The party was on Saturday. You figured out that someone's out to kill Momo on Monday, and came Tuesday you actually figured out who this killer—is that even what you should call him? I mean he wasn't actually planning on killing her himself—was.

     Today. . . err, tonight, was now officially Friday.

     That entire meeting with Taro had been a mess. He never showed up, the set venue wasn't even set, and it was an overall waste of time. So Dabi, being the smooth thirsty motherfucker that he is, quickly turned it into a smoothie date with a quick visit to your new underaged hacker and unconventional ally. She had many-a things to say, so the day wasn't entirely wasted.

     You groaned upon seeing your digital clock read twelve, the papers and various photographs you printed spread in front of you like a complicated jigsaw puzzle your mind was too lazy to truly understand. God did sleep seem like a far-off dream, a hoax created in the olden age of last week. "Sir Hamilton, you are my only friend who agrees on staying up this late with me," The cat on your lap meows softly, stretching out his paw the slightest bit before hiding himself in the cocoon he made of his fur on your sweater. You yawn, giving him a few scratches before once again turning to the last page you held onto.

     It was of a printed screenshot of an email Taro had sent to. . . someone, Freddie had stalked for, trying to blink away the sleep your body so desperately wanted as the words on the paper blurred into a frenzy of ink. There was the coffee stain on the corner Jirou's coffee had left when you made the mistake of leaving the paper unattended on the kitchen counter the day before. She either just skimmed through it or just flat out ignored the paper, seeing as she hadn't asked about and just opting to leave it at your office with a small apology for the stain. 

     No matter how many times you stared at it the words still didn't look like words to you, deciding that putting it down for now would be the wisest. You yawn once again, leaning back onto your chair and rubbing your eyes. The soft rumbling from the air conditioner spread to even the floor, where either it rumbled too much for it's own good or your senses were too heightened. "Maybe I'll just take a. . . take a small," You yawned again, lowering your head slowly onto the table with papers as your pillow. "Not gonna. . . just. . . gonna. . ."

     You were a liar, you definitely needed the sleep. 

     Jirou had been meaning to ask you about what your plans were for the party, sitting up in her bed with a slight dazed look on her face. Her nightlight blended into the light provided from the windows on both sides besides her bed,  the blinds not doing their damn job properly as she yawned and threw her legs off the bed. Strange, Hamilton was usually there to complain about her accidentally touching his tail whenever she got off to start her day on her rare actual day-off's: At twelve pm nearing one. 

     She stretched upon getting herself on the floor, stalking to her door, careful not to trip on any of her bags or equipment and pulling the door open. "Good morning, apartment!" She loudly exclaimed to, who she thought was no one, happily making her way to the kitchen to heat up another slice of pizza for her breakfast-brunch-lunch all in one. 

     She assumed you were at the boutique, slaving away at more piles of papers and not having the time to actually work on designs without some overbearing documents to fill alongside it. That's how you spent your days in college, guess that's a no-go these days. "Is that what you always do when I'm not home?" She almost drops the box at your voice that came from nowhere, yawning and rubbing your eyes rocking your messy totally-sexy hair and even sexier month old sweater. "It's my house too, shut up, also why are you still here?!" 

     You drag your feet to sit at one of the high stools with a grumble, your socks almost making you trip multiple times on the tiles of your kitchen. "Work."

     "Uh yeah, which is why I asked because the last time I checked you work at, get this, your shop!" She sarcastically inquired with a bewildered look on her face, slamming the microwave door shut after lazily putting two slices pizza upon realizing she had to feed you too. "Shh, nothing you say is making sense in my head," You quietly groan, shaking your head and checking the clock above the fridge and almost falling off of your seat. "It's noon?!" Jirou looks at you not amused, blinking slowly as if to emphasize whatever point she was trying to make. "Uh yah, it is. So unless you wanna set a bad example to your employees, you best start moving your butt."

     You cry out a soft no, fiddling for your phone that you shoved ungracefully into your pocket when you left your home-office. You open it, taking the time to open your eyes for the face scan to work before lazily typing up a message to. . . whatever his name was, your manager who filled in for you whenever you had days like today. Which was rare, but he did a great job at it so you should probably be remembering his name right now. "Not anymore," You cheer cheerlessly at the girl, burying your face in your sleeves as you laid your head on the marble counter. You sniff, holding back a gag. "I should probably change."

     "You should." You heard the whirring from the microwave stop, tilting your head to see that she stopped it right before it beeped and taking the slices out. Gee, guess she works from experience. "Anyway, do you have a dress to wear yet? I don't want to hear you complaining about it last minute again." You roll your eyes at her obviously baseless accusation, gratefully taking the slice and biting into it without a thought.

