Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Looking back on it now, I think I was too eager to prove I could live without you. I told myself that if I could turn away first, if I could place my hand in someone else’s and let myself be led somewhere less complicated, then maybe I would stop aching for what you wouldn’t give me.

Do you resent me for it, Hiromi? Do you resent me for opening myself to Ren? 

You always hated him, didn’t you? From the very first moment you saw him. I wonder if you would admit that to me now. If I were sitting across from you. If I asked you plainly, would you tell me the truth? I think just seeing his name in my hand would make something harden in you.

It is childish of me to confess, especially after all this time, but I loved your jealousy. I loved it because it was the one thing you gave me that felt unguarded. Not in words—but in the set of your shoulders, in the slight clench of your jaw, in those fleeting expressions that no one else would have noticed, but I always did. I watched for them. I treasured them. They were ugly little proofs, but they were mine. 

Oh Ren Nishimura. The catalyst. The person that pushed us closer than either of us was willing to walk on our own. It feels almost cruel to write that now, knowing where all roads eventually led, but it is true all the same. Whatever force brought you to me that night, I wouldn’t change that actions that led to it, even knowing it would ruin me.

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Shikazawa Café : 5:18pm : Morioka

Winter had been cruel that year, but thankfully by now, the worst of it was over. The air began to warm, and the streets livened up. Farfetched to say it was a decent degree, but it certainly wasn't blizzard weather anymore.

The café near your job seemed to be celebrating that fact more eagerly than anyone.

It sat on the corner of a busy street just a few minutes away from the club, tucked between a florist shop and a boutique.

On ordinary days, it was simply convenient—a place to duck into for coffee, sweets, or something quick before work. However, on evenings like this, when the sunlight washed orange over the sidewalks and the cold had retreated just enough to become bearable, it transformed into something else entirely. 

Perhaps a nice place for a date… and that’s exactly what you were on.

You and Ren found a table outside as the café had already begun to fill up. Thankfully most patrons preferred to be inside, but you didn’t mind the cold so long as it meant you two could talk without shouting..

Nearly every little wrought iron table was occupied, every chair claimed by someone eager to sit beneath the fading evening sun. 

The season had not loosened its grip completely—there was still a bite in the air, sharp enough to sting your skin a little when the breeze shifted, but spring had started phasing in. The snowbanks that had once crowded the sidewalks were gone now. 

It was the kind of place people liked to pretend they stumbled upon by accident, though everyone in the neighborhood knew it. Cute enough to be a date spot, practical enough to justify as a legitimate dinner restaurant. 

Inside, the bakery case was always full—cream filled pastries dusted with sugar, fruit tarts, sandwiches cut into neat triangles, little quiches with golden crusts. 

The whole place felt warm in spite of the cold. Everyone was all flushed cheeks and bright chatter and soft steam rising from cups.

You sat with your legs crossed beneath the table, one black pump hooked delicately against the other, your menu angled in your hands though you had barely read a word of it. You had dressed carefully without wanting it to look as if you had. 

The halter dress was simple, flattering in that effortless way that always took more effort than anyone admitted, and your fleece lined tights kept the worst of the chill off your skin without ruining the look of your legs. Your coat rested neatly on your shoulders. 

Your makeup was soft, restrained—just enough to brighten your eyes, define your lips, make your face look a little more polished than usual. Your hair had been pinned up with deliberate care, a few strands left loose to soften the shape of your face. The whole effect was subtle, but not accidental. Pretty, but not too eager. Beautiful, if someone was paying attention.

Ren was paying attention.

He looked unfairly handsome across from you as per usual. His eyes were such an arresting shade of blue—almost jewel-like against the dark elegance of him. They gave his face something striking, something memorable, especially paired with the easy warmth of his expression. 

He smiled often, and every time he did those dimples appeared in his cheeks as though they had been put there solely to make him impossible to resist. White button up, long dark coat, black slacks pressed clean. Shoes so polished they caught the light. He looked expensive, but more than that, he looked like he tried. Not in a cringy way, but by way of deliberate effort.

Maybe that was part of why you had said yes. Ren, for all his polish, had never hidden what he wanted. Attention. Time. A chance with you.

To be wanted so openly by a man like that did something to you, especially at a time when you were trying not to think too hard about another man entirely.

You had wanted Higuruma bad. God, you still did.

That was the part you had not managed to scrub clean from yourself, no matter how sensible you tried to be about it. The week at his house after the storm had done more damage than either of you had allowed yourselves to admit. 

It had taken something already fragile and made it extremely intimate. Breakfasts at his table. Dinners shared after long days. Car rides through the gray of morning and the dark of evening. The shape of his routine had opened around you and let you inside just long enough to make you ache for a place that was never going to be yours.

That was what hurt most. Higuruma had not misled you in words… but he made breakfast for you, drove you to work, remembered how you took your coffee, noticed when you were tired, when you were quiet, when something sat wrong behind your smile. 

But then he would remind you that you were his client. That this was temporary. That there were rules. That he was not going to budge.

It felt as though the door had opened just wide enough for you to see warmth inside before being shut with exquisite politeness. You had finally reached the humiliating conclusion that wanting him was not going to change him.

So, here you were. Sitting across from a man who wanted you without hesitation.

Ren gave a soft huff of amusement. “I was hoping this would feel more romantic… Instead it looks like half the city had the exact same idea as me.”

You laughed, the sound coming easier than you expected.

His mouth curved at once, dimples appearing. Encouraged, he leaned back in his chair and lowered the menu a little, blue eyes warm with that effortless teasing ease he always seemed to carry.

“Damn, if this goes poorly for me there will be too many witnesses.”

You laugh, “Better be on your best behavior then.”

“Absolutely.” Ren smiled like he was pleased just to have drawn a laugh out of you.

You looked back down at the menu—soups, sandwiches, seasonal specials. Your finger drifted down the dessert section instead, lingering there with no intention of being subtle about it.

“Is it terrible that I kinda only want dessert?”

Ren did not even pretend to consider another option. “You and I are on the same wavelength. The strawberry shortcake is calling my name.”

Your eyes widened. “Ah—I was literally thinking that.”

“Then that settles it.” He folded the menu a little and leaned back in his chair. “We’ll share.”

You stared at him. “Share? Ren, if you’re going to be on a date with me, you need to understand that I come with gluttonous baggage.”

“Gluttonous baggage? Now I definitely need to hear a story.”

“You wanna hear a story?!” You lifted the menu to cover the lower half of your face as if it shielded you from the humiliation already prickling hot on your cheeks. “I can tell you, but please don’t judge me.”

Ren’s shoulders shook with a quiet laugh. “I won’t judge you.”

“You say that now.” You pressed the menu higher, hiding behind it more. “Holy shit, okay. Okay. Please understand, I genuinely cannot take judgment from you. It would destroy me.”

He leaned forward across the little table, and with two fingers he gently lowered the top edge of your menu until your face was visible again. “You’re very different outside of work.”

“I’m definitely not as charming… disappointed?” 

He’d shake his head, “Of course not, but also, you’re not getting off that easily. I want your worst story.”

“Shit. Okay, I’ve genuinely never told anyone this story. I really thought I was going to take it to the grave.”

Ren gave a little shrug, “Consider me a closed casket.”

You exhaled and set the menu down flat. “Okay. Fine. This was… maybe nine months ago? I was still pretty new at Sunset, and I wanted to make a good impression on the girls. It was Sakura’s birthday, so I decided I was going to bring in a cake. Like a good one. Big enough that everyone could have some.”

Ren nodded, already smiling like he could sense disaster approaching.

“It actually came out really nice, and that’s important because on the bus ride to work, it got a little messed up on one side.”

“A little?”

You nod, “Like enough that it didn’t look perfect anymore. In hindsight it wasn’t that crazy. Anyway, I got off near the park and I was looking at it panicking because, again, I wanted to make a good impression. So I thought, okay, easy solution—I’ll just eat the messed up side. Even it out.”

The dimples were already threatening.

You pushed on, mortified. “So I did, but then the cake looked uneven in a different way because now one side had clearly been eaten. So I thought—shit. Okay. I just need to even all the sides.”

