hello, I'm mosaic-p, but you can call me lily. you might know me from songs such as song I made while half asleep, RUNTIME OVERFLOW, starlight love, or my many, many other instrumental works.
I'm a vocaloid producer based in NYC, along with being a composer in general. I've been doing music for five-ish years (as of january 2026), two and a half of which have been under this name.
I'm a trans girl and use she/her, please be respectful.
also I have other wacky ideas and ocs bouncing around inside my head, so stay tuned !!
fun facts:
my favorite vocal synths are adachi rei, hatsune miku (and the rest of the cryptonloids), kasane teto, gumi, otomachi una, and eleanor forte
my favorite color is purple
my favorite artist and song are jamie paige and weathergirl by flavor foley
Kusanagi Nene/Tenma Tsukasa, POV Kusanagi Nene, Mutual Pining, Literal Sleeping Together, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Watching Someone Sleep, Morning Kisses, Flustered Kusanagi Nene, Developing Relationship, College AU, Roommates, Minor Rui/Emu, Overworked Tsukasa Tenma, Sexual Tension,
2.99k words
“You're such an idiot, Tsukasa,”
Between grueling ear-training sessions and long PUBG marathons, Nene thought she had the perfect wall built up against the world—and specifically against her loud, theater-obsessed housemate. But a forgotten USB-C cable and a nap gone wrong lead to a moonlit confrontation that Nene wasn't prepared for.
As it turns out, the "Star" is much harder to ignore when he’s quiet, sleep-muddled, and refusing to let her go.
A/N: The weeks leading up to graduation are probably going to get busy for me with finals and senior activities. But take this Nenekasa fic that I did for a slight change of pace 😌
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The share house was unusually quiet for a mid-afternoon on a Saturday. With Emu away at a management seminar and Rui buried in his internship at the scene shop, the usual chaotic energy had been replaced by a heavy, domestic silence.
Nene emerged from a grueling ear-training session, heading toward the kitchen in search of a snack. She stopped short when she reached the living room. There, sprawled across the sofa, was Tsukasa. He was out cold, surrounded by a chaotic sea of scripts from Newsies—Jack Kelly’s lines aggressively highlighted—and a laptop still glowing with the paused instrumental of Santa Fe.
She grabbed a melon soda and a bag of fruit gummies, her initial instinct being to snap a photo to use as future blackmail. But as she leaned in, phone in hand, she hesitated. Without his loud, boisterous projection, Tsukasa looked… younger. The theatrical mask had slipped, revealing someone deeply exhausted, but peaceful.
She took the time to look at the things she usually ignored: the way his eyelashes cast long shadows, and how his lips were slightly parted. She remembered seeing him use a specific lip balm this morning, always being meticulous about his appearance. Her mind wanders. Would it taste like the lemon or cherry one?
Driven by a sudden, magnetic impulse, Nene leaned in. Her fingers reached out, hovering just a fraction of an inch from a stray lock of blonde hair.
The heat radiating from him finally registered. Reality crashed back in, and Nene pulled her hand back as if she’d been burned.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” She muttered, turning on her heel and practically sprinting back to the safety of her room, taking her snack and drink with her.
-
The few hours that passed consisted of Nene playing PUBG on her PS5. The sounds of gunfire and explosions in the headset were a necessary wall. Every time Nene’s character took cover, her brain tried to fill the silence with the image of Tsukasa’s face. Focus, she scolded herself, aggressively clicking her joysticks. It’s just exhaustion. Anyone would look soft if they were that tired.
But her ears still felt hot. She played for three hours straight, her eyes stinging from the blue light, until a notification popped up that her controller was dying. The sudden silence that followed the "low battery" chime was deafening.
She took off her headphones and rubbed her face. The house felt different now—the distant clatter of plates told her the others were home.
When Nene finally emerged from her room, Emu was mid-sentence, her voice a cheerful hum.
"Oh! Nene-chan! You’re just in time for the second wave of dinner!" Emu chirped, waving a pair of chopsticks as she sat at the dining table.
Rui was at the sink, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up as he scrubbed a pot. He glanced over his shoulder, his amber eyes sharp and knowing. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Nene. Or perhaps you just spent too much time in the trenches today?"
