Katsuki watches the movers take the boxes from the truck and into the house. It had been days, and they still haven't even cracked a dent into the many things the Bakugos owned.
The only reason they moved was because his parents said they 'craved the fresh air of the country.'
It's for that reason only that they packed up their shit, drove seven hours from the bustling city, and moved into this shitty apartment building.
It wasn't really an apartment building in the sense that it was tall and full of rooms, just an apartment in the sense that other people lived here.
This place had been around for years, which is why his parents insisted on it. It had old shingles, chipping paint, and rusting rails.
The garden outside was overgrown with all kinds of weeds and dead plants, flooded by the mud and the rain. There was a small stone bridge with a sort of pit that looked like it was supposed to be a pond of some kind.
He suspected that there were rocks at the bottom, but he couldn't tell since the hole was filled with muddy water.
There were big trees past the garden, all dead but still standing tall. The house itself had an attic under the roof and a cellar under the ground, which were also sectioned off. This was where the other people lived, three others.
He had met all of them his first day here, when he was forced to introduce himself by his parents' demands. There were two friends who lived on the ground floor, Mr. Hizashi and Mr. Aizawa, though they were more like husbands, or at least that was the vibe he got from them.
Mr. Hizashi had once been a radio host and Mr. Aizawa was a teacher. They had been nice enough, Mr. Aizawa was blunter which is something Katsuki can appreciate in a person.
Mr. Hizashi was his complete opposite, but he guesses it works out pretty well for the two of them since he was told they have been living here for most of their lives together.
The only problem was that they had a shit ton of cats around, meowing or running around everywhere. They had names like furball, fuzz, and mittens, and a number of them looked like they were hanging on a thread.
"Don't mind them. They just do what they want."
Mr. Aizawa said when cats began to crowd all over him, even going into his shirt and crawling out of his neck hole. Katsuki had sipped his tea in silence, tense.
The person who lived in the attic was a little... weird. He was a twig of a man, with sunken eyes and loose clothing. He had invited Katsuki inside and had shown him all of the pictures of his youth, which he had posted on his walls.
"You must have heard of me my dear boy,"
He showed another picture of himself back when he was younger, buff and flexing. Katsuki had shrugged, just trying to get this over with. The man did not get the hint and continued, saying that his old code name was all might. (He never actually told Katsuki his real name when he asked)
He had talked about how he used to be a famous soldier back in the day and that people used to teach about him in schools and sing songs about him (Katsuki had told him that he had never heard of him) and his visit was a short one.
The cellar that was supposed to house another resident or family had been unrented for the past couple of years, or so he was told by his parents.
If the neighbors weren't enough, the weather more then covered for Katsuki's hate toward the place. It was always raining, meaning that it was always muddy.
If Katsuki hated anything, it was mud. It always got everywhere if you stepped on it, and it would dry on your shoes almost right away and it was a bitch to clean up.
And now he was surrounded by it.
Just great.
Despite that, it seemed to spark a new sense of creativity in his fashion designer parents, because they still continue to work like dogs, ravishing in their success so far from home.
Katsuki had been the only one to protest the move, but it's not like they cared what he thought.
He turns away from the window, bored from watching the movers. His room is still pretty bare, his stuff unfortunately being in the last moving van that was supposed to arrive in a couple of weeks.
The only things in here for now are his bed, a desk, and a dresser. It isn't the worst thing in the world, but it somehow manages to add to the pissed off mood he's been in ever since this whole move.
He gets out of his room, the door creaking behind him as he shuts it. It never fucking closes all the way, being blown open by the cold air. His footsteps pad on the wood as he moves down the hallway.
There are a number of rooms in this place, which is pretty impressive with four sections being cut out of the house. They had gotten the biggest section to accommodate all of them, with a number of six rooms and two bathrooms.
Fashion designer parents make hella bank.
He walks down the stairs, the old floor creaking and whining under his weight as he goes to the front door, moving past the living room, the study, and the kitchen. He puts on his shoes and goes out.
The smell of rain and mud is something he got used to only a week of living here. It was so overpowering there wasn't much room to smell anything else. He steps off of the porch and his shoes plant into the mud, squelching.