[ Isara Mao x f!reader ]

♡ Tags: Fluff, slightly angst, casual romance.

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Isara Mao is now a well-known idol, a beloved member of Trickstar, and—most importantly—your boyfriend. His face is everywhere, from banners and posters to plushies and keychains. No matter where you go, there’s always something reminding you of him.

After graduating from Yumenosaki Academy, the two of you moved in together, finally taking the next step in your relationship. But despite sharing an apartment, you often find yourself alone. Mao’s packed schedule keeps him busy from morning till night, leaving you to spend most of your days waiting for him to come home.

At first, you didn’t mind. You were proud of him—watching him chase his dreams, seeing him shine on stage, hearing his voice through interviews and performances. It was everything he had worked so hard for.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the emptiness in the apartment grew heavier. The space that was supposed to feel warm and full of love started to feel too quiet. His things were here—his favorite jacket draped over the couch, his coffee mug resting on the counter—but he wasn’t.

You tried to keep busy, filling your time with hobbies, work, and even texting him whenever you could. But texts could only do so much. They couldn’t replace the warmth of his presence, the sound of his laughter filling the room, or the way he would pull you into his arms after a long day.

One evening, while running errands, you stumbled upon a plushie of Mao—one of the official Trickstar merch. It had his signature red-violet hair, his bright green eyes, and even a tiny replica of his idol outfit. It was ridiculous, really. But something about it made you smile.

Before you knew it, you were at the counter, paying for it and also some more clothes for it.

Back at home, you placed the plushie on the bed, staring at it for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “I can’t believe I’m doing this…” you mumbled, picking it up and hugging it close. It wasn’t the same as the real Mao, but at least it made the apartment feel a little less lonely.

Days passed, and the plushie slowly became a part of your routine. You’d talk to it absentmindedly while cooking, place it next to you while watching TV, and even hug it at night when sleep felt difficult. It was comforting.

Until one evening, Mao text you that he'll come this night. So you excite sit on the couch and wait for him. But the wait is too long, so you start to drowsy.

You flopped onto the couch, your body sinking into the cushions as exhaustion took over. Hugging the Mao plushie close, you let out a quiet sigh, your eyelids growing heavy. Before you knew it, sleep was pulling you under, your grip on the plushie tightening ever so slightly.

What you didn’t know, however, was that the front door had just opened.

Mao stepped inside, tugging off his hat and adjusting his mask—a necessity to keep from getting swarmed by fans on his way home. He sighed, running a hand through his messy red-violet hair. It had been another long day, filled with non-stop rehearsals, recordings, and interviews. But despite the exhaustion settling in his bones, he felt a sense of relief knowing that, at last, he was home.

Home to you.

As he walked further in, he paused mid-step, eyes landing on the couch. At first, his heart softened at the sight of you sleeping so soundly. But then he did a double-take, his brows furrowing.

Wait… what?

Why were you hugging… that?

Mao blinked, sweatdropping as he took in the sight before him. You were curled up around a plushie—his plushie—holding it so delicately, your face nuzzled against its soft fabric.

He crouched down beside the couch, carefully observing the scene before him. You looked so peaceful, so comfortable… and yet, there was something incredibly wrong about this picture. His green eyes flickered to the plushie, and for a brief second, he swore he could feel it mocking him.

Was he seriously feeling jealous over a plushie?

Mao shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Why am I even jealous of a plushie…?”

Still crouched beside the couch, he let out a quiet sigh before resting his forehead against the cushion near you. The warmth of your presence was comforting, but the fact that you were snuggled up with a miniature version of him instead of the real thing made something stir in his chest.

As he shifted slightly, his red-violet hair brushed against your arm, and the faint movement was enough to stir you from your sleep. You let out a soft murmur, your eyes fluttering open as you mumbled, “Mao…?”

He blinked before pulling back slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, did I wake you up?” His voice was gentle, laced with amusement and a hint of guilt.

Your eyes widened the moment you fully registered his presence. Without thinking, you immediately threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Mao stiffened for a split second, caught off guard by your sudden affection, but he quickly melted into your warmth, wrapping his arms around you in return. His voice was soft as he murmured, “I’m home, Y/n.”

“Welcome home, Mao.” Your voice was slightly muffled against his shoulder as you snuggled closer, holding him even tighter as if afraid he might slip away again.

He let out a quiet chuckle, though a sweatdrop formed as he realized just how much you were leaning into him. You were so drowsy, practically draping yourself over him, and before you could lose your balance, he instinctively tightened his hold, keeping you upright.

After a long moment, he gently guided you back onto the couch, making sure you were comfortably seated before settling down beside you with a tired sigh. He stretched his arms slightly before turning to look at you—only to find you hugging the plushie again.

Mao deadpanned.

Seriously? Again?

You were so happy, absentmindedly playing with the plushie’s tiny hands and ruffling its soft hair. Mao watched in silence, but the sight made something in him stir—an odd mix of discomfort and guilt.

Resting his elbow on his knee, he placed a hand under his chin and leaned forward, his green eyes fixed on the plushie. “When did you get that?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Oh, this?” You glanced down at the plushie in your lap, a small smile forming on your lips. “I got it a while ago.”

Mao raised a brow. “But… don’t you already have the real thing?” His tone was teasing, but there was something behind his words—something more uncertain.

You chuckled softly, your fingers still fiddling with the plushie’s hand. “I know,” you admitted. “But… while you were away, I felt kind of lonely.” Your voice turned quieter, your smile tinged with sadness. “So that’s why I bought it.”

Mao’s eyes widened slightly, and he bit his lip, his chest tightening at your words. He had been so caught up in his work, his never-ending schedule pulling him in all directions, that he never stopped to consider how much time he had spent away from you. How many nights you had spent alone in this apartment, waiting for him.

And now, here you were, holding onto a plush version of him because the real one wasn’t around enough.

The realization hit him harder than he expected.

The silence between you grew heavier, and a pang of regret settled in your chest. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. You hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty.

You turned your head toward him, ready to backtrack. “Sorry, forget what—”

Before you could finish, a sudden warmth enveloped you. Mao had moved in an instant, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pulling you close against him. His chin rested gently on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

Your body stiffened at the unexpected embrace, your face heating up. The plushie nearly slipped from your grasp, but Mao’s arms around you were firm, grounding you in place.

His voice, quiet yet filled with emotion, broke the silence.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone…” His grip tightened slightly, as if trying to make up for all the time he’d been away. “I don’t want you to feel lonely because of me.” He exhaled, his tone laced with guilt. “I’ll talk to my manager. I’ll find a way to make more time for you. I promise.”

You could feel the frustration in his hold—the way his fingers curled around your waist, the slight tremble in his voice. He had always been devoted to his dreams, but now, he was trying just as hard to hold onto you.

You smiled softly, tilting your head just enough to playfully bump it against his. “Just focus on your work. I was just babbling about my own problems.”

Mao let out a small sigh, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. Your feelings aren’t something to just brush off.” His grip around you tightened a little, his voice laced with sincerity. “I miss hugging you… snuggling with you…”

Before you could react, he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. Then another to your forehead. And before you knew it, his lips brushed against yours, lingering just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“And kissing you too,” he murmured against your lips before resting his forehead against yours.

Your eyes widened at his sudden affection, but then you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why are you acting like a clingy baby all of a sudden?”

Mao smirked, his green eyes gleaming mischievously. “Because I am your baby.”

Before you could protest, he effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a child demanding attention. You let out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. “I thought you were jealous of the plushie.”

At that, Mao tensed for a brief second. His eyes darted toward the plushie still resting on the couch, and you swore you saw the faintest hint of embarrassment flash across his face.

“…I thought you were asleep,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

You grinned, tilting your head teasingly. “Unfortunately for you, I woke up just in time.”

Mao groaned, covering his face with one hand while you chuckled at his reaction. “So… sorry?” you added playfully.

He peeked at you through his fingers before sighing dramatically, pulling you even closer. “I’ll forgive you if you promise to keep your attention on the real Mao from now on.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, a teasing grin spreading across your lips. “I will… but only if you’re willing to buy me another plushie.”

Mao let out an exaggerated sigh, dramatically slumping against you. “Unbelievable… I lost to a plushie.”

You giggled at his reaction, poking his cheek. “So, is that a yes?”

He narrowed his eyes at you but couldn’t resist the way your happiness radiated like sunshine. In the end, he sighed in defeat, shaking his head. “I’ll do you one better—I’ll plan a proper date for us.”

Before you could celebrate, he reached out and gently poked your forehead. “That way, you won’t need some fake version of me to keep you company.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Deal.”

●・○・●・○・●

Mao stared at the plushie in your arms, narrowing his eyes as if it were his mortal enemy. With a deadpan expression, he muttered, “Can we throw it out?”

This is art to halloween with sayo and Keito Hasumi, but i done this work 2th november.....

I drew my friend’s ES OTP for her because my feels for them were too strong after talking about them HAHA.

[ Isara Mao x f!reader ]

♡ Tags: Fluff, casual romance.

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"What does it feel like… to be married to someone?"

