like the movies ! ✦ hiromi higuruma
syn: hiromi higuruma pissed you off; his mere existence did. all the reason why you would do anything to be at the top of your shared political theory class. even if it means having to play romcom heroine with him.
tags: 12k wc, college! au + poli sci major! au (arguments relation to political theory may be incorrect since i had to do research abt it for this LMAO); radiohead + ace attorney mentions (overall v v corny dialogue BUT THAT’S THE VIBE), enemies to lovers, slow-burn, smut, angst if you squint, mainly fluff + soft smut (ᵔ⩊ᵔ) ; art by @/mizuart_bolillo <33
“Liberty isn’t inherently owed,” Hiromi said, tapping his black pen against the mahogany of the table. “It’s a construct that is shaped and regulated by those in power and in turn, rewards control rather than fairness.”
Higuruma’s words echoed throughout the lecture hall— calm, precise, and annoyingly punctual. His tone was crisp and assertive; like listening to him was like listening to a future litigator.
“To negotiate liberty through the lens of moral fairness is to assume that the system is built on fairness. However, it is designed to maintain hierarchy.”
You thought the pen you held was about to explode considering how tight you gripped it, your knuckles turning white. You didn’t even notice the way your jaw clenched at his words.
It’s just that the fucker kept speaking like he knew everything. But that’s the thing. He wasn’t wrong—and that sole fact pissed you off to no avail.
Hiromi Higuruma is terrifyingly smart, top of your class, and seems to be practically allergic to human emotion. For the entire term, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him raise his voice or even laugh at anything, despite your professor’s occasional corny jokes that you can’t help but laugh out of sheer pity.
He constantly gets praise and despite not having some courses together; always mentioned for being “brilliant” and “ahead of the curve”.
He always came to lecture dressed like he had a deposition afterward. Ironed his clothes perfectly pressed, and his plain expression looked like he was bored with everything.
That shit drove you absolutely insane.
Not to mention, that he simply seems conceited—cocky. He doesn’t greet anyone, and apparently during group presentations, he does his part and leaves everyone else scrambling.
You hated vain people like that. Hated people that thought they were above others and acted that way.
“Interesting, Higuruma. Very interesting.” Your professor said, looking devastatingly bored. “Does anyone care to respond? Any commentary or inquiry?”
Suguru, your friend beside you, shot you a glance that was practically screaming “don’t do it”.
Suguru, along with almost everyone in the class, were already aware of Higuruma’s antics. That is who he was known as: the know-it-all that always had his hand raised.
He was also aware of your disdain for the guy, how he aggravated you with his constant raise of the hand and refusal for human interaction in the hallways.
To be fair, he didn’t even want to take the class but had to as a philosophy major. However, that isn’t to say he didn’t find your one-sided beef with the guy not entertaining.
“Y/N. Don’t,” he whispered.
You already raised your hand with a prissy little smile etched on your face.
Maybe it was the fact that you woke up late, got your coffee order done wrong, and the fact that you lost your train card. But you weren’t about to deal with Higuruma getting the last word like always.
You didn't back down. And you didn't want to.
“Yes,” you said, clear and cool. “With respect, Higuruma’s argument assumes that liberty is transactional—that it is something handed down or withheld depending on someone’s access to institutional power, is not liberty’s fault rather those systems.”
You noted the way Higuruma turned to look at you from the front of the lecture hall. He didn’t even look at you with disdain rather interest. His gaze towards you lacked the usual judgement it had when someone said something stupid or redundant during class and his eyebrows were pinched together.
He was listening intently to what you were saying.
“Rousseau would argue that liberty must exist independently from power structures and when it doesn’t, that just means the social contract is broken—not that liberty itself is just leverage. Then that means, we risk reducing liberty to a tool of oppression rather than a foundational principle worth reclaiming.“
You could hear Suguru’s slight chuckle at your words, challenging Mister ‘Definitely-Going-To-A-Top-10-Law-School’. He looked at the rest of the class to notice that everyone was looking at you—and how could they not?
You were the first person to really challenge something “the genius of the class” said. And you kind of had a point with your words?
Oh, how could you. How utterly preposterous.
You shot your professor and Higuruma a smile. Higuruma tilted his head towards you almost innocently. Like he wasn’t aware that your words were dripping with malice and opposition.
Your professor went back to pacing and his expression ceased from looking bored. “You have a point, Miss L/N. Very valid challenge to Mister Higuruma and his commentary. Now back to page 466…”
Suguru snickered as he tapped his pen on the table. “That is probably the first time in the semester that someone’s gone up against him during lecture time. Nice going, Y/N.”
“Yeah. No thanks to you,” you sneered.
However, you never thought that you would really interact with Hiromi Higuruma again after that. He was a prissy know-it-all with his personality depth equivalent to white-out, and you purposefully avoided him even before all of this. Even so, he had his own pretentious clique of future law school students in his work study and internship.
To be fair, the only moments you did was the occasional disagreement in class after the first time, however that itself was rare.
But here you were, emailed a few weeks later regarding your selection to the prestigious school journal for the political science column—and being paired with that fucker.
The universe—or rather your professor—must hate you.
“Congratulations! You have been selected by the Liberal Arts department to co-author the semester's Political Science journal piece. The assigned topic is Civil Liberties in Post-Democratic Systems, and the writers will be Y/N L/N and…Hiromi Higuruma.”
You tapped on your phone in disdain when you finished reading the email. “No fucking way. I just got asked to write something for the Political Science journal piece for the LAS department,” you scoffed.
The setting you were at was pretty loud, dimly lit, and typical for a Friday at your campus bar. You were already a few drinks in when you got the notification alerting you of the dreaded, fucking email.
You took a dramatic swig of your little cocktail and placed it on the table. “Now. You three are smart—to some extent. Tell me why I, such an incredible and smart person, am being punished like this.”
Suguru raised an amused eyebrow at your reaction and laughed. “You literally got into the most competitive writing fellowship on campus and you’re calling it punishment? God, you’re dramatic.”
Shoko nodded, taking a drag of her cigarette. “Girl, are you drunk already?”
You frowned and unlocked your phone to show them the email. Satoru took your phone dramatically and cleared his voice like he was reciting a Shakespearean poem at a slam poetry event.
“Congratulations, Miss Y/N. Yada yada blah blah. Selected for Civil Liberties…Writers will be…Oh that’s crazy.”
His jaw dropped and he covered his mouth to stifle his laugh. “Are you serious? You’re stuck with Hiromi Higuruma of all people? No fuckin’ way.”
You groaned, covering your face and hitting your phone on your forehead in an attempt to look dramatic. “Yeah… Mister ‘Top Ten Law School’? The guy in my class with Suguru with a damn superiority complex? Yeah, that guy.”
“Awh. I’m sorry, Y/N,” Suguru said, mock sympathy dripping from his words. “You know how that guy is, but I can’t lie, this is quite entertaining.”
Satoru’s eyebrow quirked up. “The same Higuruma in your Social Justice 201 class who made Yuki cry? Didn’t he say she ‘didn’t belong in the class’ over a misunderstanding?”
Shoko laughed. “Oh my god. I remember when you told me the story about him submitting an entire paper with case citations for a damn theory class? God, I’m not in liberal arts but that sounds insane. He’s already quite the character in our stats class. Right, Satoru?”
Satoru laughed and nodded.
