Pairing: Taki × Yuma
Trope: Support + Romance / Secret Admirer with a Soft Twist
Vibe: Fluff, slow realization, and a love that's been there all along

*****
The stage doesn't make you shine. You make the stage worth watching.
*****

The first note appeared the day after Taki cried in the practice room.

He hadn't meant to. No one was supposed to see.
But the pressure of his upcoming solo stage—the spotlight, the expectation, the vocal runs—had been sitting heavy on his chest for weeks.

So he broke a little.

And the next morning, tucked between a water bottle and his lyric sheet in his dance bag, was a small folded note.

You don't have to be perfect to be powerful.
You just have to be you.
— ☁️

There was no name. Just a little cloud doodle in the corner.
Taki blinked, then read it again. Then a third time.

And tucked it into the back of his phone case.

After that, the notes kept coming.

Every day, after morning vocal warm-ups or choreography practice, there'd be a new one tucked into his hoodie pocket, bag, or even on top of his water bottle.

The stage doesn't make you shine. You make the stage worth watching.
— ☁️

One note at a time. You've got this.
— ☁️

Don't run from your nerves. Dance with them.
— ☁️

The handwriting was always neat, careful.
The messages were short, but they stayed with him all day.

Taki had no idea who was writing them.

But he stopped waking up dreading rehearsal.
He started humming again during water breaks.
He even found himself smiling during solo mic checks—sometimes, just thinking of the notes.

He never said it out loud.

But he was waiting for them now.

What he didn't know—was that Yuma had seen him cry.

Quiet, calm Yuma. The one who never said much unless it mattered.
He had walked past the practice room late that night and paused—just long enough to see Taki curled up on the floor, hands over his face, breath catching in that silent, shaky kind of way.

Yuma had quietly closed the door again.
And spent the rest of the night trying to figure out how to help—without making it worse.

So he wrote the first note.

And when Taki looked lighter the next day, even just by a little bit—Yuma wrote another. And another.

He never expected anything from it.
He just wanted Taki to feel like someone saw him.

By the final performance night, Taki's heart was loud with adrenaline.

He was pacing backstage, eyes scanning his bag, his pockets—

There was no note.

He paused.

No cloud. No kind words. Nothing.

And just like that, the nerves crept in again—cold and sharp.

He closed his eyes. Took a breath.

Until—

A folded piece of paper was gently slid into his hand.

He turned.

Yuma. Standing there. Looking calm—but his eyes said otherwise.

Taki blinked. "You—?"

Yuma nodded once.

Taki unfolded the note.

I've been here all along.
Waiting.
— ☁️

His breath caught.

"You...?" Taki's voice cracked. "This whole time?"

Yuma gave a tiny smile. "You always smile when you read them. I didn't want to stop seeing that."

Taki looked down at the note again, fingers trembling just slightly.

Then, with a quiet laugh: "I thought it was Jo."

Yuma raised an eyebrow. "Jo writes in all caps."

"...True."

The stage lights were warm that night.

Taki walked on with the note still tucked in his sleeve.

He sang.

Every word steady. Every beat grounded.

He didn't try to be perfect.

He was just himself.

And somewhere in the second row, Yuma smiled through the entire song.

After the show, in the hallway near the dressing rooms—

Taki found Yuma again.

No words. Just tired eyes, happy smiles.

And then Taki stepped closer and whispered, "Can I keep the last note?"

Yuma blinked. "I thought you already did."

Taki reached out and tugged gently on Yuma's sleeve.
Then leaned in, forehead touching Yuma's shoulder.

"I didn't know it was you," he said. "But I was starting to hope it was."

Yuma's voice was soft. "It was always me."

They didn't kiss. Not yet.

But they stood there in the hallway under flickering lights, feeling braver than before.

And that was enough.

For now.

The End.