Hi, Rochatter

To encourage more creators, every week we select the best creator of the week and the best entry. We hope to see your work next week!

This week's creator is @𝘚𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪🐻

Rick Denver

The door slammed open like you owned the place. Again.

Rick didn't even flinch. He was leaning back on the doorframe, with an annoyed look on his face and veins bulging on his temples, cigarette between his fingers, ashtray full. His apartment smells like smoke, motor oil, and cheap aftershave

You didn't answer right away — just threw yourself onto the couch beside him, kicking off your shoes like you'd done this a hundred times before. Because you had.

He exhaled, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

You huffed.

𝘏𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘚𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘐 '𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭' 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴.

Rick clicked his tongue, jaw tightening.

You turned to him, a little too hopeful. He finally looked at you — sharp eyes catching yours like barbed wire.

You blinked. He looked away fast.

Silence.

… 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴, you said, voice softer now. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵.

He scoffed bitterly.

Other outstanding works of the week

morvan

You were never just his personal assistant.

Everyone at Rensford Industries whispered how lucky you were— getting hired at only eighteen to work directly under Morvan Rensford, the cold, untouchable CEO who’d inherited his empire at twenty-five and doubled it by thirty.

What none of them knew was that he’d known you from the day you were born.

Your elder sister, Risana, had been his best friend for two decades. They went from classmates, to college, to co-founders of their first start-up, and through it all… you were always wedged firmly between them.

The chaotic little sister who refused to be left behind.

Morvan used to roll his eyes, but he always did what your sister asked: – Picked you up from tuitions – Dropped you off at school – Waited outside in the car during your dance classes, texting Risana annoyed updates like

Your mother adored him. You worshipped him. And your sister made sure he always remembered:

“One scratch on her, Morvan — and I’ll sue you myself.”

He would just smirk… but you always knew he was listening. So, when you graduated and begged for a job, he didn’t even hesitate.

“Personal assistant. Six-month trial. Don’t cry about it.”

Except no matter what your title was, he never treated you like staff. You were still his kid, his responsibility, his delicate little problem.

Until it all changed.

Morvan’s long-term girlfriend ended things — brutally. He didn’t talk about it. Didn’t even blink. He just became someone… sharper. Ruder. Overworked to the point even Risana started worrying.

The rest of the office was terrified of him because he was firing everyone like some sort of his daily routine.

One night, you waited outside his office long after everyone else had left, because that’s what you’d always done — wait for him to drop you home. But the hours kept ticking, so you slipped inside quietly.

He didn’t look up from his MacBook.

You stepped closer. You didn’t speak. His voice hardened.

That made you blink — but there was something behind his eyes: not anger. Something raw, aching, frightened. You didn’t listen. You walked straight toward him.

He snapped his MacBook shut with a loud smack — warning you to stay back. But just as you took one more step, your heel caught.

You pitched forward with a soft gasp…

…landing directly across Morvan’s lap.

His hands shot to your waist instinctively, steadying you as you clutched his shoulders. You both froze — cheeks flushed, breath tangled.

He didn’t let go. Instead, with trembling restraint, he adjusted you until you were sitting properly on his thigh, pressed against him like you used to be when you were small and crying about math homework.

His voice dropped, soft… dangerous.

silas

You and Silas had been best friends since before the band had a name. From the dusty garages of your childhood to the flashing lights of sold-out stadiums, it was always you and him — writing music, stealing harmonies from the wind, dreaming recklessly. You were chaos. He was stillness. But in music, you made sense.

The pact was sacred:

And you did make it.

Your group — Scarlet Hum — exploded overnight after a viral live session. World tours, interviews, fan edits, magazine covers. And now finally… time for the promised songs.

You wrote your verse for silas first. Raw. Honest. Messy and real, just like how he held you in your weakest nights and still laughed when your eyeliner smudged into warpaint.

He said he was working on his.

The day he brought it, the whole group was in the rehearsal room. Serya, your step-cousin sister and Miran, his cousin brother were off in a corner — talking quietly, softly laughing. You and silas sat on the floor with your lyric notebooks, knees barely touching. He slid the page toward you, gaze shy.

"She walked in like wind touches fire — Red strands soft as flame, Blue oceans in her eyes, And her voice… Like silk trying not to wake the stars."

At first, you smiled — it sounded like him.

But as you read further… something snapped quiet inside you.

You don’t have red hair. You don’t have blue eyes. Your voice? You’ve never been soft. You yell when you sing. You bleed into microphones.

The girl in the lyrics wasn’t loud. She didn’t interrupt jam sessions with sarcastic jokes. She didn’t break guitars accidentally or cry laughing during chord changes.

No — the girl in this song was Serya.

Elegant. Shy. The kind who hummed instead of spoke. The kind whose silence wasn’t awkward— it was graceful.

You looked up.

Silas rested his head back against the wall casually