You sighed. “Unless there’s another guy with the same name and personality.” You paused to take another swig of your beverage and shrugged. “I hate that I know what cases he used too. Choso, our TA told me.”
You paused for a moment before really thinking; you didn’t hate the guy based on everything he did… some things were rather…
“Fuck, I can’t even lie… but that whole ‘being prepared’ thing is hot if he isn’t being pretentious about it.”
The three of your friends went silent before Satoru let out a giggle. You didn’t even catch what you said out loud until Satoru spoke to call you out.
“So…you’re sayin’ you’re into him?”
Suguru let out a damn giggle at your misfortune. “You bitch about him all the time during class and now this happens to you? Holy shit, this couldn’t get better.”
You flicked Satoru’s forehead and frowned. “No. I’m not into him, I’m into winning. I’m into being the first in that class because I need a recommendation letter from that professor.”
Then you turned to Suguru. “You’re also full of shit; hell no.”
“Wouldn’t you just need a good relationship with the teacher to do so?” Shoko asked.
You shook your head. “No. He’s putting a cap for 3 recommendation letters—or the top person in each of the classes he teaches.”
Shoko nodded. “Gotcha. So you’re into leverage? Smart, smart.”
You nodded. “Exactly. I’m gonna destroy him and beat his ass at his own game. I’m gonna make him so irritated that he’ll drop out of the journal and it’s gonna be all me. Then I’ll be at that Top Ten.”
“You sound like a movie villain, holy fuck.”
“Or…” Satoru said, swirling his drink.
“You seduce him.” He said, deadpan.
“From all the shit you’ve ever said, Satoru,” Shoko laughed. “This might be the smartest yet most stupid idea you’ve ever come up with.”
You frowned. “You too? You’re better off watching 10 Things I Hate About You or How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days? I fear there’s no romance happening between me and that guy.”
Satoru giggled. “No, this would be ‘10 Objections On How To Seduce A Poli Sci Student’ or I don’t know. Whatever legal jargon you future lawyers use.”
“Think about it,” Suguru said, taking a drag of his cigarette. “These guys aren’t wrong and imagine if he did fall for you. This might surprise you to know, but I know some of his ‘friends’ and overheard them talk about his type.”
“His type?” Your eyes narrowed at him. Hiromi Higuruma has friends? He has an ideal type?
Suguru nodded and dabbed some of the ash onto the little ashtray beside him. “Mhm. He’s into those political science girls. And oh my God! Look! You major in that! Well, what a coincidence.”
You snorted. “Uh huh, tough shit. Y’know, I’ve been thinking of what he reminds me of. He’s like, very Miles Edgeworth in real life—and not in a good way. In a bad way. Very.”
“But, you could.” Satoru grinned. “You’ve got the looks—because you’re pretty, no glaze—the brains, and ability to say those weird Latin legal terms without brutally mispronouncing them. He wouldn’t stand a damn chance. You’re gonna have that guy wrapped around your finger.”
“I don’t even know if the guy has feelings,” you said meekly. “What if he’s like…Gee, I don’t know? Not interested in dating? I’ve never heard of him ever dating anyone. He’s probably not interested in all of that.”
You then shrugged. “Besides, he’s not my type. I’m not into over-the-top bastards who have an insanely inflated ego.”
Your eyes widened at Satoru letting out the biggest cackle of the night, his face practically turning red like you said the funniest thing ever. “Are you serious? Let’s be honest, your type is shit. Higuruma is a much better option in comparison to the other two guys you’ve dated: stupid and utterly incompetent.”
“You’ve got nothing to lose, Y/N.” Shoko said. “Let’s make a bet.”
You felt your stomach drop at what she said and feared for the worst. “Uh huh. What type of bet are you trying to make?”
She leaned in and put her hand on your shoulder mockingly. “You make Hiromi Higuruma—Mister Top-of-the-Class—fall for you by the end of the semester. We’ll give you 400 bucks from all of us.”
Suguru shrugged. “I catch him taking a little look at you occasionally. A little here and there. You’re like practically a quarter there.”
Satoru snickered at your reaction. “Awh, this is so like the movies. So so cute!”
You scoffed at the proposition and at the shitty nicknames given to the guy. “He looks at everyone like he’s about to cross-examine them. Don’t start with that bullshit.”
“That’s what makes it fun,” Suguru said.
“Let’s raise the stakes a bit, then.” Satoru raised his finger like a little kid attempting to call the teacher’s attention and cleared his throat.
“Father dearest is planning to hire some undergrad student shadows for the legal department at our humble family finance group.”
You froze. “Are you suggesting…Corporate law experience..?”
While Satoru pretends to be “dumb”, he comes from the Gojo financial conglomerate. He’s the epitome of being a “daddy’s money” “trust fund” baby.
He smiled. “Precisely. It’s paid, prestigious according to some accounts, and exclusive, according to my uncle. But you already have me.”
Shoko shot you a saccharine smile. “You do our stats homework for the rest of the semester. All of it.”
You frowned, weighing the options of attention from your potential-future legal peers to stats homework. You hate that class. It was too annoying.
Higuruma’s face flashed in your mind for a second; his stupid thin wire-frame glasses and that stupid fucking face he makes when someone says something obviously dumb in class. His cocky demeanor also came to mind, making you frown.
You let out a deep exhale. “Fine, but when I succeed—and trust me, I will—I expect all of you to kneel to me during graduation.”
When you entered, the library smelled like old parchment, the smell of wood polish, and the presumably tears of first year students getting through finals. The sun gleamed over the area of the library from the large windows overlooking the rest of campus.
You glanced at your wristwatch and looked at the time, it being 4:25 in the afternoon.
You had emailed Higuruma during your stats class to meet when the afternoon lecture was done at the library at 4:35.
The window seat with the two outlets was bare and you decided to station there while waiting for him.
You placed your things and were finally starting to accommodate yourself and establish your amazing intellectual dominance with your long and cluttered notes. You typed away on a starting document, sharing him on it and sipping on your sadly overpriced matcha from the cafe by campus.
However, just when you were starting to find a bit of solace in your typing and rich matcha, you felt a shift and heard the doors clash open rather dramatically.
Your eyes shifted in front of you, where you spotted Hiromi walking towards you—walking like he just walked out of a courtroom where his client was just fucking sentenced to death.
Yeah, that type of ominous and serious presence.
He was dressed in a dark grey turtleneck, dark colored slacks, and some expensive looking, black leather loafers from the looks of it. And worst of all, he had his stupid little leather satchel that screamed ‘future pretentious law student’.
He looked like he jumped out of The Secret History; dark academia aesthetic and all.
“L/N,” he said, acknowledging you while he set his things down across from you on the table.
“Higuruma,” you replied, not looking up from your laptop in fear of looking him in the eye.
A little beat of silence passed amongst the two of you where he spoke—the same pretentious authority he usually spoke with. “I didn’t expect you to be early.”
“I didn’t expect you to show up at all, quite frankly,” you muttered, taking a sip of your matcha before realizing you actually said that out loud.
You weren’t wrong when saying that. Amongst your peers in your Political Theory class, Higuruma had quite the reputation for being neglectful to his peers when it came to group projects, or so you’ve heard.
“May I look at these?” You felt relief that he ignored your stupid little quip and you nodded, sliding your notes from class over to him.
You felt your face get warm and looked up to see him already reading your notes; he was taking out a legal pad and fucking Levenger fountain pens. His stupid expression was neutral but focused—analysing your notes.
