Chapter Text
Nishimura Riki, for all of his 22 years of living, had no idea how he ended up in such a situation. He was sure he hadn't done anything drastically bad in this lifetime—or even in a previous one—to deserve what he could only describe as the worst mid-life crisis imaginable.
Now, with a contract shoved in his face for something that had nothing to do with his rapping or dancing, and his manager, Heeseung, looking at him like he was seconds away from throwing him off a building, Riki had no choice but to sign away the next six months of his life to none other than the beautiful yet undeniably devilish Park Sunghoon.
For all his stunning visuals, the ex-figure skater-turned-idol was nothing but a pain in the ass. Like, sure, the guy was pretty, but the things that came out of his mouth made Riki want to either:
A) Kill himself.
Or, the much tamer option:
B) Kill Park Sunghoon.
But let’s backtrack a little, shall we?
It started like any other morning: a missed alarm, a granola bar for breakfast, mismatched socks, and Riki sprinting to the studio to avoid getting his ass handed to him by Heeseung. For all the glamour of being a K-pop idol, Riki didn’t feel like one. Sure, he had one of the biggest fanbases in the industry, and yes, he was decked out in Chrome Hearts from head to toe, but waking up at 8 a.m. and dancing until late at night was definitely not what he had in mind.
Okay, maybe it was exactly what he signed up for, but still. He was allowed to complain. He couldn’t even remember the last time he hadn’t dreamed of his choreographer screaming, “ONE MORE TIME, NI-KI! FROM THE TOP!”
Just as he was running the same damn choreography for what had to be the hundredth time that week, the studio doors swung open. In walked Kim Sunoo, holding two bags of takeout, and Riki had never been more grateful to have him as a best friend.
A quick word to his choreographer, and soon, the three of them—Heeseung included, not the choreographer—were sitting down to eat.
Sunoo nudged Riki. “The dance sequence looks really good so far.”
“For the amount of times I’ve run it, I’d be pissed if it didn’t,” Riki muttered, shoving a piece of fried chicken into his mouth.
Silence settled over them before Sunoo spoke again. “Did you hear? Park Sunghoon’s new song just hit the Billboard Hot 100.”
“Why are you surprised? He makes good music,” Riki shrugged.
Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Hun, I’m not surprised. I know he makes good music.”
Heeseung chimed in, “Do you remember what happened when your song overtook Jungkook-nim’s? The fandom war? This time, it’s going to be worse. Hoonies and Mandus have been at each other’s throats since you two debuted.”
“It’s already bad. Both of your fans are insane. X is a literal warzone right now,” Sunoo snorted.
“I wouldn’t say insane,” Riki defended, standing up to stretch. “They’re just… passionate.”
"I'm just saying, your team's going to be on your ass. It’s always a competition between the two of you," Sunoo adds.
"It’s not a competition if I don’t see it as one. I just want to make music and dance. Besides, I doubt the team even cares."
Riki is proven wrong exactly 2 hours, 17 minutes, and 53 seconds later. One moment, he’s busting his ass in the studio, and the next, his team calls for a meeting, shoving a new schedule in his face.
"STUDIO ON SUNDAYS?! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Riki all but shrieks.
Sundays were sacred. His untouchable, non-negotiable, holy days. He woke up at a reasonable hour—12 p.m., thank you very much—had a breakfast that wasn’t just a goddamn granola bar, watched a movie or two, met Sunoo at the arcade, went home to dance in his spare-room-turned-studio, took a nice, hot bath, and by 11 p.m., it was goodbye, world, see you tomorrow.
And now? Gone. Just like that.
Riki isn't sure whether to cry or laugh.
One of the staff members winces. "It’s for your own good, Ni-ki. More practice time means better outcomes. Plus, since your schedule is changing, the company agreed to give you this whole weekend off!" she adds, like that’s supposed to be exciting.
All Riki hears is,
you signed a death trap, you signed a death trap, you signed a death trap.you signed a death trap, you signed a death trap, you signed a death trap.
So when he exits the room looking like someone just robbed him of his entire Chrome Hearts collection, Sunoo simply pats his shoulder sympathetically.
"Let’s get you in a better mood."
Apparently, Sunoo’s definition of better mood involved dragging Riki’s introverted ass to a high-profile nightclub.
Now, after downing one too many of the sparkly pink drinks handed to him by none other than Kim Sunoo himself, Riki was sure he was drunk.
Not blackout drunk—he still knew where he was, who he was—but drunk enough that if he ran into his precious Kendrick-sunbaenim, he’d probably drop to his knees and beg for a collaboration. Hell, at this point, he’d settle for just a picture.
Hobbling through the crowd, Riki swears he feels like Dora the Explorer, weaving through unfamiliar terrain in search of Sunoo. Heeseung hadn’t come along—something about a date (lucky bastard, the last time Riki went on a date was two years ago)—and Riki knew he needed to get home fast before he got even drunker.
A well-timed bump later, and he’s staring in utter despair at the contents of his drink—now splattered across some random guy’s chest.
His eyes trail upwards.
Oh.
The most gorgeous human on Earth.
No—scratch that.
