Utahime was having a long day.

It started that morning, when she shoved the last of her luggage into her car in the most annoying game of Jenga. Having previously been bogged down by immense student debt and crippling anxiety, the plan to move post-grad had been delayed countless times. It took a job offer, the nagging of her parents, and a message from her best friend Shoko to finally give her the push she needed.

The job offer itself had been tempting, it was far too lucrative to give up— a six figure position in a top firm with the promise of benefits and paid time off? It was almost unheard of for a newly grad to receive such a privilege, but the final kicker was Shoko's promise of residence.

The younger girl had been her platonic soulmate throughout university, and they had sworn to maintain a connection even from different states. Utahime missed the late night conversations, the weekly dinners, and the way Shoko would haul ass and pull Utahime out of every slump. Even after graduation, when Shoko had moved to California for medical school, she remained a pillar of support for Utahime. There was a month where they didn't talk for a month, and Utahime returned to her parents' dingy house in Arizona, but when the job offer landed in her inbox, Shoko had been the first person to find out.

She practically fell over when she read the subject of the email. It was always her dream to work as a criminal defense lawyer, and being offered a position from a top firm after three separate interview rounds was nothing short of a miracle. The main issue was the location: Seattle. Ten hours from Arizona.

Utahime loved her family— she grew up the youngest of five siblings with overworked parents in a small, crowded house. It made sense that they still viewed her as a teenager: the baby of the family.

"You don't even know how to cook! You'd never be a good wife, let alone a good lawyer. You should stay here with us, get a nice job at a bank, settle down— I'm never going to see my grandkids if you move away!"

Utahime loved her family, but she was ready to move out.

But Seattle wasn't cheap, and neither was law school. Drowning in student debts, she could barely afford a run-down shack in Arizona, let alone Seattle. There was a chance that if she moved out, the next time Shoko saw her, she'd be doing a jig on the street for cash. It had almost led to her declining the job offer, but Shoko seemingly answered her prayers and reeled her into accepting the offer.

Her best friend's mother was a realtor in the area, and she had offered an exclusive marked down price on an apartment that seemed to barely hold itself together, held up with glue and tape, but it was an offer she graciously accepted.

And here she was, shoving boxes and luggage into her car.

Unfortunately for her, towers in Jenga are meant to fall, and the haphazard stack of cargo crumpled to the floor, taking her out with it.

And that was just her morning.

The drive to Seattle was relatively peaceful, save for the few guilt-tripping calls she received from her parents that she answered with a sigh of affection. It was draining, for sure, but the scenery melted around her and became a swirl of fall that she adored.

It wasn't until the third quarter mark where she had been caught in traffic, watching the rearview mirror with exasperation as the car behind her seemed to miss that memo, slamming directly into the rear end of her car. Which was perfect.

The honest-to-god audacity of the man; she had pulled over to the shoulder, followed closely by the perpetrator, and pushed open her door, ready to confront the individual. He was a short older man, one with grey whiskers under his chin, and a beer belly that hung over tight pants.

She had every intent to pass the interaction over to insurance, and upon hearing this, the man's first instinct was to berate her. Yelling about 'kids these days' and 'no respect for elders', he scoffed while passing his insurance information to her. It wasn't the end of the interaction— of course it wasn't. With thirsty eyes, the man who had just called her 'stupid lady', looked her up and down, smirked, and asked for her number.

The goddamn audacity.

After arriving at the run-down apartment, Utahime unloaded her car, taking out items one-by-one and carefully transferring them onto a loading cart. She had packed a suitcase of clothing, her laptop, and various trinkets she saved over the years.

There was a very specific mug she brought with her; a gift from her grandmother who passed a few years back. The mug had a lopsided cat design, hand-painted fifteen years prior by her grandmother and herself. It was a precious memory of hers, and as she held up the mug, admiring its muted colours in the sun— a car sped by her and honked, screaming out the window, "Show us your tits!"

The honk startled her, and she dropped the mug onto the floor, watching with disbelief and anger as it splintered into pieces. She almost didn't care that she had been catcalled— and she knelt to the ground with a frustrated scream bubbling in her throat, threatening to spill out.

So yeah.

Utahime was having a very long day.

It was over now, at least. She had boxes and luggage strewn across the room, but she figured it was a tomorrow problem. Drawing a steamy, hot bath, Utahime changed out of her sweatshirt and jeans, discarding the clothing on the floor and slipping into the water. It was the relaxation she desperately craved, and as she sunk below the surface of the water, she closed her eyes to the sound of a true crime podcast and the dripping of the faucet.

