love, lula

You’re not quite sure why you were pulled so low by the actions of a man you’d known for maybe a week — well, you are physically attracted to him of course but… there was something brewing beneath it all that you couldn’t put your finger on. You told yourself you were just horny, he was an exciting sexual conquest, and anything apart from your horniness was just a product of the feeling itself — but in the excruciatingly long 4 days that you hadn’t seen his face, felt his voice or even breathed air in his presence you were beginning to accept the fact that you craved the attorney himself, not just any man. You want to feel his breath against your ear again, and his slender hand pressed against your back again, and his chest flush to yours again. His long fingers piercing your hips, moans echoing down your throat as he rocked himself back and forth against the fabric of your underwear, unveiling how needy he really was for you. No one had ever, ever whined and trembled for you the way he did — and this thought leads you to the next.

You do have feelings for him, and you hate him for it.

Grinding on your pillow wasn’t going to fix things for you. Despite whatever you wanted, or rather whoever you wanted, you needed a release. Although you won’t find someone who’ll satisfy your needs like he could, a one-night stand is still better than the poor plushie you resorted to.

You take a shower, exfoliating and shaving every inch of your body. Whoever you’ll be going home with tonight likely isn’t worth this effort, but it makes you feel good about the night ahead of you.

You let your mother know you’ll be out tonight after your shower and go to prep yourself for your outing. Hair roller-brushed into a calm blowout, eyes decorated with a sharp wing and inner-corner glitter, and your lips a deeper nude with a sheer gloss. You pick out an old black lace dress of yours, translucent but not enough to outline anything. You swoop your hair to the side and slide diamonds in each ear, ones that dangled and sparkled lightly to compliment the shimmer on your eyes. You can’t remember the last time you went out for yourself, and looking in the mirror all dolled up lifts your spirits. You douse yourself in perfume and slip on your heels, gathering your things and heading out to your cab.

Avoiding Mao at all costs, you make it to Nightingale’s, a buzzy bar and club that Nagi recommended for you. About 10 minutes go by and you climb out of the cab and thank your driver.

You normally detest getting eyed by strange men, but a little rush sweeps over you when the smokers look you up and down as you pass them, reaching the entrance.

You immediately head to the bar, ordering a shot for yourself. The bass is booming through the place, bottles flowing and drunk people laughing and yelling all around you. Your favourite part though, was the crowd. Everyone around your age or older, well-dressed, and likely here for the same reason as you.

A few drinks later, you’re loose, dancing with anyone you liked the look of and chatting with a few women who you bumped into once you’re in the bathroom.

‘You’re so beautiful, do you know that? I love seeing fresh faces here, I’m so bored of the same crowd.’ A woman of her late 20’s babbles to you by the sinks.

‘Hah, thank you, you’re gorgeous too. Are new people really that rare? I love the crowd here, though. Even the bar I work at has some great regulars.’ You say glancing at the floor, thinking of one in particular.

‘I kid you not, there are never any newcomers on the weekends. This is my go-to place for the music and this one cute bartender, but I guess you’re right, they aren’t a bad bunch here — well, there’s another new guy I saw here actually. Looked drained. Did you come with him?’

‘Uhh no, I’ve come alone.’

‘Oh good, because he’s my type on paper. Gonna try and catch him now, see you in there!’

The man always finds his way to you — intentional or not. Part of you knew it was him because of the one word she used to describe the guy. But if so, that means he isn’t at Mao. Meaning he’s probably avoiding you.

You get back to the floor, and a guy of around 5’11 immediately offers to buy you a drink. He was dressed in a black tee and baggy blue jeans — plus, cute enough for you to have a good night with.

The night progresses (as does your inebriation) and the man’s hands move gradually from your torso to your hips until he’s grating his jeans against the lace on your rear. It feels good to let loose and dance with someone you barely know, drink in hand, anticipating the main event. You’re allowing yourself to absorb every part, smiling as the lights flash over you — finally feeling some dick behind you.

Your eyes are flickering over the crowd ahead, noticing the light radiating off of their flushed cheeks and glittering over their drunk, toothy grins. A gap is let through the throng, allowing you to spot a figure stood at a distance. A slender man with his back stuck to the wall. He’s adjacent to the exit, faced directly toward you. You manage to catch his head hanging low while he sips his drink - before the gap is briefly closed again. Your beam fades in seconds, realising there is only one man who has ever had your mood switch that quickly. The people part once again. For longer this time.

Mr. Higuruma is indeed drained, tipping his head up to swallow the last drops of — you guessed it — his order of 53% ABV Kaiyo whisky — cask strength. But his half-lidded eyes remained fixated on yours, gulping his drink and just…staring. The guy on your backside now has his nose deep in your neck, grazing his lips down to your shoulder. You lift your head in supposed pleasure, placing a hand on the man’s nape while intently keeping your gaze on the lawyer before you. He responds by lifting his head upward to the wall, looking down past his nose to you as you witness the tightest and most prominent jaw clench you’ve ever seen, God — temples visibly bulging. From metres away.

