You had discovered a man through a friend of a friend’s ex-coworker’s old fling while on the hunt for some internship and job opportunities as you continue to finish your law degree, looking to improve your resumé and gain some experience pertaining to your career path in hopes to broaden future employment once you become  a fresh graduate. And while the way in which you discovered this man was– well… rather questionable, it was one of the few decent options you had during your past moment of desperation.

Law being an already competitive field within the academic environment of your university, the job market was even more so, leaving you with the mystery-man from your ever-long chain of connections as one of the more appealing and safe options. If you didn’t give it a try, how would you know if it were really a poor choice? If you didn’t take the chance now, knowing yourself, you’d regret it later, which leaves you in your current position.

The interview had gone, in all honesty, quite well, you’d say, and that reflected in your approval to continue and begin as an assistant-apprentice at Higuruma Hiromi’s law firm. Considering you had thrown yourself out there out of desperation, having landed a job at a private and local law firm was quite the score—not having to immediately deal with the hustle and bustle of a crowded and fickle environment the common job market usually supplied.

Calm and even demeanored, Shimizu was the person who had helped you to integrate into your new position at the firm—Higuruma’s assistant public defender—, as well as simply into the new rather dull, though nice for its quaint feel, atmosphere. Despite how much of an overwhelmingly grand change it seemed at first, there seemed to be little to no need to assimilate into the curated culture of the firm.

Now, pertaining to the man of the hour: Higuruma was… nothing you had expected—apart from your brief interactions in the past in regards to the interview and acceptance, that is.

He wasn’t the old, grumpy, greasy suited man with an unaddressed anger issue and low self-esteem; he didn't laze around and pawn off his work to his subordinates; he didn’t slack off while having high expectations for the rest of his peers. And while those are all amazing things to not be, Higuruma still had a tendency to come off the wrong way…

You often used your time with Shimizu to work on studying and brushing up on material you believed would best support your performance at the firm when you weren’t in dire need to shadow her work as an assistant. While you had, of course, asked Shimizu time and time again just to be sure it was alright to do so—and she had confirmed time and time again—, there still seemed to be a thick layer of tension which lingered in the air whenever the two of you—or just you—were in the same room as him (which was very, very often).

Your desk was directly across from Shimizu’s which was nice, especially since you didn’t have to sort of fish for her around the building if you had any inquiries of any sorts, but that wasn’t the… issue.

The issue was that both of your desks were also in the same room as Higuruma’s.

Directly beside Higuruma’s.

So if you had wanted to say anything to Shimizu—check in with her on anything, share your findings with her in regards to a case because you were too chicken-shit to go to Higuruma—he would hear everything. Every detail, every word, every pause, every breath. He was there regardless. I mean, it is his firm, but why couldn’t his desk be a little further from yours? He’s the big macho defense lawyer guy, so why do you have to be directly beside him?! Maybe contact an interior designer…

Even though everything you would say to Shimizu she would then say to Higuruma, she at least did you the courtesy of telling him when you weren’t around so it didn’t seem like some sorry game of telephone, or it didn’t seem so obvious he clearly intimidated you (as if that weren’t obvious enough). Plus, as Higuruma’s assistance, you were all usually in the same space anyways, so you usually didn’t speak unless spoken to first to avoid any awkward moments of prolonged dialogue where you try to salvage as much face as possible.

He always had a stoic yet relaxed, expressionless-expression, worn with a dark grey suit, topped over his deep green tie, slick and sheen dress shoes to complete the classic business-man attire. Smoothed hair over with a light layer of gel, though a few strands of hair toward the hairline never stay down; a set of constantly furrowed brows, though not enough to be considered a scowl, over a pair of restless, dazed yet stern eyes; skin paled from how much sun he lacks, shutting himself in his work, but he usually has a bit of a tan to his complexion when he’s healthy and rejuvenated (not often, less than occasional, don’t expect improvement), but you haven’t skimmed over the fact that his skin is always clear, so it’s rather difficult to tell if he grows much facial hair—from his chin, to over his cupid’s bow, to the space between his brows where you may or may not stare the most because of that handsomely sculpted nose…

Anyways… in summary: apart from what meets the eye, and in addition to what meets the eye, you know little to nothing about your superior Higiruma—only that he’s a classy man, with a classy flair, working in a classy firm with a classy job, and a humble presentation of his personality, keeping his work and personal life very separate; being the dedicated man to the job, and the whatever else kind of man outside of it.

