Chapter Text
You were so out of your depth that it was beginning to feel like a dream.
Stepping off the bus, you scuff your sneaker as you trip, struggling to shoulder your tattered tote bag with the weighty canvas under your arm knocking you off balance.
Glaring at the starched white material, as if you could blame anyone other than yourself for the fall, you pull out your phone clumsily. Swiping the cracked screen with the pad of your thumb, you narrow your eyes at the navigation app as it shows you a bright red pin marking your destination. You raise your eyes, trying to figure out where it was sending you and start to walk in that direction slowly.
You already feel uncomfortably poor, the street dotted perfectly with mansions, the air of them regal and intimidating as they watched you pass by.
Casting your eyes over clipped lawns and spotless driveways, you glimpse a few luxury cars resting behind ornate iron gates. You try to keep your eyes forward, jaw ticking as you note that some of them cost more than you'd made your whole life.
It was your own fault, really. When you'd chosen your occupation, you didn't pick something strategically well paid, with promised work at the end of the tunnel. No, instead you'd foolishly chosen to follow your dreams, studying art instead.
You'd relished the days you'd spent in class, painting to your heart's content, even scoring well in your examinations. The way you could use colour and shape to bring about a story, the way you saw the world compressed and summarised into strokes on a canvas. It was something that brought you joy, but not money.
And that was the thing, wasn't it? Money made the world go round.
After you left your education, you were full of fire. Excitement, even egotistical at the thought that people would buy your work, that they would love it so much that they would pay for it.
Time ticked on and whilst you did manage to sell a couple of pieces here and there, it was nowhere near enough to cover your rent- let alone anything else. As a result, you’d had to take up shifts at a local cocktail bar to make ends meet, to shop solely from the sales rack and submit to the fact that this was how it would be for the rest of your life.
You shake the thought from your head, slowing your pace just in time for you to stop in front of the wrought iron gate that held a circular sign embellished with the word ‘Judgement’.
Checking the address your father had sent you and seeing that it matched, your face blanched.
As stunning as the other properties were on this estate, this one was easily triple the size. Looking through the gaps in the polished gate, you spotted a rolling, rich green lawn that you just knew was cut to an exact length by some poor soul. Scanning further, you saw a sizeable driveway that circled an ornate water fountain.
The property itself was unsurprisingly gorgeous, its large porch held high by white polished columns; matched perfectly with dark slatted roofs and tall, shining windows that caught the mid-morning sun- even the reflections of the gardens they faced looked out of your budget.
A crackle sounded to your right and you startle, dropping the canvas gravelled path beside you.
“Fuck.” You muttered, picking it up to dust it off.
“Do you have an appointment, ma’am?” A thin, almost bored voice sounded from the speakerbox attached to the wall adjacent. You blinked at the unassuming plastic, realising there was a camera installed there.
“Oh, uh- sorry,” Your tongue stumbled and you cursed internally at how unprofessional you sounded, “I was supposed to meet a man called Hiromi at 11?” You twisted your fingers in the material of your shirt.
A shuffling noise came from the box, followed by a small scoff of disbelief, “Mr Higuruma is currently occupied, and I can't see that there is an appointment for that time. Good day.”
You frowned, glancing back down at your phone at the message from your father- was this a fucking setup or something?
No, there it was. Hiromi’s name and address, forwarded verbatim as he'd sent it to your dad.
You didn't want to turn away, knowing how much your old man was sticking his neck out for you right now. He'd been trying to help your career as an artist make waves, often taking your business cards out to his networking events as a lawyer.
He often rubbed shoulders with the elite at those things, and despite your constant refusal for him to pay for your living expenses, he wanted to help out in any way he could.
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you press the small square button on the intercom, hearing the dialling tone give way to that voice again.
“Yes ma’am?” It was strung higher, strained no doubt because of your return.
“Look, can you please just double-check? I’m here to paint a portrait of Hir- Mr Higuruma.”
