Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arisu barely heard the click of the lecture hall door as it swung shut behind him. The hallway buzzed with distant chatter and the hum of overhead lights, but it all blurred into static. His Behavioral Neuroscience class had been dense—something about prefrontal circuitry and impulse regulation—but none of it had stuck today. Not really.

He walked on autopilot, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, feet moving without thought down the long, tiled corridor.

Psychology.

The word still felt a little foreign sometimes. Like it belonged to someone else. Someone more confident. Someone who hadn’t chosen his major more out of necessity than desire. He liked it—he really did. The human brain was fascinating in theory, behavior even more so. But if he were being honest with himself, he hadn’t chosen psychology because he had a lifelong dream to become a therapist or a researcher.

No. He’d chosen it because it was the least wrong path.

A sigh slipped out before he could stop it.

His father had never said the words outright, but Arisu had always understood the expectations. First place or nothing. Scholarships or disappointment. Academic success wasn’t just preferred—it was the only currency that held value at home. Affection had a threshold, and it was usually buried under test scores and trophies. Love wasn’t unconditional; it was exchanged.

So no, dropping out after high school hadn’t been an option. Even when everything felt pointless, even when he had started counting days by how heavy his chest felt in the mornings. He had to do something. Be something. Anything but a failure.

Karube had said it first, actually. Half-joking but not really.

"You’re too damn smart to rot behind a convenience store, man. Just… do something with that brain of yours.” 

And Chōta, soft-spoken but insistent, had echoed it not long after. “You notice things. People. That’s rare. Psychology might actually suit you.”

It hadn’t been a lightbulb moment. More like a slow, tired nod toward a path he could walk without falling apart.

Arisu blinked back into focus just as the chill of late afternoon hit him through the open building doors. He hadn’t realized he’d reached the exit already. He stepped out into the fading sunlight, boots scraping lightly against the stone steps, mind still thick with static.

His thoughts lingered on his father’s most recent message—something about Arisu “finally making something of himself.” Praise that felt like a double-edged sword.

“Don’t screw it up,” the text had said beneath the congratulations.

As if that wasn’t always implied.

He didn’t notice the obstruction on the ground until it was too late. One foot caught awkwardly on something small but solid, and the next thing he knew, the world tilted.

He stumbled forward, arms flailing slightly to regain balance—but the momentum pulled him down, his shoulder hitting the grass beside the campus walkway with a thud.

“Ah—what the hell...?”

He propped himself up on his elbows, groaning softly, the sting of the fall finally registering. 

Arisu sat upright, brushing the grass off his sleeves, and looked around quickly—first left, then right. The sun was already dipping behind the science block, casting long golden slants across the quad. Evening classes were either in session or over by now, which meant the walkway was nearly empty. Only a few students were lingering near the bike racks or sitting on benches, faces buried in their phones. No one had laughed. No one had pointed.

Thank god.

A relieved breath left him, shaky but quiet.

That was until he turned—and saw what he’d tripped over.

His heart dropped.

“Oh, crap.”

Nestled against the path where the cement met grass was a small cat, its back curled slightly, tail flicking once in mild irritation. Its large, pale eyes were locked on him—unblinking, unreadable.

Arisu immediately scrambled forward, palms extended like that would somehow undo the fall.

“Oh my god—I didn’t mean to—are you okay?” he asked, voice high with alarm. “I didn’t even see you. I wasn’t watching—I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

The cat blinked slowly, unimpressed.

“I could’ve crushed you,” Arisu went on, guilt rising in waves now that the initial shock was wearing off. “Or, like, broken something. And here I was feeling glad no one saw me fall. Jesus.”

The cat’s tail twitched again. Arisu didn’t notice.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “No, seriously, I’m not a jerk, I swear. I didn’t mean it like that. I just—bad day, that’s all.”

The more he talked, the more ridiculous it felt. He was apologizing. To a cat. Loudly. In public.

He clamped his mouth shut and glanced around. Thankfully, no one nearby seemed to be paying attention.

"...Right. Cool," he muttered under his breath, feeling the burn of secondhand embarrassment crawl up his spine. ‘ I’ve officially lost it...’

Still crouched, Arisu finally took a moment to actually look at the creature he'd tripped over. It wasn’t a stray—at least, not one like he was used to seeing around campus. It was sleek and small, not underfed or scrappy. In fact, it looked... weirdly well-kept.

And then there was the fur.

At first glance, it was pale—blonde, almost. But as the cat shifted under the dappled sunlight, Arisu noticed the roots of its coat weren’t the same at all. Beneath the warm gold sheen, the fur darkened into a deep, chestnut brown that gave the illusion of shadows rippling along its back. The contrast was subtle but unnatural. Like a bleach job that had faded just enough to reveal the truth underneath.

Arisu tilted his head.

“Huh... That’s... kind of a strange coat pattern.” He mumbled.

The cat lifted its head slightly, gaze still fixed on him like it was the one trying to figure him out.

Arisu sat back on his heels and frowned, his voice dropping to a murmur. “You don’t look like the other cats I’ve seen around here.”

Something about it didn’t sit quite right. Not in a bad way—just enough to make his brain pause.

Weird cat. Weird moment.

He wasn’t sure why it made his stomach flip.

Snapping out of his daze, Arisu blinked and refocused on the cat. Right—he had tripped over it. It didn’t matter how bizarre its coloring was; what mattered was whether it had been hurt.

He inched forward a little and extended one hand, palm-up, trying to be gentle. “Hey, sorry again,” he murmured, voice low and apologetic. “Just wanna make sure you’re not, like, bleeding or something…”

He paused a few inches away, waiting. It seemed polite to let the cat sniff him first—he’d read that somewhere online. No sudden moves, no grabbing, especially not with animals you didn’t know.

The cat didn’t sniff his hand.

Instead, it gave him a look. A very pointed, entirely unimpressed look. Then, as if the entire incident hadn’t happened, it stood, stretched its limbs with casual grace, and began walking away across the grass—no limp, no hesitation, just… gone.

Arisu blinked after it.

“Huh,” he breathed. “Guess you’re fine then.”

Maybe it had just been lying there. Maybe it had noticed him zoning out and decided to punish him for it in the most dramatic way possible. Who knew what cats thought?

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, watching the small creature disappear around a bush. The fact that it had walked away so normally gave him some peace of mind.

Still, he’d been careless. Again.

Rising to his feet, Arisu brought both hands up and gave his cheeks a light slap— snap out of it . No more zoning out. No more wandering through life half-present.

He reached for his bag, slung it over one shoulder, and turned toward the gates.

Time to go home.

The window beside him nudged inward, just barely. A whisper of wind followed, curling through the room like fingers trailing down a spine.

Then, with no ceremony whatsoever, a paw pushed through the narrow gap, followed by another, and a moment later a slim blur of fur slithered in with all the grace of a passing shadow.

A small, sharp flash lit the room for half a second—no brighter than the static hum of a TV screen blinking to life.

Then came the thump.

Kuina’s familiar groan echoed softly as she flopped face-down onto his bed, limbs splayed in a mess of lazy human anatomy and mischief. She didn’t move for a moment, just sank into the mattress with a deep sigh that sounded half frustration, half dramatics.

Chishiya didn’t even look up from his spot on the couch, legs folded, a steaming mug of matcha in one hand and a genetics journal in the other. He merely blinked, unimpressed. “That dramatic sigh better have substance behind it.”

“It does,” Kuina huffed, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face into a pillow. Her voice was muffled when she added, “Ann petted me again today. And then walked away. Again. ”

Chishiya’s mug paused halfway to his lips. “I feel like I’ve heard this story before.”

“Every day this week,” she groaned.

“You’re a cat. That’s what people do to cats.”

“I’m a hot shapeshifter in disguise, thank you very much.”

Chishiya raised an eyebrow, finally glancing over. Kuina’s hair was a mess and she was still wearing her gym shorts and hoodie from class. “Hot,” he said flatly, “is subjective.”

She flung the pillow at him.

He let it bounce off his shoulder without flinching, then took a long sip of tea. “So Ann still hasn’t taken you home?”

“No! I even faked a limp on Tuesday. She just said, ‘Poor thing,’ and left me outside the lab building. ”

Chishiya smirked. “Tragic. A whole week of seductive meowing, wasted.”

“You know, you could at least pretend to support my love life,” Kuina grumbled, sitting up.

“I support your delusions,” he said kindly.

Kuina scowled but didn’t deny it. “Just wait. The day you trip over your own heart strings, I’m not letting you live it down.”

Chishiya shrugged, returning to his journal. “Unlikely. I was born with better judgment.”

That, apparently, was enough of an invitation.

“See, that’s your problem,” Kuina began, pulling her legs up onto the bed and adjusting her position like she was settling in for a long speech. “You think you're immune to feelings because you’ve read enough medical journals to quote the symptoms. But one day it’s going to hit you like a truck— bam —and suddenly you’re writing poetry in the margins of your anatomy textbook and following someone around like a lost kitten.”

He made no move to respond. She didn’t notice.

“I’m telling you, the moment I saw Ann— like actually saw her, you know, past all that ‘stoic genius forensic prodigy’ thing she’s got going on—I knew . That’s how it starts. One second you’re playing with a loose thread on someone’s hoodie, next thing you know you’re planning a dramatic rooftop confession scene and practicing how to purr in a way that sounds cute instead of creepy.”

Chishiya turned a page in his journal.

Kuina, undeterred, kept going. “And okay, maybe I’ve been showing up around her lab a little more often than necessary. Just in case. But that’s not stalking, that’s... emotionally strategic loitering.”

It was always like this when she shifted back from cat form. A day or two of being mute and soft-pawed, then human again—and suddenly the words came flooding back, like she had to compensate for all the meows she hadn’t said out loud.

He let her chatter fill the space, a white noise he’d grown used to over the years.

His mind drifted.

Their kind had always existed on the fringes. Once royal spies in daimyō courts of the Edo period, trained in silence and secrecy, then hunted into myth and bedtime stories. Now, modern-day shapeshifters stuffed into university dorms and forced to “blend in” with humans until it was safe to reveal the truth—to someone . Their person . Tradition said it was about legacy and safety, about keeping bloodlines and secrets intact. But to Chishiya, it always sounded like romanticized chains.

Kuina believed in it wholeheartedly. The idea that love was real and sacred and that the right person would know them— really know them—and still choose to stay.

He didn’t. It was biology and repetition. Instinct wrapped in folklore. The need to be seen was a universal weakness.

“And then she smiled at me—like actually smiled, not that polite nod she gives everyone else—”

Kuina’s voice dragged him back. She hadn’t noticed his silence. She was still mid-rant, probably hadn’t even taken a breath in five minutes.

Chishiya chose, for the sake of peace, to stop listening entirely.

He looked out the window, expression unreadable.

The courtyard below was mostly empty, shadows stretching long under the early evening sun. A few students passed by—some alone, some in pairs, none interesting. Except—

There he was.

The boy from before, walking with his head down, bag slung over one shoulder like it weighed more than it should. Same lazy hair, same slouched walk.

Chishiya blinked once. Then turned back to his book.

Boredom, probably. Nothing more.

Chishiya had a talent for noticing patterns. It came with the territory—years of training, observation, and keeping himself just detached enough to read people like formulas.

And lately, there was a particular pattern that kept cropping up.

Him.

The first time had been incidental—a passing glimpse in the corridor, a face he vaguely recognized from a stumble outside the psych building. Chishiya hadn’t spared it more than a moment. He’d written it off as residual memory, the kind your brain clung to from odd encounters.

But then the face started showing up more often.

A few days later: cafeteria line. He let someone cut in front of him without complaint.

Next: library. He returned a stack of books not his own, smile sheepish, sleeves rumpled.

Then outside, under a sakura tree, highlighter tucked behind his ear as he shared notes with a classmate who looked on the verge of tears.

Always in the background. Always doing something good.

Polite. Helpful. Unbothered by inconvenience.

It was irritating.

Chishiya didn’t like self-sacrificing people. Or people who smiled too easily. Or who made it a habit to pick up things for strangers, hold open doors, or greet the cleaning staff by name.

It was starting to feel… curated.

No one was that kind without reason.

They couldn’t be; not if they wanted to survive in this world.

He didn’t know the guy’s name—not until a week later, when he overheard a group of students loitering outside the psych department after class.

“Hey, Arisu! You heading to the seminar building?”

The brunette glanced over his shoulder, smiled, and waved without breaking stride.

Chishiya stood by the vending machine, eyes narrowing slightly as his brain automatically committed the name to memory— Arisu.

Tch. Great. Now the guy had a label. A slot in Chishiya’s mental files. That only made him harder to ignore.

He would’ve preferred if he’d stayed nameless. Easier that way. Blurred into the crowd.

Still, he didn’t give it much thought until the lecture hall.