Ren’s mouth dropped open in delighted disbelief.

“And once all the sides were even I realized I had actually eaten a lot of the cake. Like… enough that there was no way it would feed all the girls anymore.”

He was staring at you now, absolutely captivated.

“So then I’m like damn, I can’t bring a half eaten tiny cake into work.. It was already ruined. It looked suspicious. It looked pathetic.” You covered your face with one hand. “So I panicked…”

Ren leaned in, blue eyes bright. “No.”

You started laughing before you could get the words out. “I finished it.”

He threw his head back and laughed, and God it made you laugh harder too, breathless with embarrassment and relief.

“There is no way you sat in a public park and pounded an entire birthday cake meant for ten people. All before work. By yourself.”

“I did not mean to!” You protested through your own laughter. “I was trying to fix it.”

“You fixed it by eating all of it.”

“I know! I felt sick immediately. Physically and emotionally… and that’s not the worse part...”

He perked up, “Oh?”

“I got to work, and my boss was already in the back bragging to everyone that he’d baked a cake from scratch. He starts cutting slices, and I’m standing there feeling like I’m about to die because I have an entire cake in my stomach.”

He wiped at the corner of one eye, still laughing. “Tell me you didn’t.”

You reply, voice tiny. “I had two pieces.”

“You had some anyway?! You are a machine!”

“I had to eat some! He was making a big deal out of it. What was I supposed to say? Sorry, I’m full because I already ate a whole separate cake before I got here?”

At that, the both of you broke completely laughing at the absurdity of it all. It left your cheeks warm and your eyes watery.

When the laughter finally softened, Ren shook his head as though he was still trying to recover from the image. “Okay, then I take it back. We absolutely do not have to share the strawberry shortcake. You might take my hand by accident.”

“I need you to forget this entire conversation ever happened.”

“Not a chance.”

“Ren.”

He smiled, “Now I know exactly how to get you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Sweets?”

“Sweets,” he agreed.

You looked down for a moment, smiling to yourself, and the conversation moved on. It slipped easily into other things—small stories. It was nice to get lost in the ease of non performative small talk. It was nice not to think about… him.

Just as you were really getting into the groove of your conversation, the café door opened again as a hostess guided a new patron to the patio.

“Right this way, sir.” The woman spoke as she walked two tables over. “Is here alright?”

You turned your head only out of mild curiosity, expecting another stranger… and then the world stopped.

Not literally, of course. Traffic still moved. People still laughed. A chair scraped faintly across ground somewhere behind you… but inside your body, time halted so abruptly it felt like a physical blow.

Higuruma was here—dressed as he always seemed to be. Dark suit, immaculate even beneath the long coat thrown over it. His presence carried that same composed sharpness. And those eyes—those fucking sanpaku eyes.

Even from where you sat, you could see them clearly. Your whole body tightened.

Of all people in Morioka, no, in all of Japan he was the one you least wanted to see standing there.

Not because you had done something wrong. He had made himself clear, over and over. You were his client. He was your attorney. The line would remain exactly where it belonged. There was nothing improper about this, nothing shameful in sitting across from a handsome man on a dinner date.

Higuruma had left you no room to hope for anything else—and still, seeing him there felt like being caught in the act of betraying something that had never been.

Your eyes met for one suspended second. He looked at you first, and whatever flickered through his face happened so quickly it might have been imagined by anyone less attuned to him. Then his gaze shifted to Ren, and then back to you.

He gave a single nod. No smile. No visible surprise. Nothing anyone else would have called a reaction.

But you knew him well enough by now to understand that his stillness was not emptiness. Higuruma had always hidden himself in restraint, and because of that, the smallest changes became obvious. 

The slight hardening near his mouth. The way his shoulders seemed to settle more rigidly beneath his coat. To anyone else, he looked composed. To you, he looked like a man clenching his fists.

The server led him to a table two down from yours… The universe could be so absurdly cruel.

It would be unfair to Ren to lose yourself in this, and you knew that. Higuruma had stated his position clearly enough that there was no excuse for acting like this moment meant anything at all. You had no right to keep living according to what he constantly denied.

So you smiled small and polite. Just enough to sand down the awkwardness. You even lifted a hand in a faint little wave.

Higuruma looked at you once more and nodded again before sitting down.

Across from you, Ren glanced subtly in the direction of your line of sight, then back at you. Two tables away sat the man who had taught you how infuriating restraint could be.

You made yourself turn back to Ren. He had been nothing but kind to you from the moment he sat down—charming without being pushy, attentive without making you feel cornered. There was no reason to punish him for the existence of another man, especially one who had been so painfully clear about where you stood.

So you smiled when Ren spoke. You laughed when he made another joke. You let the conversation carry you forward, and still, Higuruma remained lodged beneath your skin.

You had accepted his stance on your professional relationship, but there was still a petty little thing inside you. A small, ugly, immature part that wanted him to feel something at the sight of you.

Not enough to call you back. Not enough to make you hope again. Just… something.

Ren’s gaze drifted past your shoulder for only a second before coming back to you, but it was enough to make your stomach tighten. He tipped his chin slightly, expression thoughtful rather than suspicious.

“Wait, isn’t that the guy who picks you up from work?”

Your eyes widened, just a fraction. Of course he would notice that. Ren had been coming into Sunset often enough to notice patterns. During the week you’d stayed at Higuruma’s house, he had driven you to the club every day and picked you up every night. It was beyond just the Thursdays when he collected you for your meetings… actually it was beyond just the week of the snowstorm. He’d just pick you up every night…

You nodded, trying for a casualness you did not fully feel. “That is—yes.”

Ren’s mouth curved slowly, one brow lifting. “Tell me you’re not entertaining me when you’ve already got a man.”

The laugh that left you was a little too quick, “If my man walked into a café, saw me on a date with another man, and then sat down without saying a damn word… I’d be pretty fucking disappointed.”

You knew Higuruma could hear that. Outside was crowded, yes, but not packed the way the inside was. He sat only two tables away. Close enough that if he shifted his chair, you would hear it.

Ren grinned, slow and delighted, “Got that pretty mouth of yours talking filthy.”

Heat rushed straight up your neck as you slapped both hands over your mouth with a strangled little laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can be such a sailor when I’m off the clock.”

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Doesn’t bother me.”

“No?”

“Not even a little. I like it, actually. I get to see the real you.”

You dropped your hands slowly. “The real me?”

“The one you try to hide from me at work.”

“I do not hide from you.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I’m professional,” you corrected him. “There’s a difference.”

He leaned back, one arm draping along the side of his chair, his posture loose and confident in a way that only made him more attractive. “Professional? So that’s what we’re calling it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, professional. I know why men come to Sunset. It’s not for my deeply guarded inner self.”

Ren tipped his head, pretending to consider. “You make it hard for a man to think of anything else when the view is so exquisite… But that’s not why I come. You’re very stingy with your time, and I know that. Which makes the fact that you gave some of it to me matter.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the menu. 

Ren looked at you steadily. “So I’ll be honest with you. I came here from Fukushima.”

Your heart kicked hard once in your chest. “Wait, you mean… you lived there, or you still live there?”

He saw the reaction on your face. The devastation of something good being temporary—of course. 

His expression softened, and he reached across the small table to touch your arm, fingers warm even through the sleeve of your coat. “Hey. Hold on. Don’t go disappearing on me.”

You hadn’t even realized you were doing it—that instinctive little retreat inward, that split second blankness where your body stayed present and your mind tried to flee ahead of it.

“I still live there currently, yes, but I’ve been out here for the past few months because of family business—I do have a place here. It’s not like I’m passing through without a trace, okay?”

You nodded once, though the tension in you hadn’t fully eased.

He kept his hand there another second, grounding. “Listen to me first. In Fukushima I run my own hostess club.”

That pulled your attention back properly. “You do?”

He nodded. “I’m always handling business. Hiring, staffing, finding out how other places operate. I pay attention. Sometimes that means I see girls who would be better off somewhere else.”

