SHOOTING STARS
synopsis: you've read too much smut. time to relapse on a pathetic yearning for your attorney best friend?
contains: depictions of mental illness, handling and consumption of related medication, toxic work environment, rage, angst, yearning, daydreaming, Higuruma being himself, BANTER(?), fluff.
note: divider by @uzmacchiato, header cr/4straeusx on x. wc: 2323
3.30 PM
The heat is unbearable.
Thick humidity blows in the wind, and beads of sweat that are caught in my blazer make it impossible to move about in this office.
I stare at the blue glow of the laptop in front of me. But nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing has made sense lately.
My nails scratch at my hairline and nape; the itching in this heat is incessant. Like I said, the heat is unbearable. And in this hot cubicle, everything overwhelms me more than it should.
The clicking of a stapler nearby, the tap-tap-tap of my neighbouring employee's broken keyboard, the hushed conversations of my other colleagues by the water cooler, and the muffled booming voice of my boss scolding a janitor. It's all too much.
My neck itches, my nails are digging into raw skin, now reddened and irritating, needles prick at my skin, and the base of my skull, my fingers are shaking, and a ringing starts at the back of my skull. I feel it now, the familiar pulse in my temple as everything in my vision swirls with red, and the pen I'm holding is suddenly too heavy. I'm starting to shake.
My vision starts to tunnel, My hands are no longer steady as I pick up the pen.
tap-tap-tap- whoosh.
The keyboard of my neighbour has given up, my hands shake, He's gonna ask for mine now. But I can't-- I can't-- I have to take this blazer off, I have get out, I have tell those gossip-mongers to shut the fuck up, I need to-
the pen clacks to the ground again.
I need my meds.
I need to take my meds. The ringing in my ears won't shut up, the boss won't shut up, the people-- the people by the cooler, they're... they're probably lamenting their cut bonus, they won't shut up... The itching in my neck is getting worse, I need to get to my drawer, I need--
Incoming call: Higuruma Hiromi (3 missed calls)
I want to hurl the phone into he wall. The ringing is cutting into my nerves. i need to get to my drawer, I need--
Incoming call: Higuruma Hiromi (4 missed calls)
I pick the phone up, turning it toward me, I squint at the caller ID. Higuruma Hiromi. My fingers are still shaking, I squint harder, as if I'd read the ID wrong.
Hiromi.
Hiromi?
I force my breathing to even out. I can't do this to him. I can't let his see this side of me. Not him, Not Hiromi. I swipe answer button and hold the cold phone against my ear, frantically smoothening my damp palms against my skirt.
"Hello?" The voice on the other side, Hiromi... I squeeze my eyes shut. I hate to admit how much I needed this, How much I needed to hear my best friend's voice. It's better than the meds I take anyway.
"Hey, Hiro... did you...do you need something?" My voice is still breathy. Shit. I try to force a breath.
"No, no, I... I was just checking in. It's Friday, and my colleagues insist you join us for that house party at Kyle's... That guy, remember? the one you said looked like a squid?" He chuckles low on the other side, and i can feel the ringing slowly fade. The corner of my mouth twitches.
Gosh, this man. Making me blush through a goddamn panic attack.
"Yeah, I mean... you'll be there?" I wince immediately at my stupidity. of course, silly, it's his colleague for Christ's sake.
"Let me see, you're asking stuff like that, you seriously need to loosen up you workaholic" I swear he's grinning from ear-to-ear now. I can almost picture him, Hiromi, in his dim office, pouring over legal jargon while he swirls his pen and teases me even over the phone.
"says you, Mr. Blah-Blah Attorney" I sit down at my cubicle. I doesn't feel that hot anymore.
"Hey! you know that's defamation, right? I could put you in for 2 years over this bullshit.." there's a playful lilt to his voice. I don't mind if I go to jail if you're my defence attorney, you idiot. But I can't say that, of course.
"'kay, see you there at seven?" I can't stop the giddiness from bleeding into my voice. Hiro will be there, after all.
