You yawn as you fumble in your bag for your keys, rubbing your eyes with the other hand and stretching your neck. After that uh, eventful evening on the roof, Dabi was kind enough to escort you all the way to the entrance of your building. It was still pretty early, if your phone's clock was anything to go by, but you were already dead-tired. Who knows, maybe the time was a lying piece of shit. Who knew? Definitely not you.

     Finally you managed to push open the door, slinging your bag over your shoulder and closing the creaking thing behind you. The apartment was a lot darker than you expected, finding Jirou's hair peaking from the couch and. . . what looked to be a new statue. You only caught it at the corner of your eye, but you regretted actually looking at it while expecting something normal. A scream bubbles in your throat, but your roommate instead makes an effort to glare at you and do a zipping motion on her lips right before you could let it reach a boiling point.  You shakily point to the. . . thing sitting on the table below the large framed photograph, mouthing 'what is this?!' to the musician who didn't at all looked fazed. A part of you thought that she originally wasn't so unbothered by it, but being stuck with it alone in an empty apartment for hours probably already had her being immune. 

     "Uraraka, apparently."

     "What???" You keep gesturing to it in shock, eyes looking back and forth between the statue and the girl so nonchalantly sitting on the couch without a care in the world. The small creation looked to be made out of porcelain, shaped like an amalgamation between a cat and a pile of ice cream. It started out pink from the top, with a white. . . stomach—if you could even call it that—and a brown base. It had it's 'paws' up, a dorky 'owo' face staring at you lifelessly as the tail had a melting effect sculpted into it. "How. . . how is this Uraraka?!" 

     "Momo-san found it in an auction." You looked even more bewildered, "Relax, she got it online. She was lucky enough to find two—apparently somebody broke a third copy some nights ago—and decided to do the liberty of giving one to us. She said the colors reminded her of her," She shrugs, turning back to the TV. But upon realizing that you remained silent, she clicks her tongue and turns back to you, ready to rant if you did. You still held a look of bewilderment, trying—and failing—to poke it, in fear that it might come to life and melt your face off if you so touched a single sculpted whisker. "Why did you accept it. . ??" You spoke in a hushed whisper, still trying to examine it like a guy on a discovery channel.

     She gets cut off, heat rushing to her face in both anger and embarrassment as you could've sworn you saw a vein pop on her head. "MOMO-CHAN LOOKED HAPPY GIVING IT TO ME OKAY I COULDN'T JUST SAY NO. . !"

     In the end, the demented ice cream cat stayed.

• • •

     Ah. . .

     Mondays.

     The sounds of a baby screaming right next to you as you walk to work make you smile awkwardly at the mother, speed walking away with a quiet groan as it seems the streets had a lot more hustle and bustle than usual. Jirou didn't have time to drive you—she did, but she had to leave the house at like five am. Christ almighty she was in a band. How and why the hell would you ever have to leave so early for that?? But! Either way you refused her offer to drive you, seeing as contrary to popular belief; you actually enjoyed sleeping—so here you were, walking the streets of the Garment District, with a donut you almost dropped twice now and the clock ticking.

     It was nearing the end of the month, and you were sure as hell expecting snow.

     You huffed in frustration as you tried to bury yourself deeper into your scarf, wanting to be in the warm confines of your office and not be out and about. It was either this or riding the subway, in which case the choices humbled you and you thanked your lucky stars you decided to go with the former. New York subway horror stories are by no means any sort of exaggeration—stepping into one is like contractually giving the devil your soul and arriving in a different plane of existence, and you've literally only rode it twice! (Both times you narrowly avoided getting robbed.)

     Finally seeing the welcoming entrance to your boutique, you rushed inside and happily cheered, dusting off the powders on your fingers as you finished your—unhealthy—breakfast, "I'M BACK, BABY!!" to what you expected was an empty building. You almost yelp however when your coworkers cheered back, greeting you and asking if you were feeling better after. . . all that back in Friday. It took you a moment to remember, but when you did it made you feel bad for making these guys worry because you had a poor choice of words.

     But either way you greeted them back, thanking them—and manager-you-know-the-name-of AKA Devan—for looking after the shop on your behalf. "To show my thanks—lunch is on me today!!" You hollered as they returned your cheerful energy, laughing as your small crew got to talking on where to go. "Tell me about it later. You guys better decide quickly, alright?" You all share another laugh as they jokingly reassured you, shaking your head with a smile as you enter your office.

     Man, what were you talking about? Mondays aren't that bad.

     . . .

     Yeah. Not that bad.

     . . .

