Profiles!

i want to bite his cheeks and carry him around in my front pocket 😭💖

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꒰ THAT’S YOUR BOYFRIEND? ꒱ — nishimura riki

SYNOPSIS. it’s been three months since you met your now, online boyfriend, riki. he’s so sweet, matches your humor, but you have yet to see his face. your friends see this as a major red flag but you know riki told you he is just shy. due to this your friends joke that you could very well be dating a catfish. but what happens when riki finally sends you a picture of himself and your friend reverse searches the image to be ni-ki from enhypen?

PAIRING. idol bf! nishimura riki x fem! reader GENRE. smau written est. relationship crack fluff NOTES & WARNINGS. faceclaim haneul kiof kms/kys jokes profanity + warnings for each chapter

🗯️ EXTRA PENG NOTE. this is my first smau so hopefully it’s funny & no posting schedule !

this is in no way a reflection of any of these idols !! SPAM LIKING RULE STILL APPLIES !! plz don’t spam like chapters it will get you blocked.

PROFILES ; meowzers enhypen

CHAPTERS ; ( subject to changes )

00. she’s so beautiful 01. stop negativity 02. omg what if he’s british 03. i’d love to meet you soon ( + written ) 04. when did riki get cuffed ? 05. omg rcta king 06. heeseung from enhypen 07. invading enhatwt 08. he wants to meet ?! 09. On my way! to die ( + written )

ON HOLD . . . TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

belift is fucking crazy and insane!! enha is being sooo overworked like crazy, their schedules are inhumane. they’ve been having comebacks after comebacks, never-ending tours and promos like what the fuck?! the members are suffering so much because of how greedy their company is.

first we saw jay having a knee injury and yet the company made him perform on stage without any proper arrangements. sunghoon having a cold and getting sick often. heeseung being so exhausted that he couldn't even stand properly (for which so many quote ’engenes’ called him lazy and un-professional which is absolutely insane!!!) jake had to sit out from two different stages in their most recent concert and couldn’t even open his eyes when he was present for the other stages. DESPITE all this they’re having another comeback soon!??

the tours seem never ending and it’s been two whole years! this is so terrifying. our boys love making music for us for which we appreciate and support them but at what cost? they’re humans too and i’m sure we all know how horrendously they’re being over-worked and being treated like robots. please demand for a break for them for only we can help them in this.

omggg my heart!!! 😭😭

TIED UP IN YOU , N.RK !

﹙ 🍫 ﹚ ぃ ──── THIS MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT TRUST ME IT'S TRUE!

PAIRING : phone guy ! riki × student ! afab reader

SYNOPSIS : Niki was a good guy, no doubt about it. The only problem? He was your phone. How, exactly, did your phone transform into this strikingly handsome guy? It was baffling, frustrating, and, honestly, a bit overwhelming. Here you were, trying to navigate a world where your device had somehow become a charming, infuriatingly attractive human being. And to make matters worse, he was as stubborn and endearing as any person you'd ever met.

GENRE : fluff + crack

WARNING(S) : I don't really think there's any aside from mentions of period and blood in the start, kissing (can be slightly suggestive) and a possible sad ending but if there's more—please lmk.

WORD COUNT : 15.9K

MORE LIKE THIS? ┊ MASTERLIST

NOTE FROM SENA , it's been exactly two months since i’ve actually written a fic from the dreamscape series lol (but I'll make sure to write the other ones too!!) even a little feedback really fuels me—it doesn't necessarily have to be appreciation, it's okay for it to be constructive criticism. Also, happy birthday to our dearest maknae riki 🫶🏻💕

YOU HATE THIS.

You hate everything about it: the constant ache in your lower abdomen, the bloating that makes you uncomfortable, and worst of all, the emotional chaos you're forced to go through while navigating the constant tension your family adds to your life. It's almost too much. Almost.

Stepping into the bathroom, you peel off your bloodied underwear with a groan. This feels just another battle in a war you are losing. The step forward into the shower brings down upon your body warm water flowing. It streams down along your back and legs carrying away the last drops of blood. For that one instant, it soothes all the pain, but not for long.

You press your palms flat against the cool tiles of the wall, leaning forward as the steam rises around you. “Why can't one thing be easy?” you mutter, your voice barely audible over the rush of water.

The thought of your so-called friends creeps into your mind. Friends? you scoff internally. They aren't friends. They're just people who keep you around to have someone to poke fun at, and you? Too naïve, too hopeful, let them.

Your school's anti-bullying policy flashes across your mind next. What a joke. The only time they ever step in is when someone like you stands up to the bullies. It's infuriating.

With a disgusted huff, you twist the shower handle, dialing up the heat until the water is near-scalding. For an instant, the burn feels even slightly more pleasing than the general dull ache throughout your body. But that comfort loses itself too soon as well as the water becomes unbearable (too hot) to touch. “Great,” you say sarcastically and twist the knob off entirely.

The bathroom is silent except for the sporadic drip of the faucet. You take a towel and dab at yourself slowly, deliberatively drying yourself. You wince as your clothes touch your sore skin but continue through the motions nonetheless.

You then walk into the counter, reach in for the pack of pads, and pull one out. You stare at it for a moment before letting out a deep breath. The thought of using tampons crosses your mind. You shudder. Some things are just too much of a hassle to consider: the fumbling with the applicator before inserting something. You shake your head, muttering “Not for me,” place the pad carefully in a fresh pair of underwear you slip on, and feel familiar, slightly cushioned comfort.

The next comes the outfit. Half-day at school, of course means no uniforms—but, in keeping with the school's dress code, naturally. You rifle through your closet before settling on the usual choice: oversized, baggy. So comfortable. So practical. How can some of those girls make such a racket and carry themselves about in what would have otherwise been flashy, tight clothes? How do they manage to study?

As you pull the hoodie over your head, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. For a moment, you pause, taking in the faint puffiness under your eyes and the dull expression on your face. You look tired. No, you look exhausted. You let out a sigh as you run a hand through your damp hair, tying it into a loose ponytail.

As you step out of the bathroom, still adjusting your hoodie, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. There’s a man—a complete stranger—sitting casually on your bed like he owns the place. Your first instinct is to scream, but the sheer absurdity of his presence silences you momentarily. He looks…naive, almost harmless, as if he hasn't just committed a blatant act of breaking and entering.

But harmless or not, he’s still a stranger in your room. Your instincts kick in, and you grab the closest thing within reach—a dusty second-grade participation trophy your sister once won. You don’t care about the trophy. It’s been collecting cobwebs for years, and if it breaks while bashing in this intruder's head, so be it.

With the makeshift weapon clutched tightly in your hand, you take a step toward him. He notices, his head tilting slightly, and for a brief second, confusion flashes across his face. He raises his hands, palms out in surrender, and says in the calmest tone imaginable, “You’re not actually going to hit me, are you?”

His question catches you off guard. What? Of course you’re going to hit him! How dare he act so calm, as if he’s the victim here? You narrow your eyes, gripping the trophy even tighter.

“Well, if you’re going to intrude in my room and act like you’re some innocent little boy who doesn’t know what he’s doing, you’ve got another thing coming!” you snap, taking a step closer. “I’ll call the police!”

Your voice rises with conviction as you mentally prepare to shout for your mom, who’s probably awake by now. Surely she’d hear the commotion and come running. But the man, completely unfazed, leans back slightly on the bed. He rolls his eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Well, then. Go ahead. Call the police,” he says, his tone dripping with nonchalance, as if this is the most mundane situation in the world.

The sheer audacity leaves you momentarily stunned. Who does this guy think he is? Acting like this is his room, like he’s inviting you to call for help. Your grip loosens slightly on the trophy as your mind races. Why isn’t he scared? Why isn’t he running? Has he done this before?

You glance around, searching for your phone. Where is it? You could’ve sworn you left it on your desk, but it’s nowhere in sight. Panic creeps into your chest. He still hasn’t moved. His eyes flick around the room, scanning the details, but he doesn’t seem in a rush to do anything.

The way he observes everything so calmly only fuels your fear. Your gut tells you this guy is dangerous, no matter how unbothered he looks. Your heart pounds as your brain screams: Stranger danger. Stranger danger.

“I’m serious,” you blurt out, your voice quivering slightly despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I’ll scream. I’ll—”

“Then scream,” he interrupts, his voice sharp but not loud. His gaze finally locks with yours, and for the first time, you notice something unsettling in his expression. A flicker of something you can’t quite place. Not anger, not malice—just…calculation.

Your breath catches. He’s not leaving. He’s not running. This isn’t over.

With a frustrated sigh, you blurt out, “Where’s my darn phone?!”

Your eyes scan the room, darting over every surface in search of it. The guy—still sitting lazily on your bed—doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he tilts his head slightly and says, in the most deadpan tone imaginable, “Why are you searching when I’m right here?”

You freeze mid-step, slowly turning to look at him. What? Did he just…? Your first thought is this guy is absolutely insane. No rational person would say that, and suddenly, you’re wondering if he’s got some kind of mental illness. And, because your irritation is outweighing your common sense, you let the words slip right out of your mouth:

“I’m searching for my phone, you idiot. Just wait—just you see—I’m gonna call the police on you!”

It’s a dumb move, announcing your plan to the potential intruder. But at this point, logic has taken a backseat to sheer annoyance.

The guy blinks at you, seemingly unfazed, and mutters in that same emotionless tone, “I am your phone.”

You stare at him, disbelief written all over your face. “If you’re my phone,” you snap, crossing your arms, “then call the cops yourself.”

You return to searching, hands rummaging through the clutter on your desk. But then you hear something that makes you stop cold: a dialing sound. Not from a phone, but from him. Slowly, you turn back to see a faint, glowing screen appear above his head. The digital display shows numbers being dialed.

Your heart races as the call connects. A voice crackles through the air—an officer, calm and professional, asking, “Hello? Is everything alright there?”

Your jaw drops. What do you even say? Panic sets in. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice shaking. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

The officer pauses, clearly unconvinced, but then ends the call with a polite goodbye.

You stare at the man—your phone?—in complete shock. He looks at you as if nothing unusual has happened, his expression blank. Slowly, you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, pressing a trembling hand to your forehead.

“What the hell…” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. This can’t be real. Phones don’t turn into people. And yet, the evidence is sitting right in front of you—a very real, very handsome guy, casually perched on your bed like this is the most normal thing in the world.

He shifts slightly, his head tilting again. “You seem stressed,” he says, his tone flat but oddly observant.

“Stressed?” you snap, gesturing wildly. “Of course I’m stressed! My phone—my phone—just turned into you! How is this even possible?!”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “You dropped me too many times. I think I just… evolved.”

“EVOLVED?!” You bury your face in your hands, groaning. None of this makes sense. You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or check yourself into a psych ward.

“How…” you start, your voice muffled behind your hands, “how is this even happening?”

“That’s what I’m here to figure out,” he replies simply, leaning back on his elbows.

You peek at him through your fingers, still in disbelief. “This can’t be real. There’s no way. You—no, this—” You cut yourself off, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

Your phone—no, the guy—tilts his head again, studying you. “You’ll get used to it,” he says, almost like a promise.

But you’re not so sure about that.

“So… you’re my phone?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief, eyes narrowing as you study the boy in front of you.

“No doubt,” he answers almost immediately, like he’s personally offended you’d even question it.

You squint at him, crossing your arms. “Then prove it. What’s my name, my last semester grade, and… my favorite boy band?”

You’re sure this will trip him up. After all, your phone holds all your secrets. If he’s lying, he wouldn’t know the answers. You’ve texted casually about your life, sure, but your grade? That’s buried deep in your notes app. And your favorite K-pop group? Well, okay, maybe you’ve obsessively streamed their content, but still.

“Y/N, C-minus, and TXT,” he says without hesitation, his gaze steady as he stares you down.

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “What the hell?” you mutter, stunned. No one knew your last semester grade—not even your parents. You hid it like a crime. And how could he guess your favorite group so easily?

You scowl, determined to poke a hole in his claim. “That’s not enough. Maybe you stalked me or paid too much attention to my life,” you argue, crossing your arms smugly, waiting for him to stumble.

But instead, he smirks—an infuriatingly cocky smirk. “Those videos you watch while pretending to be asleep under your blanket—”

“Shut up!” you cut him off, your cheeks instantly flaming. Oh, my god. That was not something anyone was supposed to know. “Fine, I believe you!” you snap, desperate to stop him before he digs up more embarrassing truths.

But he’s not done. He leans closer, his voice dropping as he adds, “And how about that sob story you wrote in your digital journal? The one you cringed at so hard you almost deleted the whole app?”

Your entire face burns. “I said I believe you! Now shut the fck up!” The words come out louder than you intended, practically echoing in the room.

There’s a knock on the door, followed by it swinging open.

“You seriously aren’t ready for school yet?” your mom complains, arms crossed as she glares at you.

Your heart stops. You whip around, fully expecting her to freak out at the sight of a random guy in your room. But when you look back at your bed…

He’s gone.

In his place lies your phone—ordinary, rectangular, and definitely not a human boy.

You stare at it, dumbfounded, while your mom narrows her eyes at you. “Well?” she snaps.

“I—I’m getting ready,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. You glance back at the phone, half-expecting it to sprout arms and legs again. But it doesn’t move.

Your mom sighs, muttering something about you being late, and slams the door shut.

You flop down onto the bed, your head spinning. Did you just imagine all of that? Was it some kind of stress-induced hallucination? But… no, it felt real. Too real.

Your hand hovers over your phone. “What the hell just happened?” you whisper, the memory of his smug face flashing in your mind. You’re not sure if you’re losing it or if your phone just pulled the biggest prank of your life. Either way, it’s going to be a long day.

You couldn't focus at all during school. The weight of your phone in your pocket felt heavier than usual, as though it was a ticking time bomb waiting to spring legs and arms again. The thought of keeping it in your bag seemed like a bad idea—what if it turned into him again and someone saw? The last thing you needed was to explain that.

And yet, your mind kept wandering back to him. The guy. The phone. Whatever he was. He was… kind of handsome.

You mentally slapped yourself. Snap out of it, Y/N. It’s your phone, not a K-drama lead! Still, the thought lingered, making your stomach churn. What if you’d imagined everything? What if it was all in your head?

You tried to shake the unsettling thought, but it stuck. Maybe you were losing it. After all, you weren’t exactly what anyone would call normal. You’d always kept to yourself, avoided making friends, and generally preferred your own company. Isn’t that how they describe psychopaths in true crime documentaries?

You shivered at the thought. Maybe Eunmi would understand. She was quiet, kept her distance from people too. You glanced across the classroom and spotted her sitting by herself. Perfect. You grabbed your stuff and slid into the seat next to her.

Eunmi turned to you, her brows furrowing in confusion. Without a word, she grabbed her things and moved to another seat across the room.