That question had been lingering in Isara Mao's mind all day, clinging to the edges of his thoughts like a song stuck on repeat.

It wasn’t like him to daydream during like this, but today was different. He had just been assigned to a new event a wedding-themed one, of all things. It was the first time he’d been given that kind of concept, and although he tried to approach it like any other assignment, the theme felt oddly personal.

So here he was, siting on the floor, arms crossed, his expression caught between curiosity and unease.

Earlier that afternoon, he had run into Midori by chance on the street. The two of them had decided to catch up for a bit when their attention was drawn to a familiar scene inside a nearby store. Through the glass, they spotted you talking and laughing with Anzu.

That should’ve been normal. Comforting, even.

But what made Mao stop in his tracks was the sight of the magazine you held. A wedding magazine.

Midori noticed it too and blinked in surprise, nudging Mao with a confused look. But Mao didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on you, your fingers flipping through pages filled with white dresses, soft pastels, and delicate flower arrangements.

You always liked romantic videos, he knew that. Sometimes you’d send him clips of wedding dances or dreamy ceremony edits. But something about seeing you actually holding that magazine stirred something in him.

Confusion. Discomfort. Maybe even a little fear.

Was it just casual curiosity? Or… were you imagining a future? One that might not include him?

He knew you were his girlfriend. And that fact alone brought him more joy than he could ever put into words.

But even so… sometimes doubts crept in.

Do I deserve you? Have I done enough? Am I loving you the way you truly deserve?

Mao Isara, the student council president, the ever-confident idol on stage was quietly, deeply afraid. Afraid of the possibility that one day you might slip away. That you might wake up and realize he wasn’t enough. It was a fear that lingered in the quiet moments, when he wasn’t wearing the mask of leadership or the smile of an idol.

How ironic, really. That someone like him, used to applause and attention, could still feel so unsure when it came to love.

Then came today.

Out of curiosity - no, let’s be honest, insecurity, he and Midori had somehow ‘accidentally’ dragged Leo into a little mission: to ask you and Anzu if… if there was any truth to what they'd seen.

Were you really thinking about getting married?

The question had tumbled out, awkward and too blunt, as Leo, obliviously loud as ever, posed it with all the grace of a marching band.

You and Anzu stared back in complete confusion.

And that’s when Mao saw it, the realization on your face, the raised brows, the puzzled glance you shared with Anzu, and the slow dawn of truth in his heart.

He’d been fooled.

Eichi. Of course. It had been a setup. Probably a test of character or just one of Eichi’s twisted sense of humor. And Mao had walked right into it.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or bury his face in his hands.

The rest of the day, he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. Not when his face burned with embarrassment, not when his heart thudded from the echo of his own fears.

Now, surrounded by his fellow groupmates in the studio, Mao sat among them. blushing, flustered, and far too distracted to focus. They were supposed to be brainstorming proposal ideas for the upcoming wedding-themed event, but his thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.

He let out a soft sigh, his gaze lifting to the ceiling above.

Marriage, huh…?

It was more than just romance. Marriage was a promise, a commitment to spend the rest of your life with someone. A stage far beyond dating deeper, heavier, yet beautiful.

But the more he thought about it, the more uncertain he felt.

He had so much on his plate, idol duties, club responsibilities, student council work. The future ahead felt like a maze of challenges, unpredictable and relentless. He didn’t even know how much time he'd be able to spend with you in the long run.

That thought stung the most.

Another sigh escaped him as he lowered his head, burying his face into his knees.

A wedding… He pictured it clearly in his mind. You, in a stunning white gown, radiating elegance. A delicate veil draped over your beautiful hair, a bouquet in your hands. Everything about the image was breathtaking.

Everything… except for the man standing beside you.

Because it wasn’t him.

His heart clenched.

Wait! what the hell was that thought?!

Mao jolted upright and shook his head in disbelief, trying to erase the vision from his mind. Just then, Midori called out to him, snapping him back to reality.

Right… they were supposed to be working on the proposal idea, something Naru had suggested as a unique way to make the event more memorable.

In the end, the shuffle unit agreed to take on the challenge. They would each create a personal proposal to be featured in the promotional video… and eventually turn it into a heartfelt performance through song.

He thank god that this discusion is finally over. But what make him headache that he need to make his own proposal. That's the hardest part.

Now he's sit on the couch in his house. Hand crossing as he watch some proposal scene to get some idea.

Without him noticing, you quietly placed a cup of tea on the table before settling down beside him on the couch. It was a rare sight seeing Mao this absorbed in something, especially a topic like marriage. His eyes were fixed on the television, where a romantic drama played softly, no doubt looking for inspiration.

You watched him for a moment, amused by how serious he looked. He hadn’t even noticed your presence.

With a soft smile, you leaned in and gently hugged his arm, resting your head on his shoulder.

The sudden touch made him jolt in surprise but the moment he saw it was you, his tense expression eased. He gave a small sigh of relief, allowing himself to relax into your warmth.

You looked up at him, voice gentle. “Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?” you asked. “Is it that proposal assignment you’ve been worrying about?”

Hearing your question, Mao let out a groan and immediately buried his face in both hands, clearly overwhelmed. You released his arm and let out a soft chuckle, your eyes drifting to the small mountain of wedding magazines scattered across the table. It was clear—your boyfriend had been pouring over every detail, trying to craft the perfect proposal for the upcoming promotional video.

“Why is proposing so hard…?” he muttered, voice muffled through his hands.

You blinked, tilting your head in amusement. “Hmm? I thought you were good at confessions?”

At your words, Mao visibly froze. His face turned a shade deeper than his usual red-violet hair, and even the tips of his ears were flushed. You could hardly hold back your laugh, it was adorable seeing him this flustered.

“…This time it’s different…” he mumbled almost inaudibly.

“Oh? But I still remember how smooth you were with your first confession,” you teased, leaning a bit closer. “Something like—‘You’re the one who always—’”

Before you could finish, his hand gently covered your mouth, his expression a mix of horror and embarrassment as he shot you a pleading look.

“Don’t you dare say another word,” he whispered, voice tight but his lips tugging into a sheepish smile.

You giggled softly against his palm, mischief dancing in your eyes. Mao sighed in quiet defeat, then let his hands fall as he leaned into you, resting his head gently on your shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, holding you a little tighter, as if trying to ground himself.

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze. His green eyes, usually calm and composed, now shimmered with a mix of affection and vulnerability. Curious, you tilted your head, voice light with teasing.

“Hmm... How about you imagine me as your bride?”

The words had barely left your lips when Mao jolted upright as if struck by lightning.

“W-What?!” he stammered, voice high with panic. His entire face turned crimson, and even his ears glowed red. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his reaction, clutching your chest dramatically. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack, you know!”

Mao groaned and buried his face in his hands again. “You can’t just say stuff like that out of nowhere... I’ll take it seriously.”

Because that’s who Mao is he kind of guy who doesn’t just brush off those words. The kind of guy who’d treat the idea of you in a wedding dress not as a joke, but as a vision of a future he quietly dreams of.

You shake your head as you can't help at he easily get red face, you grab his hand as you interwined with him "Relax, just think this is a practice."

Practice... as you said, Mao think as he laugh sheepishly, he can't help think again the scenery you with someone else. He can't talk about it with you. He frown at that idea.

You gently took his hand in both of yours, your touch warm and steady. Then, with tender care, you cupped his cheek and guided his gaze to meet yours.

“Mao,” you began softly, your voice calm but firm with meaning “A proposal isn’t just about making someone happy. It’s more than a grand gesture.”

He blinked, watching you with those vivid green eyes, so open and unsure.

“A proposal...” you continued, “...is a promise. It’s the result of everything you've been through together… and the beginning of everything you’re still willing to face together. It’s telling the person you love that no matter how uncertain the future is, you want them in it.”

Mao’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching. Your words struck something deep within him, something he hadn’t been able to put into words himself.

You smiled softly “It’s not about perfection. It’s about sincerity.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Mao just stared at you, the storm in his chest quieting with every second, your words anchoring him softening the doubt, replacing it with something steady. Something certain. Something real.

Then, as the silence lingered, a faint blush crept up your cheeks. You looked away, flustered “Ehem… I-I kinda embarrassed myself saying all that out loud,” you mumbled.

Mao blinked once, then twice, before a soft laugh escaped him “No, not at all. That was… just like you,” he said, a fond glint in his eyes. “Exactly what I needed to hear from the girl who always reads those cheesy romance stories.”

You let out a dramatic gasp and gave him a playful punch on the arm. “Hey! I take pride in those stories, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, rubbing his arm with exaggerated pain before reaching out to take your hand again. “But really…” he said, voice lower now, more sincere. “Thank you, Y/n.”

His gaze lingered on yours gentle, warm, and full of something unspoken yet unmistakably clear.

In that moment, it was more than just gratitude in his eyes.

It was love.

●・○・●・○・●

Mao sighed tiredly as he finally wrapped up the filming for his proposal video. The process had gone smoother than he expected, and a small sense of relief settled in his chest.

