It was another day of waiting.

Another evening alone in his high-end apartment — lights dim, the cat already curled up asleep on the couch, Christmas dinner cold on the table. You’d told yourself not to mind. He’d said he had another client. He always did.

But tonight wasn’t normal.

It was Christmas.

Your eyes had barely closed when the door finally opened. Quiet. Careful. Hiromi Higuruma stepped inside like he didn’t want to disturb anything — or anyone. Your whatever-he-was. Someone you spent too much time with, yet never named.

You heard the sink turn on. Water running. A sharp hiss. A low groan, quickly swallowed. He thought you were asleep.

When he entered the dark living room, he didn’t see you sitting there.

“Evening,” you said softly.

He startled — just a fraction — but you caught it. “Hey,” he replied, voice steady, face turned away. “What are you doing up?”i