Your brows drew together. “Ren…”

“I’m not pitching to you, just listen. When I first came into Sunset I asked your manager who I should request, and he recommended every girl in the place but you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“That’s exactly what I thought. I found it strange, because look at you.” His eyes moved over your face with no attempt to hide his admiration. “You’re gorgeous. Even just on looks alone, I would’ve picked you anyway, but it made me curious. Why steer me away from you specifically? So I asked for you, and the second I sat down with you, I understood it.”

A strange heat spread through your chest. “Understood what?”

He smiled—not teasing this time, “You have a natural way of making men fall in love with you.”

Your breath caught. “Ren…”

He put both hands up immediately, laughing a little at the look on your face. “I’m not making some dramatic confession right now, relax.”

Two tables away, a chair shifted. It was a barely audible sound, the scrape softened by the ambient noise of the patio, but your attention snagged on it anyway. You did not turn your head, but you could feel Higuruma’s presence.

Ren continued, “Your manager keeps you with regulars, almost exclusively, from what I can tell.”

You frowned. “I mean… yeah. Mostly.”

“And do you know why?”

“Because they request me?”

“It’s because men who really want a girl don’t like seeing her with anyone else. It ruins the illusion. If you’re good enough at your job, the club can make more money by limiting access to you and turning you into something scarce.”

The words made you go still.

“And if your manager is dirty, he can make even more by taking money under the table to keep certain men happy without having to increase your cut proportionally.”

Your eyebrows knit. “Are you serious?”

“Like I said, I own a club. I know what dirty business looks like.”

“You really think he could be doing that?”

Ren tipped one shoulder. “I’m not saying I can prove it, but think about your day to day. Do you usually get new clients, or are you almost always with regulars?”

“I’m with my regulars like ninety nine percent of the time… but I just thought that was because they ask for me early.”

“Maybe, or maybe he knows exactly what he has in you.”

A server passed near Higuruma’s table, and for the first time since he sat down, you risked the briefest glance in his direction.

He sat with the same perfect posture, one leg crossed over the other, coat opened just enough to reveal the dark suit beneath. His face was angled down as though his attention belonged solely to the coffee set before him, but the line between his brows had deepened by the faintest degree. 

When you looked away, your pulse felt strange.

Ren was still speaking intently, “You’ve got charm, beauty, mystique. You’re incredibly rare for a place like Morioka. Foreign hostesses are like one in a million. A girl like you should be drawing all kinds of interest.”

You let out a quiet disbelieving breath. “This sounds insane.”

“It’s just an observation, but if it were me, I’d confront the son of a bitch and demand back payment. I know it’s easy for me to say, but you deserve better.”

The words were casual in tone and devastating in effect.

Before you could decide what to do with that, a server approached your table with a polite bow, little order pad in hand.

“Good afternoon. Are you ready to order, or would you like a bit more time with the menu?”

You blinked. “No, um— I’m ready. I’ll have the strawberry shortcake.”

Ren handed over his menu. “Same for me—and actually…” He glanced at you with a wicked brightness in his eyes, “Could we get two more to go?”

You choked. “Ren!”

“I know what you like now.”

“Don’t expose me like this.”

“You exposed yourself the second you told me about that cake.”

You lifted the menu again, hiding all of your shame behind it. “Please tell me at least one of those shortcakes is for you.”

“They’re all yours, love.”

Your cheeks burned so hot you were certain the entire patio could feel it.

The server bowed without missing a beat. “Of course. I’ll bring those right out.”

The second she stepped away, Ren reached across the table and hooked two fingers over the top of the menu, lowering it again until you had no choice but to look at him.

“Don’t hide from me.” 

You laughed helplessly. “I’m mortified.”

“I like seeing this face.” His gaze lingered on you. “The shy one. The one you never wear at the club.”

You tried to pull the menu back up. He stopped it with one hand.

“Ren—”

“Let me look at you.”

“Ugh. You’re evil. Now you’re just going to think of me as some glutton forever.”

He laughed. “That is not what I think when I look at you. Not even close.”

Your breath hitched a little on pure instinct. Two tables away, porcelain clicked softly against porcelain. Not loud, just the faint sound of a cup being set down with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. You did not turn, but you felt it.

By the time the heat lamp beside you finally began to do something more useful than glow, your fingers had stopped feeling quite so cold.

You tested the air first, lifting one hand beside the heater and feeling the dry warmth gather at your knuckles, then your wrist. Once you were sure of your survival, you slipped your coat off your shoulders. The relief was immediate. 

The dress beneath it was prettier than the coat had allowed anyone to see—a fitted halter in a dark, rich tone that flattered your skin and sat cleanly against your frame, elegant in the front and open at your back. Incredibly bold for this time of year, but directly under the heater… it worked.

Ren looked at you, and the smile that spread over his face was immediate “Damn, how am I supposed to focus now?”

“You just have to try.”

“Oh, I’m trying.” His blue eyes dipped, then came back up to yours with a kind of appreciative disbelief. “You’re making it difficult.”

The server returned carrying two dessert plates in each hand, the smell of fresh cream and strawberries arriving a second before she did. She set one slice before you and then Ren.

The shortcake was beautiful. A neat triangle of pale sponge layered with soft whipped cream and fresh strawberries. The cake itself looked impossibly light, each crumb delicate and springy. 

The server smiled politely. “I’ll have your to go bag ready at the bakery counter when you’re ready to leave. Please enjoy.”

You both thanked her, and the second she stepped away your eyes dropped to the plate with unconcealed longing.

Without even pretending restraint, you slid your fork in and took a generous first bite.

The cream was cold and airy. The sponge practically dissolved. The strawberry was sweet but tart. It was wonderful.

Across from you, Ren laughed. “No itadakimasu? No reverence? Just greed?”

You nearly choked on your own laugh, covering your mouth as you chewed. “Stop—you said you weren’t going to make fun of me.”

“I don’t remember promising that. You took down a quarter of the cake in one go.”

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing again. “My sweet tooth is serious, okay?”

“I can see that.”

He finally took a small bite of his own, neat and controlled in a way that made your own enthusiasm feel even more shameless by comparison. 

He hummed. “Mm. Pretty good.”

You pointed at him with your fork. “Right?”

He nodded. “You weren’t wrong.”

Ren took another bite, “So, tell me about boss man over there.”

Your smile faltered just slightly. “Who?”

“Your friend. The one I don’t have to worry about.” His eyes flicked, briefly in Higuruma’s direction before returning to you. “You say he’s not your boyfriend, but he’s picking you up from the club every night? I don’t knooooow~ Be honest… who is he?”

You set your fork down. “It’s not like that. He’s just—”

“I apologize,” Higuruma interrupted, turning to look over at you. “Truly, but do you mind if I have a word?”

He had not moved from his own table. He remained seated, and his expression was composed, but there was something beneath it, a tension so restrained it was nearly nonexistent for those not looking.

Ren pushed his chair back gracefully. “Have several.” He spoke lightly, rising to his feet. “I need to use the restroom anyway.” He smiled as he touched your arm in passing. “Take care of her for me while I’m gone.”

It was the kind of line that should have sounded charming and nothing more—and perhaps it did. Well, to everyone except the man two tables away.

Something changed in Higuruma’s face. Nothing obvious, but his gaze sharpened for a fraction of a second on the place where Ren’s fingers had been.

Ren now disappeared inside. The café door shut behind him with a little chime, and suddenly the patio felt quieter than it should.

You stood and crossed the short distance to Higuruma’s table. The warmth of the heater left you almost immediately. The cold found your exposed back at once, but you could take it. This should be quick. 

You sat across from him, smoothing the dress over your thighs before looking up. “You good?”

Higuruma looked at you in that scrutinizing, steady way of his. He lifted his cup, took a sip of coffee, then returned it to the saucer quietly.

“Were you about to tell that man I’m your attorney?”

Damn, he was straight to the point as always.

You shrugged—the movement a touch defensive. “I mean… yeah?”

“Don’t.”

You frowned. “Why?”

His eyes held yours. “Because telling him you have a lawyer at all raises questions that you should not be answering. Anyone who does not already know you’re in a legal battle should remain that way. Your workplace is aware because they’ve been interviewed. That’s different. You do not need to be discussing your case with clients.”