He glanced down at the outfit he wore today, a crisp white suit adorned with gold and black accents. Elegant embroidery curled along one side of the jacket like ivy, and fine gold chains draped neatly at his waist. Everything about it screamed formality and charm, fitting for the wedding-themed event… and strangely, it made his heart beat just a little faster.

“…Kinda looks like I’m actually getting married,” he muttered under his breath, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

The red-violet haired boy jolted slightly at the sudden cool sensation on his cheek. He turned his head, only to see you beside him, pressing a chilled water bottle against his skin.

“Good work out there, Mao,” you said with a warm smile, handing him the bottle as you took a seat next to him.

He laughed sheepishly and gave a small nod. “Thanks. Honestly, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You grinned, your eyes sparkling. “Looks like my advice actually worked, huh?” You clapped your hands softly in delight.

Mao chuckled, watching your playful expression. It was moments like this that reminded him, no matter how serious you were as a producer, you still had a childish charm that melted his heart.

His thoughts wandered back to the shoot. Holding the bouquet under the wide, open sky, dressed in the elegant suit... it felt like more than just acting. In that moment, with the gentle breeze and the quiet hum of the world around him, he didn’t think about the cameras.

He only looked at you.

And now, just sitting beside you, he pictured it again this time, you standing in a white, beautiful wedding dress. The image made his heart ache, soft and full.

Ah... how beautiful it would be.

“By the way...” Your voice gently pulled Mao back to reality. He blinked and turned to you, a soft hum of curiosity in his throat.

“I didn’t know you had such a talent for making proposals so romantic,” you teased, your smile playful. Mao chuckled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Oh? Sounds like my teacher approves of my performance.”

You nodded with mock seriousness. “It felt like... a real proposal.”

That made him pause.

Then, without a word, he gently took your hand. The sudden tenderness caught you off guard, your smile faltering as you looked at him in confusion.

“What if I told you...” he began, voice low, eyes steady on yours, “...that proposal was meant for you?” You blinked. “Wait, what—?”

Before you could finish, Mao moved. He bowed slightly, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your ring finger. His voice trembled with quiet emotion as he spoke.

"Since I met you, before I even realize it, I've been surronded by overflowing happiness...

If I hadn't met you, I would missed all these precious moments I'd cherished for the rest of my life."

He paused, then looked up, his green eyes filled with sincerity.

"At this moment, I really wish I could say something cool, like "Rest assured and take my hand.

But I'm the one who get supported all the time. I'm still not qualified enought to say something like that. It's so overreaching.

So... I hope we can keep walking down this road before us, hand in hand. Let's walk together into our future. Side by side, step by step."

His voice softened, his tone almost a whisper. "Even if we have to go seperate ways at some moments, that doesn't matter. We will hold each other's hand, right?

No matter how many times it may takes, I will take your hands again and again so that we don't lose each other. Let's walk toward to the future forever.

So... what I mean is...

I love you...

So please! Allow me to share the rest of my life with you."

You stood frozen, stunned and unsure of what to say. Your heart screamed that you loved him too but reality pulled you back. After all… you were both still in school. It felt too soon, too big, even though your feelings were real.

Mao noticed the hesitation in your eyes. The flicker of confusion. And he understood.

He gently rose to his feet, grabbing the bouquet resting on the chair beside him. Then, with quiet affection, he stepped closer and leaned in his forehead softly resting against yours.

“Don’t worry about answering right now,” he whispered, his voice warm. “Just think of it as… practice.”

He smiled, the same gentle, reassuring smile that always made your heart flutter.

Then, he placed the bouquet in your hands, wrapping your fingers around the stems with his.

“I promise I’ll give you an even better proposal one day.” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

Before you could reply, he leaned in, pressing a brief, tender kiss to your lips just enough to leave your heart racing. Then, without another word, he turned and walked back toward his team, waving casually over his shoulder.

You were left sitting there, flushed and flustered, your face buried behind the bouquet in a desperate attempt to hide your burning cheeks.

Ugh… he’s absolutely the king of charm. How unfair.

[ Isara Mao x f!reader ]

♡ Tags: Fluff, casual romance.

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The door clicked shut behind him.

Mao let out a quiet sigh as he stepped into the familiar warmth of home. The soft scent of clean linen and faint traces of your perfume greeted him like a hug. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know he was finally home.

After countless performances and back-to-back events, Yumenosaki Academy had finally declared a week-long break. A rare mercy. A well-earned breath.

Not just for the idols, but for the producers too. For you.

You, who had been running around nonstop, handling paperwork, adjusting stage setups, tailoring last-minute costume fixes, managing schedules, and still finding time to cheer from the sidelines. Even when your legs were shaking with exhaustion, you pushed forward without complaint.

And Mao noticed.

He always noticed.

Just like he poured his heart into every stage, you gave your all behind the scenes, tending to every detail with quiet determination. Different roles, different schedules, different pressures… but both of you were always in motion. Always pushing forward. Always trying.

So when Mao heard you’d be stopping by his house tonight, he took a small detour on the way home, heading into the convenience store without a second thought. He knew your weakness all too well.

Snacks.

You always craved them, especially after a long day. And more than once, he’d forgotten to bring them. He could still remember the way you’d puff your cheeks in disappointment, pouting like an abandoned kitten. Every time, he felt a little guilty. So tonight, he made sure not to forget.

Arms full of your favorites, Mao finally reached the front door. He let out a tired sigh, eyes drifting down to the convenience bag as he crouched to untie his shoes, only to pause.

There was another pair sitting neatly by the step.

Smaller than his.

He blinked, then smiled faintly. You were already here.

His parents had known you for a while now. They trusted you enough to give you your own key. Somehow, that fact still made something flutter softly in his chest.

But then his eyes narrowed slightly.

Your shoes weren’t lined up properly. A small sign, but one that spoke volumes. You were exhausted too.

With a quiet sigh, Mao reached out and gently straightened your shoes beside his own, fingers brushing the worn soles. It was a small gesture but for someone like him, small moments said the most.

“Seriously…” he murmured under his breath, voice barely above a whisper. “You push yourself too much sometimes.”

He wandered through the quiet house, scanning each room with calm curiosity. You weren’t in the living room, and the kitchen lights were still off. That left only one possibility.

With a gentle sigh, Mao balanced the plate in one hand, he’d brought you a small treat, something warm he thought you’d like and made his way toward his bedroom.

He stopped in front of the door, hesitating just for a moment before lifting his hand.

Knock knock.

Silence.

He tried again, this time a little firmer. Still no answer.

Mao raised an eyebrow, concern flickering briefly across his face. "Is she asleep already…?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Carefully, he turned the knob and pushed the door open with slow, quiet ease, just enough to peek inside.

The familiar scent of his room wafting out to meet him, a subtle mix of clean laundry, old paper, and the faint trace of your favorite fabric softener clinging to the pillow he often used.

The room itself was neat, simple, and cozy sunlight still lingering through the pale green curtains, casting a warm glow across the soft blue tones of the bedspread. A modest desk stood by the window, stacked neatly with books, a calendar pinned to the wall just beside it.

Post-it notes dotted the corkboard, a little chaotic but clearly filled with reminders and ideas. A few colorful pillows added charm to the bed, while his favorite mustard-yellow shirt hung from the wooden rack on the wall, swaying faintly in the air-conditioned breeze.

And then... his gaze landed on you.

You were sitting on the floor beside the bed, head resting sideways on the mattress, eyes closed. Your hands were still gently holding your phone, but it had slipped into your lap, long forgotten. The slight furrow in your brows softened now in sleep, like whatever stress you had carried into the room had melted away the moment you sat down.

Mao stood in the doorway for a quiet moment, his heart squeezing a little.

He let out a quiet sigh, stepping softly into the room with the kind of care only someone who truly cherished another could show. The plastic of the snack bag crinkled faintly in his hand, but he barely noticed—his gaze was fixed entirely on you.

He gently set the plate and the snack bag down on the desk without a sound, then knelt down beside you. The room was bathed in the soft afternoon light spilling through the window, casting warm shadows across the tidy space.

Your face came into view, peaceful, but clearly exhausted. Your hair was tousled, strands falling over your eyes. The dark circles beneath them told a quiet story of sleepless nights, long hours, and unwavering dedication.

Mao couldn’t help but smile to himself. You looked so natural here, as if his room was just another one of your safe places. And as endearing as the sight was, he couldn’t help but think "she better not fall asleep like this in any other guy’s room. That’d be too dangerous."

With a soft breath, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he gently tucked the stray strands of hair behind your ear. The motion revealed your face more clearly now, so familiar and beautiful that he felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

He froze for a moment, stunned by how fast his heart was racing.

"Calm down... geez," he told himself, shutting his eyes and willing his heartbeat to slow.

But as he opened them again and glanced down at your hair, something clicked in his mind.

An idea began to form—something playful. Something gentle.

A small smile curved on his lips.

“…Well, since she’s already out like a light,” he murmured under his breath, “might as well do something cute.”

He stood up quietly and went over to his desk drawer, rummaging through it until he found a small hair tie probably one you'd left behind the last time you visited. Returning to your side, he knelt down again and gently gathered a few locks of your hair between his fingers.

