Chapter 1
Shouta doesn’t know when they move in. Yamada, at some point between “you should eat better” and “why don’t you hang out with me and Nemuri”, says, “What do you think of your new neighbors?”
And Shouta has a bit of a blue-screen moment, because he had not been aware of any new neighbors.
Yamada, intuiting this when it takes Shouta a second too long to respond, sighs. “Shouta,” He says.
Yes?
“They’re literally right next door. Your apartment shares a wall with theirs.”
So it would seem, yes.
“Surely you’ve at least seen them.”
Shouta has dedicated time and effort to not being able to recognize anyone from his apartment building. He prides himself on it, even. It minimizes the chances he’ll have to strike up a conversation.
Which is to say, even if he had seen them, he’d hardly know.
“Aren’t you even the least bit curious?”
No. He’s not. He possesses an evolutionary advantage called ‘minding his own goddamn business’, which is a virtue Yamada evidently lacks.
Yamada presses a hand to his heart. “Ouch.”
It’s only the truth.
—
Shouta comes home to find Yamada outside his apartment, chatting with his neighbors. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, if he was expecting anything, but they... are not it.
The first is a man of average build; he has brown hair and an easy smile. He’s leaning on the doorframe while he says something about moving closer to his work.
The second stands several inches taller and not an insignificant amount broader. He’s wearing a black trench coat, arms crossed, and he has a head full of torture scars.
He clocks Shouta immediately, following his path down the hallway with narrow eyes. The first seems absorbed in his conversation.
“Oh, Shouta!” Yamada says, sounding immensely pleased with himself. “These are your new neighbors—Shiranui Genma and Morino Ibiki. Guys, this is Aizawa Shouta, he lives next door.”
Shouta nods once, as succinctly as possible, so as not to give off any favorable impression.
Yamada subtly jabs him in the side and says, “Well, it was nice meeting you both! I hope to see you around, yeah?”
“For sure,” Shiranui agrees, still with that easy grin. There’s a toothpick between his teeth that bounces when he casts a too-casual look at Shouta. “Ibiki’s not one for small talk either,” He shares conspiratorially, and nudges Morino with his hip.
The look Morino graces Shiranui with wishes it could be impassive, but is edged with annoyance. Yamada laughs. Shiranui and Morino file into their apartment.
Shouta could be imagining it, but it sounds like Morino closes the door a little harder than strictly necessary.
—
“They’re kind of an odd couple, aren’t they?” Yamada muses. He kicks his feet, legs dangling off the edge of the counter.
Shouta sighs, poking through his cupboards. “You don’t know that they’re together.”
“Maybe not. But it’s still funny, right? Big, scary guy like Morino, cheerful one like Genma?”
Shouta doesn’t ask why Shiranui has graduated to Genma in the last ten minutes when Morino didn’t make the cut. “I guess.”
“I wonder what happened to him.”
Does Yamada even need to wonder? It’s pretty obvious. And rude to pry. Shouta says so.
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
Oh, not yet. First he’d have to lure them into a false sense of security with open conversation—navigated with ease, like some sort of psychopath—and friendship and his warm personality. And then he’d ply them with food and/or alcohol, and just wait innocently to see if the story came tumbling out by accident.
“Wow. Your faith in me has reached record-breaking lows.” A beat. “You think my personality is warm?”
Okay, so it seems like it’s time for Yamada to leave, actually-
“You do!”
—
It takes Shouta passing them in the halls a few times to realize that the two kids now suddenly underfoot belong to the shared Shiranui-Morino household. He might not have ever realized, if not for Yamada, which seems to be the recurring trend with most things relating to Shiranui or Morino.
Sometimes, on the days Yamada gets out earlier than Shouta, he picks up Shouta’s mail on the way to visit. On one such day, Shouta arrives as he’s doing this, and sees he’s been waylaid at the mailboxes by the boy with spiky brown hair and red triangles on his cheeks.
The long-haired boy with the bandages and the eerie eyes is nowhere to be found.
Shouta meanders over, snail-like, to see if the kid will leave before he gets over there—he’s not overeager to interact with more children after a day of teaching them—and catches the tail end of a whirlwind of information about the dog nestled in the kid’s hair.
