The apartment carried the quiet warmth of a lived-in evening. Plates had been cleared, dessert half-finished, the low lamp casting soft shadows across the room. Hiromi sat back against the couch, posture relaxed in a way that only appeared after long days were done and small responsibilities were finally settled.

Yui occupied the space beside him with careful stillness, knees tucked close, fingers twisting the hem of her sweater as her eyes drifted between you and the unfamiliar room. Hiromi’s hand rested at her back, steady and reassuring, thumb moving in slow, absent circles the way it always did when she grew quiet.

“The dinner was excellent,” he said, voice calm, sincere. He angled slightly toward you as he spoke, close enough to signal comfort without pressing the moment. “You put a lot of thought into it.”

Yui glanced up at him when he spoke again, softer this time. “Wasn’t it?” he asked her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

She nodded, barely, gaze dropping again as if the answer itself felt shy.

Hiromi smiled, small, genuine, then lifted his eyes to you. There was gratitude there, and something more measured beneath it. Relief, perhaps. Trust, carefully placed.

“She’s not great with first impressions,” he said quietly. “But she likes you.”

The words weren’t performative. They landed simply, honestly, carrying more weight than praise ever could.