With the careful focus of someone handling something precious, Mao began braiding your hair. His fingers were a little clumsy at first, after all, this wasn’t something idols were trained to do but he soon found a rhythm. A soft smile played on his lips the entire time.

When he was done, he admired his handiwork: a simple, slightly uneven braid tied loosely with the little elastic. It wasn’t perfect—but it was made with care. Just like everything he ever did for you.

Mao rested his chin on the edge of the bed, gazing at your sleeping face, letting the quiet fill the space between heartbeats.

Then you stirred with a small groan, shifting slightly as your brow twitched. Mao blinked, straightening up a little. Uh-oh—she’s waking up.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the soft light. The first thing you saw was Mao’s familiar face, watching you with that gentle smile of his.

“Hi there, sleepyhead,” he greeted softly.

You blinked once, then twice, your mind catching up with reality. “You’re already here?” you asked groggily, stretching your arms overhead before pushing yourself into a proper sitting position.

Mao gave a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “I’d say... I’ve been here for about thirty minutes or so.”

Your jaw dropped slightly in shock. “Wait—seriously? I knocked out that long?”

You ran a hand through your hair—and paused. Something felt… off.

Your fingers brushed against an unfamiliar braid, and your eyes widened. “Wait—did you…?” you looked at him, brows furrowed in playful suspicion.

Mao tried to keep a straight face, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed him. “What? It looked messy. I was just… fixing it,” he said innocently, though his eyes glinted with mischief.

You groaned and lightly swatted his arm. “You braided my hair while I was asleep?!”

“You should be thanking me,” he grinned, clearly proud of himself.

You huffed, folding your arms but the corner of your mouth curled in amusement. “Idol by day, hair stylist by night?”

“Only for you,” Mao replied, voice softer this time, his smile more sincere.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his sweet remark, warmth blooming in your chest. Stretching a little, you got to your feet and walked over to grab the small mirror resting on his shelf. Turning slightly to get a better look at the back of your head, your eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

His braiding was actually… really good.

Neat, gentle, not too tight—clearly done with care.

You smiled to yourself, a soft blush dusting your cheeks. Of course he’d be good at this. With a younger sister like he has, he must’ve practiced more than a few times.

Admiring your reflection, you tilted your head and gave him a playful glance over your shoulder. “Well then… next time, it’s your turn. I’m gonna braid your hair.”

Mao froze for a beat, clearly caught off guard, before he chuckled and shook his head, feigning surrender. “Alright, alright… I’m all yours.”

You laughed, cheeks still warm as you reached over to the desk and grabbed the bag of snacks he’d brought for you. Tearing it open, you popped one in your mouth and hummed in delight. “You remembered my favorite this time.”

“Of course I did,” he said, walking over and plopping down beside you. “I didn’t want to deal with your tragic ‘forgot my snack’ face again.”

You nudged him with your shoulder, and he laughed, the sound light and easy. The two of you sat there, legs touching, sharing snacks and swapping stories about your days—the chaos of work, funny little moments, and the simple joy of finally having time to just… breathe.

[ Isara Mao x f!reader ]

Warning : 18+ only, No minors!!! ♡ Tags: Fluff, casual romance, smut, top!Mao.

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You lay on the bed, hugging the plushie close while scrolling through the latest news on your phone. The night had already settled in, and you could hear the faint sound of water running from the bathroom as Mao finished his shower.

A small smile tugged at your lips. It had been so long since you last got to properly cuddle with him, his busy schedule always kept him away, and even when he was home, exhaustion often took over. But tonight, you finally had him all to yourself.

Sighing softly, you shook your head and continued browsing on your phone, your fingers lazily swiping across the screen.

You were so focused that you didn't notice the subtle shift in the bed, nor the warmth that crept closer.

It wasn’t until your phone was suddenly plucked from your hands that you blinked in surprise, looking up, only to find Mao looming over you, holding your phone in one hand while his damp red-violet hair clung to his forehead.

You pouted as Mao effortlessly took your phone from your hands, holding it just out of reach. “Maooo, give it back,” you whined, reaching for it, only for him to sigh in amusement.

“It’s time to sleep, Y/n,” he said, running a hand through his damp red-violet hair.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Ehh? But it’s still early!”

Mao raised an eyebrow before glancing at the time. “Yeah, sure, because 11 PM is so early for you,” he deadpanned, shaking his head as he sat down beside you, towel in hand to finish drying his hair.

You patiently waited as Mao dried his hair, your eyes idly following his movements. As he ran the towel through his damp red-violet strands, a few stray droplets of water trailed down his neck, slipping over the defined lines of his shoulders and back. The dim lighting of the room only accentuated his toned muscles, making the sight even more distracting.

You hadn’t even realized you were staring until Mao suddenly turned back, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Like what you see?”

Your face instantly burned with embarrassment. Letting out a small squeak, you quickly buried your face into the plushie, refusing to meet his gaze.

Mao frowned, clearly unimpressed as you clung to the plushie again. With a playful pout, he reached over and snatched it from your arms, placing it on the bedside table.

Your eyes widened. “H-Hey!” you protested, reaching out.

Before you could grab it back, Mao pinned you gently against the bed, his face close to yours. “Stop clinging to the plushie,” he whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat. His sudden boldness made your heart race, it wasn’t often Mao acted this way.

“I-It’s just a plushie… What’s wrong with it?” you stammered, hugging the soft toy tighter to your chest, your eyes darting anywhere but him.

Mao let out a quiet breath—not annoyed, just… vulnerable. Slowly, he knelt in front of you, his green eyes locking with yours for a second before he leaned forward, resting his head gently against your shoulder. His arms slipped around your waist, drawing you into the warmth of him.

“I’m jealous,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m right here… and yet you’re still holding that thing instead of me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words laced with something tender, raw. You could feel the way his fingers curled just a little tighter around the fabric of your shirt, like he needed to be sure you were real.

Your cheeks flushed hot, but your heart softened. Slowly, you let go of the plushie and brought your hand up to rest gently on his back, your fingers brushing the soft fabric of his hoodie.

“Dummy…” you murmured, your voice fond, “you could’ve just said you wanted me to hold you.”

He chuckled under his breath, and you felt it against your skin quiet, shy, and completely honest.

Mao shifted his weight, eyes never leaving yours, and before you could ask what he was doing, he leaned in closer, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the curve of your neck.

You gasped quietly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his yellow coat. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips trailing slowly along your pulse point, gentle and possessive all at once.

“Mao…” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

“I’m finally here,” he said lowly, lips brushing your skin between words. “But you’re still clinging to that plushie like I’m not real.”

Mao suck your neck making you jolt.

Savoring each delicate inch with quiet devotion, Mao treated every breath against your skin like a sacred ritual. His lips trailed along the elegant curve of your neck, reverent and possessive, coaxing your body to yield with nothing more than his touch.

The first breath he drew against your throat sent a shiver cascading down your spine—an unspoken promise wrapped in heat. And then came the suction—tender at first, then deepening—each pull deliberate, each kiss a silent brand of desire.

With every passing second, his hunger grew, lips pressing with purpose, leaving behind blooming marks, rosy tokens of passion etched into your skin like ink on parchment. A quiet moan slipped from him, lost in the stillness between you, as he poured himself into each touch, each kiss, tracing a map of intimacy only he could read… and claiming you as his own.

He finally pulled away, his breath still mingling with yours in the fragile space between. His gaze lingered, taking in every detail. The way your (h/c) hair clung to your flushed cheeks, how your (e/c) eyes glistened with a vulnerability you rarely let show. You looked utterly unraveled, caught somewhere between surprise and something far more dangerous desire.

Mao stared for a beat longer than necessary, then smiled to himself, almost in disbelief.

“Already this affected…?” he whispered, voice low and teasing, yet laced with awe.

Your face went crimson. You turned your head in protest, flustered beyond words. The heat blooming beneath your skin wasn’t just from his words, it was from the way he looked at you, like you were something precious, something claimed.

He let out a soft, amused chuckle, a single drop of sweat sliding down his temple. “You’re really something else,” he murmured.

But then he moved again, slower this time, more deliberate. His fingers reached for your jaw, the touch featherlight, almost reverent. He guided your face back toward him, and your breath caught when you saw the way his green eyes shimmered, lids heavy with emotion. His blush mirrored yours, but there was a weight behind his gaze now… like he was holding back an entire universe.

His lips barely brushed your ear as he leaned in, and his voice came out hoarse, laced with meaning.

“This night… it’s only just beginning.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. His words weren't just a promise, they were a confession. A vow wrapped in intimacy. And yet before you could even react, before your thoughts could settle, he closed the distance again.

His lips crashed against yours with a fervor that stole your breath, like a wave crashing against fragile shorelines. It wasn't just a kiss—it was a surge of everything he had held back for so long. His need, his fear, his devotion. All of it poured into you, leaving your thoughts scattering like petals in the wind.

There was no space for words, only heat, only him.