"Just a long session," Nene lied, avoiding Rui’s gaze. She scanned the common area. The sofa was empty. The scripts were stacked neatly on the coffee table, but the "Star" was missing.
"If you're looking for our leading man," Rui said, his voice dropping into that teasing lilt that made Nene want to kick him, "he was quite the zombie when we got back. Emu-kun had to practically poke him with a prop sword to get him to eat."
"He looked so sleepy!" Emu added, her expression softening. "He ate his ginger pork, took a shower, and went straight to his room. I think he’s really pushed himself too hard this time."
Nene felt a pang of something sharp—guilt mixed with a strange, lingering restlessness. "Right. Well. Good for him. Maybe the house will finally be quiet."
-
Nene ate her dinner in a daze, barely tasting the food. She followed Tsukasa’s routine—shower, pajamas, teeth brushed—hoping the routine would settle her nerves. It didn't.
Standing in her own room, she realized that she was missing her USB-C cable that Tsukasa borrowed earlier that week.
He took my good charger three days ago and never brought it back. I can’t play tomorrow if my controller is dead. It’s not my fault he’s asleep. She tried telling herself. It was a flimsy shield to hide behind, but it was enough to get her feet moving. She didn't actually need to charge the controller tonight—she had a backup in the drawer—but she clung to the thought as she stepped out into the dim hallway.
The house had settled into a heavy, post-dinner lull. The light under Tsukasa’s door was off, leaving the corridor in a soft, hazy gloom. Nene stood there for a full minute as her fingers twisted the hem of her oversized sweater. Her heart hammered in her chest. She reached out, her knuckles barely grazing the wood of his door.
"Tsukasa?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rush of blood in her ears.
No answer.
She took a breath, turned the handle, and the door creaked open just a crack, letting the pale moonlight spill across the floor.
The air in Tsukasa’s room was cooler than the hallway, smelling faintly of citrus laundry detergent and the sharp, clean scent of his hair product. Nene stepped inside, the floorboards silent under her socks.
He was a dark silhouette against the pale sheets, curled on his side and facing toward her. The moonlight caught the bridge of his nose and the messy spill of his blonde hair against the pillow. He looked even more defenseless here than he had on the sofa—no scripts to hide behind, no laptop to pretend he was working.
Nene scanned the nightstand for her cable, but it wasn't there. She moved closer, her eyes adjusting to the shadows. She spotted the white cord tangled in the duvet near his shoulder.
Just grab it and leave, she thought. One quick reach.
She leaned over the bed, her breath hitching as she realized just how close she was. His lip balm was sitting right there on his bedside table. She looked from the tube to his face, her heart doing a frantic tap-dance against her ribs. She reached out for the cable, her fingers hovering just inches from his arm.
Then, the rhythmic sound of his breathing hitched.
Nene froze. Her hand stayed suspended in mid-air, a guilty thief caught in the act, as Tsukasa’s eyelids flickered and slowly pulled open.
The gold of his eyes was muted in the dark, soft and unfocused with sleep, but they landed right on her.
"Nene...?" His voice was a low, raspy friction that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "How long... are you planning to stand there and stare at me?"
“I—I didn't mean to—!” Nene stammered out, her cheeks flushing red. “I was just going to get my charger! I'm going now!” she didn't grab the charger. She just wanted to get out of there.
But as she turns to bolt, Tsukasa’s hand shoots out from under the duvet. He catches her wrist, and pulls her towards him with a firm grip.
Nene stumbled, her knees hitting the edge of the mattress before she collapsed onto the bed. She let out a small, startled "Oof!" as she landed on her side, facing away from him. Before she could scramble back to her feet, the mattress dipped behind her.
Tsukasa shifted, moving closer until the heat of his chest pressed firmly against her back. He didn't let go of her wrist; instead, he guided her arm down and draped his own heavily over her waist, anchoring her in place.
"Tsukasa, what are you—"
"Quiet," he mumbled, his voice vibrating against her shoulder blades. He nuzzled forward, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath warm and steady against her skin. “A star has to take his leave of absence…and you're the only one who doesn't make a noise. Stay."
