husband!higuruma x reader, girl dad higuruma, fluff | wc 1.3k
the living room is a mess. realistically, to call it a mess is an understatement in itself — it's complete disarray, with toys strewn across the floor, cushions from the sofa laying limp from being stepped on and a pile of scattered building blocks discarded at the far side of the room.
in the midst of the chaos sits your daughter, innocently blinking up at the tv screen, engrossed in the film she’s watching and seemingly indifferent to the clutter surrounding her. every few minutes, she absent-mindedly waves the toy hammer held tight in her grasp, eyes still fixed on the large screen in front of her as flickers of light dance across her features.
you smile to yourself, noting the fact that the hammer is still practically stuck to her hand as always.
it was a few months ago when she had rediscovered it amongst her mini tools, quickly pulling the mini hammer out of her wooden toolbox and sending a toy screwdriver flying out of it in the process.
she'd inspected it for a second, tongue stuck out in concentration, before looking up at her father, as though trying to gauge something. after a few more seconds of careful deliberation, the girl seemed to be pleased with her decision, a smile forming across her features.
"look papa, i'm a...judge!" she'd giggled at her own words, looking pleased with herself as you huffed out a surprised laugh. hiromi, on the other hand, said nothing, his expression unreadable except for the way his gaze softened the slightest bit, brows raised a fraction.
"where did you learn that from?" you had murmured, smiling softly and gently ruffling her hair as she'd pretended to bang the hammer against the carpeted floor, like some makeshift gavel.
she raises a small finger to point at hiromi, a huge beam across her face.
"we played.." she paused, as though trying to remember the word. "...court…papa taught me. he said that's what he does at work!"
you'd thrown your husband a teasing look of mock-exasperation at that — seriously, just how often did he think about work?
since that day, though, your daughter had been absolutely set on bringing the hammer everywhere, cheerfully explaining how she was "working" just like her father. you didn't really have the heart to tell her that a wooden hammer from a toy construction set wasn’t exactly the same as a judge’s gavel, so instead you simply opted for watching her show hiromi her impression of a judge excitedly as he softly smiled at her, gaze surprisingly gentle despite the exhaustion written all over his face.
you eye your daughter now sat on the living room floor among the disarray of scattered toys and plushies.
“hey sweetie, let’s tidy up. you can watch tv after, okay?”
your four year old doesn't reply, simply remaining fixated on the tv screen, not bothering to spare you even a glance in your direction — probably because she hasn’t even noticed your words to begin with, too engrossed in whatever she’s watching.
you try again, slightly firmer.
"hey…time to tidy up," you crouch down and start collecting some nearby blocks, hoping to set a good example and encourage her into joining you. she remains resolutely uninterested in your words, however — every time you glance up at her, hoping to see progress, you find that she's paying you absolutely no mind whatsoever.
you finally stand up once more, pressing a hand to your hips.
"come on, we need to tidy up or else i'll have to turn off the tv."
that gets her attention. she slowly looks up, eyes meeting yours, before quietly speaking under her breath, so quietly that you almost miss it.
you pause, momentarily stunned by her words and trying to fight off a tiny smile so as not to encourage her. despite your best efforts to maintain a neutral face, though, she immediately catches the way your expression falters. that only spurs her on to repeat it, eyes bright as she speaks with more confidence this time.
before you can think of an adequate response — if there even is an adequate response for your four year old treating tidy-up time like a debatable matter in court — you hear the jangle of keys followed by the front door clicking open. a tiny gasp escapes your daughter's mouth before she's pulled herself off the floor, running towards the source of the sound where your husband is stood, taking off his work shoes.
you follow her, watching fondly as she runs up to higuruma with an excited squeal. he flashes a tiny, barely perceptible smile as he places down his briefcase before squatting down to her level, letting her run into his arms. the second he’s holding her, she leans her body into his embrace, her face hidden behind his head as she peers up at you, as though trying to figure out whether you’ve forgotten about tidy-up time yet or not.
much to her dismay, you haven’t.
huffing out a laugh at the situation, you cross your arms, addressing your next words towards your husband who’s busy stroking your daughter’s hair gently.
“you’ll never guess what. she’s objecting to tidying up, hiro,” you murmur, throwing an accusatory glance his way, though your tone carries no real malice. “just how many pretend court cases have you done with her?”
“not that many, my love..”
big wide eyes glance between you and higuruma curiously, your daughter’s hands tightening a little on her father’s suit as she tries to gauge the upcoming verdict of your playful mock-feud.
“hiromi, no normal four year old child knows how to use the word “objection” in a sentence.”
he doesn’t respond to your words. it’s funny, really: the fact that he’s a lawyer and yet somehow you manage to render him speechless within a single sentence or two.
in actuality, he supposes he probably could reason his way out of these situations — the circumstances aren’t as clear-cut as you paint them out to be, after all — but what good would come of it? he’s perfectly content in avoiding the conflict of it all, enjoying the occasional moments of simplicity that seem to be integrated so sparingly into his busy schedule.
for that reason, he simply nods in silent agreement and removes his blazer before gently guiding your daughter to the living room to see the mess for himself.
you note now that everything about him looks…tired. from the slight slump of his shoulders to the taught line of his mouth to the dark marks under his eyes, he clearly looks worn down. and yet despite it all, he still seems to be able to reserve a soft kind of tenderness for your daughter as she stands by his side, chewing on her lip as she inspects the mess that she’ll inevitably have to tidy.
she slowly reaches out an arm and grabs onto his hand, causing him to immediately soften, letting her grasp tighten around his fingers before leading him to the heart of the mess. he doesn’t complain, simply allowing her to guide him as she pleases before he kneels down next to her to help as she begins reluctantly collecting toys to put away.
a small smile plays on his lips, and whilst there’s still an unspoken kind of deep weariness rooted beneath it, higuruma seems to be somewhat enjoying the change of pace.
higuruma continues to help your daughter collect toys to put back into their respective baskets, but not without overhearing her grumbling under her breath when she thinks nobody can hear.
“…i’m…within my rights…to not tidy up..”
well, maybe he’d have to hold back a little on the pretend court trials with her after all.
author’s notes: first time writing about higuruma i think yayayayayayy!!
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