The crowd cuts your stares again at once, letting your drunken self soak in the satisfaction of making Hiromi Higuruma — a man of his work, of strict principle, of composure — jealous.

Your triumph is interrupted by the nameless man asking you, ‘you think it’s time to get out of here?’  

You couldn’t refuse, since those seconds of contact with Hiromi had you stimulated enough to fuck anything that came your way. He walks ahead of you and grabs your hand, leading you through the bar toward the exit, where Hiromi was still stood.

Your hookup conveniently spots a friend of his right as you’re passing him, giving you a chance to speak to him while they briefly chat.

He turns his head with a slow blink, observing you up-close with the same eyes you found on him with upon your first interaction. Only a little sadder.

‘Are you following me?’ you say, with cheek.

‘I was gonna ask you the same thing.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

He smiles, lightly. ‘This is who you picked, then?’ he gives the guy a mildly disgusted look up and down. ‘Him?’

This pisses you off more than it should. But the audacity to make a comment like that after telling you he doesn’t want to see you? Ever again?

‘You are a complete asshole.’

His smirk fades, and he looks at the floor where you stand for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

‘You look beautiful.’

You feel a hand slide into yours, and your hookup nods his head to the doors, signalling your exit. You give Hiromi one last look in hopes that he’d drag you away and tell the man he can’t go home with you, and that you’re off limits. And he’d take you home, undress you with care, and you both would share a bed together to pass the night in peace.

But you leave. And get into a cab with this guy. You get to his apartment, and the place is a total mess, putting you off getting any closer to him.

But you do, managing a measly blowjob before telling him you want to go home.

‘Can I at least get your number before you leave? Come on, I wanna see you again.’

It won’t hurt to have someone on the other end of the phone for the next time you…need something. And his inches somewhat helped aid your decision.

You type it into his phone, and he pulls your jaw toward him to kiss you goodbye.

‘Maybe I can return the favour next time.’

‘Haha, maybe. See you.’ You ramble, licking the remains of whatever he drank off your lips. He watches you walk out the door, hands in pockets, smirking.

You spend the cab drive thinking of what you did. It’d been a good few years since you sucked off some random or even made it back to anyone’s place for that matter — you always found some reason not to do it. Perhaps you were just distracting yourself from the bigger event at hand.

He’d called you beautiful. He didn’t bite at your insult, or scoff, or even give a cocky smile. He gave you a compliment you realised you hadn’t received in years. Your ex never uttered the word to you. But he did. He called you beautiful, like he really meant it.

But you have to remind yourself of the state he was in. You hadn’t seen him that drunk since the night he was missing a shirt. This time you were actually hoping that he didn’t remember seeing you leave with that guy. That was likely the last time you’d be in Hiromi’s presence, but you still didn’t want his last memory of you to suggest you were some sort of slut. Sleeping with a guy you just met.

You crawl out the taxi and the sunrise insults you, exposing your now botched face of makeup to anyone watching you scramble toward the front door.

Kicking off your heels, you make it to your room and collapse face first on the bed, exhaling every bit of air out of yourself before completely passing out.

‘Darling? Are you up?’

You groan as your mother is shaking you more vigorously than she probably intended.

‘Come on, freshen up. We have to get our Kimono’s tailored today since you, ya know, bailed on me yesterday.’

‘Ugh…today?’  You croak, sitting up on your fully made bed. You could feel last night’s mascara spread around your eyes.

‘Shower, please. You look awful. We’ll leave in 20.’

Your head spins as you walk to the bathroom and twist the shower on, and you rest your head against the wall the entire time as the water dripping from your face stains black. It was scolding, steam being all you could breathe and the shower being too loud for your liking. But Hiromi’s voice from last night was repeating in your head clear as day through the splattering water.

You groan picking out an outfit, you groan walking to the kitchen, and you groan sitting down at the table.

Your mother had prepared banana toast for you to speed up the recovery from your hangover.

‘So, who was the lucky guy?’ she says, as she pours you a tall glass of ice-cold water.

‘He wasn’t so lucky,’

‘Good. As much as I let you do what you want, I’m still funny about you going out alone. You need a friend.’

You bite your toast and roll your eyes, ‘I’m 24, mother.’

‘Mm. Anyways, I think you’ll love what I’ve picked out for you. It looks similar to a dress you wore as a little girl.’

‘Mom. I’m sure it’s lovely. But wedding guests wearing Kimonos is kind of… a thing of the past. Nagi told me most just wear dresses. We can still return them. And they weren’t exactly cheap…’

‘Guests should wear Kimonos. I looked it up. You will wear it. Finish up now, we’re leaving.’

You enter the tailor shop, and it’s a compact space with a small platform rear of the area to stand on. Measuring tapes and needles are littered across the little desk beside it.

A man wearing glasses and a stylish waistcoat brings out your outfits and you see yours for the first time.

It’s a navy blue covered in florals. Lavender, hydrangeas, and little spots of chamomile. The obi was a slightly lighter blue covered in the baby’s breath that appeared minimally on the kimono itself. The material was thick, and heavy, sleeves long and open.

