Chapter Text
He was never particular interesting. Not at first.
His furniture was that of an old man’s. Boring boxes of clothes, too many desks, respectable radio, decently sized bedframe, all in such bland, dark colors. No television set, though she would later forgive him for that, no fun pattern curtains, no ladybug-shaped cookie jar, and no pets.
Nothing like the furniture the popular magazines displayed. No exquisite designs or decorations, no bright or elegant colors. Even the lamps that were brought up were lifeless and old.
Would his false teeth be the next thing brought into his room? No, that wasn’t fair. Or nice. After all, who even told her the new tenant would be a man? Let alone one who had the capability of chewing his own food.
Emi shouldn’t be so picky, her own father often told her many times as a child. She would be forced to live across the hall from this new tenant anyway. Who cared if they didn’t have a cheerful, well-kept apartment as her own? Purple drapes that were to die for, and a shower curtain with cute hero figures printed across it.
She should have been the one in the magazine pages.
Emi certainly shouldn’t spy on the workers bringing up each piece of furniture. If her parents could see her now. Peeking from her door, intently eyeing as the men set boxes down in the brightly lit hallway, just begging to be looked through. She just knew they would hold such boring old man clothes.
She especially shouldn’t press her head to her bedroom wall, in hopes of hearing the new tenant in the other apartment. It ruined her hair, and accidentally stained her wall in lipstick, but who cared about those details.
There were many things Emi should not have done.
All the same, there was so much she should have.
The only confirmation of her new hallway buddy being a man were the faint huffs and grunts she heard through the walls of her own home during dinner time one night, followed by a crash, and shouts she could only guess as cursing in a colorful manner.
That was the only colorful thing about the old fart.
Not a great cook, she thought while prepping her own meal that night. At least that explains the sudden common appearances of delivery boys, accidentally knocking at her door instead of his for the next few months. No matter how many times she asks, Emi is never able to squeeze the name of dear, old tenant 5B from the teenage boys’ mouths.
She hasn’t even seen his face.
The possibility of him being a horrifyingly vicious looking person or an angel sent from heaven was something Emi could never pass up on.
What if he had extra limbs? A single eyeball? No, if he had more hands, he wouldn’t fail so terribly in the kitchen. A water quirk? It would explain his bathing patterns. Fish-man. No, that was ridiculous, even for her standards.
Almost three months of living next to each other, sharing a wall, no less, and Emi is growing impatient. There’s so much she knows about him already, and yet nothing that really matters.
She doesn’t know his profession, nor what he looks like, but she knows he likes coffee and tea. His brewing causes the entire hallway to smell of chamomile at any which time of the day or night. She knows he wears comfortable, light shoes when he leaves during the night, and hefty boots on his return.
That’s not to say she’s completely correct.
Emi never hears when he leaves, but the man makes no mistake in waking the entire building when returning early in the morning hours. His horrid, murky booted steps are what often wake the poor woman up, hours before her alarm is set to go off.
Mister 5B rarely bathes. Maybe twice a week, if he’s feeling clean. When he does, it’s at ungodly hours, past midnight, waking her easily with his groans from stepping into warm water. It annoys her. He doesn’t sleep, as far as Emi is concerned. Well- she assumes. If the rattle of keys and heavy steps down the hallway after 10pm were any indication, the other man was a criminal for all she knew.
Or maybe a hero? Nah. He was far too grumpy and unlikeable.
No, Mister 5B was a regular, boring man. She can’t even try guessing what his quirk might be. Maybe he really is a criminal? Maybe his quirk is never being able to properly sleep? Or cook? Bathe…? Did he hide all his stolen goods in the basement? Or perhaps the bodies?
There’s nothing hung on his door to express his personality. Serial killer? Just the bland, boring apartment number. Emi was no huge fan of holidays either, but at least she hung little hearts over her door for Valentine’s day, bunny stickers for Easter and left a pumpkin by the window at the end of the hallway for Halloween.
The least he could do was come out and say hello, considering the window she used was beside his front door.
Seven months pass them by, and she catches him one morning. Emi is equally shocked and enthusiastic when it happens.
He’s gorgeous.
She’s late for work, with Mister 5B specifically being at fault for this due to his late-night shenanigans. Her hair is pulled back, knots expertly hidden from view, so she looks presentable. Two different shoulder bags slung over her, shoe-less, with pastries in one hand for her patients, all the while she struggles with her keys to lock up and get her day started.
She hears him long before she sees him.
