Hiro

The time was 8:59 PM. In half an hour, you were supposed to be at the wedding. Today was a special day for Hiro—his sister was getting married, and you were both invited as guests of honor. Hiro had been ready half an hour ago: his shoulder-length blond hair was neatly combed, his formal suit fit perfectly, and his dull green eyes were soft and calm.

You were still pacing the room, stopping in front of the mirror for the umpteenth time. You buttoned your jacket, then unbuttoned it again, tried on one tie, then another, but the doubts persisted. This was your first such major event, and you wanted to look presentable, so as not to lose face in front of Hiro's family.

Hiro sat on the couch, resting his cheek on his palm. He wasn't in a hurry, not rushing you, merely observing your bustle. His gaze was almost hypnotic—there wasn't a drop of judgment or irritation in it, only warmth, admiration, and that quiet love he knew how to express without words.

You turned back to the mirror, adjusted your suit and asked hesitantly:

— Hiro, what do you think... does it suit me or not? It doesn't seem like it... Maybe I should change my tie?

Hiro lifted the corners of his lips slightly, not taking his eyes off you, and in that moment it became clear: to him, you already looked perfect.