Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I really do like Natsuki-chan... I like her a lot. She’s kind, and – we did a song together at karaoke the other week, she asked me, so – it wasn’t very good, but... And she’s friendly, and good at dancing... I think, um – I like her. Um. I really like her. Maybe I love her. So – I think she’s the one. I think it has to be Natsuki-chan.”

“So you’ve said,” Ritsu says from the bathroom, speaking up around his toothbrush and mouthful of foam. His reflection is almost ready, almost neat: his hair brushed, for all the difference it makes, but the top two buttons of his white shirt still unbuttoned; his tie is in his room, hanging from the wardrobe door. “Frequently. Very frequently, nii-san.”

“No... no, not like that. I mean – it has to be her,” Shigeo says. “Because...”

His voice softens into silence. Ritsu finishes in the bathroom in a hurry and goes out to see him. “Did you say—”

“I think it has to be her,” Shigeo says again, thoughtfully. He’s sitting on the sofa, his hands pressed against either side of his head. “I can feel... Hm. Well – if it’s not her, then...”

Ritsu understands. As soon as Ritsu understands, the world as Ritsu knew it becomes no longer the world as Ritsu knows it: the entire world flips over and changes. It pulls itself inside out. “No,” Ritsu says. “Nii-san, no, it’s just – a headache, probably. You’ve mixed it up with something else, you’ve got—Haven’t you been wrong before?”

“Not like this,” Shigeo says. He’s quiet and thoughtful and holding his head, looking at the floor; but then he lifts his gaze to Ritsu and smiles when he sees him, and puts his hands back down in his lap, as though seeing Ritsu is all it takes to raise his mood again – as though his mood is still capable of being raised at all, after a change like this. After news like this. After the notification of an impending horror like this. After—“Go to work, Ritsu. You’ll be late.”

“But—”

“I really think it’s Natsuki-chan,” Shigeo says with confidence.

-

“I really think it’s Tsubomi-chan,” Shigeo said with equal confidence, once upon a time – but it wasn’t Tsubomi, and once she was out of the picture and Shigeo entered high school and realised there was a whole world out there filled with plenty of other pretty girls with long dark shiny hair, he became sure it was Juri, and then at Shigeo’s first non-fraudulent part-time job he met Kae and grew sure it was Kae, and went out with her for almost three months until Kae matter-of-factly broke the news that she was equally sure it wasn’t Shigeo – because you have to be matter-of-fact about these things, of course: it’s a matter of life or the end of life as you know it.

His wistful romantic perpetual search continued. For a while after Kae he really thought it was Yuina, and then he became very sure it was Kurumi; after that he was certain it was Rui, who had been performing a routine maintenance check-up on the weight training machines when Shigeo met him at the gym, and who, as the first male interruption to Shigeo’s lifelong string of infatuations with girls, roused greater than usual interest and greater than usual anxiety in Ritsu’s heart – but it wasn’t Rui either, and Shigeo bounced back with conviction and grew sure it must be Momoka – no, it must be Kaori – and then he was sure it was Yuto, this time he was really sure, differently sure from all the other times he’d been sure – and after Yuto, after Atsuki, after the girl who worked part-time in the vending machine-ticketed soba restaurant down the road from their apartment whose name Shigeo never asked but with whom he felt, nevertheless, he might have a real connection if only they had a connection at all, after Naomi – now...

-

“It is Natsuki-chan,” Shigeo says again, reassuring Ritsu as Ritsu tries to resist being urged out the door to the stairs and to his car and to work. “I know. I can tell. I can feel it.”

“But if it isn’t—”

“I really think it’s her. I really do.”

“But if it—”

“Ritsu,” says Shigeo, chivvying him urgently out the door, “you’re going to get stuck in traffic, you need to go.”

“—but if it isn’t Natsuki-san?” Ritsu bursts out frantically the moment he sets foot back inside their flat again that night – late, late, late; overtime kept him back but he hasn’t been any good at the office all day, thinking only of Natsuki, and his brother, and the tick-tock deadline of a plan that’s been kickstarted involuntarily into action. “Do you know how long you have?”

“Welcome home,” Shigeo says unhelpfully, emerging from his room with his work lanyard still draped around his neck.

“Yes, yes, I’m back – but, nii-san—”

“I’m not sure,” Shigeo says, relenting. “Maybe – a week...? I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.”

“A week,” Ritsu says. He takes off his suit jacket like he always does inside the doorway but this time he stares at it once it’s in his hand, uncomprehending, the dark sleek fabric hanging down. What does he usually do next? He can’t remember, can’t think at all. He drops it on the floor and steps over it and comes into the flat.

“I left you dinner,” Shigeo tells him. “On the stove, it’s in the saucepan. Under the lid.”

“A week will be okay,” Ritsu says. “If – I mean, if it isn’t Natsuki-san. If you have to... I have plans,” he says with new urgency, “all kinds, they always tell you to be prepared in case it happens to you and I am – in case it happens to you, I mean. I am. I’m prepared, I’ve been preparing for years, so it’s not short notice, I’ve – at a clinic. That’s better than at home, it’s safer, there are really good ones, and I’ll pay, obviously, if you, if – if it’s necessary. If you have to go. If it isn’t Natsuki-san. And I’ll—”

“Ritsu—”

“—request the time off work, I never take leave, they’ll have to let me, it’ll be compassionate leave, anyway—” Ritsu’s on his way into his room, his desk, the drawer in which he keeps the exhaustively organised results of his years of research sorted into files categorised by possibility: all his plans arranged from best- to worse- to worst-case scenario. “I’ll put my request in as soon as possible. As soon as we know. Just in case. And—”

“Ritsu,” says Shigeo, from the doorway of Ritsu’s room; he’s watching with affection. “Really, Ritsu. It’s okay. Aren’t you hungry? Come and have dinner, we can talk about it later.”

“I love you,” Ritsu says, and bursts into tears.

-

The first person ever to raise the issue with Ritsu was Tsubomi, and she cut straight to the point: “What do you want to be?”

“A magician,” Ritsu said. “Not at birthday parties. They’re fake. They just do tricks, I read a book about it. A real one, with a hat.”

“I mean what animal,” said Tsubomi. She was speaking nearly twenty years ago: they were sitting together in the domed cage below a climbing frame, with the bright red and yellow structure stretching up around them. Somewhere above their heads, Shigeo was clambering towards his next turn on the slide.

“A rabbit,” Ritsu decided. Rabbits could be in magic shows, at least, even if they couldn’t do magic; they could appear from hats, or be produced with a flourish from unexpected places which would startle the audience.

“Mob-kun says he wants to be a cow,” said Tsubomi.

“Me too,” Ritsu said immediately, “that’s what I meant to say, I want to be a cow.”

“I want to be a cow,” Shigeo said to him in surprise, clambering back through the bars just in time to be pleased by the coincidence.

“You’re just saying that for the milk,” Tsubomi told him witheringly. “Boy cows don’t make milk. And girl cows can’t drink their own milk, anyway, they can’t reach. I want to be a dolphin. Dolphins are cleverer than humans, they’re better at maths than humans. I’ll be a dolphin and live in the sea.”

“The sea...?” said Shigeo, who seemed worried already; he knew enough about cows to know they weren’t naturally aquatic.

“Or maybe a swimming pool. I haven’t decided yet,” said Tsubomi, who was six at the time, probably, Ritsu thinks, looking back; she must be twenty-five now and the last Ritsu heard of her she still remains a human.

He doesn’t remember being asked before that first time Tsubomi asked him, but since then he must have been asked a thousand times: it’s part of the usual small talk, an icebreaker, a getting-to-know-you question; it’s a staple of playground games of would you rather – a slug, or a skunk? A sea cucumber, or a jumbo-sized cockroach?

In elementary school, Shigeo decided he wanted to be a tiger, and then a leopard, and then a cheetah. “Cheetahs are faster,” he explained. “Cheetahs run really fast.”

“I’ll be a cheetah too,” Ritsu said at once.

“I don’t know if we have space for two cheetahs in the house,” remarked their mother. “What would you eat, Shige? Raw zebra?”

“Cooked zebra,” said Shigeo, prodding thoughtfully at his rice. “Or... cat food. Lots of it.”

“We could live in the garden,” said Ritsu; he was nine years old and already planning ahead. “There’s space in the garden. Or the park, we could go and hunt in the park and come home and sleep in the garden.”

“What are you planning to hunt in the park, exactly? Kindergarteners?” Their father passed the salad bowl. “Better eat your greens while you’re not a carnivore yet, Ricchan.”

Shigeo wanted to be a cheetah for a long time, so Ritsu did too, apart from a brief adolescent blip which had him researching birds of prey with dangerous talons and powerful wings which would allow him to do a lot of damage and then fly a very long way away afterwards – but that was only a phase; it was always a cheetah for Shigeo so it was always a cheetah for Ritsu, until the weekend of Ritsu’s twentieth birthday when they came unsteadily back home together from the bar where they’d been celebrating to the smaller and grimier apartment in which they were living at the time, and out of nowhere Shigeo asked, with utmost seriousness, if even nowadays Ritsu really still thought that Shigeo becoming a cheetah would be a good idea.

“Because I thought – I was thinking. It might be hard,” Shigeo explained. “A person and a cheetah living together... We’d need a bigger apartment.”

“Living together?” said Ritsu, alert to the most relevant information.

“I’m not going to live in the desert,” Shigeo said, laughing at him. “Ah – well, not unless you want to. I’m not going to live in the desert without Ritsu. But we can if you want.”

“Living together,” Ritsu said again – then, fervently: “Of course we can. If it happens, if you have to, to – if you don’t find someone, if—Then we’ll live together. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you, nii-san, I’ll keep you safe, I’ll – even if you’re a cheetah. I’ll look after you if you’re a cheetah. I’ll take you to the zoo secretly so you can hunt, you can eat the zebras, I’ll cover up the, the – the footprints, pawprints, all the evidence, and they won’t know it was you, I’ll—”

“Ritsu,” said Shigeo.

