Work Text:
THROUGHOUT your childhood, timidity and the repression of vocalising your perspective were the absolute antonyms to your nature, duelling with both introversion and Japan’s expectation of ladies to bloom with traditional reticence – much to your mother’s dismay, who always commented you would be a great lawyer.
At the time, such words, insinuating a career pledged to fulfil justice, inflated your pride, unaware that the sequence of verbal kindness you’d embraced internally implied the contrary; her acknowledgement disguised her reproach for your incompetence in blindly agreeing with her
Overall, it served as a critique of your capacity to challenge her viewpoint; nevertheless, the memory of her insincere commendation remained, a recollection you stowed in your mind, regimented with theories and schemes – solely because your only reply was that she had yet to encounter your husband and that you finally agreed on something regarding lawyers.
“I just don’t think it’s right to bring children into a world like this.”
An anchor of guilt rendered your stance immobile, uncertain of your privilege to reach for the man you had knowingly disheartened and stupefied by ultimately thwarting the final stage of domestic completion.
“I know that’s what we envisioned for our future,” you subconsciously cradled the slight pouch of your clothed stomach, currently vacant of an evolving foetus, but intended to one day nurture the infants he envisioned would waddle idly across the hallways, cling obstinately to his leg before he bade them well for work, and, most importantly, be the synthesis of both him and the only woman he adored.
Consequently, Higuruma expressed his disapproval of your body’s distance and of the small space he labelled as barren; your hesitant disclosure severed a fissure in sacred vows that had previously sanctified the notion that marital union equated to a single entity.
Despite the series of gestures revealing his inner turmoil, as the pinch of his hooked and prominent nose bridge had not gone unnoticed, accompanied by his exasperated sigh and taut knots squatting between his joints.
Higuruma’s extensive palms remain calloused from the intricate verses of social progression. Within palmistry, the linear, nanoscopic, and winding etches imbued all ratio-decidendi permanently saturated beneath the flesh, and responsible for integrating binding authority in the present day.
His rugged fingers, incised with scabbed crimson, sought solace upon your loosely crossed arms, softly circled his thumb atop the smooth exterior, and then drew you nearer with a gentle tug on your elbows.
A subtle sigh pried his taupe mouth apart. “Sweetheart, you and I both know the world will always spin on its axis through both corruption and triumph, and when my children grace it, it’ll be me protecting them amidst it all.”
Indeed, when did the obligation to fulfil a civic duty become conditional upon the absence of procreation in a world renowned for constant misunderstandings – as if an awareness of the world's imperfections had not existed from the outset?
The temptation to ask him whether you were wrong in this matter refused to materialise, your resolve practically adamant in the refuge of your parched throat, especially as his answer, curated and perfect in reassurance, offered you no such benefit, and your airy scoff belittled his response as he added, ‘you’ve always wanted children, we’ve always wanted children.’
Higuruma Hiromi was both a lawyer and a devoted husband; if questioned which role took precedence, it would be revealed that it depended solely on whether victory was essential in the matter.
Your imposing pout endured, accompanied by a dismayed shake of your head. “You can’t protect them from everything, Hiromi," you lamented, the surge of realisation presenting a considerable challenge to convey to your husband. “I wish you could, but curses exist, as do vile humans, and our children aren’t a case. Safety and children have never truly co-existed on this planet.” You whispered solemnly.
His avoidance of a response cast doubt on your capacity to anticipate his verdict, as hope chastised the persistent hum resonating within your stagnant figure’s interior.
“So,” you inevitably swallowed, “you can call me selfish all you want..." Your speech, usually mellow and complementary with the measured stentorian of Higuruma’s own, wobbled.
The mental supplication he comprehended your opposing view as selfless, and the genuine expression of maternal love and protection persisted, as the ongoing silence and absence of words from your partner heightened your anxiety.
The momentary period, which one in your position might have perceived as an eternity, was brought to an end with his low murmur. Your dishevelled head was nestled beneath his stubbled chin, while his fingers loosely wove between yours, not committed to completely entwining.
Meanwhile, his courageous thumb caressing the carats that embellished your fourth digit (and certified your wedded status) unexpectedly began wiggling your band off - much to your bemusement.
“You’re right,”
With Higuruma Hiromi, relief was brief, you realised.
“You are selfish.”.