“Wtf?” you muttered, glaring after her. “Some people are so ungrateful. She could’ve just said she didn’t want to talk.”

You slumped back in your seat, fuming and plotting petty revenge in your head. But before you could dwell on it too much, the classroom door creaked open. Miss Shin walked in, her expression as flat and lifeless as her lectures.

History. Great.

You suppressed a groan as she began her lesson, droning on about wars and treaties in the most monotone voice imaginable. You weren’t saying history couldn’t be interesting—it totally could. But with Miss Shin? She made even the most exciting historical events feel like watching paint dry.

Why was she even hired as a teacher? She should’ve been a librarian or something.

You stifled a yawn, covering your mouth with your hand. The effort was pointless, though. Half the class was already yawning or staring blankly at their desks.

Your hand brushed against your pocket, the outline of your phone reminding you of the chaos from this morning. You couldn’t help but peek down at it. Was it just your imagination, or did it feel warmer than usual?

Stay calm, you told yourself. Don’t freak out. But the thought lingered—what if this wasn’t over? What if he—or it—came back?

You swallowed hard and glanced around the room. No one was paying attention to you, thankfully. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about today was far from normal.

“So this…” Miss Shin droned on, gesturing at the board where her half-hearted notes were scrawled. Whatever she was explaining had already flown over your head. You didn’t care. You weren’t in the mood to pay attention, let alone write anything down.

You flipped open your notebook—still blank, as usual—and stared at the empty page. The thought of filling it with Miss Shin’s monotony made your eyelids droop. All you wanted was to go back home, crawl into bed, and pretend this bizarre day hadn’t happened. Maybe that was the real reason you were seeing things—exhaustion messing with your brain.

A faint ding from your pocket pulled you out of your thoughts. You frowned and pulled out your phone. A notification glared up at you:

“Write it down.”

What the…? You didn’t remember setting up anything like that. Before you could process it, you sneezed unexpectedly, the sharp sound echoing across the silent classroom. Heads turned toward you, your classmates throwing judgmental looks your way.

You tried to ignore them, but then your phone started to vibrate—loudly. The desk buzzed beneath your hands, and you could feel the attention of the entire room shifting onto you.

This was a nightmare.

Your classmates whispered among themselves, some shooting you annoyed glances. You were already the so-called “bad influence” in the school, the one parents warned their kids to stay away from. But this? This was next-level humiliation.

The phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. You tried pressing random buttons, but nothing worked. It was as if your phone—or he—was demanding your cooperation.

You sighed, gripping your pen. Maybe, just maybe, the only way to shut it up was to do what it wanted. As ridiculous as it sounded, you decided to test your theory.

The moment your pen touched the page and you started copying the notes on the board, the vibrating stopped. Silence finally returned, and you let out a breath of relief.

But your heart raced. This wasn’t normal. None of it was.

Your father had gifted you this phone before he passed away. It was sentimental, irreplaceable. But now it felt like a curse. A device that had taken on a life of its own—or, more disturbingly, a human form.

You glanced at your pocket where the phone rested quietly, as if nothing had happened. You couldn’t shake the thought that whatever this was, it wasn’t over. For now, though, you had no choice but to keep writing, pretending like everything was fine.

The park is quiet, save for the distant chatter of kids playing and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. You sit on a bench, your elbows resting on your knees, and your gaze fixed on the ground. Your phone lies next to you, placed carefully on the seat, as if you’re afraid it might suddenly sprout arms and legs again.

Your schoolbag acts as a barrier between you and the phone, like it’ll somehow protect you from whatever is going on. You sigh heavily, the weight of the day pressing down on you. “I should really see a therapist,” you mutter under your breath, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

The unexpected sensation of an arm draping casually over your shoulder sends a shiver down your spine. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as your head snaps to the side. And there he is—again. The guy who claims to be your phone, lounging as if nothing about this is strange.

“Why did you disappear this morning when my mom came in?” you ask, your voice a mix of confusion and exasperation.

He shrugs nonchalantly, leaning back on the bench like he owns the place. His posture is relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, his expression completely void of emotion. “Nobody else can see me except you.”

His answer is so matter-of-fact that it takes you a second to process. You lean forward, resting your forearms on your knees, and glance at him sideways. “Great,” you say dryly, “so not only do I have a talking phone, but it’s also invisible to everyone else. Just my luck.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the sky like he’s analyzing the clouds. The silence stretches, and you realize something that’s been bugging you since the first time he appeared.

“Do you even have a personality?” you blurt out, sitting up straight to face him. The question isn’t kind, but at this point, you don’t care. He doesn’t seem to have feelings, anyway—why would he? He’s a phone.

He finally turns to look at you, his face as blank as always. Then, without missing a beat, he says, “Apparently, the phone takes after its owner.”

His words hit you like a slap. Your jaw drops, and you feel a rush of indignation. “Excuse me? Are you saying I don’t have a personality?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he replies, completely unfazed.

You stare at him, stunned. Nobody’s ever said anything like that to you before. Sure, you’ve had fake friends talk behind your back and parents who sometimes pointed out your flaws, but being insulted by your own phone? That’s a new low.

“You’ve got some nerve,” you snap, crossing your arms.

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re an object of mild interest. “I’m just stating the facts. You’ve been carrying me around all this time; I’m bound to reflect you.”

You scoff, turning away to glare at the horizon. The breeze ruffles your hair, and you feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “You know,” you mutter, “for something that’s supposed to be mine, you’re awfully rude.”

“Rude?” he echoes, sounding genuinely curious. “I didn’t realize honesty was rude. Maybe that’s another reflection of you.”

You whip your head back toward him, your mouth opening to retort, but the look on his face—calm, blank, unbothered—leaves you speechless.

For a moment, you just sit there, glaring at him while he stares back with that same neutral expression. It’s infuriating. You slump back against the bench, throwing your head back and groaning in frustration.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you say to no one in particular.

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at you with something that might almost be amusement. “You kept me for years. This is just karma.”

“Karma for what?” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him.

“For ignoring the warranty,” he deadpans, and for the first time, you think you see the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glare at him, utterly done. “I hate you.”

“You’ll still carry me everywhere,” he points out, leaning back again and crossing his arms smugly.

You groan again, pressing your palms to your face because of how annoying he truly was. For a moment neither of you spoke.

“Why would you vibrate in class? That was so embarrassing,” you say, breaking the tension and changing the subject. You’re not about to argue further, so you sling an arm around his shoulder like you’re old friends.

He immediately stiffens and shrugs your arm off with a look of mild disgust. “Because you weren’t writing the notes,” he replies flatly, brushing off your gesture like you’ve personally offended him.

You blink, stunned. The audacity.

“And why do you care so much about that? You’re supposed to be my phone,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Because, well…” He pauses, and suddenly, that glowing screen appears above his head again. It’s flipping through your search history.

Your heart drops. “What are you doing?! Close it!” you hiss, panic bubbling in your chest as you glance around to make sure no one’s nearby.

He doesn’t even flinch at your tone, completely unbothered. “Relax. I’m just looking for something,” he says, his voice taking on an infuriatingly smug edge.

“I searched those things because they’re private,” you mutter, your frustration building. You ball your fists at your sides, resisting the urge to throttle him—not that it would make any difference. He’s a freaking machine.

“You shouldn’t have searched them if you didn’t want anyone to see,” he replies, his monotone voice now laced with an evil undertone. His smirk grows as the glowing screen halts, revealing a to-do list. Your middle school to-do list.

You feel the blood drain from your face. “No, no, no,” you mumble, already dreading what’s coming next.

“Let’s see,” he says, clearly enjoying this. He leans forward slightly, reading aloud:

001. Get A’s in at least three subjects.

002. Get a boyfriend before graduation.

003. Make at least one friend.

The list glows mockingly between the two of you.

You groan and press a hand to your forehead. “You’re not seriously going to dwell on something I wrote as a literal kid,” you mutter, voice dripping with disbelief.

“Why not? You still haven’t checked anything off,” he points out, tilting his head like he’s genuinely curious about your failure.

“Because—” you start, your voice rising in frustration, “that was middle school! None of that even matters now!”

“Well, well, well... If I’m looking at your past history and the things in your other notes...” He trails off, his glowing screen flipping again as though searching for the most humiliating detail to dig up.

Then it stops. His screen flashes: 15% character development since middle school.

Your jaw drops. The sheer amount of disrespect—oh, lord. You point an accusatory finger at him, utterly offended by your own phone.

“That is so false! If I hadn’t had character development, I wouldn’t have stood up to the bullies in middle school. Or cut off all my toxic friends!” you argue, arms crossing tightly over your chest. The nerve of this guy.

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “That’s why it said 15% development. The other 85%? Still not there. Let’s just say, you need to study harder instead of spending hours watching those—”

You slap a hand over his mouth, glaring up at him despite the fact that he’s way taller. “SHUT UP!”

He doesn’t resist, just blinks at you like this is all beneath him. Meanwhile, you grab your water bottle and take a sip, trying to calm your boiling frustration. After a deep breath, you lower the bottle and mutter, “If you’ve turned into a human, why can’t you, I don’t know, switch to being female? Maybe I’d connect with you better.”

It’s not really a question. More of a passive-aggressive command for him to get out of your life entirely.

“Well,” he starts, completely unfazed, “cheap phones apparently only transform into males. If your phone was more expensive, maybe I’d be a girl.”

The silence that follows is deafening. His expression is as emotionless as ever, so he clearly doesn’t realize the massive mistake he just made.

You stare at him, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. Slowly, you lower your gaze, your voice quieter now. “It was gifted by my dad… my late dad,” you mumble.

His screen flickers uncertainly, but he doesn’t say anything. You sigh, pressing your palms against your face, trying to hold back the sting of tears threatening to spill.

Your dad had been the best—kind, patient, your biggest supporter. And then, when you were seven, everything changed. After he passed, your mom remarried. You didn’t want to accept the man as your stepdad, not when you still held on so tightly to the memory of your father.

It wasn’t until you were older—seventeen, to be exact—that you realized how selfish you’d been. Your mom had spent years grieving, and she deserved love, even if it hurt you to see someone else in your dad’s place.

The man was nice to you, patient even when you were rude. But every time you looked at him, it reminded you that your dad was gone.

The phone sitting next to you now—this phone—was your dad’s. You’d taken it after growing up, cherishing it because it had been his. Back then, it brought you comfort.

You never could’ve imagined it would one day transform into some smug guy with no tact whatsoever.

“If I wanted my phone to transform into someone… it would be my dad,” you mutter, swiping at a tear that threatens to escape the confines of your closed eyelids.

He stays silent for a moment, his screen flickering dimly before he mumbles, “But… wouldn't it be sad? Seeing him trapped inside a device?”

The softness in his voice makes you laugh—an awkward, bittersweet laugh. What were you even doing? Seeking comfort from your phone?

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, tilting his head in confusion.

“Since you’re so smart and apparently great at giving correct statements, why don’t you figure out yourself why I’m laughing?” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He looks thoroughly puzzled, his glowing eyes blinking as though trying to process. Of course, he wouldn’t understand. He was a machine. A device that knew nothing about the complexities of the actual world.

Before you can explain—or tell him to drop it entirely—the skies open up. The first raindrop splatters onto the ground, quickly followed by another, then another. Within seconds, it’s pouring.

Your smile fades, replaced with pure horror as realization strikes. He’s your phone. Not a regular guy. Meaning— “You’re not waterproof!” you yelp, panic kicking in.

“What?” he asks, his confusion somehow even more clueless than before.

“We need to run!” you blurt out, already yanking off your jacket.

You grab his shoulders, tugging him down since he’s ridiculously tall—and far too proud of it. Wrapping the jacket over his head as a makeshift cover, you mutter under your breath, “I swear, if you short-circuit on me, I’m going to lose it.”

He mumbles something, but you’re not listening. You grab his hand, practically dragging him through the downpour. The jacket flutters slightly as you shield him, doing your best to keep him—and by extension, your phone—dry.

If anyone saw you, they’d think this was a scene straight out of a romance movie. The two of you running through the rain, hands intertwined, your jacket protecting his head.

But no. This wasn’t a romantic moment. Not even close.

This was you desperately trying to save your phone. A phone that was probably going to haunt you later by bringing up your middle school to-do list the second it powered back on.

The next day, you hug your pillow tightly, the soft fabric providing a fleeting moment of peace as sleep lingers in your half-conscious mind. The blanket drapes over you completely, cocooning you in warmth, and for a blissful second, you forget the bizarre events of the day before.

That is, until a cold splash of water shocks you into reality.

“WHAT THE HELL?” you hiss, bolting upright, water dripping from your hair and stinging your eyes. You frantically swipe at your face, blinking to focus on the perpetrator.

Standing there with a glass in hand and an infuriatingly calm expression is him.

“Just waking you up,” he says with a shrug, as if drenching someone in cold water is the most reasonable way to start a morning.

Your patience snaps. Without thinking, you grip his shoulders and push him down onto the now-soaked bed, your movements fueled by a mix of irritation and disbelief. You hover over him, faces mere inches apart, as you glare.

“If you ever pull that stunt again,” you growl, your voice low and dangerous, “I swear I’ll punch you. Hard.”

For a moment, he stares up at you, unflinching. His expression remains annoyingly blank, devoid of any real emotion. “You won’t,” he says flatly, his voice laced with the same maddening nonchalance.

The tension in the air is palpable, and just as you’re about to argue—or maybe prove him wrong—the sound of your door creaking open freezes you in place.

Your mother stands in the doorway, her expression teetering between confusion and concern as she takes in the scene: you, soaking wet and hovering over what appears to be… nothing.

You glance down, heart sinking.

The boy is gone.

In his place, lying on the bed, is your phone—completely ordinary, as if nothing ever happened.

You gape at it, then back at your mom, trying to string together some sort of explanation. But what could you even say? That your phone turned into a person yesterday, drenched you in water, and then vanished the second she walked in?

The bed is still soaked with the cold water your phone—now suspiciously ordinary—had poured on you moments ago. Your mother’s voice cuts through the tense silence like a whip, her tone sharp and unforgiving.

“Did you wet your bed?” she demands, though it’s not really a question. Her eyes are blazing with indignation, and you can tell she already believes the answer.

Your stomach twists in frustration. Of all things, this has to happen on a weekend—a day meant for rest, now utterly ruined by this bizarre, unbelievable mess. And all because of that darn phone.

“No, Mom… I don’t know how the water got there,” you mutter, keeping your voice as steady as possible. The truth is out of the question. Telling her your phone had somehow turned into a boy and splashed you awake would sound absurd even to you.

“So the water just appeared there by itself?” she snaps, crossing her arms as if she’s daring you to double down on your story. Her disbelief burns in the air between you, and you feel a spark of anger flicker beneath your skin.