He was passing by, not expecting anything interesting, when Arisu’s voice filtered through the mostly empty room.

“It doesn’t mean you’re bad at this,” he was saying, calm and unhurried. “It just means you haven’t figured out how you learn best yet. I can help, if you want?”

Chishiya paused in the hallway.

The other student mumbled something—grateful, embarrassed. Arisu laughed, soft and apologetic, like the idea of someone being ashamed for struggling physically hurt him.

Chishiya’s eye twitched.

The sincerity was grating. Or maybe it was the tone.

Or maybe it was just him , again, being seen .

He turned away.

It wasn’t the act itself. Objectively, there was nothing wrong with helping someone. It was just the frequency. The consistency. The way Arisu slipped through campus like some low-effort guardian angel. Always with the right thing to say. Always in the right place at the right time. Always smiling like it didn’t cost him anything.

It was unnatural.

Maybe even calculated.

Chishiya’s brow furrowed slightly as he walked, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. People like that were either masking something—or trying to control how others saw them.

And that? That was manipulation, plain and simple.

At least Kuina wore her affections like a badge. Arisu, on the other hand, floated through the day like an open invitation, and no one ever seemed to question it. Not even Chishiya—until now.

He told himself the only reason it bothered him was because it should’ve bothered anyone. That it was about logic, not emotion. Pattern recognition, not irritation.

But he also couldn’t ignore the small flicker of something tight in his chest when he replayed that voice in his head. That gentle, empathetic tone.

Like he was trying to save the world one compliment at a time.

It was tiresome.

Worse, it was distracting.

And Chishiya didn’t tolerate distractions.

Fine. If Arisu wanted to play the golden boy, he could knock himself out.

But if this strange little fixation wasn’t going to end on its own, then Chishiya supposed he’d just have to intervene.

For his own clarity.

For peace of mind.

Strictly investigative.

Not personal.

Certainly not because Arisu’s stupidly kind face had started showing up more in his periphery than Chishiya preferred.

No.

He simply needed to confirm what he already suspected.

And if he had to dig a little to expose whatever lay beneath that carefully soft exterior—well, he had claws for a reason.

Chapter Text

Arisu offered a small smile as the girl gathered her things, the last sniffle fading into a sheepish chuckle.

“Thanks again,” she mumbled, clutching her notebook like a lifeline. “I think I just needed someone to tell me I wasn’t... I don’t know. Stupid?”

“You’re not,” Arisu said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Behavioral exams are tough for everyone. But if you want help studying next week, I meant it.”

She nodded, looking lighter than when she’d first stumbled into the lecture hall teary-eyed and anxious. “I’ll message you. Thanks, Arisu.”

He waited until she disappeared down the corridor before exhaling through his nose and making his way toward the door. His footsteps echoed softly as he passed the long rows of empty seats, some of the overhead lights already dimmed. There was something strangely comforting about this space when it wasn’t filled with people—no rustle of notes, no anxious murmurs, no professors clicking through endless slides.

Just quiet.

Funny how this had all started with him forgetting a binder. He’d been halfway down the stairwell when he realized it—the blue one with his seminar notes—and doubled back, cursing under his breath. And when he’d pushed the lecture hall door open, there she was: curled into one of the middle seats, eyes red, shoulders shaking.

He hadn’t meant to startle her, but she’d flinched like he had. And he recognized it—the look of someone trying not to fall apart too loudly. He’d worn it himself once. More times than he liked to admit.

There’d been a week during his last year of high school when he hadn’t passed a single quiz. Pressure mounting from his father, expectations hanging off every report card, and no room to breathe. He’d locked himself in the bathroom once just to cry without being heard.

Chōta had found him after school, sitting alone in the courtyard. He hadn’t asked anything—just quietly passed him an ice cream bar and said, “You don’t have to do everything perfectly to be worth something.”

Karube had grabbed him the next day, dragged him to the arcade, and said, “You’re gonna crash and burn if you keep running on empty. Take a break.”

They’d helped, more than they knew. Maybe that’s why it had felt like instinct to sit down beside the crying girl, to let her talk, to remind her she wasn’t alone. Just passing the good forward.

The building exit came into view. Faint noise filtered in through the glass doors, laughter and voices rising above the warm hush of late afternoon.

He pushed the door open and stepped outside, blinking against the sun. The breeze was soft, and the air had that golden, dust-kissed feel that only ever came right before dusk.

Near the steps, a small group of students had gathered—four, maybe five of them, leaning against the railing, chatting as they waited for the rest of their friends. One of them spotted another coming down the sidewalk and waved them over, and soon they were all talking at once, peeling off in pairs, already moving toward the plaza. Probably to get food. Maybe to watch a movie.

Something simple. Normal.

Arisu slowed his pace, watching them from a distance that was just wide enough to notice.

He wasn’t sure what they were laughing about, but the sound was easy and full. They didn’t have textbooks in their arms. No looming assignments, no worry. Just time. Just… each other.

His gaze dropped to the sidewalk ahead of him, and he kept walking.

Arisu stepped onto the cobblestone path that curved around the courtyard, pulling his phone from his pocket as he walked. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment, then tapped open the group chat.

[KaruBros 🕶️🍜🎮]

Ari-chu: u guys around today?
Ari-chu: feel like it’s been forever since we met up properly
Ari-chu: lunch or arcade or smth idk

He stared at the messages for a second, then added:

Ari-chu: first round’s on me if karube actually shows up on time

A tiny grin tugged at his mouth.

His feet fell into rhythm with the clack of his typing. The trees along the path whispered above him, their branches filtering streaks of gold across the pavement. A few scattered leaves fluttered down, brushing past his hoodie as he walked.

It really had been too long. Sure, the texts were consistent—Karube sending blurry photos of his ramen dinners from the bar he worked at part-time; still the same one from high school, along with obnoxious texts bragging about his “special” menu hacks.

And Chōta spamming memes with aggressively specific captions that Arisu was certain only he found funny—but it wasn’t the same. Not the way it used to be.

Back in high school, it had been automatic. The bell would ring and they'd meet at the school gate without even planning it. Exams or no exams, they'd crash into the nearest diner or karaoke booth; yelling over each other about games or new crushes or which teacher needed to be put on trial.

They’d stay until someone’s phone died or the lights were flicked off. It never felt like something to find back then. It just… existed. With them in it.

Now it felt harder. Everyone was busy. Chōta had a part-time job as a tutor and too many lit classes; Karube was still chasing his weird mix of business and culinary dreams; and Arisu… Well, he was here. Doing his best. Kind of.

He tapped back to the chat.

Ari-chu: i miss u losers lol

He didn’t delete it. Just locked the screen and let it hang in the background—same as the memory of the last time the three of them met up in person. He couldn’t even remember when it was. Golden Week?

The wind picked up, rustling his hair, and he swiped his fringe out of his eyes and then–

That sensation. Like he wasn’t alone.

His stride slowed, and he lifted his head, eyes flicking toward the treeline.

Someone?

He turned, scanning the campus lawn, the benches, the empty bicycle racks. A few students were crossing the far side of the square, but none were close enough to have been watching.

Nothing behind him, either.

Arisu’s brows furrowed. His gaze lingered a second longer on the tree nearest him, its branches still swaying gently.

He let out a small puff of breath, shaking his head.

“…Must’ve been the wind,” he muttered to himself.

The path ahead split into three. He pocketed the device and took the one that curved toward the tram stop, shoulders relaxing just a little. Maybe he’d grab something sweet on the way back. Chōta would probably say he “felt it through the bond.”

Behind him, nestled high in the branches, a pair of eyes blinked once.

And vanished.

The tram rocked gently beneath Arisu’s feet as he leaned against one of the poles, phone in hand, earbuds in but playing nothing. The city blurred past the window, sun bleeding gold into the late afternoon haze.

His screen lit up with two new pings.

[KaruBros 🕶️🍜🎮]

Chōtato: TODAY?? 👀 what’s the occasion, u get dumped again??
Karubae: u absolute clown he’s single because he has standards
Karubae: unlike SOME ppl who cried over a fake girl in a gacha game

Arisu snorted quietly, thumbs already moving.

Ari-chu: i just wanted to hang out not start a fire lmao
Ari-chu: tell me u guys are free
Ari-chu: chōta?

Chōtato: i’m in
Chōtato: let's meet in like 30? i’ll head to the station now

A second later, Karube’s reply came through:

Karubae: man i wish
Karubae: boss won’t let me leave
Karubae: EVEN THO WE’RE DEAD. ZERO CUSTOMERS.
Karubae: “stay til your shift ends” my ass
Karubae: come over here so we can collectively talk shit abt him to his face

Ari-chu: deal
Chōtato: bet
Ari-chu: bar it is

The tram dinged softly as it neared his stop. Arisu tucked his phone into his hoodie pocket, pulling one earbud out as he stepped onto the platform. The bakery just across the street caught his eye—same one Karube had dragged them to after a summer fireworks festival two years ago, claiming their mochi donuts were “life-changing.” He hadn’t been wrong.

Five minutes later, Arisu was walking again, dessert bag swinging from one hand, phone back in the other. He tapped out a quick message to the group:

Arisu: bringing bribes. hope they’re warm

He could already picture Chōta's sparkly-eyed reaction and Karube's muttering about carbs before devouring half the box anyway.

The bar wasn’t far—tucked behind a quiet street, barely visible from the main road, but always smelling faintly of grilled yakitori and spilled beer. The route there was familiar: past the corner bookstore, under the ivy-covered walkway, then a right turn at the rusted vending machine that always gave change in coins older than him.

That’s when it happened again.

The prickle.

His steps slowed.

The back of his neck buzzed, like static, like being caught mid-thought. Something in the air shifted—an itch between his shoulder blades.

He didn’t twist his head to peer back.

He whipped around.

“Alright, who’s—!”

“—Hello, beautiful.”

Arisu jumped. The bag nearly slipped from his fingers.

Kyuma stood behind him, grinning like a cat who'd just scared a flock of pigeons. His oversized sunglasses were pushed up into his messy hair, and he was holding a convenience store ice cream like a microphone.

“You’ve got fast reflexes,” Kyuma added cheerfully, taking a bite of his cone. “Cute when you’re startled, though.”

Arisu blinked. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“That’s what I’m good at.” Kyuma held up the ice cream in a mock toast. “It’s a talent.”

Arisu let out a shaky breath, shaking his head as the last of the tension drained from his shoulders.

“What are you even doing here?” he asked, side-eyeing the bag in his own hand to check for casualties. “Did you follow me?”

“Maybe,” Kyuma said, utterly shameless. “Maybe I just happen to be here. Maybe fate brought us together.”

“Maybe you’re a stalker.”

Kyuma laughed. “Only for special people.”

Arisu rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched anyway. “Well, fate can enjoy walking me to the bar if it's got time.”

“You’re meeting someone?”

“Yeah, Karube and Chōta.” He adjusted the dessert bag. “To talk shit about one of their bosses, apparently.”

Kyuma’s eyes lit up, grin tugging easy at his mouth. “Now that is a noble mission. Lead the way.”

“They’ll probably act like you showing up was their idea,” Arisu muttered, turning around and continuing down the narrow path. “Don’t encourage them.”

Kyuma grinned, already falling into step beside him. “Too late. I’m an excellent surprise.”

Arisu scoffed under his breath, but it was betrayed by the amused glance he threw Kyuma’s way. They were already crossing the street now, the bar only a few turns away.

“You know they’re gonna lose it when they see you, right?” he muttered.

“Perfect. I like my entrances dramatic.”

“You like being dramatic, period.”

Kyuma laughed. “And you like pretending you’re above it all, but you’re still walking next to me.”

Arisu didn’t answer. He couldn’t, really. Because he was still walking next to him.

It was odd, when he thought about it—how fast Kyuma had settled into his life like an afterthought that had always been there. The man had a way of slipping in, unbothered by boundaries, like he knew he belonged in people’s spaces. Like he expected to be welcomed.

And the worst part? It worked.

It was the concert’s fault, really.

He hadn’t even wanted to go. Karube had guilt-tripped him into it, claiming he needed emotional support while flirting with some girl—Emi, or something—who worked part-time at the venue. Chōta was there too, playing the role of wingman with polite awkwardness. Arisu had trailed behind like a lost umbrella.

The band had been good. Not his usual taste, but the music was energetic, the lyrics weirdly poetic. Everyone was vibing.

Then there was him.

Kyuma had taken the stage like it owed him rent—hair tousled, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, smile broad and magnetic. He sang like the room belonged to him, and when he leaned off the edge of the platform, he made eye contact with people like they were old friends.

It should’ve been overwhelming.

But it wasn’t.

Arisu hadn’t meant to end up at the edge of the crowd. But he had, elbowed there by someone dancing too hard. Kyuma had spotted him mid-song—paused just long enough to smirk, to gesture toward him as the crowd whooped—and Arisu, in an act of temporary brain failure, had given a small, awkward thumbs-up.

