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Despite all his assurances to the contrary, Akira isn’t entirely certain that Morgana is a human. Mostly because he’s -- well, he’s just so good at being a cat.
“No,” Morgana says, perched on top of the metal industrial shelves at the top of the stairs in Akira’s room . “No.” His ears are flat on the back of his head, and his tail is six times its usual size. “Joker!”
He sighs. “Mona. Sojiro-san makes the rules. It won’t be that bad.”
“Won’t be that bad!” Morgana makes a noise. It’s a hiss. Akira is too polite to mention it. “You don’t know that! You get the dignity of bathing by yourself.”
“There’s always like, two old guys at the bathhouse,” Akira points out, hands in his pockets. He blinks up at Morgana. “And you. You go with me. That one time you made fun of me when I said the hot water made me dizzy, too.”
“You battle Shadows, steam really shouldn’t be such a problem for you.” Morgana sits on his haunches, informing Akira loftily, “I’m self-cleaning. Unlike you!”
Maybe. But earlier, Morgana made a bad choice about when to jump out of Akira’s bag, and landed in a puddle of something smelly, sticky and foul -- and while that’s par for the course in Mementos or a Palace, they were just in Yongen-Jaya. Meaning that the second they walked in the door, Sojiro pointed at Akira and said, “That cat gets a bath or he’s sleeping outside, got it?”
Akira nodded. Morgana grumbled. And now here they are, with Morgana smelling foul and too high up for Akira to grab.
“You’re not a cat, though,” Akira says, trying for casual. “Remember? So that’s probably why you need an actual bath.” This is a low blow, but Akira doesn’t want to make Sojiro angry and Morgana sleeps in bed with him. He really does smell like an unpleasant mix of a sewer and a dead bird mixed in with old garbage.
Morgana stares at him like - well, a cat -- without blinking. Akira feels himself making his own eyes wide in response, also trying his best not to blink. Aren’t you supposed to stare down cats to show your dominance? Will that even work? Akira’s not real sure if Morgana’s human, but he’s definitely not a regular cat.
Regular cats don’t tell you to go to bed and sometimes do your homework.
“Fine,” Morgana says, his ears slowly returning to an upright position -- it’s pretty cute -- as he inches closer to the edge of the shelving unit. “But you aren’t telling Lady Ann about this! I don’t want her to think about me needing you to give me a bath.”
Akira nods and holds his arms out. Morgana makes a derisive noise emblematic of huffy cats everywhere and gracefully leaps onto the floor. “I know where the bathhouse is, Akira, geez.”
Akira sighs. Getting Morgana off the shelf was step one.
Step two will be dealing with the inevitable fracas when Morgana realizes they’re not going to the bathhouse.
***
“Mreooow!”
The problem is that Morgana isn’t small in his real-world form. He’s a solid creature with a lot of fur and sharp claws, and all of it is currently trying to escape Akira’s arms.
Akira doesn’t pick Morgana up often, and he pets Morgana even less than that.
Once he was studying at the counter after Sojiro locked up for the night, with Morgana on the counter next to him. There was a weird rumbling noise and he looked over; Morgana’s eyes were half-slitted, and he was purring like a jet engine on overdrive. Akira’s hand was buried in Morgana’s fur, absently rubbing at his little neck and scratching behind his ears.
“Sorry,” Akira said, flushing. He’d had a cat for a while when he was younger, and he used to pet it while he did his homework at the kitchen table. The memory was of those weird, momentary flashes of home that contrasted so drastically with the life he was currently leading that it made his head spin.
“Just don’t do that when anyone’s here,” Morgana said, and his eyes slid all the way closed, and Akira patted him a few times but it sort of made it weird, once he remembered Morgana could talk. Morgana was his teammate, not his pet.
But he was so soft. And Akira always had been a cat person.
Right now, though, Morgana’s not purring. He’s yowling as if Akira’s feeding him to a Shadow. He’s a blur of black fur and jaunty yellow scarf and ow, claws, his eyes glowing with a luminous fury.