Based on this, yes if you couldn’t guess, you can’t help but stare sometimes.

That handsome mug? That gentleman? Who isn’t staring is the real question.

You’ve seen some people stare a bit too long, or change their manner of speech when they give him a subtle once over during client or case discussions. It’s not like you’re the first and only person to have blanked and forgotten what they were going to say when he spoke to them directly in that calm, mediated.. low… hypnotizing voice of his. It gets a bit distracting sometimes when he speaks relaxed and casual with people, eyes respectfully locked on theirs while he listens to them speak, nodding softly while he notes down details to let them know he’s still listening.

“You okay?”

You quickly snapped your head to meet the voice. “Hm?”

Shimizu looked over your face with a mixed expression, eyebrow raised. She carefully took note of your posture and dazed face, placing the papers which were in her hand on top of the closed folder, sighing as she rested her palm flat on top of it, leaning her body onto the wood surface, free hand on her hip. “I asked if you were okay.”

The binders of notes you were supposed to give to Higuruma a while ago were in your tight grasp, close to your chest and wrapped in your arms. Shimizu must’ve given them to you earlier at the beginning of your guys’ debrief about the current case findings and what loose threads you had suggested to look into before meeting with the client again.

“Oh. I mean- yeah- yes, yes I’m okay,” you stumbled over your response, still trying to snap yourself out of whatever daydream or daze you hadn’t even realized you were in. “Just tired, I guess,” you offered a soft, assuring smile, though she obviously wasn’t taking it by the way she was deadpan and staring at you.

She gave a slow blink, and responded with nothing but a sarcastic hum, “Mhm,” then sighing dramatically, turning her attention to the desk in front of her to gather her belongings. “Well, just be sure to give Higuruma the file before you leave for the day. He’s staying past five as always.” Shimizu pushed the rolling office chair under the desk with her hip while her hands fumbled around with her bag, keys, coffee, and phone, attempting to fit everything in her grasp instead of putting her bag to use. “I’ll be back in about an hour, but today’s sort of moving slow, so he said you can leave around two.”

Her slouched shoulders and lazy posture made it clear to you that she had passed the offer to you, giving you the early leave as opposed to taking it for herself—which she very obviously could use.

With a quick fix of the strap of her purse, she stood straight, sighed, and shoved some loose strands of hair away from her face with the back of her phone, walking to the door. “I’ll call you if anything comes up. You do the same.” She gave a lazy wave, opened the door, and closed it behind herself.

Approaching Higuruma’s something you inevitably are going to do, and therefore it is also something you are going to have to get used to, so this can really just be a contributing lesson to the part. But, unfortunately, it doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s still a daunting task.

Normally, with anything you give directly to Higuruma—a file, a folder, a helping hand, some insight—, if you do it alone it’s because Shimizu had spent the past ten minutes trying to get you to get out of your shell and give it a try. So you’ve never really faced him on your own volition, and of course never with your own confidence. But, you have to do it one day, and waiting around for an hour for Shimizu to come back would just be humiliating if he ends up coming out of his office and seeing you pace around for whatever reason is unbeknownst to him.

A thin breath of air escapes your mouth, canines softly digging into the soft of your lip.

You decide to have a seat in the chair Shimizu had pushed in earlier, deciding to look over the file contents before you hand it over to refresh your mind of your own findings in case he ends up wanting to discuss them (which you hope he does not). It would be beyond humiliating to be confused about the information you had written, especially with nobody to fall back to—strictly in the silence shared between the two of you.

After skimming some of the pages, your mind finally caught up with its memory, remembering the context and origins of each detail in the folder and its connection to the current ongoing case.

