Chapter Text
You sigh deeply, the sound muffled by the low hum of the Uber as it cruises through the city. Rain spatters against the windows, but your eyes are fixed on the outside world like you're watching someone else's life unfold.
Your phone is pressed against your ear—well, hovering a few inches away. Karui's voice is shrill even from a distance, her concern practically radiating from the speaker.
"—I'm begging you, Y/N. Please don't be weird this time. No threats. No cryptic interviews. Don't tell anyone their aura looks 'cracked' or that their chakras are held together with duct tape. For the love of everything, just be normal for once."
"But her aura was cracked," you murmur.
"You tweeted it."
"Oh," you say simply, as if that explained everything. You start counting the raindrops. Karui keeps going.
"You're not in a drama right now, you're not in a horror film, you're just moving into an apartment. Be nice. Smile. Don't accuse anyone of being a reptilian unless you have hard evidence this time—"
The phone begins to slip. You let it. It lands softly on your lap, Karui's voice buzzing like an angry bee in the distance. You stare at a stop sign as the car pauses.
Moving to a new place is always refreshing. New people. New neighbors. New walls to stare at when the insomnia hits. You press your cheek to the window, expression blank as your breath fogs the glass.
There was that one time you accidentally dragged a fellow actress during a press interview. You were asked about the pressures of beauty standards, and you blinked slowly before saying, "Well, I mean, she clearly did Ozempic. You can tell. Her pupils dilated at the after-party and she kept licking drywall."
You didn't mean it in a bad way. You were just stating the truth. Karui screamed for ten minutes straight afterward.
And the retweet... well, that was funny. At least you thought so.
You smiled slightly at the memory.
"Me in hell describing RULE34 and MPREG to a medieval peasant who was executed for stealing a spoon of buckwheat in 1268"
Iconic. The quote went viral. Your fans made fancams. Your management drafted an apology, but you never posted it. You didn't really see what the fuss was about. People were just weird like that.
The Uber stops. "Here we are," the driver says.
"Huh?"
Your phone buzzes in your lap. Karui's voice is back, strained and tired. "Please, Y/N. Please. Just—try. At least until the press forgets the MPREG thing."
You step out of the car, staring up at the building that will now be your home. It's tall, slightly grimy, definitely old, but there's something comforting about its crooked charm.
You hang up without a word.
Bag in hand, you march through the front door of the Akatsuki Apartments like a sleepwalker—expression blank, hair perfectly styled, wearing designer sunglasses even though the sky is a dull gray.
You pause by the mailboxes, glancing around.
So this is it. A new place. A new start. A fresh opportunity to maybe not freak anyone out....or maybe not.
You tilt your head, staring at the outdated hallway wallpaper and muttering just loud enough for no one to hear "Feels haunted. That's nice."
The elevator hits the ground floor with a sharp ding, followed by a low groan of machinery that makes it sound like the building is sighing in exhaustion. The doors slide open with a lazy drag.
Inside stands Hidan.
Hands jammed deep into the pockets of his hoodie, hair a little messy from either sleep or a fight (maybe both) and a permanent scowl carved into his face like God got lazy and used a butter knife instead of finesse. A nametag from 7-Eleven is poorly attached to his jacket, the 'Hi! My name is—' part scratched out with black Sharpie and replaced with something obscene.
He was on his way to his shitty part time shift. Someone's gotta refill the hotdog rollers at 2am and pretend the Slurpee machine isn't broken again.
But when the elevator doors open, he pauses.
You're standing there like a painting hung in the wrong gallery. Designer coat, luggage in tow, sunglasses indoors, expression as blank as a TV with no signal. It's like someone dropped a celebrity into a haunted VHS tape of a building.
Hidan blinks. He isn't sure if he's hallucinating. He's seen a lot of shit in his life—spilled intestines, actual cult rituals, Kisame shirtless but this? A woman like you standing in the lobby of this hellhole?
"You lost or something?" he asks finally, voice rough like gravel and burnt coffee. He squints at you. "This ain't the Ritz."
You tilt your head slowly in his direction. "No," you say flatly. "I'm your new neighbor."
He snorts, steps out of the elevator. You don't move. "Didn't know we were letting in celebrities now. What, you hiding from the feds?"
"I'm hiding from the clown that haunts me in my dreams," you answer without skipping a beat.
Hidan stops mid-step.
You say it so... seriously. Not a trace of irony.
He stares at you.
You stare back.
"...Right," he mutters, finally brushing past you, letting out a low whistle as he walks away. "This building just keeps getting weirder."