Tired, heavy footsteps make their way up the stairs behind her. Emi would know the sound of those steps anywhere. The sound of thick boots, drowned in equally soft carpet. Dragging his feet, Mister 5B suppresses a yawn as he passes behind Emi, toward his own apartment.
Except, he doesn’t reach home. He stops suddenly, mid-yawn, in surprise. Emi listens intently as his steps grow closer. Grumbling, he reaches the struggling woman’s side, “Put something down.”
Glasses half falling off her nose, and her box of cupcakes being pressed into her chest, Emi catches a sideways glance to the man.
Handsome. In a rather intimidating sort of way, she thinks. At least he doesn’t smell like utter garbage, as Emi would have believed. His scent is outright delicious. She eye’s him entirely; shamelessly. He’d suit the ideal ‘tall drink of water’. He’s dressed rather… normally?
White collared shirt, hidden beneath a sweater and jacket. Tired eyes, no less threatening as they were docile, in a sense. Though untidy and chaotic, Emi gave credit where credit was due, and his dark hair certainly deserved it.
He takes the keys from her hand, rather annoyed, and locks the door for her.
Maybe he was ‘tall drink of sink water’.
“My own personal hero,” she teases, fixing her blouse and taking her keys from the man, “Mind helping a little more? I’m late.”
“Late? No-“
“Lovely!” Emi shoves both her shoulder bags into his arms, rather unladylike, but who was looking? Grabbing his arm, the woman drags him downstairs with her, all the while making sure her animal themed pastries are kept intact. 5B doesn’t complain. Or maybe he couldn’t, due to the mouthful of purse he had stuck in his face.
Criminal? Thief?
Of her heart, perhaps.
That morning, its Emi who’s the criminal, as she steals the man away with her. Kidnaps in her own special late-to-work way.
Hair becoming loose and bouncing across her cheeks with each step she takes downstairs, Emi jokes at her neighbor, “You know, you are a tough man to get ahold of.”
She can’t help but recall each instance she attempted in greeting him, only to find herself alone in the hallway. Had she tried to stay awake long enough to catch him as he left for the night? Absolutely, she had. Not to mention the unholy hours she woke herself up in the morning, in hopes of inviting him for a warm drink. But that was all normal. Right?
Mister 5B isn’t amused. He grumbles out an annoyed answer.
“Haven’t seen your face until today.” She brings them to a halt on the next floor, eagerly digging through the purse in his arms, and laughing when he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Can’t help but throw your shoes in here at the end of each working day, am I right? But it’s a chore putting them on each morning.”
While she uses the man to keep her from falling while putting her shoes on, Mister 5B doesn’t seem the least bit pleased. She’s grabbing his jacket roughly, wrinkling it and digging her brightly painted nails into his arm. “You work?”
“Of course.” Emi smiles brightly, pulling him down the last flight of stairs, “You?”
He ignores her question. Instead, he motions to her green hair, as though it were explanation enough for his next words. “You work with kids.”
She laughs at his observation.
Reaching the lobby, Emi corners them into the wall beside their mailboxes. She takes hold of the bags in his arms, having been obscuring his face, and drops them to the table beside them. Before her new friend can back away, Emi presses a small mirror into his hands, lifting it up.
“Hold this,” she urges, fixing the lose strands of hair beside her cheek, “I work with animals.”
“Animal quirk?”
“If only, Mister 5B.” Emi muses with a smile. She stands upright, one hand on her hip and the other motioning to herself, “Now, how do I look?”
He merely nods his head, curling his lips in the slightest manner, and shrugs his shoulders.
“I couldn’t have done it without you. My name is Emi, by the way? How about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you!”
“I’m… leaving.”
With that, he turns. Strutting back up the staircase and leaving Emi alone once again. Though he was gone, it didn’t keep the smile from beaming proudly on Emi’s face. “See you around, Mister 5B!”
She sees him more often each night after that, as she puts stickers and colorful decorations on the window beside his door. Each night, as she sets a new sticker and he takes his leave, she wishes him a good night. Each night, the grouchy, garbage man himself, with hair that smelled surprisingly good, will answer with a grunt or wave of his hand. 5B often walks with a fresh face- as fresh as it could possibly be. A few scattered, faint bruises are visible on his chin one night. It’s interesting.
It’s not until a week later that Emi finds out his name.
Having a mix up with the mail was no new dilemma for Emi. It offered her exciting opportunities, especially in her own soft, peaceful, animal filled life.
Envelope in hand, Emi runs a delicate finger over the name printed on the top corner. She smiles brighter than the sun outside.
Shota Aizawa.
This would be fun.