Relieved, you let your shoulders fall a bit, air releasing through your nostrils, fingers lightly fidgeting with a random pen to distract yourself from the conversation, attempting to calm your nerves and slow your heartbeat to a steady pace.

With a quiet clear of your throat, you gather the papers, close the folder, and stand up slowly, skimming the area to check if you’re forgetting anything, but in reality you are stalling the inevitable. And with nothing to prolong your stalling, you are left with no other task than the one at hand, pushing the chair into its place, holding a tight grip onto the cream coloured folder, and walking to his office door.

Plastering your lips together to smooth out the lip balm you quickly applied, you move your hands to adjust your hair, making sure there’s no strand awkwardly touching your face and distracting you while you're speaking with him. Dapping away any sweat with a tissue from the restroom, fixing the collar of your blouse, smoothing any wrinkles from your blazer and pencil skirt, adjusting the way your glasses rest on the bridge of your nose, shimming your foot in your heel—anything to stall.

Now with nothing else to distract you, you stand in front of the door, folder in hand… and wait. It needs to feel like the right moment, so you wait a few seconds, shutting your eyes when you finally lift your fist to the door, hovering over the wood and foggy glass, swearing to yourself to just knock on the fucking door!

And as though your rather sour prayers were answered, the moment your knuckle brushed over the oak ever so faintly, the door had opened.

He must have caught your startled look before you quickly fixed it to seem professional because his usually stoic demeanor had softened into what seemed like a mix of worry and confusion, though he also looked just as equally unfazed as he did everyday.

“Oh. I was just about to look for you. Please, come in.” Great.

You bowed your chin softly, the clicking of your heels quiet as you almost hesitantly entered the office, walking toward your desk which was positioned beside his, trying to create as much space between the two of you as you possibly could without making it weird.

“Shimizu must have taken her leave then, yes?” The door shut calmly, his sleek shoes clicking on the dark oak floor with each long stride of his. “I didn’t hear her leave.”

Higuruma’s gaze was impossible to ignore, but you just didn’t have it in you to meet it, not even for a flicker of a moment, so you didn’t. “Yeah– well, she went on lunch, actually. Said she’d be back in about an hour,” your voice coming out much softer than intended, ensuring the weight of your tone was nonexistent.

“Really? I assumed she left because I told her it was alright.” Higuruma moved behind his chair, one palm placed onto the leather back, another extended outward, insinuating for you to pull out your own chair and take a seat. Great, so he does want to talk.

A sharp silence cut through the air, thick and awkward as you maintained your sight on tracing the small ridges of the desk and folder, suddenly also becoming very interested in the curves and divots of your hands and fingers. Any wavering confidence you had mustered up outside of the office was shattered in an instant when the mapping of the theoretical situation was broken from his sudden opening of the door, so you had no idea how to further continue this conversation.

To you, it seemed like he was waiting for you to give him some sort of reply, so the silence was deafening, but in reality, he was just shifting his papers out of the way so they didn’t distract him from what he had originally asked you here for, but keeping one in front of him.

“So,” he began, “I wanted to talk to you about your performance.”

Oh, wow, even worse. Not only is this awkward, but you’re getting fired. Great.

“Since you began here about–what was it,” he flipped past a few pages of his file, skimming the content, “four months ago, the firm has benefited from your greatly—I have benefited from you greatly…”

While Higuruma spoke, while he maintained his gaze fixed on you, it felt easier to look at him for fleeting moments because you were convincing yourself he wasn't really focused on you at all but just on getting the whole sob-goodbye-story out before then saying “bye, you suck, never come back, thanks.” So every now and then, you let your eyes wander and trace the curve of his jaw, the twitch of his eyebrows, the soft shadow casted by his nose, the small flash of his teeth, and the flicker in his eyes.

“Although, I can’t help but notice that as of late, you’ve been… aloof. Lost in thought, maybe, but more distant than usual from both the work and your peers, so I can’t help but wonder… is everything…alright?”

The question was… not what you were expecting. It seemed more concerned than a reshaped and regurgitated form of an offhanded introduction into forced resignation. He seemed… confused?

