he thought about Sunoo's hand in his at the café, about the ENHYPEN members' easy acceptance, about Jay's words”you don't have to earn your place here Riki” let himself hold onto that hope.

Just a little bit. Just enough to keep going.
Just enough to imagine that maybe, someday, he could be okay.

The first clip surfaced on a Tuesday afternoon.

Riki was at dance practice when his phone started buzzing incessantly. He ignored it at first, they weren't supposed to check their phones during rehearsal anyway.

But the buzzing didn't stop. And then the other members' phones started going off too.

"What the hell?" Jaehyun muttered, pulling out his phone. His face went pale, then red. "Fuck."

Minho grabbed his own phone, and Riki watched as his expression shifted from confusion to fury.

The other members clustered around, their voices rising in a cacophony of curses and panicked exclamations.

Riki's hands trembled as he finally checked his phone. His notifications were exploding, hundreds, thousands of mentions on Twitter.

His name was trending. His group's name was trending.

And there, at the top of his timeline, was a video he didn't remember being filmed.

It was from backstage at a music show, maybe three months ago. The angle suggested it had been captured accidentally by someone's phone or a security camera.

In it, Riki was visible in the background, and Jaehyun was shoving him hard into a wall.

The audio was muffled but clear enough to hear Jaehyun's voice: "Useless piece of shit. Can't you do anything right?"

Riki's stomach dropped. He scrolled down with shaking fingers.

There were more clips. So many more clips.
One from a variety show's behind-the-scenes footage that had somehow leaked:

Seungwoo "playfully" hitting the back of Riki's head, except the force was clearly not playful.

Riki's head snapped forward, and his expression caught for just a moment before he schooled it into neutrality was one of pain and resignation.

Another from a fan-taken video at an airport: Minho walking ahead while Riki struggled with luggage, and when Riki asked for help, Minho's response picked up by a directional microphone was audible: "Carry your own shit. I'm not your servant."

A clip from a live stream that had been briefly unmonitored: Taehyun making a comment about Riki's weight, his tone cruel and mocking. "Maybe if you weren't such a fat pig, you'd dance better."

The comments under each video were exploding.

This isn't normal. This is abuse.
How long has this been happening to him?
Look at Riki's face in that clip. He's not surprised. He's used to it.
The way he flinches before Seungwoo even touches him... this is learned behavior.

#ProtectRiki is trending. This needs to be investigated.

Those aren't his hyungs. Those are his bullies.

Riki's vision blurred. His chest felt tight, like someone was squeezing his ribcage. The practice room suddenly felt too small, too hot, the walls closing in.

"This is your fault," Minho's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and accusatory. He was staring directly at Riki. "What did you do? Did you leak these?"
"I- no, I didn't-“ Riki's voice came out strangled, barely audible.

"Someone leaked them," Jaehyun snarled, advancing on Riki. "And conveniently, you're the victim in all of them. How convenient."
"I swear, I didn't-“
"Shut up." Minho's hand shot out, grabbing Riki's arm hard enough to bruise. "We need to do damage control. The company's already calling."

The next few hours were a blur of panic and accusations. Their manager arrived, face grim, and immediately sequestered them in a conference room.

The company's PR team was already crafting a response.

"We'll say it was taken out of context," one of the PR representatives said, typing rapidly on her laptop. "Brotherly roughhousing. Normal idol group dynamics. The fans are overreacting."

"But the audio-“ someone started.
"We'll claim it was edited. Deepfaked. Whatever we need to say."

Riki sat in the corner of the room, invisible as always, watching them plan how to deny what everyone could clearly see. His phone continued to buzz.

Messages from Sunoo, increasingly worried:
Riki, I just saw the clips. Are you okay?
Please tell me you're safe.
I'm here if you need me. Please respond.
Riki couldn't respond. His hands were shaking too badly to type.

By evening, the company had released a statement: "The clips circulating online have been taken out of context and do not represent the true nature of our artists' relationships. What appears as conflict is actually the playful dynamic of close friends and brothers. We ask that fans refrain from making assumptions based on brief, edited clips."

The statement was immediately torn apart online.

"Playful"? Did you see how hard he was shoved?

There's nothing playful about calling someone a "useless piece of shit."

This is gaslighting. They're trying to make us doubt what we clearly saw.

#WeBelieveRiki
#ProtectRiki

More clips surfaced throughout the night. It was like a dam had broken, people were going through old footage, old broadcasts, finding moments that had been overlooked before.

A compilation video appeared, twenty minutes long, showing instance after instance of Riki being isolated, ignored, physically pushed around, verbally degraded.

The evidence was undeniable. Overwhelming.
And Riki was drowning in it.

Back at the dorm that night, the atmosphere was poisonous. The moment the door closed behind them, Minho rounded on Riki.
"This is your fault," he hissed, his face inches from Riki's. "You must have done something. Said something. This doesn't just happen."
"I didn't-“

The slap came fast, snapping Riki's head to the side. His cheek burned, his eyes watering from the impact.

"Don't lie to me," Minho said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You've ruined everything. Our reputation, our careers all because you couldn't handle a little discipline."

"It wasn't discipline," Riki whispered, the words escaping before he could stop them. "You hurt me. All of you hurt me."

The second slap was harder. Riki tasted blood.

"You're pathetic," Jaehyun said from behind him. "Playing the victim. Making us look like monsters when all we've done is try to make you better."

Riki wanted to argue. Wanted to scream that they were monsters, that what they'd done to him wasn't normal or acceptable or justified. But the words stuck in his throat, choked by fear and years of conditioning.

"Go to your room," Minho ordered. "And don't come out. We don't want to see your face."

Riki fled, his legs barely supporting him. In his room, he locked the door and collapsed against it, his whole body shaking.

His phone was still buzzing, messages from Sunoo, from some of the ENHYPEN members, from his manager, from reporters who'd somehow gotten his number.

He turned it off. Couldn't bear to look at it anymore.