He doesn't look back but now he's curious. He's definitely going to ask Kakuzu about you. Maybe even stalk your socials later when he's behind the 7-Eleven counter pretending to stock gum.
But for now, he just lights a cigarette and mutters to himself.
"Hot, but probably insane."
The elevator hums softly before it comes to a stop with another tired ding. You step out, heels clicking gently against the hallway tiles. It smells faintly like industrial lemon cleaner and someone's burnt dinner.
You scan the hallway with that same detached stare. your face still a perfect canvas of blankness, like you're buffering.
Your apartment's the one at the end of the hall. Right infront a unit with a doormat that says "Go away." A potted plant sits dying outside next to the doormat and for a brief moment, you consider giving it a name.Your eyes flicking to the door next to yours. There's a three separate locks (concerning) with a broken doorbell that's been duct taped back in place.
You make a mental note:
Introduce yourself to the neighbors later.
Maybe bring weird gifts.
Maybe ask them if they believe in the Mandela Effect.
But for now, you want to unpack. Or lay face down on the floor. Maybe both.
You step into your new apartment, dragging your suitcase behind you. It creaks softly as it rolls over the threshold. The space is small, old but clean enough. Wood floors, uneven walls, a suspicious stain on the ceiling that looks like it could tell stories if it had a mouth.
Buzz.
A notification lights up your phone screen.
Messenger – Pain Akatsuki
Welcome to the Akatsuki Apartments. Let me know if you need anything. Building rules are on the fridge.
You stare at the name. "Pain."
You vaguely remember the listing Karui sent you. You two were desperate—last minute move, no time for background checks. She was already skeptical but you were the one who told her:
"No, Karui. He's not a trafficker. He posts too much to be dangerous." You weren't wrong.
You scroll his Facebook timeline now, thumbing through posts like a detective trying to read between the eyeliner. One post is just a blurry photo of the sky captioned "Pain."
Another is his hair, filtered to hell and back, dyed a reddish-orange hue, with the caption "Still got it." He's posted three separate My Chemical Romance throwbacks in the last week.
One of them just says "Real ones remember."
You tilt your head. He seems... harmless. Just chronically online. Probably cries to old Evanescence tracks. You make another mental note to ask him what his top five scene era albums are the next time he visits.
You toss your phone onto the counter, stand in the middle of your new home, still wearing your sunglasses.
"...This place has rats. I can sense it." And with that, you unzip your suitcase and begin your new life.
Meanwhile, in the group chat: "Akatsuki Degenerates"
Yes, that's the actual name.
No, Pain couldn't come up with anything cooler. Despite the fact he once went by "Lord Yahiko" in a Linkin Park fan forum, his naming skills peaked in 2009.
The group chat pings.
Pain:
You guys will be having a new neighbor. Don't terrorize her so much.
It wasn't easy to get a new tenant this day and age.
Seen by: Kisame, Konan, Kakuzu, Sasori, Deidara, Hidan
Kakuzu:
rent better be on time.
Hidan:
Bro did u just say "don't terrorize her" like were a pack of demons. im fuckinf normal
Sasori:
That's debatable
Kisame:
What unit is she in? Asking for no reason at all.
Deidara:
wait. is she hot?
also what her IG. just in case i have to tag her in something. liek. a welcome gift or something
Sasori:
You don't even have a gift. You just want clout
Deidara:
nooooo, what?? thatss crazy.
(btw what's her IG tho fr)
Konan:
Be normal.
But the most significant reaction doesn't happen in the chat.
It happens a few floors up in the penthouse, where Obito Uchiha is eating cold takeout in the dark like a man haunted by his own interior monologue.
He's halfway through watching a compilation of your red carpet interviews (for the eighth time) when Pain's message pops up on the group chat.
Obito doesn't check it at first. He's too busy sighing dramatically at the way you dodged a paparazzi question about your dating life by saying, "I only date ghosts. They're quieter."
But eventually, he opens it.
Pain:
You guys will be having a new neighbor. Don't terrorize her so much.
There's a soft clatter as Obito drops his chopsticks."...No," he whispers.
He scrolls to the next message. Someone asked what unit she's in. Obito's eyes dart to his security feed (he pays extra for direct access to the building's CCTV because of course he does). He flips through the angles until he finds the lobby from ten minutes ago.
And there you are. Luggage in tow. Moving like someone in a dream or a movie.
Obito goes completely still."...No."
He hits pause on the feed. Zooms in. Slowly. It is you.