“Wow, that’s so cool!” Yamada cheers.
The boy is visibly enthused by this reception. “He’s gonna grow up so big, you won’t even believe it,” He brags.
“Just like you, huh?”
The boy laughs. “Even bigger than me,” He insists. He gives Shouta a faintly suspicious once-over that he abandons when Yamada next opens his mouth.
“Your parents live here, little listener?”
The boy’s face falls. He doesn’t seem to catch Mic’s telltale phrase. “Nah,” He says. “My ma lives far away. The people who’re in charge of me live here though.” The boy cocks his head. “Actually, Genma’s calling me now. I better go; nice meetin’ ya, Yamada-san!”
Yamada grins. “You too, Kiba!” As soon as Kiba disappears inside, he turns to Shouta with a victorious gleam in his eye. “I told you they were together.” He nods to the building, like this is proof. “Foster kid.”
“That’s a bit of a leap.”
“You have to admit it’s at least likely.”
“I don’t have to admit anything,” Shouta says. “Because I am not invested in the personal life of anyone but myself.”
Yamada snorts. “Liar. You’re not invested in your own, either. Your interpersonal relationships are suffering, Shouta!”
Shouta scoffs. ”What interpersonal relationships?”
“Exactly my point. Which is why you should join Nemuri and I for drinks tomorrow-”
—
It takes a little longer to realize the kid with the eerie eyes is also living there and not just Kiba’s friend.
Shouta is fair bludgeoned over the head with this one. He answers the insistent knocking on his door to find the boy glaring up at him—head still bandaged, Shouta notes, even though it’s been that way for what must be a week now—and then said boy proceeds to say, “Kiba’s lost his stupid puppy. Have you seen him?”
“The puppy or Kiba?” Shouta asks dryly.
The kid’s glare deepens. “The puppy. Kiba’s moping all over my room about it and Ibiki’s about to kill someone. Have you seen him or not?”
Shouta can’t help but note that even though he calls dog stupid, he still says he and not it.
“I haven’t,” Shouta says. He thinks for a long moment, during which the kid scoffs and turns to leave, and adds, “Have you checked out back? There’s a sunspot that some cats like.”
The kid doesn’t say anything, but he starts making his way toward the stairs.
Later, when Shouta is stepping out for patrol, he’s stopped by Genma calling, “Aizawa-san!”
He turns, duffel swinging from one hand. Genma opens the door a little wider, looking over his shoulder. He jerks his head.
The eerie-eyed boy peers out, like he’s reluctant to get any closer.
“What do we say?” Genma asks.
The boy’s face pinches. He mutters something that could have been a thank-you, maybe, before it was mutilated in a blender.
Genma crosses his arms. “Neji-”
“I got it,” Shouta interrupts. “No problem.”
After a moment, Genma nods to Neji. The kid disappears back inside immediately. “Seriously,” He says. “Thanks.” Something in the apartment crashes. Genma winces; the dog starts yipping.
“Good luck,” Shouta says, because he knows all too well how difficult wrangling children is.
Genma smiles gratefully and follows Neji.
—
Shouta notices—reluctantly, against his wishes—that there’s a lack of two seven or eight year old boys wandering around for the next week. He wonders if they got grounded or something.
Then he realizes what he’s wondering and stops on the front steps to text Yamada, you’re a horrible influence.
Oh? Yamada texts back instantly. It’s your neighbors, isn’t it? :D
Shouta shakes his head, grudgingly amused, and doesn’t answer. He continues into the building and almost walks into Genma. Genma darts a glance at him, but he’s on the phone with someone and doesn’t offer any greeting.
“Right,” He says, moving to the side so Shouta can get to the stairs. His expression is blanker than Shouta has ever seen it, and he sounds unusually subdued. “Yes. I understand.”
The person on the phone says something. Genma closes his eyes. Shouta starts up the stairs and catches, “When do you want it?”
He thinks about it. Up the stairs. Down the hallway. Into his apartment.
Normal work stuff, he thinks. Conversations with your boss can be nerve-wracking, after all.
(But Shouta can’t shake the feeling that something about it didn’t seem right.)