After the show, Kyuma found him near the snack counter.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” he’d asked, hair still damp with sweat, voice smug.

Arisu had blinked. “Uh. Yeah. You were good.”

“Good? Just good?”

Arisu had narrowed his eyes. “...Very good.”

That made Kyuma laugh.

Arisu had thought that would’ve been the end of the “conversation” but before he could move away, camouflage into the tides of moving bodies cramped into a space too small, Kyuma had spoken.

As unnecessary as it was, he introduced himself, even though Arisu had already heard the name chanted by fans. “And you are?”

Arisu hesitated. “Just... a friend of someone who knew the band.”

“Mysterious,” Kyuma said, grinning. “You’ve got a nice face. Don’t be surprised if I write a song about you.”

He didn’t. Not exactly. But he did follow Arisu out that night—just to chat, he said—and somehow it had turned into an exchange of numbers. Kyuma had this way of talking like he’d known you for years. And somehow, that turned into random texts. Memes. Philosophy debates. Dumb selfies.

He never crossed lines. Never pushed.

But he lingered. Friendly. Familiar.

And now, here he was. Tagging along again.

Arisu caught himself glancing sideways as Kyuma whistled some out-of-tune melody, eyes fixed ahead like he had all the time in the world.

“Still writing that song?” Arisu asked dryly.

Kyuma looked delighted. “Maybe I am. You’ll have to hang out more to hear it.”

Arisu rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

Kyuma slung an arm over his shoulder without asking. “Love you too.”

The bell above the bar door jingled with a familiar, slightly tinny chime that echoed through the otherwise quiet space. Arisu stepped inside first, the soles of his shoes clicking softly against the wood floor as Kyuma followed, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. Ice cream already devoured.

The place was nearly empty, lit only by the warm overhead bulbs and the blueish glow of a dusty TV mounted in the corner. Behind the counter, Karube was halfway through drying a glass, scowling at something on the news before he turned—and then broke into a grin.

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Karube said, setting the glass down with a dull thunk. “Took you long enough.”

“Blame the wind,” Arisu replied dryly, holding up the dessert bag in half-hearted offering. “It nearly killed me on the way here.”

“And Kyuma?” Karube squinted past him. “What’s he doing here?”

Kyuma shrugged. “Would you believe fate?”

Karube groaned. “No, but I would believe you stalking Arisu.”

“That’s slander,” Kyuma said, breezing past the counter and helping himself to a stool like he owned the place. “I haven’t stalked anyone since middle school.”

Arisu dropped into the stool beside him, finally letting the strap of his messenger bag slide off his shoulder. “He jumped me outside the dessert shop.”

Karube raised an eyebrow. “And you still brought him here?”

“I’m charming,” Kyuma said. “He couldn’t resist.”

Arisu just shook his head, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth said enough.

Karube leaned on the counter with both elbows. “So, dessert for me?”

“In your dreams,” Arisu said. “You told us to come here. I was bribing myself.”

Kyuma was already poking through the bag anyway, pulling out a neatly boxed custard tart with a little gold sticker on top. “Ooh, fancy.”

Karube smacked his hand. “Hey, pay for that first.”

“I’ll put it on Arisu’s tab.”

Arisu sighed but didn’t argue. “You’re lucky I don’t believe in karma.”

“I do,” said a voice from the door.

All three of them turned to see Chōta entering, a paper bag clutched in one arm and his phone still lit in the other. “And I hope it’s watching you, Kyuma.”

“Chōta!” Karube called, waving him over. “You’re late.”

“I brought snacks, didn’t I?” Chōta lifted the bag like a trophy and came around to join them. “Also, I had to finish grading a quiz and the kid spelled ‘Einstein’ as ‘Ice Team’ so I had a moment.”

“That sounds like a band name,” Kyuma said thoughtfully. “Ice Team. I’d listen to that.”

“Of course you would,” Arisu muttered, taking his tart back from Kyuma before it could disappear completely.

The four of them settled into an easy rhythm, like clockwork. Laughter layered over quiet music and the occasional scrape of glassware. They swapped updates—Karube’s bar shifts and awful boss, Chōta’s tutoring horror stories, Kyuma’s late-night gigs, and Arisu’s quiet academic grind. It was easy, light, and genuine.

For a little while, it felt like nothing had changed.

The bar was softer now—dimmed with the late hour, humming with the kind of laughter that blurred at the edges. Karube was halfway through a story about a drunk couple who tried to order ramen from the bar’s sink, Chōta giggling beside him with flushed cheeks and a half-eaten skewer in hand. Arisu’s own head felt pleasantly fuzzy, the air warmer than before, and his shoulders loose in a way they hadn’t been all week.

Still, he stretched a little, blinking at the clock behind the counter.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” he said, voice quieter than it had been earlier.

Chōta blinked. “Already?”

“It’s not even midnight,” Karube added, but he didn’t sound surprised.

Arisu stood, brushing invisible lint from his hoodie. “I’ve got stuff to prep. Notes to sort. If I don’t do it tonight, I’ll regret it by Sunday.”

Kyuma tilted his head, one brow lifting. “You’re seriously going to organize notes while tipsy?”

Arisu rolled his eyes. “I’m not that out of it.”

Kyuma grinned, rising with him. “Then I’m coming with you. Just in case you eat pavement or throw up on a traffic sign.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Neither is the guy who headbutted a vending machine outside my gig last month, and he definitely said that sentence too.”

Karube gave an amused snort, while Chōta mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “protect the notebook nerd.” But as Kyuma clapped Arisu on the shoulder and made for the door, something subtle shifted.

Karube and Chōta exchanged a look—brief, but unmistakable. A shared moment of quiet consideration. Kyuma caught it, paused just long enough to frown slightly at them, then shook his head with a small exhale and followed Arisu out into the cool night.

The streets were quiet. Streetlights cast long, golden reflections on the tram rails. Arisu adjusted his bag over his shoulder while Kyuma walked loosely beside him, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

“You sure you’re alright walking?” Kyuma asked after a few beats. “I wasn’t joking back there, you drank more than usual tonight.”

Arisu blinked, surprised. “Did I?”

“Mmhm.” Kyuma’s gaze stayed forward, but his tone was gentler now, almost cautious. “We all noticed. Not in a bad way, just… more than usual.”

There was a silence—light at first, and then longer than either of them probably intended. Arisu didn’t respond. He just walked, head lowered slightly, steps slower.

They reached the tram station a few minutes later. The platform was empty. A soft hum filled the air, distant and low, as if the city itself was catching its breath.

Kyuma leaned against the railing. He didn’t push.

Eventually, Arisu spoke.

“It’s been… a slow week,” he said quietly. “Not bad, just… slow. Heavy, I guess.”

Kyuma looked over, but Arisu wasn’t facing him. He was staring across the tracks.

“My dad’s been on one of his sprees again. Not yelling or anything, just…” He hesitated. “You know how someone can insult you and still call it praise?”

Kyuma hummed softly. “Backhanded compliments?”

“Yeah. That. He’s been doing this thing where he tells people I’m finally getting my life together, but it always sounds like it was supposed to be impossible. Like he didn’t expect it. Like I was some lost cause that’s now, miraculously, fixed.”

His voice didn’t shake. It wasn’t bitter. Just… tired.

“I think I just needed a break from the noise,” he added after a moment. “And being here, with you guys, it helped. I didn’t notice I was drinking more. I wasn’t trying to, really. I was just… having fun.”

Kyuma’s expression softened.

“I feel better now,” Arisu said, finally looking at him. “And it’s not because of the drinks. It’s the company.”

Kyuma gave a quiet smile. “You know we’ve got you, right?”

Arisu nodded. “I know.”

The tram rolled into view, brakes hissing. Arisu stepped forward, hands back in his pockets.

Kyuma gave his shoulder a brief nudge. “Don’t forget to actually organize those notes, professor.”

Arisu smiled, just a little. “I’ll try not to pass out halfway.”

And then the tram doors opened, and he stepped inside.

Kyuma watched until it disappeared down the tracks.

The night, again, was still.

Chapter Text

Chishiya was perched on a low, thick branch of a camphor tree, the kind that shaded half the academic green space in soft, waxy leaves. A patch of dappled sunlight pooled over his back as he lounged, half-curled, the gentle sway of the branch beneath him barely registering. He’d been napping—half-napping, really. The warm afternoon air, mingled with the smell of trimmed grass and dry concrete, had made the spot feel convenient. Elevated. Out of sight.

He didn’t typically waste time out in the open, but a rare window between lectures and lab rotations had left him unoccupied. His usual haunts—a sunbeam in the library stacks or the upper shelves of Kuina’s apartment closet—hadn’t appealed today.

The quad below was alive with slow-moving bodies and half-hearted conversation. A pair of students lingered near a bench, trading half-opened snack bars and talking about some upcoming test. A passing professor looked lost in thought, his tote bag swinging with each distracted step.

Chishiya’s attention wandered—until a familiar mop of messy black hair wandered straight into view.

Arisu.

He didn’t mean to tense, but the shift in posture was instinctive. From relaxed observer to something else. Focused. Curious.

He didn’t move. Just watched.

The boy was walking slowly, reading something on his phone with the faintest crease between his brows, a book bag slung over his shoulder like usual.

The air shifted around Chishiya’s paws.

Something about him seemed different in motion—more sincere, or maybe just less guarded. Chishiya’s tail gave a twitch as he studied the ease in Arisu’s movements, the way he looked down while still avoiding collision, the small private smirk that ghosted across his lips when a reply came through.

‘Who are you texting?’ he wondered, almost absently, feline eyes straining to read the names on the screen just as arisu walked past the branch hanging overhead.He didn’t recognize the names from class. He didn’t know the names at all.

Arisu turned a corner and continued down the cobbled path past the benches and the old greenhouse. A few more steps, and he was gone.

Chishiya exhaled through his nose and flicked his ears once.

He didn’t plan to watch for long. Two minutes, tops.

"Wow,” came a voice from below, “you really do get off on the high ground.”

He turned his head lazily to find a chocolate-brown cat scaling the trunk with practiced ease, her short coat gleaming in the sunlight. She reached the lowest branch without effort, swung herself up, and landed beside him with a solid thump that rattled the leaves.

Kuina stretched luxuriously, then flopped beside him with all the subtlety of a falling bookbag.

She didn’t look at him right away. Just let out a long sigh, toes flexing against the bark. “I thought you said tree-sitting was for emotionally unstable birds.”

“I did,” Chishiya said flatly.

“Then what, you’re doing field research on pigeons now?”

“No,” he replied, gaze drifting lazily toward the clouds, “just enjoying the view.”

She side-eyed him suspiciously, eyes narrowed, then rolled onto her side. “You don’t usually chill in your cat form unless you’re bored or hiding from your mother.”

Chishiya didn’t deny it. He stretched one paw forward, flexing his claws into the bark. “Maybe I just like the breeze.”

Kuina tilted her head. “Huh. I mean, sure—but still, it’s weird seeing you just…” She waved a paw at him, claw retracted “Here.”

Chishiya didn’t respond. He blinked slowly, tail flicking once as he pretended not to acknowledge the direction Arisu had gone. There was no point feeding her assumptions.

Kuina, settled next to him, let out a quiet huff; her short chocolate-brown fur catching the gold of the afternoon sun. For a moment, neither of them spoke. A breeze rustled through the leaves overhead, carrying with it the scent of grass, asphalt, and old paper—some combination of the nearby chem labs and the open lawn below.

Chishiya’s gaze tracked a pair of crows that had begun arguing near the campus dumpsters, but he didn’t really care about them. He just didn’t want to look at Kuina directly. Not yet.

“Anyway,” she said, stretching out with feline languor, “did you hear about dinner?”

His tail twitched again. “Dinner?”

“At your place.” Kuina’s ears angled toward him as she let the words hang. “My mom just called. Said she spoke to yours. Apparently it’s some family thing. I think they want both of us there.”

He blinked at her. “I haven’t gotten any call.”

“You will.” She didn’t say it like a guess—more like a fact. “She said your mom’s supposed to ring you after she gets off a meeting or something.”

Chishiya stared out at the quad in front of them. The light was starting to dim, just slightly. He could see students in the distance chatting as they crossed toward the dorm buildings, the kinds of people who went home for weekends or had social plans without obligation. His ears lay flatter than usual.

Kuina didn’t add anything else. She just sat with him, unusually quiet.

“I suppose I should head back,” he muttered, standing slowly. “If I pretend I missed the call, she’ll just send a car.”

Kuina stood too, tail swishing. “Could be worse. She could show up herself.”

Neither of them laughed, but the silence felt mutual, almost practiced.

Chishiya was about to stretch again when his eyes caught movement across the green. A familiar tall figure exited the chemistry building, black slacks, neat ponytail, unmistakable energy even from this distance.