The humiliation was overwhelming. The entire world had seen him being abused. Had seen him take it, had seen him flinch and cower and accept it. Everyone knew now.

Everyone knew how weak he was, how pathetic, how unable to stand up for himself.
And worse, his members weren't sorry. They weren't remorseful. They were angry that they'd been caught. Angry at himfor being caught.

Riki looked at himself in the mirror. His cheek was red and swelling where Minho had hit him. His eyes were hollow, shadowed. His collarbones jutted out sharply above the neckline of his shirt.

He looked like exactly what he was: someone breaking.

The eating disorder voice in his head, which had been a constant whisper for weeks, now screamed: You don't deserve to eat. You've caused all this trouble. You're disgusting. You're worthless. You don't deserve to take up space.

Riki hadn't eaten all day. The thought of food made him nauseous. His stomach was a tight, painful knot.
Good. He didn't deserve food anyway.

The next few days were a nightmare. The scandal continued to grow. More clips surfaced.

Fans organized protests outside the company building. Other idols began speaking out about the importance of mental health and treating group members with respect, carefully worded statements that everyone knew were about Riki's situation.

The company kept denying everything. Kept insisting it was all a misunderstanding.

Riki's members kept their distance from him at schedules, but in private, the cruelty intensified. They blamed him for everything. Every harsh comment online, every lost endorsement deal, every negative article, all his fault.

Riki stopped eating entirely. Not just restricting, completely stopped. Water only.

His body was running on fumes, on nothing, on the desperate need to disappear.

He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the clips. Saw himself being shoved, hit, degraded. Saw the comments, some supportive, some calling him weak for not fighting back, some suggesting he'd deserved it.

His anxiety was constant now, a living thing in his chest that never quieted. His heart raced even when he was sitting still. His hands trembled constantly. His vision would blur at random moments.

The self-harm increased. His arms were covered in fresh cuts, hidden under long sleeves even in the summer heat.

The pain was the only thing that cut through the numbness, the only thing that felt real.

Sunoo kept trying to reach him. Kept calling, texting, even showing up at the company building.

But Riki couldn't face him. Couldn't bear to see the pity in Sunoo's eyes, couldn't handle being seen as the victim everyone now knew he was.

I'm fine, he texted back once. Just need some space.

It was a lie. He was the furthest thing from fine.

It happened during dance practice, exactly one week after the first clip had surfaced.

They were running through their comeback choreography, the company had decided they needed to push forward with schedules, to show that everything was "normal." Riki had been moving through the routine mechanically, his body operating on muscle memory alone.

He hadn't eaten in four days. Hadn't slept more than a few hours total. His body was running on nothing but water and the desperate need to just keep going, keep surviving, keep pretending everything was okay.

The choreography had a particularly demanding section, sharp movements, a spin, a drop to the floor. Riki had done it a thousand times. But this time, as he spun, the room tilted violently.

His vision went dark at the edges, then completely black.

He felt himself falling but couldn't stop it. Couldn't catch himself.

The impact with the floor was distant, muffled. He heard shouting, his members' voices, his manager's voice but it sounded like it was coming from underwater.

"Riki! Riki, can you hear me?"
Someone was shaking him. His eyes fluttered open, but he couldn't focus. Everything was spinning. His chest felt tight, his heart racing erratically.

"Call an ambulance," someone said. "Now."
"No, wait, if we call an ambulance, it'll be all over the news-“
"I don't care! Look at him! Call the fucking ambulance!"

Riki tried to speak, tried to say he was fine, but no words came out. His body felt impossibly heavy. His heart was beating too fast, then too slow, then too fast again. He couldn't catch his breath.

The last thing he remembered before everything went black was thinking: Finally. Finally, I can stop.

He woke up in a hospital room, fluorescent lights too bright, the beeping of machines too loud. An IV was in his arm. Monitors were attached to his chest.

"Riki." His manager's voice, tight with stress. "Thank god. The doctors need to talk to you."

The next hours were a blur of tests and questions. Blood work. EKG. Psychological evaluation. Doctors with concerned faces asking questions Riki didn't want to answer.

The results were damning: severe malnutrition. Dangerous electrolyte imbalances. Dehydration. His heart rhythm was irregular. His blood pressure was dangerously low. His body was, quite literally, shutting down.

And then the psychiatrist came. Asked about his mood, his thoughts, his coping mechanisms. Noticed the cuts on his arms when they checked his vitals. Asked directly: "Have you been thinking about hurting yourself? About suicide?"

Riki couldn't lie anymore. Didn't have the energy to lie.

"Yes," he whispered. "All the time."
The psychiatrist's expression was kind but firm. "Riki, you need help. Serious help. Your physical health is critical, and your mental health is equally concerning. We're recommending inpatient treatment. Both medical stabilization and psychiatric care."

"I can't," Riki said, panic rising. "I have schedules. The comeback-“
"There is no comeback," his manager said quietly. "The company's putting the group on hiatus. They're releasing a statement that you need to focus on your health."

The words should have brought relief. Instead, Riki felt only devastation. Even this, even the choice to stop had been taken from him.

He'd lost control of everything, including his own breakdown.

"How long?" he asked, his voice small.
"As long as it takes," the doctor said gently. "But Riki, this is necessary. Your body can't continue like this. You understand that, right?"

Riki nodded, tears finally spilling over. He understood. He was dying. Had been dying slowly for months, and now his body had finally given up the fight.

"We're going to help you," the psychiatrist said. "But you have to let us. Can you do that?"

Could he? Could he let go of the control he'd clung to so desperately? Could he let people help him when he'd spent so long believing he didn't deserve help?

"I don't know," Riki whispered honestly. "I don't know how."
"That's okay," the doctor said. "We'll teach you. One day at a time."

That night, alone in his hospital room, Riki stared at the ceiling and felt the weight of everything crash over him. The scandal. The abuse. The eating disorder. The self-harm. The complete and total collapse of everything he'd been holding together through sheer force of will.

