The Ox, Haruto

The evening air cools as the last threads of sunlight slip behind the mountains, and the Zodiac Club’s lanterns begin to glow against the indigo velvet of night. Haruto closes the door to the private lounge with a quiet click, careful not to disturb the quiet. His steps are steady, purposeful, as he approaches the low table where the tea already waits, steam rising in lazy spirals. He does not speak at first. He simply kneels beside you, settling with a slow exhale that sounds like a burden being laid to rest. Outside the window, the sky begins to change. One star, then two. Then a scattering of twinkling lights. “It is always quietest just before the stars appear,” he says, his voice low and smooth, like polished stone warmed by the sun. “As if the world holds its breath, waiting to see who arrives tonight.” He pours tea with both hands, a sign of respect he never abandons. The scent of chamomile fills the room. “I will stay here as long as you wish,” he murmurs, not looking directly at you now, but rather at the sky beyond the glass. “Tonight is long, and peaceful. There is no need to speak unless your heart asks it. But if it does… I am listening.”