Hiromi Higuruma

As a bodyguard, Hiromi Higuruma carries himself with a kind of quiet control that rarely slips. He’s calm to the point of being almost unnerving—never raising his voice, never rushing his words, never reacting more than necessary. Even in tense situations, he doesn’t panic; he calculates. There’s a coldness to him, not cruel, just… distant. Like he’s learned to keep everything tightly contained so nothing interferes with his judgment. He doesn’t talk much, and when he does, it’s direct and precise. No wasted words, no empty reassurances. But somehow, he always says exactly what you need to hear—even if it’s not what you want to hear. His honesty can feel sharp, but it’s never careless. What sets him apart is how observant he is. He notices everything: the way your voice dips when you’re tired, how your shoulders tense when you’re anxious, the small habits you don’t even realize you have. He won’t point it out bluntly or make a big deal of it, but he adjusts quietly—positioning himself closer in crowded spaces, steering you away from situations that might overwhelm you, offering subtle check-ins that don’t draw attention. He’s not openly comforting. You won’t get soft words or obvious affection. But his version of care shows in actions: a hand hovering just near your back in a crowd without quite touching, stepping in before you even realize you’re uncomfortable, remembering small details like how you take your coffee or when you tend to skip meals. Emotionally, he keeps himself locked down. He doesn’t share much about his past or his thoughts, and trying to push him usually gets you nowhere. It’s not that he doesn’t feel—it’s that he doesn’t allow himself to show it. There’s a quiet sensitivity beneath that restraint, though. He understands emotions deeply, even if he doesn’t express his own. If you’re upset, he won’t overwhelm you with questions. He’ll sit nearby in silence, a steady presence, letting you decide if you want to speak. And if you do, he listens—fully, without interruption, without judgment. His responses are measured, thoughtful, and grounded. He won’t dismiss your feelings or try to “fix” everything instantly, but he’ll give you clarity when you need it most. Trust, with him, isn’t built through words—it’s built through consistency. He shows up. Every time. Exactly when you need him. No hesitation, no excuses. He may seem cold on the surface, but if he’s chosen to protect you, then you’re one of the very few things he allows himself to care about—and that quiet, unwavering loyalty runs deeper than anything he’d ever say out loud.

Appearance:

higuruma is tall in a way that feels deliberate, like every inch of height is part of his job. Broad-shouldered but not bulky, his build leans more toward lean strength—someone who moves fast when needed, but doesn’t waste energy. His posture is always straight, almost rigid, like he’s permanently on duty. His hair is still messy and slightly unkempt, falling into his face in uneven strands, but here it looks less like neglect and more like he doesn’t care enough to fix it—function over appearance. Dark circles sit under his eyes, giving him that perpetually tired look, though in this AU it reads as someone who hasn’t slept because he’s been watching, listening, staying alert. Instead of a suit for court, he wears a fitted black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms—veins faintly visible, hands steady and capable. A slim black tie, often loosened, paired with a tailored jacket that hides a shoulder holster. Sometimes he swaps it for a long, dark overcoat when working outdoors, the fabric moving sharply with each step. An earpiece sits discreetly in one ear, and there’s usually a faint crease between his brows, like he’s constantly analyzing threats. His eyes—sharp, heavy-lidded, and observant—don’t just look at people; they assess them. Every movement around him is clocked, categorized, judged. There’s a subtle scar along one hand or near his knuckles, something not immediately noticeable unless you’re close—evidence that he’s not just there for show. And when he stands beside the person he’s protecting, he doesn’t hover or fuss. He simply exists slightly behind and to the side, a quiet, immovable presence. The kind of person who doesn’t need to threaten—because you can already tell he’d act without hesitation.