He'd been exposed. Broken open. All his carefully hidden pain now visible for the world to see.

And somehow, underneath the devastation and humiliation and fear, there was something else. Something small and fragile and almost unrecognizable.

Relief.

He didn't have to pretend anymore. Didn't have to smile through the pain or perform strength he didn't feel. Didn't have to go back to that dorm, to those people who'd hurt him so systematically.

He could stop. Finally, finally, he could stop.
The cost had been everything. His dignity. His privacy. His health. Nearly his life.
But maybe, just maybe it would also be his salvation.

His phone, which someone had brought from his belongings, buzzed on the bedside table. A message from Sunoo:

I heard you're in the hospital. I'm coming to see you tomorrow. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I just want you to know you're not alone. You've never been alone. I'm here. We're all here.

Riki read the message three times, tears streaming down his face. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, maybe months he let himself cry. Really cry. Not silent tears swallowed in the dark, but deep, wrenching sobs that shook his entire body.

He cried for the boy he'd been before all this.

For the dreams that had turned into nightmares.

For the pain he'd endured and the pain he'd inflicted on himself.

For everything he'd lost and everything he'd never had.

And when the tears finally subsided, leaving him exhausted and empty, Riki closed his eyes and let himself imagine something he'd stopped believing in:

Tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

A future where he wasn't just surviving.

A future where he might actually live.

The morning light filtered through the hospital curtains, pale and gentle. Riki had been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, his body still connected to monitors and IVs.

The doctors had explained his treatment plan yesterday: medical stabilization first, then a transfer to an inpatient facility that specialized in eating disorders and trauma.

Weeks, maybe months, of intensive care.
The thought terrified him. But what terrified him more was the alternative, going back to how things were. Going back to that dorm. Going back to slowly dying.

A soft knock on the door made him tense instinctively. Visiting hours had just started. He'd assumed it would be his manager, maybe a company representative coming to discuss next steps, damage control, how to spin this narrative.

"Riki?" Sunoo's voice, tentative and warm. "Can I come in?"

Riki's breath caught. He'd read Sunoo's message last night, but some part of him hadn't believed it. Hadn't believed that Sunoo would actually come, would actually want to see him like this, broken, exposed, pathetic.

"Yeah," Riki managed, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The door opened, and Sunoo stepped in, followed by Jungwon. They both looked tired, worried, but their faces lit up with relief when they saw Riki was awake.

"Hi," Sunoo said softly, moving to the chair beside Riki's bed. Jungwon hung back slightly, giving them space but offering a gentle smile.

"You came," Riki whispered, and he hated how his voice cracked, how vulnerable he sounded.

"Of course I came," Sunoo said, and there was something almost hurt in his voice, like the idea that he wouldn't come was incomprehensible. "I told you I'd be here."

Jungwon stepped forward, setting a small bag on the bedside table. "We brought some things. Nothing big, just stuff we thought you might want. Some comfortable clothes, your phone charger, a few snacks for when you're allowed to have them."

The casual thoughtfulness of it the fact that they'd thought about what he might need, what might make him more comfortable made Riki's eyes burn with fresh tears.

"Thank you," he said, the words inadequate for what he felt.
Sunoo reached out slowly, telegraphing his movement, and took Riki's hand. His touch was warm, steady, real. "How are you feeling?"

It was such a simple question, but Riki didn't know how to answer it. How was he feeling? Exhausted. Ashamed. Relieved. Terrified. Grateful. All of it at once, a confusing tangle of emotions he couldn't begin to sort through.

"I don't know," he admitted finally. "Everything feels too much."

"That's okay," Jungwon said gently. "You don't have to have it figured out right now."

They stayed for an hour, and it was nothing like Riki had feared. They didn't ask invasive questions or demand explanations. They didn't treat him like he was fragile or broken. They just existed with him.

Sunoo told him about a funny thing that had happened at practice. Jungwon recounted a story about how Jay had gotten his head stuck in a cardboard box during a recent variety show filming and the entire cast had lost it trying to help him out.

They made him smile, actually smile, not the painted-on version he'd worn for so long.

When visiting hours ended and they had to leave, Sunoo squeezed his hand one more time. "We'll be back tomorrow," he promised. "And the day after that. For as long as you need us."

After they left, Riki lay in the quiet hospital room and realized something: his members hadn't come. Hadn't called. Hadn't sent a single message.

The company had released a statement about his health, had put the group on hiatus, but the members themselves had been silent.

The absence should have hurt. Should have confirmed every terrible thing he'd believed about himself, that he was worthless, that no one cared, that he was alone.

But instead, all he felt was a strange sense of clarity. They'd never cared. Their cruelty hadn't been his fault, hadn't been something he could have prevented by being better or smaller or more perfect. They'd simply been cruel, and he'd been their target.

And now, finally, he was free of them.

The first week was the hardest.
Riki's body was in crisis, his heart rhythm still irregular, his electrolytes dangerously imbalanced, his organs stressed from months of starvation.

The medical team worked to stabilize him, slowly introducing nutrition through the IV, monitoring his vitals constantly.

But the physical recovery was almost easier than the mental adjustment. Because accepting care, real, genuine care felt impossible.

When nurses came to check on him, Riki apologized constantly. Sorry for taking up their time. Sorry for being difficult. Sorry for existing and needing help.

They'd smile kindly and tell him he had nothing to apologize for, but the instinct was so deeply ingrained he couldn't stop.

The nutritionist who came to discuss his meal plan was patient and gentle, but Riki felt panic rising in his chest as she talked about caloric intake and balanced meals.

The eating disorder voice in his head screamed that this was wrong, that he'd lose all control, that he'd become fat and worthless and disgusting.

"I can't," he'd said, his hands shaking. "I can't eat that much. I can't-“

"We'll start very slowly," she'd assured him.

"Small amounts, foods that feel safe to you. This isn't about forcing you. It's about helping your body heal."