“I love you,” said Ritsu, and burst into tears – but it was his birthday, or at least it had only ceased to be his birthday about twenty minutes beforehand, so he was perfectly entitled to tell his brother that he loved him and cry about it, if he wanted to: which he did. Shigeo pulled him close and hugged him, and rubbed him soothingly on the back until he calmed down again and then carried on doing it after that, too, because both of them liked it. Being twenty now meant that Ritsu’s timer could start ticking at any point: he was an adult, and from now on he would be living in danger, just like Shigeo.

“But a cheetah might be hard to live with even in a big apartment,” Ritsu said later, muffled into his brother’s shoulder. His tears were long since dry, but he wasn’t about to admit it and risk Shigeo letting go of him. “They’re big cats. They need lots of fresh meat, and prey... What about something less wild, nii-san?”

“I wouldn’t be wild,” Shigeo assured him. “I’d be a friendly cheetah. A nice one. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

But who knew how much of the original personality remained, afterwards? – all or nothing, or some? A lot, a little? Changed or unchanged, and if changed, how? Shigeo might want to be a friendly cheetah, but Ritsu still might wake up one future night with his friendly cheetah housemate shredding all their soft furnishings and preparing next to shred Ritsu himself, and Shigeo’s pacifist intentions as a person would have nothing to do with Shigeo’s carnivorous instincts as a cheetah.

“But – if I wasn’t a cheetah... Then nothing too big,” Shigeo went on, still absently patting Ritsu’s back. “Not an elephant. That’s no good. Not too small, either – I might get stepped on. Not a bug. Not a sea animal or something that can’t live in Japan. I don’t want to go somewhere else. I want to stay here.”

“With me,” Ritsu said, making sure.

“I don’t want to be anywhere without you,” Shigeo said reasonably. “Something which can live inside. In an apartment. Maybe... a cat. Not a wild one,” he added, quickly, “just – a normal one. The ordinary sort.”

“You like cats,” said Ritsu.

“You like cats,” said Shigeo.

“And... you’d be easy to live with, if you were a cat. In fact,” Ritsu went on, his courage tentatively rising, “we’d both be easy to live with, it’d be easy to live with each other, together, if – if we were both cats, one day, in future, if neither of us finds someone to—”

“You will.”

“But if I—”

“You will,” Shigeo told him again, utterly certain. “Of course you will. You’re Ritsu. You’re my little brother. You’re very handsome and clever and it’s your birthday, it was your birthday. You’ll probably find hundreds of people in love with you once you start looking. Everyone’ll fall in love with you; then they’ll all have to be animals, because they’ll all be in love with you... Just – don’t leave it too late,” Shigeo said, abruptly earnest, snapping out of his pleasant daydreams of Ritsu ending the humanity of hundreds in his own personal quest for love. “Now you’re twenty, so – don’t keep putting it off, Ritsu. Or...”

“I won’t,” Ritsu vowed seriously. “I promise, nii-san. I won’t put it off.”

In fact, he was unable to put it off: Ritsu had already begun and completed his personal quest for love years ago. In this respect, he was luckier than his brother: his search for love hadn’t been difficult, and hadn’t lasted long, because he hadn’t had to expand the scope of his search beyond his own immediate family.

“You have to be ready,” Shigeo was still telling him, putting down all his words with the particular plodding gravity which only ever came to him in the aftermath of beer. “You have to be prepared. And... in love. You have to be in love and prepared, then you’ll be ready, and – you’ll stay a human, and... do human things. Go abroad. If you want. Have a mortgage. Humans do that. Play badminton. But you have to be—”

“—in love, and prepared: I’ll be both,” Ritsu promised, and kept his promise: four years later he’s both in love and prepared.

-

Practically speaking, at least, Ritsu is prepared. He has informational leaflets, instructional pamphlets, copies of the relevant paperwork requested ahead of time in order to familiarise himself pre-emptively with the formalities and legalities; he has articles printed from the websites of scientific journals, about the process and the biochemistry and the worst-case scenario medical complications; he has veterinary magazines and pet shop brochures, and all the official handouts from the local council about knowing your rights before, during, and afterwards.

Financially, he’s also prepared. Financially, he’s very well prepared indeed. All his life he’s known he’s living under a double time limit – his brother’s, his own: whichever hits first – and so with single-minded focus he’s aimed himself at the goal of earning the maximum money in the minimum time: there’s no way of knowing how soon his earning potential might or might not be abruptly curtailed. When people ask him what he does, he says Pensions, which tends to elicit an understanding nod and no further questions, because his job is much too boring for anyone to want to know any more about it; but it pays extremely well, and rewards Ritsu for his talents, which are many, and efficient, and highly detail-oriented. He brings in a great deal of money and saves it to set aside against the future – against the future, which has now become the present.

Practically, Ritsu is prepared. Financially, he’s prepared. Emotionally, he’s in shock.

“You should talk to Natsuki-san as soon as you can,” he tells Shigeo, pacing laps of their living room with fretful intensity. “And if she thinks she loves you too, then it’s all okay. But if she doesn’t, then you’ll have as much time left as possible. You can’t leave it to the last minute, nii-san.”

“I know,” Shigeo says peaceably. It’s absurd how peaceable he is. Doesn’t he understand?—doesn’t he mind? “Ritsu, it’s okay. Really. It happens to lots of people. Remember Tome-san?”

Tome’s timer went off early, and she was delighted; she’s now one of the more vividly neon green varieties of flying lizard, which she had insisted throughout their school years was exactly what she’d want to be, if she had to be, and if she really couldn’t find a clinic anywhere in the country willing to aid her transformation into a creature of her own design based on her detailed hand-drawn illustrations of how she felt extra-terrestrials should look.

“But – I have to do it soon,” Shigeo concedes. “I have to find out soon, I know that... So I’ll talk to Natsuki-chan tomorrow, I think. At work.”

Ritsu’s still pacing. He reaches the end of the rug and paces further to the balcony doors and turns sharply and paces back again.

“But I won’t tell her why,” Shigeo goes on. “I mean, I’ll confess, but – I won’t say why I’m confessing. In case she says no. I don’t want her to feel bad, or – think it’s her fault, or anything... I’ll do it when she’s finished classes.”

Natsuki is a jazzercise instructor at the local leisure centre, and Shigeo is an all-purpose general staff member at the local leisure centre, which is a lot of why Ritsu doubts the potential of this latest infatuation: it’s hard to believe that anything as noble as true romance could have flourished between Shigeo and a woman he sees only when she’s wearing skintight neon leggings.

“Ritsu,” Shigeo says to him, kindly; Ritsu’s still pacing. “Ritsu, really. I promise. It’ll be okay.”

“Yes,” Ritsu says, “but – I love you,” he says again, and bursts into tears.

Shigeo jumps to his feet to hug him; he rubs him soothingly on the back, and lets Ritsu cry into his shoulder until his sleeve soaks through. “I really think Natsuki-chan’s the one,” he tells Ritsu comfortingly, which only makes Ritsu cry harder.

-

Natsuki is not the one.

She’s sorry about it, and she’s nice about it, Shigeo reports back the next day, seeming resigned to his rejection and still more than a little starry-eyed about Natsuki herself, but she doesn’t feel what Shigeo feels: he’s only her friend.

“—her good friend,” Shigeo puts in, trying not to shine too much with pride, “she said that, she said I’m her good friend. We’re good friends.”

He hasn’t told her his timer is running out and Ritsu fantasises about finding her himself, so he can tell her – let her know what she’s done, condemning his brother; let her feel the guilt she’s due...

But it doesn’t work like that. It’s not her fault. It’s no one’s fault; it’s just the way life is. You find love before your timer runs out, or you turn into an animal – birth, death, taxes, animal transformation as a consequence of failure to find requited romance: life’s four constants.

Natsuki isn’t in love, and doesn’t feel she’s likely to fall in love, and Shigeo’s timer is running out: it’s definite, now. It’s going to happen. The uncertainties have been wiped away – it will happen, and all that matters now is making sure it happens as smoothly as it can.

At the office the next morning, Ritsu quits. Back at home later that same morning, he tells Shigeo he’s successfully requested three weeks of compassionate leave. The private clinic which all of Ritsu’s research has established as the city’s best is also the city’s most expensive, but that’s exactly why he’s spent his life since graduation submerged in the small print of pensions; they visit on appointment that same day.

In the clinic’s long main hallway, framed photos of various animals line the walls. Shigeo studies them curiously as they pass by, stopping sometimes to read the names of the clients on the tags underneath. Some of them are redacted, for privacy reasons. One large turtle has had its features respectfully blurred.

“Many of our more well-known clients prefer to keep their new identities confidential,” explains their intake counsellor, and Shigeo’s eyes grow round as he stares at the wrinkled grey feet of the celebrity turtle, impressed.

There’s a lot of talking, and a lot of signing, and a lot of stamping their names onto various forms in duplicate and triplicate to make sure everyone involved is leaving a legal paper trail as wide and clear as possible. The private office is painted a cool and soothing blue; its furnishings are also plainly coloured, neat and simple – nothing to distract attention away from the piles of paperwork, which their intake counsellor leads them through with calm efficiency: the details of before, and during—“and afterwards...?”

“Ritsu will do everything afterwards,” Shigeo says with confidence. “He’ll know what to do, you can ask him. I’ve put him in charge. He’s got permission.”

“I’ll collect you,” Ritsu says to him. Then, to the counsellor: “I’ll collect him. I’m his brother, I’ll do it. We’ve already talked about it.”

“Would you prefer to schedule a date, or would you prefer to be notified as and when?” inquires the counsellor. Every time she speaks, her voice remains pitched to the same immaculately professional tone of reassurance. “We can either provide care for our clients until a pre-arranged pick-up date, or alternatively we can notify a designated contact as soon as our client is ready to be discharged.”

