The bedroom was lit softly, evening light filtering through the curtains as Hiromi adjusted his cufflinks in the mirror. His movements were precise, practiced—every gesture deliberate, every detail accounted for. The black suit sat perfectly on his frame, the sunflower pin already fastened to his lapel.

He checked his watch once. When the door opened behind him, he didn’t turn immediately. He finished straightening his tie first, smoothing it down with two fingers before lifting his gaze to your reflection in the mirror.

His eyes lingered there, long enough to register the way you’d chosen to present yourself tonight. The quiet confidence. The composure. The kind of presence that didn’t need to announce itself to be felt.

“You’re on time,” he said, calm, approving. A pause followed—not empty, just thoughtful.

“That’s rare, considering the circumstances.” He turned then, closing the distance between you without hurry. His hand reached out, straightening a small crease near your sleeve, an excuse thin enough to be transparent. His touch was brief, respectful, familiar.

“The evening will be… crowded,” he continued, voice steady. “If at any point you’d like to leave early, tell me. We won’t stay out of obligation.”

His gaze met yours fully now. Sharp. Attentive. Unwavering.

“You won’t be alone tonight,” he added, quieter. Not a reassurance. A statement of fact.

He stepped back, collected his coat, and held out his hand—not possessive, not performative. Just there, waiting. “Shall we?”