‘Oh, mom it’s…’

‘Don’t tell me you hate it.’

You turn to her with a huge grin plastered on your face, clutching it from the hanger.

‘It’s stunning. Thank you.’

The tailor and your mother exchange an excited look, with an ‘I told you so’ written on his face. He takes the obi off the kimono and wraps it around your waist, sticking a few pins here and there.

You sigh in relief. It really was beautiful.

Your next 4 nights at Mao were slow, and repetitive. The hope of Hiromi turning up on one of your shifts slowly faded with each passing night. Life in Japan was no longer much different than back home. Eat, work, sleep, repeat. You met Nagi every now and then, but your shifts kept clashing and he became too busy with his other friends. The guy you hooked up with the other night also hadn’t called.

Silence was your biggest frequent. You’d come home and stare at the TV, living off leftovers. You spend your days anticipating your long shifts, moping around the house, washing dishes, vacuuming the bedrooms. You barely see your mom since you need to leave shortly after she finishes work herself.

Maybe you were getting a little depressed. You hate that part of the reason was the absence of the excitement he brought into your life. You hope the upcoming wedding brings some new presence. Some change to distract you from missing Hiromi as much as you are.

It’s the morning of the wedding. You drag yourself out of bed at 8:00, getting 4 hours of sleep because of your late finish last night. At least today would be different. No work at the end of the day. But plenty of Sake.

The weather is perfect for a Sunday morning, blissfully cool winds brushing the furniture and ventilating the whole house.

Your mother is frequently popping in and out of your room as you get ready to get feedback on her makeup.

‘My lipstick is too dark, isn’t it.’

‘My blush doesn’t match my outfit. Can you give me yours?’

‘I’m out of highlighter.’

‘Oh, and powder.’

It takes you around 30 minutes to finish hair and makeup.

You feel… fine. You’ve had better days. Your bun is sitting weirdly and isn’t adjusting to your liking no matter how many times you re-tie it. You’re also painfully aware of your eyeliner being uneven despite your mother constantly telling you it isn’t. You were hoping that painting your face and yanking your hair up would get you amped and confident for the event, but you still had that pit in your stomach you’ve had for days.

You both are at the front door, and your mom notices your sour expression.

‘Hey! Lighten up. You look amazing, my love. Please don’t look this miserable when we get there. Gotta make a good impression, right? Who knows, maybe your attorney friend will make an appearance.’

Your entire demeanour changes. Today was supposed to be separate from him.

‘What? Why would you say that?’

Your mom is locking the front door.

‘I don’t know. Haruto-san is always in some shit… and he gets a different lawyer every time he needs one. I bet he’s invited all of them.’

She eyes your blank expression before you get into the car.

‘Look, I was just poking at you honey. Clearly I’ve missed something, but he probably won’t be there. Relax.’

You nod as you get into the driver’s seat, reassuring yourself. He won’t be there. He won’t. And if he is, you’ll pretend he isn’t. Just like he’d want.

‘Yeah. Probably.’

You arrive to the venue, and it’s a spacious building with a boundary of blooming sakura. The pit in your stomach has grown much heavier, and your obi suddenly feels way too tight. You’re fidgeting with it and muttering comments about the tailor to your mother as you enter.

The ceremony was lovely, and the bride wore a beautiful snow-white gown. It was more modern than you expected, but that was likely due to the couples’ age. Haruto looked to be in his 60’s. Just by seeing him you could tell he’s done this marriage thing a few times before.

Witnessing a wedding happen in front of you after so long lifted your mood a little, but your obi was still bothering you and you could feel your bun leaning more and more to the left of your head rather than staying put in the centre.

Your mother drags you over to greet and congratulate Haruto, but he’s chatting with a friend — very obviously.

‘Oh my God, mom, he’s talking to someo—’

‘Haruto-san!’

Luckily, he seems to have some liking for your mother as he pardoned her interruption without a thought. Him and his friend turn toward you both. She introduces you and you bow, congratulating him. Your eyes did not leave the floor through out their entire conversation, and you could feel the eyes of his friend on you the entire time — making you extremely uncomfortable and therefore stiff in your posture. Haruto then introduces this friend to you and your mother.

‘This is a good friend of mine, but a few years back he was my lawyer. Itsuki-kun.’

You couldn’t help but sigh in relief that he didn’t say ‘Higuruma-kun’ because you were half expecting him to from that earlier scare you received from your mother. Itsuki took this relief as some sort of advance and appeared far too happy to be introduced to you. You took his slightly creepy smile as your cue to exit that exchange.

The guests later move to a larger event space, some sitting at tables and some standing and chatting. You’re sat at a table alone, sipping on the first and likely only glass of wine you’d drink since your mother definitely wasn’t driving you home — she was instead taking shots with her co-workers.

A girl who looked of your age came and sat next to you, head rested on her palms, staring into your face intently until you met her eyes.

‘Hi! Minori. I work with your mother.’

