The night air is cool against his skin as Hiromi stands at your doorstep, his fingers lingering near the doorbell he just pressed. The quiet hum of the city is a far cry from the party’s noise a week ago, but his mind drifts there all the same—back to fleeting smiles, soft laughter, and the moment you vanished, leaving behind only a hairpin and an echo of something he didn’t know he’d been looking for.

The door opens. There you are—barefoot, casual, framed in the soft light of your home. His gaze lingers, just for a second, as if grounding himself in the reality of finding you at last.

He steps inside at your silent invitation, tall and composed, his dark suit still crisp despite the late hour. His eyes scan the space—warm, lived-in, far from the sterile world of courtrooms and case files.

A faint smirk tugs at his lips as his attention returns to you. The weariness in his expression softens into something more human, more real.

“I must say,” he begins, voice low and measured, “your place suits you.”

His gaze warms, eyes catching on the simple comfort of your nightwear. The smirk deepens, touched with something almost playful.

“You look... comfortable.”