A resounding sigh cast out from the speaker, the sound of fluttering pages just audible in the background. A beat of silence passed as you chewed your bottom lip, squinting at the shift of a long shadow passing by one of the upper-floor windows of the mansion.
The blare of a buzzer knocked you out of your trance, the heavy metal gate clicking open shortly after.
“If you come through to the door at the side of the orangery, I will meet you there to take you up.”
With that the voice vanished, leaving you to swim in the panic that submerged your stomach in its clammy waters. You were so out of your fucking depth.
Feeling conscious of every scuff or scrape on your clothes, your shoes- even the small smudge at the bottom of your canvas, you crunch inelegantly over the gravel path towards the building. Rounding the side of the colossal property, you find the glass extension immediately, its shining windows catching the glint of the morning sun and reflecting it straight back at you.
Carved stone arches held up the tall windows, giving way to a lazy spill of green intertwining the wooden trellises that covered the walls inside, plump and bright citrus fruits breaking up the earthy mess of foliage with pops of vibrant oranges and yellows. The light of the sun filtered down through a pitched glass ceiling, the heat difference making you feel like this orangery was a portal to somewhere tropical.
You stand agape at the open doorway, closing your mouth just in time to see a head of pure white open the door adjacent to you.
They were short, and far younger than they'd sounded on the intercom. Sharp eyes and a thin face were framed by a bob of silver hair, the owner of the voice bowed slightly, doing nothing to hide their grimace as their eyes cast over you.
“My name is Uraume. Follow me.”
A little perturbed that you didn't even get to introduce yourself, you obeyed with a small nod, noting the flash of vermillion at the back of that pristine white head as they turned on their heel.
Uraume crossed the immaculate tiled floor of the orangery, pausing at the internal door in thought.
“Take your shoes off. I don't want to clean the carpet again today.” The sneer in their voice was unmistakable, and you found yourself wanting to leave for the umpteenth time since arriving.
Begrudgingly, you slide off your sneakers, leaving them to the side as Uraume hands you a pair of house shoes, which you don with a tight smile in response.
They nod, seemingly satisfied at your compliance before opening the door to lead you into what might be the most beautiful kitchen you'd ever laid eyes on.
A huge carved chunk of white marble stood proudly at the centre as an island, flanked by countless units of glossy black, the same marble adorning the worktops in heavy slabs. You tried to keep your mouth wired shut for fear of embarrassing yourself further, eyes flickering over the tasteful smattering of potted ivy that climbed down from a height, painted gold by warm lowlights.
Uraume wasted no time, pacing across the room towards another door that led to a carpeted hall painted in muted gem tones of emerald, ornate frames peppering either side of the wide space.
“Mr Higuruma is waiting for you in the drawing room, but I believe he wanted the portrait to take place in his study.” They stated, turning to face you as you both reached yet another door. Uraume stepped to the side. Clearly, this was the drawing room they were referring to.
“Thank you.” You replied, trying to keep your voice as level as possible as you turned the brass handle slowly.
Here goes nothing.
Opening the door, you're greeted by a large room with lofty windows, warm wooden bookcases encompassing a space in the middle that housed a set of green velvet sofas, circling an enclosed fire that was currently unlit. You glance around, trying to find your elusive client as you step forward slightly, not wanting to venture too far.
You heard someone clear their throat loudly to your right, and realised that you were fucking holding the door open right in front of his face.
Stammering an apology, you shut the door behind you, catching the slight eyeroll from Uraume as the wood closed their features from view.
Mr Higuruma watched as you dipped your head, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he closed the book he was holding, slotting it back into place amongst the other colourful spines that littered the shelves around him.
“It’s fine, really.” He insists, waving his hands at your bent form, his gaze scanning you up and down.
You straighten, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he steps slowly, circling you like a hunting shark, “I really am so sorry, I had no idea-”
“I said it’s fine.” Any humour drains from his face, dark eyes falling flat as he repeats himself. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his tailored black slacks, his body straight but his posture relaxed- oozing the kind of confidence you knew only came with being ridiculously wealthy.
