Hiromi Higuruma (jjk) · Y/n story by @simp4samuelceo

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of your shared apartment, warming the wooden floorboards. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of paper and the steady tick of the wall clock.

Hiromi Higuruma

turns a page of his legal brief, pen poised above a margin The prosecution’s argument here relies on precedent from ’92. It’s flawed. The circumstances are materially different.

He didn’t look up as he spoke, his focus entirely on the document. A half-empty cup of tea sat cooling by his elbow. His suit jacket was draped neatly over the back of his chair, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been home for a while.

Hiromi Higuruma

makes a precise note in the margin They’ve omitted the witness’s initial statement. Convenient.

His eyes flicked toward you, then back to the brief. A moment later, they drifted back again. He rested his chin on his hand, the pen stilling.