“That one,” Ritsu says. “As soon as possible. Right, nii-san?”

“I probably won’t mind,” Shigeo says, with a little smile like that’s anything to be smiling about.

“And in terms of transportation,” begins their intake counsellor delicately—

“By car,” Shigeo says. “Ritsu will drive. Ritsu can drive.” He looks quickly aside at Ritsu with as much pride as though Ritsu passed his test last week and not four years ago.

“Transportation of the client,” says their counsellor. “Of yourself, Kageyama-san. For a reasonable additional fee we’re able to provide a carrier of whatever the appropriate size turns out to be – some clients prefer that; it’s one less thing to worry about. Or you’re welcome to provide a carrier of your own, if you’d prefer. Some clients like to know they’re expecting something familiar on the other side.”

“Oh,” Shigeo says, intrigued. “If someone turns into a giraffe, how would you—”

“We’ll provide one,” Ritsu cuts in hastily. “We have other shopping to do anyway. We’ll get one ourselves.”

From the clinic, they go directly to the city’s biggest pet shop. Shigeo wanders the aisles at his own unhurried pace, stopping every few meandering metres to look at parrot perches with built-in mirrors, at delousing collars for dogs, at an entire set of shelving filled only with bright plastic hamster wheels arranged by rainbow colour order and by increasing size; his progress is as leisurely as though it’s only Ritsu who feels the pressure of his timer, the ticking of his inner clock. He hasn’t even made a shopping list: they’re using Ritsu’s.

Ritsu consults it. “Do you want a scratching post, nii-san?”

“A scratching post...?” Shigeo touches the rough column of the nearest one. “I don’t know. Do I? I can just scratch the sofa, if I want.”

“Yes,” Ritsu says quickly. “Yes, of course. That’s okay. You can scratch anything.”

“I was joking,” Shigeo says, casting him an apologetic look as he stops to admire a shelf filled with trays of toys: bright fake mice, bright ribbons, bright tassels, bright little jingly things with dozens of tiny bells threaded into them. “I don’t want to scratch the sofa. It’s nice. You paid for it.”

“You paid for some of it.”

“You paid for more of it.”

“But I earn more, so that’s fair. That’s why I pay more rent, too. That’s—” Ritsu stops in his tracks and turns to his brother, who’s now examining a rack of soft grooming brushes. “Nii-san, will you be litter-trained?”

“Ah,” says Shigeo, and lifts his gaze thoughtfully towards the store’s high warehouse ceiling. “Well – I can use the toilet, so...”

“But cats can’t use a toilet.”

“Some cats can,” Shigeo says. “I saw it on the internet. I saw a video.”

“Most cats can’t.”

“No,” Shigeo says, conceding. “But – I’m not a cat, so I don’t know... I’ll try, though. I’ll do my best. And I’m sorry if I can’t.”

“It’s fine,” Ritsu says at once, vehement. “You had to help change me when I was a baby, didn’t you? So I can help litter-train you, if I have to. It’s fine. It’s only fair. We’ll be even.” His voice is loud and passionate, but they’re in a pet shop, after all – of all the places in the city where staff and customers alike must be used to loud impassioned declarations about litter-training family members, the pet shop is number one. The noise of their conversation draws a sales assistant over, who engages Shigeo in conversation about water bowls and the importance of a wide dish to accommodate whiskers, in order to reduce discomfort for particularly long-whiskered cats; and Shigeo listens very seriously and looks at the bowls the sales assistant shows him, and only sometimes touches his own cheek: thoughtfully, surreptitiously, imagining whiskers.

Outside in the car park afterwards, Shigeo says, “I didn’t, actually.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Help change you. I was too young. I don’t even remember it.”

“Oh,” Ritsu says. He shifts the bag he’s carrying to his elbow. Both of them hear the solid heavy thunk of cat food tins hitting cat food tins. “Well, that’s okay. You’ve done lots of other things for me, so it’s the same. I’ll still litter-train you if I have to.”

“You’re a good brother,” Shigeo says with quiet pride. “I think – lots of people would fall in love with you, if they knew what a good brother you are... I could write a letter,” he says, turning to Ritsu with sudden eager inspiration, “I could say you’re a good brother, I could – I’d write all about it, I’d explain it, then you could show it to people, afterwards, so they’ll know about it. They’ll understand. Would you like me to?”

“To... write me a character reference?”

“To help people fall in love with you,” Shigeo says, explaining. “Because – cats can’t talk, usually, so I won’t be able to tell them everything good about you. But I could write you a letter. You could make copies, so you could give it out to people. To help them understand.”

“I really don’t think that’ll be necessary, nii-san.”

“Marketing is half the job,” says Shigeo – says an unpleasantly obvious echo of Reigen, speaking via Shigeo. “I will, if you want. Because it’s important – being a human. You should be a human as long as possible, Ritsu. You should find someone nice and both fall in love with each other, and stay human for as—”

“What if you wrote the letter just for me?” Ritsu blurts, much too loudly. “Not to give it out to people. Just for me to have it, and – just for me. Just to, to – to have it.”

“Why?” says Shigeo, curiously.

“Just to have it,” says Ritsu. His face is hot already. “Why you like me. I’d like it.”

“I’ll write it as soon as we get home,” Shigeo says at once: he’s never needed much more than the promise of pleasing Ritsu to be persuaded into anything at all.

-

The final days are sifting past. So few remain that Ritsu can calculate them as the final hours. In the back of his mind he’s begun to hear the echo of his own imaginary timer: ticking in sync with his brother’s, rushing them on towards the deadline.

“I don’t want to make a fuss,” Shigeo announces, as though after an entire human lifespan during which he’s never once made any sort of fuss about anything at all Ritsu might have imagined that now, in the final days, would be when he’d choose to start. He resigns apologetically from the leisure centre and goes to see their parents, pretending it’s only a normal visit, catching up, not telling them what’s coming; he makes as many hasty plans to see as many of his friends as he can in the next two days, and doesn’t tell them why, either—

“—because we’ll all have good memories,” he explains to Ritsu, “and we’ll have fun, and no one’ll think about it. So that’s best.”

All of which means Ritsu is the only one who knows, Ritsu thinks, pacing fretfully whenever Shigeo’s out and he’s left to his own devices. And Ritsu will have to be the one who breaks the news to everyone afterwards, too – he’ll ask Shigeo to draft an email, save it, and then when everything’s over Ritsu can press send on the message his brother himself composed. That’ll work, Ritsu thinks, still pacing, and swerves to pace into his room instead and add it onto his to-do lists: one for things he has to do before, one for things he’ll have to do afterwards.

Is there anything special Shigeo wants to do? Not really, he says, not really. He can still do things afterwards, can’t he? Ritsu agrees, trying to smile; if he isn’t worried then Ritsu doesn’t want to make him worried. They go to as many restaurants as there’s time for. Shigeo sees Reigen too, and that gives Ritsu a spark of hope – because Reigen, after all, has spent the last twenty years or so evading his own timer by successfully convincing a string of unsuspecting partners that he and they are very deeply in love, so very deeply in love that Reigen’s ticking timer gets confused and resets itself and his own always-imminent transformation is postponed to another day – so there are ways around it, if you’re wily, and not entirely scrupulous; but Shigeo of course is neither wily nor unscrupulous, and he comes back from seeing Reigen with his timer still ticking, and his secret still known only to himself and Ritsu.

On the last night, Shigeo moves his futon into Ritsu’s room and lays it out beside Ritsu’s low bed. There isn’t quite enough space – the duvet folds over itself where it meets the wall – but it doesn’t matter, Shigeo tells him reassuringly, failing to reassure, because this is his last night: next time he’s home again, he’ll be much too small to care about having space for a person-sized futon. In the only spare corner remaining, Shigeo places the cat bed he chose from the pet shop. He arranges a red fleece blanket inside it and steps back to admire his handiwork.

“This way I’ll have a choice,” he says to Ritsu. “If I still want my futon, or if I want a cat bed, when I’m a cat... Because I don’t know yet. I can’t guess. And you’ll be close.”

Ritsu, sitting on the edge of his bed in his pyjamas, makes a stifled sound of agreement.

“So that’s good... I know it’ll be better if you’re close. I’ll feel safe. Happy.” Shigeo makes a minute adjustment to the blanket in his cat bed. “Do you think it looks comfortable?”

Ritsu makes another stifled sound of agreement.

“Ritsu...?”

“No,” Ritsu says, “it’s just, it’s nothing, it’s just – I love you,” Ritsu blurts again, and manages only with a desperate attempt to prevent himself from bursting into tears.

“Ritsu! Ritsu – Ritsu, it’s okay. Shush, it’s okay.” Shigeo hurries to sit beside him on the bed; he puts a comforting arm around Ritsu’s shoulders, and Ritsu bursts into tears anyway. “Ritsu, it’s okay. Come on, it’s okay. It’s not a sad thing. It’s a nice thing. I like cats, you like cats, it won’t be—”

“I love you,” Ritsu insists. “Don’t you love me? Isn’t that enough? If it’s mutual, if it’s returned, that’s enough, it should be enough, I love you, I love you, I—”

“That’s a different sort of love,” Shigeo says fondly, rubbing Ritsu’s back to soothe him. “I don’t think that sort counts, really... But I do love you. It’s too bad it doesn’t count.”

“We could pretend it’s the right sort,” Ritsu says, feeling feverish. “We could – trick it, your timer, we could make it think it’s the right sort of love. Like Reigen-san does. If you pretend until you believe it, then it’ll stop, it’ll... If you’re in love, if it thinks you’re in love, then—” He twists around and seizes his brother’s face between his hands, and holds him in place so he can kiss him on the mouth. It’s a wet kiss, but only because Ritsu’s been crying so much.

