Chapter Text
The door stayed half open. You stepped inside, but only halfway. Something inside you did not want to lose the opportunity of having him in front of your door.
For a moment you simply stood there. Your hand still rested on the door.
Outside, the streetlight cast a pale glow over the sidewalk, and through the narrow opening you could see him.
Higuruma had not moved.
He stood exactly where you had left him, hands settled calmly in his coat pockets, watching you with the same composed patience he carried in the office. As if he was waiting to see what decision you would make next.
You told yourself to close the door. To say goodnight and walk into your apartment. End this strange tension that formed between you tonight.
But your fingers didn’t move… And behind the quiet of the street, you heard his footsteps approach.
Slowly measured and frightenly unhurried.
The same steady pace he always used walking across the office floor.
When you turned slightly, he had stopped a few steps away from the entrance. Close enough that the streetlight caught the sharp lines of his face.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
"Do you… want to come up for a coffee?”
The invitation hung between you, vibrating with the subtext of everything you hadn't said for six months. But this time you weren't asking him to discuss cases of law.
Higuruma’s expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened, the pupils blowing wide until the brown was nearly swallowed by black. He took a single step forward, crossing the line from the sidewalk into your building. The click of his dress shoes on the tile sounded like a gavel hitting a bench.
The elevator ride was agonizing. The space was small, forcing you to stand close enough to smell him.
He smelled divine. sandalwood, expensive wool, and the faint, sharp scent of old paper. He didn't look at you. He stared straight ahead at the sliding doors, his hands clasped behind his back in that signature 'courtroom' stance, but the tension radiating off him was predatory.
When the doors opened to your floor, you led him to your apartment, your hands shaking so violently you fumbled with the keys.
Suddenly, a large, warm hand settled over yours, stilling the jingle of the metal; He was right behind you. You could feel the heat of his chest against your shoulder blades. He reached around, took the keys from your limp grip, and turned the lock with a click that felt like a point of no return.
He pushed the door open but didn't let you walk in first. Instead, he steered you inside, closing the door and leaning his weight against it, trapping you in the narrow entryway of your own home.
The lights were off. The only illumination came from the city glow filtering through the window, painting his face in sharp, jagged shadows.
His hands came down to your waist, his palms broad and heavy. He didn't pull you in yet; he just held you there, his thumbs tracing the line where the red fabric met your skin.
"Working with you was painful, you know?" he asked. It wasn't a question. It was a cross-examination. "While you were hugging your coworkers. While you were getting into that car. Everything about you boils my blood, makes me hungrier and hungrier."
"I..." you started, but your throat was dry.
"Precision, YN," he reminded you, his face inches from yours. You could feel his breath on your lips. "I spent months training you. I think it is time for you to tell me exactly what you want. Don't be polite. Don't be a people-pleaser. Tell me what you want sweetheart."
He moved one hand from your waist, his fingers sliding up your ribcage until his thumb hooked under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The "gentle mentor" was gone. In his place was the man who dismantled witnesses for sport, the man who knew exactly how to find the weakness in any defense.
"You are not my boss anymore, Mr Higuruma," you whispered,
"I'm not your boss anymore," he chuckled, this tile he felt more dangerous. "Which means I don't have to be patient anymore."
He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver through your entire frame.
"And you," he growled, his grip on your waist tightening, pulling your hips flush against the hard line of his own, "you are going to make up for every minute of that six-month sentence."
The air in the small entryway was thick enough to choke on. The transition from the professional, composed Mr. Higuruma to the man pinning you against your own front door was so jarring it made your head spin. He didn't just feel like a person anymore; he felt like a physical force, a storm you had spent half a year trying to outrun only to find yourself trapped in the eye of it.
His hand stayed firm under your chin, tilting your head back until you were forced to take in every sharp line of his face. He was searching for something. not permission, because you had already given that the moment you handed him your keys; but a sign of how far he could push you.
"Your heart is racing," he noted, his thumb tracing the frantic pulse in your neck. He sounded almost clinical, but the way his chest rose and fell against yours told a different story. "Is that fear, YN? Or is it something else?"
Words got frozen in your throat, and all you could let out was a small moan and a sigh. Followed by an embarrassed apology.
He let out a short, huffed breath that was almost a laugh. dark and hungry. "I spent six months watching you from across a desk. I watched you bite your lip when you were frustrated. I watched you adjust that skirt a dozen times just today, knowing exactly why you chose it. Do you have any idea what kind of discipline that took?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His hand moved from your chin, his fingers tangling into your hair, pulling back just enough to expose the column of your throat.
"I’m a man of law," he murmured, his lips hovering a fraction of an inch from your skin. "I believe in consequences. You spent months testing my patience. You ignored our plans. You got into another man’s car."
He leaned in, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The sensation was electric, a sharp, spark that made your knees buckle. He caught you instantly, his other arm sliding around your waist to hoist you flush against him, leaving no doubt about the effect you were having on him.
"You’ve been a very distracting intern," he growled against your skin. "And now that the internship is over... I think it’s time we addressed the malpractice."
"The bedroom," he commanded. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a verdict.
You didn't say a word. You couldn't. You simply reached out, your fingers trembling as you began to undo the silk tie he had loosened hours ago. He watched you, his gaze heavy and unblinking, letting you take the lead for exactly three seconds before he lost his own legendary restraint.