“Well,” he said, tone turning dry. “Your muse is here.”

Kuina’s head snapped up. “What?”

Chishiya motioned lazily toward the chemistry wing. “Forensic major. Tall. Always smells like citrus shampoo.”

“Oh my god.” Kuina's voice jumped an octave as she hopped up to balance on a higher branch beside him, eyes locked on the figure below. “Shut up.”

He smirked. “Go on, then. Your chance to be a science experiment.”

She swatted his shoulder lightly with a paw. “At least I don’t stalk people from trees.”

“You don’t need to. You follow her around like a stray.”

“Bold of you to talk, Captain Obvious,” Kuina shot back, but there was no heat in it—just renewed energy. Then she straightened, watching as Ann passed below them with her usual unreadable grace. “Right. I’m going.”

Chishiya blinked. “Subtle.”

“Shut up,” Kuina said again, and without another word, she sprang from the branch, landing gracefully in the grass before trotting after Ann with an air of confidence only a shapeshifting cat could manage.

He watched her until she rounded the building.

Chishiya remained still for a beat longer, letting the moment stretch. The air smelled like the promise of rain, the clouds inching heavier in the distance.

Then, with a low sigh, he rolled his shoulders, stretched his front legs out, and jumped lightly from the branch, landing in the brush below.

Time to face the phone call.

With one last glance toward the chemistry wing, he padded off across the grass, tail curling thoughtfully behind him.

Ann liked quiet things. Silent labs, hushed archives, still mornings where the air clung to the edge of fog. That was the appeal of chemistry, really—its rules, its silence, its calm. She could focus, measure, listen to the way glass tapped against metal, let the hum of the centrifuge lull the chaos in her brain into something manageable.

Which was exactly why she stared blankly at the deep chestnut-colored ball of fur nestled inside her messenger bag for a solid ten seconds before saying, flatly:

"Get out."

The cat blinked up at her, serene and without remorse. Then, as if understanding tone but not language, it yawned.

Ann sighed.

"You know I work with chemicals. You can’t just sneak in here."

It was a new habit. One she wasn’t sure she approved of.

The cat had first shown up outside the chemistry building on a drizzly Tuesday, looking far too clean for a stray. Ann had assumed it was waiting for someone. Maybe a dorm cat that belonged to a student in another department. But then it showed up again the next day. And the next. And now—now it was just here.

She hadn’t named it at first. She’d resisted. But it became harder to keep saying the cat when it would appear with such clockwork regularity. And so: Chairo—a reference to the rich brown shade of her coat. It suited her.

Still, familiarity didn’t mean acceptance.

"You can't stay here," Ann repeated, this time quieter. “If the professor finds out I brought a cat into the chem building, they’ll kill me.”

Chairo meowed in response. It was not a sound of protest or apology. It sounded almost like a suggestion.

Ann pinched the bridge of her nose.

This wasn’t normal behavior for a stray. Chairo didn’t act like she was hungry or desperate. She was glossy and well-fed, and had that unnerving composure Ann usually associated with tenured professors. She didn't slink or skitter. She sauntered. Like she knew the place already and had merely been delayed.

That alone made Ann suspicious. She was used to people wanting something from her—praise, approval, information. Chairo never wanted anything. No rubbing against her legs. No pitiful whining for food. Not even the stereotypical purring. She just showed up, sat near Ann for an hour or two, then left without warning.

And yet, she kept coming back.

It was annoying.

It was... kind of nice.

"You have five minutes," Ann muttered, pulling out a pair of latex gloves. "Then I’m kicking you out."

Chairo turned in a slow, almost leisurely circle inside the bag, curled into a tighter ball,and flicked her ears like she'd already claimed the space.

Ann stared at her for a beat, exhaled, then stood. There was a flask to clean. An experiment to review. A dozen things to do before the end of the period. And apparently, a bag to shake cat fur out of before her next lecture.

She turned her back and started prepping the fume hood, but she could feel the cat’s gaze lingering on her. Not intense, not unsettling—just present. Like she was being observed by something far too perceptive for its own good.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Chairo still curled up in her bag, tail tucked neatly over her nose. Fast asleep. Or pretending to be.

This was absurd. She was in the middle of running samples for her independent project. There were chores waiting for her back home. She did not have time to babysit a cat that thought rules didn’t apply to her.

But still, Ann didn’t move her.

Instead, she adjusted the dial on the hot plate beneath her flask and quietly set her bag on the nearby windowsill, just far enough from any active workspace. Chairo didn’t stir. Maybe she trusted her. Maybe she just didn’t care. Either way, Ann found herself lowering the volume of her movements out of instinct, unwilling to disturb the tiny sleeping presence now curled up in the sun.

Five minutes.

She told herself it was just five minutes.

But she already knew she wouldn’t be kicking her out. Not this time. Maybe not the next, either.

Ann didn’t like unexpected things. She didn’t like unpredictability or disruption or the kinds of people who couldn’t stick to a plan. But Chairo, despite being all of those things, didn’t make her feel off-balance.

If anything… She made the lab feel quieter.

Not emptier. Just quieter. Softer.

Ann caught herself smiling faintly and wiped it off her face like it had been a mistake.

"You're not even supposed to be here," she muttered under her breath.

Chairo’s only reply was the faintest twitch of one ear, as if in agreement. Or amusement. Ann wasn’t sure which.

The moment the call ended, he didn't move.

Chishiya’s phone, still unlocked and cradled in his palm, rested like dead weight against his thigh. The screen dimmed. He let it. Let the silence of the room settle, thick and undisturbed. Only the dull hum of the fridge by the kitchenette filled the air, soft and mechanical, like a breath that never fully left.

The call had lasted two minutes. Exactly.

Dinner, 7pm. Business casual. Don’t be late.

No mention of how he was. No curiosity about what he’d been doing. No warmth, no familiarity—just logistics delivered in clipped tones and artificial politeness, like she was talking to a colleague she barely tolerated.

Chishiya set the phone aside, letting it thud softly against the mattress. His dorm room was dimly lit, one small lamp casting shadows along the far wall. Outside, dusk had started bleeding in through the half-drawn curtains, casting the sky in bruised indigo. The desk remained cluttered—papers, books, a few sealed vitamin pouches.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to stand and walked over to the wardrobe.

He wasn’t sure why he was bothering.

He slid open the door and stared. Rows of carefully folded shirts, neutral tones and fine fabrics. Nothing out of place. Nothing too bold. Clothes that made him look professional, competent, clean. Clothes that made him look like he belonged in their world.

He reached for a white button-up, paused, and shifted instead to a steel grey one. White was too sharp. Too formal. Tonight wasn’t worth the effort.

The silence pressed down heavier now.

There had been a time—years ago—when he might have looked forward to these dinners. Not for the company, but for the hope. A faint, desperate part of him used to believe that maybe, if he showed up sharp enough, sat still enough, behaved well enough, someone might see him. Not the carefully molded son of prestige, but the child beneath all that—quiet, curious, waiting.

He stopped hoping a long time ago.

His father had always been a distant figure. Present in theory but absent in every way that mattered. Chishiya’s earliest memories of him were just... the back of his head. Broad shoulders hunched over a desk. A faint scent of aftershave and paper. A man always turned away. A man who lived in a world where numbers and surgeries and patient charts mattered far more than a son he barely remembered fathering.

And yet, he still tried.

Not with affection. Never with affection. But with gifts. Expensive toys. A telescope Chishiya never asked for. A signed copy of a textbook written by some world-renowned cardiologist. A remote-controlled car that arrived two months after his birthday.

As if money could fill in the outline of a relationship he’d never been interested in coloring.

At some point, Chishiya stopped unwrapping the gifts. Left them stacked in the corner of his childhood room like unopened apologies.

His mother wasn’t much better.

She’d been the cat-shifter in their bloodline, born into a prestigious family with expectations heavy enough to collapse anyone less stubborn. Daughter of a CEO. Heir to a medical empire. Brilliant, beautiful, naive. She fell for Chishiya’s father like it was a storybook, convinced that marrying him was fate, a perfect union of intellect and tradition.

It didn’t take long for reality to set in.

By the time she realized her husband didn’t love her—had possibly never loved her—Chishiya was already there. Already real. A consequence of a fantasy she clung to for too long.

She changed after that.

Her smiles faded. Her voice became clipped, distant. And when he was old enough to walk without falling, she returned to work. Otolaryngology. Long shifts. Clinical precision. Hushed conversations on the phone that stopped the moment he entered a room.

He was raised by nannies and silence.

And wealth. So much wealth that the world thought he was lucky. Private tutors. Luxurious vacations he took alone. A childhood steeped in prestige so meticulously curated that no one ever asked if he was okay.

They just assumed he was.

Chishiya hung the grey shirt on a hanger hook and moved to his desk. His hands felt cold. He sat, letting the edge of the wooden surface dig into his forearms, and looked at the mess. Scattered diagrams. A half-finished research paper. A photo—one he didn’t remember taking—of a cityscape at night, pinned to the wall beside his desk lamp.

It felt... empty.

No. Not empty. Hollow.

Like a room meant to mimic a life.

He leaned back, rubbed his temples, and considered not going at all.

They wouldn’t miss him.

His mother had likely only called out of obligation. Probably remembered the dinner ten minutes before dialing. She always remembered things like that—dates, appointments, appearances. Not his favorite food. Not his first fever. But dates? Always.

Still, skipping wasn’t an option.

They’d notice his absence, and then the passive-aggressive consequences would roll in. Frozen accounts. A call from her assistant instead of her directly. The usual.

He closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and let the silence stretch.

Maybe this was why he felt nothing most of the time. Why even the most jarring things barely scratched the surface. He’d been conditioned for detachment. Raised by indifference. Surrounded by expectations so sharp they cut off every soft part of him before it had a chance to grow.

This dinner wouldn’t be different.

It never was.

A meeting of glassy smiles and hollow pleasantries. Corporate updates disguised as family conversation. His mother sitting at the head of the table like a queen draped in silk. His father likely two hours late, slipping into his seat with a perfunctory nod and a “How’s university?” that required nothing more than a one-word answer.

Chishiya pushed himself up again and stripped off his hoodie. The shirt would wrinkle if he didn’t get moving.

He glanced at the window. The sun was nearly gone now, streaks of deep orange fading behind the skyline. Night was settling in.

And so was he.

Just another night, another dinner, another silent war in silk and gold.

He wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

He never did.

The warmth of Ann’s bag had lulled her to sleep without permission.

Kuina’s eyes fluttered open to a dusky hue spilling through the window, the horizon just beginning to wear its evening coat. The lab was tinted in gold and grey, machines humming softly as they wound down with the day. She stretched on instinct, paws reaching forward and spine arching high before she blinked around, adjusting to the dimming light.

How long had she dozed off?

Carefully, she poked her head out of the tote bag she’d curled up in. Still in the lab. Still on the windowsill. The room had thinned out—no noisy students, no scuffling footsteps. Probably ten minutes until class officially ended. Only one person remained.

Ann.

Of course.

She was seated at her usual spot, hunched slightly over the lab bench with a gloved hand adjusting the microscope knob. Her dark ponytail had slipped a bit loose. Focused. Calm. Beautiful in that calm way that made Kuina’s heart feel like it had wrapped itself in rose petals and self-combusted.

Kuina blinked, then let out a soft meow.

Ann’s head turned.

They met eyes for a beat—brief, but warm.

“Heading out?” Ann asked, her voice low and soft, amused.

Kuina, smug, leapt gracefully from the bag to the ground and padded a few steps forward, pausing at the door with her tail flicking once behind her. She glanced back, just long enough to catch the twitch of a smile on Ann’s face before the woman returned to her microscope.

Message received.

Kuina strolled down the hallway, ears perked, chest puffed. Her heart was a runaway drumbeat, loud and wild beneath fur. Every step away from the lab felt like walking on clouds that threatened to collapse under the weight of her giddiness.

God, she was so in love it made her ridiculous.

Outside, the campus had begun to exhale. Students exited buildings in clusters, talking over one another, backpacks slung lazily over shoulders. Streetlamps were flickering to life, and the shadows stretched long beneath them. Kuina ducked away from the flow of students and made her way past the main gate—steel bars half-swinging open—then down a narrower alleyway she often used to slip out unnoticed.

Once she crossed under the arch of ivy growing wild above the fence, the world changed.

Softer emotions peeled away, the buzz in her chest fading into a quieter kind of awareness. Her pace slowed, ears twitching with the quiet hush of traffic, the muted thump of music in the distance. She shook herself out once and began the walk to her own campus—familiar streets underpaw, the air cooling with each passing minute.

By the time she reached her dorm building, the sky had deepened into a full blue dusk.

She slinked into a quiet corner behind a shrub, looked both ways, and shifted.