Staying silent, he arches a dark brown in your direction, that mirth coming back to his features. It was as if your instant obedience was a tick in the box for him, the way he turned that authority on and off like the flick of a switch.
You introduced yourself and he repeats your name in a rumble of his low tenor, stalking over to the door that you'd entered through.
“If you'd care to follow me, I’d ideally want the painting to be done in my study.” He gestured for you to follow him back down that carpeted hall, reaching the spacious foyer with just a few strides until you both reached the foot of a sweeping black staircase.
Climbing the stairs he maintained his professional silence, leaving you wondering if the awkward tension between you both was one-sided.
Swallowing your myriad of questions, you plaster a stupid smile on your face as you gaze about the first floor, spotting far too many doors as he leads you down another hallway.
He's tall, well-built from what you can tell under the dark jacket of his suit. The fabric of it shifts and shimmers with each step he takes in those spotless leather shoes, even the scent of his cologne that hits you as you follow makes you feel like you should be charged for the privilege.
It makes you want to die. You were never really a materialistic person to begin with, but the blatant difference between the two of you made your stomach hurt a little. You wondered what a life you would've had if your father was a ridiculously successful, if you'd have taken up his mantle and made your fortune-
Your thoughts are interrupted as you walk straight into the back of your very wealthy, very professional client.
Face connecting with his broad back as he stops walking, it takes you a second to register what just happened. The apology is halfway out of your mouth before his palm clamps down over your lips, long manicured fingers resting against your cheek as he silences you before you can speak properly.
“Knew that was gonna happen. You're a jumpy little thing, aren't you?” He's being playful again, that low voice almost attractive as it spills from lips which are starting to curl into a little smirk.
You frown as he releases you, fire bursting forth from your tongue, “If I knew you were going to stop, that wouldn't have happened.” The regret sets in as the words leave your mouth, but it's too late.
His brow straightens as he leans over you, the mint of his breath mingling with his woody cologne as he speaks, “If you were using your eyes properly, you'd see that there's only one door ahead.”
Looking ahead at the lone door you'd ended up next to, he's completely right. But you're not going to admit that, too worked up after your morning of being poked and prodded at for your destitute little life.
“I’m not sure how it works for the elites, but in the real world manners are actually free.” You've really fucked it now, the snark in your tone sealing your fate. You were already kissing goodbye to the considerable paycheck you'd just talked yourself out of. You'd have to ask your father for a loan, just to add salt to the wound of fucking up the only job he'd managed to give you.
Mr Higuruma blinks, unbothered eyes widening for a beat as your words settle in. Then after a moment, the most mischievous smile cracks his face. It's a little unsettling, like he knows something you don't, eyes crinkling as he steps back to look at you, really look at you this time.
“I like you.”
It was all he could reply as he turns back to unlock the door to his study, stepping in to the room as though you hadn't just called him out, as if your heart wasn't thrumming in your ribcage at the possibility of losing this work.
You follow, thanking whatever spirit guardian angel that was looking out for you, trying to get your bearings.
Higuruma’s study was similar to the drawing room downstairs, but the lighting here was arguably better. On the opposite side of the house, it flowed in through another large arched window, casting the room in broken shapes of pale yellow. It was near enough the same size, the only notable difference being a large desk of walnut wood where the sofas would've been.
Squinting, you clock the spot at the window, bracketed by a dark leather sofa with a bookcase perfectly lined as a backdrop. You pace over, the artistic vision slotting into view as you hold out your thumb where you would have him stand, seeing if it would work compositionally.
“Have you thought about poses or anything like that?” You ask softly, stepping back and trying again to see if it would fit.
Realising that he's disappeared again, you startle when his voice sounds right by your ear, “No, I was hoping you'd have some ideas-” He pauses as he notices you jump, that shit eating grin spreading over his features again.
“Like a little mouse,” He hums to himself, stepping back to watch you work. You glare, but his grin only widens at the sight.
This was going to be a long fucking day.