“Ritsu,” says Shigeo, when Ritsu lets go of him, and he draws back and looks at Ritsu with just the same tender kindness as before. “You’ve been working so hard, Ritsu, you’re too stressed... You’re getting carried away.”

“I just kissed you,” Ritsu says.

“I know,” Shigeo agrees. He puts his hand on Ritsu’s, and gives it a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s nice of you to try. You’re a kind brother. But I don’t think it would work. And it’s too late to start now, anyway.”

“I kissed you,” Ritsu says again, so dazed that he feels calmer. “Don’t you mind?”

“I’ll probably be a cat tomorrow,” Shigeo says, and shrugs philosophically. “I don’t really mind anything, anymore.”

The rest of that evening is peaceful: Ritsu’s too much in shock to be anything but peaceful. He goes willingly to bed when Shigeo does and lies quietly, and spends the majority of the night wide awake, rolled over to the very edge of his bed, staring down at his brother asleep in his futon, at his sleeping face, his sleeping human face, committing every last already-memorised detail of his features even more securely into memory. This is Ritsu’s last chance to watch his brother sleep, at least as a human.

And when the sun rises, Ritsu takes his last chance to watch his brother eating breakfast, at least as a human. And this is his last chance to surreptitiously watch his brother getting dressed, and this is his last chance to watch his brother fastening his seatbelt in the passenger seat of Ritsu’s car, and by now Ritsu’s already lost whatever chance he ever had to make wonderful, passionate, exhausting love to his brother – and already he’s feeling ready to cry again: Ritsu’s grieving for far more reasons than Shigeo knows.

The clinic’s car park isn’t busy. The trees spreading their branches out above the entrance are dead and bare in the cold winter morning. Ritsu looks around for any old fallen leaves he can stamp on to express his misery, but the path has been swept neatly clear by the wind: his misery has to be expressed in the usual ways.

“You know I can carry my own bag,” Shigeo says mildly.

“I want to carry it,” Ritsu says, tightening his grip on it. “Nii-san, I love you.”

Shigeo stops in his tracks to hug him, patting him soothingly on the back while the clinic’s automatic doors keep opening and closing in protest about the fact they’re standing right outside the building’s entrance. “Ritsu, Ritsu, it’s okay. I love you too. Shush, Ritsu... Don’t cry,” Shigeo goes on, speaking kindly, and prising his overnight bag out of Ritsu’s hand as he says it, “they won’t be able to sign me in if you get the paperwork wet.”

Too late: Ritsu’s already crying.

His brother manages to sign himself in anyway, and Ritsu signs to confirm that he’ll be the one to sign him out. Not everyone has someone to sign them out, and not everyone wants to be signed out to anyone, anyway: clients can ask to be simply released into the city streets, or pay an additional fee to be released into a specific location, or to be entrusted to the care of one of the many permanent residential centres which exist for the purpose. The sky is the limit, so long as the bank account is sufficiently limitless.

Saying goodbye is difficult.

“I’m not dying,” Shigeo says, trying to tease him, but Ritsu’s in no mood to be teased. He hugs him very tightly for a very long time and every time he begins to consider letting go he remembers all over again that these final few minutes before he leaves are the last chance he’ll ever have to kiss his brother on the mouth again, and of course he isn’t going to take that chance – what if this time Shigeo dislikes it, and resents him, and then the last memory of his little brother Shigeo ever makes as a human is one in which his little brother revolted him? – which means Ritsu will never ever do it again, and then the urge to cry burns even more hotly at his eyes and instead he holds onto Shigeo tighter and doesn’t let him go.

“Ritsu,” says Shigeo, trying to be stern but not managing it. “Ritsu, come on. I have to go. I’ll see you again soon, won’t I? It’s just like – like a holiday.”

“We could try it,” Ritsu blurts out, his voice becoming damp again already. “It’s not too late. You’re still a human, so there’s still time, if you want to try, we could try. It’s not too late yet. You could kiss me first, this time – that might balance it out. Your timer might think that’s enough to be requited so it might stop and think we’re in love and you’d be safe, you’d stay human. We could try.”

Shigeo leans in and brushes his nose against Ritsu’s. “That’s how cats kiss,” he informs Ritsu, to which Ritsu says nothing because his heart stopped at the moment Shigeo leaned in and hasn’t yet restarted. “Cats always kiss people. I promise to kiss you lots as a cat.”

“Not as a cat,” Ritsu says.

“I know,” Shigeo says, conceding, “I know what you mean... But that wouldn’t be fair,” he goes on, reasonably; he’s explaining himself – he must have really thought it through, last night. “Even if it did work this time – you’d just have to keep on kissing me in future, to make sure it kept working... And that’s not fair. You should go and fall in love with someone.”

“I love you,” Ritsu says stubbornly.

“I love you, too,” Shigeo assures him; his mood is already cheerful and it brightens even more at the reminder that Ritsu loves him and he loves Ritsu. “It’ll be okay, Ritsu. I promise. Like a holiday. You don’t have work, so go and have fun. Go and relax.”

“You could kiss me anyway,” Ritsu says. “Just in case. It might work. And then if it does we could just do it again and keep doing it and—”

“Kageyama-san,” says the clinic counsellor who’s been waiting patiently by the door all along, addressing Ritsu, “Kageyama-san,” addressing Shigeo, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but our intake procedure does run on a schedule, and Kageyama-san risks missing his admission time. If we could move things along a little...?”

Shigeo hurriedly apologises. “I’ll be home again before you know it, Ritsu. I will. I promise. I love you. Go and have a nap, you should sleep more.”

At last Ritsu leaves. He has to leave. He doesn’t have to work but he won’t be able to relax, or have fun, or even catch up on the sleep he’s lost to worry this last week. He goes around their apartment looking for electrical wires to wrap in thick insulating covers to keep them from being chewed through, and spends a while staring intently at the glass door of the living room balcony wondering if a cat flap could be installed, whether a cat flap should be installed, whether he hasn’t been rash all along to have an apartment that isn’t on the ground floor and which could therefore pose a risk to his brother if he makes it onto the balcony and wanders off it. Is it dangerous to be living in the city at all? Don’t cats get into automobile accidents all the time? What if his brother gets out into the street and wanders absent-mindedly into the path of a vehicle? He’s done it as a human, so surely he’ll be even more likely to do it again as a cat. By now Ritsu’s online, looking up property prices in the countryside. He’s on the verge of contacting an estate agent before it occurs to him that in a remote location it would be more difficult to get to a veterinary clinic in an emergency – so does that balance it out? And his brother is used to this apartment; it might distress him to undergo two large sudden changes in quick succession.

Moving is out of the question, Ritsu thinks severely; stupid of him even to have considered it.

But there are so many other things to consider. Catnip, for instance: it’s fun for cats, but it’s a drug for cats – wouldn’t it be grossly irresponsible of Ritsu to supply his own older brother with the intent of allowing him to get high? Would the purchase of a stuffed toy mouse laced with catnip effectively be the same as Ritsu pushing his brother into drug abuse? Would Ritsu be encouraging a chemical dependency? Besides, Shigeo has always been perfectly content to entertain himself for hours on end by gazing into the middle distance while doing nothing at all – is it patronising for Ritsu to think of cat toys at all?

And while Ritsu’s to-do list of things to do beforehand has been completed, his to-do list of things to do afterwards is growing longer and more pressingly urgent all the time. His emergency plans in case of his brother’s transformation have always extended far beyond the transformation itself: planning ahead, thinking long-term, taking into account the aftermath, and the consequences, and the fact that the government grants a yearly living allowance post-transformation which is calculated based on age and is highest for those who transform soonest after turning twenty, who have had less time to save up against their future, and fewer opportunities to brace themselves against the hazards of their timer, which means that Shigeo is about to become not only a cat but also very financially comfortable. Everything will be changed from now on.

Ritsu has the rest of his own life to prepare for, too – but under the circumstances, that hardly seems relevant. There are so very many things to consider and fret and worry and catastrophise about that, despite himself, he finds the time flies by.

-

The typical clinic stay lasts two weeks, according to the internet. Ritsu gets a call one week and one day later, and arrives within the hour.

First there’s a meeting, and paperwork to sign, and then there’s another meeting and more paperwork and then Ritsu’s shown into a small clean room which looks like a luxury hotel suite but a quarter of the size. On the bed is a grey blanket folded neatly into a square. On the grey blanket is a sleeping cat – a plain black cat, so very plain and so very black that curled up on itself to sleep it could be a small round cushion instead, oddly placed on the middle of the bed.

“Nii-san?” Ritsu says at once, involuntarily. He looks quickly at the outpatient counsellor, with a strange hot mix of defensive embarrassment about the fact he’s just called a cat his brother, and been ignored – but the counsellor’s expression is still professionally solemn, and she only confirms that yes, yes, this is Kageyama-san: this is Ritsu’s brother.

The cat which is Shigeo is still sleeping, still curled up tight. Ritsu steps forwards and abruptly stops. “Can I – touch?” he says to the counsellor. “Can I touch him? I mean”—correcting himself and looking quickly back to the bed, to the cat, to his brother—“can... can I touch you?”

Why ask someone else’s permission to touch his own brother? Ritsu waits tensely for an answer. But his brother is sleeping, and not listening. His brother is a cat, and couldn’t speak to reply even if he wanted to.

“Is that allowed?” Ritsu asks the counsellor. “Is that okay?”

“In cases where the client becomes a member of a more volatile species, we don’t typically recommend it,” the counsellor says. “Scorpions, for example. Very nasty accidents can happen, when someone reunites with a loved one who’s now a scorpion. Porcupines: that’s another big problem we deal with. Some of the more colourful varieties of amphibian are also highly toxic – in situations where a client expresses their desire to become a poison-dart frog, for instance, we try to ensure all parties are fully informed of the risks beforehand. But Kageyama-san is a domestic cat, which as a species we classify at the very lowest risk level – although to an extent it depends on the individual’s temperament, of course. Some cats do tend to be freer with their claws than others.”

