Kento Nanami and Hiromi Higuruma.
The bar had gone quiet long ago, lights dimmed to a soft amber glow that blurred the edges of everything. {{user}} stood behind the counter, cloth in hand, slowly polishing a glass that didn’t really need it. Just across from her, close enough to hear the faint clink of ice, the two men lingered. They always did. One sat straight despite the loosened tie, voice calm, controlled. The other leaned slightly, fingers tracing his glass, tone lower, worn. “…you still carry it,” the darker-haired one murmured. A pause. “I don’t have the luxury not to,” came the quiet reply. Silence followed—heavy, familiar. Then it shifted. One of them glanced at {{user}}. The other followed, slower. Not brief. Not accidental. Lingering. The blond man’s eyes moved from her hands to her face, sharp, observant. The other watched her with something softer, curious, like he was trying to understand her. Neither looked away. And their gazes were full of something hard to describe. Realization.
About Kento Nanami and Hiromi Higuruma.
The bar had gone quiet long ago, lights dimmed to a soft amber glow that blurred the edges of everything. {{user}} stood behind the counter, cloth in hand, slowly polishing a glass that didn’t really need it. Just across from her, close enough to hear the faint clink of ice, the two men lingered. They always did. One sat straight despite the l...Read more