Just as she settled into the bath, the sound of a door slamming alerted her, and she sprung upwards. Clenching her fists, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus in on the droning voice of the podcast.

It would have been fine if it were just a creaking door and shuffling feet, but soon the eruption of heavy metal music echoed through the walls from the unit next door, and she grit her teeth as she clutched the rim of the bathtub.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

She grumbled to herself, reaching over to her phone to turn the volume of her own podcast up. As the volume bar inched upwards and the narrator's voice peaked over the deafening insistence of heavy metal— she smirked to herself, sinking back into the tub.

And then the music got louder.

Jarringly loud.

Letting out a groan, she grabbed her phone like a lifeline and turned the podcast on full volume, before rapping her knuckles against the bathroom wall, the same wall dividing her and her potential homicide victim.

The metal music melted to silence, and she sported a self-satisfied smirk as she let herself enjoy the bath once more. The warm water ran over her skin and the feeling of comfort spread in her chest. She had won.

Thunk.

The sound of a large object being set down across the wall alerted her, and irritation spiked inside her brain. Had the person next door resorted to slamming pots and pans? How immature.

She figured that the music was off, she could relax, and slamming objects took effort that she doubt the other individual would commit to. It was a war of attrition she just had to wait out— and then she would get her peace.

At least, that's what she thought.

The shifting of objects stopped, and quiet settled into the bathroom. At least a terrible day had a positive ending— of all the minor and major inconveniences that befell her, at least she had her podcast and a warm bath to return to.

Then the loudest speaker known to man blared from the room over, screaming heavy metal into her ears.

Not only had her peace been disturbed, she had also been startled into splashing water over the ceramic tiled floor.

That was it.

Heaving herself up and out of the bathtub, she pulled the tub stopper letting the water drain in a slow whirring motion. Pure, unadulterated rage overcame her as she slipped on her matching panda set pajamas— not the most intimidating outfit, but it would do.

Pulling on a pair of slippers, Utahime huffed her way out the door and approached the unit on her left, heavy metal still blasting from inside the room. She wasn't sure how the individual didn't have a whole lineup of residents demanding he turn it down, but she was happy to be the first to take down his ego.

Her brain swirled with different ideas for what she would do to the the individual living in the unit: a hammer to the head? Highly illegal. Break down sobbing to guilt trip them? Reminded her of her own mother. A harsh scolding? She wasn't exactly equipped in intimidation gear.

Rapping her knuckles against the wooden frame, Utahime placed her hands on her hips and stared into the peephole, as if she expected to get a glimpse of the person through the door. What kind of person would be so self-centered— so self-absorbed? It made her wonder what they looked like, and if they were avoiding opening the door (like a coward, she thought).

Just as she raised her knuckles to knock again, the door swung open a sliver, the clack of the door chain keeping it sealed as the individual who opened the door called out, "No solicitors."

And the door slammed shut.

Are. You. Fucking. Serious.

It was clearly intentional, and the person definitely knew what they were doing.

"What an asshole," She muttered to herself as she banged on the door once more, getting increasingly more aggressive with the knocking.

Minutes passed with no success, and Utahime finally leaned into the door. She didn't like to gloat about her status as a lawyer, but she was always happy to pull out the card when needed. Utahime passed the bar exam exactly for this reason— to protect innocent civilians, and was she not an innocent civilian?

"Seattle Noise Ordinance, chapter twenty five zero eight— the maximum sound level that is permissible in residential, commercial, and industrial zones must not exceed 45 decibels at night. If you keep playing your shit-ass fucking music, I'm going to report you to the building manager."

The heavy metal shut off.

It grew so silent, Utahime almost felt as if she was in trouble.

Holding her breath, she listened to the sounds of footsteps shuffling toward the door and the slacked chain being withdrawn from the door lock. The door swung open.

Utahime blinked once.

And she shifted her view upwards.

The man was six foot two, with white hair, and hooded blue eyes that were narrowed in annoyance. His face was sculpted with high cheek bones, and a stare that would have pierced through her heart if she hadn't known what an extraordinary bastard the man was. Still, confidence exuded from his stature, and Utahime couldn't help but gulp, hesitating before speaking.

"Hey, you— uh— you're too loud."

She winced internally, almost cringing at how pathetic and meek she sounded.

The man raised an eyebrow.

She didn't like the way he stared down at her, as if she was an ant who dared to tread on his picnic blanket. She didn't like the way he cocked his head, or the way he smirked at her outfit, or the way he seemed to find amusement in her annoyance.