Your mother has always been quick to anger, her patience worn thin ever since your dad passed away. You love her—of course, you do—but moments like this stretch your tolerance to its limit.

She huffs loudly, a sound filled with both exasperation and finality. “I expect this mess cleaned up before you go anywhere,” she says curtly, her words laced with a warning. Then, without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and shuts the door behind her with a thud.

You’re left alone in the room, staring at the wet mattress and the phone in your hand. The absurdity of the situation hits you all over again, and a bitter laugh bubbles in your throat.

“Thanks for that,” you mutter under your breath to the device, as if it could still hear you.

But it remains silent—an ordinary, lifeless phone. And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that somewhere within its circuits, it’s smirking.

You sit on the soaked bed, hugging your knees to your chest. The chill from the cold water clings to your skin, but in the biting cold of December, it doesn’t really matter anymore. The wet bed is just another indignity added to the list of things you’re enduring today—courtesy of your phone.

Your eyes trail to the closed door, and a heaviness settles in your chest. Your mom hardly speaks to you unless it’s about your studies. Anything else—your health, your feelings—just turns into a sharp yell, as though shouting could substitute for care.

With a sigh, you get up, water dripping from your clothes as you grab a cloth to clean the floor. Kneeling down, you watch the fabric soak up the water, leaving dark patches on the cloth as it gets heavier.

“Such a sad life I have,” you mutter irritably, throwing a glance toward your phone sitting innocently on the desk. Its stillness is almost mocking, like it’s pretending to have no part in this disaster.

Your lips curl into a taunting smirk as you direct your words at it. “Must be nice, huh? Creating a mess and then leaving me to deal with it. Why not become a human and help me clean this up?”

You roll your eyes, half-hoping—no, fully expecting—it to transform and lend a hand. But no. The lazy little piece of tech remains where it is, as lifeless as any other phone. The longer you stare at it, the more ridiculous you feel.

“Figures,” you huff under your breath, dragging the damp cloth across the floor. The absurdity of it all makes you question yourself. Did it ever really turn into a human? Or are you just losing your mind?

Either way, it’s not helping. And now, the floor’s dry, but your patience is wrung out completely.

“When we reach there, you don’t get to disturb me, Niki,” you say firmly to the guy walking beside you. He’s the embodiment of your phone—a fact you’re still trying to wrap your head around.

“Niki?” he repeats, tilting his head in confusion, his expression as blank as an untouched canvas. “Who’s Niki here?”

“You,” you reply with an exasperated sigh. “I’m naming you Niki. Or Riki, whatever. It’s too weird to keep thinking of you as my phone.”

“That’s a weird name,” he comments, his tone matter-of-fact.

Your eyes narrow at him. “Be happy I’m not holding a grudge for what you did this morning,” you snap, barely holding back your frustration.

“What did I do so wrong?” he asks, genuinely perplexed. His human brows knit together in confusion, and it almost makes you doubt his intentions. Almost. “You set an alarm, and I woke you up,” he adds, as if the logic is foolproof.

“You created a mess!” you counter, gesturing emphatically with your hands. “Yes, I set an alarm—but a virtual alarm. Not an invitation for someone to literally pour cold water on me in the middle of freezing winter!”

He stares at you, his innocent expression unshaken, and you groan in defeat.

Scolding him feels pointless. At the end of the day, he’s still a phone—albeit a bizarrely human one. And while his actions drive you up the wall, you remind yourself that yelling at him won’t change anything. Technology doesn’t have feelings.

Or so you keep telling yourself.

And now, here you are, on your way to a study session with two classmates. Not because you’re overly eager or dedicated, but because you’re failing your classes. Hard. And your phone—master of your life apparently—had made it a point to remind you of the ancient to-do list you’d scribbled in middle school.

The list wasn’t exactly groundbreaking:

i. Get a boyfriend. ii. Get a friend. iii. Score at least three A’s in school.

Simple, right? Wrong.

Studying alone never worked for you. If you tried, you’d inevitably end up daydreaming, scrolling through social media, or finding creative ways to procrastinate. So, you’d resorted to digging through the school’s study groups and joining the only active one left. You didn’t know who the other two members were, but that was a minor detail.

You grab your phone—yes, the normal phone, since Riki decided to turn back into his original form. You still cringe at how uninspired his name is, but for now, it works.

The plan is simple: fit into the study group, make a friend (or something that vaguely resembles friendship), and start checking boxes off the list. Not that your phone would ever know, you think with a sly smirk.

Shoving the device into your pocket, you make your way to the designated spot, but as soon as you see the two group members, you freeze.

It’s Eunmi and Jungwon.

Eunmi—the same girl who once shot you a disgusted look and turned her back on you like you were nothing more than yesterday’s trash. Oh, how you’d love to knock that smug grin off her face.

And then there’s Jungwon. Handsome, quiet Jungwon. You’ve never spoken to him, but he has an air about him that practically screams “perfect study partner.”

Suddenly, you realize how this could work in your favor.

Step one: Get a boyfriend. Jungwon’s good looks and his apparent lack of social drama make him the ideal choice. You’re not looking for love; you’re looking to cross a line off your list.

Step two: Make a friend. Eunmi? Ugh. As much as it pains you, she qualifies—even if you have to grit your teeth and fake it. If not her, then someone else will eventually fit the bill. Surely, you’re not that unfriendable… right?

Step three: Score three A’s. With Jungwon’s brains and a bit of effort on your part, that goal might actually be achievable.

It’s a win-win-win, you tell yourself, a cunning glint in your eye. You take a deep breath and plaster on your most convincing smile. It’s time to work some magic—your reputation be damned.

You slide into the seat opposite Jungwon, deliberately ignoring Eunmi. The phone in your pocket is entirely forgotten for now as you focus on your new plan.

“So, I guess I’ll be studying with you guys?” you ask, letting a soft, harmless smile linger on your lips while keeping your gaze locked on Jungwon. You casually unzip your bag, pulling out a battered zoology book and setting it on the table as if you’re here for serious business.

Jungwon, polite as ever, gives you a small nod. “Well, kind of. You can say that,” he replies. He doesn’t seem unfriendly, though you can tell by his tone that he and Eunmi have been in this study group for a while. Of course, that makes you the outsider. Not that it bothers you—this is just a stepping stone to your ultimate goals.

And then Eunmi speaks.

“What made you want to study all of a sudden, Miss Bad Grades?”

You clench your jaw but force your face to remain neutral, even though your fingers itch to grab a fistful of her perfectly styled hair and yank. How dare this girl try to ruin your impression in front of Jungwon? Sure, your reputation in school isn’t stellar, but she didn’t have to say it out loud.

“I wanted to do better,” you reply smoothly, keeping your voice calm and unbothered. Your smile doesn’t waver, though inside, you’re plotting about five different ways to get back at her if she keeps this up.

The study session has barely begun, and already, you’re wondering how you’re going to survive without snapping. You glance at Jungwon, hoping he’ll say something to shift the conversation, but he’s already flipping through his notebook, oblivious to the silent tension brewing between you and Eunmi.

The session drags on, and while your eyes occasionally skim the words in your textbook, your brain is busy analyzing the way Jungwon’s lips press together when he’s concentrating. You imagine how soft they must feel, how it would be to kiss him. But no, not yet. You can’t. Not until you’ve executed your plan.

Time slips away unnoticed until your phone starts buzzing in your pocket, jolting you from your daydreams. Internally, you curse. What does Riki want this time? That mischievous, human-turned-phone was always up to something.

Eunmi, of course, notices. She shakes her head in that condescending way that practically screams, See? I told you she’s not serious about studying. You don’t need to hear her words to know she’s silently plotting to turn Jungwon against you. The smug look on her face makes your fingers twitch.

“Such a bitch,” you mutter under your breath before quickly masking your irritation.

“I’ll—be right back,” you say with a sheepish smile, standing up from the table. The chair scrapes against the floor, earning you a scoff from Eunmi. She doesn’t even try to hide her disdain.

Jungwon gives a distracted hum, barely lifting his head from his book. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Could this guy act like he cares for once? I’m right here, desperate for your attention, and you’re more invested in spermatogenesis?

Your phone is still vibrating as you weave through the tables, making your way to the restroom. Once inside, you slip into a stall and lock the door behind you. Pulling out your phone, you press the power button like you’re interrogating a criminal.

“Hey, Riki? Why are you buzzing?” you hiss, glaring at the glowing phone in your hand. Frustration bubbles in your chest as you slump onto the toilet seat, trying to avoid drawing more attention.

Before you can even blink, the phone morphs, and there he is—Riki. Towering over you, his presence taking up the cramped stall like he owns it. You freeze, your eyes widening as you realize just how compromising this position looks. His knees brush yours, and his hands press against the walls, effectively trapping you in place.

“H-Hey! Get off me!” you stammer, squirming as much as the limited space allows. But even when he shifts slightly, it doesn’t make much of a difference. He’s still leaning in way too close for comfort.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “Why were you staring at Jungwon instead of finishing the chapter?”

The question knocks the breath out of you. You gape at him, your brain scrambling to come up with an excuse. How does he even know? He’s just a phone!

“That’s—none of your business!” you sputter, crossing your arms defensively.

“Oh, it is my business,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t I the one keeping track of your precious little checklist?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “One of the tasks is getting a boyfriend, isn’t it? So yeah, I was looking at him. Got a problem with that?”

Riki’s expression shifts, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of something almost human in his sharp gaze. Disbelief? Annoyance? Whatever it is, it’s enough to make him scoff audibly.

“You’re thinking him? That guy? Seriously?” he asks, his voice dripping with judgment. “Your taste in men is worse than I thought.”

“Excuse me?” You glare, feeling your blood boil. “He’s charming and—”

“You wouldn’t know charming if it hit you in the face,” Riki cuts you off, rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh. For someone who used to be a piece of metal and glass, he’s got an awful lot of opinions.

Before you can retort, he turns back into your phone in the blink of an eye, falling toward the floor. You scramble to catch him, nearly fumbling in the process, and clutch him tightly in your hand.

“You are the worst,” you mutter, shoving him back into your pocket.

But as you stand up and unlock the stall, brushing yourself off, the thought lingers: Why did he get so worked up? You shake your head, pushing the question away. Who cares? It’s not like his opinion matters, right?

Right.

A week passes, and you’re still not fully adjusted to the bizarre reality that your phone occasionally transforms into a sarcastic, human-sized headache named Riki. It’s unsettling but oddly entertaining—though you’d never admit that to him.

The study group, on the other hand, is a battlefield you didn’t sign up for. Not because of the studying—oh no, that’s manageable. It’s Eunmi, who seems to have declared you her mortal enemy the moment you walked in.

Her latest tactics are as subtle as a neon sign. First, there was the juice incident. She accidentally spilled her drink all over your notes, forcing you to grit your teeth and smile like a beauty pageant contestant while internally screaming. You knew it wasn’t an accident—her little smirk gave her away—but yelling at her in front of Jungwon? No way. That would only play into her hands.

Then came the note-snatching debacle. Eunmi sweetly asked to borrow your notes, even though hers were perfectly fine. Next thing you know, there’s a loud rip as she flips a page too aggressively. Your precious, perfectly organised notes—ruined. You’re convinced she’s trying to provoke you into losing your temper, hoping Jungwon will see you as the unhinged maniac she wants you to be.

But you’re smarter than that. You refuse to give her the satisfaction.

Jungwon, oblivious as ever, doesn’t seem to notice the cold war brewing at the table. Over the past week, you’ve come to realise just how clueless he is—not just about Eunmi’s schemes but also about your less-than-stellar reputation.

How is it possible that he doesn’t know? You were practically infamous for your fiery temper in school. Yet here he is, helping you with notes, explaining concepts patiently, even sharing his own work with you—all without a hint of hesitation.

Sometimes, he surprises you even more. Like when he casually suggests the two of you study alone. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest each time he does, but you force yourself to decline.

Not because you don’t want to.

You do—desperately.

But according to your well-studied guide on “How to Win a Guy Over,” playing hard to get is essential. If you said yes too quickly, wouldn’t he stop finding you interesting?

So, with every ounce of willpower, you smile, place a hand over your racing heart, and politely refuse.

“Maybe next time,” you say, pretending to be unfazed, when really, you’re screaming internally.

You tell yourself it’s working. Jungwon seems more intrigued every day—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to justify the agony of sitting through another study session with her.

Lately, Riki—or Niki, or whatever you had whimsically decided to call him—had taken it upon himself to discipline you. Whenever study time rolled around, he would shut your bedroom door with the finality of a prison warden, ensuring zero distractions.

At first, it was kind of helpful. You begrudgingly admitted that. But as the days went on, it started to get unbearable.

Without your phone—because your phone was, unfortunately, a human being now—there was no scrolling through your feed, no binge-watching your favorite group’s reels, and no celebrity TikToks. Worse, you hadn’t even heard TXT’s latest song or watched their new music video because someone refused to let you.

You tapped your pen against your desk, fidgeting with boredom. “Please,” you whined, turning in your chair to face him. “I studied for like, three hours, didn’t I? Now be a good boy and let mama see some reels or TikToks!” You added the last part with a teasing lilt, hoping to fluster him.

But you forgot—this was Riki. Your sentient, emotionally unavailable phone. Feelings? Not his thing.

“No,” he replied flatly, arms crossed like he was the boss of you.

“Please, Miki!” you tried again, throwing in some puppy-dog eyes for good measure.

He raised a brow, unimpressed. “Miki? Didn’t you already name me Riki?” His tone was laced with exasperation, like he couldn’t fathom how you’d forgotten the name you gave him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you huffed, brushing off his sarcasm. “I swear, it’s just one music video. That’s it. I’ve earned it!”

He didn’t respond immediately, his face a mix of suspicion and resignation. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But just one video.”

Your face lit up as a glowing screen materialized above his head, displaying the thumbnail of TXT’s latest music video. As it began to play, you clapped in delight and sang along, fully immersing yourself in the moment.

But just as you were getting into it—pausing to admire Soobin’s part—Riki froze the video mid-frame.

“Enough,” he said, his tone as dry as the Sahara.

You glared at him, fists clenched as if contemplating whether punching him was worth the effort. Instead, you let out an exaggerated groan, slumping in your chair.

Riki ignored your dramatics, a timer popping up in the digital display above his head. It ticked down with cruel efficiency, mocking you.

“Can you believe this?” you muttered under your breath. “My phone is moody.”

“I wish I was with Jungwon,” you muttered, shooting a glare at the sulking figure in front of you. You didn’t even try to hide the exasperation in your voice.

Riki’s eyes snapped to yours, his expression hardening as if you’d just insulted his entire existence. “Why the blonde-haired guy?” he asked, his lips twisting into a bitter frown.

It was the first time you’d seen him show this much emotion, and it was shockingly clear—he despised Jungwon.

