Chapter Text
The apartment was warm that afternoon, sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains in lazy rectangles. Utahime had pushed them open earlier to give the monstrous monstera in the corner what she solemnly referred to as its daily blessing.
“Monstera-sama,” she murmured, misting its leaves with the concentration of someone performing a tea ceremony, “you and I are the only stable things in this apartment. Please continue to live.”
The plant, regal and unbothered, rustled in the faint draft, like accepting its role of the responsible living creature in the apartment.
Her phone buzzed on the table as Utahime cleaned the glossy leaves.
Caller ID: Mei Mei.
Of course.
Utahime wiped her hands on her oversized, frumpy tee and tucked a stray lock behind her ear before answering the video call.
“Hey—”
“Utahime.” Mei Mei’s voice was velvety and smug, the kind of tone born from a life where credit limits didn’t exist. The background was offensively serene—some kind of luxury spa or private villa, probably with staff she pretended not to have.
“What’s the state of my apartment? Has it burned down? Flooded? Did you accidentally kill the neighbor’s dog? Not that I would blame you, there’s a particularly Chinese Crested on the 8th floor that’s not fond of me.”
Utahime grimaced, trying not to think about the previous week. “Why is ‘burned down’ always your first concern?”
“Because you’re clumsy. And dramatic.” Mei Mei dismissed the topic with a flick of her manicured hand.
Utahime coughed—twice, for good measure. “Everything’s fine.”
She carefully did not mention the recent near-fire incident—failed stir-fry, cursed soy sauce, a pan left on the stove, and Gojo’s horrified face when the fire alarm went off. No, thank you.
“Good,” Mei Mei said. “And how are you? Living alone again. Broken heart. Creative meltdown. Impending financial collapse. The usual.”
Utahime closed her eyes in despair. “Mei Mei…”
“Oh, relax. You’re in a free apartment. You’re welcome.”
Utahime sighed, gently stroking one of Monstera-sama’s leaves. “I’m doing fine. I’m writing again.”
“Excellent. And the plant?”
“Alive.”
“I suppose that counts as a win for you.”
Utahime rolled her eyes. Monstera-sama seemed to sigh in solidarity.
They talked about deliveries and maintenance for a few minutes—boring but safe—until Utahime, against all self-preservation instincts, let slip:
“The neighbor’s certainly something. Polite, but chaotic. He talks like he’s always in a courtroom.”
Mei Mei perked up like a cat hearing a tuna can open.
“Oh? Neighbor? Which one?”
Utahime attempted the world’s worst nonchalance. “Next door. He’s just… around.”
“Mhm.” Mei Mei’s hum was too knowing, too delighted. “Is he attractive?”
Utahime froze. “I didn’t say that.” She spoke slowly, trying to gauge Mei Mei’s reaction.
“He is. I know so. I asked whether you think so. Well?”
“No!”
“So very attractive,” Mei Mei concluded, sipping from a drink that seemed to have puff out of thin air as if it were a magic trick.
Utahime spluttered. “It’s not—Mei Mei, seriously—”
“If you’re into the tall, goofily charming type, anyway. Are you?”
Utahime’s silence answered for her.
“Oooh, I knew it.” Mei Mei sounded delighted. “Good. I was hoping you’d get your spirits up boinking a man.”
“MEI MEI!” Utahime slapped a hand over her face so fast the camera shook. “I’m not—why would you—?!”
“The breakup left you dreary. You could use a hobby.”
“What kind of hobby is THAT?!”