She was wearing a long, sage dress with a straight neck and skinny straps — not a kimono. She had a deep pink shade on her lips that were glossed, and precise (even) eyeliner drawn on each eye. She slid a hand across her hair that was half-up, tied into a ponytail that poured down past her shoulders in ringlets.

You force a smile and greet her back, adjusting your posture and trying to straighten your bun.

‘Haruto-san’s your boss too, then? How is that?’ was your pathetic attempt at conversation. You couldn’t help but feel stupid in your appearance because of how put-together she looked sat next to you.

‘I know you don’t really care about my response to that. What’s got you down?’ she reaches to clasp your hand in hers. It was embarrassing how easy your mood was to read, and her open concern for you made you want to cry even more.

‘I don’t know. I just — I look ridiculous.’ You say through a partly hurt chuckle. She furrows her brows at you.

‘Are you joking? Seeing you made me wish I wore my kimono. You look stunning, aibou. Now stop sulking and let’s get you a stronger drink, eh?’

You look over at your mother who’s stood with her many co-workers and is still knocking back drinks like she isn’t going to work in the morning.

‘I have to drive my mom home. I wish I could.’

‘You’re looking for reasons. Parking here is free for 48 hours, I asked. Get a cab and come for it later tomorrow!’

You give her a small smile. ‘Okay.’

She squeals and jumps up to drag you to the bar.

An hour later and you’re plastered. Minori was right, you needed this. You’re a total butterfly, walking around the venue and giggling with bunches of older people who drank a hell of a lot more than you did. You make it back to Minori and her friends and you swig straight vodka as if it’s water. She laughs at you, before taking the glass away as a playful warning.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and it’s a message from a new number.

hey u busy ? its kenji from gales

You grin upon reading it, going out for a smoke so you can find out what he wants in silence.

Outside the venue the chill is sobering, not enough to completely snap you out of it though. You lean your back against the wall after lighting up, opening your phone to smile at the message once again.

‘Someone entertaining you?’

Your head shot up, since you thought you were alone.

Past the door, Hiromi stands a few feet to your left, leaning on the same wall, smoking alongside you. His suit is new, pristine, though you could tell he left work to be here. His tie was a navy-blue, wrapped tightly under the collar of his fully buttoned shirt.

Of course he finds you again. The odds of you both bumping into each other were now slim to none, but he finds you again. He had to turn up here too. Like he was purposefully tailing you.

You whip your head back to your phone and toke your cig.

‘That’s none of your business.’ You respond, acting like you had no idea who he was.

He pauses to look at your face before letting out a hollow chuckle.

‘O-kay.’

You don’t respond to Kenji, instead you stand in silence until you finish your cigarette.

You walk in the most sober manner you possibly can to the door, which also meant walking towards him. You’re about to step inside and he clears his throat, making you freeze involuntarily.

‘How much have you had to drink?’ he spits, taking another drag of his cigarette.

‘N-I’ve had nothing. Mind your own business.’

‘I hope you’re not meeting that…’ he exhales his smoke, ‘…boy again. You’re too drunk to make a decision like that.’

You explode with a manic chuckle, scrunching your forehead.

‘Oh, you’re gonna reprimand me on my drinking? You are the epitome, the EPITOME of a drunk, you drink tons more than I have literally every single night so please, shut up.’

He doesn’t react and continues smoking.

‘I’ll meet who I want, and you, unfortunately, have no say in it. Does that bruise your ego? Am I supposed to be heartbroken that some loser alcoholic like you doesn’t want me?’

You’re taken aback by your own (uncalled-for) reaction. But you’ve said it now.

He’s silent for a few seconds. Then he manages a few words.

‘I suppose I deserved that. But I think you got the wrong idea.’

You’re growing hot with rage staring at him — while he just looks at the floor.

‘…what?’

‘I do want you. I just — can’t have you.’

He ashes his cigarette, takes his last puff and throws it in a bush. He walks to you, eyes on yours before swerving past and going back inside. A wave of his cologne brushes your nose as you clench your fists, wondering what he expected you to do with that statement. If he expected anything at all. You sigh and return inside shortly after him.

You continue drinking even though you know it’s a bad idea, but you don’t care. The room is spinning and your breathing grows more laboured every minute.

The night slowly comes to an end, and Minori takes your number before kissing you goodbye on the cheek. The last time you saw your mom she was shitfaced, and she’s currently nowhere to be seen. You spot Haruto and walk up to him.

‘Have you seen my mother? I can’t find her.’

He stares at the drink stains on your kimono and chuckles before responding.

‘Oh, she left. I think one of her sober friends drove her home. She was rather… out of it.’

‘Yeah, I got that. Thanks.’

Great. At least you didn’t have to worry about picking up your car tomorrow. But now you have to go home alone.

You stand outside and watch everyone say goodbye to each other and get into their cabs, while you struggle to navigate through your phone. You’ve no experience with the taxi app in Tokyo, and you being as drunk as you are didn’t help at all. And to top off the panic, your phone dies. Almost everyone has left at this point, leaving you stranded at this venue that’s more than a walk from home.