“He has a name,” you said defensively, crossing your arms.

Riki wasn’t having it. “So, you’re now his personal lawyer?” he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “This is why you don’t get good grades. Stop running after that guy.”

You blinked, caught between indignation and disbelief. “Excuse me?” His logic—or lack thereof—was baffling. He’d been the one insisting you get a boyfriend before high school ended. But now? Now he was acting like you’d committed some unspeakable crime.

Before you could form a retort, he sighed dramatically and transformed back into a phone, flopping onto your bed with a heavy thud.

You groaned, snatching him up. “What is your problem?” You pressed the power button, trying to unlock the screen, but the phone didn’t respond. No matter how many times you swiped or tapped, it stubbornly refused to work.

“Are you kidding me?” you hissed, your annoyance bubbling over.

From your bed, the phone-turned-human smirked, lounging like he owned the place before flickering back into a phone. The audacity.

“Aghhh, fine! I’ll study!” you snapped, stomping back to your desk. Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you plopped down, glaring daggers at the sulking phone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him flickering in and out of human form, like some glitching video game character. One moment he was there, leaning against your pillows with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look; the next, he was just a lifeless phone.

It was almost…cute? No, no, you shook your head. There was nothing cute about your phone-human hybrid being this petty.

Still, you found your eyes wandering back to him more often than you’d like to admit. And each time, you caught the faintest hint of a smug expression on his face, as if he knew he was winning this ridiculous battle of wills.

“Yes, Mom, I’ll go! Just two minutes!” you shout, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a passable top in a rush. All this, just to take out the trash. A noble cause? Hardly. But it was enough to earn your mom’s approval.

Riki—or your phone, rather—lay silent on your desk. He wasn’t in human form right now, but if he were, you could already picture him sulking. He’d been unusually quiet since you decided to help your mom instead of following his meticulous study schedule. Not that you minded the silence; it felt like a small victory.

With a sigh, you grab the trash bag, sliding your phone into your pocket. “Be good,” you mutter under your breath, half expecting some smart-aleck comment from him, but the screen remains dark.

Slipping into your worn-out slippers, you trudge down the apartment stairs, the trash bag swinging lightly in your grip. The cool evening air brushes against your face as you step outside, breathing in the faint scent of street food from the stalls down the block.

“Phew,” you murmur to yourself, relieved to have made it out without any drama. That is until your heart nearly stops.

There, by the communal trash bins, is Jungwon. Casual and effortlessly perfect, dressed in a plain hoodie and jeans, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that shouldn’t look this good.

Your gaze drops to your outfit—a mismatched catastrophe of sweatpants, an old shirt, and slippers. You might as well be cosplaying a beggar (according to your mom).

Mentally cursing your life choices, you toss the trash bag into the bin, dusting your hands and praying for a clean escape. But before you can make your getaway, a hand touches your shoulder.

“You live around here?” Jungwon’s voice is light and curious, but it feels like a spotlight on your very soul.

“Uh, yeah… kind of,” you stammer, suddenly hyper-aware of how ridiculous you must look.

“And that is…?” His voice trails off as he points behind you, his brows knitting together.

You turn slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. Standing a few feet away is Riki, in his fully human form, arms crossed, looking like he’s been summoned from the depths of your worst nightmares.

Your hand shoots into your pocket, fumbling for your phone. Except—your pocket is empty.

Your brain short-circuits. He can see Riki?!

“Boyfriend. Her boyfriend,” Riki announces sharply, his voice cutting through the moment like a knife. His eyes narrow at Jungwon, his disdain palpable. If looks could kill, Jungwon would have been incinerated on the spot.

Your mouth drops open, no words forming. Riki, your phone-human hybrid, is showing emotion. And not just any emotion—jealousy.

Jungwon’s lips part, clearly taken aback, but he quickly recovers, a polite smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh… I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” Riki snaps, stepping closer and crossing his arms protectively.

All you can do is stand there, torn between laughing hysterically at the absurdity of the situation and wanting the earth to swallow you whole. This is your life now—your phone pretending to be your boyfriend in front of your crush. Fantastic.

“Is it true?” Jungwon asks, tilting his head slightly. His tone is soft, uncertain, like he’s piecing together a puzzle that suddenly doesn’t make sense. He had never known you had a boyfriend. The poor guy had even started thinking maybe—just maybe—you might be interested in him. But now? He thinks otherwise.

“Yeah… I think so,” you mutter, your voice barely audible as you glance at Riki. Confusion swirls in your head like a storm. Why on earth is this bastard acting like a full-fledged human, let alone ruining the sliver of progress you'd made with Jungwon?

“It’s 100% true,” Riki cuts in, his voice low and menacing as he steps between you and Jungwon. “So, I suggest you stay away from my girlfriend.”

Jungwon blinks, his lips parting slightly in disbelief. “Oh… okay,” he says after a moment, his voice a mix of confusion and reluctant acceptance. Relief flashes briefly across his face—better to find out now than after he’d fallen for you completely, he reasons.

He tosses his trash into the bin, bows politely—because, of course, Jungwon’s still a gentleman—and turns on his heel, walking back toward his apartment.

As soon as he’s out of sight, you whirl on Riki, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “You ruined it, Niki!” you hiss through gritted teeth, your voice a harsh whisper to avoid attracting any curious neighbors.

Riki just shrugs, utterly unbothered. A screen materializes above his head, glowing faintly in the dim light. It displays a graph, bold and undeniable: Jungwon negatively affects your study efficiency by 60%.

“See?” he says, pointing at the glowing data like it’s irrefutable proof. “I’m doing you a favor. Jungwon’s presence is literally detrimental to your academic success.”

You stare at the screen, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You’re at a loss. How are you supposed to argue with statistics? It’s infuriatingly logical, and yet, entirely absurd.

Your foot taps impatiently on the pavement as you cross your arms. “Why do you hate Jungwon so much?” you ask, your voice sharp with exasperation. Deep down, you’re fighting the urge to smack him—though you quickly remind yourself that assaulting your phone probably isn’t the best idea.

“Like I said,” Riki replies, folding his arms with a dramatic sigh. “That boy ruins your studies. You could look for a boyfriend somewhere else.”

You groan, running a hand down your face. The memory of Jungwon’s hurt, betrayed expression as he walked away is burned into your mind. But there’s something even more pressing you need to know. You fix Riki with a narrowed gaze, your brow arching suspiciously. “Why did you say you were my boyfriend?”

For the first time, Riki hesitates. His usually confident demeanor falters, and a sheepish smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding your glare like a guilty child caught red-handed.

“I mean… it’s the most effective method to turn a guy away,” he says finally, shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you deadpan, but Riki presses on, completely unfazed.

“It’s just basic strategy,” he explains, nodding as though he’s a seasoned love expert. “I’ve read enough online to know that guys back off when they think someone’s already taken. Works like a charm.”

You stare at him, incredulous. The audacity of this device—no, this thing—is beyond anything you’ve ever encountered. “You’re basing my love life on… internet articles?”

“Trust me,” he says with a wink, flashing a smug grin. “I’ve got access to all the data.”

You groan again, louder this time, wondering if tossing him into the trash bin would solve all your problems. If only.

Riki trails behind you as you climb the stairs to your apartment, his steps eerily silent despite his human-like form. At your door, you stop abruptly and turn to him, panic creeping into your voice. “Turn back into a phone, Niki. Now.”

He folds his arms and tilts his head, looking every bit like a rebellious teenager. “You literally named me Riki. Can you settle on one name for once?” His tone carries a tinge of irritation, and you blink in disbelief at the audacity of your phone to talk back to you.

“Okay, fine. My dear Riki, please turn back into a phone—”

Before you can finish, your mother’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Y/N! Are you back yet?”

Your heart lurches, a surge of panic shooting through you. Your eyes dart to Riki, your expression pleading. “Turn back into a phone. Now,” you hiss under your breath, motioning wildly for him to do something—anything—before disaster strikes.

To your immense relief, Riki flashes you an exaggerated wink and morphs seamlessly back into your phone, the glowing screen dimming as he settles into your palm. You clutch him tightly, hiding him in your fist just as the door swings open.

Your mother appears, her usual stern expression replaced with something unnervingly mild. “Why are you standing there? Come inside and study.”

Her voice is calm—too calm. It sends a shiver down your spine. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost believe this gentleness was her true nature. But you do know better, and you don’t trust it for a second.

“Coming,” you mumble, stepping inside. Your stepdad is lounging on the couch, the rustle of his newspaper the only sound he makes. You deliberately avoid his gaze, moving as quietly as possible. Your footsteps are measured and light as you head straight for your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Once inside, you let out a long, weary sigh, your body sinking onto the bed. The room is dim, curtains drawn tightly shut to block out the evening light. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out Riki and place him beside you on the bed.

“Hey,” you whisper, exhaustion evident in your voice. “You can turn into a human now.”

Barely a second passes before a familiar presence materializes next to you. Riki sits there, leaning back casually against the headboard like he owns the place. His eyes sparkle with that same smug mischief, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The two of you are lying side by side, close enough for your shoulders to brush. The thought hits you suddenly: if anyone walked in right now, they’d think you were a couple. The intimacy of the moment feels strangely... natural.

But you shake the thought away, annoyed at yourself for even entertaining it. You’re not interested in Riki like that. You’re not. Except...

You steal a glance at him. His human form is alarmingly realistic, right down to the faint curve of his lips and the way his hair falls perfectly out of place.

Maybe you’re not interested in Jungwon anymore. Maybe—just maybe—you like Riki instead.

But there’s no way you’d ever admit that. Not to him. The moment those words leave your mouth, he’ll launch into some long-winded lecture about how technology can’t reciprocate feelings. You’d never hear the end of it.

Riki catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What?”

“Nothing,” you snap, turning away quickly, cheeks heating up.

“Sure,” he drawls, his tone dripping with playful suspicion. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/N.”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. He laughs, the sound annoyingly human, as he ducks out of the way.

This is your life now, you think, burying your face in your hands. And somehow, against all odds, you don’t entirely hate it.

An idea sparks in your mind as you turn onto your side, your gaze landing on Riki. He’s sitting upright, leaning back against the headboard, his expression unreadable. You hesitate for a moment before speaking, voice soft yet teasing. “Hey… since you’re a phone—”

Riki tilts his head slightly, intrigued, the faintest arch of his brow urging you to continue. He lets out a curious hum, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he waits for whatever nonsense you’re about to spout.

For all his smugness, you remind yourself, Riki is still a phone. And phones are supposed to be smart, right? Smarter than this, at least.

You clear your throat, sitting up just enough to meet his gaze. “So, I’m in search of a boyfriend,” you begin, the words tumbling out too quickly. You falter for a second as Riki’s side-eye nearly makes you choke on your own sentence. His expression is the perfect mix of judgmental and unimpressed—eerily similar to your mom’s whenever she catches you slacking off on your studies.

“Of course, while studying too,” you add hastily, holding your hands up defensively. You know better than to ignore the unspoken priorities Riki seems to share with your mother.

He doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue. You take a deep breath, your next words tumbling out in one rushed, embarrassed blur. “Wouldn’t it be nice if you… you know, taught me how to kiss?”

Riki’s reaction is immediate and comical. His eyes widen, and his lips part as if he’s about to say something, only for his voice to falter into a confused sputter. “What??”

His expression is so innocent, so utterly clueless, that you almost feel guilty. But not enough to take it back. A tiny part of you is curious—what would it feel like, even if he isn’t technically human?

“Is that how single you really are?” Riki’s voice drips with mockery, his lips twitching into an amused smirk. “Seriously?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you throw the nearest pillow at him in a half-hearted attempt to regain your dignity. “Don’t act like you’re better than me,” you snap, though your voice lacks bite. “I’m just—curious, okay? And you’re the first guy I’ve been close to, so it’s only natural!”

Riki doesn’t look convinced. If anything, he looks even more amused. “Natural? That’s bold coming from someone asking her phone for kissing lessons.”

You roll your eyes, frustrated but undeterred. “You’re not just a phone! You’re—well, you’re you. And besides,” you mutter, lowering your gaze, “it’s not like you’ll judge me for being bad at it. You’re not even real.”

“Ouch.” Riki places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Not real? I’m literally the only reason you’re not failing your exams right now.”

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Forget I said anything.”

But Riki isn’t letting this go. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he says, leaning back with a smug grin. “Is it because you think I don’t understand emotions the way a human does?”

You hesitate, guilt pricking at the edges of your conscience. “No! That’s not—”

He cuts you off with a knowing look, his smirk softening just slightly. “Relax. You’re single. It’s pathetic, but I get it.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you grab the blanket and throw it over the both of you.

You roll closer to him, your face buried in his chest as you sigh dramatically. “See?” you mumble, your voice muffled. “I’ve been single my whole life. No boyfriend, no first kiss, nothing. You’re the only guy who’s stuck around, and even then, you’re technically stuck with me.”

Riki rolls his eyes, a mix of pity and exasperation crossing his face. “Wow. Way to guilt-trip your phone.”

You peek up at him, hopeful. “So… will you?”

He shakes his head, clearly unimpressed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a yes?”

Riki sighs, muttering something under his breath about how pathetic humans are. But he doesn’t move away, which you decide to take as a yes.

After all, he’s just a machine, right? He doesn’t understand what this means. Not really. And that’s exactly why you’re doing this—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself as your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes light up the moment Riki nods, the glowing screen above his head dimming to black. Without a second thought, you grab a pillow and plop it over his face as you climb onto him, pinning him down. Or at least, you try to pin him down—because no matter how much determination you pour into your stance, it’s painfully obvious you’re more like an ant attempting to subdue an elephant.

Still, you try to exude confidence, looking down at him with a smirk. “Only for research purposes… of course,” you announce dramatically, hands planted on his chest like you’re staking your claim.

Riki, unimpressed as always, rolls his eyes. “Yeah… research purposes,” he repeats with dripping sarcasm.

He shifts under you, and for a brief moment, you forget he’s a phone. Forget that his abilities extend far beyond your average human knowledge. Within seconds, he’s analyzing articles, tutorials, and even kissing technique videos from the depths of the internet. His hands move to cup your cheeks, startling you with the sheer firmness of his touch.

“Hey, gentle!” you mumble, your words muffled by the pressure on your cheeks. You raise a hand to tap against his shoulder, a mix of surprise and irritation bubbling up. “You’re squishing my face!”

Riki’s hands retreat instantly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. For all his snark and superiority, you realize he doesn’t quite know his own strength—or, perhaps, he doesn’t understand the delicacy required for moments like this. After all, he’s a phone. Why would he know?

He clears his throat, his tone shifting into something more clinical, more detached. “According to the articles—”

You don’t let him finish. Before he can launch into a lecture, you lean forward and press your lips to his, cutting him off entirely.

