XYZ

XYZ

Nevaeh was obsessed with Riku’s appearance. Not because she wanted him to look nice. (Looking nice was an inaccessible fantasy, considering the clothes he chose to wear.) Not because playing ‘mother’ made Nevaeh feel ‘needed’ as Riku would assume, but because fussing over his attire was her way of stressing just how much he hated his façade.

She wanted him to change. That was her motive.

Every morning, Nevaeh waited for Riku at the bottom of the Meadows’ AB flight of stairs. She watched him lock his door--like a predator stalking its prey--and then barraged him with quiet insults the neighbors couldn’t hear.

“Your coat’s so dusty!” Nevaeh batted Riku’s sleeves. Her mischievous eyes drifted from his chest, to his waist, to an area he would have preferred she pretend didn’t exist. “XYZ,” she giggled.

Riku scoffed. “You’re bluffing.”

Nevaeh’s giggling persisted, “XYZ.”

Riku ‘hn’ed.

“Fine. Be that way.” It was then that Nevaeh decided to take matters into her own hands. Literally. She reached for his zipper, only to be dismissed via a slap to her wrist.

“That’s not for you!” Riku’s face burned red.

Nevaeh seemed to realize her faux pas, but ignored it anyway, seeing as she’d realized too little too late. “You really are a lecher, aren’t you? I was only trying to help.” As apt as she was at maintaining a renowned poker-face, Nevaeh blushed the same as he.

Neither Riku nor Nevaeh won the morning-ritual-verbal-spar. They dropped the subject like it never even happened.