It’s still cute. Dangerous to his health, probably, but yeah. Cute.
“Put me down!” Morgana’s claws are uncomfortably buried in Akira’s t-shirt. It’s warm down in the cafe, a little stuffy without the fans or the air conditioning running. “I’m not taking a bath in a kitchen sink!”
“Hey,” Akira says, moving inexorably away from the front door (Morgana’s lack of opposable thumbs is working in his favor, here) toward the nice full sink in the back. “I’d take a bath in the sink if it meant some privacy.”
“I will bite you,” Morgana snarls at him, and it’s as if his spine has become liquid as he struggles to get down and slip out of Akira’s grip. “This is unacceptable! Put me down this instant, Akira!”
Akira really wants to do that. Whatever it was Morgana landed in is slick and makes his fur sticky, which is just another layer of awful on this whole thing. He doesn’t think Morgana will bite him. But he can’t really be sure about that.
Best to get him in the bath quick, then. “I put bubbles in there,” Akira says, hauling his burden towards the sink. It’s full of nice warm water, and a scented body soap that he quickly Googled to make sure it was safe for pets. “Way nice than the bathhouse, see?”
Morgana, who’s turned from a slinky-spine-creature to a sudden deadweight, tries to escape over his shoulder. Akira, sweaty and feeling less like he’s bathing a cat and more like he just fought six Shadows on his own, adopts the same tone of voice he does when trying to convince them to give him money. “Just relax and I promise you’ll feel better, okay?”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m a Shadow, Joker!”
Busted.
Akira sighs and drops Morgana into the water. Morgana makes a last-ditch effort to scramble away, but physics wins the day and he goes tumbling into the sink. The water splashes up and gets everywhere, on the floor and Akira’s shirt and splattering his glasses. The bubbles are supposed to smell like ginger and vanilla but they taste like regular soap.
Akira glances down and sees Morgana in the sink, intending to apologize -- but he can’t help himself. Morgana looks so funny, wet and bedraggled like -- well, a cat forced to take a bath -- and Akira laughs.
“I know,” Morgana growls, “where you sleep, Akira.” And then, as if unable to help himself, Morgana bats at a stack of bubbles.
It is the cutest thing Morgana’s ever done. Akira’s phone in his pocket. He’s pretty sure if he tries taking a photograph, he’ll be as bereft as thumbs as Morgana.
“Why does this smell like a cookie? You couldn’t have found some kind of manly scent?” Morgana’s nose twitches.
Akira might die. “I like this one. It smells like a crepe.” It smells nothing like a crepe. “You know who likes crepes, right?” He’s not usually one to encourage his magical talking cat’s weird crush on his friend, but if it will get the dead-thing-trash-gross smell out of his fur, Akira will work with it.
Speaking of….
He reaches toward Morgana, whose ears go back. “No.”
“That stuff is really sticky,” Akira tries, the same serious, reasonable tone of voice he used to get an Anzu to hand over its mask. He picks up the other thing next to the sink, a bottle of cat shampoo.
Morgana can talk and read, so Akira did the smart thing and took the label off. He puts some shampoo in his hand and very carefully reaches out toward the sodden magic cat glaring at him from Sojiro’s kitchen sink.
Akira’s mouth twitches. Morgana just looks so mad.
“Laugh, go on, I dare you.” Morgana puts his paws on the edge of the sink, but now that he’s succumbed, he doesn’t look in quite the same hurry to get out as he was to avoid getting in. Despite his catlike aversion to water, he’s clearly just as eager to get the smelly stuff off his fur as Akira is to get it off him.
“Is it too hot?” Akira asks. “The water.”
“It’s fine, get it over with.” Morgana’s tail swishes, making the water stir and the bubbles rise. His eyes track the movement, his paws twitching.
Akira nods and rubs the shampoo on Morgana’s back. His fur is sleek when it’s wet and he seems to be mostly resigned now to the bath, and slowly his rigid limbs seem to relax as Akira gently rubs the shampoo on the sticky spots.