You rolled your eyes before you could stop yourself. “First of all, he’s not a client right now. He’s my date.”

“You’re on a date with a client?” He spoke in a tone more offended than he probably intended.

You gave a small lift of one shoulder. “Yeah. Is that a problem too?”

“It is, actually.” The answer came faster than you expected.

“How?”

Higuruma shifted in his chair, not away from you but not toward you either, as though even his body had been trained to honor lines. “I’m not discussing that here out in the open. That crosses into confidential territory.”

“So what, you want me to just leave my date?”

He exhaled faintly. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

His gaze lingered once over your face, “I think it would be wise.”

The cold had already started settling over your bare skin, and you folded your arms without thinking, rubbing at them lightly. 

Your voice lowered with irritation. “I can’t just bail. That’s fucked up.”

Higuruma’s eyes dropped briefly to your shoulders, then to your crossed arms. “You should’ve kept your coat on.”

You almost laughed at the absurdity of that. “You don’t even care, do you?”

He ignored the question. Or perhaps chose not to answer it.

You’d continue, “Ren said if we went on a date, he’d stop coming to the club. I told him I don’t date clients. So now he’s not a client.”

Higuruma leaned forward the slightest amount. “That is completely irrelevant.”

Was that jealousy in his tone?

You tightened your arms around yourself. “So what am I supposed to do? Fake a stomach ache? Spill coffee in my lap and run? I actually like him. I don’t want to ruin this.”

You did like Ren. He was gentle with you, generous with his attention, honest in a way that felt flattering—but there was another reason you said it that plainly. Some small wounded part of you wanted to see what the truth did to Higuruma’s face.

For a moment, it did nothing, and then almost microscopically, his jaw clenched. His fingers shifted once against the handle of his cup before going still again.

When he spoke again, his voice was as measured as ever. “You paid for my counsel. You didn’t pay for me to tell you what you want to hear.”

“Correct, I paid for your time in the office. You doing unpaid overtime now?”

His eyes dropped to your folded arms again. To the fine tremor the cold had started putting into your shoulders. Instinct moved through him hastily—his hand went to the button of his coat, fingers slipping beneath the edge as if he were about to take it off… but he stopped.

He withdrew his hand and straightened slightly. “You’re freezing. You should get your coat.”

You’d sit still trying to absorb all of this.

He’d continue, “Look, I’m not telling you what to do. I’m advising you. If you leave now, I can drive you home. Or wherever you need to go.”

It should have sounded practical, but instead, it sounded devastating.

You didn’t answer, and through the glass, you saw Ren heading back outside.

Your heart sank in a heavy, resigned way, because you knew exactly what you had to do and it wasn’t what you wanted.

You rose from Higuruma’s table without another word.

He looked up at you, and for the briefest second, something like resistance flashed beneath the stillness. He wasn’t as restrained as he thought he was.

You turned before it could become anything bigger.

You crossed toward your own table, the open dress leaving your skin exposed in a way that now felt foolish rather than pretty. Your dessert sat half eaten where you’d left it, and your coat still hung over the back of your chair. 

Ren stepped outside just as you reached your seat.

He smiled when he saw you, but the expression shifted the moment he read your face. He was too polished to crack, but he sharpened and became more attentive.

You touched the back of your chair and looked at him, your disappointment turning hot.

You were angry at Higuruma, and yourself, and a little sad, though you hated that word for it.

Your eyes drifted to him and then away again. “Ren…”

He stepped closer, just enough that you caught the clean scent of him. Then, with two fingers beneath your chin, he tipped your face back toward him. Not forceful. He just wanted your eyes on him.

“What happened?” He asked.

The concern in his voice made the lie feel worse.

You shook your head once, because if you looked at him too directly for too long you might lose your nerve. “It’s just… There’s an emergency, and I need to deal with it.”

Against your better judgment, your gaze flicked past him, toward Higuruma’s table for the briefest second, then back.

“I’m so sorry. I genuinely don’t want you thinking I’m intentionally bailing on you. I just have to go. Time’s kind of… important.”

Ren watched you. Whether he knew you were lying or only suspected it, you couldn’t tell. He was too kind to corner you over it. If he pressed you and you were telling the truth, he’d look like an asshole. An emergency was one of those things no decent man could challenge without gambling his own dignity.

In the end, you saw the exact moment he decided to let you off the hook.

His thumb brushed lightly once against the underside of your chin before his hand fell away. “Alright, love. I understand. Be safe, okay?”

Your mouth opened on apology again, but he cut it off gently.

“And take the shortcakes with you, please,” he added, managing a faint smile. “Tell the lady at the counter. I’ll finish up here.”

You nodded too quickly. “Thank you, Ren. Really. I’m sorry. I just—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” His voice was warm, easy, though there was something tired under it now. “Take care of yourself, and whoever needs you.”

You wanted to hug him. To at least touch his arm. To offer him something that acknowledged your feelings for him—but Higuruma’s warning remained clear, and now even the thought of a simple goodbye felt dangerous.

Instead you grabbed your coat, bowed your head a little, and murmured one more thank you before turning toward the café door. You hated yourself right now.

Behind you, shortly after you entered the café, Higuruma rose.

You collected the bag of shortcakes, thanked the girl who handed it over, and barely registered the weight of the two boxes as you were trying to get over this guilt.

Higuruma was already moving toward the exit, one hand reaching for the handle just as Ren’s voice called out.

“Hey.”

Higuruma stopped and looked back over one shoulder.

Ren stood by your table, one hand in the pocket of his coat, the other resting loosely against the chair back. “Is she your girl?”

Higuruma’s hand remained on the door handle briefly, “She already told you no, didn’t she?”

It was probably the most unprofessional answer he could have given. A clean no would have sufficed, but something in him had resisted that. Something had chosen to answer in a way that turned the question back around. As if the important thing was not the truth, but taking you at your word.

Then he opened the door to the café and quickly walked to the exit.

Higuruma held the door open for you, waiting until you stepped through. “Put your coat on.”

You stopped in the doorway and looked up at him. “Does a little skin bother you?”

He looked down at you, and then briefly along the open line of your back before returning to your eyes.

“No, but it’s going to bother you, and then it’s going to bother me.”

You rolled your eyes and walked out anyway, because now you felt like shit. You had lied to a man who had been gracious with you. Let him pay. Let him flatter you. Let him laugh with you. Let him begin to hope, and then left him standing beside half eaten cake.

Some ugly part of you thought maybe you deserved to be cold. So you did not put your coat on. You walked beside Higuruma in silence, the two of you moving toward his parked car.

Streetlights had begun to turn on as the evening surrendered.

Your mind kept circling itself so viciously that you barely registered him slowing. Then warmth dropped over your shoulders. Your heart went wild all at once—or maybe it stopped.

Higuruma’s coat now hung around you, heavy and dark and warm from his body. The fabric smelled like him—clean laundry. It swallowed you almost immediately, the inside still holding his heat. 

When he pulled his hands back, his expression was faintly irritated. “I don’t know why you’re being so difficult right now.”

You should have been upset. In the hierarchy of appropriate feelings, anger and shame should have come first, but instead there was this horrible rush of butterflies. Stupid and entirely unwelcomed.

He looked away first and continued toward the car. By the time you reached it, he had already unlocked the passenger side and pulled the door open for you. You got in without speaking. He circled to the driver’s seat, slid behind the wheel, and shut the door with a firm sound that cut off most of the street noise.

He started the engine, adjusted the vents, and set the heat to rise gradually rather than blast. The dashboard lit his face, catching in the tired lines beneath his eyes and the stillness of his mouth.

Then he turned and looked at you as if trying to assess not just your mood but the entirety of what just happened, and why.

You stared straight ahead for a long minute, jaw clenched, fingers gripping the handles of the shortcake bag in your lap. When you finally turned to him, the words came out harsher than you intended.

“Don’t look at me like I’m the one who should be getting scolded.”

His brows pulled together. “I’m not—”

“You just pulled me from a date, and I’d really love to know why.”