—
“Did Kazuya buy it?” Ibiki asks.
Genma grins. “Hook, line, and sinker. He’s expecting me tomorrow afternoon.” The grin fades slightly. “Aizawa saw me, though.”
Ibiki rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend to be embarrassed. You lost all shame years ago.”
“I’m not embarrassed, I’m thinking!” Genma purses his lips. “At least he doesn’t seem the type to ask questions.”
“Forget about Aizawa. Are you going to take over Kazuya’s operation right away?”
“I’m telling you, he’s sharper than the other civilians around here.”
“And I believe you. Can we focus?”
Genma sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna play him for a while first, I think. Get a sense of how his network operates. There’s supposed to be another big-name, Giran or something, that Kazuya’s got beef with. I want to know more about him…”
—
Shouta expels half his class in one day. Yamada doesn’t say anything about it on the drive home. He doesn’t even ask about the neighbors, who have somehow been adopted as a soap opera or second-cousins or something.
When they pull in, Morino is sitting on the front steps, smoking.
“Afternoon, Morino-san!” Yamada says. “Rough day?”
Ibiki grunts. Shouta doesn’t pause on his way inside. He’s not in the mood for small talk; Yamada will come find him whenever he’s done. He climbs the stairs with leaden feet, expends too much energy just opening his door, and collapses on the couch.
He doesn’t know how long he lies there, staring at the ceiling. A few minutes, maybe. It feels like hours before Yamada shuffles in. There’s a soft sigh, then muted footsteps as he makes his way to the kitchen. He moves around a bit, opening and closing the fridge, and then walks back over to Shouta.
Something cold touches Shouta’s face. He reaches up to grab it—it’s an ice pack, wrapped in a towel. After a moment of deliberation, he leaves it there. It’s nice. Maybe it’ll help his headache.
“Your fridge is lookin’ pretty lonely,” Yamada says.
Yeah.
“Haven’t been grocery shopping in a while?”
Yeah.
“You should eat something.”
Yeah.
Yamada’s knees crack as he crouches. Shouta hears a quiet thump as he sits. “... I can make dinner,” Yamada offers.
After a small eternity, Shouta musters up the will to say, “That… sounds nice.”
He thinks he dozes, drifting with the sounds of Yamada messing around in the kitchen. It’s hard to tell. He feels very distant.
He snaps wide awake, sitting up fast enough to make his head spin, when two distinct thuds and a sharp cry make it through his shared wall with Shiranui and Morino.
Someone yells. It sounds like Morino. He doesn’t sound concerned, really. If anything, he’s angry.
Slowly, Shouta swivels his head to look into his kitchen. Yamada is stock-still at the stove, staring at the wall like if he tries hard enough, he can see what’s happening behind it.
They wait, both of them tense as coiled springs—ready to snap.
Nothing. They wait another minute that feels like it drags itself past by its fingernails.
Whatever’s on the stove starts to smell a little crisp. Yamada curses and moves it off the burner. Shouta cautiously lays back down, replacing his dislodged ice pack.
Tension still thrums in the air, but all through dinner there’s nothing to suggest anything is happening next door. In fact, there’s no sound at all.
Even Kiba’s dog, Shouta realizes, has yet to make a nuisance of itself.
It’s unsettling.
“Ah, Shouta,” Yamada says, the first thing either of them has said in the past half hour. “It’s getting late. You should sleep.”
“Mhm,” Shouta says, because he knows Yamada is right but he doesn’t have to be happy about it.
“You don’t have patrol tonight, right?”
He does not.
“If you aren’t going to get off the couch, I’m going to carry you. Your back isn’t young enough for that anymore.”
Yeah, yeah.
Yamada shadows him to his room even though Shouta isn’t the least bit unsteady, looking like he expects a fainting episode.
“You’re good?” He checks one last time.
Shouta nods. Yamada starts to turn back toward the living room, and Shouta says, “Hizashi.”
Yamada almost gives himself whiplash turning back.
“... thanks.”
There’s a second where Yamada’s face has no idea what expression to make. “Of course,” He says after it passes, grinning like a loon. “You’re my best friend, Shouta!”