His hand found the side of your face, fingers threading gently through strands of your (h/c) hair, grounding himself in the reality that you were here. Real. Warm. His. The other hand slid to the curve of your back, holding you close enough to feel the thunder of his heartbeat against your chest.

Then came the soft, deliberate press of his tongue against your lips, asking silently, reverently, for more.

You hesitated only for a breath, heart pounding in your ears… and then, you parted your lips.

The second you opened to him, everything changed. He deepened the kiss, slowly, like he wanted to memorize you from the inside out. His tongue met yours in a dance that was tender yet full of hunger, like he needed to taste the very soul of you. Every movement was deliberate, exploring you, savoring you—until even the air around you felt heavy with want.

You whimpered into the kiss, hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt. He responded with a low sound from deep in his throat, the kind of sound that made your knees weak, that said without words: I need you. Not in haste, but in meaning. Fully, truly, endlessly.

His forehead rested against yours as he finally broke the kiss, both of you gasping softly, breath mingling in the narrow space between.

Your lips were swollen, your eyes glassy and when you dared to look at him, you found him just as shaken. Mao’s blush reached to the tips of his ears, his chest rising and falling with unspoken emotion. And yet… he smiled.

A soft, reverent thing.

“Still with me…?” he murmured, voice rough with feeling, as if the depth of what just passed between you had shaken him to the core too.

You nodded slowly, lips still tingling, chest rising and falling as you tried to steady your breath. The moment your eyes met his again, those green irises darkened with unspoken emotion, he smiled.

“Good,” Mao murmured, almost in a whisper. Then he leaned in and captured your lips once more.

This time, the kiss was different. Slower. More deliberate. Like he was savoring the feel of you. Like this was something sacred.

His hands didn’t rush. One stayed at the side of your face, thumb gently brushing along your cheekbone, while the other trailed down with a feather-light touch over your arm, your side, until his fingers found the hem of your shirt.

You shivered at the warmth of his palm as it slipped beneath the fabric, moving slowly, cautiously. His touch was reverent, as if asking for permission with every inch he explored. And when his hand finally cupped you through the lace of your bra, it wasn’t rough or hurried, it was delicate. Cradling. As though he understood the weight of the trust you placed in him.

He broke the kiss, just for a moment, his lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered your name like a prayer. “Tell me if it’s too much… if I go too fast.”

His voice was hoarse, trembling slightly with restraint. But more than anything, it was full of care.

You looked up at him,your chest fluttering, your skin burning under his touch and nodded once more, lips parting with soft breath.

“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was thick with emotion, wrapped in the kind of vulnerability that few ever shared.

At first, Mao took his time exploring, tracing the curve of your breast with his thumb, circling your nipple until it grew hard. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips, encouraging him to go further. He did.

He increased the pressure, rolling your nipple between his fingers until you gasped, heat pooling between your legs. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. Mao’s hand slid down from your breast, tracing a burning path down your stomach. He paused at the waistband of your pants, looking up at you for confirmation.

You nodded, breath hitching as his fingers deftly unbuttoned them, pushing them down along with your underwear. He paused for a moment, his breath hot on your inner thigh.

You could feel his hesitation, his need for reassurance. You spread your legs wider, an invitation. His fingers brushed against your pussy, gently parting your lips. He moaned against your skin, a sound of pure reverence.

He slid a finger inside you, slow and deep, his thumb circling your clit. You bucked against his hand, your body already tensing with anticipation. "The way your body feels... the way you look." Mao's voice shook, he was taking his time, he was lost in you.

His fingers moved in and out of your soaked folds, and he bowed his head, starting to kiss the soft skin of your inner thigh, gradually pushing your legs open. It was sensitive, and a gasp escaped your lips and it took him a second, but he understood your movements and came back to his previous trail, getting a bit closer.

He needed your approval. He looked up at you, his eyes glazed with lust, and pushed you legs open a bit more. He bowed his head, and stroked his tongue along your slit, tasting you.

He started slow, licking and sucking gently, building the heat. You writhed against his mouth, your hands fisting in his hair. He slipped his fingers back inside you, curling them to hit that spot deep inside that made you cry out.

His tongue flicked against your clit, the sensation almost too much. You were breathing heavily, your body tensing as he pushed you closer to the edge.

Mao’s voice hitched, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. “I missed this,” he confessed, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your clit. “Missed the way you taste, the way you feel. Sometimes at work, I'd lock myself in the supply closet, just to touch myself thinking of you. To feel even a fraction of this.” His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, his confession raw and honest.

You whimpered, your hips lifting to meet his mouth, encouraging him to take more. To give more. He obliged, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers pumping deeper. The dual sensation sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins.

His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open, exposing you completely to his devouring mouth. You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Mao’s eyes flickered up to yours, green irises dark with lust and something more primal.

He wanted to watch you come undone. Wanted to see the effect he had on you. You could feel it building, the pressure in your core, the heat spreading through your limbs. His tongue moved faster, his fingers curled deeper, hitting that spot over and over again.

You were panting now, your body trembling on the edge. “Mao,” you gasped, his name a plea on your lips. He responded with a low growl, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Your back arched, your body tensing as the orgasm crashed over you.

You cried out, your hands gripping his hair, holding him to you as your body shook with the force of your release. Mao lapped at you gently, his touch softening as he coaxed every last shudder from your body.

He looked up at you, his chin glistening, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched your own. He stood, his body towering over yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Mao groaned as he took his time sliding off his sleepwear, his cock already hard and throbbing. He stroked himself once, twice, his eyes never leaving yours.

He then lifted your legs, placing them over his shoulders, opening you up completely to him. He leaned down, his body pressing against yours, his cock aligning with your pussy, hot and ready. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth, tasting you.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Tell me if it hurts," he whispered, his voice hoarse with need. He wanted this to be perfect, wanted to give you as much pleasure as possible. You nodded, your body already aching with anticipation.

He pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with the tip. You bucked your hips, trying to take more of him, but he held back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Patience," he murmured, before pushing in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely.

You gasped as he stretched you, the sensation almost too much. He paused, giving you time to adjust, his eyes never leaving yours. He started to move, slow and steady, his hips rolling against yours.

He reached down, his thumb finding your clit, circling it gently, building the heat once more. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The pace of his hips increased, his cock thrusting in and out of you, his thumb working your clit in perfect rhythm.

You were panting now, your body tense, and ready to be pushed over the edge. He increased his pace, his body slamming against yours, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. You could feel it building, the pressure in your core, the heat spreading through your limbs.

Mao moaned, his body tensing, his thrusts becoming erratic. He was close, and he wanted you to come with him. "Come for me." he growled, his voice hoarse with need. His teeth grazed your neck, and you gasped, your body convulsing as another orgasm ripped through you.

Mao thrust deep one last time, his body shuddering as he came, his cock pulsing inside you.

He collapsed gently onto you, his breath warm against your shoulder, body still trembling with the aftershocks of what you'd just shared. The room was filled with nothing but the sound of your soft breathing and the steady thump of his heartbeat pressed against your chest.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, grounding both of you in the moment.

Mao lifted his head slightly to check on you, his messy hair falling into his eyes. When he noticed your closed eyes and the slight tension in your brow, concern immediately flashed across his face. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice low, tinged with worry.

You blinked your eyes open, your lips forming a faint pout. Instead of answering right away, you raised a hand and gave his chest a light, playful smack.

He winced dramatically. “Oof! Okay, okay, I deserved that.”

You couldn't help but smile despite yourself. “You always overthink,” you murmured, brushing a few strands of his hair away from his eyes. “I’m fine, just a little… overwhelmed.”

Mao exhaled, a soft chuckle escaping him as he let his forehead fall gently against yours. “Seeing you like this… I guess that means I didn’t completely mess up.”

You let out a breathless laugh, then sighed as you tried—and failed—to lift your arm. “Ugh… I don’t think I can move.”

Mao, who was still catching his breath, sat up with surprising ease. You stared at him in disbelief. “Wait—how do you still have the strength to sit up?”

He chuckled, glancing down at you with a teasing grin. “Don’t forget, I’m an idol. I go through brutal practice routines almost every day. Endurance is kind of my thing.”

Before you could argue, he effortlessly scooped you into his arms, cradling you close against his chest. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we’ll collapse properly and sleep like logs.”

You gave him a tired smirk. “Alright, Mister Jealous Boyfriend.”

He visibly stiffened at the nickname, his eyes narrowing. “Keep talking and I will drop you.”

“Please don’t,” you said quickly, clinging to him like a koala.

He sighed dramatically but smiled as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “You’re lucky I’m weak to you.”

____________________________________________

[ Isara Mao x f!reader ]

____________________________________________

The school bells chime, signaling the start of lunch break. Without wasting a moment, you clutch the lunch box in your hands and make your way to the student council room.

Why are you here? Because Mao was nowhere to be found in his classroom. When you asked one of his friends, they mentioned that he had gone to the student council room. Knowing him, he’s probably drowning in student council duties again.

Even though you’re part of the normal course at Yumenosaki Academy, the path to the student council room is second nature to you by now.

You’ve been here countless times—sometimes to deliver class reports, other times to ask for advice. But more often than not, your visits have been for one simple reason: an excuse to see Mao.