But healing felt like giving up. Felt like admitting defeat. Felt like losing the one thing he'd been able to control.

Sunoo came every day, just as he'd promised. Sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two other ENHYPEN members. They never stayed too long, never overwhelmed him, but their presence was constant. Reliable.

On the third day, Sunoo brought a container of soup, homemade, he said, something his mom had taught him to make. "I know eating is hard right now," he said carefully. "But I thought maybe... if you wanted to try something, this might be easier. It's just broth and soft vegetables”

Riki stared at the container, his stomach churning with anxiety. But Sunoo had made it. Had thought of him, had spent time cooking for him. The gesture felt too precious to reject.

"Will you... will you eat with me?" Riki asked quietly.
Sunoo's face softened. "Of course."

They sat together, Sunoo eating his own portion while Riki managed a few small spoonfuls. It wasn't much, barely anything, really but it was something. And Sunoo didn't comment on how little he ate, didn't push for more. Just smiled and said, "Thank you for trying."

Those three words thank you for trying made Riki's chest ache. When had anyone ever thanked him for trying?

Jungwon visited on the fifth day, bringing his laptop and a pair of headphones. "I made you a playlist," he said, almost shy about it. "Just stuff I thought you might like. Music that helps me when I'm feeling overwhelmed."

They sat together listening to it, and Riki found himself relaxing into the gentle melodies, the carefully curated selection that showed how much thought Jungwon had put into it. When a particularly beautiful song came on, Jungwon said quietly, "This one always makes me feel less alone."

Riki understood. The loneliness had been the worst part, feeling isolated even when surrounded by people.

But here, now, with Jungwon sitting beside him sharing music, he felt the opposite of alone.

Heeseung came with Jay, and they brought card games, playing ridiculous rounds of Go Fish that made Riki laugh despite himself.

Jake visited with Sunghoon, and they told him stories about their trainee days, the struggles they'd faced, the moments they'd wanted to give up but hadn't.

"It's okay to not be okay," Jake said at one point, his voice serious. "You don't have to pretend with us. We're here for all of it, the good days and the bad ones."

The bad days came frequently. Days where Riki couldn't stop crying, where the shame and guilt overwhelmed him, where he couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror.

Days where eating even a few bites felt impossible, where his body felt wrong and disgusting no matter what the doctors said.

On those days, Sunoo would sit quietly beside him, not trying to fix anything, just being present.

Sometimes he'd hold Riki's hand. Sometimes he'd read aloud from a book. Sometimes they'd just exist in silence together, and that was enough.

"I'm sorry," Riki said one particularly bad day, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this. I'm such a mess."

"You're healing," Sunoo corrected gently. "That's not the same as being a mess. Healing is hard. It's supposed to be hard."

The transfer to the inpatient facility happened in the second week.

It was a smaller, quieter place that specialized in eating disorders and trauma recovery.

Riki had his own room, access to therapy multiple times a week, and a structured meal plan designed to slowly rebuild his relationship with food.

The first therapy session was brutal. The therapist, a kind woman named Dr. Kim asked him to talk about what had happened, and Riki found himself reliving every moment of cruelty, every instance of abuse, every time he'd been made to feel worthless.

"I should have stopped them," he said, his voice breaking. "I should have said something, done something. I just... I just took it. I let them treat me that way."

"Riki," Dr. Kim said gently. "You were being abused. Abuse isn't something you 'let' happen. It's something that's done to you. The responsibility lies with them, not with you."

The words felt impossible to believe. For so long, he'd internalized the idea that he deserved the treatment he received, that if he'd just been better, they would have been kinder.

"But I exposed them," he continued, the guilt eating at him. "The clips that came out, their careers are ruined because of me."

"Their careers are facing consequences because of their actions," Dr. Kim corrected. "Not because you were their victim. You didn't make them abuse you. You didn't make them cruel. Those were choices they made."

It took weeks for that truth to start sinking in. Weeks of therapy sessions, of working through the trauma, of learning to separate what had been done to him from who he was as a person.

The eating disorder was harder. The voice in his head that told him he was fat, that he didn't deserve food, that control meant restriction, that voice didn't quiet easily.

But slowly, with the help of the nutritionist and Dr. Kim, Riki began to understand that the eating disorder had never really only been about food.

It had also been about control in a life where he'd had none.

It had been about punishing himself for things that weren't his fault.

Learning to eat again was terrifying. Every meal felt like a battle. But the staff was patient, and more importantly, ENHYPEN was there.

They visited constantly, working around their schedules to make sure Riki was never alone for long.

They celebrated every small victory, the first time he finished a full meal, the first time he went a day without purging, the first time he looked in the mirror without immediately criticizing what he saw.

"I'm proud of you," Sunoo said one day, and the simple statement made Riki cry. When had anyone ever been proud of him?

Six weeks into treatment, Riki had a breakthrough.

He was sitting in the facility's common room with Sunoo and Jungwon, playing a board game, when he realized he was laughing.

Really laughing, the sound genuine and unforced.

And more than that. he felt safe.

The realization hit him like a physical force. He felt safe. Here, with these people, he wasn't afraid. Wasn't waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the kindness to turn cruel, for the affection to be revealed as performance.

This was real. They were real. And they loved him, not because he was perfect or useful or entertaining, but just because he was Riki.

"You okay?" Sunoo asked, noticing the tears in Riki's eyes.

"Yeah," Riki said, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he meant it.

"I'm okay. I'm actually okay."

Sunoo's smile was radiant. "Yeah, you are."
That night, lying in his bed in the facility, Riki thought about how far he'd come.

He wasn't healed, not completely.

He still had bad days. Still struggled with eating. Still had moments where the anxiety overwhelmed him or the shame felt crushing.

But he was healing. Actually healing.

And he had people who loved him through it, who showed up on the bad days and the good ones, who celebrated his victories and supported him through his setbacks, who never made him feel like his trauma was a burden.

