#higuchuu

You know when a rare pair kinda becomes your favorite pairing? Because I feel like I can talk about Higuchuu for ages. Something about the dynamic between the romantic, loyal, emotionally sensitive right-hand/bodyguard (to someone else at that, someone she chases but can never reach), and the (as I like to believe) also romantic, loyal, and emotionally charged executive. They hardly interact, if at all, except for that conversation in Wan about the bathhouse. They have no reason to.

But what if they did?

A chance encounter outside of work, in a place neither expected to find the other because they really don’t know each other. And how lovely if it were to be a bookstore, in the romance section, no less. They make small talk through the shelves, hesitant, half reluctant but dreading the awkwardness of silence in a shared space they each thought was their own.

And then those meetings continue, accidental for a while until they aren’t.

They start teasing each other, playful accusations of one showing up just to see the other. They talk about that shared interest and pick at each other’s hearts about it. They leave the place and forget to part ways, conversation bouncing between them easily, tones of voice mingling in shared lightheartedness.

At work it’s suddenly hushed conversations, shared jokes, her sunny laughter, his leather-smooth smile. More and more frequently they leave together, her arm looped around his while his hands rest in his pockets, head on her shoulder. Safe, simple at first. Then progressively more and more something else.

He makes the first move, inviting her over for a bite, and she still has leftovers in her fridge she wants to eat but she arrives anyway, hair loose around her ears and it does make him pause because of how much it suits her.

She indulges in a sip of wine, nose scrunching in disinterest (alcohol never really appealed to her) that has him a little baffled though he hands her a glass of water without question, heart doing something when she smiles at him, hands back the wine that he keeps for himself from then on, lips occasionally brushing the edge of the glass where hers had been.

They pass the time in idle conversation, talking for the sake of hearing each other, and she curls her legs comfortably on his couch, arm stretched over the armrest and towards his chair, not intending to touch despite how her fingers keep finding his, curling and smoothing over his hand absently as he gives the occasional squeeze, eyes out the window as her words soothe over him, and he chimes in occasionally.

She’s half asleep against the armrest by the time he’s two drinks in, humming softly from her place curled up on the couch. From his chair he watches the city through his wall-spanning window, making lazy, comfortable patterns along her arm as she pipes up with the occasional, any-topic remark that he hums in response to.

It’s late after a while, and she nods sleepily when he offers her a few blankets, falling asleep before they cover her. He yawns, cleans up the glasses, double checks that appliances are off, doors and windows secure for the night, a couch pillow supporting her head.

He leaves a cup of water on the coffee table, the bathroom light on down the hall, and finally sinks into bed. He thinks about what to make for breakfast the next morning. Thinks about asking if she’d want to go to that bookstore they had initially found each other in.

He falls asleep to the city’s lullaby.