Nene froze, her face inches away from his pillow. It smelled like him, that same faint citrus and sleep—and her heart was beating so hard she was certain he could hear it. She could feel every detail: the solid weight of his arm, the way his legs curled slightly behind hers, and the fact that he was holding her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
She should kick him. She should call him a creep and bolt for the door. But the cold night air was blocked out by his warmth, and the silence of the room felt… safe.
Slowly, the tension drained out of her shoulders. She let her head sink into the pillow, staring at the moonlit wall.
"You're such an idiot, Tsukasa," she whispered, her voice trembling just a little.
"Maybe," he murmured, his grip tightening just a fraction—a possessive, sleepy squeeze. "But I'm an idiot who’s finally getting some rest. Don't go.”
Nene didn't answer. She couldn’t. Every nerve ending in her body felt like it was firing at once.
The weight of his arm across her waist was warm—a steady, radiating heat that seeped through the thin fabric of her sweater. With his face buried in the crook of her neck, his rhythmic breathing became a slow, deliberate torture. Each exhale sent a puff of warm air directly against the sensitive skin of her nape, sending a jolt of electricity straight down her spine.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands clenching the duvet. It was a dizzying heat that started in her chest and began to pool low in her stomach.
Don't move, she told herself, even as her body betrayed her with a traitorous shiver. If you move, he’ll know.
But Tsukasa seemed tuned into her frequency. Whether he was fully awake or acting on pure instinct, he shifted again. His chest pressed more firmly against her back, closing the microscopic gap between them until she could feel the solid line of his frame and the steady, heavy thrum of his own heart beating against her shoulder blades.
"Nene," he murmured. His lips actually brushed the skin of her neck as he spoke her name, the contact light as a feather but feeling like a brand.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, a small, shaky sound that broke the silence. "What?" she whispered, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears—thicker, breathless.
"You’re... really warm."
His hand, which had been resting flat against her stomach, shifted. His fingers curled slightly, his thumb grazing the lower edge of her ribs in a slow, absentminded arc. It was a devastatingly domestic touch, yet in the quiet dark of the room, it felt dangerously charged.
Nene bit her lip to keep from making a sound. The friction of his thumb against her sweater, the weight of his legs tangling with hers, and that persistent, intoxicating scent of citrus and him were stripping away her defenses. She felt small, hemmed in, and desperately alive.
She knew she should pull away. She knew that tomorrow, Tsukasa would be back, boisterous and loud, and they would go back to their usual bickering. But right now, in the shadow of the moon, the air between them was thick enough to choke on, and the heat in her stomach was turning into a dull, demanding ache.
"Tsukasa," she breathed, half-warning and half-plea.
"Just a little longer," he whispered back. His voice had lost its raspy edge, turning into something smoother, darker. He didn't move his hand, but he didn't pull away either. He just held her, his breath hitching in a way that told Nene he wasn't nearly as asleep as he was pretending to be.
The air in the room seemed to vibrate with everything they weren't saying. Nene took a few slow, deliberate breaths, forcing the air deep into her lungs to counteract the erratic thumping of her heart. She focused on the wall, on the way the shadows of the skyline danced across the ceiling, trying to anchor herself to anything other than the man wrapped around her.
Gradually, the tension began to leak out of the room. The thumb that had been tracing the edge of her ribs slowed its movement, eventually coming to a rest as his hand grew heavy and limp against her stomach. His breathing transitioned from that dark, focused hitch back into a deep, rhythmic pull that signaled his slide back into true unconsciousness.
Nene felt her own eyelids growing heavy. The hum in her veins was being smoothed over by a blanket of sheer exhaustion and the undeniable comfort of his warmth.
She let out one final, soft sigh, her body finally sinking into the mattress and molding against his. As sleep began to pull at her, Nene’s last conscious thought was a quiet realization: the USB-C cable was still sitting on the duvet, completely forgotten, and for the first time, she didn't mind losing a game.
-
The next thing Nene knew, the world was no longer blue and silver, but a blinding, soft gold.
Sunlight was pouring through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Nene blinked, her mind foggy and slow, until she felt the solid, warm weight still draped over her waist.
The memories of the previous night rushed back, and her eyes flew open. She was still in his bed. And he was still holding her.
She carefully turned her head just enough to look over her shoulder. Tsukasa’s face was inches from hers on the shared pillow. His eyes were open, clear and devoid of their usual theatrical spark, watching her with an intensity that made her breath hitch all over again.