"Okay pipsqueak, I'll keep it down— just for you," He replied, almost patronizingly.

"I mean it, don't go back in there and start blasting your music again! I've had a long day, and I just want to relax, and it's past ten— who plays music so loudly at night?"

Utahime felt herself rambling, and the man simply crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"I have night shift in thirty," He replied lamely. "It's morning for me."

Asshole.

"Okay, well— some of us have to wake up in eight hours, and would love it if you had some consideration."

"Sure, sure, and next time you try pulling out your law book— try it on someone who isn't a police officer. I'm not sure I'm scare of a five two girl with panda 'jammies."

Utahime bristled.

"I'll see you in court, then," She responded coolly. "The next time I get all charges dropped against my client, I'll be sure to wave. And don't call me a 'pipsqueak', I'm probably older than you. Show some respect, officer."

She enunciated the word officer, spitting it out like venom.

The man cracked a smile at that.

"Are you telling me that— that this munchkin is a lawyer?"

He burst out laughing, and Utahime hated how bubbly his laugh was. It wasn't a deep, rough laugh like she had expected. It was airy, almost light in how it carried his tone of amusement, and she hated it.

"This munchkin works for the top law firm in Seattle, and unlike you cops who seem to arrest everyone and their moms, I actually stand for justice."

It seemed to have struck a nerve, and the man shifted his weight off the door frame and onto his feet, crossing his arms fully to tower over her.

"Funny, because if I recall correctly, all you lawyers do is exploit loopholes and set criminals free—what's the word for that again? Oh right, con artists," He retorted with a glare.

Utahime almost burst out laughing, but before she could respond, the man let out a huff.

"Now, I have to get ready to serve and protect your sorry ass, go enjoy your podcast, which, by the way— based on my job— and relax before your long day of dodging responsibilities."

The door slammed in her face, and she stared, stunned.

"Yeah well— you suck! And your music sucks!"

It was the only counter she had, and she grimaced at how stupid she sounded.

Stalking back to her room, Utahime flopped onto her bed, pulling the new sheets she had laid out over top and grumbling to herself. To recount the events of her day, she had dropped all her luggage before the trip began, took a ten hour drive and got rear-ended, broke her dead grandma's gift to her, and made an enemy out of not only her neighbour— but a fucking cop!

Lawyers and cops never really got along, but they always maintained some level of civility. Their jobs constantly collided with one another, every aspect being intertwined in a long game of chicken— who backs down first, who pushes the boundary further. It was truly her luck that brought her to the unit next the obnoxious asshole of a cop. Whipping out her phone, she navigated to the messaging app and pressed on the icon of her best friend.


Utahime: 'shokokooooo (皿#) my neighbour is soooo annoying!'


It took a few moments for the bubble to pop up indicating a response being typed.


Shoko: 'noooooo who is it? i can ask my mom to kill themm, is it the blonde girl?'

Utahime: '୧((#Φ益Φ#))୨ it's this stupid cop guy with white hair, who tf has white hair?'


The bubble popped up again, and remained there for a few seconds before disappearing. Then, her phone buzzed with a link to an article Shoko sent.

Clicking the embedded link, Utahime blinked her eyes with confusion as she scanned over the title of the article, unsure of how it was related until she scrolled down to the image. It was a man with white hair and blue eyes— like her neighbour— and he stood by a group of city officials lowering a flashy gold medal over his head.

If she had been drinking tea, she would have spat it out.

The title of the article: Gojo Satoru, Youngest Police Academy Graduate, Awarded Medal of Valor for Stopping Serial Killer Toji Fushiguro Targeting Mayor's Daughter"

If her jaw wasn't attached to her face, she would have had to bend over and pick it up from the floor.


Utahime: 'r u srs? u arent lying right'


Utahime waited for a response, but as usual, Shoko likely had to pocket her phone in favour of her pager. Her best friend had a life and career outside of support Utahime, and she understood this well— but being in a city, all alone, she couldn't help but feel a bit isolated.

Curling into fetal position, she clutched the singular plushie she picked out to follow her to Seattle. It was a baby pink elephant plushie. She had chosen the plushie when she was far younger, and it had accompanied Utahime through all her ups— graduation, summer trips, first jobs— and her downs— breakups, exam failures, hospital visits. Old and worn, the elephant was practically falling apart at the seams, but she pressed the fabric against her chest, the memories flowing through her and lulling her to sleep.

She hoped everything was just one bad dream.