Chapter 3

It was his first time ever sitting in business class, and fuck , did it feel good. There was so much more space in the chair and leg room. Midorima would've loved it- nope, he was NOT going there. As Takao non-so-gently reclined his chair into the unsuspecting lap of the person behind him, he took another glance at the person next to him. He was a small, nervous man from the north of Japan, early-forties and probably halfway through a mid-life crisis, judging by the fact he had a worn wedding ring yet a picture of him and a much younger woman embracing as the background on his work phone. Takao grimaced as he realised even this man got more action than him.

''So… you're working for Kiyoshi, right?''

Well, he couldn't say he didn't try to initiate conversation.

''Yes. Under finance management.'' The man grunted, and didn't even spare him a glance.

Takao knew he wouldn't get any enjoyable or meaningful conversation out of him. And as much as he loved talking to people, he really couldn't be fucked. He settled back into his chair, and opened up his laptop. He wanted to start writing a reply to his sister's email she had sent him a week ago.

Naturally, she was disappointed that he wouldn't be staying with the family during his time off, but at the same time, both she and her parents were happy that he would be working a job that was safe and reputable for their community. How many people from their small town had ever gotten to work in America? His parents still worked, but from home, running their online shop, which suited them well. He was glad that they were living a comfortable life as they got older.

Suzume had finished her bachelors in design a year or so, and had immediately gotten hitched to her childhood friend. Takao remembered him as very shy and submissive in contrast to his sisters dominating personality, which was exactly what she wanted. Suzume always wore the pants in a relationship. Maybe now she'd stop picking on him all the time.

The luggage pickup and the rest of the air travel process passed by in a haze as Takao staggered through customs in a sleep-deprived and exhausted state. And all he knew, during the next 2 hour ride on a taxi to the designated hotel, was that he desperately needed to pee. As in, if it weren't for the fact he wasn't sure of the regulation and severity of America's legal system, then he would probably have had rolled down the window and contort himself to allow some relief of his bladder.

Regardless, the contrast of all the neon flashing colours, high rise buildings and people even at that time of the night was strangely comforting as it was the same but different setting of any countries capital city. The hotel they were staying in was five-star luxury, had a million and one awards, all of the famous American singers had stayed there at least once, and so forth. Best of all, it was completely paid for by the company for the first three days. Afterwards, they could choose to stay in the hotel until the 8 months of their job was up, or they could, in that time, find a flat to live in.

Takao wasn't struggling financially, but he wasn't exactly rolling in it, and he knew that he'd be able to stay at the hotel for a week at the most. His work would also start in one week; so basically, he needed to find a permanent residence in 3 days. But entering his room, the sight of the premade bed and its alluring softness caught him in its hypothetical arms, and sleep took him. House-hunting could wait.

''Sir, I know that you have been paying bills on time; you are not loud and there have been no complaints about you. And I am fully aware that you only come here to sleep. But if you do not clean up the apartment, I will evict you, as all this mess poses a health hazard.''

His landlord stood in front of him, her small stocky stature resolutely planted in front of him. She was not going to move if they did not come to a mutual agreement. Midorima had a few limited choices. He could clean the apartment himself. That would've been his choice if it weren't for the fact he had never cleaned before in his life, and wasn't really intending to. He could hire somebody to come and clean every week. Or he could look for a flatmate. It wasn't as if the apartment was cheap; it was in a prime location in the middle of the city, and he didn't want to move out.

Yes, a flatmate was the only remaining option.

''Would a flatmate be a feasible option?'' Midorima watched as the old woman mulled over the idea. He could see the gears working in her brain, and hoped the sudden sparkle in her eye wasn't the product of some scheme directed at him.

''Yes, do you have somebody in mind?''

''No, but I have a set criteria for a roommate. Would it be too much to ask if you could conduct the interviews for me, using your judgement? I'm hoping for somebody by the end of this week, but I will be away because of work.''

He knew that the old lady loved this kind of thing, interrogating people and getting in their business.

''It would be no trouble at all! Just come down and give me a sheet with the requirements before you leave.''

''Thank-you.''

He shut the door, before turning to face the suitcase and piles of scattered clothes on the dusty carpet. As a surgeon turned forensic pathologist, Midorima worked for the FBI. He never really dealt with the actual detectives like they show it in NCIS or those other trashy shows; he usually just wrote up reports that were sent to the head office in Sacramento, which was where the annual briefing and hazing of new recruits was. That was to be held tomorrow, and truthfully, Midorima could not have cared less.

He did a lot of that these days.