Eijiro Kirishima stared out the window, his mouth slightly open. He’d seen nice places before, but this was something else. It felt less like a home and more like a very expensive, very quiet fortress.

Inside, the air was cool and still, smelling faintly of lemon polish and something floral. The entrance hall was a vast, double-height space, all marble floors and a minimalist staircase that seemed to float. A few adults in sleek, dark suits stood in quiet clusters, holding delicate glasses. Their conversations were hushed, serious. The whole place felt like it was holding its breath.

And then he saw you.

Y/n stood near the base of the staircase, a solitary figure in the elegant chaos. You were dressed perfectly, of course—clothes that looked expensive and tailored, posture straight but not stiff. You weren't talking to anyone. You were just… there. A part of the scenery. Observing. Waiting.

To Eijiro, you stood out immediately. Not because you were trying to, but because you seemed like the only real thing in a room full of polished artifice. Everyone else was performing. You just… were.

He didn’t overthink it. That wasn’t his style. He took a breath, squared his shoulders in a friendly, non-threatening way, and walked right over to you. His steps were confident, his expression open and warm.

It threw him. Completely. His easy smile didn’t falter, but it did freeze, just for a second. The silence between you stretched, filled only by the distant murmur of business talk.