Chapter Text
Higuruma had long since stopped believing in the idea of a life that could surprise him. At thirty-six, his world had narrowed into a series of routines—precise, predictable, and painfully quiet. The law had once felt like purpose, something righteous and unshakable. But years of defending the indefensible, of watching truth bend under pressure and justice dissolve into technicalities, had worn him down. Every case left a residue he couldn’t wash away. Every verdict felt less like resolution and more like compromise.
Outside the courtroom, things were no different.
He had never quite learned how to exist in spaces that weren’t governed by rules and procedures. Friendships required a kind of ease he didn’t possess. Relationships demanded a vulnerability he had never practiced. Somewhere between graduating law school and becoming the man he was now, he had quietly accepted that some parts of life were simply not meant for him.
Connection was one of them. Thus, he lived alone, in an apartment that echoed with the absence of things he never had. Evenings were spent in silence, broken only by the occasional hum of the city outside his window.
That belief persists, until you move in next door. Not exactly next door, more precisely two-doors from his. It was quite, unceremoniously. Just the soft shuffle of boxes in the hallway in the morning that kind of irritated him since it’s blocking his path. At first, you were nothing more than a disruption in routine. A new variable. Something he acknowledged only in passing.
Gradually, you become something else. That day when you knocked on his door on a weekend when he was buried in piles of case documents, and introduced yourself with a slice of homemade chocolate cake, that awakened something he thought was already dead inside him. You looked at him with sparkling eyes and a smile as bright as the sun. He couldn't remember when he'd last seen someone with that smile. He was a little surprised when you said you weren't actually Japanese. He noticed how stiff your posture was when you bowed, as if unsure how deep to bow even though you said you've lived in Japan for two years. After you leave him with that slice of chocolate cake, he thought he'd take a bite and let it sit in the fridge for who knows how long, but after one bite, it became addictive. Sweet, but still tolerable with a hint of bitterness. The chocolate melted perfectly in his mouth, and before he knew it, he'd finished the entire slice.
Since that day, he has been making time to try the bakery across from his office, hoping to taste that chocolate cake again, but nothing has brought him back to it. Eventually, he gives up after trying some other bakery.
He noticed small things, against his will. The way you water the plant that you hung on the balcony in front of your door every morning, how the scent of your perfume makes him wonder what brand you wear? And when you always buy ice cream at the minimarket next to the apartment by the end of the week.
Still, he kept his distance.
What right did he have to step into your world? You were young—far younger than him, he assumed. Your life was still unfolding, full of possibilities he had long since set aside. The idea of approaching you felt… absurd. Almost offensive, in a way. As if he were attempting to insert himself into a story that clearly wasn’t written for him.
Until that morning.
It began like any other. The alarm rang at the same time. He moved through his routine with mechanical precision—shower, suit, tie, briefcase. Every step is familiar. Every motion rehearsed. When he stepped into the hallway, the world felt exactly as it always did. The elevator was empty when he entered. Of course it was. It always was at this hour. He pressed the button for the ground floor and stood in the corner, gaze fixed ahead, already retreating into the quiet isolation of his thoughts.
Then—
Footsteps.
Quick. Slightly uneven. Rushing.
Before the doors could close, you slipped inside, breath just a little uneven from the hurry. The faint scent of your shampoo lingered in the small space, subtle but undeniably present. For a brief second, the elevator felt… different. Warmer, somehow. Alive. He nodded after you gave him a brief smile until you realized something.
“Shit!” Your smile disappeared, replaced by a look of panic as you rummage through your bag and take out a tie.
You have been practicing how to wear it since last night, scrolling from one video to another only to meet with failure. Your hurried and clumsy actions were noticed by the man standing next to you, and he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Are you having trouble with that tie?”
“O-oh… um… yeah,” you replied without tearing your eyes away.
Higuruma sighs internally, but the corner of his lips twitches slightly—almost like a suppressed amusement. He finally turns to look at you, studying your struggling hands for a moment.
"...You're tying it backwards." He says flatly. After a brief pause where he clearly debates whether to intervene, "...Here."
Without waiting for permission, he reaches out and takes the tie from your hands with practiced ease.
“Oh! Thank you so much…” you trailed as he stepped back, done tying the tie. “... Sir”
His hands pause for a split second at the "Sir," and he gives you a sidelong glance—almost as if offended, but not quite.
"...Higuruma." He corrects gruffly, adjusting the tie around your neck with precise movements. His fingers are warm against your skin for just a moment before he steps back.
Then his eyes flicker to yours briefly—assessing something unspoken in that split second of contact. He clears his throat and adds, "...You're welcome.”
"Right, right! Higuruma.... Higuruma-san! Thank you so much, it's my first day as an English teacher in the Wisteria Highschool and they have a pretty strict dress code....” you always struggle to remember someone's name. It even takes longer to memorize your classmates each time you move up a grade.
"...English teacher?" He repeats slowly. "Wisteria High? That's... two blocks from my office,”
"Oh, really? Wow! That's great! It means, we're going to get on the same bus route, aren't we?”
You had seen him before, almost every morning, in passing, while you watered your plants. But standing this close now, you noticed more. Everything about him was… precise. The brown suit, impeccably fitted. The polished shoes. The watch—subtle, but undoubtedly expensive. And… a sunflower pin? Your eyes lingered on it for a second longer than necessary. Isn't it Japan’s lawyer badge? If so… should you be calling him sensei instead?
“…Hm? I don’t take the bus,” he replied calmly. “I drive.”
"Ahh, oh... I see...." Of course he did. By his appearances, his suit must've cost him at least ¥85,000 not to mention his wrist watch, his shoes too.
Silence settled between you again.
Ding.