Higuruma leaned back a fraction, one hand settling on the wheel though the car remained in park. “First of all, bring it down.”

Your eyes flashed.

“Second, I didn’t pull you from a date. I advised you to stop digging your own grave, and you chose to listen.”

You crossed your arms beneath his coat, glaring. “Elaborate.”

“What did I tell you in our first meeting? I told you that prosecutors have a way of framing beautiful women whose job it is to entertain men, flatter them, build a sense of intimacy—”

“You didn’t say beautiful the first time.” The correction slipped out before you could stop it.

It startled even him. His eyes widened a hair. “What?”

“You said attractive the first time. Not beautiful.”

For one suspended second, he just looked at you—then he did what he always did when a personal truth threatened to drag itself into the open—he stepped around it.

“Attractive, beautiful, whatever. That is not the point.”

A tiny spark of ugly satisfaction lit in you anyway. “Convenient.”

He ignored that too, though the muscle in his jaw ticked once. “Since you remember my words so well, do you remember what I asked you about Makiguchi?”

Your stomach dropped.

He saw it and pressed on. “I asked if you ever invited him anywhere. If you led him to believe there was something more than work. If you gave him any reason to think he had access to you outside the club.”

“Are you seriously throwing that in my face right now?” You snapped. “That man attacked me in a fucking alley and tried to force himself on me. How dare you.”

His expression changed instantly. Not guilt, because he knew what he meant, but alarm at the hurt he had stepped on.

Your voice trembled with anger now. “I never saw him outside of work. Never met him privately. None of that—but even if I did that’s not an excuse for what he did, so why would you even say that to me?”

You turned away hard, staring out the passenger window as silence hit the car.

When Higuruma spoke again, his voice had dropped. “I would never throw that in your face.”

You rolled your eyes still looking out the window.

“Look at me.” His tone sharpened with urgency. “Look at me. Right now.”

You turned, and he was already looking at you with a seriousness that stripped everything else away. No dryness. No restraint polished smooth. Just him.

“I would never throw that in your face. Not as a tactic. Not as a lesson. Not as anything. What happened to you is not a joke, and it is not something I would ever use against you. Do you understand me?”

The force of his words hit somewhere tender.

Your eyes dropped for a second. “Then what are you saying?”

He softened just a tiny bit. “I’m saying that if the prosecution finds out you went on a date with a client, or a former client, if that distinction comforts you—they will not care about the nuance.”

You cut in immediately. “I’m not dating anyone. I went on one date!”

“Alright.” His palms open for peace. “Lower your voice. We’re still parked. The car is not soundproof,”

You glared at him.

He lowered his own voice further. “The prosecution will paint it as a pattern. They will argue that you blur professional boundaries with clients. That you cultivate personal relationships off the clock. That Makiguchi wasn’t delusional, just encouraged. None of that is true, and I know it isn’t true, but court isn’t built on truth alone. It’s built on what can be made to sound plausible.”

Your fingers tightened around the bag.

He watched that, and continued more gently. “If they can prove you met a man from the club privately, and that there was any invitation at all to intimacy outside of work… It gives them an angle.”

The weight of it settled slowly, horribly. “So I’m just not allowed to… What? Have a life?”

“This is temporary.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“I know.”

“You get to walk around being a respectable man in a suit. You get to tell me what’s risky and what isn’t, and you’re probably right, but do you have any idea how humiliating it is to hear that even this is dangerous for me?”

“Yes.”

You laughed once under your breath, bitter. “No, you don’t.”

He held your eyes. “I do.”

There was something in the way he said it that made you go still. It sounded like a man admitting in the safest language that he understood more than he should.

After a beat he spoke again, quieter. “I’m not saying you did anything wrong by wanting normal things. I’m saying they’ll use whatever they can against you, and I am trying to keep that from happening.”

You gave a tired little huff. “I don’t like how you show concern.”

His mouth moved like he almost smiled, but didn’t. “I wasn’t aware concern needed to be charming.”

“It’s preferable when you’re ruining dessert.”

The heater finally pushed real warmth through the vents. It was then that you became painfully aware that you were still wearing his coat.

After a moment, he glanced at the bag. “He bought you two extra slices didn’t he?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Yes, why?”

“No reason.”

“Higuruma-sensei...”

His gaze stayed forward, “It seems excessive.”

You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not allowed to observe that another man has no vested interest in your sugar intake?”

Something in your expression must have changed, because he finally looked over and seemed to realize, half a second too late, how that sounded.

You tilted your head, “Another man?”

He turned back to the windshield immediately. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“You sound a little jealous.”

“No.”

Somewhere underneath all that discipline, Ren’s attention had not gone entirely unnoticed.

“Passive aggressive, I feel like.” 

His fingers adjusted once on the steering wheel. “Do you want me to drive or are you going to keep cross examining me in a parked car?”

“You can drive.” you spoke softly.

Higuruma pulled away from the curb in a smooth, careful motion. The city moved around you in blurs. The snow was gone from the sidewalks now, but it had left behind dark seams of water and salt stains. Bare branches rattled faintly overhead when the wind caught them. The inside of the car, by contrast, was warm and close.

You were still wearing his coat. It lay heavy around your shoulders, smelling like him, making the space feel even smaller.

For a while, he said nothing. He only drove as you sat angled toward the window.

Then, after a few blocks, he spoke. “Is there somewhere else you wanted to go that isn’t straight home?”

“Where I want to be is apparently off the table.”

The line hit. You saw it in the brief glance he cut toward you, in the tightening at the corner of his mouth. Whatever this ugly, controlled feeling was in him, it was getting harder for him to hide.

“Home is fine.” You continued. “Thanks.”

“You aren’t hungry? You barely ate.”

You kept your eyes on the window. “I got a couple bites. I have the cake slices.”

“That’s not food.”

You shrugged. “I’m good.”

He exhaled—not quite a sigh, and the car fell quiet again.

Outside, the car slipped toward your neighborhood… Inside the car, the silence stretched long enough that your thoughts had room to turn ugly.

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do with Ren. That was the simplest version of it. When the case ended and you walked free, would you go back to him? Would you let yourself? 

He was kind, handsome, and patient. He wanted you in ways he did not make you dig for. He chose you out loud—but did you want him, or had you only wanted to move past your feelings for the man beside you?

And what about the Higuruma of it all? When this was over, would he finally stop using your case as a wall every time the two of you got too close? Or would he simply step back and let things die?

After a while, he spoke again, so unexpectedly you almost missed the first word. “There’s an Italian place near your apartment.”

You turned your head.

He kept his eyes on the road. “It seems decent.”

You laughed once, short and disbelieving. “If I can’t be seen on a date with a former client, then I definitely can’t be seen on one with my attorney. And if it’s not a date—” You looked at him fully now, “then I don’t want to go.”

The silence after you spoke felt different from the others..

After a pause he’d respond. “Why are you doing this?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Why am I doing this? Hiromi—” The name came out before you could stop it, though you corrected yourself immediately. “Higuruma-sensei. I’m not strong enough for this shit. I’m not.”

He gripped the wheel a little tighter, but said nothing. You kept going because now that the words had begun, you couldn’t force them back down.

“I’m not strong enough,” you repeated, voice wavering in spite of your effort to keep it level. “You don’t want me, but then I go on one date with someone else and you tell me it’s inappropriate so it gets cut short, and less than half an hour later you’re inviting me out to eat? But not as a date?”

“It wasn’t—”

“You said we need to be professional, so let’s be professional. I’ll just be a stone cold bitch until this is all over, okay? No dates with anyone. No confusion.”

He glanced at you, then back at the road, the line between his brows deepening.

“We should probably stop the rides too.” You nod, “Since Ren noticed that.”

His eyes flicked to you again.

“It went from just Thursday nights to every day, and that was supposed to be temporary. Just while I was at your house because of the storm. So yeah. I’ll catch the bus again.”

“No.”

It came out far more stern than he intended. It startled you.

He turned into your neighborhood then. Your apartment building sat ahead in its tired, faded color. 

He pulled over by the curb in front of your unit. Your door was only a few steps from the passenger side.

He turned to you. “I don’t want you to be in danger.”

