The press room was packed. Cameras clicked like insects, bright flashes flickering against the polished surface of the long table where Makoto sat, hands folded in front of him. He wore his school uniform under a slate-grey blazer, hair tousled just enough to look effortless. To his left sat his manager, visibly sweating through their collar. On his right, a stoic agency rep offered a tight-lipped smile to the crowd.
Makoto, however, looked completely calm.
Well—calm in the way a bomb looks before it explodes.
As the moderators opened the floor, a dozen questions rose at once. He caught bits and pieces through the din.
"Is it true you're dating Saiki Kusuo—?"
"Is this a publicity stunt for your next role?"
"Are you really getting married in June?"
"What happened at the school yesterday?!"
"Is the new drama a sci-fi?"
Makoto raised a hand. The room hushed, hungry.
"Yes," he said, smiling. "I'm dating Saiki Kusuo."
The room exploded—reporters calling out, cameras flashing, a full-on media storm condensed into one tiny room. Makoto waited for the buzz to die down before continuing, calm and unhurried.
"No, it's not a PR stunt. We're not promoting anything. We didn't plan this." He leaned in a little, voice dipping into something soft, conspiratorial. "I just happened to fall for someone who's completely immune to my charm and is in love with coffee jelly."
Laughter rolled around the room, nervous and delighted.
"As for the marriage thing…" Makoto gave a theatrical sigh and rested his chin in one hand. "That was a joke. A very funny joke. We're not getting married in June." A beat passed, and then he added, "But we are in love."
The silence that followed was heavier this time. Even the photographers paused, lenses catching him mid-smile like a character frozen in a movie still. For once, it wasn't because of his looks. It was the certainty in his voice. The quiet conviction that made everything feel real.
A few rows back, someone tried to pivot the topic. "Do you have a new drama in the works?"
Makoto sat back in his chair, lips quirking. "Actually, yeah. It's a sci-fi. Alien detectives, the whole galaxy-opera thing"
There was a ripple of chuckles and note-scribbling. The mood seemed to lighten—until someone brought up the elephant in the room.
"What about yesterday?" someone called out. "The fans storming your school. The chaos. Do you have a statement?"
The smile fell from Makoto's face, just a touch. His posture straightened.
"I want to apologize," he said. "To the school. To the students and teachers. To anyone who got caught in the mess." His tone grew quieter, steadier. "And to my fans—especially the ones who felt betrayed. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I didn't want this to be something ugly."
He exhaled slowly, looking somewhere beyond the rows of reporters.
"I'm grateful to be loved. But I'm not a fantasy. I'm just a person. And I fell in love. That's not betrayal. That's just… what people do."
The room was still.
Makoto bowed his head.
For a second, no one moved. Then the cameras clicked again, softer now. His manager wiped their forehead. The agency rep's knuckles relaxed.
In that moment, the world didn't seem angry. Just stunned.
The second the heavy door shut behind him, the tension drained from Makoto like water wrung out of cloth. His shoulders slumped. He kicked off his shoes with a sigh and let the silence of the dressing room wrap around him like a weighted blanket.
Then he looked up—and there was Saiki.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, sunglasses firmly in place. He looked as unreadable as ever. Unbothered. Detached. Like he'd just wandered in by accident and hadn't, in fact, watched Makoto announce their relationship to the entire nation with a dramatic monologue and a hint of starry-eyed romance.
Makoto straightened, pushing his hands through his hair and grinning. "So? How did I do? Emotional? Sincere? Oscars-worthy?"
Saiki didn't say anything. His eyes moved behind those dark lenses, lingering on Makoto's flushed cheeks, the slight shake in his fingers.
"You weren't joking," he finally said, voice flat.
Makoto blinked. "About which part?"
"The 'we're in love' part. On national television."
Makoto shrugged, stepping forward. "Well, we are, aren't we?"
Saiki stared at him.
Makoto tilted his head, expression open. "Unless you're about to tell me I hallucinated all those times you shared your coffee jelly with me or how you don't sigh every time I fall asleep next to you. Or how you didn't text me to bring a jacket this morning because it was going to rain, even though the forecast said sunny."
There was a long pause.
"...You were shivering yesterday and still refused to wear your coat," Saiki muttered.
Makoto beamed.
"Exactly!" He stepped closer until they were almost chest-to-chest. "So. You gonna break up with me over a little spontaneous national confession, or...?"
Saiki didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he lifted one hand and lightly tugged Makoto's blazer straight, brushing invisible lint off the lapel. His touch lingered just a second longer than necessary.
"You shouldn't joke about marriage," he said quietly.
Makoto froze.
"…Why?" he asked, voice soft.
"Because some people might take you seriously."
Makoto's heart thudded painfully. "Are you... one of those people?"
Saiki paused. Then: "Maybe."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Makoto's face split into the most obnoxiously radiant smile he'd ever worn. "So you're not mad?"
"I am very mad."
Makoto laughed and threw his arms around him anyway. "I love you, too."
Saiki sighed against his shoulder, but his arms came up to hold him back. He didn't push him away. In fact, he squeezed just a little tighter.
On the table behind them, Makoto's phone buzzed with new headlines and public reactions, with messages from his agency and panicked texts from Kokomi in all caps.
But he didn't check.
For now, he stayed in Saiki's arms, head resting against his shoulder, the noise of the world muffled by the steady beat of someone who—despite all logic, all psychic resistance, and all common sense—loved him back.