“Well. I guess this could be worse,” Morgana sniffs. “But you didn’t take my bandana off. Are you going to call Kawakami and have her wash it for you?”
“I’ll do it with the next load,” he says, fingers gentle. Morgana feels like a normal cat, thin bones and thick fur and claws that have left stinging marks on Akira’s back. The sticky substance dissolves fairly easily, and Akira is hesitant when he reaches into the water to make sure he gets it all.
Morgana’s ears go flat again but he doesn’t yell, and Akira figures this is the one time he’ll ever manage to give his cat a belly rub.
Not his cat. His teammate.
“So, I have to rinse this shampoo out,” Akira says, once Morgana’s clean. He eyes the faucet, and picks up a cup from the shelf.
“There is no end to this indignity,” Morgana says, sadly, giving him the big eyes he usually reserves for fatty tuna or -- when he thinks Akira can’t see -- table scraps from Sojiro.
Akira just nods and turns on the tap. Pouring water on Morgana’s head feels a lot like pulling off a Shadow’s mask, but he resists the urge to ask if this is Morgana’s true form and just gets to work.
Morgana deigns to be dried with a towel, harps about being wet and if it took you sixteen hours to dry, you wouldn’t like this, either and Akira mostly ignores the criticism of his shampoo and bubble bath choices while he rubs Morgana dry as best he can.
The ginger and vanilla is a little cloying, but it’s better than dead roadkill trash slime or whatever that was. Morgana settles next to him on the bed, paw moving over himself as he tries to deal with his not-quite-dry fur. He seems agitated. Akira knows it’s probably frustrating not to be able to do things, but he doesn’t mind taking care of Morgana.
“Thanks, I guess,” Morgana allows, when he finally curls up next to Akira and puts his head on his paws. His bandana has been rinsed and is drying on Akira’s desk, next to the six lockpicks he made just so Morgana could lecture him about his proficiency at crafting. A consolation prize for the bath.
“You’re welcome,” Akira says, smiling in the dark. “You definitely smell better.”
“Hmph. I smell like a cheap cookie.” A pause. “You’re sure Lady Ann likes that kind of thing?”
No, but even if she doesn’t, she’ll definitely like it better than Option B. “Pretty sure.”
----
[chat with Ann Takamaki]
[Akira] I gave Morgana a bath
[Ann] what?? Why??
[Akira]he jumped out of my bag and landed in something awful
[Akira]Sojiro said if I didn’t he would or he’d make Morgana sleep outside
[Ann] omg did he hate it?
[Akira]yeah
[Akira]don’t tell Ryuji
[Akira]you know how he is
[Ann] haha okay
[Ann] i bet mona looked so cute tho :3 :3
[Akira]he batted at some bubbles
[Akira] it was pretty cute
[Ann] *heart eyes emoji*
[Ann] DID YOU GET A PICTURE???
[Akira] pretty sure I wouldn’t have a face if I tried
[Akira] do me a favor and tell him he smells good
[Ann] haha okay!
***
“Mona! You smell good enough to eat!” Ann says, the next day.
Morgana gives his little meow-laugh. “Thanks, Lady Ann! A gentleman has to take care of himself.” He slides a sly glance over at Ryuji. “Some of you smell so uncouth. Like ramen.”
Ryuji, in the booth next to Yusuke, stops in the middle of shoveling some noodles into his mouth. He shrugs. “You clean yourself with your own spit. I’m not taking personal grooming advice from a cat.”
“I’m not a cat!”
Akira remembers Morgana screeching about the bubbles, his puffed-up tail and flattened ears, the purring he’d only sort of tried to hide when Akira had dried him with the towel. It’s probably best to keep quiet.
“Oh,” Yusuke says, sniffing. “Are there cookies?”
Morgana glares, but says nothing.
***
Sojiro, observant as ever, is the one to mention the fleas.
“That cat’s been scratching an awful lot,” he says, wiping down the counter. “Can’t have fleas in here. Not good for business.”