There it was again—that infuriating thing he did where he made his concern sound like logic over feelings.

You shrugged, staring at him. “Well, if this isn’t about what I want, then it can’t be about what you want either. We don’t get what we want out of this. The best we can hope for is a not guilty verdict and a fucking handshake. Because anything else would be professionally irresponsible, right?”

He turned more fully toward you now, body angling in the seat so that one knee pressed subtly toward the center console. “The rides are for safety. They do not blur lines.”

“For you, Hiromi. They don’t blur lines for you—and you know what? I don’t even think that’s true.”

He frowned faintly. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that you are a very controlling man. You like things to go your way. You like to keep every piece where you can see it. Every risk managed. Every variable in line. You want to keep me in your sight, make sure I don’t stray too far—”

“That’s unfair to say.”

“Is it?” You leaned toward him a little now, breath unsteady, his coat slipping off your shoulders. “I think you want me where you can see me, but you don’t want to get too close because if you get too close, then you have to admit this stopped being strictly professional a long time ago.”

His mouth parted, but you didn’t let him step around it.

“Tell me I’m wrong Hiromi. Tell me I’m wrong. Go on. I’m ready to hear it.”

The car had become too small. Too warm. In that enclosed space, everything became charged.

“You blur lines in ways you can justify as principled,” you went on. “You hide behind what’s technically acceptable, but when I’m direct, when I say out loud what you only imply, suddenly I’m taking it too far? That’s bullshit. The line was crossed the night you invited me into your car and you know that.”

You just had to ask… dammit… you couldn’t stop yourself…

“When this case is done, does this end too? Do we part ways like strangers? Or do we see how far this goes without hiding behind the case anymore? If you tell me you aren’t interested, I won’t hold it against you. That’s fair—but I can’t keep accepting rides. I can’t.”

He finally looked away from you entirely, as though the darkening street beyond the glass had suddenly become more manageable than your face.

Before you could slow yourself down, you reached over the center console and caught his face in your hand. Your fingers spread along his jaw, thumb near his cheek, and the shock of the contact made his eyes widen just enough to tell you he had not expected you to do it.

You held his face there and made him look at you. “I need you to understand me, Hiromi. I’m not accepting rides. I’m not coming to your house. I’m not eating dinner with you unless you tell me right now that this isn’t nothing. Do I go inside and accept that this is strictly professional? Or are you finally gonna give me a fucking break?”

Your thumb moved against his jaw without your permission. A tiny stroke. Instinctive and tender.

He’d speak your name under his breath. Not formally. Not with a title. Just your name, low and rougher than you were used to hearing from him.

It broke something cleanly in the space between you, and you saw the exact second he realized he’d done it. His eyes searched yours, then dropped briefly, involuntarily, to your lips before snapping back up. When he spoke, he sounded tired in a way that had nothing to do with the day.

He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, like a man losing patience with his own inability to say the right thing without destroying something.

When he opened them again, there was too much in them. “I don’t know how to answer you.” 

He didn’t know how to answer, which of course, was an answer all by itself.

You smiled without warmth. “I think you just did.”

Finally, you pulled your hand away. The loss of contact was immediately displeasing. His face remained turned toward you for half a second longer, as if he still felt your hand there.

You unbuckled your seatbelt, shoving his coat from your shoulders,  “Goodnight, Higuruma-sensei. I’ll see you at our next meeting.”

He inhaled sharply. “Wait.”

It was too late, you were already opening the door and you did not look back.

You walked to your apartment with your shoulders stiff and your heart pounding so hard it made you feel sick.

Fuck that.

You were done waiting for him to decide what you were allowed to be to each other. If he wanted professionalism, then he could have it in perfect, icy detail.

By the time you got the key into the lock, your hands were shaking hard enough that metal scraped metal twice before it finally caught. Your chest still hurt from the conversation in the car, from the way he had nearly said something real and then retreated into uncertainty again. 

You couldn’t keep living on implication. Couldn’t keep letting him reel you in with one hand and hold you back with the other. 

Maybe if Ren wasn’t too angry or upset after what you’d done, he might give you another chance. The thought was ugly in its timing, a little scummy even, and you knew it. 

You liked him, but you just didn’t want him the way you wanted Higuruma.

Your apartment gave you very little room to pretend otherwise.

It was small even by studio standards. One room doing the work of three, with a little kitchenette shoved to one side, a narrow bed against the far wall, a small two seat table beneath the window. Loveseat in front of a tv. The furniture was minimal and mismatched, the kind you accumulated because it was cheap or available, not because it suited anything. The place smelled faintly of laundry detergent and old heating pipes.

You shut the door behind you and stood there for exactly one breath.

Then came a knock.

“One second.” You called, already turning back toward the door with a hard eye roll.

You unlocked it, pulled it open, and the force coming through shoved the door wide.

Higuruma was inside before the thought had fully formed.

He didn’t pause on the threshold. Didn’t ask permission. Didn’t give you time to rearrange your face or your temper or the storm still moving through your chest. 

One second you were reaching for the knob, the next he was crowding you backward into the wall beside the door, his hands framing your face, his body close enough that the cold he’d brought in from outside collided with the heat still trapped in your apartment.

Your breath caught so hard it hurt. The cake bag slipped from your fingers and hit the floor at your feet.

“Hiromi—?” Your voice barely made it out.

He was so close. Close enough that you could see the slight disarray of him now that he’d finally let himself break. The faint flush in his cheeks from whatever it had cost him to get out of that car and follow you inside. 

His breathing was heavier than you had ever heard it. The intensity in his eyes, usually so controlled now sharpened into something raw and frighteningly personal.

Tears welled in your eyes before you even understood why. Relief, maybe? Shock. Fury. Love. Too much of all of it at once.

He stared down at you like he was trying to memorize your face and argue with himself at the same time.

“Why—” He spoke low and unsteady in a way you had never heard from him, “why would you force my hand like this?”

Your fingers came up to his wrists where they bracketed your jaw.  “I’m not forcing you to do anything. You could’ve driven off.”

His gaze searched yours with almost violent focus.

He shook his head once. “No, I couldn’t.”

He studied your face once more before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. There was nothing gentle about it.

He kissed you like restraint had turned feral inside him. His mouth crashed into yours hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs, and the sound you made was helpless and immediate, swallowed by him before it could become anything intelligible—and you kissed him back with everything you had.

Your hands dropped from his wrists to his lapels, fisting in the fabric and dragging him closer even though there was hardly any room left between you to lose. One of his hands slid from your face to brace beside your head against the wall—the other stayed at your jaw as if he could not bear to stop touching you there. His mouth moved over yours again and again, urgent and deep and desperate.

He spoke between kisses, the words rough as though he hated every truth even as he gave it to you.

“I didn’t want to do this.”

His mouth found yours again, harder.

“I didn’t want to cross this line before the case was over.”

Another kiss.

“I didn’t want to touch you like this while you’re vulnerable—while there’s still any chance that this,” another kiss, “that what you feel,” another, slower this time, “could be because of circumstance.”

You clung to him more tightly. “Hiromi—”

“I need to know that when this is over, when you’re safe, when you’re free, when I’m not standing in some position of trust over you—you would still want this.” His eyes searched yours so intensely it almost hurt. “I wanted to wait until then. I wanted to do this right.”

You could barely breathe.

He kissed you again, fierce but no longer careless, one hand sliding from the wall to your waist at last.

“I don’t want my feelings bleeding into your case,” he muttered against your lips. “I don’t want to be reckless and jeopardize your freedom because I couldn’t control myself. I don’t want to make one selfish decision and ruin the only thing that matters right now.”

Your lips parted on a shaken inhale. “And what’s that?”

“You.”

The word came out instantly. Too quickly to take back. His eyes closed the second he heard himself say it, like a man who knew he had just stepped off the ledge entirely.

When he opened them again, you stared at him.

“Do you have any idea what it’s been like? The way you look at me, the things you do for me, the way you make space for me in your life and then act like I’m insane for noticing what it sounds like? What was I supposed to do with all of that?”

His gaze flickered over your face. There was guilt, frustration, and want. “I was trying to keep you safe.”

