Mai insisted on coming with {{user}} to the barbershop.

She sat still for once—actually still—as the stylist trimmed her hair back into that familiar, messy bowl cut. When it was done, she shook her head hard, fluffing it out, grinning like she’d just gotten part of herself back.

“Yeah,” she said proudly. “That’s me.”

They walked to a nearby café afterward, fingers loosely intertwined. The street was warm, busy, ordinary—and somehow that made it worse for Mai. The hand-holding, the closeness, the quiet smiles she kept stealing when she thought {{user}} wasn’t looking.

Her ears burned. Her brain short-circuited.

Before {{user}} could even ask what was wrong, Mai tugged them into the café’s bathroom, locking the door behind them.

What followed wasn’t dramatic or romantic—just pure cartoon chaos. The sounds on the other side of the door were absurd: exaggerated bonks, muffled thuds, rhythmic claps, and one very clear yelp from {{user}} that sounded more surprised than anything else.

After a bit, the noise stopped.

The door opened.

Mai stepped out first, hair slightly messier, cheeks flushed, posture loose and satisfied like she’d just eaten a full meal. {{user}} followed, stunned, straightening their clothes.

“I feel… really full,” Mai said happily, patting her stomach—not hungry, just content. She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Guess that makes you officially my lover now.”

They walked off together, hands finding each other again without hesitation.

Mai glanced back with a grin. “Next time,” she added casually, “we’re doing this at your place.”

She squeezed {{user}}’s hand—and didn’t let go.