“What business?” Morgana huffs. “And I don’t have fleas.” His back leg comes up and he scratches.
“See?” Sojiro points with his cigarette. “Fleas.”
“That was just -- it’s like when you say don’t think about a Heretic Goat and that’s all you can think about!” Morgana gives Akira a panicked look.
“Get him a flea collar or something,” Sojiro says, oblivious to Morgana’s protests. “You order all that stuff online, bet they have a flea collar.”
“A flea collar! No way! It’ll ruin my whole outfit!” Morgana wails. “Think about the damage to my aesthetic!”
“Sounds like it’s painful,” Sojiro says,stubbing out his cigarette. “Might want to get that taken care of sooner rather than later.” Sojiro scowls, running his fingers through his hair. “And I’ve seen that cat in Futaba’s room. Can’t have that, either.”
“If I did have fleas, and I don’t,” Morgana huffs, “That’s probably where I would have gotten them!” Scratch scratch scratch. “That place was a mess before we cleaned it!”
We is a bit of a stretch. Mostly Morgana just sat on the pillow, being bossy and critical.
Sojiro leaves and Akira makes vague noises as Morgana huffs, only pointing out once that even people can get fleas until he changes the subject by trying to do some pull-ups just so Morgana can switch tactics and badger him into going to sleep.
But that night isn’t very restful for either of them. Morgana keeps scratching, and Akira keeps waking up and wondering if Iwai can order some kind of flea collar that will protect against fleas and psyc attacks in the metaverse.
***
Morgana scratches, and scratches some more.
Akira buys flea shampoo and brings it home. This time, he leaves the label on, turned so Morgana can see it. Morgana gives him a disdainful look, but slinks off -- later, Akira sees him hiding under the desk, scratching.
“Morgana,” Akira says, on a Sunday, waving the bottle. “It wasn’t that bad last time, remember? It’ll help.” He pauses. “I’ll order sashimi.” They have the money, thanks to their last Mementos trip. Which is good, because Morgana does not have cheap taste in sushi. And flea shampoo isn’t cheap, either.
Morgana trots over, interested in the sashimi - until he sees the bottle. “Let’s not do that today.”
Akira sighs.
***
“Morgana,” Akira says, finally, a few days later. “I know you’re in here.”
The room is eerily silent. There’s no cat telling him to make sure he studies or does he want to hang out with Futaba or shouldn’t he maybe go see that kid at the arcade? There’s no one, just the soft patter of summer rain on the windows and his empty room.
In which there is a cat. Somewhere. He can sense it. Akira saw Morgana hightail it up here -- literally, tail held up high like Yusuke’s katana -- and there’s nowhere else to go. The window’s shut.
“I told you I’d order sashimi,” Akira says, to the void. He glances behind the houseplant. Nothing. The shelves hold a ramen bowl and a couple of trinkets, but nary a magical talking cat to be found. “C’mon, Mona. That Equine Sage was four times your size, and managed to sneak up on you because you were scratching.”
Nothing.
“Lady Ann definitely doesn’t like fleas.” Akira checks the sagging sofa, the old TV. He’s starting to wonder if maybe Morgana snuck by him after all. His eyes settle on the bed.
Akira goes down on all fours, turns on his cell phone flashlight, and lifts the blanket to peer under the futon. The light reflects off a pair of bright blue eyes.
There, wedged somehow under the futon in the corner by the wall, is Morgana.
“This is really not Phantom Thief behavior,” Akira says. “Do you want me to tell the group chat you were hiding under my bed like a -- like a cat?”
There’s a silence, and then -- “I’m not hiding.”
Honestly. Akira snorts. “Did you drop something?”
Scratch, scratch. “I’m practicing. Sometimes, in the metaverse, we have to be quiet and learn how to, uh, observe! Yeah! From a real small space. That’s what I’m doing.”
Akira just waits. They both know this is ridiculous. Morgana’s metaverse form wouldn’t even fit under the bed.