     "Blah, hot!" You stick your tongue out in what you thought was cute, though in all honesty you just looked like Sir Hamilton after puking out a hairball. The musician only sighs at your ways, putting down a glass of water by your side before heading over to the couch and turning on the TV. "Yeah, I got a dress. Remember that one party we went to in Jersey?" She shakes her head, a look of confusion on her face as she tries to recall, "No. . ?"

     "Exactly. I'll just wear the dress from then and hope none of the paparazzies notice." She looks at you with her face scrunched up, before turning to the TV and switching over to. . . wherever.

     You eventually got to working on your pizza, earning a positive response from the manager you totally remember the name of which was Devan, leaving the messaging app and going to scroll through the first app you saw pop up on your phone; Wattpad.

     . . .

     Oh who were you kidding. 

     You decide to just turn off your phone and walk over to the couch, lying beside Jirou with another yawn as you watched whatever she watched. She went to Netflix instead and watched some sorority movie, deciding to just watch it for the sake of having something to watch. And although your eyes were fixated on a plot you couldn't care to understand and your mouth eating basically-tasteless who-knows-how-old pizza, your mind wandered back to your office. With your newly set-up corkboard with pins and red yarn sealing the deal of making you look like a true conspiracy theorist. 

● ● ●

     "Well, I'm gonna go work on something," Jirou yawned and stretched as she left for her room, her own takeout in hand as you shrugged from the couch. You were halfway through watching another series you were barely listening to, nonchalantly saying a good luck with your eyes still glued onto the screen. What were you to do? It's not like you can show up to work, they thought you were sick—you didn't exactly think to choose better wording instead of 'I feel like I'm about to die. You're the boss today tnx', and within an hour you had received countless get well messages and you didn't have the heart to correct them—and the whole thing about Momo's brother was making you more nuts than you honestly needed to be. 

     Taking another big scoop of ice-cream into your mouth, you mindlessly take out your phone to think of whatever there was to do. You had no reason to bother Dabi—or anyone else, really—info to gather on your own, paperwork to finish seeing as you basically skimmed through all of it the day before, and no new designs to work on. It was nearing five, six pm, and you knew one of you was gonna have to make dinner soon. Deciding that you were gonna continue watching Devi Vishwakumar's teen angst later, you turn off the TV and make your way to your bedroom with a well-needed stretch. 

     You didn't do much really, just switching out your sweater for a cleaner hoodie and  changing into better sweatpants. 

     "I'm buying dinner!" You called out to Jirou as you walked past the small hallway leading to her room, her very mature sign of 'Fuck Off' nailed into her door greeting you as you glanced at it. 'I want chicken, thanks!' Came her muffled response, making a mental note of it and exiting your apartment with wallet, phone and keys in-hand. You had bad experiences with the elevator and stairs, so you probably looked really suspicious walking into the elevator while looking over your shoulder like you were being chased by someone.

     And in a way, you kind of were.

     You sigh in relief upon finding the elevator empty, glad that you weren't gonna have another run-in with your neighbor who was probably already sick of your shit with the whole traumatizing-her-daughter ordeal. (How did you know she was traumatized? Well, as expensive as this apartment was, the walls were—either—surprisingly thin—or Jirou had hearing on par of a bat, who knows—with your roommate complaining to you about how she heard the sounds of a blender followed by the shrieking cry of a young girl.)

     You walk out into the street, bags under your eyes and hair not giving a flipping fuck whether it stayed behind your ears or directly on your eyes. The chilly November wind made it's seasonal greetings on your face, slapping your nose red with the cold-ass air and managing to slip past the comfort and thick fabric of your hoodie. You groaned, rubbing your arms to try and emit as much heat as you could while trying to remember where that one store with that one specific brand of hotdogs was. 

     It didn't take as long as you thought to reach it however, sighing in delight at the warm atmosphere it gave the moment you entered. In all honesty, the cold last year was bitch and a half to deal with, a part of you hoping that with your new place, it wouldn't feel so bad. But alas, it seems that Mother Nature hated you with a burning—ironically enough—passion and said no to your wishes. 

     You rambled out your order without much thought, waiting in the takeout counter with a bored and occupied look on your face. You were still drifting off to the thoughts of work and Momo's wellbeing, trying to form complex theories and ideas on why Taro might be trying to kill his own sister. Was it for the money? Pfft no it couldn't be, they were rich as fuck, so it wouldn't make sense if he was motivated by wanting it. Was he jealous? Of what though? They practically stood on the same platform, social status-wise, with equally amazing opportunities being presented at their leisure. 

     Sighing, you shake your head to try and get rid of that thought. But as one feeling leaves, another one enters.