     Oh God oh no you definitely jinxed yourself oh God what have you done you—

     You get snapped out of your thoughts when your phone buzzes in your hand, only realizing you just took it out of your bag to do. . . something.

     You opened up the text, which was from Dabi with his signature flirty good morning. You roll your eyes, not being able to stop a grin as you greeted him back, but much less. . . desperate, is the only word you could think of. Soon you put down your phone, putting both hands in your hips in determination as you stood in front of your office chair, staring thoughtlessly at the stacks of papers on your desk. How nice! Already going great with the workload.

     You sigh and lose the chippy demeanor, flopping on the chair and squeaking it closer to the table. "No, no. We are going to sit down and work on this. Like an adult. Just an adult woman, in an adult job, doing adult things," You breathe, grabbing the first stack to skim and sign through. "Just a few pieces of papers, no biggie, pip pip cheerio."

     But alas, it wasn't just a no biggie.

     You groan and almost fall off of your seat backwards onto the floor as you read the top-most file requesting for a move-on on the sweater. . . hoodie, jacket line that's been in the back burner for quite some time now. It states that, seeing as Momo's gonna have to be wearing a bandage on her arm for a while, they reasoned that a bullet shouldn't be enough for a model as successful as your friend to not do her job. In your words, they just told you, "Ditch all of your sleeveless ideas and designs, because we're a fucked up multimillionaire business who won't let our favorite worker get some time off after being, literally shot because we're a bunch of heartless, capitalist pieces of shit!" in four different languages and a font change.

     You groaned once again, wanting to toss it in the trash and burn it. But of course, you couldn't, it was an important document that you can't afford losing. Literally. You lose this partnership, you lose basically everything.

     . . .

     Well okay maybe not everything, but probably half of everything. Yaoyorozu's status gave your business a lot of clout and attention, hell, Momo was your ambassadress and all-time number one muse! So if you wanted to keep your city life and apartment without having to beg for scraps on the sides of the streets, you decided to just suck it up and deal with it later.

     The rest of the papers were easy enough. Some to sign, mark off, take note of—some you literally just threw away. Thanks, whoever sent this, but I'm not interested in your baby shower. Also these are papers for my work how did your invitation ever end up here. . ?!

     The clock was quickly reaching lunchtime as you worked and skimmed through the first stack non-stop, stretching with a proud yawn at your progress. Fuck yeah, if you kept up this pace, you'd be free the rest of the day!

     Fighting off the urge to sign a very legal document with a glittery purple gel pen Jirou gave you last December holiday, you were down to the last piece of paper you just had to work on before having to meet up with your workers for the lunch you promised. God, you were starving. You knew you should've bought at least two donuts. . .

     You hum a vaguely familiar theme song of a kid's show you heard in a passing car earlier, setting the second to the last paper down on the 'signed and to be returned' pile before facing the final hurdle you had to face before freedom and the sweet, sweet release of food. You expected just another document, one who's contents you had to prepare to care about before deciding what to do with it. But no, what awaited you at the bottom of the pile was. . . an envelope?

     It was simple and white, unassuming and inconspicuous save for the very detailed emblem marked on the seal of it. So detailed in fact, that you literally had zero clues as to what it was.

     Raising a brow, you grab the thing and carefully work to open it with your hands.

     . . .

     Wait what were you doing—you have a letter opener, use it!

     You open the small cabinets on your desk, still humming the song under your breath as your other hand held onto the. . . you hoped and assumed it was a letter, seeing as there was nothing but paper inside. But still, it had no details on the sender and was just simply addressed to you. Er, addressed to your shop moreso. Had it actually been to you, this thing probably would already be at the bottom of your kitchen trash after Jirou mistakes it for spam mail. Bless her, but your power got cut out one time a few years ago because she ended up throwing away the electric bill notice.

     Finally finding the small blade, you gently opened it and out slipped the folded piece of paper. You grab it, scanning over the words lazily and half expecting just another boring document. But! And it's a big but—maybe this thing should've really been better off at the bottom of your kitchen trash. Because it was just that; trash.

     You roll your eyes as you were about to crumple it, but pause as you remember the most recent discovery of some people from some group wanting to kidnap you. You contemplate, remaining frozen in your spot as your fingers gripped the edge of the paper. You sigh, eventually snapping out of it and folding it the same as when you had took it out, before placing it back inside the envelope once again. The words and threat was simple enough, cryptic 'We will meet soon and we will have you' message straightforward and clear. They wanted to kidnap you. Cool, cool cool cool, thanks for the warning, but can you guys move the date? I'm kind of busy this week and kidnapping me would really fuck up my schedule here, thanks.