The elevator reached the ground floor.
“See you later, Higuruma-san!” You wave him a goodbye before turning away to exit the elevator.
He watches your retreating figure for a moment, noticing your enthusiastic wave. Without realizing it, his stern expression softens fractionally. He shakes his head as if to clear his mind and heads outside, the sound of your voice still lingering in his head. The cold morning air seems a bit warmer somehow.
The next morning, when Higuruma stepped into the elevator, he noticed it immediately. You were already there, standing a little straighter than usual, and this time you had managed to wear the tie, though it's a bit rough to his liking. Still, you have done it. His gaze lingered for a brief moment, quiet and assessing, before he looked away as if it meant nothing. He said nothing, as always, because what would happen if he did? He was nothing to you, and you had probably forgotten his name again, just like yesterday.
As the days passed, those encounters slowly became a routine. Morning after morning, the two of you found yourselves sharing the same small space, filled with silence. And without meaning to, he kept noticing the changes. The tie grew neater, the knot more precise, it was perfect. He didn’t comment on it. He never did. But his eyes lingered a second longer than usual, quietly acknowledging something he refused to put into words.
One particular afternoon, at a restaurant near Higuruma’s law firm, the atmosphere was unusually crowded. Voices overlapped into a constant hum, chairs scraped loudly against the floor, and the air felt heavy with the presence of too many people packed into one place.
Beside him, Shimizu let out a long, dramatic sigh.
“Hufft… What should we do, Higuruma-san? I really want to try this restaurant before we go completely insane from the case you just took!”
“Right…” Higuruma sighed as well, already resigning himself to disappointment. “…I’m sorry. Maybe we could just… order takeout.”
“From that one place again?? Ugh!” Shimizu groaned loudly, throwing her head back in exaggerated despair. “I swear we’re not going to make it to sixty if we keep eating that.”
Just as Higuruma turned slightly, preparing to leave without further argument, an attendant hurried toward them.
“Sir, would you mind sharing a table? I’m really sorry—we’re extremely busy today.”
“Yes! Why not? Show us the table!” Shimizu’s eyes lit up instantly, her earlier frustration vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
Before Higuruma could respond, she had already stepped forward, leaving him little choice but to follow. When the waiter led them through the crowded rows of tables, Higuruma slowed slightly as his gaze lifted—and then stilled. His attention settled on you, seated at a table meant for more than one person. Recognition came quietly but unmistakably.
When you noticed him, your expression brightened immediately. “Ah! Higuruma-sa—” You paused. Should you try it…? Called him sensei? “Higuruma-sensei.”
Shimizu blinked once, clearly surprised. “Wait—you know her, Higuruma? Is she one of your clients…?” She glanced sideways at him, curiosity flashing across her face before turning back to you.
“... She’s my neighbor and she’s a teacher in Wisteria Highschool. Also… you don’t need to use such a formal title for me.”
“O-oh… Alright…” You looked down trying to hide your embarrassment.
“Wisteria High? That’s pretty close to here!” Shimizu replied with interest.
Higuruma remained quiet as he pulled out his chair with controlled, deliberate movements before sitting down across from you. He thought maybe today was his lucky day to meet you. Although he'd denied it many times, he couldn't help but notice how your presence somehow warmed up the atmosphere around him. Perhaps seeing your face would help him relax before returning to his work. Right, he’s just… glad you’re here.
Soon enough, the food arrived, filling the small space with warm aromas that softened the earlier tension of the crowded restaurant. Conversation followed naturally, carried mostly by you and Shimizu while Higuruma listened in silence.
“Do you two usually come to this place for lunch?” you asked curiously, glancing between them.
“It’s actually our first time,” Shimizu replied quickly. “I was curious about this new place, and I insisted on dragging this old man along. He seriously needed to eat real food for once.”
Higuruma nearly choked on his drink. He coughed once, clearing his throat as he shot Shimizu a sharp glare. “…Old?” he repeated flatly.
Shimizu just brushed it off, completely unapologetic.
Before he could respond further, the sharp vibration of his phone cut through the moment. He reached into his pocket and answered without hesitation, his expression returning to its usual calm professionalism. “…Yes,” he said evenly. “…We will be there shortly.”
Shimizu froze mid-bite, already sensing what that meant. “…Already?” she asked, her tone filled with disappointment.
“Seems so,” Higuruma replied simply.
Across the table, you noticed how little he had eaten—barely more than a few bites before he reached for his coat and began putting it on with practiced efficiency. The motion felt automatic, as if interruptions like this were nothing new to him. You hesitated briefly before speaking, unable to ignore the untouched food in front of him.
“At least ask the waitress to wrap it up,” you said gently. “You two can eat it again later.”
Shimizu’s eyes brightened immediately at the suggestion. “Right! Higuruma-san, I’ll wrap yours too, you go ahead first.”
“…Thanks,” he replied quietly. After giving you a brief, curt nod, he turned and walked toward the restaurant entrance. The door swung open and shut behind him.
Seeing Higuruma so busy, you could only hope that whatever he was doing went smoothly. From what Shimizu had said and how he looked, he was indeed old. You didn't know his exact age, but you were sure he was at least five years older than you. After living in Japan for two years, you have witnessed many people like Higuruma, overworked and exhausted. You understood perfectly well why the Japanese birth rate was so low; they chose to rest and enjoy time for themselves during their holidays after working so hard. Commitments or starting a family would only add to the burden, and they were also afraid of accidentally neglecting their families.
Well, that’s how Japan is in your opinion. You never thought about settling in Japan. You chose English as your major so you could travel to teach in various countries. Perhaps after your contract expires, you'll go to another country, and Higuruma is just another kind person you've met along the way.