     As you zoned back into reality, you started to notice the unbearable need to use the bathroom, tapping your foot to try and distract yourself from the thoughts of flowing water—okay yeah too late. Glancing at the number displayed on the screen with a frown, you figured you just had about enough time to do your business and be back for your order. You leave your number on your spot, taking a quick look around before eventually noticing the bathroom for some reason hidden behind one of the booths. 

      You walk over and enter one of the thankfully-clean stalls, shutting it and going to do your business. Weird, the door hardly creaked and the floor remained quiet under your sneakers—hah—must be your lucky day!

     "No sightings on her yet," You hear a voice from one of the far off toilets, about to slide down your pants and pee but quietly going against it with an inward groan. "Yeah. Yeah I know, weird hair, stinking perfume, annoying nerd-voice, looking nothing like the billboards, I know." There was a few seconds of silence, face contorting into both concern and confusion. Maybe you were being presumptuous but were they talking about you? You hope they weren't. Man were those things offensive. What was wrong with your voice? You thought you sounded hecking great!

     "I'm in a bathroom, duh. Now stop calling I gotta pee." More seconds of silence passed, then what she said next just about made your stomach dropped. "Y/N L/N, keep alive, I know yeah whatever now leave me alone. Yeah bye." You bit your lip in silence before hearing the girl do her business, lifting your legs and crouching over the toilet. It was an awkward position, yes, but it was either this or risking whoever this stranger is knowing you're here. You couldn't leave now, nor could you do your business as she might figure out you overheard everything.

     You waited until you heard the sounds of running water, then the barely noticeable creak from the bathroom door opening and closing as she left. You decided to wait it out for a few more minutes, before sighing quietly and actually going to pee. Christ, with all your problems piling up you didn't need the cherry on fucking top. 

     You wash your hands and hesitantly reach out for the door, looking back and forth in a panic before rushing over to the takeout section.

     Thankfully and coincidentally enough, your number flashed onto the screen just as a worker started calling out for it. You grab the plastic bag and thank them, before rushing out of the shop and running straight home. 

     Well that was certainly strange. Maybe they should learn not to have secret, exposition-like conversations in public bathrooms. It's in the name, people, go talk about your assassination and kidnapping attempts somewhere else.

● ● ●

     It didn't take much for you to immediately tell Dabi of your situation, somehow finding it comforting to tell another criminal of someone who was after you. He responded just as Dabi-like as ever, telling you not to worry about it too much and that he'd look into it. Ah yes, your knight in a burnt coat and combat boots.

     Dinner with Jirou was just like any other; making fun of whatever movie you watched, bickering over who has to do the dishes, and her complaining about whatever part she was stuck on in her new I-swear-it's-upcoming song. But tonight, you had the added bonus of talking about tomorrow's party.

     "God, what time was it again?" The purple haired complained, the hand holding her fork that still had chicken bits on it bobbing with each wrist flick she so dramatically demonstrates, "And where was it?"

     "Jeez, and I thought I had shit memory," You shake your head at her, already on your second serving of dessert, "Brooklyn Bridge, something something eight pm. Raven offered to drive us there." You pause mid-bite, "Raven offered to ride with her while her personal driver, drives, is what I meant." The musician only nods as she finished up her food, taking all the plates and stockpiling them in the sink. She lost the small, definitely-friendly challenge you had to determine who gets to do chores tomight.

     Of course you had to do the chores tomorrow, but it was a win-win seeing as you'll be eating somewhere else. "Well then! I'm off to bed," You yawn, narrowly avoiding your cat's tail and walking towards the bathroom. "I don't wanna look like a goblin tomorrow."

     "If only that were possible, Y/N." She dodges the crumpled paper you threw her way, catching it and tossing it to the already-open metal bin with a cocky look of triumph on her face. "You missed, all your points until tomorrow are invalid, bite me." You groan, ignoring her and dragging yourself towards the bathroom. Jeez, why were you so tired? You hardly did anything today!

     If your life were a show, they probably just skipped through this filler of an episode to the actual plot. But hey, at least it wasn't your fault so it didn't matter.

     You flopped onto your bed eventually, groaning in satisfaction as you face-planted onto your pillow. "Comfort. . !" You exclaimed into it, before grabbing your phone and scrolling mindlessly through another app. You were about to turn it off but thought better of it, and rightfully so! A message from Dabi made you raise a brow, opening it without much thought.

whatever happens tomorrow dollface

     You stare at the incomplete message, the man still typing out the rest of it as you see the familiar cloud with three dots disappearing and reappearing every few seconds. Until finally, he sends it.

actually fuck that
everything will be fine tomorrow i promise
goodnight

     You sigh at that reassurance, deciding that you didn't have much of an option other than trusting him. Yolo, you'd just have to see for it yourself.

Goodnight, Dabi
And thanks