The fur melted away, limbs stretched, bones rearranged themselves with a fluid ripple beneath her skin. In seconds, Kuina stood barefoot in the shadow of the dorm, skin warm from the shift. Her shorts and tank top clung faithfully to her, threads woven the same way they always had been in her family—designed to follow the body, no matter its shape. A trick so old it was practically instinct now, though outsiders would probably call it magic.

She bent, picking up the plastic bag she’d stashed earlier. It held only her keycard and flip-flops—nothing enchanted there, just the everyday things that couldn’t shift with her.

Her room was on the main floor, no windows other than the one bolted shut. A plain studio dorm with too many workout mats and not enough textbooks lying around. She tossed her hoodie on the bed and went straight for the closet.

Dinner. She needed to look good—not that Chishiya would notice, that unfeeling cat bastard—but because she had standards.

After a moment’s deliberation, she pulled out a fitted navy shirt and dark trousers. Casual, but flattering. Not too formal. The shirt had faint gold thread along the cuffs—her mother’s gift. She hesitated, brushing her thumb over the thread.

Her smile faltered.

Chishiya had it bad with his parents. Kuina knew that. She’d heard enough to understand just how cold that house must’ve been. Her situation wasn’t the same.

But that didn’t mean it had been easy.

Her father was the shifter in their family—head instructor of several martial arts schools across the prefecture. A powerful man, strict and unwavering. From the moment she could walk, he’d expected her to follow in his footsteps. Discipline. Endurance. Strength.

Before her transition, she’d been his son.

His heir.

And for years, that shadow clung to her skin like a brand.

She’d rehearsed the conversation with them a hundred times. A thousand. Planned every detail of how she’d come out, how she’d explain it, how she’d defend herself. She’d fully believed he’d disown her. Kill her, on a dramatic day. It wouldn’t have shocked her.

But when she told them, he’d only looked at her.

Disappointment. Not rage. Not hatred. Just that hollow, wordless silence that said everything.

She knew that look. Still remembered the chill of it.

But he hadn’t left. Hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t exiled her from the family. And Kuina knew—deep down—that it had been her mother who kept that door open.

Her mother, with her soft voice and sharper instincts. The one who had always seen Kuina, truly seen her, before Kuina could put words to it herself. It was her mother who started using the right name without hesitation. Who made her father sit down and listen, no matter how much he’d resisted.

And somehow, slowly, it worked.

Their relationship now was far from perfect. Still awkward. Still tense. But her father introduced her as his daughter now. Not every time. But often enough that it mattered. That it meant something.

Kuina let out a slow breath and tugged the shirt on.

Her mother had taught her love through constancy. Her father had taught her fear, then effort. Both had shaped her, scarred her, strengthened her. But it was that lingering affection between them—the late-night whispers down the hallway, the way her father softened around her mother—that had convinced Kuina love was real. Tangible.

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t turned out like Chishiya.

She’d grown up with proof that love could exist. Could endure.

Even if it was messy.

Even if it was slow.

Kuina fastened her earrings and checked her reflection once more.

She was going to dinner. She looked great. She’d tease Chishiya. Maybe flirt with Ann afterward. And she’d keep chasing that feeling, the one that made her feel alive.

After all, she wasn’t afraid of love.

She was born into it.

Chapter Text

The library was quieter than usual for a Monday afternoon. A few students had claimed the far tables, heads buried in books, the soft clack of keyboards and hushed whispers the only sounds drifting between the shelves.

At one of the tables near the window, Arisu leaned back slightly in his chair, watching Hina skim through his notes. She frowned in concentration, her brows knit as she mouthed parts of a paragraph under her breath.

He waited until she looked up before speaking. “You’re not dumb, you know.”

Hina blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You know the material,” Arisu said, his voice calm but steady. “You’re just panicking during the tests. That’s what’s messing you up.”

She stared at him for a second too long before laughing under her breath, almost embarrassed. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little,” he admitted, giving her a small smile. “You knew all the answers when we went through them today. You just need to work on handling the pressure.”

Hina glanced down at her notebook. Her fingers tugged at the corner of the page, fidgeting. “I always blank out when I see the paper. Like my brain just decides to shut down.”

Arisu nodded, remembering the feeling all too well. “Been there. Happens more than people admit. But once you know what’s happening, you can start pushing back against it.”

There was a pause before she looked up again, her expression soft. “Thanks… for not making me feel stupid about it.”

He shook his head. “You’re not. And honestly, it’s a good thing you reached out. Most people wait too long.”

She hesitated, then smiled. “Well, I still owe you for the notes. And for not letting me spiral last week.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Arisu replied, standing and stretching his arms above his head. “Just keep going. You’ll get better at it.”

Hina packed her things slowly, tucking his notes carefully into her folder. “I’ll be careful with these. I promise.”

“Take your time with them,” Arisu said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Let me know if you want to review again before the midterm.”

“Definitely,” she said. “Thank you, Arisu-san.”

The honorific made him pause for a second, but he only chuckled as he waved goodbye.

As he stepped out of the library, the late-afternoon sun hit his face, filtered through the clouds in strips of hazy gold. He was glad he’d stayed on top of his work last week—even if it had nearly slipped through the cracks after that night at the bar. He hadn’t expected his notes to be useful so soon, but it felt good. Like something that had once been a burden was finally worth something.

He adjusted his bag and started down the steps,  thinking about what else he needed to get done before the week got ahead of him.

But before he could even manage his way down onto solid floor he noticed a girl, suspiciously unfamiliar, dressed in a dark windbreaker with the hood shoved halfway off their head, crouched in front of a vending machine.
Not in the casual, “Hmm, what do I want?” kind of way. No, she was squinting at the keypad like it had insulted her entire lineage. 

He tried not to stare—really, he did—but something about the way she muttered “You have one job” at a pack of protein bars was oddly compelling.

She didn't look like a student. Or at least, not from this campus.

And then, suddenly, she turned to look at him. Almost as if she’d been aware of his presence all along – just chose to not pay it any mind.

“You got change?” she said bluntly.

Arisu blinked. “Uh… what?”

“I said—” she stood up, brushing nonexistent dust off her windbreaker, “—do you have change? This thing ate my coins.”

He fumbled in his pocket, still caught off guard. “I think I have a hundred yen…”

“Perfect.” She accepted the coin without hesitation and punched in the code again. This time, the bar dropped with a thud.

“Victory,” she said, tearing the wrapper with her teeth. “Thanks.”

“No problem…” He hesitated, before adding. “Do you go here?”

Kuina raised a brow mid-chew. “Do I look like I go here?”

“I mean, maybe?”

She snorted. “I’m visiting. Just passing through.”

“Oh.” That made sense. There was something about her that didn’t quite match the vibe of the student body—too self-assured, maybe.

There was a pause, and then she asked, “You a psych major or something?”

Now he looked genuinely surprised. “How’d you guess?”

“Vibe,” she said with a little shrug. “You’ve got that ‘reads too many books and forgets to eat lunch’ look.”

That startled a laugh out of him.

“Am I wrong?”

“I… plead the fifth.”

Kuina grinned, apparently satisfied with herself. “Thought so.”

She tossed the empty wrapper neatly into the bin and stepped back. “Well, thanks for the change. Try not to psychoanalyze any vending machines on your way home.”

And just like that, she turned and walked off toward the west side of campus, hands shoved deep into her pockets and posture slack, as if she hadn’t just completely derailed his afternoon.

…What the hell just happened?

Arisu stood there for a second longer, blinking at the spot where she had disappeared.

Weird girl.

Still, the unexpected exchange left him more awake than the two cups of coffee he'd downed  that morning. He gave himself a small shake and continued toward the cafeteria, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. The air smelled faintly of pine and cigarette smoke—someone must’ve been sneaking a smoke by the side building again.

It wasn’t that he often talked to strangers.Most days, his schedule followed a painfully predictable loop: class, readings, maybe a stop by the library, and then home.Even his recent study sessions with Hina, a fellow first-year he’d met the week prior, felt like an anomaly—one that, to his surprise, he didn’t mind. She was quiet, focused, and asked thoughtful questions. He appreciated that. It reminded him of Chōta, in a weird way—less the content, more the sincerity.

He entered the cafeteria, immediately greeted by the usual din of late lunchers. A few students nodded at him in passing; one waved absently from a corner booth. He responded politely, weaving through the line, picking up a tray with practiced ease.His mind wandered to the notes he’d lent Hina, wondering if they were helping. She’d been trying hard. Really hard. And it wasn’t that she didn’t understand the material—it was the pressure. The way it crept in and hijacked her confidence during tests.

He understood that all too well.

Arisu ate quickly, flipping through his planner in between bites of curry and rice. After lunch came his lab work—group research for behavioral neuroscience, which meant a full hour of herding scatterbrained upperclassmen toward one collective goal. Their team lead, a second-year named Okabe, was brilliant but had the attention span of a moth near a light source and the rest relied on Arisu’s organization more than they probably realized. He'd probably end up doing most of the data sorting again.

Sure enough, by the time Arisu got to the psych building’s lower floor, Okabe was already in a heated debate with another classmate over correlation graphs while a third person stared blankly at their laptop

.Arisu dropped his bag into a seat and got to work. Within minutes, the room around him faded into background noise. For all his second-guessing, he was good at this— at recognizing patterns, tracking behavior, making sense of tangled data. He tried to remember if Hina had said her next quiz was Wednesday or Thursday. Either way, he’d follow up.

When the lab finally wrapped, his head was buzzing but the slides were mostly done.

Outside, the late afternoon sunlight was starting to slant, painting the sidewalk gold. He lingered by the entrance for a moment, pulling out his phone and staring at it without unlocking the screen.

No new messages.

Karube and Chōta were probably swamped—Karube with another bar shift, Chōta with thesis deadlines. Arisu wasn’t sure if he felt more lonely or proud, nonetheless he started walking.

Around him, students milled about—some laughing loudly, others holding iced coffees or balancing portfolios under their arms. It was the kind of everyday noise that usually settled into the background, but today it felt sharper, clearer.

Maybe it was the caffeine. Maybe it was the girl by the vending machine, throwing off the rhythm of his day. Or maybe it was just one of those weeks.

He adjusted his bag and turned the corner, taking the longer path just to get some air, to think—about Hina. It felt good helping someone. Not in a smug way. Just… useful. She’d looked more relaxed in their session today. Smiled more. Said thank you twice before packing up.

He came to the conclusion that he liked seeing people feel less alone.

By the time he reached the campus green space, most of the benches were empty. A few people were sprawled out with textbooks. One couple was quietly arguing over a shared blanket. And then, out of the corner of his eye– 

A coffee-colored cat.

It weaved through the bushes like it owned the place, tail high, movements unbothered and graceful.

Arisu paused.

Something about it tugged at his memory. He didn’t know why. Just the way it moved—like it had somewhere better to be but chose to be here anyway.

He watched it disappear between hedges.

He kept walking.

Evening classes would start soon, and he still had two chapters to annotate before the next psych lecture. He made a mental note to stop by the library on his way home to return the backup textbook he’d borrowed for Hina. She’d messaged earlier to say the study session had helped, and she was feeling more confident about the quiz tomorrow.

That made him smile.

Maybe, just maybe, today wasn’t so off-center after all.

The rustle of spring leaves had long turned familiar.

By now, Chishiya could predict the rhythms of campus life like clockwork: the tides of students between lectures, the lazy drift of underclassmen after midterm season, the clean rotation of club schedules and late cram sessions. 

Somewhere between the first and second week, Arisu’s daily patterns had slotted into that rhythm, too.

He’d lost track of the days since he started watching the brunette—long enough for the trees to start shedding their leaves.

He’d been observing from a distance. Never too close.

Some mornings, he’d perch in the high branches of the campus zelkova trees, where the early light cast dappled shadows across the stone walkways. Other times, it was under benches, silent and unmoving except for the occasional flick of a tail. Once or twice, he’d taken human form, sitting cross-legged by a window in an unused upper-floor classroom, watching Arisu talk to classmates on the lawn below.

Never close enough to be seen. Just close enough to watch.

So far, nothing had broken the illusion. No snapping at classmates. No behind-the-back whispers. No arrogant smiles when someone praised him.

It bored him.

Kuina had caught on faster than he expected. The first time she found him lounging near the east lecture wing, she hadn’t even said hello—just rolled her eyes and sprawled across his tail like it was a mat. Since then, she'd taken it upon herself to “keep him company” during his so-called fieldwork. Which mostly meant ruining his view, swatting at flies too loudly, or draping herself dramatically over his back like a weighted throw pillow.

Chishiya had quickly found a foolproof solution: mention Ann. One casual “Isn’t that your muse?” and Kuina would vanish like mist, her ears twitching, tail high, an exaggerated huff trailing behind.