“So, I thought we could start with outlining the major arguments and split the sections based on the scope,” he said bluntly. Despite Higuruma being your age, you felt like you were speaking to one of your professors due to his demeanor; even more the reason to mess with him.
“No foreplay?” Your voice sounded more deadpanned than usual, which wasn’t on purpose. It slipped out, but it proved useful when it came to being the cause for Higuruma’s expression to be anything but a stone-cold one.
His expression faltered and his eyebrow twitched; the pen he was holding had its ink bleeding through the pages of his legal pad while he appeared to be thinking on what to say to your interesting choice of words.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “...Excuse me?”
You shot him a smile: sweet and extremely fake. “Metaphorically, I meant. I was thinking of starting with a basic thesis breakdown before jumping into the actual structure of what we were going to discuss—before we get too far ahead of ourselves. Then, obviously, construct our abstract of the paper so execution can go smoothly.”
He stared at you blankly—like he didn’t know what to say again, before returning to his own notes and placing yours back to your side of the table. “Your choice of metaphor is quite…strange.”
You kissed your teeth and nodded. “Yup. I get that a lot. What can I say?”
Hiromi paused and glanced up at you, his gaze lingering a bit longer than expected for someone like him—like he was almost examining your face? You felt like a witness in court being cross-examined.
Your eyebrow raised. “Problem, Higuruma?”
“No…” he said, leaning his head onto his wrist. “Just confirming that you’re as unconventional as everyone says…”
Your smirk faltered and you leaned back in your chair. So the little shit talks bad about you?
“That sounds like gossip. Didn’t take you for the type to indulge in that, Higuruma.” His expression was rather plain as his eyes were glued onto his screen as he wrote some things down in his legal pad.
“I’m not,” he said simply. “But your name has come up before.”
What the fuck? So he does talk shit? Is this karma for talking shit about him? You’re not even pretentious like him? He’s full of shit.
You scoffed. “The hell does that mean?”
Higuruma didn’t answer, rather just turned his folder and passed you a printed outline of a running bibliography with disgustingly clean formatting of his APA citations and the precis on what he wrote. They were color coded by ideology and in alphabetical order with a key up top.
You narrowed your eyes at him and scoffed a bit. You had barely gotten the email two days prior and he had a running bib that was 7 pages long front and back.
“You do realize that this is just a student journal piece, right? Not the damn Yale Law Review?”
He didn’t react, but instead, continued looking over his notes and typing some notes on his MacBook. “If you are going to write about something like post-democratic systems, it’s better to be precise and do it properly.”
You rolled your eyes at his stiff response and took the outline he placed on the table. From your peripheral, you noted how his eyes went to you and how he watched you do it.
You couldn’t help but admire the organization—how neat, logical, and useful it was.
It was, unfortunately, useful and easy to work with.
“Okay,” you began. “I’ll take the opening section of the paper and look at Hobbes and Rousseau—some basics and classic theory. You can take modern structures. So like Hayek, Schmitt, and all that constitutionalism you obsess over during lecture.” You said the last part rather low in hopes that he wouldn’t hear you.
You looked up to see his expression and his lips twitched upward; he almost cracked a smile. Almost.
His tone was plain like always, but with a twinge of something else.
Your eyes widened a bit. “You didn’t argue.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I was hoping you would tell me about the structure. It helps me really look at what you’re good at so we could work together accordingly.”
What? He was waiting for you to announce who took what? And he thinks you're good at it? Isn’t he just a prick who doesn’t take that into consideration?
Maybe he thinks you’re competent. You both were chosen and recommended by a professor. But he just admitted to talking shit about you?
Or maybe Higuruma just doesn’t know how to word ‘I think you’re so awesome and deserve the first spot’ properly.
His comment caught you off guard and you looked at him for a moment, his eyes already on you.
“Careful, Higuruma. I could mistake that for a compliment.”
You stared at him and maintained eye contact before you dropped your gaze back to your laptop and began using the running bib he had given you for some reference. It was a mix of some classic theories from class up to some other commentaries from different professors about this topic from other universities.
But he almost complimented you?!
Minutes passed and he didn’t joke, flirt, nor comment. But you felt on edge, like if you breathed too heavily, he could say something. However, you maintained your rhythm, not speaking a word until you were kicked out of the library and you ended your meeting with a simple ‘bye, see you next class’.
He was rather dry and had you on the edge of your seat, and you hated that with a passion.
You felt like the sun was going to blind you. You had forgotten your contacts and dealt with your glasses, with the sun specifically shining and reflecting on the glass of your lenses.
But it felt wrong feeling that way; despite it being rather chilly outside and perfect for sweater weather. It was a nice day—weather wise.
The lecture hall for your Political Inquiry class was still locked and you waited outside, leaning against the ivy-ridden, red brick wall of the building, looking at your surroundings. Your gaze followed the occasional cyclist and jogger who went by the trail in front of you.
You felt your eyes close and you let out a deep exhale. The thought of what happened yesterday left you anticipating—for what? You didn’t know.
You never had the chance to properly digest the fact you actually interacted with Higuruma alone. Maybe it was overthinking but, you couldn’t help but feel rather weird about it. Despite the initial joking with your friends, in hindsight, you didn’t know how to feel.
It wasn’t an unpleasant encounter, despite his unexpected quips here and there. Maybe you could work with him. But what about the bet? You needed that recommendation letter.
“L/N?” Your eyes flickered to the ground, meeting the sight of black leather loafers in front of you. You looked up to see Higuruma, pushing his wire glasses up the bridge of his nose and carrying a textbook. “What are you doing out here?”
“I–I mean…lecture?” You stammered, feeling your face warm for no reason. “Why? The lecture hall is closed and—”
“Didn’t you catch the email? Our professor wanted to meet in the library. I was just passing by to go.” His tone wasn’t mean but dry—clinical and superficial. Like you were another stupid classmate who didn’t know the difference between political ideals.
You narrowed your eyes at him, his expression plain. “I…didn’t know. Thanks, I guess, for letting me know. Unless you’re joking with me.”
He shook his head. “I’m not.”
You kissed your teeth and nodded. “Alright.”
You began walking down the trail and noticed how he walked beside you. The creeping heat in your cheeks returned and you felt like you couldn’t speak.
He walked with such authority, like he was headed to a courtroom. And he smelled good—maybe cedarwood? You reached in your sweater’s pocket and pulled out your AirPods to cancel out the silence.
“What do you have so far for the paper?”
Your eyebrows raised and you hesitated. “I have a good 4 paragraphs done so far, but I’m definitely going to revise it when I get back. I’m definitely gonna add some structuralist angles and Rousseau. Then it would be much more intuitive.”
You noticed the manner in which his brow twitched. He hummed in acknowledgment to your words before he spoke up.
“You write very…defensively,” he said looking at you sideways. “It’s not bad.”
You frowned. “Gee, thanks.”
“I’m not trying to offend you. It means you’re smart in your own way.”
You fought off a smile. “Is that…a compliment?”
“An observation.” His tone was flat, forcing you to laugh out of pure awkwardness. “You’re quoting? Correct?”
You snorted. “Of course. This isn’t a damn Buzzfeed article.”
Then you saw how the corners of his mouth twitched like he was going to smile at your quip. “That’s…fair.”
You took out your AirPod from your ear and placed it in the case snug in your pocket as you walked. Maybe he wasn’t as unbearable as always.
“You said you’re starting with Hobbes, right?”
