Roommates || Hawks X Reader || MHA

Chapter 9 part 1 || Udon stalker

The following morning, you got ready to go take a train ride to Fukuoka; you had booked the ticket just yesterday on a whim. Your new contract specified that you didn't have to start for another week- which it was good that they gave you some time to settle in and don't expect you to show up literally the next day after the transfer -however, you wanted to arrive a little early and explore Fukuoka. Misaki and Kirara were staying in the hospital for three more days, and it would take longer for them to move into the city themselves, which meant that you'd be on your own again for a bit. That didn't bother you too much.

You had woken up at around nine, but stayed in bed for a good three hours before actually getting up and doing anything. After drifting in and out of daydreams you had a breakfast of granola and milk, had a shower, got yourself ready for the journey and packed your things in your suitcases and bags. With your arms full of luggage you opened the front door and awkwardly shuffled outside. It was strange how having only lived in that little living space for just over a week, you were now leaving it behind, glancing back, you noted that the apartment looked exactly the same as when you first moved in. That being said, you never really had the time to decorate. 

Leaving the apartment wasn't that hard since you weren't at all attached to it, but you were nervously anticipating speaking with the landlord. When you decided to move to Fukuoka, rather than tell him in person, you emailed your landlord at 2 am, telling him that you were moving and quickly summarizing the events that lead to the decision. You weren't too worried about the fact that you had already paid a month's worth of rent in advance, since the government loan Kirara talked about would essentially give you that money back. Besides, this was probably a major inconvenience for him, and you didn't want to anger him more by daring to ask for a refund. But unfortunately, he demanded to see you in person before you left, in order to give him your room key as well as to talk about your situation.

So, after making the laborious journey down a flight of stairs you stood outside his pseudo-office (it was an old social room renovated into an office like space) and knocked on the door. In short time, a little wide eyed balding man in a white button up, grey vest top and dark brown bootcut trousers emerged from inside the room. You smiled sheepishly as he looked at you and then your pile of belongings, before opening the door wider, saying, "To be honest, part of me hoped you were joking. Is everything ok?"

"Things are as good as they can be," you shrugged.

"I'll help you get your stuff in," he said wearily, reaching out for the largest bags, "I won't take up too much of your time, it's clear to me that you're in a hurry."

"Not really," you responded truthfully, as you took the rest and followed him inside. The office looked a little like...the backrooms. For some reason, the pale beige carpeting, dull wallpaper and lifeless fluorescent ceiling lights reminded you of the pictures you'd seen while surfing the internet one night when you were a teenager, "I've got nothing else better to do, so I might as well get there and make sure I'm ready for what is basically a redo of my internship."

You had giggled at the end of that sentence to try and lighten the mood, but the aging man didn't so much as smile at the joke. He set your luggage down by the side of his desk and sat down opposite you, "I believe what you told me in your email. The documents of your acceptance into Sector Orbit was proof enough though, I didn't need the whole story."

"Ah, I see, sorry," you said, watching the clock on the wall behind him.

"You don't have to apologise, but I am concerned," he said, slowly shaking his head, "It's not my business to ask, but have you got another living space sorted out? "

"Yes," you said simply. Although in reality you hadn't yet sorted out a permanent place.

The man nodded in acknowledgement, but there were a few wrinkles on his forehead as he asked, "How is your leg?"