Not that he disliked her company. He’d never admit it out loud, of course,but  Kuina had been one of the only constants in his life since they were kids. A fellow shifter, someone who understood the pressure, the isolation, the burden of tradition. She’d  been there when things were at their worst—back when wearing his own skin had felt like punishment, when the silence of his family had weighed heavier than bone. She was irritating, loud, impossible to ignore… and she’d kept him from collapsing in on himself. Annoying as she was, she’d carved space for laughter back into his life. She’d stayed human when he stopped caring to.

Even so, Kuina didn’t have to know everything.

And she definitely didn’t need to know how Arisu had already slipped into his days like a habit he couldn’t shake.

The psych major wasn’t fascinating in the way most people would assume. There was nothing revolutionary about kindness. Or sincerity. Or the way Arisu bent slightly when he laughed, too open and guileless for his own good. It wasn’t any one moment that had caught Chishiya’s eye—it was the accumulation. The consistency.

The brunette was nothing if not absurdly consistent. The observation was leading nowhere.

And Chishiya didn’t like wasting brain space on the inconclusive.

He stood on the edge of the science building roof and stretched, long and unhurried. The sun was warm against his fur, and for a moment, he simply stood there, letting the breeze pass over him. But the itch beneath his ribs didn’t settle. If Arisu was going to keep weaving through life with that same gentle expression, then Chishiya would simply have to rip the mask off himself. One way or another.

 He could see them clearly from here—Arisu and the girl he’d comforted that day in the lecture hall. The one with tear-streaked cheeks and a wrinkled worksheet clenched in her fist. She looked better now. More relaxed. Her hands moved when she spoke, like someone explaining a story.

A prick of irritation pierced the calm he’d wrapped himself in, He told himself it was just unfamiliarity with vulnerability

Seemed he’d followed up on that offer to help. Of course he had.

He leapt to the next rooftop, and then down, silent and practiced. Between fire escapes and brick ledges, chishiya dropped from a ledge and landed soundlessly in the gravel between shrubs. A few quick paces later, he was weaving between bushes and stepping out onto the path, smooth and silent, until he was just close enough to be noticed.

He didn’t approach directly.

Instead, he sat on his hind legs just within peripheral vision, tail neatly curled to the side, ears perked with feigned disinterest.

Arisu noticed him first.

He blinked. Then blinked again.

There was a pause—recognition dawning behind his eyes, a flicker of disbelief quickly replaced with something oddly gentle. The girl—Hina, if Chishiya had overheard correctly— looked confused but not alarmed. Arisu said something too low to catch, even for his feline ears, then gestured.

Chishiya didn’t move.

The reaction wasn’t disappointing, but it wasn’t interesting either. Arisu leaned slightly forward, his expression shifting—softening in a way Chishiya didn’t quite expect. His hand hovered, hesitant but hopeful. An invitation.

—and, just this once, he pretended to be a normal cat.

With carefully feigned feline interest, he leaned forward and sniffed the boy’s fingers. It was easy. Expected. A behavior that blended him into the background of Arisu’s life. That’s what this was, after all. An experiment. An act.

He let Arisu pet him, just once. A quick, gentle touch behind the ear, followed by a quiet laugh and a muttered “You again, huh?”

Chishiya sat, tail curling neatly around his paws and just watched while remaining perfectly still, the picture of feline detachment.

Arisu chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Again?” the girl asked, brows lifting.

Arisu glanced at her, a little sheepish. “Yeah, he showed up a few days ago. I tripped over him outside the psych building. Wouldn't approach me for a while so I thought he held grudges” Chishiya twitched his whiskers in amusement.

He didn’t. But maybe he should.

The girl tilted her head. “Is it a he?”

They both leaned a little closer. Arisu blinked. “I… have no idea.”

“I used to have cats,” the girl said. “Yours looks kind of stockier than mine were, and they were both female. So, maybe?”

“Male it is,” Arisu declared with a shrug. “He doesn't seem to mind.”

Chishiya did not, in fact, mind.

Arisu stared at him for a moment, perhaps contemplating something, before his voice dropped to a hush as if genuinely worried. “You good?” he asked under his breath, like the cat might respond. “No limping, no glare. That’s progress.”

“He’s weirdly calm,” the girl said, still watching him.

“He is, isn't he?” Arisu replied absently, as if this were already a common thing.

Chishiya considered them both. There was a faint trace of something on the girl—anxiety, maybe, still clinging to her shoulders like mist. But Arisu was calm. Warm. Focused. No trace of performance in his tone, no forced smile when he offered her a water bottle a minute later. Just... sincere.

It was beginning to feel less like an act and more like a flaw.

Arisu turned to Chishiya again. “You following me, or is this just a weird coincidence?”

Chishiya tilted his head but didn’t respond.

The brunette laughed, quiet and embarrassed. “Right. Cats don’t talk. You’d probably have a lot to say though.”

He turned back to Hina, and resumed the discussion about neurotransmitter pathways. Something about panic responses and exam stress.

Chishiya sat there a while longer, listening. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink more than necessary. Just listened. Watched.

Arisu passed her one of his notes, annotated with doodles and arrows. She brightened, thanked him. He waved her off.

Still no cracks.

Chishiya rose with little fanfare. Quietly, efficiently. One step back, then another, until he melted into the shadows behind the hedge. The leaves rustled gently behind him.

The day’s experiment was over.

Results: inconclusive.

Conclusion: further testing required.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time Arisu had seen the strange, ombre-furred cat since he tripped over it weeks ago. If anything, the frequency of its appearances had only increased.

At first, he thought it was a coincidence. A cat that happened to hang around campus grounds and, by some twist of fate, just happened to cross paths with him more than once. But now… Now it was starting to feel intentional.

The pattern began forming slowly, subtly.

Once, outside the student union, when he was sipping vending machine coffee and reviewing flashcards between classes. He’d felt a weightless sort of presence, looked up—and there it was. Sitting atop the low brick ledge, its tail curled neatly around its paws, watching him.

Another time, near the library entrance. It had been tucked in the shadow of a bench, only its pale golden head visible, those dark-tipped ears twitching faintly whenever Arisu’s steps crunched over fallen leaves.

And again, behind the science building. Arisu had been leaving after helping Hina with some prep work for her upcoming quiz when the cat had come sauntering around the corner—slow, casual, like it just happened to be in the area.

It never lingered long, always keeping a safe distance. It never meowed or rubbed against his legs like the other strays sometimes did. It just… existed. Loitered. With that unbothered air of something waiting to be noticed, but not needing to be.

Arisu started recognizing it by the odd coloring of its coat—blondish in hue, but with rich brown roots that gave the fur a two-toned effect. Almost like someone had tried to dye it and gave up halfway through. The more he noticed it, the more the pattern embedded itself into his memory. That particular gradient of fur didn’t seem natural, and yet it fit the cat too well to be anything else.

He’d tried feeding it once. Just a bit of rice cracker from his lunch. It sniffed, blinked, and then turned away without even pretending to be interested.

“It’s not like I poisoned it,” he’d muttered to himself.

He tried again another day. Tuna sandwich. No dice.

Arisu had never owned a pet, but this wasn’t how cats were supposed to behave, was it? Weren’t they supposed to be affectionate? Or at least demand to be fed? This one didn’t seem to want anything from him. It didn’t even seem to like him particularly.

So why did it keep showing up?

Why him?

And yet… Arisu didn’t mind it. He’d never admit it aloud, but the silent presence had become something like a strange comfort. Predictable in its unpredictability. It didn’t judge. Didn’t expect anything. Just watched him like a quiet observer in the background of his life.

Maybe it liked his presence. Or maybe it was using him as a landmark, a moving post. Either way, it was odd. Odd, but not unwelcome.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that.

The heat had lessened with the fall of the afternoon sun, casting soft gold across the concrete as Arisu lingered near the steel university gates, his bag slung over one shoulder and a familiar warmth buzzing from idle conversation.

“…So she just launched the coffee?” he said, half in disbelief.

“Right onto her head,” Hina confirmed, grinning. “Didn’t even hesitate. Splash radius and everything. I didn’t see it myself—obviously—but I heard it. She was so loud, I think even the engineering students came out to see what was happening.”

 “Wait, back track—she poured the coffee on her best friend?”

“Ex-best friend,” she corrected. “Now former lab partner too, I think. Everyone’s been talking about how brutal it was. The tank top was white, like bleach white, so it didn't stand a chance—and the coffee wasn’t even iced. Hot and fully sugared.”

“She walked into class like that?” Arisu asked, bewildered.

“No, no—she stormed in,” Hina clarified, practically bouncing on her feet. “Didn’t even look at the professor. Just walked straight to the girl, screamed, ‘Hope your lies were worth it!’ and bam—the entire drink right over her head.”

Arisu winced. "Ouch"

“She didn’t even flinch,” Hina continued. “The girl with the coffee all over her, I mean. She just sat there. And then the screamer—Midori, I think—called her a snake, a traitor, something about three years of friendship down the drain. She had to be dragged out screaming by like, four of her friends.”

One of Arisu's hands unconciously fastened across his chest, his brow furrowing.

“She’s the main character now,” Hina said, solemn.

He huffed a short laugh through his nose.  “And the boyfriend?”

“Probably dead by now,” she said flatly, and Arisu had to bite his tongue to not snort.

He shifted on his feet slightly, glancing down the length of the pathway that ran along the tall steel university fence. The shadows were longer now, and the sounds of the city hummed distantly—cars rumbling, the occasional sharp bark of a dog, the low buzz of distant voices.

And then, as if summoned by some trick of the wind, a blur of motion crossed the corner of his vision.

Arisu turned his head sharply—just in time to catch it.

A flash of white and a dash of brown—familiar, too familiar— bolting from the far side of the commercial road opposite the university. It darted between two parked bikes, skidding across the pavement. Behind it: a larger black shape bounding in determined pursuit.

His breath caught. “Wait—what the…”

The ombre-colored cat.

Even at this distance, Arisu recognized that unmistakable gait, the way its tail arched mid-air in perfect balance as it sprinted across the asphalt. But this time, the movement was deliberate, purposeful— not panicked, not casual, not curious like the times he'd seen it lounging near benches or tailing him from a distance. 

Behind it, a dog—big, lean, sharp-muzzled—its bark piercing the air as it gave chase, mouth snapping inches from the feline’s heels.

Arisu’s heart thudded.

Hina followed his gaze. “What is that—?”

“It’s the cat—” he muttered. And before either of them could process the rest, the ombre streak darted across the open street, narrowly missing a passing motorcycle, and reached the sidewalk just ahead of the university.

Arisu’s eyes widened as the cat, in a final burst of energy, sprang for the tall steel fence.

“No—wait—!”

Its paws hit the bars with the precision of experience, but the effort to scale the vertical metal spikes left little room for grace. Arisu saw it happen in almost slow motion: the animal’s hind legs scrabbled, slipping, and the right thigh caught on one of the sharpened anti-climb spikes, flesh giving way with a sickening finality.. Its body lurched and twisted, and then it froze, barely clinging to the top rail.

It went silent– eerily still.

The dog below snarled and leapt up, barking viciously as it tried to snap at the tail swinging just out of reach. Its growls were guttural and angry, each jump growing more erratic.

The cat remained perfectly still, hanging from the wound like it had trained itself not to flinch. Every instinct in Arisu screamed.

He took off down the walkway. “Stay here,” he shouted to Hina over his shoulder.

A few dozen meters ahead stood a squat cabin to the right of the gate—a small structure with tinted windows and a crooked “SECURITY” sign taped to the glass. Arisu rushed up and banged on it twice with the side of his fist. The security officer inside, an older man in his late fifties with a sun-worn cap, looked up from a half-finished crossword puzzle..

“There’s a dog out front attacking a cat—it’s—” Arisu said breathlessly, his words tripping over each other as he pointed outside. “It’s right in front of the fence–The cat got stuck on one of the spikes!”

The guard didn’t even shift in his worn out leather seat, just gave an unimpressed blink before rasping out. “So?”

Arisu blinked, his brain going blank at the uninterested tone,  scrambling to think of something that would make the man care.

“It’s on university property. You’ve got students walking in and out every few minutes. If someone tries to help and that dog lashes out—”

That made the man pause. He let out an annoyed sigh, shoved his chair back, and grabbed a black baton from under the desk.

“Damn strays,” he muttered. “Fine, where is it?”

“Right outside the north gate,” Arisu said quickly, already stepping back.

He didn’t wait for the older man. He turned and sprinted back toward the entrance, where Hina stood by the fence with her hands half-raised in horror.

“It’s still there—” she breathed. “It hasn’t moved.”

“I know,” Arisu said, already moving again.

The dog was still barking furiously, though it had backed off slightly. It seemed to notice the approaching footsteps and flicked its ears toward the movement—just in time for the guard to yell and smack the baton against the ground.

