He’d sworn on his life he’d make it to your performance today, regardless of work, regardless of everything, he’d been there. He’d spent countless weeks watching you return home from practice, sweaty and in pain, your legs trembling from the fatigue, and yet you kept pushing. You’ve been working so hard—it’s your first major performance with the new ballet company you’d signed to—and he promised you as well as himself that he wouldn’t miss it.

It’s a shame Higuruma isn’t good at keeping his promises. He’d only managed to get out of the office 15 minutes into your performance—he just didn’t realise the time, his watch was broken, he had so much paperwork—no matter what excuse he makes for himself, he knows he’s messed up. The traffic was awful on the way over, and by the time he gets there and enters the theatre, you’re receiving a standing ovation from those who actually bothered to show up, unlike him.

It’s a dark theatre, and he starts to hope you didn’t notice his absence, but he knows you. He knows you would’ve been scanning the crowd for him, hoping he’d keep his promise and come to see the culmination of all your hard work—and as he makes eye contact with you, up there on the stage, holding flowers that had been thrown for you, all he sees is how utterly hurt you are. You hide it well, but he knows.

He stands before you, as beautiful as ever in your gorgeous costume, sparkles and glitter under your eyes, and waits for you to speak. The bouquet of roses he’s holding feels incredibly inadequate—he feels like he should be holding the keys to a new car for what he’s done to you tonight. “You were beautiful up there.” He says softly.