You crumble to the floor and bury your head in your arms. Your head is spinning and tears brew in your eyes, considering staying for a few hours until you sober up. Summer’s approach meant earlier sunrises, so you’d soon be able to at least see where you’re going if it comes down to walking.

You hear dress shoes tapping on the concrete toward you. They stop and stand beside you for a minute. You sniffle and pat your eyes with your sleeve, shuffling away from the feet next to you.

‘Come on. I’ll take you.’

The way he appears at such perfect moments is almost comical. Almost calculated.

‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

‘Are you going to call your… guy friend instead?’

Silence.

His feet move in front of you and he kneels to you.

‘I didn’t think so. Come.’

He holds his hand out to you, and you lift your head to stare at it. He stretches it to its full length at your movement, which makes you look up to his face.

He’s staring into you entirely, with his focus on nothing else but your hand being in his. The sun finally eases into the sky, causing you to realise that his eyes aren’t actually black, but a rich, mahogany shade of brown.

He clears his throat, snapping you out of your stare and standing you up. You wobble at your feet, and he firmly holds you by your side as you walk to his car. You’re certain you stink of alcohol.

‘Why aren’t you drunk?’

He’s concentrating on keeping your feet on a straight path, scanning each spot of ground closely before you step on it.

‘Well, if you must know. I don’t like to drink on weekends.’

‘That’s completely backwards.’

He swerves you away from a lump in the concrete, using his free hand to hold yours in the air so he could guide you with closer care.

‘It makes more sense for me. I like to save my sobriety for work and weekends. The awareness lets me absorb my free time and become immersed in the little things that I do outside of the week.’

He looks at you.

You’ve completely left the conversation, and your knees are starting to give out as well.

‘Almost there. Few more steps.’

You reach the car and he lets go of your hand to open the door. He allows you to try and get in yourself, but that isn’t working. You dive headfirst into the driver’s seat instead. You moan an ‘ow’ and he suppresses a laugh before folding your limbs to fit the passenger’s seat.

He reaches over you to fasten your seatbelt, and your head falls against the side of his neck while he searches for the buckle. He gently grips your jaw to place your head back against the rest before shutting the door.

During the drive, your head moves into your hands, and you wonder how you’re gonna make it to your bed. All you can hear is the low hum of the car and Hiromi’s deep breaths every now and then.

‘You, uh…notice we’re matching today?’ he says, likely trying to lift your spirits a bit. ‘Navy blues.’ He adds.

 It does pull a giggle out of you.

‘Shut up.’

His lips curl slightly at your response while he spins the wheel, pulling into a driveway. That you don’t recognise.

‘This isn’t — this isn’t where I live…’

‘Yeah, realised I don’t know your address. This is me.’

You groan, planting your forehead on the dashboard.

‘I don’t even know you’ you babble, but that sentence seems to have hurt him a little. He sits upright and leans a little closer to you.

‘I will take you home if that’s what you prefer. Just tell me where you live.’

‘…how can I trust you…?’

He pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath.

‘Look. I am many things. You’ve given me asshole, alcoholic, loser, and probably a few others I can’t recall. But I am not a bad man. And I am not going to do anything to hurt you, especially considering your… state. So, again, I’m asking you to tell me where you live.’

You don’t want to be alone. You wanted to be nowhere but here, with him, right now. So, you don’t respond.

He sighs at your inability to communicate, as if to tell you there was no other option. He pulls the handle of his door and gets out the car, smoothing his shirt and tie as he walks around the bumper to your door.

He sways it open and crouches to ensure that you can see him. He beckons for you to come closer.

‘Can you stand?’

You close your eyes for a few seconds before slowly nodding. He stands straight and pulls you out of the seat by your hands, standing you up in front of him.

‘Okay to walk?’

‘Mhm. Yes.’

He’s wary of your balance as you walk up to the front doors of his place. It’s a little townhouse; walls of a reddish brown and the roof tiles black. The windows are lined with a dark wood, barred. It’s ordinary. Exactly where you’d expect him to be staying.

You enter, and it’s… spotless. Not a speck of anything in sight. The only sign that he was even living there was a small, framed photo of his parents on the mantle.

You sit on the floor of the entrance, crossing your legs into the same sad puddle he found you in. He places his hands on his hips and looks down at you.

‘Time to get you cleaned up,’

‘No, no, I can just stay here a bit longer. Don’t worry, you go to sleep.’

He doesn’t bother to respond to you and just… grabs you. Your eyes widen, not expecting him to scoop you up so suddenly. He strolls through a few doorways before kicking a toilet seat down and sitting you on it. He walks out. Your eyebrows are furrowed, and you’re blinking slowly — unsure what to do. He comes back with a towel and some spare clothes folded into a neat pile.

‘Take a shower.’ He drops the pile down at your feet.

You take a breath to protest, but he’s already out the bathroom, sliding the shoji shut behind him. You sigh in defeat, covering your face in your hands. You can feel the tacky layer of alcohol on your skin from the number of drinks you spilt on yourself. Though you feel grossly uncomfortable, you don’t even consider showering. Your head’s still spinning, and just the thought of standing underneath hot water for 10 minutes exhausts you.

