out of office | hiromi higuruma
pairing: hiromi higuruma x f!reader chapter: 4/??? (previous) tags: coworkers to lovers, office romance, slow burn, modern au/no curses, implied age gap (older man/younger woman), eventual smut w/c: 3.3k
Everything is going wrong.
Nobody has left you alone all day, and every problem has taken ridiculously long to fix. You’re the only member of IT in the office, so you can’t redirect anyone to Yuuji and, naturally, you were bothered throughout your entire lunch. By the time you had a moment to think, the noodles on your desk had gone cold and mushy.
So when you get an email at 10 to 6, you’re half inclined to just ignore it and log out. It isn’t until you see the name attached that you open the email and start reading. Higuruma seemed to have a tendency to email at the last possible moment in the day, particularly on Fridays. It was almost as though you manifested it; he’d been on your mind all day. That was a separate issue altogether.
You push your chair away from your desk and press the button for the elevator, checking your reflection in the mirror as the doors open.
In truth, you had been thinking about him every day since he took you out for lunch: checking for his name in emails and messages, hoping he might ask you to reset his password (again), rereading your text conversation. It was embarrassing, knowing that you were acting like you were 14 again.
“Hiromi,” you can’t help sounding slightly breathless, having rushed over to his desk and feeling the nervous hammering of your heart in your chest, “what can I help you with?”
His eyes meet yours slowly, dragging across your frame. You notice the curve on his lips and the absence of his glasses. For just a moment you let yourself think about how good he looks, not entirely paying attention as he begins to speak. It’s surprising, you ponder, how nobody else in the office seems to understand the appeal; he wasn’t even unconventional. Just scary, apparently.
Hearing your name snaps you out of your thoughts, “is that all okay?”
You nod too quickly, already aware you’d been caught daydreaming. He doesn’t mention it, despite the amused look in his eyes that gives it away.
You pull up a chair next to his PC and talk him through the problem. It wasn’t anything difficult, just something that stopped him from working; some would take it as a sign to go home. Not Higuruma.
His eyes aren’t really on the screen, instead settling his gaze onto your face while you’re wrapped up explaining. They dip to your lips and then your neck—the collar of your shirt. He feels his cheeks flush and he averts his stare, swallowing as he grabs his glasses from beside him, and places them onto the bridge of his nose.
“If you didn’t insist on working so late, you could’ve avoided this,” you state, turning to face him in your desk chair.
His brow quirks up, “We’re still within office hours.”
“We are,” you shrug, “but you’re probably the only person working. Most of us are packing our things and logging off very slowly. You’re the only person up here.”
“Except you.”
It makes you pause for a second. He’s right, but you wouldn’t have helped had it been anyone else. You say as such, giving a teasing smile, “that’s only because I’m playing favourites.”
He breaks eye contact, turning his attention back to his monitor. Silence washes over you both and you can’t help but mentally scold yourself for saying anything. Just fix the issue.
The pair of you are pink-cheeked as you lean over to grab his mouse, having sat to his left rather than his right. You ignore the fact he can probably (definitely) see down your shirt, grasping the wireless mouse and bringing it over to your side. He turns the monitor so it faces you more, watching as you click through various programs he has open.
“Looks like you have two instances running at the same time,” you murmur, “they’re conflicting.”
You see him nod out of the corner of your eye, humming quietly in understanding. He’s not paying attention to what you’re saying. He finds himself opting to watch your hand on the mouse, or the way your lips move as you explain. There’s a pause and he remembers what he’s doing, giving you his attention once again. You continue, “if I close this one and relaunch it…”
The program reloads; problem solved.
“Thank you,” when you turn towards him, you aren’t expecting him to be so close. His lips are slightly parted and you feel his breath against your skin. You aren’t sure if it’s accidental when his eyes flicker away before he pulls back, clearing his throat.
“It wasn’t anything difficult, and now you won’t need me to help next time,” you force a smile, hoping it’s not too obvious.