His mouth crashed onto yours; not with the gentleness he’d shown in the office, but with a desperate, possessive hunger that told you exactly how much he had been suppressing. It was a collision of teeth and tongue, a frantic claim that tasted like sandalwood and pure, unadulterated want.
As he backed you deeper into the dark apartment, his hands never leaving you, the professional world of polished desks and case files felt like a lifetime ago.
Tonight, there were no rules. Just the two of you, and a debt six months in the making.
The air in the bedroom was thick with the scent of his cologne and the heavy, rhythmic sound of his breathing. Higuruma didn’t move with hesitation; he moved with the efficiency of a man who had already mapped out this moment a thousand times in his mind.
He didn't just lead you to the bed; he maneuvered you there, his hands firm on your waist, guiding you backward until the edge of the mattress hit the back of your knees. With one smooth, authoritative motion, he pressed you down into the pillows. He stood over you for a heart-stopping second, shedding his blazer and tossing it blindly into the dark, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then came the red skirt. The very thing he had been fixated on since the Christmas party. His fingers were deft, he did not take it off, it was as it he was adamantly keeping you in it. Instead, he pushed it up, making sure it was sitting bunched up on your waist while he stripped the rest of your clothes with a focused intensity, his movements devoid of fumbling, treating your body like a closing argument he was finally allowed to make.
When he moved between your legs, his weight was a welcome anchor. He didn't rush. He settled there, his large hands sliding up to pin your wrists above your head, his gaze burning into yours.
"I told you," he whispered, his voice gravelly and raw. "I am a man who believes that precision matters."
Then, he dropped his head.
The first touch of his tongue was a revelation. firm, warm, and devastatingly practiced. You gasped, your hips arching off the sheets instinctively. He was relentless, using his lips and tongue with a rhythmic, swirling pressure that made the world outside the room dissolve into white noise.
And suddenly the vibration started.
~
The buzz of your phone on the nightstand was jarring, the bright screen cutting through the shadows like a blade. You glanced over, your eyes hazy and blown wide, and saw the name: Andrew.
Higuruma stopped. He pulled back just enough to look at the screen, his jaw set so tight a muscle leaped in his cheek. He looked at you, his expression a mask of cold, dark confusion and simmering territoriality.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached up, grabbed the phone, and pressed it into your hand.
"Answer it," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "Put it on speaker."
“Don’t be ridiculous Hiromi..” you pleaded, confused on the timing.
“I told you to put it on speaker. I do not like repeating myself.” His voice was now low and his eyes dark.
Your fingers trembled as you swiped the screen. "H-hello?"
"YN?" Andrew’s voice was slurred, thick with alcohol and self-pity. "I... I just don't get it. Six months. I waited six months for you to be free. I was so careful, YN. I was the nice guy. I was the one who got you coffee."
Higuruma’s eyes darkened. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned back down, his tongue flicking against you with a sudden, renewed aggression. You let out a strangled, high-pitched whimper, your free hand clutching the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white.
"Are you... are you there?" Andrew rambled on, oblivious. "It’s so unfair. Why him? Why the cold-blooded lawyer? I saw you today, YN. I saw you in that red skirt. God, your ass looked so good in it. I was thinking about it the whole drive home, thinking about how it would feel to…"
Higuruma froze.
The mention of the skirt. his skirt, the one he had claimed, the one he had watched you in for months; snapped something inside him. The "composed" Mr. Higuruma vanished.
He sat up abruptly, his face a portrait of cold, lethal fury. He snatched the phone out of your hand before Andrew could finish the sentence.
"She’s still wearing it, Andrew" Higuruma grabbed the phone from your hand, “well… kind of” he sarcastically continued. his voice dropping into a lethal, possessive silkiness, "I mean it’s currently bunched around her waist on her bed.”
He leaned in, his lips hovering over yours, but his words were for the man on the phone.
"You spent six months being 'nice' and watching from the sidelines. I spent six months teaching her how to be perfect. And tonight? I’m teaching her exactly who she belongs to."
Higuruma’s eyes darkened as he looked at your flushed face. "Don’t ever call this number again. You aren't just out of your league, Andrew. You're in my courtroom now. And I never lose."
The line went silent on the other end, the sound of Andrew’s heavy breathing the only thing audible.
"M-Mr. Higuruma?" Andrew stammered, the sobriety hitting him like a physical blow.
"I... I’m sorry, I didn't…"
"Goodbye, Andrew."
Higuruma ended the call with a sharp tap of his thumb and tossed the phone across the room. It hit the carpet with a dull thud.
The silence that followed was heavy with his rage. He turned back to you, his chest heaving, his eyes wild and possessive. He crawled back onto the bed, hovering over you, his hands framing your face.
"He was thinking about you?" Higuruma hissed, his forehead pressing against yours. "He thinks he has a right to even imagine you in that skirt?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He kissed you then. hard, bruising, and deeply claiming your mouth with a ferocity that made it clear Andrew was a ghost, and Higuruma was the only reality that mattered.
"Let's see if you can get his voice out of my head," he muttered against your lips, his hands sliding back down to your hips, "because I’m not stopping until you can't remember your own name, let alone his