Now, standing in front of the familiar wooden door, you take a breath and knock three times. Then, you wait.

Silence.

You blink, tilting your head slightly. That’s strange. Mao should be inside, right? Maybe he’s just too busy to answer.

Still, just in case, you raise your hand and knock again—this time, a little louder.

More silence.

A faint sense of unease creeps in. It’s not like Mao to ignore someone knocking, especially during lunch. Maybe he didn’t hear you? Maybe he fell asleep at his desk?

Biting your lip, you hesitate for a moment before reaching for the doorknob. Slowly, you turn it, pushing the door open just enough to peek inside…

The room is filled with stacks of papers scattered across the table, a telltale sign of just how much work the student council has to handle. Your eyes scan the room until they land on a familiar figure—Mao, fast asleep with his head resting on his folded arms.

A small smile tugs at your lips. Of course, he’d end up dozing off in the middle of his work. He always pushes himself too hard.

Carefully, you step inside, making sure your footsteps are as quiet as possible. You tiptoe closer, placing the lunch box gently on the table beside him, hoping he’ll notice it when he wakes up.

Mission accomplished.

Just as you turn to leave, something catches your eye—a few scattered documents lying on top of the pile. The bold lettering at the top of one page stands out.

Curious, you pause, leaning in slightly to get a better look.

Your gaze lingers on the sheet in front of you. It isn’t just any document—it’s a sheet of music.

Curious, you read the title softly under your breath.

"Finder Girl?"

You tilt your head in thought. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but then you remember—Trickstar had a friendly competition to decide whose song would be the best.

Your fingers trace the page as your eyes move to the bottom corner, where a familiar name is written. "This is Mao’s song."

A small feeling of guilt creeps in. You know it’s rude to peek without asking, but seeing him sleeping so peacefully, you can’t bring yourself to wake him. Instead, you let your curiosity win, scanning over the lyrics scribbled beneath the notes. The sheet is still unfinished, just a draft, but the words are clear enough.

As you read through the lines, you can’t help but chuckle. "This is so unlike him."

The lyrics are romantic and youthful, almost like something out of a daydream. It tells the story of a boy with a crush, watching the girl he admires closely—remembering every little detail about her through all four seasons. The way she smiles in the spring, the way the summer sun makes her eyes shine, the warmth of her presence in autumn, and the quiet beauty she holds even in the cold of winter.

Your cheeks warm slightly as you glance at Mao, still fast asleep.

Could this song… be about someone he likes?

You shake your head, pushing away the ridiculous thought. This is just a song, you tell yourself. Maybe Mao just wanted to experiment with a different style—something fresh, something unexpected. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Letting out a quiet sigh, you gently set the sheet music back on the table and shift your gaze toward the window.

Outside, the cherry blossoms sway gently in the breeze, their petals dancing through the air like fleeting moments frozen in time. Spring is already here…

And with it, the bittersweet realization that graduation is just a few months away.

Lately, the third-year students have been busy planning the graduation party. Excitement fills the air, but there’s also a lingering sadness beneath it all. After everything—after the endless days of hard work, the competitions, the events, the laughter, the chaos—soon, it will all become a memory.

A lump forms in your throat as the weight of reality settles in. Graduation means moving forward… and moving forward means saying goodbye.

Not just to the school, but to the life you’ve known here. To the countless moments you’ve spent with your friends. To him.

Mao is an idol. His future is already shining brightly ahead of him. Meanwhile, you’ll be just an ordinary civilian, watching him from afar.

The thought stings more than you’d like to admit.

No more dropping by the student council room just to see him. No more shared lunches, no more casual conversations in the hallway. In the future, he’ll be standing on grand stages, his voice reaching thousands, while you’ll be just another face in the crowd.

You crouch down beside the table, resting your arms on the surface as you watch Mao’s peaceful, sleeping face. His steady breathing, the way his bangs fall slightly over his closed eyes—it’s rare to see him like this, completely at ease, without the usual tired yet playful expression he always wears.

Before you realize it, your hand moves on its own, fingers reaching out to lightly brush against his soft violet-red hair. You hesitate for a moment but eventually let your fingers thread through the strands. He’s always so busy, always working hard for everyone else—he deserves at least this small moment of rest.

Your heart aches.

You’ll miss this.

You’ll miss the way he casually ruffles your hair when he teases you, the way he listens patiently whenever you ramble about something silly, the quiet moments when it’s just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all.

But most of all, you’ll miss him.

And worst of all—you haven’t even confessed yet.

A bittersweet smile forms on your lips. You’ve thought about it so many times, rehearsed the words in your head, but fear always held you back. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he turns you down? The thought alone is enough to shatter your heart before you’ve even spoken the words.

But… this is the last chance.

If you don’t tell him now, you might never get another opportunity.

You take a shaky breath, clenching your hands into fists.

You have to do this.

But… for now, you’ll let him sleep.

Confessing can wait—just a little longer.

With a soft sigh, you stand up, lingering by the table for a moment before finally deciding to leave. But as you reach the door, a sudden thought strikes you. A bold, reckless idea.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you glance back at Mao, still completely unaware of your presence. Before you can second-guess yourself, you silently step closer, lean down, and press a light, fleeting kiss to his cheek.

The warmth of his skin lingers on your lips as you quickly pull away, your heart practically hammering out of your chest.

“Well… I guess a kiss would be fine, right?” you mutter to yourself, cheeks burning.

But before you can fully process what you just did—

Gasp.

You freeze.

Slowly, with dread creeping up your spine, you turn toward the door… only to lock eyes with Tori and Yuzuru.

Well, technically, only Tori looks completely shocked—his mouth hanging open in dramatic disbelief. Meanwhile, Yuzuru simply wears an amused, knowing smile.

Your face turns completely red.

Your soul practically leaves your body.

Tori’s expression quickly shifts into a wicked smirk, and before you can even react, he starts tiptoeing away.

Your eyes widen in horror. Oh no.

Without thinking, you silently slip past Yuzuru, giving him a rushed bow, before bolting after Tori.

“Get back here!”

“No way!” Tori cackles as he dashes down the hallway. “I’m gonna tell Eichi about this~!”

Your blood runs cold.

HE’S WHAT?!

“TORI!!”

Yuzuru shakes his head as he watches his master get chased down the hallway by you. It was quite the sight—Tori running for his life while you furiously tried to catch him.

But that wasn’t Yuzuru’s concern right now.

With a quiet sigh, he steps into the student council room, closing the door behind him. His sharp eyes immediately land on Mao—who is now sitting up, his entire face flushed a deep shade of red.

The redhead groans, shifting awkwardly, and in his flustered state, he accidentally bumps his knee against the table.

"Ow—!" He winces, immediately grabbing his knee with both hands, but the slight pain is nothing compared to the absolute chaos happening in his chest right now.

He whines under his breath, flopping back against the chair as he runs a hand through his already messy hair.

He knew you had come in. He wasn’t fully asleep—he had been too exhausted to move, but he was definitely aware of your presence. He even felt your fingers comb through his hair earlier, and truthfully, it took every ounce of his willpower not to react.

But that kiss?

He was not expecting that.

A dazed smile tugs at his lips, and suddenly, he feels like a kid who just won the biggest achievement of his life. He reaches up, brushing his fingers lightly over the spot where your lips had touched his cheek.

Yuzuru, still standing near the door, watches the entire scene unfold and sighs deeply.

[ Isara Mao x f!reader ]

♡ Tags: Fluff, scolding, casual romance.

____________________________________________

You leaned back in your chair, arms stretching above your head as a tired but satisfied sigh escaped your lips, the last of your producer paperwork finally complete.

Sunlight streamed lazily through the window, casting warm, golden stripes across your desk. The afternoon had ripened into that quiet hour where everything felt just a little slower, a little softer. You blinked away the heaviness in your eyes, realizing how long you'd been sitting in the same spot.

Deciding it was time to clean up, you began straightening your scattered notes and folders. As you reached under a stack near the edge of your desk, your fingers brushed against something unexpectedly flat and stiff.

You tilted your head and carefully slid it out, it was a letter. Unmarked, plain, and just slightly creased from being tucked away. You turned it over curiously, but there was no name, no seal, nothing to give away who it was from.

Your brows lifted in quiet surprise as a small smile tugged at your lips. Wait... could this be one of those letters? Like in the cheesy romance stories where someone confesses their feelings through a secret note?

You held it up to the sunlight, heart skipping just a little. Is this really meant for me...?

●・○・●・○・●

"You've been staring at that letter for ages, Y/n..."

You glanced up from the mysterious envelope, only to meet the mildly unimpressed expression of your boyfriend, Isara Mao. A playful grin curled on your lips as you held up the letter teasingly.

“Fufu, looks like I have a secret admirer~ Even producers can have fans, y’know.”

Mao huffed as he loosened his tie, giving you a side glance that was somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You’re acting like it’s a love letter, but you haven’t even opened it yet.” He pointed at the untouched flap.