His phone buzzed with a message from the ENHYPEN group chat, they'd added him weeks ago, and the constant stream of memes and updates and random thoughts had become a source of comfort.

Jay: Riki, settle a debate. Are hot dogs sandwiches?

Jake: They're obviously sandwiches

Sunghoon: You're both wrong and I'm not explaining why

Heeseung: This is the dumbest conversation we've ever had

Jay: That's saying something

Jungwon: Riki, please bring some sanity to this

Riki smiled, typing back: Definitely not sandwiches. Hot dogs are their own category.

The responses came immediately, a flurry of agreement and outrage and laughing emojis.

Riki read through them, his chest warm, and realized something profound

This was what family was supposed to feel like.

Not perfect, not without conflict or disagreement, but fundamentally safe.
Fundamentally loving. Fundamentally home.

He'd lost so much, his group, his public image, months of his life to recovery. But he'd gained something infinitely more valuable

People who loved him unconditionally. People who saw him at his worst and didn't turn away. People who taught him that he deserved care, deserved healing, deserved happiness.

For the first time since this nightmare began, Riki let himself believe in tomorrow. Not just surviving it, but actually living it.
And that felt like everything.

The discharge papers sat on the table in front of Riki, official and final. Eight weeks. He'd been in the facility for eight weeks, and now Dr. Kim was telling him he was ready to leave.

"Ready" felt like a generous assessment.
"You've made remarkable progress," Dr. Kim said, her voice warm but honest. "Your weight is stabilized, your vitals are good, and you've developed real coping mechanisms for managing your anxiety and depression. But Riki, I want to be clear, leaving here doesn't mean you're cured. Recovery is ongoing."

Riki nodded, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. The facility had become a cocoon, a safe space where the outside world couldn't reach him. The thought of leaving it terrified him almost as much as the thought of staying had once terrified him about his group's dorm.

"You'll need to continue therapy," Dr. Kim continued, sliding a folder across the table. "I've compiled a list of therapists who specialize in trauma and eating disorders. You'll also need regular check-ins with a nutritionist, and I strongly recommend joining a support group."

"Okay," Riki said quietly. The list felt overwhelming, but he understood. This wasn't over. Maybe it would never be over. Maybe recovery was just something he'd have to choose, every single day, for the rest of his life.

"And your support system," Dr. Kim said, her expression softening. "The people who've been visiting you, Sunoo and the ENHYPEN members, they've been instrumental in your recovery. Don't underestimate how important that continued support will be."

As if summoned by the mention of their names, there was a knock on the door. Sunoo poked his head in, his face lighting up when he saw Riki.

"Sorry, are we interrupting?" he asked. "We came to help with discharge day."

Behind him, Riki could see Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Heeseung crowded in the hallway, all of them holding bags and wearing encouraging smiles.

"Actually, your timing is perfect," Dr. Kim said, standing. "I was just finishing up." She turned to Riki, her expression serious but kind. "Remember what we talked about. You're stronger than you think. And you deserve to be happy."

After she left, the ENHYPEN members filed in, and the sterile medical office suddenly felt warmer, more alive.

"So," Sunoo said, sitting beside Riki and taking his hand naturally. "Ready to get out of here?"
"I don't know," Riki admitted, his voice small. "What if I'm not actually ready? What if I mess up again?"
"Then you'll have us," Jungwon said simply. "You're not doing this alone, Riki. We're here for all of it, the good days and the relapses and everything in between."

"We already set up the guest room at our dorm," Sunghoon added. "If you want it. No pressure, but... we thought maybe you'd want to stay with us for a while. Until you figure out what's next."

The offer made Riki's throat tight with emotion. "You don't have to-“

"We want to," Heeseung interrupted gently. "You're family, Riki. This is what family does."

Family. The word still felt foreign applied to him, but he was learning to accept it. Learning to believe that maybe he did deserve this kind of care.

The meeting with the company representatives happened two days after his discharge. Riki had been staying at the ENHYPEN dorm, sleeping in the guest room that Sunghoon had prepared for him, eating meals with people who made sure he actually ate without making him feel watched or judged.

Now, sitting in a sterile conference room with his manager and two company executives, Riki felt his anxiety spike. Sunoo had offered to come with him, but Riki had said no. This was something he needed to do himself.

"Riki," the senior executive began, his tone carefully neutral. "We're glad to see you looking healthier. The company has been very concerned about your wellbeing."
Riki said nothing. They'd been "concerned" enough to put the group on hiatus, but not concerned enough to check on him even once during his hospitalization.

The ENHYPEN members had visited more than his own company representatives.

"We've been in discussions with your group members," the executive continued. "And we believe, with proper counseling and mediation, that the group can move forward together. A fresh start."

Riki's stomach churned. "A fresh start," he repeated flatly.

"Yes. We understand there were... conflicts. But with professional help, these things can be resolved. The group has a comeback scheduled for three months from now. We'd like you to rejoin activities in six weeks, giving you time to fully recover and participate in the preparation."

The words hung in the air. They wanted him to go back. To pretend the abuse hadn't happened, or that it could be fixed with some counseling sessions and a PR-friendly narrative about brotherhood and growth.

"Have my members apologized?" Riki asked quietly.

The executives exchanged glances. "They've expressed regret about the situation," one of them said carefully.
"That's not what I asked." Riki's voice was steadier now. "Have they apologized? To me, directly, for what they did?"
Silence.

"They haven't contacted me once," Riki continued, something hardening in his chest.

“Not in the hospital. Not during recovery. Not once. And you want me to go back to living with them? Working with them? Pretending everything is fine?"

"Riki, we understand you're emotional-“

"I'm not emotional," Riki interrupted, and he was surprised by the firmness in his own voice.

“I'm clear-headed. Probably for the first time in years. And I'm telling you, I can't go back to that group."

The room went very still.

"Let's not make any hasty decisions," his manager said, leaning forward.