He doesn’t respond for a moment, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
You break eye contact, standing from your seat and pushing the mouse back towards Higuruma. You don’t look at him but you feel him staring, watching your movement as you tug on the hem of your shirt, straightening it out slightly.
His gaze lingers on you, following your hands as they smooth out any creases before he looks away, bringing his hand up to his mouth and clearing his throat.
“Well, you know where I am if you need me,” you smile, “unless you’ve forgotten your password again?”
His eyes go wide at your question, before his lips break apart as a hearty laugh fills the office. He tilts his head back and you can see that his eyes are closed now, a few quiet snickers still escaping him, “no, not at all.”
His hand settles on his mouse and you watch him quickly begin to save & close all of his programs. You bite your tongue from commenting on the fact that if he planned to finish for the day, he didn’t need you to come and help. Once he’s shut his computer down, he stands, turning towards you, “would you like to leave together?”
You have to nod in response, not sure you could answer in anything other than a squeak. He was just being polite but the implication of the question was enough to send your heart hammering in your chest. People left the office together all the time, but Hiromi didn’t leave the office at a normal time–let alone with somebody. You mentally thank no one in particular that Yuuji wasn’t here to see you both.
“I need to go and get my stuff, sorry,” you turn to look towards the elevator, “I can meet you in the-”
“There’s no need,” his smile is warm, voice soft and quiet, “I’ll come with you.”
The elevator hums quietly as it descends, and you try to stop looking at yourself in the mirrored walls. You’re stood a fraction too close to Higuruma and his arm brushes against yours as the elevator stops on your floor.
You slip through the doors before they’ve opened fully, hoping he doesn’t notice the heat radiating off your skin.
The floor had been empty since you’d gone upstairs, only the quiet whirring of your pc filling the room. You walk over to your desk quickly, with Hiromi a few paces behind. When you stop at your desk, beginning to log off and collect your things, you become hyper-aware of how messy you looked. Papers strewn across the desk, a half-empty mug of coffee, and your cold noodles, which you hadn’t even had time to throw away. You felt gross looking at your own mess, and worse thinking about how you must look.
“You must have had a long day,” you almost miss it, his voice velvety.
Something between a sigh and a laugh escapes you as you neaten up the space, stacking papers and straightening out your pens, “yeah, something like that.”
“I apologise for contributing to the stress,” he murmurs, placing a hand on the edge of the desk and putting his weight onto it. His coat is hung over his other arm, sleeves still rolled up his forearms and tie loosened ever so slightly. In this position, you can understand why people would find him intimidating: looking down at you through his glasses, sitting on the bridge of his nose. It isn’t a bad thing, your body would argue that you’re enjoying it, even if you were struggling to hold his gaze.
“You didn’t,” you put your focus back onto packing your things.
“I did,” he insists gently, “it could’ve waited.”
You sigh, shaking your head at him, “I already told you it’s fine, remember? Favourites?”
There’s a pause before you continue, “it’s just one of those days.”
In reality, he had been at least a small part of the problem. The barrage of emails and calls, the ‘broken’ printers, recovering deleted files; they were all manageable. But when your attention is elsewhere all day, on something–someone–else, you become susceptible to lots of small, irritating errors in your own work.
It’s the way you search his name out in emails, or peek over whenever somebody opens the door. He’s at fault and it’s through no fault of his own.
You move the conversation on quickly, stepping past him once you’re ready to leave, “let’s go now, before we end up having to lock the building again.”
When the two of you step into the lobby, you greet the receptionist as she’s packing her things, wishing her a good weekend. Her eyes move from you to Higuruma, narrowing slightly in suspicion before she echoes the sentiment back with a customer service smile. She busies herself with some papers on her desk but you can feel her taking glances at you both walking past.