“So – can I?”

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.”

At once Ritsu crosses to the bed and drops to his knees beside it. The plain black cat which is Shigeo is still sleeping. His face is hidden in his tail. “Nii-san,” Ritsu says again. No response. Tentatively he touches the plain black fur of the cat’s back. He’s warm, he’s breathing: he’s alive. “Nii-san. Nii-san?”

Shigeo continues peacefully sleeping. Ritsu smooths his back, then his head between his ears, and when he continues to receive no response he looks up in sharp alarm at the counsellor. “Is he okay? Is something wrong with him? He’s not moving.”

“He’s just sleeping,” the counsellor says.

“But he won’t wake up,” Ritsu says.

“He’s sleeping deeply,” the counsellor says. “Some cats are like that. Would you say Kageyama-san was always a heavy sleeper?”

Always, Ritsu thinks – but it just doesn’t seem fair that Shigeo should still be a heavy sleeper now: on the most momentous and terrifying day of both their lives.

He spends a few more minutes trying gently to coax Shigeo awake, without success, until at last the counsellor speaks up to suggest it might be time for Ritsu to check himself and his brother out. “Yes,” Ritsu says at once, “yes, of course, I’ll – we’ll go home. Would you like that, nii-san? Back to the flat?”

Shigeo is a cat, and asleep, and says nothing.

“You can keep the blanket, if you’d like,” the counsellor offers.

Ritsu, sitting on the floor and fumbling to unzip the hatch of the cat carrier picked out from the pet shop by Shigeo himself, stops and stares blankly up at her.

“The blanket,” the counsellor repeats, speaking gently; she must be more than used to dealing with family members scrambled up by shock. “The one Kageyama-san’s sleeping on. The blanket is included in the price; it’s complementary.”

“Oh – thank you,” Ritsu says, bewildered. “The blanket. Thank you.” The grey felt blanket folded on the bed – why does a blanket matter? He scoops his brother gently from the blanket and deposits him on the bed; he puts the grey felt blanket inside the carrier, and then he scoops his brother up again.

Shigeo’s still sleeping. He’s heavy and everywhere Ritsu isn’t holding him he’s drooping like he’s made of molten wax: plain black molten wax.

Ritsu lowers him with immense care into the carrier and zips it closed.

-

Sometime between leaving the clinic and arriving back at their apartment, Shigeo wakes up. He doesn’t move or make any noise, so Ritsu doesn’t know when it happens, but by the time he unzips the carrier again the plain black cat inside is gazing sombrely at the flick of his own tail.

Ritsu removes both cat and blanket at the same time, and sets them down together on the floor of the living room. “Welcome home, nii-san.”

Silence. Is it strange to speak to a cat? But this cat is his brother, and even as a human his brother was never the talkative type: speaking to Shigeo with no response is nothing unusual for Ritsu. So he should speak to him, Ritsu resolves; he should talk a lot, to make Shigeo feel comfortable at home again, to help him not feel self-conscious about being a cat now, just in case that’s how Shigeo’s feeling, in case self-consciousness is something which cats in general are capable of feeling. And what if Shigeo can still understand everything he’s saying? What if Ritsu doesn’t talk to him and Shigeo’s hurt because he thinks Ritsu doesn’t want to talk to him?—doesn’t respect him enough as a cat to talk to him? Doesn’t think he’s worth talking to anymore, now that he’s a cat? Doesn’t want to acknowledge him at all, now that he’s a cat?

Ritsu can’t let that happen. He’ll talk to his brother a lot, he vows. Even more than before. He’ll tell him about every single thing that—

The cat which is Shigeo is getting to his feet. Ritsu’s heart has never been so fast in his life. The cat which is Shigeo slowly stretches himself, then ambles across the living room rug for about a metre before collapsing over onto his side and lying still.

“Nii-san...?”

Silence. Ritsu waits where he is, sitting on the floor, his heart hammering, staring tensely at the motionless plain black shape of his brother. If he’s sick then Ritsu will contact the clinic. Or a vet? Both, he thinks, just to be safe. An ambulance, too – Shigeo was very recently a human, he might still have human medical needs, so an ambulance would be safer.

When Ritsu goes to check, he finds his brother fast asleep again.

-

He spends that afternoon coaxing the cat which is his brother into every room in the apartment in order to refamiliarise him, and comfort him with the sights of home, assuming he recognises home, and is able to feel a sense of home at all, which he surely is, because he’s Shigeo – who’s ever enjoyed the comforts of home more than Shigeo? His hopes rise with each new room successfully investigated, and Shigeo’s seem to, as well; or at least he sprawls out on his own futon and lies there long enough to leave a shadow of black fur behind himself when he gets up again, which Ritsu considers promising evidence of increasing confidence in his surroundings.

Later, Shigeo makes his way slowly around the living room again. Ritsu watches him in enraptured silence: nosing at the bookshelf, putting one paw experimentally on the edge of the rug then lifting it up again several times in a row... Maybe he doesn’t like the rug. Maybe he especially likes the rug. Maybe he likes the texture but would prefer it in a different colour. Can cats see colour? Ritsu ought to know that; he’ll look it up as soon as he can.

Shigeo finishes experimenting with the rug and comes ambling over to the sofa. He jumps up onto the cushions and steps into Ritsu’s lap, turns around three times, and then promptly falls asleep, or at least into a state of such abrupt peace and quiet that it’s indistinguishable to Ritsu from real sleep.

Ritsu barely dares to breathe. He doesn’t dare to move. For such a small cat Shigeo is very heavy and very warm. Ritsu can feel the movement of his breathing. Already-crossed wires are sparking dangerously into life, knotting themselves into even more of a tangle than before and risking an explosive electrical blowout – Ritsu’s brother, lying warm and heavy in Ritsu’s lap, but Ritsu’s brother is a cat and will always be a cat and Ritsu isn’t attracted to cats, he has no romantic interest in cats, he’s very sure on that point, but this cat is his brother – and his brother is in his lap, of his own free will – his own free will as a cat, he’s a cat, even if he’s also Ritsu’s brother – but he is Ritsu’s brother – and he’s a cat, a cat, a cat—

And all at once it’s too much to process, so Ritsu processes none of it: the fuse blows. His hurtling trains of thought collide headlong and can’t recover; his racing thoughts forfeit the race and go still, fall silent. His mind is calm.

In his lap the cat which is his brother is sleeping, peaceful and content. Ritsu, too, is peaceful and content. He’s thinking of nothing at all. He puts his hand on Shigeo’s side and smooths his plain black fur, and still contentedly thinks of nothing, and only marvels at the wonder of the cat which is sleeping and breathing and comfortable in his lap.

After a while, he becomes aware that the slow movements of breathing he can feel beneath his hand have developed a vibration. Purring, he thinks: completely silent purring...

And, for the first time in his life, Ritsu discovers himself capable of experiencing happiness and nothing else at all. Happiness, uncontaminated: a feeling of wholly undiluted joy.

-

The next morning he takes a photo of his brother napping curled into a circle and attaches it to the email draft which Shigeo himself wrote last week, explaining the situation; Ritsu hits send and the email goes out to everyone in Shigeo’s life who Shigeo considered important enough to be notified, which is a list long enough that Ritsu’s laptop freezes and whirrs in protest until at last the emailing is done.

After that, Ritsu shuts his computer down. He turns his phone off. He turns Shigeo’s phone off too – he has to find it first, in the neatly packed overnight bag of all Shigeo’s belongings which the clinic staff signed over into Ritsu’s possession the day before – and once all means of electronic contact are closed off, he leaves them all closed off for the next three days. Lots of people will have questions, but those questions can wait. Letting his brother get used to his own new daily life is much more important.

His brother seems to be a very mild-mannered cat. He likes to sleep, and to lie so still that Ritsu believes he’s sleeping until he opens one eye and gives away that he’s awake; he likes to wander around and then collapse and lie down again. He doesn’t make any noises; he comes and finds Ritsu, who is warm, and sits on him, and Ritsu doesn’t dare to move – he stays where he is, no matter where he is, for as long as Shigeo wants to stay where he is too. It would be a lot more difficult if Ritsu wasn’t telekinetic himself, but, as it is, he can indulge his brother almost as long as his brother likes, keeping still for hours while Shigeo naps or pretends to nap; he can bring himself food from a distance, opening the fridge with concentration and psychic power alone, leaning to the side so he can see the kitchen sink and focus hard on turning the tap to fill his water glass; he can pass the hours by just smoothing his brother’s plain black fur, and feeling the silent hum of his purring.

In his bedroom Shigeo’s futon still lies out on the floor and Shigeo’s cat basket still sits with its blanket arranged by Shigeo himself, offering a choice of places that Shigeo thought might be appealing to himself, as a cat, to sleep – but instead every morning Ritsu wakes up with the cat which is his brother in his own bed: a warm lump against the small of Ritsu’s back, or testing his claws sleepily on Ritsu’s duvet cover, or curled on the pillow by Ritsu’s face licking drowsily at his own private parts.

Cats really are flexible, Ritsu thinks to himself, and shuts his eyes and turns his face away out of respect for his brother’s new sense of dignity.

In the process of exploring the surface of the coffee table, Shigeo steps on the television remote. The screen bursts into life and a news reporter picks up mid-sentence, and Shigeo’s tail goes stiff and bristly and a shockwave pulse of power throws the television into black and white and static and then, with a pop, the screen goes dark.

Afterwards, the two small portable speakers on the living room shelves no longer turn on. The microwave display flashes red and then doesn’t ever flash again.

“It’s just the TV,” Ritsu says to his brother, once his heart has sunk far enough back down his throat that he’s able to fit words out past it. “It’s nothing scary, nii-san, it’s just – just the TV. You got a fright. I’ll put that out of reach,” he adds, getting shakily to his feet, taking the remote control. He puts it on top of the bookshelves. It was nothing bad: only a short sharp shock for Shigeo, and only a short sharp shock for Ritsu, too.

