Work Text:
The MODE/D practice room was almost silent.
Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, tinting the polished floor with a gentle orange hue. The lingering echo of laughter and music had faded. Chiaki had left first, bouncing off to his next schedule with the other members of Ryuuseitai. Hiyori followed not long after, stating that he was going to be late for the next photoshoot with Eden.
But Mao stayed.
Not because he had to. Not because someone asked. He just… wasn't ready to go.
It was rare for him to have his own quiet time.
He sat by the piano in the corner of the room, one hand cradling his cheek, the other drifting lazily across the keys. He wasn't playing anything recognizable. Notes came out soft and uneven, scattered like flower petals in the wind. A few high keys, a low chord, then a pause.
His humming was even quieter than the piano — little sounds that slipped out without thought. It wasn't rehearsed. But somehow, it filled the room more than silence ever could.
Sometimes he was humming Finder Girl. Sometimes it was Infinite Star. Sometimes it was Silent Oath by Knights.
Leo stood at the door and didn't say a word, just listening and watching Mao do his own thing. Watching as the younger idol was lost in his own world.
He hadn't meant to come back. After Hiyori and Chiaki left, he waved a dramatic goodbye and wandered out toward the garden, supposedly on the hunt for inspiration. But halfway there, something called him to go back - something like instinct or the leftover pull of a note still ringing in the air.
And now, watching Mao like this - tired but peaceful, completely unaware of himself - Leo understood why.
He stepped in quietly, letting the door click shut behind him. Mao didn’t turn right away.
It was only after a soft note hung in the air too long that Mao glanced to the side.
"Oh," he said, voice low and faintly surprised. "Tsukinaga-senpai, you're still here?"
Leo smiled, walking toward him with light steps. "You're the one making music in an empty room. I just followed it."
Mao tilted his head. "That wasn't music."
Leo sat on the floor beside the chair and pulled out his notebook. "It was to me."
Mao snorted. "Everything is music to you."
"Not everything," Leo replied, looking up with a grin. "Only the parts that make me feel something."
That made Mao pause, blushing slightly, his face supporting a dust of light pink on his cheeks. He looked away, back at the piano, fingers still hovering but not moving.
Leo waited.
And then, Mao pressed another key. Then another. The notes were soft, careless, a little off-beat. He hummed again, just under his breath.
Leo started writing.
Not copying the sound, exactly. Just capturing something - the mood, the quiet between notes, the way Mao’s breathing matched the rhythm of the room.
"You always do this?" Leo murmured after a while.
Mao didn’t look at him. "Do what?"
"Play like no one's listening."
There was a small smile at the edge of Mao's mouth. "Only when I think no one is."
Leo smiled back, even though Mao wasn't looking. "It's the best kind of music."
And Mao, quietly, kept his one-key-at-a-time playing. No lyrics, no music sheets, just pressing the key where his finger lands on.
Mao wasn't trying to be impressive. He wasn't even trying to make music. And maybe that's what made it so rare - this quiet version of him, stripped of expectation, just letting his thoughts come out in sound.
After a while, Leo leaned back, palms on the floor behind him, head tilted toward the ceiling.
"Do you ever get tired?" he asked softly.
Mao paused, fingers hovering above one of the keys. "Of what?"
"Everything," Leo said, like he was still thinking about the word. "Practices. Schedules. All the things we're supposed to be."
Mao's shoulders rose, then fell. "Sometimes. But I love it. I fell in love with it."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't have to. The way his hands rested on the keys, not moving - the way his voice had dipped to barely a whisper - it said enough.
Leo sat up again, brushing his orange locks away from his face. He looked at Mao, really looked at him this time.
"You know you don't have to be anything right now, right?" he said.
Mao turned, caught off guard. "Huh?"
Leo's voice stayed quiet, almost careful. "Not the reliable one. Not the perfect one. Just you. Just... Mao."
The room went still again.
Mao looked down at the keys, lips pressed together, and something behind his expression shifted - like the smallest sigh in the middle of his chest. He played another note.
Just one.
Soft. Barely there.
"Why are you always like this?" Mao murmured after a moment.