"Nonsense. I'm picking you up" He snapped from the other end, then, almost bashful, "you know how the subway gets this time of the day..."
I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling like an idiot in my workplace. I look side by side, ensuring no one caught me looking like a wet teenager in love.
"'kay, Hiro. see ya." I choke out. he just hums from the other end, mutters a quick goodbye. And the line cuts into beeps.
I finally let that smile break across my face, I draw in a breath, setting my phone on the desk, as I instinctively reach for the drawer. I pull it open. There, settled neatly between two staplers is a brown bottle.
The glass bottle feels cool in my palm. I slam the drawer shut.
I don't need them.
5.50 PM.
I feel it before I see it.
Hiromi's sedan is parked in the underground garage of my workplace building. I descend down the cranky elevator, heels clicking on bare concrete for the parking spot he'd texted me earlier.
The darkened garage is damp, smelling of stale cigarette smoke, the dim lighting makes the shadows stand out more. I think of Hiromi's eyes, the way they look when he's focusing on some legal deposition. It's the exact shade, I think.
God, stop thinking about your best friend's eyes! . I scold myself as a draft through the underground garage sweeps over my body. I shiver. rubbing my palms against my crossed arms, I follow the lighted section, eyes raking over the parked cars-- baby blue sedans, the rusty hatchback of the clerk, the midnight shine SUV of my boss---then I see him.
Hiromi. looking almost bored, In a casual button down, top buttons undone, and dark slacks. Leaning casually against his black sedan while swirling lazy patterns on the dust of the hood. His sleeves are rolled past his forearms, revealing the corded tension in his forearms from the day's work. his suit-jacket probably tossed into the car. He held an unlit cigarette between his fingers, looking lost.
"Hey," My voice is raspy from the day's exhaustion. I glance at the cig, i hate to admit it, but it sets me on an edge. I look at his knuckles instead, wanting to avoid the amber-and-white thing sitting in Hiromi's grip. get a grip, he needs it, it's just one.
"god, you look like hell" Hiromi stands up straighter, his shirt straining against his shoulders. I have to look away, my ears burn. his head tilted in an almost tender display of concern, "hey, take that thing off. it looks like corporate nightmare" he gestures to my blazer. which, ironically, does look like a corporate nightmare.
"things we do for the bills, Hiro. I don't get to sue people for broken keyboards like you, y'know?" I force a smile, my traitorous gaze travels back to the the cigarette anyway. gosh, why does he have it, of all people? It's unlit, still, my arm burns. I need to shed my blazer, I need to--
"I'd like to sue this weather is what I'd like to do..." he grunts, stepping toward me to slide the garment off. large hands lingering on my shoulders to ease off my blazer. It falls neatly in his palms, and he drapes it over his arm, his fingers tracing the seam absentmindedly.
Thankfully, he'd tucked the smoke into his pocket. I breathe easier, a little bit. "I'm telling you, kid, if this heatwave doesn't let up this week, I'm seriously gonna eat the case files at this rate"
A warm feeling bubbles inside my chest, like honey washing over lavender. I watch him turn away, heading for the driver's side. I follow my way into the passenger's.
"Oh, I see, I've got to get you drunk if you're talking like that, Hiro" the click of the door punctuates the tease, "what, poor Higuruma Hiromi being crushed to death my his dear mistress the Law? is she giving you the troubles, love?" I say as I round the car. Hiro climbs onto the driver's side, me on the passenger's. I throw my blazer into the backseats, where it lands on a heap over Hiro's own discarded suit-jacket.
"Oh, shut up" he grunts, and puts the engine on.
he eases onto the seat with the grace of a seasoned driver, hands gripping the wheel at ten-and-two. My eyes trace the build of his hands, the thoughts that swirl in my head-- none of them appropriate for the man who's supposed to be the 'best friend'.
I let out a shaky exhale as i turn to the foggy window, rolling it down against the damp heat of the car's interior. wanting the stale city air on my face.
as if a breeze could wipe away the heat at the tips of my ears.