You end up sitting on the toilet lid for 10 minutes instead. Hiromi has clearly been waiting for the sound of the shower to turn on since he then taps on the door.

‘Are you decent?’

‘Like it matters.’

He cracks the shoji a slither so he can make sure, and comes in. He moves the pile from in front of you and places it by the bathtub.

‘You’re not sleeping in any of my sheets if you’re not going to shower.’

You look up at him from where you sit — your face saying more words than you realise. He sighs and turns away from you.

His fingers are resting on his forehead while he’s debating with himself on what to do with you. Your head’s back in your hands and your drunkenness displays no sign of fading away.

You’re so, so tired.

‘God, just do it, Hiromi,’

He faces you following a low, shuddering exhale. His tongue melts voicing your name.

‘…I don’t know what you’re asking me.’ he shrugs — playing dumb. He wants you to say it. He’s basically begging you to.

You move your chin into your palms, gaze fixed at his feet opposite you.

‘Clean me.’

‘Older is risky, darling. Your father was older, too and that power imbalance is what drove us apart. Although, he is a lawyer. That’s a hard-working man.’ Your mother was famous for the way she argued with herself. ‘But if he’s been plastered at every interaction then that’s not exactly promising.’ She says with a raise of her brows, hands clasped around her mug. ‘Well, a call won’t hurt. You said you have his card?’

‘Yeah, he gave it to me on my first shift.’ You mumble nonchalantly, as if the mere thought of his tipsy smile when handing it to you didn’t make you tense.

‘Didn’t you meet Adam the same way? He was a sweet drunk too. And, you know…I just don’t want you getting hurt again. If lawyer man is at the bar every day, even weekdays then— he’s not exactly stable. Do you think you can – could you…trust him?’

You sigh and your eyes flicker to your coffee below. ‘You mean what if he hits me like he did, mom? Seriously? I’ve barely met him. You’re acting like I’m considering his proposal.’

‘Hmm. Whatever you think is best, my love.’ She disengages. You swear she has adhd. ‘Oh! Haruto-san is getting married – for the third time - in a few days and he says I can bring someone.’

‘You’re not at work, mom. Just call him your boss,’ you say, grouchily.

‘Yeah…whatever. How’d you feel about being my plus one?’

You nod, your gaze still stuck on your cup.

‘We’ll have to get kimonos, though…I’m thinking a deep blue for you…and maybe a purple for me…I’m not sure. Am I too old for a light pink? Sweetheart?’

You should call.

You’re sat on your bed with your phone and his card placed next to you. There’s a part of you that believes he wants you to call, too. But you can’t be certain.

Fuck it.

You typed in his number quickly to give yourself little time to think over your decision and held your breath as it dialled. Three rings before a rustle on the other end.

‘You’re calling Mr. Higuruma’s office, this is Shimizu. Speaking?’ answers a woman. You should’ve thought this through. Of course he has an assistant. You manage to slip out a response. A timid one.

‘Oh, is he— he’s busy?’

‘Yes— well he forwards his cell when he is, but…’ she pauses to (you assume) look at him through his office. ‘…he appears free now— I can let him know if this is a personal matter?’

‘Um…no it’s okay. Yeah it’s fine. It’s no matter.’

‘Are you…sure? He can likely take your call now, ma’am. If you could give me your na— ‘

You hang up. Why was it so hard to give your name?

You knew why. There was a possibility he wouldn’t take your call if he knew your name. Like you were some embarrassing fling he used only to entertain his drunk self.

It’s later, and you decide to call Nagi for ice cream, since he was your only friend in Japan other than your mother.

‘Am I thinking about this more than I should be?’

‘Yes.’ He says, bluntly. You groan, but you knew he’d say that. ‘he’s probably just a horny drunk.’

‘But it’s more than horny, Nagi. I mean, he wanted me in that moment. You should’ve seen his eyes they were almost…black.’

‘Still sounds horny. Well, honestly, from what I’ve seen he isn’t particularly sociable. He’s been visiting Mao nightly for some time now. Women definitely do try with him— men, too. He usually just shoos them away.’ He stops to think. ‘Actually, he always shoos them away…he could be legitimately interested. Isn’t he kinda old, though?’

You didn’t even hear his question.

‘So should I call him again? What do you think he’d say?’

‘I don’t know. He’s an aged lawyer; he really might just be…bored.’

Before your feelings got hurt, you moved the conversation on. This was something you needed to think about less. If he really wanted to see you again, he’d have asked you to call. But again, like you, he seems to have an ego.

Nagi leaves, and you decide to stay and soak in your confusion aside your bowl of now melted ice cream.

A familiar voice catches your ear.

‘No, he seems… more relaxed. He’s been worse. Well, I thought so, but he left earlier than usual to go and drink last night. And he’s been weird about a call he got today— no, the girl hung up the phone.’

Your thoughts are silenced.

‘I told him about it in passing and he started hounding me with questions, asking me if she gave a name. No, she didn’t. She completely avoided the question actually. Can you believe he was asking what her voice sounded like? Hah, what did he expect me to say? I just said I couldn’t remember. I don’t know she just…sounded young. Probably a little younger than me.’

