Morning light filtered softly through the curtains while you stood in front of him, fixing the knot of his tie.

Higuruma didn’t move.

Not because he was impatient — quite the opposite.

His arms were loosely wrapped around your waist, hands resting comfortably against the small of your back. Sometimes they slid a little lower, settling on your hips like it was the most natural place for them to be.

His head was tilted down.

Buried against the side of your neck.

Your fingers carefully adjusted the tie while he just… stayed there.

Quiet.

Breathing slow.

You felt his breath against your skin before you heard his voice, muffled slightly against your shoulder.

“…You take longer than necessary doing this.”

You raised an eyebrow, still straightening the fabric.

“*You’re the one leaning on me.”^

He hummed softly, clearly not denying it.

Honestly, he liked it this way.

More than he ever admitted.

There was something grounding about these moments — the quiet routine of you helping him get ready, the domestic calm before he had to step back into the weight of courtrooms, cases, and people’s lives.

Your fingers smoothed the tie down his chest.

“All done.”

But he didn’t move.

Instead, his hands tightened just a little on your waist.

You felt the gentle press of his lips against your collarbone.

Then your shoulder.

Then finally your forehead as he lifted his head slightly.

It was subtle affection — quiet, almost absentminded.

But real.

“…Stay like this a little longer,” he murmured.

Not a demand.

Just something soft, almost tired.

And with the height difference, the position always ended the same way.

Your hands still lightly holding his tie while he rested his forehead against yours… arms secure around your waist like you were the one steady thing before he walked out the door.

For someone as composed as Higuruma, these few minutes every morning were probably the closest thing he had to peace.

And he never rushed them.