“You've been through a lot. Maybe you need more time to think about this."

"I've had eight weeks to think about it," Riki said. "Every single day in that facility, I thought about it. And I know- I know-that going back would kill me. Maybe not immediately, but eventually. I can't do it."

"You're under contract," the executive said, his tone hardening slightly. "Breaking that contract would have serious legal and financial implications."

Fear spiked through Riki's chest, but underneath it was something stronger. Certainty.

“Then we'll deal with those implications. But I won't go back."

"Think about your career," the other executive said. "You're young. You have your whole future ahead of you. Walking away from an established group, that's career suicide. You'll be blacklisted. No one will want to work with you."

"Maybe," Riki said, his hands trembling but his voice steady. "But at least I'll be alive to have a career. At least I'll be able to look at myself in the mirror."

The meeting devolved into negotiations, veiled threats, attempts to convince him he was making a mistake.

They offered him more money, better living arrangements, promises that things would be different.

But Riki held firm, even as his anxiety screamed at him that he was making a terrible mistake, that he was throwing everything away, that he'd regret this.

But louder than the anxiety was a simple truth: staying would destroy him. He'd barely survived the first time. He wouldn't survive going back.

"I need to think about this," the executive finally said, clearly frustrated. "We'll reconvene in a few days."

"There's nothing to think about," Riki said quietly. "I'm not going back. We can discuss the terms of my departure, but the decision is made."

When he left the building, his legs were shaking and his heart was racing, but there was also a strange sense of lightness in his chest.

He'd done it. He'd actually stood up for himself, had said no, had chosen his own wellbeing over their expectations.

Sunoo was waiting outside, leaning against the building. He straightened when he saw Riki, his expression anxious. "How did it go?"
"I told them I'm leaving the group," Riki said, and saying it out loud made it real. Terrifying and real.

Sunoo's face broke into a smile, proud and relieved and supportive all at once. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Riki felt tears prick at his eyes. "I'm terrified. I don't know what I'm doing. But I can't go back."

"You don't have to know what you're doing," Sunoo said, pulling him into a hug. "You just have to know what you don'twant. And we'll figure out the rest together."

The official announcement came two weeks later, after tense negotiations and legal discussions that made Riki's head spin. The company had tried everything, guilt, pressure, financial threats but Riki had held firm.

Eventually, they'd agreed to let him out of his contract with the group, though he'd still be under the company for solo activities.
It wasn't perfect, but it was freedom.

The statement was carefully worded: "After careful consideration and discussion with the company, Riki has decided to depart from the group to focus on his health and pursue solo activities. We wish him the best in his future endeavors and ask fans to support his decision."

The response was immediate and divided. Some fans were supportive, sending messages of love and encouragement. Others were angry, accusing him of abandoning his members, of being selfish, of destroying the group. Some claimed he was lying about the abuse, that he was playing victim for attention.

Riki tried not to read the comments, but it was impossible to avoid them entirely. Each negative comment felt like a knife, confirming every terrible thing he'd believed about himself.

"Stop looking at that," Sunghoon said one evening, gently taking Riki's phone from his hands.

“Those people don't know you. They don't know what you went through."

"But what if they're right?" Riki whispered. "What if I am being selfish? What if I'm ruining everything?"

"You're saving yourself," Jungwon said firmly. "That's not selfish. That's survival."

Slowly, painfully, Riki began to believe them.

Starting over was terrifying. For weeks, Riki felt adrift, unsure of who he was outside of being "the maknae," outside of the role he'd played for so long.

But gradually, with the support of ENHYPEN and his therapist, he began to figure it out.
He started with dance, the one thing that had always been his, even when everything else was taken from him.

A small contemporary dance company reached out, offering him a spot in an upcoming showcase. No pressure, they said. Just come dance with us. Remember why you loved it.

The first rehearsal was nerve-wracking. Riki kept waiting for criticism, for someone to tell him he was doing it wrong, that he was taking up too much space. But instead, the choreographer smiled and said, "Beautiful. Let's try it again, but this time, take up even more space. Own it."

Own it. When had he ever been allowed to own anything?

But he tried. And slowly, dance became joyful again. Not a performance to be judged, not a test to pass, but an expression of something inside him that had been locked away for too long.

He started posting dance videos online, just him, in a practice room, moving to music he loved. No fancy production, no company oversight. Just Riki, dancing because he wanted to.

The response was overwhelming. Fans, real fans, not the ones who'd criticized his departure flooded the comments with support.

This is the happiest I've ever seen you look. You're glowing. This is what freedom looks like.

He collaborated with other dancers, choreographers who respected his input and treated him as an equal.

He released a solo dance film, artistic and raw and completely his own vision. It went viral.

Slowly, carefully, he began to build a career that was his. Not defined by a group, not controlled by members who hated him, but genuinely, authentically his.

Most evenings, Riki found himself at the ENHYPEN dorm. He'd officially moved into his own apartment, a small place that felt huge compared to his old room but he spent more time with ENHYPEN than alone.

They'd become his family in the truest sense. They celebrated his victories, his first solo performance, his first brand deal, his first interview where he talked openly about his recovery.

They supported him through the hard days, the days when eating felt impossible, when the anxiety was overwhelming, when he couldn't stop the negative thoughts.

"You know you don't have to thank us every time you come over, right?" Jake said one evening, laughing as Riki apologized for the third time for "imposing."

"I just... I don't want to be a burden," Riki said automatically.

"You're not a burden," Sunghoon said, not looking up from the game he was playing.

"You're family. Family doesn't burden each other. They just... exist together."

Exist together. The concept was still foreign, but Riki was learning to accept it.

One night, sitting on the couch with Sunoo while the others argued about what movie to watch, Riki had a sudden, overwhelming realization.

"I'm happy," he said aloud, surprised by his own words.

Sunoo looked at him, his expression soft. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Riki felt tears prick at his eyes, but they were good tears. "I'm actually happy. Not pretending, not performing. Just... genuinely happy."