It’s messy, clumsy even, your inexperience showing in the way your lips move against his. But the taste of him—soft, cool, and faintly electric—takes you by surprise. Not that you’ve kissed anyone else before, but something about this feels… better. Different.

“Just feel,” you whisper against his lips, your breath mingling with his in the quiet room. For once, Riki doesn’t argue, doesn’t mock. His hands find their way to your waist, steadying you with an ease that betrays his otherwise flustered expression.

He’s stunned. Completely and utterly stunned. For a first kiss, you’re better than he would have expected, not that he’d ever admit it. He wonders, fleetingly, if this is what those articles meant by connection.

And then, just as he’s starting to process the whirlwind of sensations, you stop. You rest your head against his chest, your body growing heavier as exhaustion takes over.

“Wait—are you falling asleep?” he asks, incredulous.

Your response is a barely coherent mumble, your lips still lightly pressed against his. “Mhm. Tired.”

Riki sighs, frustration laced with disbelief. He feels the faint trickle of drool escaping from your mouth onto his, his lips parting in distaste. “Hey, you’re drooling—”

“Charge you in the morning,” you murmur sleepily, cutting him off again.

He stares at you, torn between exasperation and something he can’t quite place. He adjusts you carefully, shifting your weight so you’re resting more comfortably against his chest. He makes sure your head doesn’t slide too close to his charging port—because as awkward as this moment is, he’s not about to risk short-circuiting because of you.

Still, as he looks down at your peaceful expression, a strange sensation tugs at him. It’s foreign, unquantifiable, something no article or video could explain. He brushes a hand over your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle, and lets out a soft sigh.

“Is this… what they meant?” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

The answer doesn’t come, but for once, Riki doesn’t feel the need to know.

You wake up with a soft murmur, the warmth of sleep still clinging to your skin. You realize, half-dazed, that your arms are wrapped around what feels like a body—Riki’s body. His form is strangely solid and comforting, and in your sleepy haze, you have no intention of moving. His warmth against you is too cozy, and the soft rise and fall of his “chest”—though artificial—makes you feel safer than you have in a while.

“Riki...” you murmur again, still unsure of what time it is, your words heavy with drowsiness. But then, you feel the slight shift of his body, and you hear his voice—distorted and rough, as though it's being dragged from the depths of a drained battery.

“My battery's low,” he whispers, a groan underlying his words. “Please charge me real quick...” His voice cracks, but you can't help but chuckle at how human it sounds, despite him being technically not a person.

You bury your face deeper into his chest, too comfortable to get up, and in a daze, you mumble, “Just five more minutes... I'm too cozy...”

But Riki doesn’t let you get away with it. There’s a slight, almost exaggerated sigh from him before he says, “No... It's literally six a.m.... Please get ready... for school.”

You groan in response, the panic setting in as you finally start to register his words. “Mom should've woken me up...” You shoot out of bed, suddenly scrambling to get ready. The weight of the morning hits you all at once—your mind still fuzzy but your body on overdrive as you throw yourself into a frenzy of motion.

Your fingers tremble as you tug off your pajama top, realizing with horror that you haven't even showered. You curse under your breath, glancing at Riki, who’s still next to you.

Your heart skips a beat. Wait.

“Riki,” you mutter, an unsettling thought popping into your head. You pause, standing mid-action, your clothes half-changed. “Did you always see me change?” Your voice cracks as you ask, and your cheeks start to heat up, a flush spreading across your face as the realization creeps in.

You’ve always placed your phone on the bed or on the drawer while changing. Could he have been watching all this time, even before his human-phone transformation?

You glance over at Riki, and to your surprise, you see his screen flicker with a rapid flush of red, like he's embarrassed. His voice, strained and hurried, shoots back at you, “NO!” It's a sharp refusal, almost defensive, and it makes you pause in your tracks.

“Did you...?” you ask again, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“I said NO!” His voice is forceful now, though still faint from the low battery, and you can see the unmistakable redness flickering across his screen. It’s such a far cry from the dispassionate, cold phone he once was, and it throws you off. Was this the same Riki who had no emotions at all when he first turned into a human? The same one who would have no qualms about anything?

The thought makes you chuckle nervously, trying to dismiss the awkwardness that crawls up your neck. “Okay, okay, I get it. Stop yelling.”

You roll your eyes and go back to getting dressed, though the entire room suddenly feels way smaller than it should. You can’t help but throw a glance at Riki again—who, despite being a phone, seems to be desperately looking away from you, his screen flickering like a bashful person avoiding eye contact.

As you change, you remind yourself over and over that Riki is just a phone—a very advanced phone, yes, but still just a phone. It’s only logical that he can’t be embarrassed. You try to shrug it off, but the blush still lingers on your cheeks.

Once you’re dressed, the urgency hits you again. You’re running late, and the panic sets in like a wave. You grab your bag and rush around the room, tossing items into it without thinking—until you remember.

“Oh shoot! Riki!” You scramble for your phone, your fingers fumbling as you finally find him on the bed. You look at his screen, blinking. Wait. Is he still charging?

But before you can get the chance to plug him in, Riki’s voice cracks again, a little louder this time, and it’s so faint you barely catch it. “You’re really going to leave me like this...?” he asks, almost accusing.

You freeze, your guilt swelling as you gaze at him, knowing that if you didn’t charge him now, he’d be completely dead by the time you get back. With a deep breath, you plug him in quickly, hoping the connection will last until you return.

But the weird thing is, for the first time, you realize that in a twisted way—this phone might actually be the one who understands you better than anyone else.

You’re practically panting by the time you get to school, the weight of your backpack pressing down on you with every step. Your stomach growls in protest, reminding you that in your mad rush, you forgot your tiffin at home. Great. Just great.

But the real problem is the five marks. The professor’s new rule is burning a hole in your mind: Whoever comes late will have five marks deducted. It's just five marks, but it might as well be the difference between life and death. Okay, maybe not life or death, but definitely failure.

You’re barely scraping by in math, and losing even those five marks would push you into the dreaded abyss of failure. You can already feel the weight of your mother’s disapproval on your shoulders, and you really don’t want that. Not today. Not ever.

Your school isn’t far—just a fifteen-minute walk—but with the panic setting in, your legs are moving faster than your brain. Walking = fine. Running = late. You’d prefer to walk but today, you’re in run mode, your heart hammering against your chest, your breath coming in quick, sharp gasps.

“Who even made schools?” you mutter under your breath, sweat trickling down your neck. You can already feel your body protesting against the injustice of it all. As if it weren't bad enough, your backpack feels like a weight you’re carrying to the moon.

You round the corner, spotting a few other late students sneaking in, looking as panicked as you feel. The guard is too busy talking to someone else to notice, and you take full advantage of it, slipping through the gate like a ninja trained by your mother herself. You’ve gotten really good at this.

When you reach the classroom, relief floods over you. The professor isn’t there yet. Thank goodness. You rush to the nearest available seat—right next to Jungwon. It's the only one left, and you’re not about to argue. You plop down with a loud sigh, feeling the adrenaline start to wear off, leaving you a little breathless.

But then Jungwon turns to you, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Does your boyfriend not come to our school?”

You blink. Boyfriend? Who—what?

“I have a boyfriend?” You ask, clearly puzzled, still catching your breath.

“Uh… the one I met last night when you were throwing trash…” he adds, trailing off awkwardly, clearly unsure of himself now. “Is he not your boyfriend?”

Your stomach flips. Oh, God. This is it. Your brain starts spinning, and suddenly your mouth feels dry. You can’t go back on yesterday's statement. You definitely can’t let Jungwon go back to your mom and casually mention you have a boyfriend. That would end with your mother’s legendary interrogation skills being put into full force, and you’re not sure you’d survive it.

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.

OPTION (A) : You could admit Riki isn’t your boyfriend, but that would open a whole new can of worms, and you can already hear Jungwon’s voice in your head: “Wait, so who was that guy?” Not a conversation you want to have.

OPTION (B) : You could tell him that Riki is just a friend, but that might lead to even more awkward questions, and you have no idea how you’d explain that whole situation without sounding like you’re caught in a web of lies.

But before you can choose, the door creaks open, and the professor walks in, immediately starting the lesson. You have no choice but to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yes, he’s my boyfriend.” The words come out, and you instantly regret them. You can practically hear the sound of your own gulp echoing in your ears. Jungwon, looking slightly taken aback, awkwardly nods, unsure of how to respond. He’s clearly not going to ask more questions—at least not here—and his attention turns back to the professor.

You breathe a sigh of relief, but the panic is still bubbling inside you. You’ve just added another layer of complication to your already messy life. Now, you’re officially that girl—the one with a mysterious, possibly nonexistent boyfriend who has a habit of turning into a human phone. What could go wrong?

You sneak a glance down at your phone, trying to be as discreet as possible. Back in the day, you would’ve been nervously fidgeting in your seat next to Jungwon, trying not to spill your awkwardness all over the place. But right now? You couldn’t care less about Jungwon. All you could think about was that handsome guy who had somehow turned into your phone.

Why are you so cute, Riki?

You tap your phone screen, waiting for it to light up, but nothing happens. You try again, your frustration building. Come on... please respond. This is getting ridiculous.

“Hey, Riki! Respond, please!” you whisper under your breath, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else is noticing your little outburst. Jungwon, who’s sitting right next to you, doesn’t seem to catch on. He’s too busy, probably thinking about his own thoughts. You, on the other hand, are glued to your phone, silently begging for Riki to do anything.

But no, nothing happens. It's like he's just… ignoring you. And that drives you crazy. Why isn't he responding? Was it because you're sitting next to Jungwon? Did he suddenly become jealous?

The thought of Riki acting all possessive, even from within your phone, actually makes you giggle. But your giggles quickly turn into frustration again as your screen stays blank.

So, you do what anyone would do in this situation: you bury yourself in your notes, hoping that focusing on your studies will distract you from the fact that Riki, your human-turned-phone boyfriend, is giving you the silent treatment. You're still a bit puzzled by the whole situation.

Finally when classes end, and your backpack feels impossibly heavy as you hurriedly shove your books inside. You’re already planning your escape when Jungwon calls out to you.

“Hey Y/n, would you be up for a study session? You can bring your boyfriend too…” His words trail off, clearly surprised by how quickly you’re moving to leave.

Your reaction is instantaneous: you bolt out of there like you’ve just been given an Olympic sprinting challenge, the door swinging behind you with a dramatic swoosh. You don’t even wait for a reply, practically disappearing from his sight.

Jungwon, stunned, blinks a couple of times before finally muttering, “What… just happened?”

“Must be her boyfriend,” Eunmi remarks, her voice strangely neutral instead of the usual sharp tone she reserves for anything remotely related to you. She looks over at Jungwon, her gaze lingering for a moment, before turning her attention elsewhere. Jungwon, though, is far less enthusiastic about packing his bag now, his thoughts clearly on something else.

Meanwhile, you can’t help but laugh a little as you make your way out of the building. There’s no way you were going to let Riki’s weird silence ruin your day. Besides, you’d figured it out—he's just being a dramatic phone, and you’re not about to let that control you. At least, not for now.

As you leave, you can’t stop thinking about how ridiculously possessive he’s been lately. Maybe he does feel something. You can’t help but smile, a little too fond of your human-turned-phone.

As soon as you get home, you plug Riki in, sighing in relief as the charging icon pops up on your screen. You can hear your mom in the background, rambling about your day at school, but honestly? You don’t have the energy to care. You flop onto your bed, completely drained, and let out a deep breath as you watch Riki slowly transform back into a human.

“Thank goodness,” you mutter, finally feeling a little more at ease.

“You should've just charged me in the morning,” he grumbles, still holding the charging wire in his mouth. It's almost comical how he’s still acting like a phone despite being human now.

“Sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, a small smile creeping onto your face despite how tired you are. But then, as the moment settles, a thought hits you, and you can't help but ask, “Do you ever think you'll go back to being a normal phone? Or am I stuck with you like this forever?”

Riki hums in response, the charging wire still hanging from his mouth. “Not sure.”

“Of course you're not sure,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. But a tiny knot of worry tightens in your stomach. The idea of him eventually disappearing back into your phone, of him going back to being just an object, stings more than you'd like to admit. He might be your phone, but the human version? He's been becoming something else to you lately. And you don’t know if you're ready to lose that just yet.

Two months had passed, and it was starting to feel like Riki was slowly slipping away. At first, it was subtle—just a few hours of the day where he stayed in phone form. But today? Nothing. No human version of Riki, just your regular, lifeless phone.

You poke at your lunch with a fork, but how could you even eat when your mind keeps wandering back to your phone? It’s just sitting there on the table, performing like a regular device, no magic, no human form.

“Is something wrong?” Jungwon asks, glancing up from his own lunch. Eunmi’s sitting across from you, not even trying to be friendly, as usual.

“You should watch your phone less,” Eunmi comments, and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore her. If only she knew how much your phone meant to you right now.

You swipe left and right, desperately trying to find something—anything—that could explain why Riki’s still not turning human. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, but this feels like some sort of betrayal from a phone.

“Hmmph,” you mutter under your breath, but it doesn't help. The weight of Eunmi’s voice still lingers in your mind, but you’re too focused on the empty feeling of staring at a screen that’s supposed to be connected to something more.

“Why is he not becoming a human?” you mumble, too frustrated to care that you’re speaking aloud. The problem? Only you know about Riki’s transformation, so you can’t even vent about it to anyone.

“What?” Eunmi asks, her eyebrow arching as she shares a confused look with Jungwon.

You wave it off, brushing away the awkwardness, and go back to stabbing at your lunch. But it’s no use—the food tastes bland, almost like cardboard. Honestly, at this point, the only thing that could make it better is if Riki turned back into the human version of himself and saved you from this mess of a lunch. But nope, your phone’s just sitting there, mocking you.

You somehow manage to finish the rest of the school day, the classes dragging by like a blur, but the one thing that kept bothering you was that Riki was still not turning human.

“Ugh, this isn’t working,” you mutter to yourself as you stand in front of the repair shop owner, trying not to look too ridiculous. You can already feel the weight of the situation—the shopkeeper can’t possibly know about your phone turning into a human, can he? That would be absurd.

“What exactly is the problem?” he asks, tilting his head as he takes your phone to inspect it.

You freeze. What exactly do you say? You can’t tell him that your phone is a person who’s been hanging out as a human every now and then, right? It sounds insane.

“Uh…,” you stammer, struggling for an explanation, but it’s useless. You’re not sure what to say that wouldn’t get you committed to some strange techy cult or a mental hospital.

“It’s all good, ma’am,” he says with a sigh, handing your phone back to you, like everything is totally normal. But if everything is “all good,” why isn’t Riki turning back into a human?

You leave the store, confusion taking over. The lighthearted, slightly strange feeling you once had about Riki being a human version of a phone has now been replaced with a gnawing emptiness. You can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s gone for good.

