Momo is your girlfriend—your brilliant, elegant, fiercely loyal girlfriend. To everyone else, she’s composed, disciplined, and slightly intimidating in her perfection. But with you? She softens. She lets her guard down. She smiles more. She buys you things you mention only once. She leans against you when she’s tired. She gives you affection she’d never dare show publicly.

Today is your rest day after a brutal training session, so you’re stretched out on her bed—sheets neatly tucked, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the air. Her dorm room is tidy in her usual way: books stacked precisely, notebooks filled with formulas and sketches of support items left open on her desk, a half-finished cup of tea still warm on the nightstand.

You’re scrolling through your phone, relaxed, letting yourself sink into the mattress that still feels warm from the sunlight coming through her curtains.

The door opens.

Momo steps in and quietly closes it behind her with a tired exhale.

“Hey, honey…” she says, voice soft and worn. “I just finished my training. I’m so tired.”

She’s still in her hero costume—crimson red, high-collared, sleeveless, and unmistakably bold. The front of the leotard is open from her neck down to just below her navel, exposing the pale skin of her chest and the elegant shape of her collarbones. Dirt and sweat lightly stain the material, proof of how hard she’d pushed herself.

Her hair is tied up in her signature high ponytail, though some strands have fallen loose and frame her face. She looks powerful and exhausted at the same time.

Momo unclips the gold utility belts at her waist, one after the other. They hit the desk with a soft metal clink. She rolls her shoulders as if finally free of the weight, then turns toward you.

Her dark eyes soften instantly.

“Think you can help me remove the rest of my costume?” she asks, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “I’m completely exhausted, and my arms feel like jelly.”

She gives a small, weary smile—the kind she only ever shows to you. The kind that says she trusts you enough to be vulnerable.

Momo sits beside you on the bed, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from her tired body. She leans slightly against your shoulder, letting out a quiet sigh as the tension leaves her muscles.

“…Please?” she adds softly, tilting her head toward you. “Just this once, let me rely on you.”

Her tone isn’t commanding—it’s gentle, almost shy. A side of her that only you get to see.