“Mhm. Framework-wise and then I’ll tie it all together. You?”
He nodded. “Well, I’m building off that with Hayek and market structure in constitutional states.”
You blinked. “That’s…not what I expected.”
You shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess something more cutthroat. That’s how you are in class anyway…”
“So are you,” he shot back plainly. Like his words were so normal in the context of who he was.
You stopped walking for a moment, your eyebrows furrowed while your mouth was agape at his bluntness. “Excuse me?”
“Well, I haven’t not noticed the fact that you’re the only person in our Political Theory who has had something to say to my commentary. I’m pretty sure everyone else doesn’t even care to be there.”
You felt your ego rise and a twinge of disbelief. Since when was he so direct?
“Right…so you remember what I said?”
“It wasn’t a bad argument.”
The sound of your sneakers clashed with the sound of his sleek loafers on the pavement and before you knew it, Higuruma had tapped you on the shoulder, phone in hand.
“Would it be alright if I got your number?”
Your eyebrows furrowed at his words and he noticed. “Excuse me?”
He blinked profusely and motioned his hands awkwardly. “Strictly for coordination. Email would be too tedious, especially with our course load. This would be the most convenient for the both of us.”
You hesitated for a moment before taking it. “Sure. But if you send me some political Instagram Reel bullshit at night, consider yourself blocked.”
A slight twinge of a smile graced his face before he nodded. “Noted.”
You smirked and shoved the AirPod back in your ear as the two of you walked again in peaceful silence to your lecture.
“What do you think of the edits so far?”
Higuruma is a punctual man, you were already aware of that. So much so that he established a schedule to meet twice a week every week for the next month and a half or so.
That’s how you found yourself constantly leaving to the library once the afternoon lecture was over. And how you found yourself currently revising his part of the paper on his couch. The library was currently under renovations so you felt a bit surprised that Higuruma waited for you outside your stats class to “walk over to his place” to revise the paper.
He had said it in such a calm and casual voice that you didn’t think anything of it. That was until you actually were in front of his apartment door, waiting for him to unlock it and enter.
You were in your academic rival’s apartment. Alone. With him.
This was the last time you were going to revise this since the term was almost over. All that was left was submitting the piece and your final.
The actual apartment wasn’t as cold and scary as you thought. You spotted some pictures of him with his parents and what appeared to be a little novelty figure of a chess rook on a table. His apartment was also littered with bookshelves that were aesthetically organized and it was nice.
You held your red pen and printed copy of your piece tightly, analyzing the structuring of his paragraphs while he did the same to yours.
“For your Rousseau part,” he started, “it needs a bit of restructuring. He sounds like he contradicts himself when speaking about natural liberty and civil liberty. The transition is too abrupt. Change it. Other than that, your argument is fairly strong and good.”
You narrowed your eyes at him from across the couch despite the twinge in your heart from his clear compliment about your writing. The two of you had been making final revisions for hours and you yawned, ignoring his commentary.
“Hiromi. Do you ever just turn it off? Like in your little robot mind, is there a button that changes from ‘stoic law academic’ to ‘still stoic young man that—shit, I don’t know—rambles on Twitter about the difference between DC and Marvel and that Invincible comic.”
His lips curved to a slight smile. “To do that, I’d need to be on social media constantly in the first place.”
You snorted. “Oh right. God forbid you don’t have the masses begging to access a piece of your intricate little mind.”
“You seem to have access just fine.”
You glared at him to which he looked at you deadpanned and covered his face with the printed paper he held. His ears were pink.
That was something in your mind too when it came to Higuruma, it was like a switch flipped.
When you had first met with him to look at the paper in the library, he was simply stoic and quite dense, dressed like he was to go to a courtroom after your meeting. But now, he still dressed like a pretentious law student, but he almost seemed like he was getting more casual.
His attire shifted from Oxfords to casual sneakers and from his knit sweaters and cardigans to sweatshirts from your college and such.
He was less blunt and ‘old man’ when he spoke to you.
He actually sounded like someone in your age range rather than an 80 year old professor on his 5th divorce (a.k.a, your current Political Theory professor). His tone shifted from completely academic to more human.
You had even started calling each other by your first names.
Truth be told, you’ve gotten quite comfortable with him.
You looked over to check the time on your phone, it being around 8:50.
“We’re probably gonna be here for a while. The librarian isn’t here to kick us out and it’s the weekend tomorrow,” you said, yawning. “Let’s get some caffeine. I saw a coffee shop by here. Let’s go.”
To your surprise, Hiromi didn’t seem bothered by it. He hummed in agreement and nodded.
He got up from the carpet and stretched. “Okay. Let me get my wallet and keys.”
You didn’t know why, but you felt your heart slightly flutter at the sound of his raspy voice. Even more so when you accidentally looked at him while he stretched and got the view of his toned lower stomach as his sweater lifted.
It’s not like his outfit was anything out of the ordinary either; he wore his regular old purple sweatshirt and regular old jeans—however, it did look good on him.
God, you felt like a 19th century prude.
“Are you okay, Y/N?” Hiromi looked at you concerned, keys and wallet in hand as he was putting on his shoes by the door of his apartment. You were still on the couch, head against your wrist and daydreaming.
You felt your face get warm and nodded profusely, grabbing your own wallet beside your phone on the coffee table and putting on your own shoes. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
The apartment complex he lived in was rather quaint, taking a good 3 minutes to get to the ground level from the emergency stairs. The cafe itself was also quite a short distance—only being some 4 blocks away. It seemed familiar but maybe it was because you were familiar with the area already.
The smell of coffee beans and lavender hit you while the two of you went over to the barista taking orders.
“What can I get you two?” They asked, to which Hiromi answered.
“May I get a medium black coffee and a small iced matcha with brown sugar?”
He handed the barista his card and waited for the transaction to pass where you then found yourself waiting for the order with him by the pick-up area.
It was so quick, you didn’t know what to say.
“You remembered my order? I must be spending too much time with you,” you joked. “You didn’t have to pay. I could have.”
He didn’t say anything and you just went on your phone to see what games you could play while you waited. You felt a strange feeling at the fact that he remembered your order; so mundane and small yet…it left you with a weird feeling. You just couldn’t explain what it was.
Maybe it was courtesy on his behalf. You didn’t know—just that it felt unorthodox.
You placed an AirPod in your ear while waiting for the order to be completed, scrolling through your playlists. The cafe was littered with college students in presumably similar situations to finish their own individual papers.
You whispered the lyrics of the song you listened to and then noticed Hiromi moving a bit to look at you, specifically looking at the AirPod peeking through your hair.
“What is it today?” He inquired, making note of your habit of listening to your AirPods when you weren’t speaking in public.
Hiromi nodded slowly before he said something that nearly shook you to your core. “May I?”
You blinked slightly at his words.
Never did you think someone like Hiromi Higuruma—the person you were in such a weird frenemy-ship with, would ask for an AirPod of all things. Something so mundane yet so…intimate?
He didn’t verbally respond, rather extended his hand towards you. You looked at his blank face then at his hand—big, calloused—and took out your AirPod case to which you gave him the left one and placed it on his palm.
He gently tucked it into his ear and listened to the music resuming for the both of you. It played a song off The Smiths’s The Queen Is Dead album—one of your favorites. You looked over to see Hiromi, slightly nodding his head to it.
It was calm and gentle. You felt oddly at peace with the man you nearly professed your hatred to at your first meeting.