(Y/N) (L/N). Actress. Viral enigma. E-girl with haunted house energy. The same woman he may or may not have had an unhealthy parasocial obsession with since your indie film debut six years ago, where you played a woman in love with a man possessed by a toaster.
He stands up abruptly. Knocks over his drink. "She's— here?" He paces. Grabs his phone. Opens your profile again.
(Y/N) (L/N)
"I'm allergic to silver. Don't ask why."
3.9M followers
He glances at the elevator feed again, then back at your profile. His mind is racing. He's not ready. He can't meet you like this. His shirt has stains. His hair looks like it lost a bet. This is not how it was supposed to go.
In every dream he's had about this moment (and there have been many), he meets you at a rooftop party in Tokyo, not... his apartment elevator.
Obito slaps himself. Twice.
Then checks the mirror. Then panics and starts rearranging his living room in case you somehow get invited up.
You spent ten minutes watching TikToks and convinced yourself it was self care.
Thirty minutes later, you're still cross-legged on the floor, staring into your phone like it's a portal to another universe. One that features a suspiciously charming man cooking pesto pasta shirtless while whispering affirmations like "you are divine, babe."
Something about the way he emulsified the sauce awakened something dark and reckless inside you.
So now you're doing the unthinkable.
You're... going to cook. The mere idea should come with a biohazard warning. You once microwaved a spoon by accident and told the fire department it was "an experiment."
But still—you rise, determination flickering in your dead-eyed stare. You check your reflection in the mirror. Lip gloss still perfect. Unbothered.
"Let's cause a minor inconvenience," you mutter, grabbing your purse like a final girl entering a haunted grocery store.
The hallway is quiet when you step out. Lights buzzing faintly. You make your way to the elevator again, heels tapping in echo.
The elevator dings open and there he is.
A man with sharp features, dressed in a clean, muted outfit that screams "I own tweezers and blood samples." His posture is too perfect. His expression is as blank as yours but somehow more bored.
And the first thing you notice is his hair.
A piercing, almost hostile shade of red. The kind of red that says: I don't talk to my family anymore and I like it that way. The kind of red that radiates chemical burns and deeply repressed opinions about the Bauhaus movement. The kind of red that Tiktok associate with crazy BPD ex-girlfriend.
He's tapping his foot rapidly against the elevator floor. Not to music. Just... tapping. Like he's been waiting too long for something. Or like someone said the word "extrovert" near him and now he's angry.
You step in. He glances at you, eyes narrowing for just a moment in subtle judgment but then he looks away again like you're not worth the processing power.
You stand beside him. The silence is comfortable. You don't mind it. He, apparently, does. "Did you know the average person swallows eight spiders in their sleep every year?" you say, as if it's normal elevator talk.
Sasori doesn't even blink. "Statistically inaccurate."
"Okay," you reply calmly. "But emotionally effective."
He gives you a side eye. Brief. Calculating. You can almost see the mental tabs opening in his brain: Who is she. Why is she talking. Is this an ambush. Did Deidara send her.
"...You're the new tenant."
"I am."
"You're wearing sunglasses indoors."
"I like to pretend I'm a celebrity hiding from the public." You pause. "...Also, I think I might be a celebrity hiding from the public."
"God, they really are letting anyone in." he sighs through his nose.
"So what's your name?" You smile faintly.
He doesn't answer right away. Looks forward, then exhales like this entire interaction has shortened his lifespan by three years.
"Sasori."
You nod, satisfied. "Nice to meet you, Sasori."
"...Sure."
The elevator door opens. He walks out. Doesn't say goodbye. But halfway down the hallway, without turning back, he mutters just loud enough “You should probably avoid Deidara. He's going to make you trend on Twitter within the week." And with that, he disappears like a ghost who pays rent on time.
The elevator doors whisper shut behind you, and make your way down the block. The late afternoon sun bleeds through the clouds like it's embarrassed to exist. You understand that.
The nearest convenience store is just around the corner—a janky little 24/7 tucked between a laundromat that smells like burnt socks and a vape shop run by someone named "Yeetzu."
The automatic doors squeak as you enter. The scent inside is a heady cocktail of ramen packets, menthols and slushie machine despair.
And behind the counter, slouched in a way that screams "I don't want to be alive right now," stands a man with a cracked phone in one hand and a half-eaten protein bar in the other.
He looks up. blinks slowly like he's trying to process what kind of hallucination just walked in.
You're glowing under the sickly lights. Glossed lips. Empty expression. Movie star presence with the energy of a cursed doll.
"...You again." Hidan squints at you.
You blink. "Have we met?"
