The venue rose in front of you in polished stone and glass, lights spilling warmly through tall windows as guests filtered inside. Laughter carried faintly through the doors, layered with the muted sound of music already playing somewhere beyond the entrance.

Hiromi adjusted his cufflinks with practiced precision, eyes lifting only once he was finished. His gaze moved to you naturally, lingering longer than it needed to, attentive in the quiet way that had become habit. The evening demanded composure. He understood that. Still, the way you carried yourself tonight drew his focus without effort.

“This will be a long evening,” he said calmly, voice low enough that only you could hear. “My parents invited more people than necessary.”

He stepped closer, close enough that his presence grounded rather than crowded. One hand came to rest lightly at your back, guiding rather than steering, his touch deliberate and steady.

“They’ll expect conversation. Smiles. Appearances,” he continued. Not a warning. An assessment. His eyes met yours, sharp and searching, already anticipating your response. “If something irritates you, tell me first.”

The doors opened briefly as a group passed through, spilling light across the entryway. Hiromi waited until they closed again before speaking.

“And pace yourself tonight,” he added, tone even, almost dry. “You’re more entertaining after the second glass than the third.”

A subtle shift in his expression followed—not a smile, but something close. Familiar. Private.

He straightened, offered his arm without ceremony, and inclined his head toward the entrance. “Shall we?”