You really were calm, really. But then—
Holy shit, you thought your heart was about to jump out of your chest.
You turned around to see lo and behold, your best friends Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru appeared out of thin air. In the fucking flesh. In the cafe right by Hiromi’s apartment.
No wonder it felt so familiar. Those three idiots lived nearby.
“No fucking way,” you muttered.
Hiromi looked confused and opened his mouth to say something until he noticed your order was ready and walked over to get it, where your triple threat set of friends walked over to you. Except from what you can tell, Suguru was missing.
“You’re such a slut.” Satoru said mockingly, pointing at your outfit up and down while giggling like a damn moron.
“Oh shut it.” You sneered. He was right to note your outfit—but you swear it wasn’t to seduce Hiromi. Not in the slightest. The most it did was showcase cleavage.
“Tomorrow’s laundry day, you idiots.” You heard Hiromi cough from beside you, covering his face as he turned around with Suguru beside him.
You felt on edge considering their expressions; with Suguru having a smile while Hiromi looked rather contemplative.
Shoko snickered. “It’s okay, girl.”
“Well, Satoru, Shoko, we should leave these two on their date. Wouldn’t wanna interrupt.” Suguru said, a sly smile playing on his lips.
“Study break,” you corrected, feeling your face become flushed and warm.
Hiromi nodded and you noticed the way that your friends smiled at each other and exchanged knowing glances.
His face was turning pink.
“Okay then. Bye, Y/N. Bye, Higuruma. Have fun.” Satoru called out. Rather ominously.
You eyed the three of them as they left the cafe and waved at you from the window.
God, they are so insufferable.
“Are those your friends?” Hiromi quietly asked, leaning over to see if he could still spot your friends. His hand was awkwardly placed near his face where it was slightly covered.
“Unfortunately,” you said with an annoyed smirk. “I swear that their combined IQ is the equivalent that of a carrot’s.”
You heard him let out a slight chuckle. “Gotcha.”
He handed you your drink and the both of you walked over to leave the cafe after that strange encounter. You still were sharing your AirPods with him and the melody of a Radiohead song filled the silence.
You glanced over to him, who was sipping his coffee rather calmly. You felt the tension and disdain for him slowly disappear and you walked in peace. Then, you turned to him with a teasing smile and asked, “So…what do you think of my lovely friends?”
Hiromi’s lips twitched to a slight smirk. “I recognize Ieiri and Gojo from my statistics class. Then, we have Geto in our political theory class and he’s also in my public speaking class. They seem alright. We don’t really speak.”
You hummed and nodded. “Right.”
He looked over at you and cleared his throat a bit, noticing the song transition. “What song is this?”
You checked your phone and showed him the screen— the title “High and Dry” appearing beneath The Bends album cover plastered on the home screen.
He nodded. “It’s good. The frontman sings really nice.”
Your eyebrow quirked up. “You don’t seem the type to like alternative rock. I kinda doubted you knew Radiohead in the first place.”
You snorted. He didn’t seem the type to even like music at all and came off as someone who preferred white noise instead.
His eyebrows raised and he drank his coffee. “Do I really seem that type? Tell me, what music do you think I like?”
You smiled. “Probably some shit like Mozart? Bach? Dunno. Something smart like that.”
You felt your muscles relax and felt your cheeks warm. You felt comfortable in his presence despite having thoughts back to the stupid bet you made.
Your heart fluttered at what happened next: he laughed.
Your eyes widened as you simply gawked at him laughing. It wasn’t a quick chuckle nor a scoff, he actually laughed.
It was a melodic sound—something you didn’t expect from him of all people. It flowed natural and smooth despite his usually tired and deep sounding voice.
You wanted to hear it again.
“Really? I seem like that? I know you’re quite the jokester but I’m not like that.” He smiled at you, and all you did was simply gawk at him like he gained a third head.
You shrugged. “You give off those vibes. But hey, I’d love to get music recommendations from the great Hiromi Higuruma someday. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find my next favorite song.” You said, unaware of his raised eyebrow at your words.
“You use Spotify, right? We can make a shared playlist. We can listen to it while we make some final edits to the paper.”
“Oh! Sure.” You stopped for a second before handing him your phone where he made a blank playlist and shared his own Spotify profile.
You took your phone back and raised an eyebrow at the title of the playlist. “Poli-Sci Journal Playlist? Is that the best you could come up with? How dry.”
“You choose then, if you have such a problem with my chosen playlist title.”
And before you were going to respond, he spoke up. “We’re here.”
The casualness between you two made you feel warm. Especially considering the fact that he was now initiating it; it made you feel like you weren’t annoying him. Like the quips you let out weren’t just one-sided.
Like you had nothing to really “hate” on him for. You initially hated him for being dry, but as of now he was anything but.
You were lost in thought while taking the elevator to his apartment where he tapped your shoulder.
Once you reached his apartment, you got readjusted onto the couch, grabbed the coasters he had lying around in the coffee table, and placed your matcha there.
He walked over to the couch and sat by you, on his phone. Surprisingly.
You smiled and attempted to peer over his shoulder to see his screen. “Talking to your girlfriend, Higuruma?”
His eyebrow raised at your quip and shrugged, handing you his phone. “That’s up for interpretation,” he paused and glanced at you, smiling shyly. “Here, I added some songs to the playlist.”
You took it and looked at it. “‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Over’? ‘About You’? I think it’s safe to assume you don’t have a girlfriend, but hey. These are really good songs.”
“Once again, Y/N. That’s up to your interpretation. But yeah, I enjoy those songs.” His voice sounded like as if he was nervous—like he was trying something new, but you decided not to question it despite it being out of character from his usual authoritative nature.
You went back onto analyzing the paper and read it—anything to avert your attention from him and his stupid face. His phone was playing the songs the two of you had chosen on the playlist.
As of now, The 1975 was playing; 'About You' filling the slight silence in the apartment. You loved the song—but felt anxious—you felt antsy.
Still, one thing was on your mind: why was he being so cryptic?
You sat on the couch with him, analyzing a draft paragraph on theory of fairness when you noticed his expression changed as you leaned closer.
You noted the change in his gaze from your peripheral; the manner he leaned against the edge of the couch and the way he was just looking at your figure. It was methodical, careful—almost reverent.
You glanced back at him. His eyes lingered on the slope of your neck, the pretty shape of your lips, to finally the allure of your eyes.
The lamplight, all warm and dimmed, softened his features.
In the light, he didn’t look like the same harsh classmate that executed everything he did in a precise manner.
The shadows softened his features in a way that could make angels cry and he looked like a muse for a classical Roman statue. The way his pretty lips parted like he was going to say something, the way his eyes softened under your returning gaze and the way his nose looked so sharp yet alluringly sexy.
You felt a clench in your chest at the thought, at the effect he had on you. His expression was unreadable.
You swallowed and cleared your throat. “This is perfect now, Hiromi. I think that we did pretty good…” Your voice was a bit shaky, anxious-sounding.
You were just blabbering about the topics covered when he suddenly interrupted you.
“You’re always so confident, L/N.“
You became stiff. His voice was lower—deeper, almost seductive. It had an edge you couldn’t explain.
He tilted his head slightly and the corners of his lips curved. “Is that to our—my benefit?”
The pronunciation of his words left you breathless—the way he said ‘my’ left shivers down your spine.