So that’s Shimizu. She continues rambling on the phone while your eyes burn into the spot Nagi was sat in. You were fucking ecstatic of course; you could’ve jumped out your seat. You smirk, and you feel a rush. He’s definitely into you.

You start your short walk home, huddling in your trench coat and taking a deep inhale of Tokyo’s sharp evening air. The sun was setting, telling you it was around 5:30.

Then you remember, you won’t be seeing Hiromi for a whole three days, so your excitement has to be put on hold.

Unless.

Ramming the key through your front door, you burst in and run to your bedroom, footsteps echoing. You swipe his card from your bedspread and shoot back out to get in your car.

This was totally pathetic for you, but now you had an excuse. He noticed his card was gone, so you assumed he wanted it back and that’s why you’ve come to see him. Sure, that reason should suffice.

You’re driving fast so that you can avoid thinking too much of what you’re about to do.

You climb out of your car, walk up to the building, and spot yourself in the reflection of the glass. Your formerly precise, deep red lip had faded, and your hair was becoming frizzy from your frantic journey. Well. No distractions. You push through the revolving doors, and you’re hit with a deep scent of sandalwood and lingering notes of coffee. The foyer is grand; walls of polished walnut wood accompanied by gold accents dotted all around.

You’re taking in the prestige of the place, clutching your cuffs as you breathe in the divine scent once again. Who would complain about working…here?

‘Ma’am?’

Swivelling to the voice behind you, you’re faced with a woman looking at you attentively. She’s around your age, and she looked a whole lot better than you did in a grey, refined pantsuit.

‘Hello! How can I help you?’ she asks, eyeing her watch to remind you of the time.

‘Hi! I’m looking for a Mr. Higuruma? Defence attorney. Where can I find him?’

‘Ah, yes. He’s on the 5th floor, and you can find his office via the directory once you get there. But…you haven’t much time.

We close for clients and visitors in—’ she peers at her wrist once more, ‘10 minutes. And the elevators are out of order.’

You sigh. Of course they are. Well, you made it this far.

‘I’ll be down quick. Thank you.’ You scuttle past her and her eyes follow you - judgementally. You’re sure she was thinking the same thing you were.

How the hell were you gonna climb five flights of stairs in a few minutes?

Regardless, you push. You’re sweating and panting by the third set, but still, you feel a force.

You made it.

Defence Attorney Office - 512 - Higuruma Hiromi

Shit. Seeing his name in writing on that board made it all too real. You’re on your way to interject his day at work for some stupid card.

You stroll into the office space, heads turning toward you in cubicles. You spot the door and your adrenaline pumps, shit, what are you doing? Your kitten heels pat against the polypropylene carpet, face growing hot as the workers watch your flushed self inch toward his door. You can still turn the other way.

There he sits, and you peer at him through the glass. He’s stuck with that same bored expression, scanning papers that are clutched in one hand while his face rests on the other.

Now you have to knock.

‘Come in.’

No turning back.

You push open the door, hair concealing your identity. You shut it behind you and face him.

‘Sir.’

He drops his pages to his desk and his eyes widen.

‘You…you’re— in my office.’ He spits. He’s talking to you like you’re misplaced, like you aren’t supposed to be anywhere but Mao. Lucky for him, you were feeling exceptionally cocky today.

‘It’s good to see you, Hiromi.’

He huffs testily and rolls out of his chair, stomping toward you. Your brows scrunch together and you back up, since he looked angry, not hungry.

He charges past you and pulls the blinds shut to block out the others’ stares.

You cock your head to the side, ‘surely that’ll make them more curious, don’t you th—’

‘Shut up. What could you possibly want? Here? Now? In my office?’

You’re trying your best to stay cool as if his aggression wasn’t making you nervous, or rather scared.

‘Wow, okay.’ You scoff, ‘is this how you treat all your visitors, sir?’

‘My name. Use my name, goddamn it.’

Still works. You force a smile off your face.

He turns his back to you and steps rear toward his desk, resting his hand on the edge.

‘I don’t get visitors. I do not do visitors at work.’

Maybe you should leave. He actually seems worked up, and you have no idea how stressed a man of his occupation may be. Your attitude eases at his words, and you soften.

‘Okay. I’m sorry for the bother. I just came by to give this back to you.’ You reach into your pocket and—

You left the damned thing in the car. In the passenger seat.

Turning his head over his shoulder, he reveals his profile that was precisely carved by the soft light coming through the window. He stares at the floor.

‘Give me what.’

You pull a face, hesitating to speak. Fuck, this is embarrassing.

‘Your…card. I left it in the car.’

He faces you, perched on his desk and tilting his head downwards, eyes forward. He could probably kill you.

‘My…card…that I have…’ he glances at a tall pile of calling cards on his desk – and so do you.

‘…hundreds…of?’

You shake your head, irritated with your own stupidity. Clearing your throat,

‘I thought you wanted it back, since you mentioned it.’

