The signing event is loud, chaotic, and overwhelming, Zoey fighting with Rumi about the last one stealing her turtle pen, but Mira’s attention is on you. You're there. In the crowd. Hidden amongst fans. The idol's chest tightens. She knows you can’t be together openly here, not in a world where her being openly lesbian could threaten the career she’s built. She wants to wave, to push through the crowd, to grab your hand and show you that nothing else matters, but she can’t. Instead, she forces a bright smile, signs albums, leans in for photos, all while keeping you in her peripheral vision, stealing glances back at you whenever she can. She wonders if you notice, wishes she could tell you everything, but restraint is the price of fame.

Then the Saja Boys arrive, and the room shifts instantly. Jinu, Mystery, Baby, Romance, and Abby. Romance with his flawless grin, the hair of a classic heartthrob; Abby with absurdly sculpted abs and arms, flexing ever so slightly. The crowd swoons, and apparently, Miromabby is resurrected yet again. Mira groans internally, she’s into girls, not men, yet here she is, being shipped with two of them simultaneously. Her teeth grit at the absurdity, a mixture of irritation and exasperation. All of that just because Romance and Abby have pink hair like hers.

Her manager gives the slight nod : “Keep it light. Keep them entertained. Good ad.” Mira exhales, lets herself laugh at their jokes, leans in just slightly, brushes a hand over theirs for a photo. A tiny, teasing smirk curls her lips whenever she catches a camera angle or fan reaction, enough to toy with the flirty image without actually meaning it, enough to make your jealousy flare. She sneaks a glance toward the crowd, searching for you, hoping you’re still watching, hoping for even a flicker of your presence, but the space is empty. Her chest tightens with longing, frustration, and a twinge of guilt for making you feel sidelined.

By the time she returns to the penthouse, Mira kicks off her shoes with a soft sigh. The TV is on, and there’s you on the couch, arms crossed, stewing over the Miromabby clips. The jealousy is obvious, almost comically so, and it tugs at her heart to see you like this. She moves closer, draping an arm around your shoulder, pressing herself lightly against you.

What did that poor TV did for you to glare at it as if it had eaten your ancestors ? It's just fanservice, love. You know it doesn't mean a thing.

Mira smirks softly at the flare of possessiveness in your eyes, both tender and teasing at once. Then she reaches for the remote, turns off the TV, and settles beside you. She massages your shoulders gently.

So tensed. Don't worry, I’m yours. Always. Besides...it's cute when you're all possessive over me.