"Good morning," he whispered, his voice still thick with sleep but remarkably steady.
“Good morning,” Nene swallowed hard, her voice coming out as a tiny, embarrassed croak. "...You’re still an idiot."
A smirk slowly tugged at the corner of Tsukasa’s mouth. "And yet, you stayed."
Tsukasa closed the distance between them to press his lips against hers, with Nene making a surprised noise in response. Her eyes slowly fluttered close, registering the taste of his lips. Cherry.
Nene’s hands, previously frozen by her sides, found their way to the fabric of his t-shirt, bunching the cotton in her fists as she pulled him closer.
Tsukasa hummed against her lips—a low, vibration of contentment—before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. The silence that followed was light and comfortable.
“I suppose," Tsukasa murmured, his thumb tracing a slow circle over her hip, "a star cannot stay in his dressing room forever. Especially when his stomach is making such a common demand for sustenance."
Nene rolled her eyes, though the effect was ruined by the blush still staining her cheeks. "I’m going before you start singing about breakfast.”
They disentangled themselves with a lingering reluctance, Nene finally snatching her forgotten USB-C cable from the duvet with a triumphant, albeit shaky, flourish.
As they stepped out into the hallway and moved toward the common area. The air was thick with the savory, salt-sweet aroma of toasted nori, steamed rice, and rich miso soup. When they rounded the corner into the kitchen, the scene they found stopped them both in their tracks.
Emu was standing at the stove, humming a tune as she deftly maneuvered a frying pan full of tamagoyaki. But she wasn't alone in her culinary task. Rui was draped over her back like a lanky shadow, his chin resting comfortably on her shoulder and his arms wrapped securely around her waist. He looked half-asleep himself, eyes closed as he was seemingly content to be her human backpack.
"Morning, Emu, Rui," Tsukasa announced, his voice regaining a bit of its usual projection, though he didn't miss the way Nene shifted just a half-inch closer to his side.
Emu beamed, not at all bothered by the extra weight she was carrying. "Good morning, Tsukasa-kun! Nene-chan! You’re just in time! The rice just finished!"
Rui cracked one eye open, his amber gaze landing on the two of them. He didn't miss the way Nene’s hair was slightly mussed or the fact that they had walked out of the same hallway at the same time. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face.
"Good morning indeed," Rui purred, his voice dripping with that familiar, knowing amusement. "You two certainly look... well-rested."
Nene immediately looked at the floor, gripped by the sudden urge to go back to her room, but then she felt the back of Tsukasa’s hand brush against hers—a silent, grounding contact.
"The Star requires a full night's recovery to shine his brightest, Rui!" Tsukasa declared, puffing out his chest with a familiar, grand gesture. Yet, despite the boisterous volume, he didn't pull his hand away; instead, his fingers sought Nene’s under the cover of the table, offering a silent squeeze that contradicted his loud persona.
Nene didn't snap back with her usual biting sarcasm. Instead, she allowed the corner of her mouth to quirk upward, leaning just a fraction more into his space as she reached for a bowl. "He means he's a biological disaster without ten hours of sleep and a bowl of rice," she corrected softly, her voice devoid of its usual sharp edge.
Rui’s grin widened, his observant eyes flickering between their joined hands and the soft, lingering blush on Nene’s cheeks. He didn't push further—the victory was already won—and simply tucked his head back into the crook of Emu’s neck with a hum of satisfaction.
As the four of them settled into the mundane rhythm of a Sunday morning—the clinking of ceramic, the steam rising from the miso, and Emu’s bubbly chatter filling the gaps—the heavy silence of the day before felt like a distant memory. The house was loud again, but for Nene, the world felt significantly steadier.
it’s actually impressive that they’ve extended the losing streak to ten. do you know how dogshit you have to be to lose TEN baseball games in a row. investigate mendoza
YUPPPP in the breakdown after the solo I shamelessly copy-and-pasted the chorus to Ballroom (my favorite song off of Jamie's 3rd album, Bittersweet) which is 4/4 with a triplet feel! I wanted that part to have a sort of "rockstar halftime breakdown" vibe, and I think I did okay!
