𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫 │Nishimura Riki

11

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄

↳ currently playing ;;
[Miami] - [Will smith]

The hotel room hummed with the discreet sigh of the AC, a faint, almost sterile trace of overpriced citrus-scented room spray clinging to the air.

But Lily's gaze locked onto the splash of color on the polished coffee table: a flamboyant bouquet of pink peonies—fresh, dewy, and irritatingly, perfectly on-brand.

She quirked an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes, and walked over. Nestled between the lush petals, a small, ivory card peeked out. She plucked it free, feeling the crisp paper between her fingers.

Liliana—scrawled in a surprisingly neat, almost elegant handwriting. She turned it over.

"No matter what the divorce lawyer says, I'm getting full custody of Bisco." — Ni-ki

Lily snorted, a sharp, unladylike sound, biting back a grin that threatened to split her face. She held the card to her chest for a second too long, the cool paper a strange comfort against her skin.

Ni-ki was alarmingly good at acting like a boyfriend now. Flowers in every city? Check. Personalized jokes tailored to their absurd fake relationship? Check. Minimal emotional availability, yet somehow infuriatingly charming? Double check. This whole charade was getting... complicated.

"Earth to Lily!" Rosalia's voice boomed through the receiver, sharp enough to cut through the Miami humidity. "Don't tell me you're still mesmerized by the mini-bar."

Lily rolled her eyes, a practiced gesture honed by years of managing her manager. She sank onto the edge of the plush bed, the soft mattress yielding beneath her.

"Relax, I'm here. Just... admiring the local flora." She glanced at the peonies, their innocent pink a stark contrast to the unfolding chaos of her life.

"Flora?" Rosalia scoffed, a sound of deep, existential weariness. "Lily, I swear to God. If you show up with another hickey—I will personally fly to Miami and supervise your every breath. My creativity for PR spins about 'mosquito bites' has reached its limit."

"We won't," Lily promised, her voice breezier than she felt. She curled a piece of hair behind her ear, her gaze still fixed on the absurdly perfect flowers.

They were miles, continents, away from repeating that one very warm, very shirtless, very chaotic mistake. It had been a blur of desperation and unexpected heat, something best left in the past.

"I'll make him behave," Lily added, trying for a dramatic sigh that probably sounded more like a choked cough.

"Lily, I manage artists, not reality TV contestants!" Rosalia's voice softened slightly, an edge of exasperated affection bleeding through. "Just don't do anything that makes me need to issue a statement about love bites and allergic reactions to hotel pillows."