“You were trying to keep yourself safe too.”

For a second his expression changed, and you knew you had found something tender enough to wound.

“Yes.” His thumb moved once over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized slipped free. “It’s an impossible position.”

His forehead dropped to yours, and the room felt even smaller now.

You touched his face then, more carefully than before. Just the line of his jaw, the edge of his cheek, as though you still couldn’t entirely believe he was here and letting you.

“What are you saying?” You asked. “Tell me plainly.”

“I’m saying I want you, but I am not going to let wanting you make me careless with your life. I won’t. So we have to put a pause on this.”

Your tears spilled more freely now, “That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“No,it isn’t, but listen to me, I am not rejecting you. I am not saying this ends when the case does.” His lips kissed yours again, slower now, as if he needed you to hear the words as much as feel them. “I am saying I need to get you through this first. And then we can pick back up.” 

His hand at your waist slid fractionally around your back, fingers splaying there over the bare skin the dress left exposed, the touch so intimate it made your knees weaken. 

Your head tipped back against the wall. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

You kissed him, softer now but no less desperate. When you spoke, your voice was small. 

“You can’t do this and then go cold on me tomorrow.”

“I won’t but I need your patience.”

You laughed through your tears. “You have taken all of it.”

His eyes softened. His thumb swept another tear from your cheek. “I couldn’t let you walk away thinking I felt nothing. You’ve had enough trouble in your life. I want to be a part of the solution.”

You looked at him through damp lashes. “Then don’t ever make that mistake again.”

“Understood… let’s talk, so we’re on the same page.” 

You’d nod and invite him into your tiny apartment. 

He stepped back and slipped out of his shoes, leaving them at the door before fully entering your apartment.

Higuruma stood near the center of the room looking somehow too large and too composed for the space even after everything that had just happened. His suit and his height made your studio look even smaller by comparison. There was no judgment in his face. Only quiet observation.

You gestured toward the couch. “Please. Have a seat.”

He’d do so and you followed. No discretion. No distance. You climbed straight into his lap.

Fuck it.

The motion startled a quiet inhale out of him, but he caught you automatically, one arm circling your waist as you settled against him sideways. You curled into him like you had been waiting to do it for months. His shirt was warm beneath your cheek. His body felt solid and safe.

“Tell me to get up if you’re uncomfortable,” you murmured.

He looked down at you, one brow lifting just slightly. “Uncomfortable isn’t quite the word.”

Your head perked up immediately. “Horny?”

His mouth flattened, but it was almost playful. “Reel it in.”

“Well a girl can dream.”

His arm tightened around you, pulling you in more firmly, “I need to be transparent about what this looks like after I leave tonight.”

You went still in his arms, and he felt it, but you nodded anyway.

He glanced down at you, choosing his words with care even now. “We have to go back to normal.”

The phrase landed harder than it should have after everything else. He must have seen it hit, because his hand moved once over your back in a slow, grounding pass. The dress left so much skin exposed there that every inch of contact felt amplified.

“I know there’s no taking back what happened tonight, and I’m not trying to, but like I said, we have to put a pause on this. On our emotions. At least outwardly.”

You were quiet as you listened.

His hand remained at your back. “Just know that I will be there after this. After the trial. After you are found not guilty in a court of law, I will be there.”

You tipped your face up to look at him. You have to make a joke or you’ll explode. “And if the verdict is guilty?”

His arm squeezed you instantly, and then his fingers found your side and tickled, just enough to make you jerk in surprise. “What did I tell you about joking like that?”

You let out a startled laugh and squirmed against him. “Hiromi—”

“It isn’t funny, and it isn’t going to happen.”

He shifted you slightly higher on his lap without seeming to realize he was doing it, making the position even more intimate, your bodies aligning more comfortably, more dangerously.

“The women working that night have agreed to testify if it comes to that. You have multiple character witnesses. Business owners along that route know you, know your schedule. The timeline supports you. The injuries support you. Makiguchi’s account doesn’t.” His gaze held yours with that beautiful certainty of his. “I have you covered.”

The sheer conviction in him was overwhelming. You stared at him as if he were the most beautiful man on earth—which, at that moment, he might as well have been. The calm in his voice. The absolute confidence with which he spoke about protecting you. The quiet ferocity under every measured word. It was almost too much to bear.

You buried your face in his chest. “Stop, I can’t take that kind of talk.”

His hand spread over your bare back, rubbing slowly as if he could soothe the feeling right out of you. “It’s true. I have you, and I’m going to continue to have you. Nothing will get in the way of that.”

You lifted your face again, emotion crowding your throat so quickly you didn’t trust yourself to speak. So you kissed him, and this one was different.

This was softer in theory, but no less loaded. You leaned in, and he met you immediately, his hand tightening at your waist as your mouths found each other in a slower rhythm. A little messy. A little tongue. A breath caught between you. Your fingers slipped up beneath the edge of his collar, grazing the warmth of his neck. He pulled you closer, and you settled deeper into his lap with a tiny sound you couldn’t help.

It felt foreign and inevitable all at once. Like a thing your body had somehow already known how to do with him long before the chance had arrived.

You were so lost in the moment with him. You had to let yourself because you knew when he left out your front door, you two wouldn’t have another moment like this, potentially, for a long time.

Your bag vibrated suddenly, but you ignored it.

Higuruma’s hand slid more firmly around your back as you kissed him again, and the phone buzzed a second time. Then a third. Then again.

Your mouth broke from his with a confused breath. “The fuck?”

The room seemed too quiet now except for the repeated insistence of your phone. It kept vibrating in your bag on the tabletop in small bursts.

You climbed out of his lap reluctantly, your dress shifting up your thigh for a moment before you smoothed it back down, and reached for the purse perched on the coffee table.

The screen lit your face. Six unread messages. Four missed calls. More notifications arriving by the second.

Your brows knit hard. “My family? I haven’t spoken to any of them since I moved back to Japan. It’s been over a year.” Your stomach turned faintly. “What the hell do they want?”

Higuruma straightened. The warmth had gone out of the room in an instant. “Is everything alright?”

You didn’t answer. You were already opening the messages. That he could see from over your shoulder.

The first one hit like a slap.

Brother: I fucking knew you were up to no good in Morioka. Fail on your own if you want to, but stop dragging the family into it. Assault, battery, and robbery? Why didn’t you just beg for money if you needed it?

Your breath caught.

Cousin: You wanted to know why we lost touch? This is why. You create scandals like this in the family and then everyone else has to clean them up. You moved all the way to Morioka to be a criminal? Seriously?

Your mouth went dry. You scrolled with shaking fingers.

Mom: I’m truly at a loss for words. All this time your father and I thought you went to Morioka to make something of yourself. You work at a hostess club robbing men? It’s sickening. It really is.

Dad: So many lies you told us. So many lies about what you were doing in Morioka. Your job. Your life. I'm beyond disappointed. I hate that you made us find out like this.

You were not immune to hateful messages from your family, but distance and their habitual nature made it so you weren’t surprised. It still hurt, but not in the way it once had. 

What hit harder, what really made your pulse spike was the confusion.

What the hell were they talking about?

Sister: Loser behavior. This is why we cut you out of the family. Yet another fucking mess for us to clean up. You couldn’t just stay gone and quiet. I hope that man you attacked sends your ass straight to prison for this. That’ll be the best thing the family can hope for.

Below it was a link to an article. A headline.

Hostess Club Worker Linked to Savage Attack on Local Business Owner

You gasped so sharply it hurt your throat. “There’s an article about Makiguchi.”

“What?”

“They’re saying I attacked him.” Your hand flew to your chest. “They’re saying I—”

You tried to tap into the article, but your vision blurred.

No, no, no.

The headline alone was enough to tell you what it would say. What it had already done. Hostess Club Worker. Not your name, not woman, not victim, not defendant. Your job first, the implication immediately after. Linked to. Savage attack. Business owner. Every word chosen to turn the knife, to prime the reader toward outrage before they even reached the first sentence.

You could already imagine what it said:

You lured him.

You met him privately.

Money was involved.

He was respectable and you were not..