Park Sunghoon wasn’t just gorgeous. He was an angel. There was no other explanation for why he somehow looked even better in real life than in his music videos or photoshoots.
His admiration is promptly shattered the moment Sunghoon opens his mouth.
“What the hell? Are you fucking blind?”
That sobers Riki right up.
“What—shit, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Save it,” Sunghoon mutters, brushing at his now-ruined shirt. “Just because you’re jealous doesn’t mean you can throw your drink at me.”
Riki’s eyes narrow.
Jealous?
He steps in closer, almost eye-to-eye with Sunghoon—well, almost, if not for the slight tilt of his head he has to make up for the height difference.
“You think I’m jealous of you? What is there to even be jealous of?”
Sunghoon scoffs, stepping in closer, too. “Oh, I don’t know? Maybe the fact that my song made it to the Billboard Hot 100 faster than yours did.”
Riki’s just about to snap back when someone yanks Sunghoon back by the arm.
Jaeyun—Jake, as everyone calls him—the famous football player.
“Sorry ’bout him, mate. He’s drunk. Have a good night,” Jake says, already pulling Sunghoon away.
“I’M NOT DRUNK!” Sunghoon yells, but his protests are drowned out as they disappear into the crowd.
Riki exhales sharply.
For someone who looked like an angel, Park Sunghoon sure as hell was a dickhead.
…Maybe another drink wouldn’t hurt. Sunoo could find him whenever.
Sunghoon, for all 23 years of his life, had always followed a routine.
Maybe it was because, at eight, he’d been thrown into the world of figure skating, where schedules were just as important as the skating itself. Or maybe it was because he simply thrived on structure.
Either way, there hadn’t been a single day in his life that hadn’t followed a routine.
It was simple, really: wake up at 6:50, brush and shave by 7, shower and blow-dry by 7:15, heat up the breakfast he’d prepped the night before and eat it by 7:30, change into the outfit—also prepped the night before—by 7:45, leave his apartment, grab an iced americano from the café below his studio by 7:55, and arrive at 8 sharp.
Everything followed a schedule. There was no room for chaos.
He knew exactly what he was getting into when he chose to become a K-pop idol. He had already been in an equally demanding industry before, so he understood that everything was a competition. The industry was brutal, and whether he liked it or not, it was survival of the fittest.
So yes, he was proud of himself for landing his song on the Billboard Hot 100. And yes, he let Jake drag him to a club—even if it wasn’t in his calendar—because he did know when to have fun.
What he didn’t expect was to be drenched in sparkly pink liquid midway through the night.
If he were sober, he wouldn’t have cared. Sunghoon was above petty things like that.
But now? Drunk? Staring at Nishimura Riki—his day one biggest competitor—who was looking at him with that same infuriatingly intense half-lidded gaze?
Yeah. He was pissed.
Riki was good at what he did—Sunghoon could admit that much. He admired him enough to see him as an actual threat. Or at least, he used to. That was before Riki started looking at him like... that.
Every award show. Every red carpet. Every event.
Riki always had that look, like he was trying to unravel him. Like he was seconds away from uncovering every single one of Sunghoon’s darkest secrets. (He only had one, for the record, and that was that he was madly in love with Kim Taehyung—the idol of idols.)
And truthfully, Sunghoon didn’t even know why he accused Riki of being jealous. But that’s the funny thing about drunk people—they don’t know half the shit they say.
So when Jake finally hauled his drunk ass into a car and drove him home, all he managed to mumble was, "I'm pregnant Jake, you're the father."
Then, he passed out.
Riki wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and zero will to live.
He groans as his phone starts blowing up with notifications.
Who the hell was messaging him at ass o’clock—(it was 9 AM—too early for this shit) on a Saturday?
As he stretches, bits and pieces of last night start filtering back into his memory.
Sunghoon. Jealous. Dickhead.
He scoffs. Jealous? As if.
What a shame. All that pretty face, and yet, somehow, the shit attitude still managed to ruin it. (Actually… was it even possible to ruin a face like that?)
With a sigh, he picks up his phone, eyes widening at the sheer number of notifications.
28 messages from Heeseung.
8 missed calls from Heeseung.
9 messages from Sunoo.
3 missed calls from Sunoo.
87 messages from his team’s group chat.
Okay. What the fuck.
He unlocks his phone and checks Sunoo’s messages first.
Sunoo ✨️
BRO WHAT THE HELL???
HELLO???
WAKE UP, ASSHOLE???
SINCE WHEN???
LMAO THIS SHIT'S HILARIOUS
HOW WAS IT???
I CAN’T BELIEVE IT
SUNGHOON??????
https://dispatch-reveals/123445.com
Confused, Riki clicks on the link.
His jaw drops.
His eyes scan the article at record speed.
Nishimura Riki. Park Sunghoon. Dating. Love. How long? Korea’s next IT couple.
And just to make matters worse, right beneath the headline is a picture—of him and Sunghoon at the club last night, standing way too close.
The worst part? The picture made it look like they were enjoying the proximity, not like they were two seconds away from tearing each other’s hair out.
His phone screen goes black for a second.
Then, it lights up again.
Heeseung 🔪 Calling
Riki stares at it, dread creeping up his spine.
…Yeah. He’s so fucked.