“I don’t like baths,” Morgana says, finally, in a small little voice. “I don’t like it because I can’t do it myself. Also stop shining that thing at me! I can see you, you know, and you already know I’m here.”
Morgana just can’t quite help himself with the lectures. Akira turns off his flashlight. “I know. I’m sorry. But I give medicine to everyone in Safe Rooms, don’t I, when we need it? Or in battle, we use healing skills? It’s just like that. Like you healed Ryuji when he was hurt by that Menacing Owlman, remember?”
“But it’s not the same,” Morgana says, from his spot under the bed. “And you know it. Why are thumbs so freaking important, anyway? Who designed this? When I’m human again….” But Morgana trails off, and Akira pretends he doesn’t hear the increasing uncertainty in Morgana’s voice when he says stuff about being human.
“When you’re human,” Akira says, “I’m definitely not giving you a bath or paying for your sushi.”
“Hmph.” Morgana moves, creeping toward Akira. “You won’t tell anyone I was under the bed.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“‘Course not,” says Akira.
“And stop talking to me like I’m a scaredy-...Shadow!” Morgana adds quickly, at the last minute. His face appears. There’s dust on his whiskers. “We really can’t just go to the bathhouse, like civilized men?”
“We can’t use the special shampoo there,” Akira says. Also, Morgana is a cat.
“Hmph. Well.” Morgana pokes him with a paw. “Move back, you’re crowding me.”
Akira scoots back and sits cross-legged on the floor, while Morgana slowly emerges from beneath his bed. He pads over and then sort of collapses into a dusty little cat-pile, sighing dejectedly. It’s cuter than it has any right to be. “I know it’s stupid, Akira. It’s just that I don’t feel all that much different than the rest of you. But sometimes...the limitations of this form, it feels like I’m useless.”
And then, Morgana stands up and stretches his back in a huge arch, claws digging into the hardwood and yawning.
“You can do that, though,” Akira points out. “It looks like it feels good.” His own back aches all the time -- bad posture, maybe. Or maybe it’s crawling through all those ridiculously cramped vents.
“It does.” Morgana looks up at him. “Let’s just make this quick. And this time, none of that ginger crap. I don’t care if Lady Ann likes cookies, I’d rather smell like Leblanc’s than that bakery in the train station.”
Akira nods. “It’s a deal.”
***
They go downstairs, and this time, Akira patiently lets Morgana boss him around about the temperature of the bath and which towel to use. The flea shampoo smells a little too medicated, so Morgana allows for a few drops of the ginger vanilla stuff. They both pretend it isn’t for the bubbles.
The flea shampoo requires a little more effort, and Morgana fusses and huffs but eventually lets Akira work. His eyes slide closed. He’s starting to purr.
“You’re still getting me sashimi,” Morgana mumbles, around the increasingly loud sound of his purring. “Fatty tuna. Two orders.”
“Right.” Akira smiles and works the shampoo into Morgana’s fur. Morgana might not really be a cat, but he’s a pretty one. Soft fur, bright eyes. And he’s doing that thing with his claws, like he’s trying to knead the bottom of the sink.
“A little more hot water,” Morgana bosses him. “This is a lot easier if I think of you like a bath attendant or something.”
Akira rolls his eyes, but he adds some hot water to the sink. Morgana makes a happy sound that’s way too cute, and butts his little head against Akira’s palm.
Yes, Akira thinks. As Futaba would say, I’ve leveled up my cat wrangling skills.
“Hello? Akira-kun? Mona? Is anyone here?”
Akira honestly didn’t mean to forget about the message Yusuke sent him about coming over to gaze in thought at the Sayuri for inspiration. He really didn’t. It’s just that Yusuke sent that text late last night, and Akira was tired because his magical talking cat was keeping him up scratching at non-magic fleas. Which reminds him that he should really wash his sheets. He doesn’t want to use this shampoo, either.
“What!” Morgana hisses and his spine goes all ramrod again, and his annoyed expression is, somehow, just as cute because he’s all wet. “What -- who’s that? Is it Fox? Why is Fox here?”