“What?” And so now you’re both confused as fuck.

“I don’t mean to pry, but, if our client is making you uncomfortable in any way, I have no issue with you pulling from the case. My priority, yes, is with the client, but that does not discard my responsibility to my employees.”

So. Somehow your distant admiration, lack of conversation, and constant irritation was somehow interpreted as you being uncomfortable because of the… client…? How in the world could he have possibly come to such a conclusion? He only has the most concrete evidence to support his claim, but still.

“No– I mean, no, I’m not uncomfortable– well… I mean, the client doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” you blink rapidly, trying to piece together his conclusion and how you're possibly going to respond given you’re just as lost as he is in the conversation. “The case is fine– I’m fine, really–”

“Then a peer is causing you discomfort?” His arms cross over his chest, and he swings a leg over the opposite knee, straightening his posture in his chair. “Again, I don’t mean to pry, but I wouldn't like you to continue being uncomfortable while at work. Whatever the matter, it remains confidential, and I assure you your name won’t be mentioned if reported.”

“No!” you clear your throat, not meaning for it to come out so suddenly. “No– no one is, uhm…” Higuruma patiently waits for you to continue, head tilting slightly to show you he’s listening to your judgment free. “Well… I guess it can just be a bit intimidating.”

“The workload?”

“No, the workload is fine, it’s just…” your words catch in your throat. “It can be a bit daunting to… approach… you…?” It feels like your soul is wincing at every word you carefully choose, and yet it still hurts to say. The best option still sounding the worst.

His expression cracks for a moment, eyes closing shut, lips parting, clearly stunned by your statement but trying not to let any grand spur of emotion seep through so as to not startle you.

“I’ve been causing you discomfort?”

Well, now it’s beyond awkward. How can you tell him—cassually, professionally—that it’s not that he’s weird or creepy, but it’s hard to converse with him because he’s actually freakishly hot and overwhelmingly handsome that speaking to him directly can be a bit difficult? And, again, it’s more than likely not his first time having a conversation with someone who clearly found him attractive, but this is you—not somebody else, not some hypothetical situation, not another person’s embarrassing moment. This is your embarrassing moment.

And this is your first real job of importance—your first job pertaining to your desired career—, so there’s no way you can let this all go to shit now! But there’s also no way to avoid this conversation, so you have to say something– but it can’t be too harsh like “well, you’re hot.” That screams HR. But it also can’t be too elongated and decorated and flowery like “as of late, I have, in fact, felt a bit distracted, though I wouldn’t say it pertains much to the case at hand, but rather to the extent in which my position affects yours” or something because then that sounds like you’re doing the most. There has to be a sort of in between– a middle ground that’s not too short, but also not too methodical in the way it’s so obviously trying to sound posh. It needs to sound like you didn’t just spend the entire time thinking about it so he doesn’t think you’re some weird freak, and ends up firing you on the spot.

“Not.. entirely, no. I’m really the one making it… weird?” Your eyes squint, wincing at a non existent pain, awaiting his response while he remains as stiff as possible. “I guess you’re just a bit intimidating, and.. good… looking…"

A pause.

That couldn’t have come out more horribly than it did. Did your overthinking really get you nowhere?! So much for that.

His eyes were no longer fixed on your face, now having drifted to the flat surface of his glazed desk, tongue poking at his teeth as his mind began to wander; clearly at a loss of words, though relieved that he hadn’t unknowingly caused any harm which reflected in the small drop of his shoulders and slow sway of his foot.

A quiet click of his tongue brought your attention back to reality. “Right…” his voice cutting through the room with ease by the lack of sound, tone never lifting above a soft rasp. “Well… I suppose that’s… better than what I had assumed. I guess I’ll have to work on that.”

That quick, sarcastic remark at the end had caught you off guard, causing you to close your eyes and release a tense breath mixed with a faint laughter, glad to not be the only awkward one in the room by the situation.

“Suppose you might, but I don’t think it can be helped.”

