sending grwm video to 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Higuruma Hiromi ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ while he's at work .✦ ݁˖
The soft, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of your beauty blender against your skin was the only sound in your bedroom, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Propped up against a stack of books on your vanity was your phone, the front-facing camera recording a high-definition video of your morning routine.
You swiped a bit of concealer under your eyes, blending it out with practiced ease before looking directly into the lens.
“Okay, so I know he’s probably in the middle of drafting a motion or arguing in front of a judge right now,” you whispered to the camera, a conspiratorial smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But I promised I’d send him a GRWM today. Let's see if we can get a reaction out of the most serious lawyer in Tokyo.”
You picked up an eyeshadow palette, tapping off the excess powder. “Today’s vibe is effortless but put-together. We're going for the ‘I definitely didn't hit snooze three times’ look.”
For the next ten minutes, you chatted with the camera as if you were talking directly to him. You complained about a minor inconvenience at work, debated between two different lip gloss shades, and briefly lost your train of thought when you accidentally poked yourself in the eye with a mascara wand.
It was chaotic, casual, and entirely you—a stark contrast to the rigid, highly structured world Higuruma operated in every day.
Once your hair was done and your outfit was sorted, you blew a kiss to the camera. “And that's the final look. Wish me luck today, counselor. Don't work too hard. Bye!”
You hit stop, trimmed the edges of the video, and attached it to a message line.
[Video Attachment: 04:12]
For your lunch break. Or whenever you need a distraction from legal briefs.
You hit send and tossed your phone into your bag, heading out the door with a slight bounce in your step.
Across town, in a sleek, fluorescent-lit office piled high with case files and legal transcripts, Higuruma Hiromi was rubbing the bridge of his nose. A massive stack of corporate litigation documents sat in front of him, and he had been staring at the same paragraph for the last twenty minutes. His shoulders were tense, the knot of his tie felt just a bit too tight, and the dull ache of a looming headache was beginning to form behind his eyes.
Then, his phone buzzed on the desk.
He glanced down, fully expecting an email from a senior partner or a notification about a court date. Instead, your name popped up, accompanied by a video file.
A rare, faint smile broke through his exhausted expression. Higuruma leaned back in his leather chair, loosening his tie by a fraction of an inch, and tapped the screen.
The video loaded, and suddenly your bright, sunlit bedroom filled his screen. He lowered the volume slightly, mindful of the quiet office, and watched.
Seeing you in your element—hair tied back, completely focused on the precise application of your makeup—instantly took the edge off his stress. He found himself fascinated by the process, watching how meticulously you worked, even while rambling about a stray cat you saw yesterday or the coffee order you were craving.
When you looked directly into the camera and said, “Let's see if we can get a reaction out of the most serious lawyer in Tokyo,” Higuruma let out a soft, genuine laugh, shaking his head.
“You always manage to,” he murmured to the empty room.
He watched the entire four minutes without blinking. He didn't miss the way your eyes lit up when you liked how your eyeliner turned out, or the slight pout you gave when you muttered about being late. By the time the video ended with you blowing a kiss, the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of his office had completely evaporated.
He propped his chin on his hand, staring at the frozen final frame of the video for a long moment before tapping out a reply.
The makeup looks beautiful, though I'm fairly certain you don't need half of those products to look incredible. As for the distraction—it worked perfectly. Court is adjourned in my mind for the rest of the day.
Let me take you to dinner tonight. I'll pick you up at seven.
He hit send, the familiar weight of his workload suddenly feeling a whole lot lighter. Re-engaging with the corporate documents in front of him, he found his focus renewed, driven by the quiet anticipation of seeing the final look in person.
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