“Um,” says Akira, as Yusuke comes around the corner.
Yusuke’s eyes are wide, but it’s Yusuke, so instead of doing anything normal like asking why is Morgana in the sink, he simply makes a box with his fingers and frames them both.
“Don’t you even think about it, Fox,” Morgana snaps. He looks like he’s trying to retreat under the bubbles. It’s adorable.
“I’m sorry, think about what?” Yusuke drops his fingers. “It’s quite an interesting composition, the way your fur contrasts with the white of the bubbles.” He sniffs. “Oh, are there cookies? Last time there weren’t any.”
“Akira,” Morgana hisses. “He’s being weird!”
“It’s Yusuke,” says Akira. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“How about, go away!” Morgana tries. He looks totally bedraggled, a wet mess of fur.
Yusuke, because he’s not a normal person, peers closer and says, “Mona, did you fall in the sink doing the dishes?”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Fox, I can’t do dishes, I don’t have thumbs,” says Morgana. He’s sort of splashing, clearly wanting to run off but also, still wet and covered in flea shampoo. “Why would I do dishes? I’m a thief, not a -- not an employee!”
“I do the dishes,” Akira points out, but Morgana ignores him.
“Hmm.” Yusuke ponders this. “No, I suppose you don’t have thumbs, which I imagine are vital for the process. I wonder if I could paint without thumbs? What sort of new technique might that create?”
“Did you come to look at that painting or what?” Morgana snaps. The water is probably getting cold. Akira tries to rub Morgana’s back, but he gets a paw swipe for his trouble and pulls his hand back.
“Yes, but this is an interesting scene. It evokes thoughts of both absurdity and whimsy -- just the, the juxtaposition of the intangible bubble with a creature of the metaverse’s cognitive world…!”
“I’ll show you a creature of the metaverse’s cognitive world,” Morgana mutters.
Yusuke, categorically unable to let things go without comment, leans in closer. “Hmm? Well, yes, Mona, I see you quite often.” His eyes have that faraway sort of look he gets when talking about his three favorite things -- art, food, and treasures. “What a delightful inspiration you’ve provided me. Bubbles, and water, and soap and a cat -- the real world, the metaverse -- thought bubbles and soap bubbles --” Yusuke throws his arms in the air. “The connections are so tenuous and yet so present!”
“Go be present somewhere else, Fox,” Morgana demands. He looks like maybe he’s shivering.
Yusuke, without ever asking what they’re doing, just nods and says, “I’ll be in the cafe,” before bowing and turning to go.
“Ugh. This is so embarrassing! Lock the door next time,” Morgana huffs. “And get this shampoo off me. The water’s cold! I hate baths.”
“Let’s get you out of there,” Akira says, and hurriedly goes for the tap.
Once Morgana is rinsed, Akira wraps him in a towel and briskly rubs him down. Morgana mutters about now smelling like some kind of medicated gingersnap, reminds Akira about the sashimi, and makes him swear that he won’t tell the other Phantom Thieves about his bath.
Akira pats him once on the head and nods, and Morgana hops down and pads into the cafe proper with all the dignity of a king. After a glance toward Yusuke he continues up toward Akira’s bedroom. There are a few wet little paw prints on the floor, but they fade quickly.
Akira goes to the counter to brew some coffee. Might as well. And since Morgana is minding his own business, maybe he can read some manga instead of a school book, or that weird magazine about theme parks Morgana keeps telling him to read on the train.
Yusuke’s drawing something that looks vaguely like bubbles, Morgana --- a good likeness, Yusuke really is talented -- and a sink that is also maybe a treasure chest with….vines? Huh. Yusuke is really talented and weird.
His pencil scratches as he draws. The coffee machine burbles. It’s raining again, a pop-up summer storm that makes the windows rattle and the lights flicker.
Akira keeps waiting for Yusuke to ask, but he never does. So he reads his manga, and tries not to notice his hands smell like a cross between wet cat, coffee, and maybe a little bit like ginger.
At least he doesn’t have fleas.