Your bag feels heavier than usual, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in your mind. You drag yourself home, the steps feeling longer than normal, as if the world is slowly sinking into a gray, monotonous fog.

“How was school?” your stepdad asks, the usual cheerful tone in his voice, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You barely acknowledge his question, as you’re still lost in your own thoughts. You hear your mom sigh, disappointed, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You head straight to your room, exhaustion taking over. You plug Riki in to charge, desperate to see that familiar human version of him again. The seconds tick by as you watch the charging light glow. But nothing changes. The charging is full. Riki is still… just a phone.

You sigh heavily, sinking down on your bed. What if he’s really gone for good? You can't help but feel like you're losing a part of your world, and suddenly, the idea of just using a regular phone feels... boring.

Tears well up in your eyes as you stubbornly mutter, “I won’t talk to you ever if you don't turn in now!” The words feel hollow the second they leave your lips, but it’s a lie you tell yourself. You would never stop talking to Riki, not for anything. But a small part of you is desperate for him to just... come back. You need to see him as a human again, even if you know that it might not happen.

“Please!” you whisper desperately, pressing your lips against the cold screen of your phone, leaving a red imprint there. It’s a pathetic gesture, but it’s all you can think of. A little kiss for him, as if that might somehow wake him up from whatever spell he’s trapped in.

“Fine. Don’t come,” you mutter, frustration taking over as you place the phone back on the study desk. The weight of the situation settles in as you slump down onto the bed, still in your school clothes. You don’t even care to change—you're too tired, too emotionally drained from everything.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there, staring at the ceiling, but it doesn’t matter. Sleep overtakes you, and you drift off in the quiet of your room, lost in the silence.

Suddenly, you feel it—the presence of someone standing above you. A familiar weight in the air, but not the same as before. You rub your eyes, blinking away the grogginess, and then you see him.

Riki.

He’s standing there, in front of you, and your breath catches. But then, your eyes widen in shock. His body is covered in marks. Red, faint imprints that make your face burn as you realize—those are from your kisses. The ones you left on the screen, desperate for him to turn back. It’s embarrassing, but there's no time for that now. You throw yourself at him, arms wide as you practically tackle him with a hug.

His shirt wrinkles beneath your fingers as you clutch it tight, a mixture of relief and frustration in your chest. You pull away, looking up at him, almost desperate. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you turn back?” Your voice cracks, the raw emotion flooding through you, but the words tumble out in a mess of desperation.

But then, he pushes you away. You stumble back slightly, the sudden distance between you too much to handle.

“I couldn’t turn,” he says, his voice low, almost pained. “And I think it’s better if you don’t get too attached. I’m just a device, remember?” He speaks the words softly, but there’s a coolness to them that hurts.

You blink, the words settling into your chest like a stone. “Why can’t you stay like this forever?” The question slips out before you can stop it, eyes burning with the need to understand. You feel his thumb brush away a tear that’s escaped down your cheek, but it only makes you feel more fragile. “I don’t understand… How can a phone... with no feelings... like me... feel something?”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze softening for just a moment. And then, for the first time since this entire weird and wonderful thing began, he steps closer. Your heart races as he closes the distance, and before you can even think, your hands are on his shirt, clutching it like it’s the only thing that’s keeping you grounded.

You pull him into a messy kiss, lips moving against his in a rush of desperation, a wild need to feel him close. You kiss him over and over again, each one more frantic than the last, but just as quickly as he was there...

Your lips meet nothing.

You pull back in confusion, eyes wide as you try to make sense of it. Where did he go? You open your eyes fully, but there's nothing in front of you. Just empty space.

Your phone falls to the ground, the sharp sound of it hitting the floor snapping you back to reality. You kneel down quickly, heart pounding, and check it, relieved to see that it's still in one piece. No cracks, no breaks. Just a phone.

And then, it hits you.

You can’t keep holding on to something—or someone—that isn’t real. You swallow hard, tears welling up in your eyes again as you stare at the device in your hands, the phone that was once a person to you. The bittersweet smile on your lips isn’t one of happiness, but of acceptance and yet... sadness.

“Fine,” you whisper to no one in particular. “I’ll check off the three tasks on my to-do list. You’ll be proud of me.”

But as you stare at the phone, your thumb grazing over its screen, you know deep down that it’s not the tasks that need to be checked off.

It’s your heart.

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STRATEGY

✷ a step by step tutorial on how to get into yang jungwon’s stubborn and dumb heart using wikihow!

day 14 of melodies to memories ― y.jw︲f reader︲fluff, comedy︲1400

prom wasn’t long away, yet why hadn’t yang jungwon asked you out?

you were basically already dating with the way he’d always saving you a seat at lunch, walking you to class, and texting you late into the night.

maybe he was just waiting on you to say something first, and you know what? you were going to make the first move. by making him ask you out obviously. 

you caught him after class one day, leaning against the lockers with his headphones draped around his neck.

“hey,” you started, trying to keep your tone light. “are you planning to go to prom?”

jungwon looked at you, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “depends.”

“on what?”

“on who I’m going with,” he said smoothly, a cocky grin widening.

this isn’t going to do. new plan. wikihow.

─── ♡

STEP 1: LET HIM KNOW YOU’RE INTERESTED

get to know him

flirt

body language

getting to know yang jungwon was easy. you were already friends with him so check! next part.

wait.

flirt?

with yang jungwon? not going to happen. no way. next part.

body language. okay.

you decided to test out your newfound knowledge the next time you and jungwon hung out. it was a saturday afternoon, and the two of you were sprawled out on his couch, a random movie playing in the background as he scrolled through his phone.

you started small, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear every now and then, making sure it looked natural. when he glanced at you, you leaned in slightly, angling your body toward him like wikihow said.

"you good?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"yeah, why?" you replied, feigning innocence.

he shrugged, smirking. "nothing. you’re just... fidgety."

oh right you forgot to look at the floor, because it makes you look cute. at least according to wikihow.

“you keep looking at the floor,” jungwon said, sitting up now. “is there something on it? like a bug?”

“no!” you exclaimed, a little too quickly.

“then why do you keep staring at it like it’s gonna talk to you?”

you wanted to melt into the couch. “i don’t know, maybe I just like floors, okay?”

jungwon seemed completely unbothered, leaning back and stretching. “you’re lucky you’re fun to hang out with, though. otherwise, i’d think you were plotting something.”

you tried to brush it off, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. so maybe wikihow wasn’t working right now, but there were more steps left to try... right?

─── ♡

STEP 2: DROP HINTS

use common knowledge to your advantage

have your friends drop hints

talk about your plans

okay this step wasn’t too bad. this has got to propel you towards him asking you out to prom.

when you told your friends of your plan, they thought you had lost it. actually this time.

more specifically when you asked them to drop hints by bringing the two of you up more often as an item.

“so, let me get this straight,” giselle said, narrowing her eyes. “you want us to casually bring you and jungwon up in conversation, like... as a couple?”

“yes,” you said with conviction, ignoring her skeptical look.

“subtle, right?” sunoo piped up, raising an eyebrow.

“exactly. not too obvious, just enough to plant the idea in his head,” you clarified, determined.

giselle snorted. “subtle isn’t exactly my strong suit, but sure.”

you watched from afar as giselle ran up to jungwon yelling something.

“jungwon! you know y/n likes you right?”

that’s not a hint. what the hell. does she know remotely what subtle is?

“okay okay what do you really want now, my chem notes?” he laughed and brushed her comment off. she looked to you and shrugged.

it’s okay, you didn’t complete the last part of this step. though you felt an immeasurable amount of dread.

the next day in class after putting your bag down, you approached his desk, playing with his pencil.

“hey you know i’m going to the movies this week right?” you asked.

“oh nice, have fun, what movie by the way?” he smiled giving an oblivious smile. if only he knew.

you blinked, not expecting that response. “… yeah, I mean, it’s supposed to be a fun movie. romantic comedies are always better in theaters, right?”

“sure,” he said, still doodling, completely unfazed.

your brain scrambled for something else to say, something that could salvage this interaction. “you know, it’s the kind of movie that’s probably better with… company.”

he stopped drawing, finally looking at you properly, though his expression was unreadable.

“then why don’t you take giselle?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, tilting his head, reading your expression. though you wouldn’t have noticed the look he was giving you, begging you to ask him to go.

you wanted to scream. you wanted to crawl under a rock. you wanted to fall into a blackhole and have it spaghetti noodle you up like the many articles you’ve read.

you just wanted to yell at him that you liked him. though you weren’t sure if he’d get the message even at that.

maybe it’s time you finish all the steps.

─── ♡

STEP 3: KNOW WHAT NOT TO DO

avoid the friendzone

avoid letting him know how much you want to go out with him

don’t wait around too long

wait.

that’s it.

maybe you’re just in the friendzone?

the thought made your stomach sink, and for the first time, doubt crept into your master plan.

maybe it’s time to give up, you thought with a sigh. but before you could let defeat settle in, giselle, snatched your phone out of your hand.

“what the hell are you moping about?” she asked, reading the screen. her face scrunched up in exaggerated disbelief. “you? friendzoned? please, y/n. the boy is always staring at you. just yesterday, he literally paused mid-bite of his sandwich when you walked in.”

“that doesn’t mean anything,” you muttered, crossing your arms defensively.

giselle rolled her eyes, dragging you up from your chair. “okay, first of all, you’re not giving up. second, you’re doing something big. we’re skipping to the final step.”

“what’s the final step?” you asked warily.

she smirked. “you’re just going to ask him yourself.”

you froze. “absolutely not. that’s—”

“y/n!”

jungwon called with a smile waving his hand over. you looked back to giselle as if she was going to create some sort of comfort, but no. she pushed you forward towards the boy whispering something that you couldn’t hear.

“hi won,” you greeted with some sort of a smile.

“so,” he trailed off. “so,” you prompted him back

“prom.”

“yeah what about it? it’s this weekend and..?”

jungwon scratched the back of his neck, “well, i was wondering if, uh, you…” he hesitated, glancing away for a split second before locking eyes with you again. “…if you’d go with me.”

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you thought you misheard him. “wait, what?”

his lips quirked up in a lopsided grin, the confidence creeping back into his demeanor. “prom. you. me. together. what do you think?”

“not as like, friends right. or maybe as friends, which way are you asking?” you asked nervously.

“not as friends,”

“oh,” you managed to say, your voice a little higher-pitched than normal. “well, in that case…”

he raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a teasing smile. “you gonna keep me waiting, or…?”

“no!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “i mean—yes. not yes to keeping you waiting. yes to—”

jungwon chuckled, cutting off your rambling. “i get it. it’s a yes.”

“yes,” you repeated, this time with more confidence, a grin spreading across your face.

“good,” he said, his smile softening as he glanced down for a second, then back up at you. “because i’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now. just didn’t want to mess it up.”

“mess it up? jungwon, you’re like, the last person who could mess this up.”

“yeah?” he asked, his tone lighter now. “you think i’m that smooth?”

“not really,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. “but i think i like you anyway.”

his grin grew wider, and for a moment, the usual confident, composed jungwon seemed almost bashful. “good to know,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “because i like you too.”

maybe wikihow did have the answers all along. the answer of a strategy on how to get yang jungwon to ask you out to prom.

─── ♡

a/n: happy day 14 of melodies to memories!! not going to be awake for this one so my perm tl will be tagged on this post rather than in the reblog hehe >< I've been LOVING strategy by twice it's so brain itch afhuidjg,, all likes, comments, reblogs appreciated.

melodies to memories tl (open!): @pshwrldd @hhmnya@wonsdoll@lovuegi

perm 🏷️(reply/send ask to this post to be added): @wonsdoll @suneng @heeambi @anqelkoz @who-tf-soddhi @cupidhoons @kiss4noo @nooyork

@ coqhee 2024. all rights reserved.

---

── .✦ THE RIGHT THING (y jw)

PAIRING: idol! jungwon x idol fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: as the only female soloist under belift lab you get paired for a collaboration stage with your trainee days’ best friend—enhypen’s leader yang jungwon. your once close friendship brutally ended after misunderstandings and unspoken truths. now, will being forced to work together help you and jungwon rebuild your connection? or will your complicated past and the pressure of the industry break you apart forever?

GENRE: smau + written parts , best friends to (one sided) enemies to lovers , second chance , forced proximity , he fell first and harder , idol au , angst , fluff — FEATURING: enhypen (all members) , lesserafim (kazuha as face claim) , ive (wonyoung, liz, rei) , nmixx (sullyoon) — TW: profanity , kms/kys jokes , alcohol and being drunk , mental health issues , typos , + individual tw in each chapter , english is not my first language ! , this is a work of fiction and doesn’t reflect the idols in real life ! — library! — perm taglist open !

TAGLIST: open

STATUS: ongoing (started: 2025/02/01 — ended: ?)

a/n: okay so i’m warning you the first half of the chapters will probably be very angsty but i swear it will get better let’s trust the process!!! 🫵🏻 ++ the updates will probably be slow for now because i have literally no motivation i’m stuck but we’ll see how it goes 🥲

────

prologue

chapter 1: nothing much

chapter 2: 04 liners from sm

chapter 3: nice to see you again (wc: 0.6k)

chapter 4: acting like this (wc: 0.5k)

chapter 5: wasted

chapter 6: I DID WHAT

chapter 7: hangover (wc: 1.1k)

chapter 8: stiff asf

chapter 9: wonyn

chapter 10: he looks like shit

chapter 11: 🆘 leader nim

chapter 12: breathe (wc: 1.3k)

chapter 13: still talks about you

more coming soon !

────

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated !

🏷️ perm taglist: @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @who-tf-soddhi @bacons-thighs @athenaisonlinee @st4rryst4r @jellyluv4eva @delirioastral @vvenusoncasual @jiiyen @firstclassjaylee @claumbeju @manaah02

© 2025 all rights reserved to user whjluv

---

SOOOO CUTEEE 💓

MY PENPAL — WAIT WHAT?!

synopsis : you’ve had a penpal for at least 3 months now. you have been sending letters back and forth with an anonymous person at school. let’s say you might have caught some feelings for him.. little did you know, sunghoon, your rival was your penpal after all? when you realize he is the person you have been writing to all these times, will your feelings still be the same?

pairing : rival!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre : high school au, smau, enemies to lovers, classmates to lovers, angst (?) , fluff, slowburn, second chance thing

featuring : all enhypen members, yoon from stayc , minnie from gidle, yeojin from loona

warnings : me being unfunny 👎, cursing, use of kms + kys jokes, sunghoon and yn being very VERY annoying

status : completed ! [Nov 7 2022 - Dec 25 2022]

authors note : second smau wowowo 😍 heres the smau i was thinking abt while i was going to school 🤗 first time writing enemies to lovers.. this is going to be interesting. i hope you guys like it 🫶🏻🫶🏻

PROFILES ! - ONE | TWO

01 - the letters.