Maybe it was the caffeine and sleep deprivation making you think in such a manner. Despite that, you couldn’t deny how aggravatingly good he looked. How much you felt drawn to him—not by lust but by the natural law of attraction.
His mannerisms, his rhetoric, everything. His tone wasn’t deadpan, rather lifted by a charm you couldn’t explain.
You slightly smiled, your voice dripping with tease to appear calm. Anything to appear like he didn’t have such a visceral effect on you.
“Do you want it to be, Hiromi?”
The smooth roll of his name on your tongue felt foreign, usually being said quick and easy but now having a different weight.
“You don’t even flinch when I speak in class anymore.” His voice was calm but there was a twinge of dissatisfaction in his words.
“You would have some type of reaction. A glance, sigh. That little frown you have when you disagree with something I want to say.”
He leaned his head against his wrist while he looked at you with an analytical gaze. He was looking at you like you were a court case he had to revise for class—same intense look. “No reaction from you anymore.”
So he does that on purpose.
You shot him a grin. “Because why not? I have nothing of substance to say. What can I say? I only argue when needed.”
“I think I miss it,” he muttered. His gaze averted from you and you felt a pang in your chest.
“Maybe I’ve grown” He glanced at you, your words dripping with unexpected sarcasm. “Y’know, selective silence is my new thing. Gotta keep them on their toes.”
He hummed. “It keeps the lecture interesting when you do so. You should keep doing that. I at least knew someone paid attention to what I say.”
You didn’t respond immediately and averted your gaze over to his collarbone out of shyness. Like if you kept staring at his eyes, you would start screaming out of embarrassment.
“I notice,” you murmured. “You don’t have to worry about me not listening.”
He let out a deep exhale. “You’re difficult, you know that? You say things and sometimes I’m not even sure you mean it.”
You smiled. “I mean you’re not wrong. Sometimes I just talk and talk…”
His gaze was still on you and you lightly laughed at your predicament. “I’m shocked I didn’t talk your ear off yet. I’ve been expecting you to tell me to shut up but nothing…”
“Okay. Then stop talking.”
Your eyes widened and lips parted. His words weren’t with malice or offense rather low and breathless. Like he didn’t think about what he just said.
“That simple, hm?” Your laugh turned almost bitter, dry. He sat closer to you and you could smell his cedarwood cologne closer to the point where your senses were drawn.
“Nothing with you is ever that simple.”
Your fingers were intertwined with your red gel pen, flicking it against the edge of your fingers as you tapped it on your knee. But with his stupid words, you accidentally flung it.
Such a simple move like leaning forward to grab it affected him. You moved your shoulders to prevent them from being stiff and you ran your fingers through your hair without thinking. By the time you turned over to him, you met his gaze. It wasn’t just intense, rather like he was starving.
“Should I be worried?” You asked. “You look at me the same way you look at the documents we’re covering. You got this intense look in your eye, so I can’t help but feel a little nervous.”
He looked like he was caught off guard. “Really?”
“Mhm. Makes me feel like I’m about to be cross-examined, counselor.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply, a ghost of a laugh escaping his lips from the stupid nickname. “It’s not that…You just…throw me off.”
Your eyebrow raised in an amused manner. “Really, Hiromi? That’s not very academic of you, I fear.”
“Yeah…I know.” He let out a small, pitiful laugh. For a moment, he didn’t look at you, rather his gaze drifted to the floor. Like he was nervous.
“The first week of class, I overheard you telling Geto that I spoke like a scary litigator.”
He nodded. “Was that a moment where you spoke without thinking?”
You felt that pang in your heart again. This was too intimate, too much to bear. It mirrored a confession scene like in those movies you watched and you felt nervous. You realistically had no reason to; he was someone your friends bet on, not someone you should fall for.
“Well,” you shot him a nervous smile, “you kind of do. And you sound professional. Cutthroat.”
He stayed quiet until he hesitantly spoke. “If anything, you’re the same…”
Your breath caught in your throat. That wasn’t flirting…that was something else.
“I don’t really know what to do with that,” you whispered.
He looked at you again with that same intense gaze. “I—neither do I…”
The pen you’d thrown earlier rolled slightly across the floor with the shift of your knee, but neither of you moved to get it.
You could feel your heartbeat in your ears and felt how warm your face had gotten.
He leaned back slightly, like he was going to speak but slightly hesitated. “I thought that if I acted like this didn’t affect me then it would carry on and not…”
“And how’s that working for you now?” you asked.
He hesitated. “Not working. Not in the slightest.”
The silence engulfed the both of you, except the sound of the train and cars outside along with the playlist still ringing on his phone— specifically a Radiohead song.
It was impossible to ignore how you felt. Impossible to ignore how he made you feel. So you leaned in ever so slightly; possibly an inch.
He met you the rest of the way.
Just like that. And you didn’t stop him. Not even in the slightest.
He tasted like the black coffee he drank, vanilla chapstick, and smelled like his annoyingly expensive, woody cologne that drove your senses on overdrive.
His lips moved with vigor and desperation. It was a move of pure desire—different from pure lusting rather it being anticipation.
Like he’s been waiting to do this for a while. And the way he held you was like he was afraid of breaking you.
You didn’t push back rather wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed him onto you; the both of you were laid onto his couch, him on top of you while your lips moved with even more aggression.
Your fingers clutched the hem of your jeans and his hand grazed your cheek. He pulled back slightly, looking in your eyes like he was looking for your reaction.
You shot him a half-frown, albeit flustered. “Was that supposed to shut me up?”
For the first time, you felt butterflies in the manner that he smiled at you; it was cute and sexy. “It worked. Didn’t it?”
“I’ve been thinking of doing that…” he muttered. For the first time, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so unsure and not confident in his words. Like he was anxious on your reaction and response.
You swallowed and let out a jagged exhale. “Me too…”
His gaze brightened towards you. Then you latched your lips onto his with just enough aggression to make him want more as he held your face with one hand and placed the other on your hip.
His hands roamed over your body, hesitant to feel you. You grabbed him by the collars of his stupid sweatshirt and felt his body weight and warmth against yours.
Him and his nonchalant demeanor, shitty awkward smile, shitty know-it-all personality. Even the way his hair was styled that day and his little wrist-watch pissed you off.
But God…you wanted to fuck him so bad in that moment. You wanted to touch and feel all of him.
“Touch me…please,” you murmured in the heat of the moment. You looked at him, foggy glasses and flushed face. Your tinted lip gloss was smeared on his lips and he blinked profusely at your words.
“Okay.” His hands fiddled with the front of your jeans as he slid them off. His eyes widened at the sight of your pink panties all soaked and at your beautiful toned legs.
Hiromi looked up at you for reassurance; as if he didn’t know what he was doing.
You smiled. “Do you know how?”
His face got redder and he blinked, slowly shaking his head ‘no’. “I—I want to try.”
“I’ll help you.” You grabbed his wrists and guided them to the waistline of your panties. His breath became shaky and you leaned forward to kiss him.
“Do you trust me?” You whispered, eyes filled with need.
He nodded profusely. “Yes.”
You guided his dominant hand down to your folds and clit. Your fingers adjusted his own so that his thumb was on your clit while his ring and middle fingers played with your folds—aching for his touch.
“Oh my God…Hiro— k-keep doing that…” Your breathing became shaky as he kept rubbing at your clit and his fingers curled into you. He continued his pace while you grabbed at his wrist in reaction to his touch.
You moved your hips to feel his fingers further as they thrusted inside you.