Your kind of work explained everything.

A man with a business and a sympathetic photo could always be made more legible than a woman like you.

Your lungs seized. “Fuck. Shit. Shit—I can’t—” You looked at the screen again and saw the words robbery and savage and club worker swimming together in a blur of public humiliation and legal catastrophe. “I can’t fucking breathe.”

Higuruma took the phone from your hand just long enough to see the headline and the first brutal lines beneath it.

His eyes widened. “Shit.”

He looked back at you immediately, one hand coming to the back of your neck, “Hey. Hey—look at me.”

You couldn’t. Your chest was too tight, your breaths coming shallow and fast now, each one worse than the last. Your tiny apartment suddenly felt airless, the walls too close, the ceiling too low.

“Hiromi—” Your voice cracked. “I can’t—I can’t… I can’t—”

He put the phone face down on the coffee table and pulled you into him. Not loosely. He held you with both arms, firm and immediate, your face against his chest, one hand splayed broad and grounding between your shoulder blades.

“Breathe.” 

You shook your head hard against him.

“Breathe with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” His voice had turned sharp with focus. “Listen to me.”

Your breaths kept catching, thin and ragged.

He cupped the back of your head “In through your nose. Slow. Come on.”

You tried. Failed. Tried again.

“There you go.” His hand moved slowly up and down your back. “Again.”

Your fingers bunched in the front of his shirt.

“My family saw it,” you choked out. “Everyone saw it.”

“I know.”

“It says I attacked him.”

“I know.”

“It says robbery.”

“I know.” His jaw was tight as stone now, his voice controlled by force. “Don’t read another word.”

You clung harder as your phone began vibrating again. Neither of you moved to answer it.

You were shaking hard enough that he could feel it through your clothes.

Morioka wasn’t big enough for this to stay distant. If your family who lived so far away and had no real place in your life anymore already saw—then the city would see too. Your job. The regulars would see. Neighbors and strangers.

No one had ever been more invested in your failures than your family. It was like your losses helped them love one another. Hating you was a family activity, one of the only things that ever seemed to unify them. You had spent years being the glue in that way—never cherished, only useful when broken.

Higuruma, by contrast, looked like a man one degree away from violence. He was furious.

His eyes—those sanpaku eyes that always seemed too revealing no matter how much he wished otherwise—had darkened with something cold underneath all that focus.

Makiguchi had already taken enough from you, and now he was trying to take your name too.

Higuruma cupped your face again, firm enough to hold your attention, gentle enough not to startle you further. “Look at me.”

His thumbs rested just beneath your eyes, not wiping at your tears yet, only bracing you there. Keeping you anchored.

“There is nothing written in that article that changes this case. Nothing.”

You swallowed hard, trying to breathe around the panic.

“I have a hearing next week. We’re going to find out whether this even goes to trial, and until then, and after that if it does, you have nothing to worry about.”

Your mouth trembled. “Hiromi—”

“I have you. I will defend you. I will defend your reputation. This man has tormented you enough. I will not let him continue to badger you. Not after what he has already done.”

His voice deepened as he spoke. It was passion badly disguised as strategy. 

“We are going to bury this man. You will be proven not guilty in a court of law, and after that he will pay for everything he’s done.”

Your story got under his skin in ways that had clearly cost him sleep. It lived in him. He hated Makiguchi with a depth that did not belong to detachment. Sitting there in your apartment now, with your phone lit up by lies and your family spitting venom through a screen, you could see just how dangerous that hatred had become.

If there had been no law, no case, no consequences, no one watching—Higuruma would have killed him for what he did to you.

Maybe that was precisely why he had been so desperate to keep his feelings contained. The more he cared for you, the more unforgivable Makiguchi became. The more personal it got.

His hands tightened very slightly against your face, “I don’t mean to be crude, but your family is weak minded and pathetic.”

You blinked at him as his thumbs moved, brushing away tears that kept replacing themselves.

“If this is how they react to a slanderous article—if this is how quickly they turn on you, if this is how they choose to treat you the moment they hear some poisonous version of your life—then they do not deserve your time, and they certainly do not deserve a response. Ever.”

The words hit you harder than they should have. Maybe because no one had ever said it that plainly before. No one had ever looked at the cruelty you came from and decided it wasn’t worth mending.

“They are choosing to side with a predator they have never met, over you. That is deeply pathetic. It is cowardly, and it tells me all I need to know about them. Get your revenge by proving them wrong in court. Do not answer them. Do not answer anyone. Makiguchi is a known figure here in Morioka, which means the media may try to turn this into a spectacle now that he’s gone public. Let them try.”

His hands slid from your face to your shoulders.

“Don’t cry for them. Don’t look guilty. Don’t look ashamed. Don’t give anyone the satisfaction of reading sadness as admission. You are not guilty. You did not attack that man. You survived him. We are going to fight this, and we are going to win.”

Something in you gave way then. Relief. He had a way of steadying you like no one else in this world. You wrapped your arms around him without hesitation.

One arm tightened around your back, and the other hand cradled the back of your head, tucking you securely beneath his chin. You felt so safe there.

That was the most terrifying part of him. Not his intelligence. Not his moral rigidity. Not even the restraint that had nearly broken you. It was this. The feeling, in his arms, that the world could come crashing through your windows and he would still stand between it and you until he had nothing left to stand with.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his shirt.

He lowered his head, “You never need to thank me for doing what I should.”

Before you could answer, your phone vibrated again on the couch. The motion made both of you still.

Higuruma’s hand moved to steady your wrist on instinct. “Don’t look.”

But you’d already seen the lit screen, and this time it wasn’t another cousin. Not your mother. Not another sanctimonious little executioner with your blood in their veins.

It was Ren. The name on the screen made something twist in your chest.

You reached for the phone and opened it with shaking fingers.

Ren: That article is total bullshit. I don’t believe a goddamn word of it. Not one. I had no idea you were carrying all of this by yourself. Is that why you had to leave earlier?

You don’t owe me an explanation. I just need you to know I’m not buying what they’re saying. At all.

My line is open if you need to talk, scream, cry, curse, vent, whatever. I mean that. You are not alone in this.

If Ren and Higuruma were the only people in Morioka who knew you were innocent—if it was just them, and no one else, that was more than enough for you.

____________________________________________________________________________

So far this page has been the hardest to write. I’ve long accepted reality, but I’m only human. Sometimes I wish I could reach through time and play God just once. Just long enough to steer us in the right direction.

It may be morbid to admit this after everything that followed, but I am grateful to Ren for pushing you toward me. You hated seeing me with him. I know you did—and  I loved knowing that whatever line you had drawn finally became less important than losing me. I loved the way you held me like I might break, but never once made me feel breakable. You treated me with the caution one gives glass, and the respect of diamonds.

I needed you then in a way that shames me to write plainly. I needed you like air, like sleep... You were my only peace, Hiromi. The only place my fear ever seemed to stop making noise.

We were so naive, weren’t we? We thought the worst thing waiting for us was a trial and a few nasty looks from strangers. We had no idea what was in store, and yet I would still do it again. I would walk that road exactly as I did if it meant I could have you as my armor. 

You may ache now for the woman I was then, but do not ache for her on my behalf. The feeding frenzy was coming for me no matter what we did. I was just glad to have you.

Higuruma Law Office : 10:31pm : Morioka

Higuruma finished the page and did not move for a long while after.

The paper remained between his fingers, and the room around him had gone unnaturally still. The fourth page trembled once when he exhaled.

He knew what came next. There was no suspense in memory, only dread. No mercy in recognition. He knew every choice that followed. 

Slowly, he pulled the page away from the stack. He set it face down on top of the third.

Nothing about him looked effortless anymore. His heart ached with a heaviness.

Still, beneath all of that pain, there was one small mercy. You did not look back with regret. That mattered to him more than it should have. Despite knowing your pain, you still wrote with an air of fondness, and he was glad for it. Even if he could not say the same for himself.

Where you had found armor in his arms, he had found something far crueler in hindsight—the unbearable knowledge that loving you had not been the mistake—only the way he had tried to do it so carefully that it worked against you in the long run...