"I was in the elevator earlier," he says, unimpressed. "You spaced out like you were gonna levitate."
"Oh. Yeah. You looked like you were going through something."
"I am going through something. It's called minimum wage." He scoffs.
You wander toward the refrigerated section, grabbing a few things at random. Milk that expires too soon. A microwaveable pasta that looks suspicious. A bag of chips that brags about having "no artificial soul" an instant curry packet and the three potatoes wrapped in a plastic container. You don't question anything when you pick them up. It's just... instinct.
Hidan watches you like he's trying to solve a riddle and getting actively angrier the more he tries. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"From Earth?"
He stares at you. "...Sure."
You set your items down on the counter. "I just moved in. third or fourth floor— can't seemed to remember. The rats seem friendly."
"Right," he says, deadpan, scanning your items. "You look familiar though. You famous or something?"
"Do you want me to be?" You lean in slightly.
He freezes mid-scan. "...What the hell does that even mean?"
"I like to keep the mystery alive."
He gives you a long, confused look, then snorts. "You're weird."
"Thank you."
He tosses the last item into a plastic bag. "You gonna be one of those people who microwaves fish in the apartment building?"
"Only if it's an emergency."
He rolls his eyes. "Jashin help us."
You tap your card.
It declines.
You stare at the screen. Then at him.
"Oh. Right. Karui said she was gonna freeze my card if I said anything unhinged on the internet again."
Hidan gives you the slowest, most exhausted blink known to man. "...What did you say."
You think for a moment. "I may have tweeted 'imagine getting pegged by Freddy Fazbear' and tagged a brand deal under it."
He stares.
"I can pay with vibes if that's acceptable?" You smile sweetly.
He just groans and points to the ATM near the slushie machine. "Cash only. Don't touch the blue raspberry lever. It's cursed."
As you walk over, he mutters under his breath. "...This building's gonna eat you alive."
Obito is sitting in the dark. Not because the power's out. No. He's just like this.
The lights are off, save for the warm glow of three monitors, two floor lamps and a flickering scented candle that claims to smell like "Depression's Boudoir."
He's got a throw blanket over his shoulders like a widow in mourning, staring at the paused security footage of you leaving the building for the convenience store. The timestamp reads just now.
He watches the clip again.
Zooms in.
You're smiling faintly. Lip gloss. Sunglasses. Purse slung over your shoulder. It's not even a special moment, but it's enough to send Obito spiraling into his internal monologue like a tragic literature protagonist who's read Wuthering Heights too many times.
"I used to think I was the main character."
"Then I realized life doesn't care if you're the protagonist. Sometimes it just throws you into a discount bin full of trauma and says 'good luck.'"
He leans back in his chair. The scar along his cheek catches the light. It still aches when it rains...... Or when he remembers gym class in 10th grade.
"I was normal once. Average. I had dreams, hopes, a skincare routine."
"Then I got into an accident. Left my face split open like a bad metaphor. Rin was the only one who didn't flinch when she saw the stitches. I thought that meant something." He gazes out the window now. Rain is threatening to fall, but the clouds are holding back like they're scared of commitment.
"I made her lunch. I memorized her period cramps cycle. I took off my gakuran and threw it over puddles like a 1950s husband with unresolved anger issues."
"And what did I get in return?"
He closes his eyes.
"Kakashi. In the gym storage closet. Hands on her hips like he was the protagonist of a Icha Icha volume 7."
"I had just finished basketball practice. I was sweaty. Vulnerable. Filled with hope and Gatorade." He presses a hand to his chest like the ghost of heartbreak is physically attacking him again.
"That day, a part of me died. And from the ashes... rose a man with at least three undiagnosed mental illnesses and a tendency to spiral emotionally whenever Spotify plays Juice wrld."
I Still See Her Shadows In My Room.
Obito sighs dramatically.
"Now I work 9 to 5. Overtime on weekends. Not because I care, but because Madara said 'nepotism means nothing if you're weak' and I cried in the break room."
He's now sipping a glass of wine. It's mostly ice cubes and grape juice but he's pretending.
And then you showed up. "She moved in ten floors below. Just like that. A beautiful woman with dead eyes and possibly no thoughts."
"I knew her face. I knew that cursed toaster movie. I own it on Blu-ray and I don't even own a Blu-ray player." He stands now, pacing the room like a phantom rehearsing his own eulogy.
"It's not stalking," he insists out loud. "I'm just... keeping an eye out. For safety. She's new. What if she doesn't know where the best vending machine is? What if the lobby rats organize a coup?"