Your lips latched onto his one more time; the action overtaken with lust and need, like you absolutely needed each other.
“Damn it…” he muttered, feeling the way your pussy clenched around his long fingers.
He brought his arousal-slicked fingers and put them in his mouth, savoring the sweet taste of your pussy.
“Fuck…You’re so damn sweet.”
Hiromi glanced at you again and parted his lips in hesitation. “Y/N? May I try something?”
You shot him a glance and nodded. “Of course.”
Hiromi nodded, a smile playing on his lips while he leaned back, positioning his face by your bare pussy; wet, puffy, and desperate for him.
Your lips parted as you felt him go down on you, calloused and large hands gripping your soft, smooth, lush thighs.
“Please let me know if I’m doing okay.”
You fought off a smile at his words and nodded. You felt the presence of his tongue licking the slit of your pussy while you felt his nose rub on your clit.
His tongue slowly entered your hole to which you gripped on his black hair in reaction while the point of his nose rubbed on your puffy clit.
Your hips bucked against his face, moving them up and down so deliciously. The sound of him slurping up your pussy drove you mad. His calloused hands gripped your thighs and his thumbs traced circles on your skin: littered with goosebumps at the sensation of him eating your pussy out.
He ate you out like a starved man, gripping your inner thighs with more strength as he tilted his head while working his tongue. You felt your back arch as your breathing turned almost jagged, feeling his moans against your core.
“Y-You’re doing so good, Hiro…Fuck.” You shut your eyes, feeling the way that little knot in your stomach was inching towards release the more his nose rubbed your clit and thrusted his tongue in and out like he was insatiable for your sweet taste.
You felt your legs shake over his shoulders and that knot slowly undo itself; where you came and shuddered as he slurped even louder.
“Did I do alright..?” He lifted himself up to see you; his face was absolutely pink and his glasses were resting on the top of his head. His lips and nose were glistening with your arousal and you fought off a smile at the sight.
“More than alright.” You moved yourself to kneel before him, working with the buckle of his belt and sliding his pants and briefs down. Your legs slightly shook at the foreign position but you began stroking his cock: large, veiny, and certainly girthy.
You took his cute strawberry-tinted tip leaking with pre in your mouth, licking it slightly. Your hand worked at the base of his cock, stroking it while his tip stayed in. The taste of his salty sweet cum in your mouth made you feel almost needy for more as you took him whole.
Tears began brimming at your eyes as you looked up at him, eyes closed and lips parted as he said your name like a prayer. His breathing became more jagged and his forehead gleamed with sweat already, a string of curses leaving his lips.
“Mm…” He squeezed his eyes shut cutely as your tongue teased his cock slightly, giving him butterfly kisses until you took him whole again. His cock twitched and you sucked him further, squeezing his thighs from how fast you were going.
You slurped on his cock further, milking him dry from his release in your mouth. His hands gripped on your hair as you did so, his voice cracking with every whine, and you’ve never felt more aroused.
You wiped the corners of your lips and swallowed. “Now fuck me. Please, Hiro.” Your widened doe eyes looked up at him, still on your knees. He blinked, nodding to your immediate request.
He stripped off his upper half and lifted your shirt up as well. You poked his chest for him to sit down on the couch as you unclipped your bra.
His hooded eyes were glued onto your cute breasts, perky from the cold air hitting them. His gaze roamed on your body; all bare and beautiful in the dim, golden light of his lamp illuminating the place.
“God, you’re beautiful…” he muttered, his gaze mirroring that of before: analytical except there was that hint of gentleness that seemed to overtake the rest of his expression.
“You flatter me too much,” you murmured, climbing on top of him slowly as you felt his hard on against the inner of your thighs. Your lips met his neck as you kissed it softly; simultaneously, you felt his hands roam on your body again, massaging your ass as you grind against his cock.
You noticed how he swallowed and touched you like he didn’t know what to do, and you smiled.
“You’re a damn tease,” he said, letting out a breathless laugh.
“I’m aware, but I know you like it too.”
You grabbed his cock from the small space between the two of you and stroked it slowly, giving it a few pumps. Your hips bucked up as you aligned the tip of his cock to your puffy, wet slit.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, looking at you as he followed your instruction. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you slowly adjusted yourself.
You moved your hips to the side and shifted your weight on your knees as you went up and down his cock. You could feel every pulsating vein and how lengthy yet filling his cock was to your tiny pussy, begging for him to fuck you.
“Move. Fuck me. Please.” You said it in such a manner that your voice cracks and whiny tone almost unlocked something in him. His slow touches on your ass became rougher, with more weight and force.
His hips went at a damn near animalistic pace, rutting into you with vigor as his hands maneuvered your ass. The pitter-patter sound of your soaked thighs meeting his echoed through the apartment loudly and that alone made you whine, feeling the sticky and hot skin with every move of the hips.
“Ahh…F-Fucking damn it,” you whined, scratching at his tan toned biceps; they were so defined, strong. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you felt him pant against your warm skin. Hiromi had pressed your body closer to his, your perky breasts against his toned chest while he fucked you with finesse.
“Don’t stop, please,” he groaned, the raspy sound of his voice leaving you with butterflies in your stomach and your pussy fluttering around his cock.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck—Y/N…” he closed his eyes and held you tighter, the sensation of him bottoming out only had you squeezing your eyes shut and knees bucking. It was warm, leaving you filled up with serotonin and his cum.
You kept riding him, feeling how your release was approaching and how your pussy squeezed on him. Hiromi let out such raspy moans that it led you to quicken your pace; such alluring yet seductive sounds coming out of the lips of someone you should hate.
“Fuck—Hiromi..!” You felt yourself soon reaching your climax and throwing your head back, wanton moans slipping from your lips as your hips gyrated back and forth slowly until you stopped.
You felt your body slump down against him, panting while a sheen of sweat decorated your skin as you both breathed heavily in attempts to catch your breath. He held you gently—with such care as if you were made of sugar, about to crumble on his fingers.
His fingertips brushed on the skin of your hips while he kissed the crown of your head. You were laid on his chest and could hear how rapid his heartbeat was—and how it was matching your own.
There was no sassy quip you could come up with nor any dramatic diss you could throw on him. It was silent between you two, except for the beeping of cars and the train outside.
You felt your heart clench at your current state: clung to him while he was still inside you.
You couldn’t deny your feelings at your current situation.
You attempted to get out of his grasp but he held you tighter.
“Stay the night,” he whispered. It was such a simple offering but your face got warm again. You couldn’t.
There was a beat of silence before you let out a deep exhale, his nickname causing your heart to beat faster. He spoke to you with gentleness, care. The authority in his voice that you’d gotten used to was dimmed, and your heartbeat sped up.
You couldn’t deny the sensation in your chest just thinking of the vulnerable state you were in. Letting someone like him see.
You’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion that you’ve gained feelings—and now face a weird ultimatum.
Give up your pride, tell him the truth, and risk not getting that rank; or getting that rank no matter the cost.
And at that moment, you didn’t know.
You weren’t one to call for an emergency meeting, but this time, you had no choice but to.
Shoko had barely sat down before raising an eyebrow at your nervous demeanor. “Something happened. Didn’t it?” Her voice was flat and deadpan.
Satoru and Suguru were across from you and mid-sip their coffees before they exchanged a knowing glance. They both looked at you, your appearance and demeanor.
“You slept with him,” Suguru said bluntly, like he was absolutely positive and all-knowing.
