Shinsou's boss gives him the rest of the week and the weekend to get settled into his new place, so as soon as he steps out of the agency, he's mentally checked out for anything work-related and firmly in Hitoshi-mode.
No patrols.
No paperwork.
No calls. (Unless an emergency comes up. Emergencies always seem to strike midway through his second hour at a bar, so he tries to avoid bars and therefore the emergencies.)
His cats are not pleased by this turn of events and evade his many attempts to get them into a carrier. Offers of treats and cornering techniques fail miserably for they are skilled in the arts of evasion and misdirection, so he begrudgingly resigns himself to the long wait for their dinnertime. Midway through feeding, he springs his ambush and tucks them safely into their carriers.
(The glittering glares and angry yowls indicate they will never forgive him for this slight.)
Hitoshi ends up needing six trips to fully accommodate his pets and only one for himself. Each time he returns with more of their stuff, he opens the front door to the sounds of angry-cat, and he hopes they aren't audible through the walls of the units that neighbor his own.
His futon is set out in the smaller (darker) of the two bedrooms. He doesn't bother unpacking his duffel bag of clothing. Most of it is comfy lounge-wear in such dark colors that wrinkles have become part of the style.
(He's not here to impress anyone.)
His only kitchen appliance is a coffee pot. He hangs blackout curtains and sets his weapons along the kitchen counter. He plans to clean them sometime on Sunday before he resumes his patrols Monday evening, but it can wait for now.
(The cats, thankfully, do not know how to use his knives.)
He assembles a cat tree and scatters cat bedding and toys in their room. The sunshine pouring in through the bare window on this side of the building becomes the new favorite lounging spot. It takes all of Saturday for them to settle in, and eventually he feels like his murder is no longer on their agenda.
He might eventually request more actual furniture if his stay ends up lasting longer than a week, but a folding table works well enough for a spot to review the files stored on his laptop.
His groceries consist solely of coffee, sugar, and cat supplies. He's never liked cooking, and he sweetens his coffee on the days he isn't working as a little extra treat for himself; hard work rewarded with hard carbs.
He picks up some takeout on Saturday and settles in with a near-overflowing box of cooling noodles to eat while he parses through the documents and case files related to this easy side task.
There's a lot.
He opens the oldest of the consultant's known reports and gets three paragraphs in before his eyes trail back up to the heading with a vague sense of recognition. The title is merely a reference to some case number he hasn't read through yet, but there's something about the author's alias, Twain Mirko.
Hitoshi chews on his noodles and stares at the name for a full ten minutes before he understands the reference and facepalms so hard it startles the closest cat out of its nap. He clicks through the file the agency has started for tracking this consultant down and stares in disbelief at the credentials attached to the alias.
Country of Origin: America.
Quirk: Writer.
The black and white photograph from the low-res reproduction of the consultant's passport is of an older gentleman with fluffy white hair.
YOU ARE READING
the cute guy next door (might be a villain) // ShinZuku
Fanfiction[BNHA/MHA] [M/M] Quirkless, young adult Midoriya Izuku has a problem. Namely, he has a crush on his purple haired, tired-looking neighbor. They keep running into each other and the guy is actually pretty nice under that deadpan façade, has a sense o...