A snicker escaped through his teeth, tipping his chin down with the snare like laughter, raking a heavy hand through his glossed, jet black hair, happy to have a break from the tension he had accidentally created over the past few months. “I can come to the office with bed hair if that helps. Maybe an ugly tie if that does anything.”

Do not come to the office with bed hair, that would also be hot.

It’s shocking to hear Higuruma joke around given his steady professional and stoic demeanor you had witnessed since your first day, even dating back to the interview. And, by god, this sarcastic flair to him is honestly really attractive, so it doesn’t really help your case at all.

The both of you stood, him closing your file and moving it to the side, you gathering your file and pushing your chair in and under the table. The lack of thick tension reflects in your speech, suddenly coming off more confident in speaking to him. “Different tie? Hadn’t known you could be rebellious.”

His eyes trailed from your hands on the desk, to your hip pushing the chair in, then following the curve of your silhouette up to your jaw, then landing somewhere on your face once you had turned to face him. “I can be from time to time,” his voice dipping almost to a whisper when his gaze finally met yours, tipping his chin down slightly with the height difference, which he can now see clearly while he stands just a stretch of his arm away. “Keeps things exciting.”

Had you not quickly turned your face back to the file after offering him a polite smile, you may have noticed the repetitive trail of his eyes on you and where they had the tendency to stop. But you didn’t, so that secret alone remains with him until he chooses to reveal it, because he, too, finds it a bit daunting to approach you—afraid he may lose a bit of his carefully constructed polished composure at a simple batting of your lashes or shy smile.

Half hour, it feels, has gone by since Shimizu had left, and yet the main door had hastily swung open, stealing your attention, but not entirely catching his.

She stumbled in through the office door, barging in breathless and clearly tired, carrying more in her hands than she should despite still having her bag slouched over her shoulder, then lazily throwing her belongings onto her desk. “Too hot outside, so I came back early,” she raked loose strands of hair from her face, screwing a water bottle open, and taking a generous sip, then delivering another dramatic but relieved exhale.

Her brown eyes found you looking at her casually, then moved to Higuruma’s stance beside you, noting he still hadn’t looked her way—but more importantly, his eyes had remained locked on you.

She stared at you, then to Higuruma; at you, then to Higuruma, letting a lazy grin paint itself across her face despite her original irritation with the heat. “So,” she quirked an eyebrow, “I’m assuming you started on the loose threads then, hm, Higuruma?”

Upon hearing his name, he shot a glare out the corner of his eye to her direction, immediately catching her not-so-subtle change in posture and tone.

“She spent a lot of time putting it all together. Would be a shame if you hadn’t. It’s good work.” Her sarcasm was something Higuruma always had a soft hatred for, though got used to over time, but he never enjoyed when Shimizu would point out when clients and other defendants were clearly romantically interested in him because she would never let it go, and often would try to offhandedly insinuate that he was, in fact, single.

The mention of ‘loose threads’ clicked in your mind, remembering that you had originally gone to approach Higuruma to hand him your findings but the conversation had taken a very, very long detour. “Oh,” you quirked, picking up the file, turning to meet him, and extending the cream folder out. “I forgot to hand them to you.”

Higuruma, ever the more irritated by his aggravating assistant (said with love, of course), removed his glare from her and directed his attention back to you. “Thank you,” he managed after a moment, having gotten a bit distracted in taking in the rest of your features. “I’ll be sure to look these over by the end of today,” he lightly brushed your knuckle with the tip of his fingers before then taking it from your grasp.

Finally having completed your original task, you smiled proudly on the way out, opening and closing the door softly after you dismissed yourself. Letting out one of the largest breaths you’ve ever held, you quietly panicked over to the absent desk from before, gathering your items and silently cursing yourself for having not only made the conversation super awkward, but confessing to your boss that you found him so attractive that it made your job a bit difficult. Not to mention you basically had a bit of casual flirting going on there for a second.

So you gladly took the early leave, placed a quick note onto the mini fridge door which read ‘thank youuuuu,’ intended for Shimizu, and got the hell out of there.

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