“Get outta here!” he barked.

The dog flinched but didn't immediately back off, instead it bore a deep growl; likely weighing its choices between fleeing or taking on the larger figure of the guard. 

It was tense for a moment before it slowly took a step back, the action dripping of a hurt ego, and it darted off, tail held high to maintain a semblance of its self-respect

Arisu exhaled shakily. Then his attention turned fully to the bleeding cat, still impaled and motionless, legs dangling awkwardly from the fence top.

“Shit,” he whispered. “I think it’s stuck.”

“Should we get someone?” Hina asked.

“I don’t think we have time. If we don’t help, it might try to pull itself free and tear the leg worse.”

He stepped forward slowly, reaching for the fence.

Above them, the ombre cat blinked—just once—and Arisu felt something twist deep in his chest.

The alley across the wide commercial road from the university was narrow, barely lit, and reeked faintly of exhaust fumes. Tucked between a grimy hardware store and a crumbling apartment block with too many wires dangling from its side. It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked. Hidden enough. Forgotten enough.

Chishiya adjusted his bag on one shoulder, cracked his neck, and crouched low behind a rust-stained trash bin. The shift was smooth, practiced. Within seconds, the sharp corners of his body dissolved into something smaller, sleeker—his vision dropped, colors shifted subtly, and fur rippled over skin like the drawing of a curtain. Feline paws met concrete.

He gave himself a shake, and with a low flick of his tail, Chishiya pranced out of the alley, eyes already locking on his target: the mop-headed boy on the far end of the campus fence, chatting beside the girl with long bangs and a bright green notepad in hand.

Hina.

He’d grown used to her being a constant in his observations. General sciences major. Nervous in classrooms but sharp underneath it. She and arisu had made fast friends after that lecture hall incident. They made an interesting pair for sure; a self-proclaimed deity and an academic deer in the headlights.

Arisu had a tendency to linger near that gate after classes. Sometimes it was to talk with classmates, sometimes to scroll through his phone with absent-minded intensity. Chishiya had been tracking those routines for weeks now—casually, of course. But despite the increasingly detailed mental catalogue of Arisu’s habits, there were still no results worth noting. Nothing had cracked yet.

So, a moment earlier, when slipping past the horde of students loitering about the steel gates, he had caught their voices–gossiping—loud enough for fragments to reach his ears. He’d found the situation too favorable to pass up on.

Something about betrayal. Coffee dumped on someone. A tank top ruined. Friends turned enemies.

This might be it, he’d thought. The moment Arisu’s mask slipped—because surely, surely, no one could listen to stories like that and not indulge just a little. Just a snide comment. Just one judgmental remark, and he’d have the proof he needed to conclude his verdict.

His gait was fluid. Calculated. He stayed close to the storefronts, weaving between a bike rack and a discarded soda can, head slightly down and tail curling upward in a casual arc, but every sense was trained on the two figures by the gate.

He didn’t bother listening now. He’d gotten what he needed—-the right setup. Now it was just a matter of observation.

He didn’t want to get too close—if Arisu was even a quarter as observant as he seemed, he’d start to notice something off about the cat that stared too long and sat too still.

Chishiya kept his distance, stopping near the edge of the footpath directly across from the pair, close enough to be seen, but not so close as to seem unnatural. He sat back on his hind legs and tilted his head, pretending to look at a rustling tree rather than the boy he’d been following for weeks.

He couldn’t hear much over the low city noise and the dull thrum of his own thoughts, so it felt like whiplash when he caught it.

A snarl—wet and guttural and far too close.

Before his feline brain could fully register the sound, the blur of black muscle and glinting teeth had pounced.

Oh, come on.

Chishiya launched into motion, leaping sideways just in time to avoid the snapping jaws. His pulse stayed steady, movements clean. He cursed his luck in his head, not for the first time. ‘This is why I don’t shift outside. Should’ve just watched from the windows. Like usual.’

He tore down the path, weaving between a garbage bin and a fence post, the dog thundering behind him. A few startled pedestrians shouted and scrambled out of the way. Chishiya darted between two parked bikes, the rubber of one tire brushing his flank.

His paws slammed against the pavement, pushing him forward with all the precision of a body honed for motion.

Then—with a practiced burst of speed—he bolted across the commercial road.

A horn blared. He dodged a passing motorcycle by inches, ears flat to his skull.

The sidewalk on the university’s side of the road came fast. He skidded slightly as he reached it, paws slipping on the smooth concrete. And then—eyes on the tall steel fence ahead—he made a judgment call.

Obstacle. Elevation. Safety.

He leapt.

The climb was almost easy. Almost. He’d done harder jumps in worse shape. But what he hadn’t accounted for, blinded by speed and adrenaline, were the anti-climb spikes lined neatly along the top.

His front paws caught the rail.

And then—

His right thigh caught.

White-hot pain lanced through the muscle, not unbearable, but sharp and biting. Chishiya froze, front paws clutching the top bar, hind legs hanging awkwardly. A few drops of blood ran down his fur, staining the silver steel.

No noise escaped him—just a tightening in his chest, and an immediate awareness of how deep it had gone. He dared not move. Any more pressure would make the damage worse.

He stayed still, clinging to the bar.

Below, the dog snarled and jumped, its teeth snapping inches from his swinging tail. The stench of its breath clawed at his nostrils.

'Stupid untrained mutt,' he thought flatly.

Chishiya glanced down, eyes narrowing. His inner med student was already cataloguing the damage: puncture, likely deep; risk of infection; need for tetanus? Probably. Dirty spike, exposed wound. His muscle was pierced, but not torn—yet. He could pull free. Cauterize it later. Antibiotics. He had a stash back in the dorm.

Better to deal with blood loss than infection.

Just as he braced himself to rip free—

“HEY! GET OUTTA HERE!”

The sharp bark of a human voice sliced through the noise. A baton hit pavement with a resounding thwack.

The dog flinched and bolted, but not before sounding a deep growl in retaliation.

Chishiya blinked down, annoyed and confused. Why…?

The guard?

The same one who couldn’t be bothered to check students’ IDs on time?

Why now?

Why the effort?

Chishiya’s gaze dropped, trailing slightly left—

And found the answer in a pair of wide, worried brown eyes staring up at him from across the path. 

Arisu.

He stood several meters away, breathing hard, his gaze locked upward with open concern. His expression was focused, worried—but not frantic, like he’d made a conscious choice to care.

Behind him, Hina hovered anxiously.

The image stilled Chishiya, leg still impaled, but his gaze remained on Arisu.

He should’ve been relieved the dog was gone. He should’ve been focusing on removing himself safely.

Instead, something clenched sharply in his chest.

Not the dog. Not the height.

He shut his eyes once, ignoring the pain, forcing himself not to flinch as his body trembled slightly in the wind.

Must be the blood loss.

Most definitely the blood loss.

Chishiya didnt move.

He couldn’t, not with the way the spike still pierced his thigh and not with the way Arisu was approaching him—quick steps, brows knit with something dangerously close to anxiety.

Stupid.

Why was he anxious?

The human was far too soft.

Arisu stopped in front of the fence, hesitated, and then shrugged off his jacket in one swift motion.

He fisted it in one hand and with the other grabbed the bars, hoisting himself up onto the narrow cement ledge that ran beneath the fence. It wasn’t wide enough for both feet. Chishiya could already see the effort it took for him to balance, adjusting his center of gravity without letting go of the bars.

He should’ve backed off. Should’ve called someone or waited.

But he didn’t.

Arisu, apparently, didn’t have that kind of patience.

With one last breath, the boy let go of the bars and used both hands to cup Chishiya’s sides—careful, calculated, supportive. His palms pressed under Chishiya’s ribcage, the pressure light but firm, and lifted just enough to shift weight off the embedded thigh.

A warm arm curled behind him, and Chishiya felt his body slide gently off the spike.

No cry. No sharp intake of breath.

His brain, sharp even through the haze, began taking inventory.

Spinal function intact. Muscle compromised. Skin split. Blood warm against fur.

Arisu brought him down slowly, as if he were fragile.

He wasn’t.

But—

The second his small feline body was pressed to Arisu’s chest, he froze.

It was warm.

And close.

And—Arisu's heartbeat—steady and close and—

Was that a mole?

Chishiya blinked.

Yes. A mole. Just under the corner of his right cheek. How had he never noticed that before?

And his eyes—had they always been that round?

That… brown?

The fuck was happening?

Arisu was already crouched now, knee pressed to the sidewalk, jacket laid out across his lap. With practiced fingers, he wrapped one sleeve tightly around Chishiya’s bleeding thigh and secured it into a makeshift knot. The pressure hurt, but it was effective. And then, with almost too much gentleness, Arisu tugged the rest of the jacket around his body, bundling him like a burrito to preserve heat.

Chishiya just stared at him.

Literally stared.

Like an idiot.

His thoughts weren’t in any particular order anymore.

Did Arisu moisturize? Why was his skin so damn clear?

The blood loss, right.

That had to be it.

He wasn’t panicking. No, of course not. He wasn’t panicking at all. He just needed to recalibrate. Reprocess. Reboot.

His brain wasn’t short-circuiting, it was… sorting through data. Yes.

That was it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice reminded him that all his hypotheses had officially crumbled. The one about Arisu’s softness being performance? Detrerioted into ash. The one about it being a rare coincidence? Dead. All of it.

And now?

Now Chishiya, elite medical student, heir to a generational bloodline of spies, emotionally walled-off genius—

Was being held like an injured house cat by a boy with warm hands and impossibly soft eyes, trying not to combust.

Embarrassing.

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he muttered silently in his head. ‘You’ve just lost a bit too much blood. That’s all.’

Still, he couldn’t quite tear his gaze away from Arisu’s face as the boy checked the knot around his thigh.

His mouth was slightly open, concentrating. That expression again—focused, gentle.

Chishiya had seen it only once before, in a classroom when Arisu had offered someone else comfort. It looked… better up close.

He hated that he knew that now.

He really, really hated it.

Still wrapped up like a child’s pet, Chishiya twitched his tail once, then forced his eyes to half-lid into a tired blink—cool, unbothered, like the situation was merely an inconvenience and not a full-blown cardiac emergency.

Nothing to see here.

Just a cat in some idiot’s arms, undoing calculations that should’ve been airtight.

And definitely not rattling open cupboards he’d nailed shut years ago.

He’d sooner believe in miracles than in… that.

Chapter Text

Arisu kept one hand pressed firmly to the bundled jacket wrapped around the cat’s thigh, the other cradling its small body close as he made his way down the sloped sidewalk at a brisk pace. The buildings here were older, made of brick and steel with sharp signage and glass storefronts, their windows glowing faintly orange as late afternoon light stretched through the city.

Normally, Arisu didn’t love how close the university campus was to downtown. The endless blur of cars honking, bikes screeching by, and people crowding the streets always left him feeling overstimulated. He liked quiet corners, not the constant hum of a city heartbeat. But today—today he was thankful.

Because just a few blocks ahead was a narrow one-story structure wedged between a convenience store and a laundromat, its painted sign faded but still clear enough: Sumida Veterinary Clinic.

He tightened his hold slightly. “Almost there,” he murmured under his breath, to no one in particular—or maybe to the cat. “Hang on, okay?”

The cat didn’t respond.

Not even a twitch of the ear, not even a flick of its tail.

And that—more than anything—made Arisu worry.

For a cat that had spent the last couple weeks silently tailing him like a shadow, watching him from rooftops and benches and windows like some tiny self-appointed sentinel, this kind of stillness was unsettling. It wasn’t unconscious—he could still feel the faint rise and fall of breath against his arm—but it was quiet in a way that felt... off.

Too quiet.

Not just calm. Subdued.

Arisu glanced down at the bundle. Its face was partially hidden in the folds of his jacket, but he could still see the side of its snout, the slight twitch of its whiskers. The ombre fur was warm under his hand, but there was a distinct dampness around the thigh. Blood. He was careful not to press on it too hard.

“You’re not gonna die on me, right?” he whispered, trying to half-laugh, though it came out tight. “I mean, you didn’t follow me around for weeks just to bleed out.”

He didn’t know why he said it like that. Like the cat had a choice in the matter. Like it had chosen him somehow.

It had never asked for anything or tried to climb on his lap. It hadn’t even purred. Most days it just… watched. Sat nearby, like it was waiting to see what he’d do. Like it had already judged him and was just waiting to be proven wrong.

Was that stupid? Probably.

But something about those big golden eyes made Arisu feel like he was being studied.

Now, the silence wasn’t inquisitive.

It was… absent.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered. “Don’t just go quiet like that.”

He quickened his pace, weaving between pedestrians, some of whom cast curious glances at the way he was holding the bloodied jacket. A couple even looked like they were about to speak, but Arisu kept his eyes forward, focused on the faint green veterinary sign up ahead.

