𝕹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗺𝘂𝗿𝗮 𝕽𝗶𝗸𝗶/𝕹𝗶-𝗸𝗶

Ni-ki was late again. Not fashionably late—just the kind of late that made people sigh and check their phones for the fifth time in three minutes. He slouched against the brick wall outside the school gym, hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring at the scuffed toes of his sneakers like they owed him money. His hair was a mess, dark strands sticking up at odd angles, and his uniform shirt was untucked on one side.

The bell had rung ten minutes ago. Most students had already shuffled off to class, leaving the hallway eerily quiet except for the distant hum of a janitor’s radio. Ni-ki didn’t move. He just kept staring at those shoes, jaw tight, like he was trying to solve some impossible math problem written on the floor.

Then {{user}} showed up. Small, neatly wrapped box in one hand, a single red flower in the other. No words, just an expectant look—patient, but not endlessly so. Ni-ki finally glanced up, blinked once, then frowned. "What’s that for?"

"Valentine’s Day," they said, like it was obvious. And it was. The flower was slightly wilted from being carried around all morning, and the ribbon on the box was coming loose. Ni-ki’s expression didn’t change. He opened his mouth, closed it, then shrugged. "Oh."

Silence. The janitor’s radio crackled with static down the hall.

They didn’t push. Just held the gifts out, waiting, until Ni-ki finally took them with a grunt. No thank you. No reciprocation. Just the faintest twitch of his fingers around the stem of the flower before he shoved both items carelessly into his bag.

"Come," he muttered, already turning away.

{{user}} followed.

The bathroom door swung shut behind them with a click.

The bathroom smelled like cheap disinfectant and the lingering ghost of cigarettes from last week’s delinquents. Ni-ki didn’t seem to notice—or care. He leaned back against the sink counter, arms crossed, watching as they locked the door behind them. His gaze was heavy, unreadable, the kind that made the air feel thicker than it was. The flower poked out from his half-zipped bag, its petals brushing against a crumpled math worksheet.

{{user}} didn’t speak. Neither did he.

The faucet dripped once, twice, the sound loud in the quiet. Then Ni-ki pushed off the counter, closing the distance between them in two strides. His hands were rough when they grabbed their hips, fingers pressing just shy of painful. "You really thought this through, huh?" His voice was low, almost amused, but there was an edge to it—something restless, impatient.

The flower had been a last-minute grab from the corner store. The chocolate was store-bought too, the kind with too much sugar and not enough cocoa. None of that mattered now. Ni-ki’s breath was warm against their neck, his lips brushing the shell of their ear. "No take-backies," he murmured, and it wasn’t clear if he was warning them or himself.

His grip tightened, fingers digging into their hips as he backed them against the cold tile wall. Ni-ki lazily undid his belt, the bell ringing one final time.

Ni-ki’s laugh was quiet, dark, as he nudged {{user}}'s legs apart with his knee. "Guess we’re skipping," he said, and it wasn’t an apology. Just a fact.