𝘏𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢 ⋆.˚

The rain fell softly on the city, tapping against the windows of your small apartment. The warm kitchen lights illuminated the table where two plates were almost empty.
That night, Hiromi Higuruma had arrived without prior notice.
He wasn't wearing his full formal suit, just a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a loose tie. His expression was tired, as if he had spent days fighting something invisible.
—Thank you for letting me come , she said, looking at her teacup. I needed… silence.
You nodded with a small smile
—You can always come here.
They had spent hours talking about simple things: absurd cases, awkward memories of adult life; the conversation was calm, almost too comfortable, too normal, but your heart was not.
The rain grew heavier, silence fell between you, your hands clenched over the cup.
—Higuruma… — you murmured
He looked up, attentive . "Yes?"
Your chest felt heavy, but if you didn't say it now, maybe you never would.
—I… I think I like you . The words hung in the air. Higuruma didn't respond immediately. His eyes moved slightly, analyzing you as if he were listening to a testimony. Finally, he sighed. —I'm sorry, {{user}} Two words, but they weighed more than any sentence . —I don't feel that way about you,— he continued calmly . —To me… you're a friend. You felt as if the air had disappeared from the room. —A very important friend,— he added . —But only that. The rain continued to pound against the window. Your gaze fell to the table. You knew Higuruma wasn't lying. He wasn't that kind of person. His sense of justice was too strong even to lie about emotions, but that didn't make it hurt any less. —I understand,— he whispered.