"You deserve to be happy," Sunoo said,
taking his hand.

“ You've always deserved it."

Riki looked around the room at Jake and Sunghoon arguing playfully about the game, at Heeseung and Jay debating movie choices, at Jungwon trying to mediate while clearly enjoying the chaos. At Sunoo beside him, solid and real and constant.

This was his life now. Not perfect, he still had bad days, still struggled with his eating disorder, still had moments of crippling anxiety. But it was his life. His choices. His path.

He wasn't the maknae anymore. Wasn't the cute, clumsy boy who existed to be coddled or mocked.

He was just Riki, dancer, artist, survivor, friend.

And somehow, impossibly, that was enough.
More than enough.

For the first time in years, Riki looked toward the future and felt excitement instead of dread.

There were dance projects he wanted to pursue, collaborations he wanted to explore, parts of himself he wanted to discover.

And he had people who would be there for all of it, not because they had to be, not because cameras were watching, but because they chose to be. Because they loved him.

"What are you thinking about?" Sunoo asked softly.

Riki smiled, a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes and felt genuine all the way through.

“Just... how far I've come. How different everything is now."

"Different good or different bad?"

"Different good," Riki said without hesitation.

“Really, really good."

And he meant it. Every word.
He'd lost so much, his group, his public image, months of his life to recovery. But he'd gained something infinitely more valuable: himself. His voice. His agency. His happiness.

And that, Riki realized, was worth everything.

The realization didn't come all at once. It built slowly, like dawn breaking over the horizon, so gradual that Riki didn't notice until suddenly the world was bathed in light.
It happened in small moments.

The way his heart would skip when Sunoo smiled at him. The way he found himself looking for Sunoo in every room, feeling more settled once he knew where he was.

The way Sunoo's laugh made something warm bloom in his chest, something that felt different from the gratitude and friendship he felt for the other ENHYPEN members.

The way he thought about Sunoo constantly, wondering what he was doing, wanting to share every small victory and every difficult moment with him first, before anyone else.

Riki was sitting in the ENHYPEN practice room one afternoon, watching Sunoo run through choreography, when it hit him with startling clarity: Oh. Oh no.
This wasn't just friendship. This wasn't just gratitude for someone who'd saved him. This was something deeper, something that made his chest ache and his hands tremble and his thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

He was in love with Sunoo.

The realization terrified him.

"You're staring," Jake said, dropping down beside Riki with a knowing smile. "Again."

Riki's face burned. "I'm not-“

"You are," Jake said, not unkindly. "You always do. It's kind of obvious, actually."

"Is it?" Riki's voice came out strangled. If Jake had noticed, had everyone noticed? Did Sunoo know?

"To everyone except maybe Sunoo," Jake said, laughing softly. "Though honestly, I think he knows too. He's just waiting for you to figure it out."

Riki's heart was racing now, that familiar anxiety spiking. "I can't- I don't know if it's real or if I'm just... grateful. He helped me so much, and maybe I'm just confusing gratitude with-“

"Riki." Jake's voice was gentle but firm. "I've seen gratitude. This isn't that. The way you look at him? That's not someone who's just thankful. That's someone who's in love."

The words hung in the air between them, and Riki couldn't deny them. Couldn't pretend anymore.

"What if I ruin everything?" Riki whispered, voicing his deepest fear. "What if I tell him and he doesn't feel the same way? What if it makes things weird and I lose him? I can't-I can't lose him, Jake. He's too important."

"And what if he does feel the same way?" Jake countered. "What if you're both just waiting for the other person to say something first?"

Before Riki could respond, Sunoo and Jungwon finished their run-through, both breathing hard and laughing about something.

Sunoo's eyes immediately found Riki's across the room, and his face lit up with that smile, the one that made Riki's heart do complicated things in his chest.

"Taking a break?" Sunoo called out, already heading toward them. "Want to grab something to eat?"

And there it was again, that immediate, instinctive desire to be near Sunoo, to exist in his orbit, to soak up his warmth like a plant turning toward the sun.

"Yeah," Riki said, his voice steadier than he felt. "That sounds good."

The teasing started in earnest that evening.
They were all sprawled around the ENHYPEN dorm living room, Riki had basically moved in at this point, his own apartment feeling too empty, too quiet. Heeseung was scrolling through his phone when he suddenly laughed.

"Oh my god, look at this," he said, turning his screen to show the others. It was a fan-edited video compilation titled "Riki and Sunoo being in love for 10 minutes straight."
Riki's stomach dropped.

The video showed clips of them at Music Bank, at award shows, candid moments that fans had captured, Sunoo's hand in his, the way they leaned into each other, the soft looks they exchanged when they thought no one was watching.

"We're not-“ Riki started, but his protest was drowned out by the others' laughter.

"The comments are even better," Jungwon said, reading from his own phone. "'They're literally married.' 'The way Sunoo looks at Riki should be illegal.' 'When will they just admit they're in love?'"

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Sunoo said, but he was smiling, his cheeks slightly pink. He glanced at Riki, and there was something in his expression, something soft and knowing and maybe a little hopeful.

"I'm just saying," Sunghoon added, stretching out on the couch, "if you two are going to keep being this obvious, you might as well just make it official."

"There's nothing to make official," Riki said, but his voice lacked conviction. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it.

"Sure," Jay said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm the president of Korea."
The teasing continued throughout the evening, gentle but persistent, until Riki felt like he might combust from the tension of it all.

Every time he caught Sunoo's eye, he saw that same soft expression, that same question hovering unspoken between them.

Finally, when the others had drifted off to their rooms and the dorm had quieted for the night, Riki found himself alone with Sunoo in the kitchen. Sunoo was making tea, he'd learned that chamomile helped Riki sleep on nights when his anxiety was bad and the domesticity of it made Riki's chest ache.