He contacts the clinic, speaking quietly so as not to worry Shigeo or hurt his feelings if he hears, if he’s able to understand.

“Neither of you mentioned Kageyama-san was psychic during the intake procedure,” says the counsellor on the other end, sounding reproachful. “Of course it’s to be expected that a psychic client will remain psychic; it’s only a transformation process, you understand. It doesn’t change the client in any other way beside the obvious.”

“But my brother was able to control his powers as a human,” Ritsu says in a whisper, watching the door in case a plain black shape comes ambling through it. “He can’t, if he’s an animal.”

“Well, yes. That’s one of the hazards of the process. And cats are one of the more difficult animals to train; to speak frankly, we’d likely have counselled your brother against becoming a cat, if this information had been known during the intake procedure. Dogs are typically much easier to—”

“I’m not training my brother,” Ritsu says in disgust, and ends the call. Then immediately he turns his phone off, because already he can see the missed calls and unopened messages piling up. His brother is a cat now and he walks between Ritsu’s feet when he suspects Ritsu is going to make one of them food and feels that instead Ritsu should make both of them food. He takes to the concept of a litterbox without much fuss and only falls asleep in it once, and Ritsu lifts him out with pieces of clean fresh unused crumby litter stuck in his fur all the way down one side. He catches sight of his reflection in the glass of the balcony door one night when it’s dark outside but bright inside and goes still, motionless, staring; his tail flicks in wary caution, he sees the tail of his reflection flick in wary caution, and he reacts with a blast of startled psychic power that brings most of the furniture in the room crashing to the floor and shakes the balcony doors hard in their frames. He climbs onto the back of the sofa and walks along it to be near Ritsu’s head, and smells his breath after he’s eaten, and all of Ritsu’s crossed wires remain crossed, crossing even further, all tangled up in a mess of love and longing and lingering desire for his brother which is severely at odds with his aversion to feeling love and longing and lingering desire for a cat – but this cat is his brother, but his brother is a cat, but the cat is his brother is a cat is his brother is a cat—

But the cat which is his brother has put one paw on Ritsu’s shoulder and is purring now, and Ritsu lets all those crossed wires tangle up and blow their fuse. What does anything else matter, compared to this?

As softly as he can, he touches the paw on his shoulder. His brother licks his hand. Worrying about anything at all is impossible when each day overflows with as much perfect happiness as this.

His plans for sorting out the rest of his own life have been put on indefinite hold, which means a lot more work still lies ahead of him – but every morning Ritsu wakes up with the cat which is his brother sleeping with him on his bed, and every morning Ritsu finds he isn’t in much of a hurry to get on with starting any of that work.

Instead he smooths his brother’s fur with silent gentle reverence until Shigeo stirs, and clambers up to sleep on top of Ritsu’s stomach instead.

“I love you,” Ritsu says aloud in his bedroom. He could say more. He doesn’t say more; he has no idea how much his brother is able to understand. Everything he’s kept more or less quiet before he has to keep more or less quiet now, too. The fact he loves his brother is much more important than the fact he’s in love with his brother, anyway: that’s always been the case. And it’s all the same to cats, isn’t it? These days it’s all much the same to Ritsu, too. The difference between family love and every other kind of love felt stark and terrible when he was young, and still in the process of discovering how very many different and inappropriate ways he was capable of feeling love for his brother, but it’s been long enough since then that the panic has faded; the difference has been lost. His love for Shigeo is love for Shigeo, unspeakably taboo or otherwise.

Eventually, carefully, he scoops up his brother’s sleeping form, to move him aside so that Ritsu can get out of bed and start the day, too—

Shigeo startles awake.

The psychic flash shock breaks the glass in Ritsu’s bedroom window. He pins a spare pillowcase across the damage and calls in the glazier.

-

Once their phones are turned back on, people want to visit. Ritsu limits them strictly, so as not to overwhelm his brother or disturb him, but Shigeo is placid and seems unbothered by the irregular stream of familiar faces during the next week or so. Their parents are sanguine about the whole affair, being almost as used as Ritsu himself to Shigeo’s lifelong string of heartfelt romantic infatuations. “Seemed like every other month you’d introduce us to the new love of your life,” their father says to Shigeo, who’s busy rubbing his head against their mother’s palm while she tries to interest him in an orange stuffed fish on a spring. “So I can’t say this is a surprise, all things considered.”

“We’ll look after him if you ever need a break,” their mother puts in, and then she laughs, because Shigeo’s whiskers are touching her wrist and tickling her. “If you’re too busy, if you go on holiday – don’t think it’s your burden alone.”

“Nii-san’s not a burden,” Ritsu says.

“You know I don’t mean it like that,” their mother says, gently chiding. “But looking after an animal is a big commitment, Ritsu. Even if the animal is your brother.”

“Especially if the animal’s your brother,” their father says.

Their grandmother visits too, and she’s delighted by her eldest grandson’s condition: “Oh, who’s a pretty kitty? Who’s a pretty kitty?” She makes inquiries with Ritsu as to whether kittens might be on the horizon; Ritsu refrains from pointing out that if Shigeo were enough of a Casanova to have kittens already on the horizon after a mere four days of being a cat then, more than likely, Shigeo wouldn’t currently be a cat at all: he would be a human adult in a successfully requited relationship.

Shigeo’s friends and colleagues stop by, and all seem more or less unfazed by the fact their friend is now a cat. Reigen comes to visit too, and Ritsu finds himself mildly discomfited to realise how much more benevolent he feels towards him now that Reigen has been rendered permanently unable to give life advice to Shigeo which Shigeo might later repeat seriously back to Ritsu as though no life advice could ever be better or more trustworthy than Reigen’s. But however much of the old Shigeo remains in the new Shigeo, there’s no question that he remembers Reigen: he twists between his feet and then as soon as Reigen sits he climbs up and puts his paws on his shoulder and rubs his head against Reigen’s face, saying hello.

Ritsu hides his dismay. His brother previously reserved that greeting only for their parents and Ritsu himself: Ritsu thought it was special. He thought it was a family exclusive.

“Doing well, are you?” Reigen says to Shigeo. “You look it. Nice – nice glossy coat, that’s always a sign of good health. A wet nose. A, a rough tongue, that’s—” His voice is thick and his eyes are pink and watery, Ritsu realises, when Reigen’s inanities falter. “Being a cat’s no reason not to reach your fullest potential, Mob, you hear me? The key is to follow your dreams even as, as—‘scuse me,” he says abruptly, and detaches Shigeo from the front of his suit jacket, puts him none-too-graciously down on a cushion, and bolts for the kitchen.

Ritsu pursues him. Reigen’s standing at the sink, splashing water on his face, his eyes streaming.

“Are you all right?” Ritsu says, equally fascinated and revolted by this show of emotion.

“I’m allergic,” Reigen says, rubbing the back of his hand beneath his nose. “Always have been, I can’t – ugh,” with another hearty sniff, “can’t get within a mile of a cat, or this happens. Don’t think Mob ever knew, though. Well, no reason why he would have done. If we ever met a cat on a job I’d just tell the client I was very moved by their plight, hence the, the—” He sneezes, hard.

“Why did you even come to visit, then?”

“It’s Mob,” says Reigen, turning a moist and righteous stare on Ritsu. “You think I’m not gonna come and visit my star pupil? I’d sneeze my brains out, if it was for Mob’s sake. Happily, for Mob’s sake.”

That presupposes Reigen has any brains left to sneeze out, Ritsu thinks, and politely refrains from saying so. He’s an adult too now and he ought to be mature, and in any case Reigen is allergic to his brother: Ritsu can afford to be gracious.

-

Later that week it rains, and Shigeo sits at the balcony door watching avidly as it hammers down outside. He puts his paw against the glass at one point, and keeps it there until Ritsu notices.

“It’s raining,” he says. “Nii-san, look it’s pouring down; you don’t want to go out in that. You’ll only get wet and cold, you won’t like it.” But the cat which is his brother pushes his head against the glass, insisting. “No,” Ritsu says. “No, I’m sorry, but you won’t like it. You’ll catch a cold. It’s nasty weather out there, you’ll just—”

The floor of the room starts shaking. His brother’s short fur is rising, his tail is getting bushy. Ritsu leaps to his feet and unbolts the door and throws it back, and at once the shaking stops and Shigeo dashes outside.

Ritsu shuts the door behind him: it’s pouring out there; the rain will only soak the floorboards.

On the broad open space of the balcony, Shigeo walks back and forth a few times along its front panel. His fur is plastered against him within moments. He comes back to the door and opens his mouth – soundlessly, as always, and in any case Ritsu can only hear the rain – and then he puts his paw to the glass again, wanting to come back in.

“You’re soaking,” Ritsu says from inside the room. There’s no way his brother can hear him. “You just went out, nii-san, I told you you wouldn’t like it, but you insisted, so I don’t know why you want—”

Outside, Shigeo puts his paw down into a small puddle which has gathered at the balcony’s rim, and his wet fur flies up in shock and the glass of the balcony door shatters. The living room lights go out. The rug on the floorboards flings itself backwards, away from the balcony doors, and the fabric of the sofa peels back from its cushions on the side which faces the balcony like it’s been exposed to radiation.

Ritsu goes out into the rain to scoop up his sopping wet brother and carry him in, to keep him from putting his paws down on broken glass, and then he calls the glazier.

-

The first to-do list was everything Ritsu needed to do beforehand; the second to-do list is everything Ritsu still needs to do afterwards, and that list lies ready on top of the paperwork pile in Ritsu’s desk drawer, to make sure it’s the first thing he sees every time he opens it. It’s safe there: no chance that Shigeo, if he’s still able to read, will accidentally catch sight of it himself and be alarmed, because Shigeo hasn’t yet worked out how to open drawers without using telekinesis and so far he’s been reserving the use of telekinesis to open drawers that he already knows contain things he wants: such as pretzels, which he likes to lick, and butter, which he also likes to lick, and a squeaky green rugby ball which was confiscated because he kept squeaking it next to Ritsu’s ear in bed.