     You sigh as you shove the envelope into a random drawer, grabbing your phone and bag as you exit your office. It was lunchtime, and you needed the food. And God help anyone who tried to stop you from food. Whether it be a random threat in a poorly-composed letter or the devil himself—you are going to eat dammit, and you had other people to feed!

     You greeted the crowd of your employees in the ground floor, doing some last minute cleaning before you all head out of the door and in their eatery of choice. "So what are we feeling today? Pizza? Barbecue?" You shrug, "Burgers?"

     "We talked about it, and we all pretty much agreed to that new waffle house near Time's Square. Is that cool?" Sims answered for the group, a chilled look on her face.

     Oh God Time's Square, You grimaced inwardly, not that shit show of human traffic. . ! "Sure! You guys good to go?" It's okay, Y/N, come on now, this is for your employees. Tuck in your tail and go! Woman up, bitches!! You smiled in relief as they all collectively cheered, already making their way out the door as Devan tosses you the keys. You catch it easily, happily skipping out of the shop and temporarily locking it up. No person left behind, not on your watch they ain't!

     "Aw man, too bad Millie isn't here," Kevin—yes this man is definitely a Kevin—cries out, earning an agreeing nod from two others, "How long 'til she comes back? I miss her, dude!"

     "If you miss her so much why don't you just marry her?" You joke—you also missed her, it's just that a little birdie told you something about a crush—hands in your pockets as your rowdy group make your way through the sidewalk. "Trust me boss if I could, I would. . !"

     "Oh my God K it was fun making of you about it when you weren't actually agreeing with us," Sims playfully groans, hitting his arm—this time not so playfully—as the three others laugh. So we got you, Devan, Kevin, Sims, and the two girls who rarely said anything. They dressed and looked like twins, even acted like it sometimes. So much so that you think they're doing it on purpose to confuse all of you. Hell, half the time you couldn't even tell them apart! But you knew, deep in your soul, that Nylah wore flowers and Viola had faux fur on her ears.

     They didn't talk much, but they would never pass up the opportunity of a good joke and teasing Kevin to hell and back over his pining after one Millie Shield.

     You laughed and joined in their playful arguing, telling a joke or two of your own as the waffle house in question comes closer into view. Holy shit, no wonder everyone wanted to go—it looked awesome!

     You gawked at the shop, expecting just another run of the mill eatery that just so happens to sell waffles, but getting absolutely mind blown in return. It looked like a fucking night club! With neon signs and lights flashing, with a regular security guard looking like a bouncer. But unlike bouncers, this one just let people in—screw the velvet rope! Waffles for everybody!!

     "Come on, boss woman we got lunch to eat!" Sims hits your hip with hers, taking a moment to register before laughing and gratefully hooking your arms together and making your way to the line. The long. . . long. . . line. Damn, guess that's one thing it had in common with a club.

     "Awe come on!" Nylah had used her daily word count of the day just to complain, crossing her arms as Devan sighs. "Yup. Packed. Wow, almost as if I totally didn't expect it."

     "Shut up and just take my money," Kevin fake-cries, losing his bet as the manager gladly takes and hides it in his back pocket with an innocent grin. "And a-thank you." Sims in turn real-cries, leaning into you dramatically as your place had hardly changed in the past few seconds the two had been bickering. You look around, a spoiled part of you wanting to exploit your money that was more than enough to give you access inside with a table. But! You were better than those thoughts, so you only sighed in support. "It's okay guys, I'm sure we'll get inside eventually. Even if we have to stay here the whole day!" While Kevin looked excited about it, Viola just looked mortified. "Here? Stuck in a line?" She swallows a lump, "For a whole day? With Kevin. . ?!"

     You all burst out laughing as she drops her voice to a whisper for the full effect, trying hard not to let it affect her for the sake of keeping up the joke. You continue chuckling, looking around the crowded streets as your mind kept going back to the mysterious letter. Who knew? Maybe you were being stalked right now. Hah! Oh wouldn't that be something.

     . . .

     Hah. . .

     You try and shake of that unnecessary drama, taking a deep breath to steady yourself as you continue to zone out while also trying to listen in in the jokes and various topics shared in your small circle. Fuck yeah, multitasking.

     You tried, you really did, but you got distraced pretty early on by a familiar face somewhere in the distance, blending in with the crowd yet also standing out like a sore thumb. You squint, trying to recognize who it is yet also not wanting to be caught staring and judging this figure so intently while standing in a line for a waffle house that looked like your typical seedy nightclub. It wasn't Dabi, you could tell that much, but the figure had a hood over their face and looked wary and suspicious with each step they took. Steps they were taking that. . . were vaguely aimed in your direction.