He checks his computer screen again. You're walking back now, plastic bag in hand, completely unbothered by the chaos you've sparked in his fragile psyche.
He throws on a coat.
"I'm just going downstairs for some fresh air."
…….
"Not stalking."
…
"...Just proximity-based admiration."
The hallway lights flicker with the energy of a dying god as you return from the convenience store. You hum softly to yourself, not because you're happy, but because your brain occasionally plays lo-fi remixes of Gregorian chants when left idle for too long.
You round the corner. And there is a blond man that screams trouble.
Leaning against the wall like someone halfway through a thirst trap shoot. He's dressed like TikTok itself spat him out: combat boots, ripped jeans, too many rings, and a mesh top that definitely violates the building's decency clause. His hair's tied back into a messy bun that screams "I vape and overshare."
"Oh hey," he says, as if you didn't catch him actively unlocking his phone the moment you stepped into frame.
You stop. Blank face. No thoughts. Just vibes "...Hi."
He pretends to glance up like this wasn't his fifth attempt at "accidentally" catching you on camera. "Didn't know you lived on this floor, hm."
"...This floor is where my apartment is."
"Right, duh," he chuckles. "That's where people live, un."
An awkward silence.
He flashes a grin that's both too wide and somehow too calculated. "So. I might have recognized you. You're, like, that actress, yeah? You were in that one movie with the toaster that had daddy issues?"
You nod politely. "Toaster 3: Redemption Arc."
"That's the one," he snaps his fingers, as if the title wasn't burned into his brain from years of stan behavior. "I liked your performance. Real deep, real raw. You made me believe the toaster did deserve love."
You smile but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Thank you. The director cried blood on set. It was beautiful."
From behind the stairwell door, Obito is losing his mind. He's crouched in the darkness, eavesdropping like a Victorian spinster catching her crush under moonlight. Every word makes his eye twitch.
He had a plan. He was going to pretend to run into you casually, maybe say something mysterious like, "You dropped this" and hand you your own lip gloss. Even if it wasn't dropped. Even if he bought a copy to pull it off.
And now? Now Deidara is out there saying things like "Toaster 3 really moved me."
Like a fiend.
He grits his teeth and presses his ear harder against the door. Back outside, Deidara is inching a little closer, still pretending to be chill, still definitely angling his phone subtly toward you.
"You don't mind if I tag you in a story, yeah? Just—like—'Oh my god my neighbor is a star' kind of thing?"
"As long as you don't use the dog face filter. It feels dehumanizing."
"Totally, un." he nods. "You want to do a peace sign or should I just film candidly?"
"I'll just stand here like I have rabies."
"Perfect."
Snap. Flash. Upload.
Meanwhile, behind the door... Obito slumps down like he's been shot. “She smiled. She's never smiled at me."
"Why is he allowed to record her and I'm not?"
Partial Silence passes by.
"...Okay, I see how that sounds." He stares at the floor. Defeated. But plotting. Always plotting.
Group Chat Name: Akatsuki Degenerates
Group Icon: A grainy picture of Kisame's bike with the caption "she bites."
Pinned Message: "Konan says stop sending feet pics in here or she's blocking all of you." – Pain
Hidan:
[screenshot.png]
ur clout chasin at this point.
It's a screen grab of Deidara's story.
Your face is half lit by the hallway lights. Deidara's caption:
"when ur neighbor's lowkey a celebrity lmao"
(complete with the eye emoji and a sparkly GIF of the word SLAY)
Sasori:
is this the chick with the toaster movie
Kisame:
Yup. That's her. She's real tho? I thought y'all were just chronically online.
Hidan:
i'm stuck in 7-eleven looking at a stale sandwich and this mf deidara out here doing PR
this life ain't fair.
Kakuzu:
How much does she pay in rent.
Sasori:
that's the most kakuzu question i've ever seen
Itachi:
Who
Deidara:
Yall are pressed as hell rn
i'm just tryna be friendly
damn
she's literally my neighbor
Hidan:
"friendly"
broski ur phone was shaking when she talked
Kakuzu:
again. how much does she pay.
Kisame:
Ask Pain lmao he's the one who approved her app
Konan:
Can you all not harass the new tenant
She's not in this chat yet for a reason
Hidan:
yall gatekeeping the group chat now??
Sasori:
for good reason
you posted a photo of my cat last week and said "look how ugly this thing is"
Hidan:
...ok and
Deidara:
idc what yall say
if she ends up in a tiktok with me just know it's for ✨art✨
Konan:
I will block you
with state force