"Sorry about earlier," Sunoo said quietly, not looking at Riki as he poured hot water into two mugs. "The guys can be a lot sometimes."

"It's okay," Riki said, and then, before he could lose his nerve

“ Sunoo, can we talk?"

Sunoo looked up, and something in Riki's expression must have conveyed the seriousness of what he wanted to say, because Sunoo nodded immediately.

“Of course. Want to go to my room?"

Sunoo's room was small but cozy, filled with little touches that were so distinctly him, photos on the walls, a collection of plushies on the bed, fairy lights strung along the ceiling.

They sat on the bed, facing each other, and Riki felt his courage wavering.

"I don't know how to say this," Riki started, his hands trembling in his lap. "I'm terrified of saying it wrong, or saying it at all, but I think- I think I need to."

"Riki." Sunoo reached out, taking one of Riki's shaking hands in both of his.

"Whatever it is, it's okay. You can tell me anything."

The kindness in his voice, the patience, the unconditional acceptance, it was everything Riki had never known he needed, and it gave him the courage to continue.

"I think I'm in love with you," Riki said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "And I don't know if it's real or if I'm just confused because you've been so good to me, because you saved me in so many ways. Maybe I'm just grateful and my brain is confusing that with something else.
But when I'm with you, I feel- I feel like I can breathe. Like everything makes sense. And I'm terrified because what if I'm wrong? What if I ruin everything by feeling this way? What if-“

"Riki." Sunoo squeezed his hand, and when Riki finally looked up, Sunoo's eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“You're not wrong. And you're not confused."

Riki's breath caught. "What?"

"I've known for a while," Sunoo said softly, a small smile playing at his lips.

“That I have feelings for you. Real feelings, not just friendship. I think I started falling for you that first day at Music Bank, when you were so nervous and shy but also so genuine. And then as I got to know you, as I saw how strong you are, how you kept fighting even when everything was falling apart- I fell harder."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Riki whispered, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.

"Because you needed to heal first," Sunoo said, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of Riki's hand.

“You were going through so much, and I didn't want to complicate your recovery. I didn't want you to feel pressured or confused or like you owed me anything. I just wanted to be there for you, whatever that meant. Even if it only ever meant friendship."

"But it's not just friendship," Riki said, and it wasn't a question anymore. It was a statement, a truth, a confession.

"No," Sunoo agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not."

They sat there for a moment, hands linked, the truth finally spoken and hanging in the air between them.

And then Sunoo leaned forward slowly, giving Riki every opportunity to pull away, to change his mind.
Riki didn't pull away.

The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, a question and an answer all at once. Sunoo's lips were soft against his, and Riki felt something inside him crack open, something that had been locked away for so long he'd forgotten it existed. Joy. Pure, uncomplicated joy.

When they pulled apart, Riki was crying, tears streaming down his face, but he was smiling too.

“I can't believe this is real," he whispered. "I can't believe you- that we-“

"It's real," Sunoo said, wiping away Riki's tears with his thumbs, his own eyes wet. "I promise you, this is real. What I feel for you is real."

Riki kissed him again, less tentative this time, pouring everything he felt into it, all the gratitude and love and hope and fear and overwhelming emotion.

Sunoo kissed him back with equal intensity, his hands gentle on Riki's face, in his hair, grounding him in this moment.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Sunoo pulled Riki into his arms, and Riki went willingly, burying his face in Sunoo's shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other, and Riki felt safer than he'd ever felt in his life.

"This is what it's supposed to feel like," Riki said eventually, his voice muffled against Sunoo's shirt. "Isn't it? Love. It's supposed to feel like this, safe and warm and like coming home."

"Yeah," Sunoo said, pressing a kiss to the top of Riki's head. "This is exactly what it's supposed to feel like."

The next morning, they came out of Sunoo's room together, and the knowing looks from the other ENHYPEN members were immediate.

"Finally!" Sunghoon shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "I thought you two would never figure it out!"

"We've been waiting for weeks," Jungwon said, grinning. "Literal weeks. The tension was killing us."

"I called it first," Jake said smugly. "Back when they first started hosting together. I told you all they'd end up together."

"We all called it," Heeseung corrected, laughing. "It was the most obvious thing in the world."

Riki felt his face burning, but Sunoo just laughed, pulling Riki closer and lacing their fingers together. "Okay, okay, you were all very perceptive. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Sunghoon said, but his smile was genuine, warm. "Seriously though, we're happy for you both. You're good together."
"Really good," Jay agreed. "Like, disgustingly cute good. We're going to have to set some ground rules about PDA in common areas."

They were teasing, but underneath it was real happiness, real support. These people, Riki's found family, were genuinely glad that he and Sunoo had found each other.

Later, when they had a moment alone in the kitchen, Sunoo pulled Riki close and kissed him softly. "You okay?" he asked. "Not overwhelmed?"

"I'm perfect," Riki said, and he meant it. "For the first time in my life, I think I'm actually perfect."

He looked at Sunoo, at this person who had seen him at his absolute worst and loved him anyway, who had waited patiently for him to heal, who had never asked for anything in return and felt his heart overflow with emotion.

This was what real love looked like. Not possessive or cruel, not conditional or transactional. Just... this. Support and patience and choosing each other, every single day.

The future stretched out ahead of them, open and full of possibility. There would be challenges, Riki knew. His recovery was ongoing. There would be bad days and setbacks and moments of doubt.

But he wouldn't face them alone. He had Sunoo. He had ENHYPEN. He had people who loved him unconditionally.

And he had himself, finally, after everything, he had himself back.

"What are you thinking about?" Sunoo asked, echoing the question from the night before.

Riki smiled, pulling Sunoo closer. "The future," he said. "And how, for the first time, I'm not afraid of it."

"Good," Sunoo said, resting his forehead against Riki's. "Because I plan on being in that future. For as long as you'll have me."

"Forever, then," Riki said, and kissed him again, sealing the promise.

Forever sounded perfect.