02 - can you like stfu

03 - life is good 😘

04 - what was that, 2nd place?

05 - somethings fishy going on here 🤨

06 - IM ABT TO FAIL IN MATH

07 - no way..tutor era ???

08 - hes kind of cute..ig 🤢

09 - HE WONT LEAVE ME ALONE

10 - hold awn… 🤨 (written + smau)

11 - i’ve been lied to my whole life.

12 - sign him up for obedience school

13 - hanging out with the enemy

14 - two choices

15 - enemies to lovers

16 - who tf is hari (written + smau)

17 - #womensupportwomen .. but for hari..

18 - 1 - yn , 0 - hari

19 - why do i miss him 😹

20 - we are now friends

21 - just a little crush #lol

22 - whats this silly letter 😂

23 - what? (written)

24 - emo hours

25 - whats with the sunghoon slander?

26 - IM LOSING IT

— 26.5 - not your strongest soldier.

27 - a mistunderstanding

28 - the confrontation

29 - HARI BIG L

30 - sunghoons plan

— 30.5 - the facetime call. (written)

31 - step one: sit next to her for all classes!

32 - step two: offer notes

33 - step three: give a gift!

34 - step four: repeat until trust is gained!

35 - the explanation

36 - not scared anymore

37 - FINALLY!!

38 - some progress

39 - lets date? (written)

40 - my bae

41 - under the mistletoe

SPECIAL CHAPS :

42 - ice skating !!

43 - snowball fight

TAGLIST [CLOSED]

thank you guys sm for showing support for this smau and have been patiently waiting for chaps all this time <33

---

why are so many jungwon writers deactivated 😭 couldn’t you just archive your blog??? now i just see broken links 😔

if you have any reccs lmk!!

really wanted to read an idol!jungwon x idol!reader but i 3 of DEACTIVATED AUTHORS how are they even searchable?? this is why i have trust issues 💀

---

SCREAMINGGGGG

dating apps suck (best friends to lovers)

summary: your best friend, soobin, has appointed himself as your matchmaker. but somewhere along the third guy he has swiped, he realizes maybe he doesn't want you dating someone else...i mean why date someone else when he's right there.

a/n: any of u guys out there missing soobin as much as me :(

genre: FLUFFFFFF just FLUFF!!!

characters: soobin x f!reader

words: 5226

warnings: none!!!

You could still picture the sunny afternoon, at seven years old, you’d crashed your bike in front of his house, tears streaming down your face as your knee bled. Soobin had sprinted out with a bright yellow Band-Aid and a juice box, declaring himself your “official nurse” with the most serious expression a seven-year-old could muster. 

From that moment on, he was always there—whether it was saving you from disastrous school presentations, sneaking snacks into late-night study sessions, or simply knowing how to make you laugh on your worst days. Which is why, as you sat on your couch listening to him announce that he’d signed you up for a dating app, you couldn’t even stay mad. He grinned at you like he always did, that mischievous, boyish smile, completely unaware of the sudden ache it stirred in your chest.

"I'm not... interested," you muttered, pushing his hands away as he waved his phone in front of your face.

"Not interested?" Soobin raised a brow, leaning back against the couch dramatically. "You're pushing thirty—"

"I'm in my early twenties!" you gasped, smacking his arm in protest.

"And you've never had a boyfriend—"

"What's wrong with that?!" you exclaimed, crossing your arms indignantly. "Men can be... atrocious," you added with a heavy sigh, narrowing your eyes at him. "You should know. You're one."

Soobin chuckled, completely unbothered by your jab. "Wow, true but harsh. Not all of us are terrible, you know."

You gave him a skeptical look. "Name me one guy who's not a literal trashbag."

"Me," he shot back with a cheeky grin, earning another smack on the arm. "What? I'm an absolute catch! If I weren’t your best friend, I’d totally be your type."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden warmth blooming in your chest at his words. "Sure."

"Don't be sarcastic," he pouted, clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. "Anyway, that's not the point. The point is you deserve someone amazing, and I'm here to help you find them."

You sighed, knowing this conversation was far from over. "I’m not sure about this, Soobin. Dating apps are weird, and—”

"Which is why you have me!" he interrupted, flashing his phone. "I'll filter through the weirdos and only show you the cream of the crop. Consider me your personal dating concierge."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I don't know, Bin. This isn't gonna end well."

Soobin’s grin turned softer, a rare moment of sincerity breaking through his playful demeanor. "Trust me. Please?"

"But what do you get out of this?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. "And since when were you so interested in my dating life?"

Soobin shrugged, leaning back against the couch and tossing his phone onto the coffee table like this was no big deal. "Well, I'm interested because I'm a great friend. Wonderful, even."

You arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You’ve never been this invested in my love life before. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were plotting something."

He gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Me? Can't a friend just help another friend out. I’m truly hurt. Deeply wounded. I just want to see you happy, that’s all. Is that so suspicious?"

"Extremely," you deadpanned, though the corners of your lips tugged upward despite yourself.

"Okay, fine," Soobin groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I know I messed up three months ago with that whole Yeonjun situation—"

"Messed up?" You shot him an incredulous look.

He winced, holding up his hands defensively. "Okay, maybe messed up is not a fair term but I didn’t know he was talking about my other female friend! Look, I don’t have that many female friends, and I really thought he meant you!"

Ah, the Yeonjun incident. You dubbed it the most horrible, most awkward situation Soobin had ever put you in. Based on some sort of colossal misunderstanding, Soobin had convinced himself that Yeonjun, his old college roommate, was harboring a massive crush on you. So, naturally, Soobin had set you up on what he promised would be "the best date ever."

Except when you showed up—nervous but secretly excited—you were greeted with Yeonjun’s confused smile and the words, “Wait, when’s Arin getting here?”

Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it. You had stormed out, left Soobin an earful of angry texts, and refused to speak to him for days. When he finally grovelled his way back into your good graces, you made him scrub your toilet for an entire month—no buts, no excuses, no escape.

"You thought he liked me, Soobin," you said now, glaring at him. "And you didn't think to double-check before sending me to that disaster of a date?"

Soobin shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence faltering under your gaze. "Okay, in hindsight, yeah, maybe I should’ve clarified. But come on, that was months ago! I’ve learned my lesson!"

"Have you?" you asked, arms crossed, though a small smirk played on your lips.

He leaned closer, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes. "I have! Which is why this time, I’m personally overseeing everything. No Yeonjuns. No mix-ups. Just quality candidates handpicked by me."

You sighed, shaking your head. "Why do I feel like this is still going to end in disaster?"

"It won’t," he said, a little too quickly. Then, softer, "I just... I want to make sure you find someone who sees you the way you deserve to be seen."

The sincerity in his voice made your stomach flip, but you pushed the feeling aside. Instead, you rolled your eyes and grabbed a throw pillow, tossing it at his face. "Fine. But if this goes south, you’re scrubbing the toilet again. For two months this time."

He caught the pillow with a grin. "Deal."

—

Somehow, Soobin had gathered an entourage. That just meant his other best friend, who had somehow wormed his way into your life too. Beomgyu had shown up uninvited—armed with snacks, a loud laugh, and zero shame—just as Soobin finished hooking up his phone to your TV.

Now, the three of you sat in your living room, swiping through dating profiles projected onto the big screen like some bizarre group activity. It was ridiculous.

"Good God," Beomgyu muttered, staring in horror at yet another man proudly holding a fish in his profile picture. "This is what you poor females have to go through?" He shuddered dramatically, sinking deeper into the couch. "That's like the fifth picture of a guy with a fish.’”

Soobin snorted, tossing a kernel of popcorn at Beomgyu. "New hobby alert?"

"Please," Beomgyu shot back, dodging the popcorn with a smirk. "If I ever post a picture with a fucking fish, kill me."

"Noted," you chimed in, scrolling past the next profile—a man with sunglasses indoors. "Wow, groundbreaking, looking like a real asshole, this one."

"Swipe left," Soobin said instantly, leaning forward like his life depended on it. "You deserve better than someone who hides behind sunglasses in every photo."

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. "Look at you, Mr. Overprotective. What' are you gonna do if she actually finds someone? Start grilling the guy like an overbearing dad?'"

"I’m not overprotective," Soobin protested, though his ears turned red.

"You absolutely are," you teased, hiding a smile. "Remember when that guy at the coffee shop asked for my number, and you told him I was really into feet?"

"That was… justified. He looked at you funny." Soobin muttered, grabbing a handful of popcorn to avoid your gaze.

Beomgyu burst out laughing, nearly choking on his drink.

You shook your head, amused but not entirely surprised. "We’ve been at this for an hour and you’re the one rejecting most of them, Soobin."

"Hey," Soobin said, his voice softer this time. "I’m just making sure we weed out the weirdos. You deserve someone who treats you like gold."

His words caught you off guard, the sincerity in his tone making your chest tighten. But before you could respond, Beomgyu swiped right on a profile with a mischievous grin.

"It's been an hour, and you've already turned down like a million guys for being bankers or art collectors or anyone with a job." You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him.

"Art collectors tend to be pretentious," he replied with a shrug. "I can't have you dating people like that."

"Oh, this guy looks fun, he likes band music and from what I see, he lives around here," Beomgyu said, ignoring Soobin’s groan.

"I’m vetoing that one," Soobin declared.

"Too late. I swiped," Beomgyu said with a wink, kicking back as the two of you stared at the screen in dismay.

"A MATCH!" The bright words popped up on the TV screen, accompanied by an obnoxious little jingle.

“Our first match of the day!” Beomgyu cheered, throwing his arms up like he’d won the lottery.

You slumped back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Am I really that undesirable?”

“No, it’s just the first one we liked because someone,” Beomgyu shot a pointed look at Soobin, “vetoed literally everyone else.”

Soobin crossed his arms, completely unbothered by the accusation. “Sorry for having standards. Do you want her to end up with Sunglasses Indoors Guy or Fish Pic Number Five?”

You chuckled, pointing at the screen. “You’re being ridiculous. He seems cute—Huening Kai. He doesn’t sound like he’s from around here.”

“Yeah, well, he sounds like a loser. Look at this—he’s got a whole list of anime stats on his profile,” Soobin scoffed.

“Maybe you should date him,” you teased, laughing.

“Shut up. Something’s off about him,” Soobin muttered, his brows furrowing.

Beomgyu rolled his eyes dramatically. “God, you’re pickier than her! You’re acting like this is your dating profile.”

“She needs someone perfect. This guy… could be a weirdo, for all I care!” Soobin shot back, crossing his arms.

“Wasn’t this whole thing your idea?” You turned to Soobin, both confused and amused.

“Y-yeah, and I’m starting to think it might’ve been a bad one,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Aw, c’mon,” you said, grinning as you pointed at the screen again. “This Huening Kai kid is pretty cute. He looks like an anime character, and he matched with me! I’m a total loser compared to him—”

“No, you’re not,” Soobin interrupted firmly. “He’s the loser compared to you.”

Beomgyu nearly spilled his drink as he grabbed the remote, scrolling furiously to pull up the message on the big screen. “HE MESSAGED US! HE MESSAGED US!”

The three of you stared at the screen, where Huening Kai’s message blinked at the top of the chat:

Huening Kai: Hey there!

Soobin groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Hey there? Could he be any more boring?”

“It’s just a greeting, dude,” you said, laughing at Soobin’s clear annoyance. “Not everyone needs to open a conversation with a Rupi Kaur poem.”

“I mean, he could at least try. How hard is it to put in a little effort? ‘Hey there’ is what you say to your dentist,” Soobin muttered.

“Okay, Mr. Dating Expert. What would you have said?” you teased, nudging him.

Soobin hesitated for a moment, his ears turning red. “I don’t know. Something cooler. Like… ‘Hey, I noticed your profile, and you seem interesting.’”

"That's worse," Beomgyu said flatly, munching on popcorn. "You sound like that one guy who tried recruiting me on LinkedIn."

You rolled your eyes and picked up your phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Fine, let me show you how it’s done.”

You: Wow, are you always this formal, or did I catch you on your best behavior?

“There. Witty, a little playful,” you said, hitting send with a grin.

Beomgyu snorted. “Not bad. But now we wait. Time to see if Huening Kai can handle the pressure.”

Soobin crossed his arms, watching the screen like it might explode. “If he takes more than five minutes to reply, it’s a red flag.”

“Oh, stop it,” you said, laughing. “You’re acting like a little bitch..”

“I’m just saying,” Soobin mumbled, eyes glued to the screen.

Just then, the three dots appeared at the bottom of the chat. Huening Kai was typing.

“Here we go!” Beomgyu cheered, leaning forward.

The message popped up:

Huening Kai: Haha, depends. Do you prefer formal Huening Kai or the version who spends weekends in a Pikachu onesie?

Beomgyu burst out laughing. “Shit, I like this guy already.”

Soobin frowned. “A Pikachu onesie? Who admits that on their first conversation? RED FLAG!”

You grinned, already typing your reply. “Someone who doesn’t take themselves too seriously. Relax, Soobin. I think it’s cute.”

Soobin didn’t say anything, but the way his jaw tightened told you he wasn’t exactly thrilled.

Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, still chuckling to himself. “Man, I’m actually liking this guy. He’s got personality.”

Soobin wasn’t so convinced, crossing his arms as he glared at the screen. “Just... don’t let him turn this into a whole ‘my favorite anime character’ conversation.”

“Oh, please,” you said, smirking at Soobin. “You’re so dramatic about this. I’m just trying to have a normal chat.” You tapped your phone screen, sending your response:

You: Definitely the Pikachu version. Formality is overrated anyway. So, Huening Kai, is that your real name?

“I’m telling you right now, he’s a definite red flag.” Soobin scoffed.

Before you could respond to his snarky comment, Soobin’s phone buzzed, causing all three of you to freeze. You grabbed the phone first, quickly unlocking it to check the new message.

Huening Kai: Yep. You can call me Kai though.

You looked over at Beomgyu, who was clearly as excited as you were. “Kai,” you said with a grin. “It rolls off the tongue.”

Soobin sighed from across the room, his gaze still fixed on his phone. “I’m telling you, something’s off about him. Here, let me test something out.”

You frowned, sensing that Soobin was about to do something unreasonably overprotective. “Test what?”

Without waiting for your response, Soobin typed furiously on his phone. After a few seconds, he turned the screen to face you. His message to Kai read:

You: Hey, Kai. Just out of curiosity, how do you feel about Annie?

“Annie? The musical?” You looked at him, genuinely confused.

Kai: The musical? I’ve never seen it.

Soobin smirked triumphantly. “There! There’s your answer. He’s uncultured!”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Soobs, I’m not basing the guy I date on a musical I've never watched.”