We make out way through the friday traffic. the winding roads and the honking of impatient cars a welcome distraction to my incessant thoughts. Higuruma, however, curses everytime we hit a slow pill at the road jam.
neon lights streak by, blurring my thoughts, painting them in shades of blue and red. I lean my head against the window, the vibrations of road soothing my restless thoughts as i look up at my best friend.
His hands grip the steering wheel at ten and two, forearms bare against the rolled up sleeves. With his tuxedo gone and his shoulders free of the tension i'd come to revere, he looks almost human. almost as any man in the backdrop of my life.
He looks as if he could be mine.
"What?" He notices me staring, voice gravelly as he throws me a glance, never taking his eyes off the road. a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, so small I almost miss it. God, Hiromi. You gotta stop smiling like that.
"Nothing" I blurt out, quickly averting my gaze as the heat in my cheeks spread to my ears and chest, threatening to spill over the depth of my love for the man who's supposed to be my best friend. "Nothing"
I want us to be more than this. I want you to stay. I want you to call me yours.
the words crowd against my teeth, begging to be laid bare in the space between us, begging to be heard by Hiromi. But I should know better. If they ever find their way outside the confines of my mind, I know things won't be the same as they are now, Hiro won't look at me the same.
Worst of all, I could lose This-- this, what I have with him. The easy trust, the traded grins, the pillow talk.
What we have is more precious to me than any intimacy I watch on the TV, any degree of lust and any metric of bodily pleasure I never hope to achieve.
But as I drift away again, something in the corner of my mind recedes to a familiar fantasy. The car revvs, I close my eyes with his form etched into the back of my mind.
My mind wanders into the thought, a dangerous premise. I imagine, I imagine what it'd be like, if we were more, more than what we are. I imagine a different version of this car ride.
In that world, my head wouldn't loll against the window, no. Because Hiro would be filling me in on our date that weekend. My hands wouldn't be cold, because one of them would be interlaced with his fingers on the console between us.
And most importantly, in that universe, I wouldn't be as lonely. With Hiro, he'd come back to my--our-- apartment every night, and he'd greet me with a lingering kiss on the foyer. And I'd wrap my arms around his waist, feeling the exhaustion that clung to his broad frame.
"You're late" I'd say in that world, "Hiro, tired?"
"Missed you" He'd murmur into my hair, face pressed against the crook of my neck as I'd feel his warm breath ghost there. He'd probably wrap his arms tighter around me, and he'd let us stay there. just us. bathed by amber lights and silent whispers that pass in the spaces between our souls.
In that fantasy-- impossible, beautiful fantasy-- we'd sit on the balcony, me tucked between his arm and chest, listening to his every beat, while his chin would rest on the top of my head. Everytime we'd see a shooting star, I know that he'd press a kiss into my hair, right at the crown.
And neither of us would make a wish. Because we'll have all we'd wanted in each other's arms.
Hiro would let each shooting star pass by, a silent testament to the moments we'd spend on our balcony. He'd probably hum a tuneless hum.
Nothing like the horn screeching behind us, jarring me awake from my fantasy.
The moments of bliss are snatched from my hands, my face probably pale from the ice-water impact of the loss.
"You okay?" Hiromi notices my distress, his brows furrowed in concern as he leans over ever so silghtly. The lines of his age deepened against his eyes, chocolate eyes boring into mine, flicking to the glove compartment where my meds are waiting.
"Yeah.." I choke out, "I'm fine, Hiro"
i want to call you mine. I want to hold your hand while you tell me I'm gonna be okay.
I want to sit on a cold balcony with you, and watch the sunset.
I want to tell you about the colours of the sky.
I want to tell you that all the songs in my playlist are about you.
I want you. I want you to want me.
And as he turns away, I finally understand why I like the fantasy of him and me so much.
Because in the fantasy, I don't have to imagine another universe where he's in love with me.
He's beautiful. Hiro. Hiromi. Mine, at least in some corners of my mind that still aches for his love, his hand on mine and my name on his lips.
a/n: yeah yeah I KNOW. no smut. we die like (wo)men.
please do not plagiarise, and yeah, let me know if you liked this!!
;)
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