It’s not the first time: people notice you a lot more in the company of Hiromi, catching subtle glances and whispering to each other when they think you’re out of earshot. You feel it like a weight on your back and, from the way Higuruma’s movements become slightly stiffer beside you, he notices it too. It feels bad but you know for him it must feel worse; to be seen as other before a coworker.
Neither of you mention it. He just grabs the front door and holds it open for you.
A rush of cold, bitter wind hits you, biting at your skin as you shove your hands into your pockets. It was quiet for a Friday evening, too cold and too dark to justify leaving the warmth of home.
Hiromi slows his steps to match your pace, “I feel like I should apologise again, about earlier.”
The corners of your lips tug up as you shake your head at him, “I already told you, it was really no trouble.”
He lets out a small sigh, his breath visible, “I could’ve fixed it myself. I was just hoping to see you.”
The words are decisive and composed; when he turns to look at you, you’re feeling anything but. You’re worried you may have misheard him, or maybe misconstrued what he said as you fumble over your words, “hoping to see me?”
His eyes are on the pavement ahead, rather than on you. His brows knit together as he frowns, apologising before you’ve even fully processed what he said, “that wasn’t appropriate, I’m sorry.”
It’s as though he’s trying to take it back and you aren’t quite sure what to say in response other than his name. It tumbles out of your lips softly and makes him pause in place. You don’t want him to take it back; you want him to say it again and mean it.
You take a couple of steps ahead before turning around to face him, having not realised he stopped.
Higuruma is stood, only a few feet away from you, with bright red cheeks. His eyes are looking anywhere but you, brows sewn together and fingers nervously tapping the sides of his legs. He reminds you of a puppy that’s just been told off; you don’t realise that a smile has crept onto your face. Cute.
It takes you a moment to consider your words–whether he would want to be soothed or to just continue on, pretending that you hadn’t even heard. Even if you had already acknowledged it.
“I’m glad,” you mutter, loud enough for him as you step past, “if we don’t hurry we’ll miss our train.”
He catches up in no time, mood subtly lifted. He heard.
“It’s been getting colder again,” he says, “I left my scarf at the office last week by accident and it had been taken when I returned on Monday.”
“That’s so mean,” you frown, thinking about how he’d tuck his chin into his checkered scarf when it was really cold, “I wonder who would even do that.”
He hums in amusement, glancing at you, “you haven’t heard of our office magpie, then?”
You shake your head no, encouraging him to continue as you walk.
“One of the family lawyers has a bad habit of taking things that get left for a few days,” he brings his hand up to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully and listing items off, “some expensive straighteners were taken once but it was never taken to HR so no sanctions were put in place.”
Hearing about workplace gossip made you feel like you were starting to fit in, even if it meant you were going to be more careful about putting things away from now on. Maybe you’d ask Yuuji if any of his stuff has been stolen. Although, you can’t imagine anyone would want to take his chipped coffee mug or the stained cardigan he leaves hung over his chair–he’s exactly like the boys you interned with when you were at college, it makes you smile thinking about it.
“Maybe you’ll have to poach it back,” you push your hands further into your pockets, desperately trying to warm them up. You don’t miss the way he shifts, loosening his scarf slightly as he watches you, as though he’s about to take it off.
He hums in agreement, opting to tuck his hands into his pockets as well.
The train journey home is quiet. You sit together and look out the window in silence, listening in to other conversations or people on the phone.
It’s not awkward, but you can’t help feeling as though you should say something. Make small talk and ask if he has any weekend plans. As soon as the thought enters your head you begin mentally backpedalling: would that make it look like you were interested? Maybe he would think you’re asking him out? What would he say if you were–
“Are you doing anything nice this weekend?” Hiromi’s voice is hushed, calm and steady. It breaks you away from your panic and settles your attention firmly on him.
“I’m–uh–” you pause for a second, not wanting to embarrass yourself by stumbling over your words, “not really, I might see a friend but she’s very noncommittal. It will probably end up being just me and Bear all weekend.”
“Bear?”
