RIKI'S POV
Ava's house is almost a castle—a cold, silent fortress that feels as impenetrable as she is. As I walk up the driveway with her leaning against me, drunk and intoxicated, her weight sagging against my side, I feel the walls of the mansion towering over us like watchful giants, unyielding and unsympathetic. It's like they're judging her, judging me, for being here, for catching her in a moment she never wanted to be seen in. And it's a version of Ava I don't know—a version stripped bare of her sharp edges and venomous words, her usual armor nowhere in sight.
I don't even know if she's conscious of her surroundings. Her head rests against my shoulder, and her hair is a tangled mess, spilling down like dark silk, smelling faintly of smoke and something else—something heartbreaking. She mumbles incoherent words that dissolve in the cold night air, and I grip her a little tighter, uncertain of what's more frightening: seeing her like this or realizing I actually care.
The front door looms ahead of us, a monstrous piece of architecture meant to intimidate. I can feel her hesitation even in her drunken state; a small shiver runs through her, and her fingers clutch at my shirt like a child lost in a nightmare. I want to tell her it'll be okay, that this doesn't have to mean anything, but the words won't come. Instead, I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and knock.
A moment later, the door swings open, and a woman stands there, perfectly composed, perfectly controlled, like the icy marble floors beneath her feet. Her eyes take in Ava's condition with a single glance, flickering to me just long enough to register my presence, as though I am no more significant than the wind that swept her daughter into this state.
"She got wasted again, didn't she?" Her voice is smooth when she says the words, almost too smooth, devoid of any real warmth. She doesn't ask what happened or if Ava is okay. Instead, she steps aside with a quiet grace, allowing me to bring her daughter into the hall, where everything smells like lavender and wealth, and the silence is thick as stone.
I feel Ava stir beside me, her hand falling away from my shirt, her eyes fluttering open, unfocused, hazy. She looks at her mother for a split second, and there's something in her gaze—a vulnerability, a plea, maybe—but her mother's expression remains untouched. She offers Ava the faintest of smiles, thin and polite, before she turns to me.
"I don't know who you are, but I want to thank you for bothering to bring Ava here." Her voice is like fine ice, thin and fragile, but there's something jagged beneath it—a razor edge carefully concealed beneath layers of politeness.
I swallow, nodding, because what else is there to say? She doesn't actually want to know who I am. Not really. And it's as if that thank you was spoken out of duty, not gratitude. For a second, I'm tempted to defend Ava, to say she deserves her mother's care and kindness, kindness, not this hollow courtesy, not the biting judgment in her mother's eyes. But the words fumble, crumbling on my tongue. Because what do you say to a person made of stone?
She doesn't look at her like a daughter but like a stranger she's only faintly obligated to tolerate. She glances at her as if she's a burden to bear, an inconvenient smudge on the pristine surface of her world. "I trust you'll be discreet about this," She says softly, in a tone that somehow transforms a simple request into an unmistakable command.
I clench my jaw, my fingers curling into fists. There's something about her, this woman who's supposed to love Ava, that makes me want to spit out every single word I've swallowed tonight. To tell her that Ava's barely holding herself together, that she's probably drowning in loneliness in this house that feels more like a museum than a home. But I don't. I give a curt nod instead, the silence between us settling thick and uncomfortable.
She accepts my nod, her smile returning—cold, satisfied. "Good," She whispers, glancing at Ava, who's staring somewhere past both of us, her face an empty canvas. "Then you may leave."
And there it is. Just like that, I'm dismissed, erased. It's as if I were never here, like the last hour of holding Ava up, of listening to her broken whispers, of catching her as she stumbled—it all dissolves in the space of a breath.
I turn to leave, my footsteps echoing against the marble, each step carrying me farther away from the shadowed vulnerability in Ava's eyes. But just as I reach the door, I hear her voice, weak and barely above a whisper. "Riki..."
I glance back, catching her gaze, and for a split second, the armor she wears so tightly slips. She looks at me like she's on the verge of breaking, like she's caught in a cage of her own making and doesn't know how to escape. But before I can say a word, her mother's hand lands lightly on her shoulder, her fingers poised and delicate. "Ava," She says, her tone sharpened, cool as winter. "It's time for you to go upstairs."
Ava nods, her face draining of any emotion, her walls snapping back into place with an almost audible click. And just like that, she's gone—her eyes empty, her shoulders set, her head held high as she steps into the cavernous silence of her home. I walk out into the night, the cold air hitting me harder than it should, filling the spaces where my words for her should have been.
I wasn't paid for my work tonight because I decided to leave earlier to bring Ava home, and I'm not sure whether I'm feeling the sting of my empty wallet or the emptiness of the goodbye that just passed between us. The money should matter, but it's Ava's silence that's weighing heavier on my mind, settling over me like the cold air biting at my skin. For a split second, I almost go back—almost knock on that door again and say something, anything, that might crack the ice she's wrapped herself in.
But I don't. Because in the end, it's Ava's battle to fight. She's made her choice, or maybe choices were made for her, over and over, until she became this guarded, hollow version of herself. And who am I to think I could be the one to change that? I feel the truth in my bones, that raw, bitter realization that some people are more like walls than windows, and breaking through would only hurt us both.
I go back home, the small apartment in the city's shadow, where the walls are thin and the lights flicker, and where the air smells faintly of burnt coffee and regret. It's a small place where three the three of us live, Sunoo, Jungwon, and I—three boys the world decided weren't worthy of a fair start, so we forged our own lives from fragments.
Sunoo is sprawled on the couch when I walk in, his headphones dangling around his neck, music leaking into the room like a heartbeat. Jungwon's at the kitchen table, hunched over a stack of textbooks, his pencil tapping a restless rhythm. Sunoo looks up as I close the door, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What a time, Riki. What a time." His voice is light, teasing, but his gaze is sharp, catching the exhaustion I can't hide.
I shrug, tossing my keys onto the chipped countertop. "Something like that."
Jungwon doesn't look up, but I feel his attention shift, that silent, observant way he has of reading between words. He's always been the steady one—he doesn't pry, but there's a question in his eyes when he finally glances up, his brow creased in faint concern.
"Was it a girl?" Sunoo's words make me roll my eyes and I walk to my room, shaking my head in disbelief. "Oh my God, at least tell me if she's pretty!" But I close the door behind me, leaning against the door while my bag slides off my shoulder and ends up in a crumpled heap on the floor. I exhale, walking to my bed before I lie down and stare at the ceiling, the rough texture of the paint blurring into a haze above me.
You have a beautiful smile, Riki, I'm afraid of how much I want to see it. Her words replay in my mind like a broken record, the phrase lingering like smoke, curling through my thoughts, refusing to dissipate. I roll onto my side, staring at the wall where the fading light casts shadows, reminding myself that she was drunk and it was just a moment of vulnerability, a fleeting spark that could easily fade into oblivion.
Sunoo's question makes me scoff and let out a heavy sigh, but as I close my eyes, images of her smiling dance behind my eyelids, vivid and intoxicating. I can't help but remember the way her laughter filled the air, how it wrapped around me like a warm blanket, chasing away the chill of the night. It was such a beautiful sound, and it felt like a secret only I had the privilege to hear.
Yeah. She's very pretty.