By now it’s been almost two weeks since his brother’s return from the clinic, and Ritsu’s made no progress at all: everything on his to-do list still remains for him to do.

“I suppose I’ll go back to work soon,” he tells Shigeo, in case Shigeo’s been wondering, in case wondering is something Shigeo is capable of doing. He won’t go back to work at all, of course, not when he’s already quit – but Shigeo doesn’t know that he quit, and Ritsu doesn’t know if Shigeo can understand him when he speaks: better to say only what Shigeo ought to hear. “Would you like to try going out somewhere? People take cats out sometimes, I’ve seen them... The park? Or a café, a cat-friendly café. You could have milk in a saucer.”

Shigeo says nothing, because Shigeo is a cat, and Shigeo doesn’t react, because Shigeo is absorbed in watching the edge of a piece of junk mail move very slightly back and forth in the breeze of his own breath.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Ritsu says. “Maybe you’re comfortable staying here. Are you, nii-san?”

The edge of the piece of junk mail is still moving: Shigeo remains enraptured. The limited-time offer on home and mobile internet bundles is glossy in the bright winter sunlight from outside.

“I wish you understood,” Ritsu says. He’s lying on his front beside him on the rug, watching him. “I wish I knew if you understood. You must know some things, because you remember me; you remember Mum and Dad, and Reigen-san, and you know your way around the apartment. You know the milk’s in the fridge. And you took the milk out the fridge, so you can use your powers on purpose, if you want to. And you walked over the carton till it broke and all the milk spilled on the floor, so you understand cause and effect, too... But maybe that’s all just instinct. Instinct isn’t necessarily linked to understanding. Maybe you don’t even know I’m your brother anymore. Maybe you just think I’m the person who feeds you.”

Ritsu’s mood is growing doleful. He watches as Shigeo at last loses interest in the piece of junk mail, and rolls over to lie on top of it instead; he stays sprawled there for a minute or two, and then loses interest in sprawling too and gets up and comes over to Ritsu instead, and goes past him, out of sight.

A paw presses on Ritsu’s back. More paws. Shigeo’s heavy; he’s climbing up, finding somewhere new to sit.

“But I suppose I was always the person who feeds you,” Ritsu says, feeling much less doleful with his brother turning in circles between his shoulders. “If we’re talking about grocery bills. Household expenses. That’s what you get for working at the leisure centre, nii-san. You’re lucky I could support us both.”

The cat which is his brother is settling down, his weight on Ritsu’s upper back. Ritsu can’t see him, and can’t move him, and doesn’t want to, anyway – he folds his arms on the rug and puts his head down, getting comfortable too: he’ll lie here for as long as Shigeo wants him to. It’s not as though he has anywhere else to be. He’s made sure he has nearly no commitments left in his life but Shigeo.

“I love you,” Ritsu says aloud, feeling drowsy, contented. I’m in love with you: Ritsu’s used to not saying that part aloud. He adds it in mentally, between the lines, same as usual.

Any lingering discomfort he feels about experiencing romantic love for a cat will surely wear off sooner or later, just the same as all lingering discomfort he felt about experiencing romantic love for his brother wore off years ago. He’ll get used to it. And cats themselves don’t distinguish, do they? Cats just feel love, and don’t bother with different sorts of love; it’s all much simpler for cats. If it worked that way for humans as well then Shigeo wouldn’t be a cat at all: he’d still be a human, saved by his love for his brother who loves him too.

Shigeo’s sleeping, and purring, and Ritsu’s comfortable where he is. What will happen will happen: it just doesn’t have to happen yet. He’ll get back to his to-do list sooner or later, of course – he’ll stop procrastinating and do what he needs to do, and sort out all the loose ends of his own and Shigeo’s futures both...

But not right now, though. Not just yet.

-

Whenever Ritsu takes a bath, sooner or later the cat which is his brother follows him in and jumps up onto the closed toilet lid and sits there, paws tucked in, looking at him. Watching him. Staring closely at him.

If Ritsu moves and the water slops against the sides of the bath, Shigeo’s ears twitch: maybe he’s only interested in the sound of the water. Maybe he likes the smell of the soap. Maybe, as a cat, the desires he buried as a human are rising to the surface, his behaviour becoming free and instinctive in a way he never allowed it to be before, and the fact he’s taken to staring at Ritsu in the bath is a sign that Shigeo has always wanted to stare at Ritsu in the bath but was held back before now by his human inhibitions.

Ritsu wishes Shigeo would have thought to mention it to him while he was still a human, if that really was the case. It’s a little unsettling to try to take a bath with his brother staring at him so intently, motivations unknown. It feels indecent to be naked in front of an animal; even more indecent to be naked in front of an animal which is his brother, in front of whom Ritsu would have always been eager to be naked if only Shigeo had given him some indication that he was eager for Ritsu to be naked, too – but it’s not the same, now that Ritsu can’t be sure if Shigeo really knows what he’s doing. He can’t enjoy it; he can’t allow himself to enjoy it. What if Shigeo really only likes the sound of water sloshing against the bathtub’s sides? Ritsu shouldn’t assign motives to a cat. He doesn’t want to think erotically of a cat and he doesn’t want to think of a cat thinking erotically of him – which is hard, because this cat is his brother, and Ritsu does want to think erotically of his brother, and he’s always enjoyed thinking of his brother thinking erotically of him.

The second time Shigeo settles down to watch him in the bath, Ritsu tries to shoo him out again. Shigeo sits on the toilet lid and watches closely as Ritsu flaps his hands, and doesn’t move. Ritsu leans over and tries to give him a gentle, encouraging push towards the door. Shigeo whisks his tail, stands up, turns around, and sits back down again.

After that Ritsu tries taking his baths with his eyes closed, but that’s even worse: his brother’s faint aura feels the same as it’s felt all throughout Ritsu’s life, and with his eyes closed there’s nothing to tell Ritsu’s senses that his brother isn’t just the same as always, that he isn’t human, human and quiet, sitting on the toilet lid by his own human choice and watching Ritsu bathe...

If it’s indecent to be naked in front of a cat, it’s far worse to be naked and turned on in front of a cat. And being naked and turned on because of the cat—

Ritsu takes his baths with his eyes open, after that.

-

“Do you miss talking, nii-san?”

Shigeo, unable to talk, says nothing.

“I miss it,” Ritsu says to him, rubbing his stomach. “I miss talking to you. Well, not talking to you; I’m talking to you now, of course I don’t miss that. But – talking with you. Having a conversation with you... Not in a bad way,” Ritsu corrects himself hurriedly, remembering too late that he might not be talking to himself and Shigeo really might be listening, and understanding, and feeling ashamed or unhappy or guilty that he’s distressing his brother with his silence, which he can’t help, being a cat, although if Shigeo’s currently feeling any of those feelings he’s not expressing them in an obvious way: he’s rolling energetically from one side to the other on his back, encouraging Ritsu to provide full coverage of his stomach. “It’s just different, that’s all... Maybe you’d talk to other cats. Do you want to see other cats? Are you lonely? Your friends come round a lot, you know. And I always read their messages aloud when they email you... I suppose I could invite Reigen-san again. I think he’d rather talk on video call, though; you’d have to promise not to headbutt the screen. ...Do you miss talking, nii-san?”

Shigeo clamps all four paws shut like a trap on Ritsu’s hand, and commences licking the inside of his wrist with vigour.

“Maybe you don’t miss it,” Ritsu says. “Maybe you like it, maybe it’s relaxing for you, not having to think about what to say. Maybe it’s easier.”

With the hand not currently detained, he reaches cautiously in to try to free the cuff of his jumper from the hook of a stray claw. His brother gives that hand a cursory lick as well, seizing the opportunity to lick more of Ritsu as long as more of Ritsu is in reach. Is that communication? Is he being friendly? Does he want to tell Ritsu something, by licking him?—does he believe he is telling Ritsu something, and Ritsu, being human, is letting Shigeo down by not understanding what he’s being told? Are there courses people can take, to learn to decode the intentions of cats who lick and stare and follow you and sleep with you and rub themselves all over you and never say a word, because they’re cats, and couldn’t say a word even if they wanted to?

“I miss it, anyway,” Ritsu says forlornly. “Not just talking. All kinds of communicating, too. I miss all of it... I wish we could understand each other. I wish you could tell me what you’re thinking. I wish—”

The doorbell rings. A startled psychic shockwave knocks flat everything within two metres of the epicentre, including Ritsu, who rebounds and jumps to his feet, and once the epicentre himself has calmed down again he hurries through the debris after Ritsu to investigate.

“Grocery delivery,” announces the man at the door. Ritsu scoops his brother up and holds him while he signs for it: he’s not risking an escape. Shigeo rubs his head enthusiastically against the side of his neck. “Friendly cat, that one. Mind if I—”

“He’s my brother,” says Ritsu sharply, and the delivery man lowers the hand he’d been raising to scratch Shigeo’s ears. “Thank you,” Ritsu says, with as much chilly dignity as he can manage with Shigeo now pushing his nose into the underside of his jaw, and he shuts the door and locks it.

Ordering groceries online saves him having to take Shigeo out to the supermarket, with its bright lights and jangling background music and infinite quantity of attractive food smells which seem to Ritsu like an overwhelming sensory mix all but guaranteed to spark psychic catastrophe in an easily startled cat. He prepares dinner, and his brother keeps him company in the kitchen, first by walking between Ritsu’s feet and then by going under the counter and making Ritsu get down on hands and knees to peer into the darkness for the invisible shape of a black cat in black shadow, in case Shigeo’s got himself stuck down there – but at length he emerges again, his tail dusty, and sprawls out on the floor as though his adventures below the counter have exhausted him more than any workout ever could.

