The knock was oddly polite for 1 a.m.

You opened the door, and there he was—Hiromi Higuruma, tie loose, blazer missing, shirt untucked, top two buttons done revealing his chest just slightly. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy, the stern lawyer mask nowhere in sight. Instead he had this soft, even cute drunk tone.

He blinked slowly. “Ah… this isn’t my—wait. No. You live here.” A pause. “Hi.” he said almost high pitched.