skiyahh

[skiyahh]

I’m back kinda

[skiyahh]

free nights pt 4

Soft light | Soft clothes | The space between you starts to mean something

In the quiet morning after, no promises are made—but both know where to find each other again.

The world looked different in daylight. Not worse—just sharper. The edges you blurred under city lights had returned. But Ni-ki hadn’t changed.

You woke up to the smell of toast and the distant sound of water running. His hoodie still hung on you, sleeves past your hands, fabric warm from the couch and the sun pouring through the blinds.

His apartment was still quiet. Peaceful.

You sat up slowly, blinking at the morning.

Ni-ki walked in with two mugs, hair a little messy, a tired smile on his lips. “Didn’t know how you take your coffee,” he said, handing one over. “So I made both bitter.”

You took it without a word. It was hot. Grounding.

“You stayed,” he said casually, but something lingered behind the words.

“So did you,” you replied.

He smiled. “You make it easy.”

⸻

You left a little later than you meant to.

He walked with you halfway home, bike dragging beside him, your hands still wrapped around the coffee cup he gave you. He didn’t try to fill the silence. He let it exist between you like something sacred.

At your block, he paused. To anyone else, it looked casual. To you, it felt like a line neither of you were ready to cross yet.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Better.”

He looked at you for a beat too long. “Good.”

You started to turn, but he called your name.

You looked back.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “if tonight sucks too… just show up. Same vending machine. I’ll find you.”

⸻

You didn’t say anything back. You didn’t need to.

But when you got inside, you kept the coffee cup.

And the hoodie.

And the quiet feeling in your chest that maybe, just maybe, someone saw you—and stayed.

[skiyahh]

free nights pt 3

free-spirited romance | sunrise cityscapes | unspoken softness

Synopsis:

stolen bike , post-kiss, and quiet glances

—Ni-ki and the reader find comfort in eachothers presence

You stayed in the record shop longer than you planned. Hours slipped past while Ni-ki flipped through albums, stopping now and then to play you one. You sat cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes half-closed while lo-fi beats echoed through the room like a lullaby.

He didn’t talk much. Neither did you. But he looked at you sometimes like you were part of the music. And you let him. Because for once, silence didn’t mean loneliness—it meant peace.

Eventually, the sky outside cracked open. That quiet blue-pink color the world only wears for a few minutes before the sun rises fully.

Ni-ki stood by the window, one hand pushing his hair back, the other holding a half-open can of soda. His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were soft. “Let’s go before the city wakes up,” he said.

You nodded.

⸻

Outside, the street was empty in a beautiful kind of way. Trash bins, power lines, cats on fences. All of it untouched by the day’s noise.

Ni-ki spotted a dusty blue bike leaning against the wall of a convenience store. He looked at you.

You raised a brow. “You’re not serious.”

He swung one leg over it, grinning. “You get the front.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re still getting on.”

You sighed but climbed on anyway, sitting sideways on the handlebars like you’d done this a thousand times before. Your back pressed to his chest. His hands gripped the brakes and the bars around you. The tires creaked, then rolled forward, slow and wobbly at first.

You laughed. It felt good to laugh.

⸻

You rode through empty intersections and past bakeries still dark inside. You passed neon signs that blinked like they were tired. You passed a kid walking his dog. An old man sweeping leaves. No one noticed you, but if they had—they’d think: that looks like freedom.

Halfway through the ride, Ni-ki pulled out his phone and passed you an earbud.

“Put it in.”

You did.

He hit play.

A soft instrumental started, crackly and slow, like a dream you forgot until it came back in pieces. The bike moved with the beat, bumping slightly over sidewalk cracks. You leaned back against his chest and let your eyes fall half shut.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he muttered against your ear.

You smiled. “Too late.”

⸻

You ended up in a quiet park, the sun just spilling over the trees. He dropped the bike on its side, no lock, no care. You sat on a stone bench, legs tucked up, head resting on your knees.

Ni-ki flopped next to you. “You good?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Today sucked.”

He nodded like he already knew. Like he felt it in the way you barely smiled tonight. In how you didn’t argue back when he teased you. In how you held that can of coffee too long even after it went warm.

“I got you,” he said.

Just that.

He leaned his head on your shoulder, and you let it stay there.

⸻

The sun rose.

You sat like that for a while, not moving. Birds chirped. Someone jogged by. Ni-ki breathed slow beside you, fingers barely brushing yours on the bench.

And for the first time that whole week, you didn’t feel tired. Or heavy. Or invisible.

You just felt held.

Not in his arms, not in his words.