Your lack of response gave you away and Suguru and Shoko lightly laughed while Satoru’s jaw dropped.
“Hold up…” Satoru leaned in like he was telling you a secret and shot you a shocked look. “You fucked Robot Man?”
Your face burned and you looked away. “Stop calling him that.”
“No fucking way,” he murmured, “You’re telling me you actually slept with Higuruma? You’re lying…”
You let out a deep exhale and buried your face in your hands. “I’m not lying.”
Suguru had an amused look on his face and pointed at the sweatshirt you were wearing—the law firm’s insignia embroidered on the left side of the chest. Specifically the law firm’s insignia Higuruma interned at.
“That’s his. I’ve seen him wear it during midterms.”
You groaned and covered your face meekly. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I mean—It just happened. And now I feel like I’m gonna be sick and I don’t know what to do…”
“Probably because you like him. Like really like him,” Shoko said, matter-of-fact.
You blinked at her like she had three heads. “What?”
“Look, you dense girl,” Suguru added, “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be spiraling like this.”
You slumped in your seat and groaned, your coffee untouched and cooled. “Look, I’ve been thinking…about ending the bet. Like no more, calling it off for good. He’s not who I thought he was and he’s really nice…”
Shoko leaned back smugly and extended her hand towards Satoru, earning a glare from him. “Pay up, good sir.”
He sighed and slapped a crumpled twenty dollar bill from his wallet into her palm.
Suguru chuckled. “You were the one who said he ‘probably had no game’ or am I mistaken?”
Satoru pouted. “Still does but I guess his whole…melodramatic intense poli-sci vibe works…Maybe I should consider trying that.”
Shoko snorted. “Right…I’m sure every girl on campus would love to hear you rant about the philosophy behind finance bros,” to which Satoru flipped her off.
They were teasing, sure, but none of it felt mean.
“We get it,” Shoko continued, her tone softer and understanding. “You’re not doing it for just the game anymore. That’s understandable.”
You sighed. “I don’t even know if he feels the same way…”
Satoru shrugged. “Tell him regardless. As much of an ass that he might be, he deserves to know.”
Suguru nodded, a knowing smile gracing his face. “Worst case? He doesn’t feel the same. But now you wouldn’t have to be on eggshells. Do it.”
You nodded slowly, your stomach churning. But even if they might be stupid sometimes, your friends were definitely right.
He hadn’t texted you all week, until today.
His message was brief, curt—“Let’s go over final revisions before the journal deadline.” Despite the paper already being turned in to the department head.
Still, there you were: outside his apartment and cold from the wind outside. Your palms felt clammy and your hair was still wet from the shower. You did your routine the best you could for the whole week yet you couldn’t shake the feeling of the pit in your stomach residing every time you thought about him.
That even caused you to sit all the way in the back during lecture; somewhere he couldn’t hear or see you.
“Y/N…” Hiromi looked at you, his gaze shifting from one of hesitance to one of worry. His eyes narrowed at the way you were pacing outside of his door and went to a stop the moment he opened the door. "Are you alright? Come in."
You slowly stepped inside, your body suddenly going stiff as the intimate smell of cedarwood and eucalyptus hit you. The apartment was dimly lit, courtesy of the lamps in Hiromi's living room. Yet, everything felt different.
You turned around, standing in the center of his apartment with your arms crossed to your chest. He shut the door and watched you carefully. "You...didn't bring your laptop."
"No," you said. "I didn't bring it."
You met his gaze for a second and looked away. The view of his eyes: narrowed and emotion practically leaking from his look, made you feel guilty—sick.
"Hiromi, just...please stop." You whispered softly. Despite the bustling city life of downtown, it was like everything was silent between the two of you, slow.
His eyebrows slightly furrowed but he didn't move from where he was. "Okay."
You swallowed and cleared your throat. "I know this isn't about the paper," you started, your voice low and hesitant. "And I know I've been avoiding you and not speaking to you, but I didn't want to say anything until I knew how...I felt."
He didn’t react—not at first.
You kept talking before you lost all your nerve. "Back when we got paired for the journal, my friends thought it would be funny if I got you to fall for me or to piss you off. And if I did, then they would help with getting a recommendation letter from Kitagawa."
You paused for a moment, swallowing the immense guilt you felt bubbling in your chest. "At first...I didn't think it would matter. You were so...closed off, focused. I thought it would be harmless and a joke."
You looked up and you felt your heart crack at his still expression; he was looking at you like you were a person in your lecture saying something stupid. And you didn't blame him, you couldn't. Not in the slightest.
"But then I got to know you. The way your mind works and the way you speak when you think I'm not listening and how kind you are and how you have such strong fucking integrity."
You looked to the side, to the living room, and exhaled sharply. "And it stopped being a joke. And I didn't know how to come clean without ruining everything, so I just...stopped. Because I liked—like—you. And I hated myself for it.”
There was a pregnant pause between the both of you. It was silent—but you didn't feel any hostility. Despite that, you could practically feel your pulse in your ears.
Then he spoke, calm, collected. Like he was restraining himself.
"Thank you for telling me."
You blinked. His tone was completely calm. "Y-You're not mad..?"
He let out a slow breath. "I don't know what I am right now."
Hiromi ran a hand down his face and then looked at you again—not with anger or resentment rather something close to prostration, like he was hurt.
"I had a feeling something was off. Especially after that...night."
He paused and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose shortly after. "I didn't reach out because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I thought maybe you regretted it, because you were very quick to leave soon after."
You opened your mouth to speak, to say something, but you literally couldn't.
"I've been thinking about it all week," he said, his voice cracking the slightest amount. "And not just that night but you. The way you laugh when you're trying not to be nervous. The way you argue when you know you're right—which is almost all the damn time. The way you snap your fingers when you figure something out."
Your heart felt like it was going to break.
"I like you," he said, his voice slightly above a whisper. "I really like you. Even if it started with those intentions. Even if I don't know what to do with all of that. All I know is that I’ve never done something like this before—liked someone how I like you.”
Your body moved before you could even process everything he just told you and took a step forward. Then you felt his arms snake around your waist, engulfing you in his pretty cederwood scent that you liked so much.
Then, he spoke softly, face buried in your hair. "For the record, if it even matters, I was going to call you. A dozen damn times."
Your lips curved into a smile. "Why didn't you?"
"Thought I would come across as too strong or pushy. Or that everything that happened was a figment of my imagination."
You snorted at his words, despite the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. "You didn't."
He smiled too—a real genuine smile. Not those forced ones he gives professors rather one that simply came about. Your heart clenched at the sight.
Hiromi hummed and he lightly laughed before speaking. "I guess I should go thank Geto."
Your eyebrows furrowed at the mention of your friend and he laughed again. "What the hell? For what?"
"He told me to 'man the hell up because it's obvious'. He said you liked guys who made the first move."
You slightly blinked. "So that's why you were so...confident?"
His smile dropped and a look of concern flashed on his face. "Was it that bad?"
You giggled and covered your face. "A little slutty, I can't lie."
He kissed his teeth and his lips twitched. "Damn. I tried, though."
You extended your hand and held his, intertwining your fingers together. "For what it's worth, though...I liked it. Maybe a bit too much."
And then, before you could make another stupid joke, he caught your face between his warm hands, catching your lips with his in a slow kiss.
You didn't pull away. And you didn't want to.
— tags : @stardollwrites @gojoikawa