“My cat!” The mere mention of him excites you, scrambling for your phone in your pockets so you can show Higuruma a photo. You turn your screen to him, revealing the brown cat sat on top of an open journal. He only just covers both pages.
The defense attorney next to you can’t help the short chuckle that escapes him, “aptly named.”
“Maybe not,” you flick through a few more photos, “but he does love salmon.”
“He has expensive tastes,” you try not to notice the way Higuruma’s entire demeanour has melted away into something soft and warm, or how his smile curves in a way that makes your stomach twist.
You put your phone back into your pocket as the train comes to a halt at your stop. Hiromi gestures for you to get off first, ever the gentleman.
The cold hits you immediately, making your whole body shiver as you rub your hands together. You’re counting down the days until spring, even if you weren’t halfway through winter yet. The thought of the still sun being up when you leave the office is almost enough to make you giddy: especially the decrease in your heating bill.
“I bet you’re wishing you still had that scarf,” you mumble, watching your frosty breath when you sigh, “weekend plan: get a scarf.”
There’s a beat, and you notice that Higuruma starts walking slightly slower, as if he’s deep in thought. You decide not to mention it as you match his pace, settling into a comfortable quiet.
When you turn to glance at him, he’s already looking at you. His eyes are focused, searching your features for something that you can’t place. He smiles and your stomach starts to twist again, heat flooding your cheeks when you catch yourself thinking about how handsome he looks.
He doesn’t mention it, if he notices.
“I never asked,” you begin, “do you have any plans this weekend?”
His eyes widen by just a fraction, clearly caught off guard as he begins walking slightly faster again, “oh- no, not really.”
“Not really?”
It’s adorable, the way the tips of his ears begin to go red and he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose for no reason in particular, “I was planning to stay in all weekend. With my cat.”
“You have a cat?” you don’t intend for your voice to come out as loud as it does, and you apologise sheepishly when you realise.
“I do,” he fishes around in his coat pocket and pulls out his phone, turning it on to reveal a very large, very fluffy ragdoll cat as the lockscreen, “she’s called Truffle.”
You wonder how you’d never noticed it before. You also wonder how he never has a single cat hair on him; Bear’s fur sticks to all your clothes like glue, no matter how much you lint roll them. White hair is even worse, especially on a black suit.
“She’s huge,” he raises a brow at you, “so cute.”
You don’t even realise that you’ve stopped walking, having reached the road that you split up at. Hiromi is showing you more photos of Truffle, telling you anecdotes from when they were taken and what she was doing. In one she’s stretched out on the floor, in another she’s perched proudly on the windowsill. When he scrolls again it’s a video: he lets it play for a moment, revealing Truffle staring at herself in the mirror, lips slightly parted. The video zooms out and in the mirror is Hiromi, with plaid pyjama bottoms on and nothing else.
He doesn’t give you a second to memorise his v-line, or the bulge of his biceps before he flicks his phone off, “sorry.”
You don’t acknowledge the apology, trying your best to cement the image of him shirtless into your memory.
“I hope you have a nice weekend,” this steals your attention away, immediately locking eyes with Higuruma as he begins to step away, “get home safe.”
There’s something in the way he says your name: it’s quiet and soft-spoken. It’s only for you to hear and you aren’t thinking when you call his name as he turns away from you. There’s a beat. Total silence between you as you lock eyes once again.
“We should do something,” you try not to think about the words before you say them, too scared that you’ll stop halfway, “if you’re free, that is. And if you want to…”
Suddenly the winter chill feels quite nice against your burning cheeks, while you wait for Higuruma to decline, letting your eyes wander to his shoes and the pavement between you both. You’d never noticed the tiny scuffs on them before.
The atmosphere shifts when he says your name again–it’s a request, the way he says it. It’s like magic, the way he can make you meet his gaze with just a single word, “I’d like that.”
tags: @needpeacenquiet @calculust-prime @brekkersgf @larouge1998 @missbakasauraus @maimbombilla
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