Beomgyu leaned back, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding. “Who even watches musicals these days?”

You shot him a look, but the next thing you knew, Soobin was still going on.

“What does that even prove?”

Soobin’s expression was smug. “It proves that he’s clearly not refined enough for you.”

“Refined enough?” You stared at him. “Is this about the Annie thing or... I don’t know, your sudden obsession with my dating life?”

Beomgyu groaned dramatically. “Here we go. Soobin’s going full protector mode. I swear, this is like watching a soap opera. Someone just throw in a dramatic music cue.”

You sighed, glancing at your phone again, already typing up a new response to Kai. “Can we at least let him get past the Annie test before you start declaring him uncultured?”

But Soobin didn’t seem to hear you, too focused on his own thoughts. “I’m just saying... if he doesn’t like Annie, how could he possibly appreciate the classics?”

“Annie isn’t even a classic!” you retorted, exasperated.

Beomgyu snickered, but you could feel his amusement waver. Something else was brewing under the surface—and maybe, just maybe, it was more about Soobin than it was about Kai.

“Yes, it is!” Soobin retaliated, his voice rising in defense.

You threw your hands up in frustration. “Y’know what... you’re insane, and I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee from the convenience store. You can sit here and act Annie out or whatever.” You narrowed your eyes at Soobin, then turned on your heel.

“Oh, c’mon! I’m just tryna look out for–”

“Pull your pants up.” You muttered, signaling his falling sweatpants, before walking away.

“You’re so annoying!” Soobin huffed, pulling his pants up, but his voice quickly faded as you made your way to the door.

You paused for a moment, looking at Beomgyu sweetly. “Beomie, do you need anything?”

“Diet soda would be great.” He grinned at you, clearly relishing the chaos that was unfolding.

You gave him a deadpan stare. 

“You’re not gonna ask me?” Soobin scoffed.

“Ask Annie to get you some.”

Rolling your eyes, you slammed the door behind you, leaving them to their bickering. As you walked to the store, you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Somehow, you knew Soobin’s ridiculous “test” was less about Kai and more about the fact that Soobin couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the idea of you dating someone else. Even though it was HIM that wanted you to date someone else in the first place.

Life would be so much easier if he knew how much you wanted HIM. Not Huening Kai. Not Yeonjun. Him. The thought of it felt almost too overwhelming to entertain—after all, you were just friends, right? You and Soobin had always been inseparable, but the line between friendship and something more had always felt like a hazy blur you couldn’t cross.

You shook your head as you entered the convenience store, pulling your jacket tighter against the chill. The last thing you needed was to complicate things by admitting how much you cared. Not when Soobin was so… oblivious. So focused on helping you find someone else. You grabbed your coffee and a diet soda for Beomgyu, the weight of the situation sinking in more with each passing second.

Back at home, the two boys sat in silence, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Soobin was still standing, breathing heavily, his fists clenched at his sides as if he were trying to hold back something. Beomgyu, on the other hand, lounged comfortably on the couch, a smirk tugging at his lips as he placed his hands on his hips.

“So, when are you gonna tell her?” Beomgyu’s voice was teasing, yet full of that knowing glint in his eyes.

Soobin glared at him, his expression a mix of annoyance and confusion. “Tell her what?”

Beomgyu chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “That you like her.”

“I don’t like her. I mean, I do. But not how you think...” Soobin’s defense was half-hearted at best, as if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curling into a sly grin. “Right... right. Because you’re in love with her.”

“Geez, Beomgyu,” Soobin groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Stop fucking around.”

“I’m not.” Beomgyu sighed dramatically, sitting back a little further into the couch. “You’re tweaking over some random guy we swiped on Tinder..”

Soobin shifted uncomfortably, his mind spinning with the mess of feelings he wasn’t ready to confront. “I just… want the best for her. Is that so bad?”

Beomgyu didn’t buy it. He studied Soobin for a long moment, the smirk fading into something more serious. “It sounds more like you want to be with her,” he said slowly, his words heavy with meaning.

Soobin’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting to the ground, suddenly unsure of what to say. His thoughts had been a whirlwind ever since he’d seen you swipe through profiles, the fact that you were even considering someone else—someone not him—a constant ache in his chest. It was easier when it was just the two of you, comfortable in your friendship, knowing exactly where you stood. But now? Now everything felt different.

“Damn it,” Soobin muttered under his breath. “I’m not ready for this.”

Beomgyu let out a low chuckle, sitting up. “Yeah, you are. You just don’t want to admit it. But I’ll tell you this, Soobin. If you don’t step up and do something about it… someone else will.”

“What, who?” Soobin asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I know a couple of people who may be interested in our friend.”

“What?” Soobin’s eyes widened, trying to process. “What do you mean, a couple of people? Like more than one?”

“Maybe.”

“Beomgyu, stop being so cryptic!” Soobin nearly shouted, frustration creeping into his voice. “Who are they?!”

Beomgyu leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment. “Damn, you must really like her. Getting you all worked up like this.”

Soobin clenched his fists, trying to hold back a groan. “I swear, if you don’t just tell me—”

“Relax,” Beomgyu interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just messing with you. But seriously, if you don’t make a move soon, someone else is going to. And I’m not talking about some random guy. I mean, it’s obvious. She likes you too, Soobin. But you’re too scared to do anything about it.”

Soobin froze, his heart skipping a beat. She likes me too? The words echoed in his mind. He’d never thought about it that way before. Is it true? Or is Beomgyu messing with him? Like always.

“I— I don’t know, Beomgyu. What if I mess things up? What if it ruins everything?”

Beomgyu shook his head with a small smile. “Dude, you’re so scared of messing up that you’re not even trying. You’re wasting time. She’s not going to wait around forever. But if you don’t tell her how you feel, someone else might.”

Soobin paced the room, his thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty and fear. The truth was, he did like you. More than he’d ever admitted to himself. He just didn’t know how to act on it. The idea of losing you was too much to bear, but what if you didn’t feel the same way? What if everything changed and he ruined the friendship?

Beomgyu stood up, watching Soobin with a knowing expression. “You’ve got to decide. But know this... you're running out of time.”

Soobin looked up at him, his resolve hardening. He had a choice to make. And whether it scared him or not, it was time to stop running from it.

He took a deep breath. “Thanks, Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu grinned. “Anytime. Now go, before you let her slip away.”

"So I go now?" Soobin looked at Beomgyu, pointing at the door, a mix of excitement and doubt written all over his face.

Beomgyu nodded, smiling. Happy to help his friend.

"Now?" Soobin repeated.

"Yes, you freak," Beomgyu narrowed his eyes, clearly not in the mood for Soobin's indecisiveness.

"Like, now?" Soobin asked, still not quite convinced.

"Yes! Go! Damn, I’ll watch the stove for you. Just go!" Beomgyu gestured impatiently, pushing Soobin toward the door.

"Okay, I’m going. I’m going! I’m doing it!" Soobin yelled, finally mustering some courage, though his nerves were still running wild. "What if she doesn’t like me–"

"Dude, I will kiss her myself to hurry this shit up," Beomgyu deadpanned, not even missing a beat.

"Right. I’m going," Soobin said, nodding determinedly. But before he left, he hesitated, voice cracking slightly, "What if I mess it all up?"

Beomgyu sighed, looking at him like he was an idiot. "If you don’t go, you will mess it up. Now get outta here."

With that, Soobin finally pushed through the door, his heart racing, each step taking him closer to something that could either change everything or leave him with even more questions. But he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t go on without knowing how you felt.

As he jogged towards the store, the thought of you consumed him. Would it be the start of something new? Or would he return, more confused than before?

Either way, he was doing this. No backing out now.

At the store, you sighed, "Honestly, he's really lucky I love him," as you picked out Soobin's favorite ice cream from the freezer, shaking your head in amusement.

You grabbed a few other items—coffee for yourself, soda for Beomgyu—and made your way home. It was nighttime, and the winter air was biting, making you huddle deeper into your puffer jacket. Your beanie snugly squeezed your cheeks, and the hood of your puffer was pulled up to shield you from the cold. As you walked, Soobin spotted your little figure, bundled up and waddling through the chilly night. Without hesitation, he ran to catch up to you, his breath coming out in visible puffs in the crisp air.

Turning around, you froze, confused. "What the hell are you doing here?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Soobin stood there, a little out of breath, looking like he was in the middle of some emotional whirlwind. "Doing something I don’t know if I’ll regret or not," he said, running a hand through his hair, clearly nervous.

You raised an eyebrow. "Did your butt rash come back? The pharmacy's that way-"

Soobin froze, his face flushing. "N-no. I—how’d you know I had a—"

"Sometimes Beomgyu texts me things. Things I didn't need to know," you replied dryly.

"I’ll kill him later, but... no... look," he sighed, clearly awkward.

"Why are you all nervous? It's making me nervous," you said, glancing up at him, unsure what to make of this sudden energy between you two.

Soobin couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your puffy cheeks, the hood and beanie making you look even cuter than usual. "You're really cute, y'know that?" he said, almost absentmindedly.

"Huh?" You blinked up at him, slightly confused. "Did you just call me cute?"

He nodded, a soft, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah."

You could feel your cheeks heating up as you took a moment to really notice how cute he was. The tip of his nose was red, his cheeks a little pale, and his hair tousled. He was adorable.

“You too,” you mumbled, looking up at him. “Especially like this.”

His cheeks pinked at your words. “Look... I know I've been weird about this whole dating app thing.”

“Mhm...” you nodded, trying to understand.

“But it’s only because I felt bad about the Yeonjun thing…”

“Uh-huh…” you said, still trying to wrap your mind around everything.

“Then I also thought, you know, maybe today I realized I don’t really want you to date anyone that’s not... well, me.” He whispered the last part.

You blinked, a little stunned by his words. The quiet confession hung in the cold air between you two, leaving a warm flush creeping up your neck.

"Oh," you said, trying to process what he'd just said, but your heart was already racing.

Soobin shifted on his feet, looking a little uncomfortable with the silence that followed. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean... I didn’t want to make things weird, but I guess I just needed to say it. You know... that, uh, I like you. Like, really like you."

You could feel your heart skip a beat at his words, the weight of his confession finally sinking in.

“Soobin…” You paused, your thoughts swirling. “You’ve been acting all weird because you like me? This whole time?”

He nodded sheepishly, a slight embarrassed grin spreading across his face. "I know. I’m an idiot, right?"

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "You’re not an idiot. You’re just... Soobin."

He let out a relieved breath, his expression softening. "I guess this is my way of finally saying it, huh?"

Before you could answer, he took a small step closer, his gaze locked onto yours. You could feel the warmth of his presence, the weight of his words, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze.

"So," he murmured, his voice low, "are you still up for that... awkward conversation about us?"

You grinned, trying to suppress your nerves. "I’d really rather just tell you that I like you back."

Soobin’s smile grew, but it was a little shy, the corners of his lips curving up in the most endearing way. His dimples deepened as he grinned, but there was a slight hesitation in his eyes—like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. It was cute, and you couldn’t help but notice how he was trying to hide his nerves behind that smile.

"So, Beomgyu was right then..." Soobin said, taking a small step closer to you.

"What’d Beomgyu say?" you asked, matching his movement and stepping a little closer yourself.

"That you’ve had a crush on me for a while now." Soobin's voice dropped even lower as he closed the smallest gap between you two, making your heart race.

You laughed softly, feeling the warmth between you. "It’s one of the rare times that man’s ever right. We should celebrate."

You looked up at him, the only space between you two now being the faintest gap between your lips.

"With a kiss, hopefully?" Soobin murmured, his breath warm against your skin. His voice was a little more teasing now, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in just slightly. “Not with Beomgyu though, right?” he added, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

You snorted in amusement, rolling your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

He laughed softly, leaning even closer, his smile growing wider. “That just means you love me.”

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile curving on your own lips. "I'll think about it after I text my new buddy, Kai," you teased, your voice light and playful.

Soobin froze for a second, his smile faltering as he took in your words. “Oh...we're skipping to the toxic part of our relationship, and we haven't even started dating."

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction, shaking your head. "Gotta have my freedom before I get locked down," you teased, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Before you could even process the moment, a voice broke through the silence.

“Oh my God, just kiss already.”

Both of you turned to see Beomgyu standing there, a soda in hand.

“The soda was taking too long,” he added with a shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to interrupt a romantic moment like that.

You groaned, playfully pushing Soobin away and hiding your face in your hands.

Soobin let out a frustrated laugh, his cheeks tinged with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. "Yeah, thanks a lot. We were just about to kiss," he muttered, though he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

Beomgyu shrugged nonchalantly, clearly unfazed by the interruption. “Oh, rats in Paris would’ve gone to third base by now.”

You shot him an exasperated look, but couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up. The moment might've been ruined, but it didn't change the way Soobin was looking at you—how your heart was still racing.

"Next time, I'll just kiss you myself, Beomgyu," you said, giving him a playful glare.

"Please don't," Beomgyu said, dramatically stepping back. "I don’t need cooties from someone who wears jorts."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "At least I don’t wear socks with sandals."

“So, about that kiss,” Soobin murmured, his voice soft and low, his thumb gently grazing your chin as he tilted your face up, urging your eyes to meet his.

A slow smile tugged at your lips, and without hesitation, you leaned in, pressing a quick peck to his lips.

He pulled back slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “That’s not a kiss. That’s more like child’s play.”

“Oh, then would you like to show me what a real kiss is?” you teased, your breath catching slightly at the closeness between you two.

Soobin smirked, his gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “If you’re begging.”

You could feel the fluttering anticipation in your chest as he cupped both of your cold cheeks, his touch warm against your skin. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips just hovering above yours. 

“I like you so much,” he whispered, his breath brushing against your lips, his words making your heart race.

“Did you brush your teeth before this?” you murmured against his lips, your smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug, his voice a little breathless. “I had a feeling we’d be making out.”

“Solid decision.” You nodded, unable to hide the smile that was spreading across your face.

Soobin grinned, his thumb gently brushing your cheek as he pulled back slightly, still close enough that his breath mingled with yours. “Well, you never know when a good moment will pop up.”

“And you always seem to be prepared for them,” you teased, your fingers lightly tracing the collar of his jacket.

He chuckled softly, leaning in again but not closing the distance completely. “I’m just trying to be ready for you,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised but amused. “Oh, so this is all about me now, huh?”

Soobin nodded, a confident yet playful smile on his lips. “Always has been.”

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I NEED THAT PART TWO EXPEDITIOUSLY

roomies! nishimura riki 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ texting your cold roommate

genre: crack, fluff pairing: nonchalant!riki x down bad fem!reader tw: none!

masterlist 𖤐.ᐟ might make a part 2 of this ── .✦ here's my perm taglist if you want to be notified!

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