With a dramatic flair, you brought the letter up to hide your smirk, eyes peeking over it mischievously. “Mmm… But wouldn’t it be more fun to read it together? With my boyfriend?”

That one word hit its mark.

Mao froze midmotion, ears turning a vibrant shade of red before he quickly turned his back to you, clearly flustered. “Geez…” he muttered, defeated, and plopped down on the bed with a sigh.

You grinned in triumph, the victory sweet and satisfying.

“You really know how to mess with me…”

You giggled softly, setting the letter in hand as you shifted closer, crawling across the bed until you were beside him. “Maybe,” you whispered, voice light, “but you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Mao let out a long sigh, finally turning to face you with a defeated smile. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, content with the warmth between you both. “I know,” you murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, “but I like you more.”

You finally decided to open the letter, carefully breaking the neat seal as a soft, floral scent drifted into the air.

“Lavender…?” you murmured, bringing it closer to your nose.

Mao, now lounging beside you on the bed, sniffed lightly in the air and tilted his head. “Seems like someone really put effort into this.”

You gave a thoughtful nod, unfolding the paper with gentle fingers. The handwriting inside was neat, delicate, yet clearly written with a sense of urgency. Your eyes scanned over the lines, your curiosity slowly turning into surprise.

To the producer who shines more brightly than any spotlight, You probably don’t know who I am. I’ve admired you from afar for what feels like forever now. I know you’re always busy, always working hard behind the scenes, but even from the shadows, you shine. I don’t mean just your talent or how organized you are during events… I mean you. The way you carry yourself with quiet grace, how your eyes light up when you're focused, how you smile gently even when you're tired… You’re beautiful. Genuinely, effortlessly beautiful. Sometimes I wonder if you know how mesmerizing you are. The way your (h/c) hair falls over your shoulders when you’re concentrating, or how your (e/c) eyes seem to hold a whole galaxy when you’re deep in thought, it’s unfair, honestly. You make it so hard not to fall for you. So… if it’s not too sudden, and if you don’t already have someone important in your heart… Would you meet me at the top of school tomorrow after classes? —Someone who’s been looking your way for a long time now.

Mao let out a low whistle, clearly impressed, as you sat frozen, eyes still scanning the letter in disbelief. He tilted his head, watching you curiously, trying to read your expression.

"Somehow... I don't know..." you mumbled, blinking a few times before glancing at him, cheeks tinged pink. "Should I feel embarrassed?"

That caught him off guard. Mao blinked once—then let out a quiet, breathless laugh, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold it in.

"Why... are you asking me that?" he said between chuckles, raising an eyebrow with playful disbelief.

You pouted slightly, still clutching the letter in your hands. “Well, it’s just... no one’s ever written something like that to me before. It’s kind of flattering. And weird. But mostly flattering.”

Mao leaned back on his hands, giving you a look that was somewhere between amused and mock-offended. “Flattering, huh? Should I be worried?” His lips quirked into a crooked grin, but you could tell there was a hint of real curiosity behind the teasing.

You rolled your eyes, crawling a little closer to him on the bed. “No, you absolute dummy. I’m yours. Obviously.”

He let out a content sigh at that, but then leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. “You’d better be. ‘Cause if someone else thinks they can have you just by writing a sweet letter and spraying it with perfume, they’ve clearly never seen the way you look when you’re focused on your work… or how cute you get when you're sleepy… or—”

“Okay, okay!” you laughed, pushing lightly at his shoulder, flustered but grinning. “No need to get poetic about it now.”

Mao laughed too, letting himself fall back onto the bed dramatically. “I’m just saying… he’s got taste, sure. But he’s late to the party.”

You looked down at the letter again, now resting loosely in your lap, the scent of lavender still faintly lingering.

“…Do you think I should go meet him?” you asked, half joking, but still curious.

Mao shot up like a spring, his expression scandalized. “What?!”

You burst into laughter, leaning forward to nudge his side. “I’m kidding! Kidding! I just meant—maybe I should go and, I don’t know, gently tell him I’m already taken. Like a responsible, emotionally mature adult.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And I’m just supposed to let my super-pretty producer girlfriend go meet a lovesick admirer on top the school alone?”

You smirked. “What, are you volunteering to come with me, jealous boyfriend?”

“…I might,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Just in case he needs a reminder.”

You giggled again and leaned your head on his shoulder, voice softening. “Don’t worry. I already made my choice, remember?”

He relaxed a little, his eyes soft as they lingered on you.

“Yeah… I remember,” he said gently.

But as the silence settled, Mao's gaze drifted down to the letter still in your lap. You were smiling at it, an innocent, almost dreamy expression that made you look like a girl about to walk into her first confession. Something about that pulled uncomfortably at his chest.

Without a word, he shifted closer and wrapped his arms around your waist from the side, pulling you gently toward him. The sudden warmth made you jump a little.

“Huh? What’s this about?” you asked, twisting slightly to look at him.

“What’s what?” Mao replied, feigning innocence, though his voice betrayed a hint of something else, something a little sulky.

You raised a brow at him, smirking knowingly as you noticed how his face was buried in your shoulder. “You’re definitely doing something on purpose.”

“Maybe I am,” he murmured, then lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes. “Maybe I’m not.”

His face was suddenly close, too close and the intensity in his gaze made your heart flutter. You leaned back instinctively, your cheeks burning. “So... is that a yes or a no?” you mumbled, flustered.

Mao’s eyes narrowed playfully, and his grin turned a little smug. “You’re the one who said you’re mine, remember? I’m just making sure you don’t forget.”

You covered your face with one hand, groaning through a shy laugh. “Ugh, you’re such a handful…”

“But I’m your handful,” he added, tugging you gently back into his arms with a chuckle.

You didn’t protest this time. Letting yourself melt into him, the letter now long forgotten, you simply rested in the comfort of his embrace—because the warmth of his arms said more than words ever could.

But just when you thought things were settling down, Mao suddenly shifted, gently pulling you down with him until you were lying across his chest. The motion made you blink in surprise, your head lifting slightly as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“…What now?” you asked, your tone half-suspicious, half-amused.

Mao simply smiled, far too smug for someone pretending to be innocent, and reached up to softly pat your hair. “What? Can’t I just hold my girlfriend?” he replied, putting deliberate emphasis on the last word.

The moment that word left his lips, you felt your face heat up instantly. You weren’t sure if it was the way he said it so casually—or the way he was clearly enjoying how flustered you got—but either way, you knew he was doing this on purpose.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you muttered, burying your face against his shirt to hide the red blooming across your cheeks.

You felt his chest shake with quiet laughter. “Maybe I am,” he whispered, echoing his earlier words with that same teasing lilt. “But you’re cute when you’re like this.”

You let out a soft groan, tapping his shoulder with a playful pout. “You’re so annoying sometimes,” you muttered, though the fond smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Mao just laughed, his voice a low, warm rumble that vibrated in his chest. Without warning, he gently shifted you off him, only to pull you close again, this time lying side by side. He reached over to set the letter down on the bedside table, as if it no longer mattered. “Let’s just stay like this for a while,” he murmured, voice softer now, like a secret only meant for the two of you.

You couldn’t help but giggle, fingers reaching up to tug the little yellow clip from his hair. “You’re so jealous, it’s adorable.”

He rolled his eyes, but the light dusting of pink across his cheeks gave him away. “Shut up and get some rest,” he grumbled, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Yes, yes, Mr. Popular Idol,” you teased again, twirling his hair clip in your fingers like a prize.

“Mmhm,” he mumbled, tightening his arms around you. “Keep talking and I’m never letting you go.”

You laughed quietly, nestling even closer, your noses just barely brushing. His warmth, his scent, the way his heartbeat matched yours—everything about this moment felt like a warm cup of tea on a rainy day.

And as you lay there, wrapped up in his arms, the world felt so quiet. So gentle. So safe.

●・○・●・○・●

The sun was slowly sinking beyond the horizon, casting golden streaks across the rooftop as you stood there, the breeze gently ruffling your hair. In front of you stood the boy who had written the lavender scented letter, his hands fidgeting nervously, fingers tangled together as he avoided your gaze.

It had started earlier in class, when you were just about to pack up for the day. He’d approached you quietly, almost hesitantly, and asked if he could speak to you in private. You already had a good idea of what this was about.

You followed him up to the rooftop, your phone buzzing slightly in your pocket as you secretly texted Mao and Ritsu a quick update “It’s the letter guy. Rooftop. Wish me luck.”

Now, here you were. The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cheeks flushed red, clearly working up the courage to say something. You offered a polite smile, though a nervous sweatdrop slid down the side of your face.

This was the part you weren’t looking forward to, waiting for him to speak, just so you could gently let him down. You didn’t like hurting anyone, especially someone who had put their heart on the line.

Still, your thoughts drifted momentarily to Mao’s goofy grin and the way he had hugged you so tightly earlier. The warmth of that memory gave you strength. You took a quiet breath, bracing yourself with kindness.

“Y/n-san!”

His voice pulled you back to the moment. You looked up to see him standing a little closer now, his fingers fidgeting nervously at his sides.

“I’m really happy that you read my letter!” he blurted out, cheeks flushed. “Really, really happy!”

