MDNI, SUGGESTIVE THEMES AHEAD.
The club is loud.
Music pounds through the floor, bass vibrating under polished shoes and spilled liquor. Colored lights sweep lazily across velvet booths and glittering poles while men laugh too loudly, celebrating something none of them will remember clearly tomorrow.
A bachelor party.
You’ve seen dozens of them.
But this one is strange.
Most of the men are rowdy, already drunk enough to start chanting for dances. One is clearly the groom—his friends heckling him, shoving drinks into his hands.
And then there’s him.
At the end of the booth sits a man who looks completely out of place in a club like this.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair slightly disheveled like he’s been running his hand through it all night. His glasses catch the neon lights when he shifts, revealing sharp eyes that scan the room like he’s analyzing a courtroom instead of a strip club.
Higuruma Hiromi.
Someone shouts his name from the group.
“Hey, Higuruma! Stop brooding and enjoy the party!”
He sighs softly, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
“I am enjoying it,” he replies dryly, though the faint crease between his brows suggests otherwise.
His friends clearly disagree.
One of them waves you over.
“Hey! Give the lawyer a dance. Guy’s been miserable all night.”
Laughter erupts around the table.
Higuruma exhales through his nose, clearly ready to refuse—
—but you’re already approaching.
When you step into the colored light, his gaze lifts.
And stops.
For a moment, the noise of the club fades behind the quiet tension of his stare.
He studies you the way a lawyer studies evidence—carefully, thoughtfully… maybe a little too intently.
Then he leans back slightly in the booth, one arm resting against the seat behind him as you stand between his knees.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“Let me guess,” he says, voice low enough that only you hear over the music.
“A ‘special encouragement’ from my friends.”
His eyes flicker over you again, slower this time.
Not crude.
Not drunk.
Just… curious.
Then his gaze returns to yours.
A faint, knowing smile appears.
“Well,” he murmurs, adjusting his glasses.
“Are you going to start the dance… or are you waiting for permission?”