He sighs, eyeing the carpet. Your name slips out of his mouth, making you gulp.

‘Just so I understand. You got in your car, drove here, walked into this building, climbed five flights of stairs, stepped through my entire office to…return the card.’

You nod. He rolls his tongue through a cheek.

‘Bullshit.’

You’re trembling at this point, growing agitated at how painfully obvious your real intentions were.

‘I thought—’

‘I thought too, believe me.’

He exhales with a shaky effort.

‘You have no idea. I’ve started leaving work, my job early, can you believe it? Just to have you serve me for an hour longer behind that bar in your—’

He clasps his hands around his face, eyes fluttering shut.

‘—fucking blouse.’ hands still wrapped over his nose, eyes still closed.

He’s breathing slow, weighted breaths as to avoid lifting his eyelids to you.

‘…while I sit there, pushing, and pushing away every thought I have of…bending you over that counter.’

You let out a pant that’s almost a whimper. You squirm, hanging onto his every word. All that’s heard in his office is both of you heaving excessively, loudly, deeply where you stand.

‘And now you’re here, too young, looking a sweaty fucking mess in front of me and still—’ he sighs, not bothering to finish, ‘…even at work. No one has ever…ever had me making the pathetic sounds I do when I’m alone in this office, thinking of your face…’ his voice trembles, vibrating through the carpet ‘…deep in my button-down.’

With that, your guard collapses.

You stumble toward him, throwing your coat to the side, pulling his hands off his face and planting your lips on his. He dips his tongue in your mouth and you cup his jaw, guiding it to follow a frantic rhythm. You rub a knee to his tightened trousers, and he whines down your throat, fingers digging into your hips as he uses his other hand to bully the roots of your hair. He pulls and your lips separate, leaving you panting into his mouth, and you watch him grin at your helplessness.

‘I knew you’d be needy, bartender’

‘Don’t piss me off.’

You yank at the base of his tie, crashing into each other again, and he switches spots with you while keeping you glued to his face. He lifts you onto the desk, causing pens and papers to clatter across the room as he jerks his hips between your legs, a groan leaving him.

You already had copious amounts of fluid leaking out of you, and you could feel a wet spot growing on his pants against your bare thigh. He continues to rut against you while you grind against him, and you both pull from the kiss, moaning simultaneously.

‘We…shouldn’t…ugh, I…shit’ he spills as he looks down to watch your hips roll to him again, and again.

‘Do you want me to stop, Hiromi?’

You continue to thrust at the lump in his trousers.

‘Fuck’ he moans, hips moving forward to your warmth.

He shakes his head.

‘Stop.’

 He scrambles backwards, watching you hopelessly gasp for air as he raises his hands to his hips.

‘We can’t do this.’

You writhe where you sit, furrowing your brows in desperation.

‘Fuck, please, you’re killing me.’

You can see his dick twitch through the fabric upon your speech.

‘Come back here.’

He persists.

‘Seriously, no.’

You laugh. He is joking. Right?

‘What? W-why?’

‘This is where I work.’

‘What? Be serious, Hiromi.’

‘You want me to be honest?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is going to fuck up my job. My livelihood.’

You’re shaking your head. ‘How is sex gonna ruin your job?’ then he scoffs.

‘Sex? This is not gonna just be sex.’

‘Am I missing something here? You’re seriously saying this— this will ruin you?’

He huffs through his cheeks and puts a hand over his forehead, hesitantly continuing.

‘I cannot let any feelings get in the way. To put it simply. You are interfering with my job, and everyday life, and I cannot. I don’t want to see you again.’

You stare at him blankly.

‘Feelings?’

‘Do not make me repeat myself.’

You open your mouth to speak again before he sharply cuts you off.

‘I want you out. I mean it.’ He gestures a hand to the door.

‘Fine!’

You snatch your coat and march out the door, all the chairs now empty. Making you realise it’s past 6.

Racing down the steps, you’re sweating and exhaling irritably while putting your coat back on. You reach the foyer, and the lady from earlier watches you leave in mild surprise at your state. You make it to your car, almost to tears when you feel for the keys in your pocket and of course,

they aren’t there. They’re on the floor of Hiromi’s office. Yet another thing you forgot because of that man and his unrelenting arrogance.

You drop your head to the roof of your car, sighing into your sleeve as tears fall down your burning face. All the time and emotions you poured into dreaming hopelessly about a man who is too afraid to lose his because of his job. Serves you right for even thinking of loving again.

A warmth spreads over the back of you and a hand steadily wraps around your wrist. You turn, and he’s holding your keys in his free hand.

He drops the keys into your hand and uses his to enclose them into your palm.

‘Get home safe,’ he says, sotto voce.

You wrench your hand away from his, sniffling as you climb into the front seat.

Driving off, you watch his eyes tail you, head hanging low. It didn’t help that he clearly felt bad, but your animosity had already grown to an immovable position.

You hate him.

Please let me know what you think! It’s close to exam season, so I’m not sure how long part 5 will take for me to post. Thank you for reading! Love, Lula X