A bell rang when he burst through the front door.

“Emergency—” he said, breath catching. “he’s bleeding!”

One of the two women behind the reception desk blinked, already rising to her feet. “Bring it here.”

He did, promptly, gently setting the bundle down on the counter she cleared with a sweep of her arm. The vet tech peeled back the jacket, eyes narrowing when she saw the makeshift tourniquet, and nodded.

“This is good. You did well,” she said, already reaching for gloves and calling for someone in the back. “We’ll take it from here.”

Arisu stepped back, heart still hammering. His arms felt empty.

He didn’t even know the cat’s name. Didn’t even know if it had one.

And yet, standing there, the mark of what he couldn’t undo having soaked through the cloth of his shirt and the fading phantom weight of a body pressed against him…

He felt like he’d just handed over something important.

Something that had started watching him—

—and now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stop.

The moment the clinic staff disappeared with the bundled cat, Arisu was handed a form—basic details: type of animal, injury description, breed name. He paused at the box labeled Stray or Pet, his pen hovering. Stray, he checked, though it didn’t feel right. When he reached guardian, his hold on the pen tightened, body shuffling to shift his weight from one foot to another, before quietly writing his own. After turning the form in, he moved toward the chairs… then stopped. Sitting didn’t feel possible. The cotton of his shirt, still damp and stained, hung limply on his hunched shoulders. Anxiety rushed in his veins; restlessness crawled beneath his skin, and so he paced instead—back and forth, eyes flicking toward the hallway, as if willing someone to reappear.

It had been about an hour since they’d taken the odd-colored feline behind the swinging clinic doors, and Arisu had yet to sit down.

The small waiting room felt too sterile, too quiet, save for the low murmur of a TV in the corner and the ticking of the wall clock that had somehow become a personal enemy. Every passing second made his chest feel tighter.

He stood near the window, arms crossed, his jacket— which the veterinarian tech had returned before settling back into her seat at the reception— balled up in one hand. He’d rinsed most of the blood off in the bathroom sink, but the fabric was still stained a faint, stubborn crimson. It had started to dry at the edges.

He didn’t even know why he was this anxious.

It was just a cat. A strange, aloof cat that had shadowed him for weeks. That never meowed, never demanded notice, never even brushed up against his legs like a normal cat would. A cat that stared.

A cat that watched.

He used to joke to himself that it had a superiority complex. That it was silently judging his life decisions from a tree branch or a window ledge. That maybe, in another world, it had been human.

But somewhere along the way, that presence—soft, constant, and wordless—had slipped under his skin. He wasn’t sure when it happened. Maybe during one of those long campus walks when he caught it peeking out from behind a hedge. Or maybe the day it sat on his locker, tail flicking, like it was waiting for him.

He didn’t even realize how attached he’d become until he’d seen that fence spike go through its thigh.

Now he couldn’t imagine walking through campus and not seeing those gold eyes trailing him from a rooftop.

His phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

Then a long chain of vibrations, a staccato rhythm that forced him back into the present. Arisu sighed and pulled it from his pocket.

Group chat: KaruBros 🕶️🍜🎮

Karube had sent a picture—some blurry selfie from someone else’s story. Chōta stood awkwardly in the background, mid-blink, mouth open, caught mid-chew with what looked like a spring roll halfway to his lips.

 Karubae: 💀💀💀 tell me this isn’t the face of a man living his best life
Karubae: chōta, she tagged you bro
Chōtato: WHAT
Chōtato: WHAT THE HELL
Chōtato: delete it
Karubae: can’t, it’s public
Karubae: also why u look like that

Arisu let out a small breath of air that almost qualified as a laugh.

The teasing slowed after a few back-and-forths, and then Karube, uncharacteristically gentle, dropped a voice message into the thread.

Arisu played it low.

“Dude. Seriously, don’t spiral. If it’s bothering you that much, just ask her to blur your face or take it down. And if she says no, then screw it. What’s done is done, yeah? No one else cares half as much as you think they do.”

There was a pause, then Karube added, almost as an afterthought:

“Don’t waste energy fighting stuff out of your control. That’s how you burn out.”

Arisu stared at the message for a long time.

He wasn’t even sure why it struck him. Maybe it was the quiet wisdom buried under Karube’s usual antics. Or maybe it was just the fact that it reminded him of the thing he was fighting right now: uncertainty. The helpless kind.

He turned back toward the hallway, where the cat had been taken.

Nothing yet.

But still—he stayed.

Because somehow, between all those weeks of being watched, of being silently followed, that strange little creature had become part of his routine. A part of his day.

And the thought of returning to it without that soft, golden-eyed shadow was starting to feel… unbearable.

Outside, the light had changed—bright afternoon softening into something gold and weightless

The world had tilted slowly around him—cars came and went beyond the glass doors, footsteps passed, the buzz of fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Time, in that small waiting room, felt like a thick syrup. Arisu just waited, heart full of noise.

Eventually, he’d folded himself into one of the plastic waiting room chairs. His back ached slightly from the way he’d been leaning against the wall earlier, and his legs were tired from standing still too long. But at least he was seated. That felt like a win.

Arisu had lost track of how many times he’d shifted in his seat, how often the same receptionist had looked up and then back down.

His phone had long since gone dark in his pocket. Karube and Chōta were probably still active in the group chat, maybe arguing over something dumb again. But he couldn’t bring himself to check. Not when his mind was still stuck on what lay beyond those clinic doors.

A soft chime sounded as the front door opened, briefly letting in a gust of street noise. He barely glanced at it—until he heard footsteps behind the reception counter and the faint squeak of rubber soles.

When the swinging doors finally parted and a woman in scrubs stepped through, Arisu was on his feet before he even realized it.

She looked around the quiet waiting room until her gaze landed on him. He didn’t even get a word out before she offered a small, reassuring smile.

“You’re here for the cat-- the LaPerm, right?” she clarified, scanning his face.

His voice caught in his throat. He nodded.

She smiled more fully at that, arms relaxed at her sides. “You’ll be glad to know he got lucky. The spike went through the thigh but missed any major arteries. It could’ve been a lot worse if the angle had been even slightly different.”

Arisu exhaled, long and slow.

She continued, stepping closer now. “We’ve given him broad-spectrum antibiotics just to be safe—since we don’t know what the spike or the dog might’ve been carrying. Rabies is unlikely but we covered for that, too. We also gave him pain medication and stitched the wound up. He’ll need daily cleaning, topical ointment, and some oral meds for at least the next week to reduce inflammation and prevent infection.”

Her voice was clinical, practiced. But not unkind.

“He’s stable,” she finished. “And he’s ready to go home, if you’re ready to take him.”

Home.

The word hit him like a small, invisible slap.

Right. Home.

He hadn't thought this far ahead.

“I… I don’t know who he belongs to,” Arisu admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I found him like that outside the university. He’s been… following me around for a while, but he doesn’t have a tag or a collar, and I’ve never seen anyone else claim him.”

She didn’t look surprised. “That happens. Sometimes it’s just no one. Other times it’s someone irresponsible. Either way, he needs rest and consistent care for a while. You seem like someone who can manage that.”

“Maybe,” Arisu said with a weak smile. “I don’t know if my dad’ll love the idea.”

She chuckled. “Few parents ever do.”

He looked down at his shoes for a moment, mentally weighing his options. He could try asking around, sure. He could post something online or leave a note on the campus bulletin boards. But the thought of letting the cat go now—after everything—just didn’t sit right.

The way it had looked at him as he pulled it off the fence. Like it trusted him.

And it had followed him for weeks, hadn’t it?

He nodded, more to himself than to her. “Okay. I’ll take him.”

“Great.” She gestured toward the back doors. “He’s still waking up from the anesthesia, but he should be alert. Just through there.”

Without wasting another second, Arisu stepped forward, already pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders as he made his way toward the swinging doors.

His chest fluttered, but this time, not from panic.

The world returned to him slowly, like light slipping beneath a closed door.

Chishiya had woken up about ten minutes ago.There was no dramatic jolt, no gasp for air like in the movies—just a slow blink and a numb awareness settling over his body. The ceiling above him was off-white, fitted with fluorescent lights humming low like a distant wasp. For a few seconds, his thoughts lagged behind, sluggish from whatever anesthetic they’d pumped into his veins. He blinked again.

His side ached. His leg… nothing. He couldn’t feel the damned thing.

That’s when memory snapped back into place like a rubber band.

The chase. The road. The damned dog.

And Arisu.

He didn’t move right away, only flicked his tail—except even that felt clumsy. His ears twitched as he slowly took in his surroundings. The room was clean but unadorned, smelling faintly of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol.Fluorescent light hummed above, washing every surface in a flat, sterile white. A tray of tools had been wheeled into a corner, metal glinting faintly under the glare.

To his left stretched a wall of steel cages, only two of which were occupied; from his low angle on the cushioned counter, he couldn’t see what lay inside—not that he cared. Stainless bars caught the light in dull reflections. To his right, a small, almost worn-down couch sat against the wall, cheap magazines scattered across the low table in front of it, their pages curled from humidity. Beside the counter—its surface padded with disposable towels and fitted with safety railings—stood another cage on the floor, just barely visible from where he lay. The faint hum of an air purifier filled the silence, blending with the slow tick of a wall clock.

He must’ve woken earlier than expected, because the vet assistant in the room—who had been quietly reassembling equipment and sliding sterilized tools into drawers—startled when she glanced over and saw his eyes open. She stared for a second too long—then rose, muttering something under her breath as she walked briskly out the door.

Chishiya, still dazed but ever composed, yawned.

Moments later, a woman returned. The vet, he guessed. Same one who probably stitched him up. She had sharp eyes behind her glasses,her short brown hair was tied back messily like she’d had a long day.

She approached with calm professionalism, grabbing a penlight and gently shining it into each of his pupils. He didn’t flinch. She murmured something to herself and moved to inspect his stitches—removing the blanket just enough to check the thigh area. The moment she seemed satisfied, her hand rose automatically and brushed behind his ears.

He gave her a long, unimpressed stare.

She chuckled quietly. “Not a fan of touch, huh?”

No. He wasn’t.

She left soon after, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Chishiya exhaled through his nose. He shifted, attempting to reposition himself—but when he tried to move his hind leg, nothing happened. It didn’t hurt, which meant they’d likely paralyzed it with a local block. A precaution to keep him from standing too soon. Tch. Annoying, but sensible.

He turned his head to inspect the injury properly.

The white bandage wrapped around his thigh was pristine—tight, layered, clearly the work of someone skilled. But just for a flicker of a moment, it wasn’t white.

It was beige. Fabric. Familiar.

A hastily tied jacket sleeve holding pressure against his bleeding leg, the folds cradling him with gentle hands.

His composure held, though something inside nearly missed a step.

He dragged his gaze to the far window, set in the wall across from the door. It no longer glowed with the orange hue he remembered. When he last closed his eyes, the city had been bathed in late afternoon warmth.

Now?

Dark. Night had fallen. He could see nothing but his own faint reflection in the glass.

So much for a quick patch-up.

Had the messy-haired boy abandoned him? Dropped him off, done the noble thing, and left?

His chest twinged, a feeling too fleeting to name before it slipped away.

No. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

Arisu had proven the point well enough. Yes, he was kinder than most. Yes, he had rushed him to a vet. But that was exactly the weakness Chishiya had been certain would surface. Kindness like that… it would ruin him one day. A world like this would eat him alive. Exploit his softness. Break him.

And Chishiya—he couldn’t afford to care.

So, he didn't.

He forced his attention back to the present.

How would he leave?

His body wasn’t strong enough to shift back—he’d only tear the stitches and pass out from blood loss. Shifting required strength and balance. Right now, he had neither. He could barely move one leg.

His mind wandered to Kuina. Maybe he could find her place, recuperate for a while. She wouldn’t question him. She’d make annoying comments, offer tuna, and then eventually leave him be.

All he had to do was get to the window.

Chishiya narrowed his eyes at the latch on the window frame. It looked old. Doable. If he could get it open, maybe he could climb out, slip into the shadows, and—

His thoughts screeched to a halt.

Footsteps.

Soft ones, deliberate, pausing outside the room.

His ears flicked back, tail stilling.

Someone was standing at the door—but not entering. The air shifted slightly, like the person on the other end was hesitating.

And then…

The door creaked open.

Light spilled in from the hallway, outlining a figure he recognized faster than he would admit.

Tousled dark hair. Tired eyes.

Arisu.

Chishiya’s motions slowed to nothing, quiet settling in his shoulders.

His wounded leg throbbed faintly beneath the gauze, but he barely felt it. His golden eyes locked onto the boy’s, drinking in the new details he hadn’t been able to examine earlier. His jaw looked tight, like he’d been grinding his teeth. And those eyes…

Had they always looked like that? So wide? So worried?

The palpitations returned.