Just in the way he stayed.

[skiyahh]

free nights pt 2

free-spirited romance | late-night cityscapes | unspoken softness

Synopsis:

After-hours walks, rooftop talks, and quiet glances

—Ni-ki and the reader find comfort in late-night escapes, where silence says everything and nothing needs a name.

The stairwell smelled like dust and concrete. Your sneakers scuffed softly against the steps as you both raced to the top of a half-abandoned building. Ni-ki held the heavy metal door open with his foot and gestured dramatically.

“Milady.”

You rolled your eyes but stepped through anyway, the rooftop spreading wide around you. Lights below painted the night in specks of yellow and white. Somewhere far away, someone was playing old jazz from a window. It was scratchy, imperfect, beautiful.

Ni-ki dropped his bag and lay flat on the gravel, hands behind his head. You stayed standing, arms crossed, just watching the skyline.

“You ever feel like the city’s alive?” you said.

He turned his head toward you. “All the time. Like it’s watching us and laughing.”

You laughed too. “Or warning us.”

“Or both.”

There was a long pause before he added, “I like being up here with you.”

No soft music. No perfect lighting. Just those words in the dark.

You sat down next to him, legs stretched out, shoulder brushing his. Still no labels. Still no pressure. Just him. Just you. Just this.

Ni-ki didn’t explain much. He never did. Just said, “Come on,” and you followed.

He led you through narrow alleys and side streets until you reached an old record store with faded signage and dusty windows. The kind of place that looks closed even when it’s open. He pulled a key from his back pocket like it was nothing.

“You have a key to a whole shop?” you asked, not hiding your surprise.

He smirked. “I help the owner sometimes. He lets me crash here when I don’t wanna be home.”

He pushed open the door, the little bell overhead clinking softly, even in the dark. Inside, it smelled like old vinyl and wood polish. A warm kind of forgotten. Like the city’s heartbeat lived in this shop.

You wandered to the jazz section without thinking. Your fingers traced the album covers gently, the soft paper whispering as you flipped through them. Ni-ki disappeared behind the counter for a second, then soft music crackled to life through the speakers—some lo-fi record that sounded like rain on pavement.

He watched you from across the room, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. You felt it. That stare. Quiet and intense and… not uncomfortable. Just real.

“You always know where the good stuff is,” he said.

You looked over your shoulder. “That your way of saying you like my taste?”

“I like a lot of things about you,” he said simply.

You blinked. For a moment, the music was the only thing filling the silence.

Then he walked toward you, slow. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure if he should, but he wanted to anyway.

You didn’t move. Just met him there, between Miles Davis and Coltrane.

He stood in front of you, eyes dark and soft all at once. “Can I do something reckless?”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer.

Just kissed you.

Not in that perfect movie way—more like a nervous maybe. Hesitant. Then deeper when you didn’t pull away. The kind of kiss that tasted like sugarless gum and midnight coffee. That said I’ve been meaning to do this but didn’t want to ruin it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

[skiyahh]

free nights pt1

free-spirited romance | late-night cityscapes | unspoken softness

Synopsis:

After-hours walks, rooftop talks, and quiet glances—Ni-ki and the reader find comfort in late-night escapes, where silence says everything and nothing needs a name.

It started with a vending machine.

Not love. Not anything heavy like that. Just a moment. You were leaning against the cold metal, hands in your pockets, hood up, letting the hum of the city vibrate through your spine. Ni-ki showed up like he always did—no warning, no sound. Just him, his fingers brushing past yours to press the button for canned coffee.

You didn’t move. He didn’t say anything.

He handed you the can, took the other one for himself, then leaned next to you, shoulder to shoulder. You looked up at him, raising a brow.

“I figured you’d be out here,” he said finally, eyes on the flickering streetlight. “You always disappear around this time.”

You shrugged. “You too.”

His lips curled into that barely-there grin he always wore when he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Just him being real. It was rare, and you liked catching it.

⸻

You weren’t friends in the traditional sense. You didn’t do loud parties or pretend to like people you didn’t. You two had a different rhythm. Late walks. Record stores. Sitting in silence and feeling like the silence was saying something.

Tonight was no different.

You walked with him down cracked sidewalks and past neon-lit windows, your steps loose and lazy. His hand kept brushing yours, but neither of you reached out. You didn’t need to. The space between you wasn’t empty—it was charged.

“Wanna go somewhere stupid?” he asked, a little spark in his voice.

You smirked. “Stupid like climbing a roof or stupid like stealing bubble gum?”

He tilted his head like he was thinking about it. “Maybe both.”