"Like what?"
"Making things feel easier."
Leo blinked. "I thought I make things louder."
"You do," Mao said, a little smile forming. "But not right now."
Leo's heart fluttered in that strange, warm way it did when inspiration took hold. He picked up his pencil again, just for something to hold.
With that, he started to write.
It was an hour later when Leo decided to make some small talk again.
Mao had moved to the floor next to him when Leo was still in the middle of writing. But that was almost 20 minutes ago. Leo had looked over mid-sentence and found him completely out - breathing soft, lips parted, like the weight of the day had finally caught up. Mao was asleep on MODE/D's practice room's floor, using his bag as a pillow.
Leo tilted his head just enough to see Mao more clearly. His eyes softened.
"You really work too hard," he whispered, voice barely audible, as he quietly rose to his feet and sat on the chair Mao was previously occupying.
Leo's fingers pressed the first key gently. Then another. A soft, thoughtful rhythm began to form - not quite a lullaby, but close. Something intimate, like the trust that was slowly being built between them for a while now. The kind of music that could only be composed when someone was close enough to hear your silence.
The melody slipped into something warmer. Brighter. Like the memory of how Ritsu would describe Mao, saying how Mao's like the sun or the gentle laugh that refused to leave his head. Or maybe it was the thrill he felt when he was dancing with Mao during vs Princess. His fingers moved faster, layering one soft chord over the next.
Then they slowed again.
Leo went still. The keys fell quiet.
He turned his head just enough to see Mao's sleeping face - finally at peace, finally not carrying everything on his own. Leo felt the music settle in his chest like a gentle melody.
He didn't move.
He just stayed there, notebook resting against his lap, one hand still lightly touching the piano.
The song could wait.
For now, he had everything he needed beside him.
It was a few days later when Trickstar found the envelope.
It was left on the practice room table — not mailed, not handed over... Just sitting there. It was Hokuto who noticed it first, eyes narrowing slightly at the name written on the front.
"Mao."
Mao blinked and looked over.
Sure enough, his name was there, written in Leo's sprawling, dramatic scrawl. He walked up and turned it over, but there was no other note. Just the envelope.
He hesitated. Then opened it.
Inside was a set of neatly printed sheet music - piano, guitar, and vocal lines all arranged with care. The lyrics were handwritten on a separate page, the lines slightly messy but deeply intentional. The title at the top of the song read simply:
'Where the Light Waits' - Solo Arrangement (Isara Mao)
Mao stared.
Beside him, Subaru tilted his head. "Whoa. A solo?"
Makoto leaned in. "Wait, is this… from Tsukinaga-senpai?"
"It's his style," Hokuto murmured, already scanning the music. "But this one's… gentler. It’s not like his usual pieces."
Mao didn’t say anything for a moment.
Because he recognized it.
The chord progressions. The way the verses curved, soft but steady. The quiet piano that mirrored something he remembered hearing half-asleep. This was the song. The one Leo had been working on that night in MODE/D's practice room.
Mao blinked, mouth slightly open. “I-”
Before he could answer, the door creaked open.
Leo poked his head in, hair slightly tousled (probably was on the run from Sena again), eyes bright. "Oh! So you found it."
Mao turned quickly. "Tsukinaga-senpai."
Leo stepped in like he hadn't dropped a musical bomb in the middle of their rehearsal space. "I figured you guys would see it sooner or later. It's a gift." He glanced at Mao with a grin that was somehow softer than usual.
Mao stared at him. "You wrote this for me?"
Leo rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. I didn't want it to sit in my head forever. It felt like it belonged to you. Thought maybe you'd sing it when you were ready."
Mao smiled. That gentle smile on his face that never failed to spark another inspiration for Leo. "It's really beautiful, Leo-senpai."
Hokuto gave a short nod. "It's... fitting."
Mao looked down at the lyrics again, then back at Leo.
Something in his chest eased. Like the song had quietly done for him what he hadn't managed to do for himself: be heard. Be understood. Without ever needing to explain.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Leo's grin turned lopsided. "You can thank me by singing it someday."
However, the smile that Leo receives from Mao is more than enough for him.