You offered a small, polite smile, nodding gently. “Thank you… It was a lovely letter.”

Encouraged, he straightened up and took a shaky breath. You could already feel where this was going, and despite the lightness in the air, a soft weight settled on your chest.

Then, he bowed low, hand extended awkwardly but earnestly toward you.

“Please… be my girlfriend, Y/n!”

You paused for a second, then let out a quiet sigh—more of sympathy than surprise. With a soft expression, you mirrored a small bow of your own, folding your hands in front of you.

“I’m really flattered,” you began gently, voice steady but kind. “And I think you’re very brave for saying this. But… I don’t think I’m in a place right now to be in a relationship.”

You gave him a small, apologetic smile. “There’s a lot on my plate right now, with work and responsibilities, and I just wouldn’t be able to give someone the attention they deserve.”

You weren’t lying. Just… not telling the whole truth either. Because saying it out loud—admitting that you were already with someone—wasn’t an option. Not when that someone was Isara Mao, and every whisper about his private life could become a headline.

You knew how fragile an idol’s career could be, how a single rumor could turn into a storm. Thankfully, no one had found out yet. And the few close friends who did know? They had kept their lips sealed like a vault.

You were more grateful than words could ever say, for their trust, and for protecting something so precious.

"You're a liar."

The sudden accusation made you snap your head up, eyes wide in confusion. "What…?"

"You said you're too focused on your work to date, but you already have a guy!" His voice rose, sharp with frustration and disbelief.

You blinked, taken aback, then frowned slightly. "I am telling the truth. And really, why would a producer like me date an idol? That’d be a complete mess."

But he wasn’t having it. "Then explain why that guy, Ritsu, was sleeping on your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world!"

You froze. Wait. Ritsu?

A sweatdrop formed as you blinked at him in disbelief. "Wait, are you seriously saying… you think Ritsu and I are dating?"

He folded his arms, wearing a smug look, clearly thinking he had you cornered. "Isn’t that proof enough? No normal coworker would let someone nap on them like that."

You stared at him for a long moment, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the laugh bubbling in your throat. You shouldn’t laugh. No, you really shouldn’t…

But come on. Ritsu?

You pressed your lips together, trying your hardest not to let the laugh slip out. Not now, Y/n. Don’t laugh, even if it’s Ritsu we’re talking about.

Taking a calming breath, you placed your hands on your hips and looked at him evenly. “Look… I can understand how that might’ve looked weird to you, but Ritsu and I are just close friends. That’s it. He naps on anything that breathes.”

The boy still looked unconvinced. His brows furrowed, arms still crossed tightly.

You sighed again, softer this time. “I’m not lying to you, okay? I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, so I tried to be gentle about it. But the truth is… I can’t say yes to your confession. Not because of someone else. Because I’m not in the place for that kind of relationship with anyone. My job comes first, and I have responsibilities that I take seriously.”

You truly thought your words gentle, honest, careful, might soothe his temper. But instead, something in his gaze shifted. His hands clenched into trembling fists, jaw tight with something more than frustration. You took an unconscious step back as he moved forward, the air suddenly too heavy to breathe.

Then his hand lifted.

Your breath caught.

You froze, heart lurching. Your eyes squeezed shut on instinct, bracing for pain that never came.

But in the stillness, there was warmth.

A familiar presence, firm, protective, slid between you and the blow. Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. Shielding you.

When you dared to open your eyes, all you could see was Mao’s back, tense but unwavering. His hand was locked around the other boy’s wrist, stopping him inches away from where you stood.

"Mao..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

“I-Isara-san?!”

The boy stumbled back, panic flooding his face the moment he recognized Mao. Of course he’d be afraid—after all, Isara Mao wasn’t just any student. He was the student council president, and his authority wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

“H-How are you even here—?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Mao interrupted, voice cool and sharp like a blade. His usual warmth was nowhere to be found, replaced by a calm fury that sent chills down your spine. “What does matter is what I just witnessed. Do you have any idea what kind of consequences you’d face if you’d gone any further?”

The boy’s face drained of color. Without another word, he recoiled, eyes wide with shame and fear before he turned and bolted down the stairs, running away from the weight of his actions.

A moment later, the soft sound of footsteps echoed behind you.

“Got the whole thing,” Ritsu said casually, holding up his phone as he approached. “I’ll report it to the school board, Maa-kun.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, Ritsu reached out and gently ruffled your hair, his sleepy smile oddly reassuring. With a wave, he turned and disappeared just as effortlessly as he’d come.

Mao exhaled a heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… thanks, Ritsu.”

Then he turned to you, and his hardened expression melted instantly. Concern replaced anger as he reached for you, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The world blurred around the edges as the fear crashed over you like a wave, numbing your limbs and freezing the breath in your lungs. Your hands trembled at your sides, your eyes locked on the cold floor beneath your feet—because looking up meant facing the truth of what had almost happened.

You had almost been hurt.

Almost struck.

And that truth hollowed something out inside you.

Then—warmth.

Not just physical. A warmth that wrapped around your shaken body like a lifeline, grounding you before the spiral could take you completely. Two hands, steady and careful, came to rest on your shoulders. You knew that touch.

“Hey,” Mao’s voice cut through the fog, soft, steady, filled with that unwavering care only he gave you. He crouched down, lowering himself until his gaze could meet yours. “Hey, sweetheart… it’s me. Look at me.”

Your eyes flickered, glassy and unsure, until they slowly rose to meet his. The moment you did, his expression crumpled just a little not from panic, but from quiet, aching concern.

“It’s okay now,” he whispered. “He’s gone. You’re safe. I promise, I’ve got you.”

You tried to breathe, but it caught in your throat again. You couldn’t stop shaking.

So Mao leaned in, forehead nearly brushing yours, speaking low, like a secret meant only for you. “Just breathe with me, okay? One breath at a time. In through your nose…”

He inhaled slowly, and you tried to follow. Your chest hitched, but you managed it.

“Good… now out,” he exhaled, guiding you gently. “That’s it. You’re doing great.”

He stayed right there with you his presence a steady flame in the dark, his touch never wavering as you clung to the rhythm of his voice and breath until the trembling dulled. Until the fear receded, just a little.

Until the only thing you could feel was him.

You finally looked up at him, and—ah… you had missed those green eyes. There was a warmth in them that melted straight into your chest, wrapping around your heart like the safest place in the world. You gave a small, sheepish smile, tilting your head slightly. “Ah… so much for the legendary confession I thought I’d experience one day,” you joked quietly, trying to lighten the air.

Mao let out a soft, breathy laugh, though a sweatdrop formed on his temple as he gently poked your forehead. “And that’s the first thing you say after almost getting hurt?”

You let out a tiny huff and pretended to wince at the poke, but even you weren’t in the mood to play for long. The smile you wore faltered slightly, replaced by a quiet honesty as you rubbed your arm.

“Truthfully…” you murmured, “I’m scared. I think that moment’s going to keep playing in my head… over and over again.”

Mao’s expression softened even more, concern flickering across his features. “Even in your dreams?” he asked gently.

You hesitated, then forced another smile, this one fragile, but meant to ease his worry. “Maybe… but I’ll be okay.”

Mao could tell—you weren’t going to be okay. Not completely. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while. He knew that look in your eyes, the way your fingers trembled just slightly, and how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Without another word, he stood up and gently took your hands in his. His grip was warm, steady.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s do something today. Just the two of us.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard. “Huh? What’s with the sudden idea?”

He gave you that familiar, lopsided smile and guided you down the rooftop stairs, his hand never leaving yours. “I’m just in the mood, that’s all. I thought we could go eat something special.”

You chuckled, teasing, “Let me guess, ramen again?”

But Mao shook his head and looked over at you, sincerity in his voice. “Nope. Today, I want your favorite. I want to hear what you’re craving.”

You stopped in your tracks for a second, taken aback by his words. He was doing this for you, you could tell. He wasn’t trying to fix everything. He just wanted to be beside you, to fill the silence with warmth instead of fear, to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Mao didn't reply immediately. Instead, he turned toward you, his gaze searching yours as though trying to memorize every flicker of emotion behind your eyes. Then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed you not rushed or teasing this time, but slow and full of meaning.

It took your breath away. Your heart fluttered in your chest as the world seemed to still around you. The warmth of his lips chased away the lingering chill of what had almost happened earlier. You kissed him back, gently, as if telling him thank you without saying a word.

When he pulled away, there was a soft smile on his face, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. You flushed and looked away quickly, mumbling, “You’re lucky no one’s around this time of day…”

He chuckled, voice light but filled with affection. “I know.”

Then, just as the silence settled again between you, he spoke soft and certain. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but somehow this moment, after everything made it land differently. The way he looked at you, like you were the one constant in a world that kept shifting.

You turned your face to him, eyes shining just a little as your fingers curled tighter around his. “I love you too, Mao.”

And as you walked together, hand in hand through the golden light of the fading afternoon, the weight in your chest finally began to lift replaced by something tender and grounding. Safe.

With him by your side, it felt like you could start breathing again.

____________________________________________

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