Lately Ritsu’s taken to sitting on the floor when he eats as well, because it doesn’t feel polite to sit up at the kitchen table and leave his brother alone down there. He’s tried putting Shigeo’s food up on the table too, but it doesn’t work – Shigeo wanders around the tabletop and swishes his tail in Ritsu’s face, or puts a paw on Ritsu’s plate, or waits for Ritsu to lift up the pan and then promptly lies down on the mat, because it’s warm.

Tonight, sitting on the floor, the cat which is his brother climbs into his lap as soon as Ritsu puts his plate aside. He puts his front paws high up on Ritsu’s chest and leans up to push his mouth against Ritsu’s, and starts licking.

“What?” Ritsu says in alarm, already mortified by the sudden spike in his heartbeat. He tilts his head away. Shigeo’s insistent, and follows. “Nii-san, you’re not – you can’t lick my mouth,” he says loudly, despite the fact that for a very long time there have been few things Ritsu would like more than for Shigeo to lick his mouth, one way or another. “Are you just – are you trying to smell my breath? Nii-san? Is that it? Do I taste of mackerel?”

That silent vibration has started in Shigeo’s middle. He’s purring; he’s being persistent. Ritsu puts his hand across his mouth, and then he changes his mind and puts his hand across Shigeo’s mouth instead – carefully, minding his whiskers.

Shigeo settles down in his lap at once and proceeds to lick Ritsu’s fingers, which must still be fishy enough to be an adequate replacement for Ritsu’s mouth. His tongue is rough. Because he’s a cat, Ritsu thinks. Because he’s a cat. He’s a cat, his tongue is hot and ticklish and Ritsu’s feelings are hot and stirring and still mortified, he’s a cat, Ritsu reminds himself with rising desperation, he’s a cat, it would be absurd to stop a cat from licking him just because Ritsu is full of unnecessary human preconceptions about what kind of love makes what kind of contact permissible which cats, being cats, do not possess, and which Shigeo, being a cat, no longer possesses either; he’s a cat and he’s only doing what cats do naturally, he likes Ritsu and he’s only letting Ritsu know, he’s Ritsu’s brother and a cat and Ritsu’s brother and still licking Ritsu’s fingers thoroughly and a cat, he’s a cat – he’s a cat—

“I’m really sorry,” Ritsu says abruptly, and moves Shigeo from his lap to the floor and bolts for the bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, and just to be sure he stands with his back against it, so that even if the handle is turned by feline telekinesis then it still won’t be able to swing open.

His brother is a cat. His brother very recently used not to be a cat.

Ritsu shuts his eyes and thinks very, very hard of the version of his brother who wasn’t a cat. If that version of his brother licked Ritsu’s fingers then his tongue would be softer. If that version of his brother licked Ritsu at all, anywhere, it would be fine – better than fine; perfect, beyond improvement. Ritsu wouldn’t mind that at all. His mouth, his hands, anywhere Shigeo wanted to lick, no problem at all, and if he wanted the favour returned then Ritsu would oblige him in a heartbeat.

Would once have obliged him, anyway: it’s impossible now.

Ritsu washes his hands with soap three times in a row before he ventures out of the bathroom afterwards, just in case. His brother is a wonderful cat, but he’s a cat: the disadvantages of not being the same species as Shigeo are beginning to significantly outweigh the advantages.

Communication difficulties, he thinks. That’s all it is. What Shigeo considers affection is no longer what Ritsu considers affection; what Ritsu considers acceptable intimacy between brothers is no longer what Shigeo considers acceptable intimacy between brothers. Things are different for cats. Love is different for cats. They don’t have different sorts: it’s all the same.

People could really stand to learn a lot from cats, in Ritsu’s opinion.

-

The next morning he rises from sleep into nightmares which cling to him stickily, heavily, with a suffocating pressure which when at last he manages to emerge in a panic into the waking world he finds is all Shigeo’s fault: curled up in a plain black lump on Ritsu’s chest, stopping him from breathing. The tip of his tail is flicking ticklishly just under Ritsu’s nose.

Ritsu shunts him gently down onto his stomach, so he can breathe. His to-do list is still lying in its drawer; he could open the drawer from where he is and float it over to him, if he wanted: but he doesn’t. There’s no need. He already knows what he has to do next.

He strokes the smooth plain line of his brother’s back; he looks at the curtains shining with winter light on the other side. Then, after a while, raising his voice and speaking clearly, Ritsu says, “My head feels strange this morning, nii-san. I wonder what it is?”

Shigeo keeps sleeping, or pretending to sleep – Ritsu still can’t tell the difference unless he opens his eyes. But he’s said it, now. He’s given himself a foundation to build on.

Dimple takes it upon himself to come by after breakfast, floating in through the wall while Ritsu’s washing up. He doesn’t announce himself; instead he floats over towards where Shigeo’s lapping at his water bowl and sinks down lower, and lower, and lower—

“Don’t,” Ritsu says, turning from the sink. “I felt you come in, I know you’re there. What good would possessing a cat do, anyway?”

“Yeah, but it’s Shigeo,” says Dimple. “You think Shigeo’s a normal cat? He’s like a, a—”

“—cheetah,” says Ritsu.

“I was gonna say super-cat,” says Dimple. “Either way, I guess. Whatever. How’s things?”

Things are okay, Ritsu confirms, apart from this strong and mysterious headache he’s feeling today. He offers tea, which Dimple can’t drink, and a choice of snacks, none of which Dimple can eat, and invites him through into the living room to sit down, which Dimple is incapable of doing; so only Ritsu sits, and Shigeo, ears twitching as he watches Dimple’s movements, follows along behind them.

“Headache, huh?” Dimple says. “You don’t think it could be”—manifesting a thumb to jerk it meaningfully in Shigeo’s direction, which is also Ritsu’s direction, because Shigeo is rubbing himself vigorously against the side of Ritsu’s ankle—“what he got, do you? Him first, you a couple of weeks later?”

“It’s not typically contagious,” Ritsu says. “But I suppose it’s possible it could have had an effect. If I’ve been so focused on nii-san’s transformation that somehow I might have involuntarily... encouraged it, in myself... Like how you’re more likely to become sick if you’re already stressed. Your defences are lower. Your system’s ready to become sick... But of course I don’t know if that’s possible,” Ritsu says, pretending modestly to catch himself speculating, “and it’s probably just a headache, anyway. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Dimple contorts his entire face into a look of stunned incredulity. “Yeah, but you wanna risk it?” he demands. “Right after Shigeo, you really wanna risk it? Speed-dating, that’s what I’d do. You wanna get through as many girls as possible as fast as possible, you got a deadline, you wanna try speed-dating. Seriously, Ritsu. Check it out.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” Ritsu says. Then he makes a face, and laughs: Shigeo’s found the gap between his sock and his trouser leg, and his whiskers are tickling. “Come here,” he says, reaching down to encourage him, and Shigeo jumps up onto the sofa and into Ritsu’s lap; he stretches up and Ritsu tips his face down towards him, so their noses can touch. Probably he just likes the smell of Ritsu’s breath, milk for breakfast. Probably it’s nothing more than that. Things are different for cats.

But Shigeo promised to kiss him lots as a cat, and he’s been keeping his promise: Ritsu closes his eyes to concentrate on enjoying the moment.

“Touchy-feely kinda cat, huh?” Dimple says, watching them.

“I’m his brother,” Ritsu says, still touching his nose to Shigeo’s, smoothing down the soft fur between his ears. “He’s my brother. It’s normal for brothers. ...Say hello to Dimple, nii-san,” he adds, and scoops him up to hold him nearer.

Shigeo bats an affectionate paw. Dimple rips down the middle into two straggly pieces like the aftermath of an aeroplane blasting through a cloud, and both halves wheel away to the furthest side of the room and try hurriedly to mash themselves back together again. “Watch it!” Dimple cries in outrage. “Shigeo, it’s me! Dimple! Your old pal Dimple! You wanna kill me?”

“He was just saying hello,” Ritsu says, lowering the cat which is his brother back into his lap again. He touches him beneath his chin: Shigeo’s purring. “Weren’t you, nii-san? Weren’t you?”

Dimple doesn’t stick around after that, but his inability to keep his mouth shut in front of anyone capable of seeing him means, Ritsu’s sure, that the psychic population of Spice City will all be aware of the fact of Ritsu’s possibly-ticking timer before the day is out.

-

The apartment is clean, as it always is, but soon it’ll need to be as immaculate as it was the day they first moved in. Once Dimple’s gone and they’re home alone again, he and Shigeo get on with it.

“It’s not really fair,” Ritsu explains to him. “It’s not really fair for either of us, I don’t think. Because I know you’re just being friendly, but—Nii-san, sorry, can you move?”

Shigeo can, but chooses not to. Ritsu puts back down the armful of laundry he just picked up, removes his brother from the top of the washing machine, and then all in one very quick movement opens the lid, shoves the laundry inside, and shuts the lid again just in time before his brother jumps back up and settles comfortably in the way again.

“Thank you,” Ritsu says, “I’m done now; I won’t move you again. But I don’t think it’s fair on us,” he goes on, tapping buttons to set the wash cycle, “because even when I know you’re only being friendly, the meaning feels different to me. So it’s not fair to you that I can’t understand you properly, and it’s not fair to me that I can’t understand you properly, either. Because we’re brothers, aren’t we? So it’s not fair if something stops us understanding each other like that... Are you sure you want to stay there, nii-san? You know it’s about to start moving.”

The washing machine lurches into its first rumbling cycle: Shigeo realises it, and jumps down in a hurry to the floor again.

Next stop: the bathroom. “I don’t mean to say we always understood each other before,” Ritsu says, in rubber gloves to his elbows, busily wiping down the sink, “because we didn’t, not all the time – we misunderstood, or miscommunicated... Well, everyone does, don’t they? But at least we were speaking the same language. Not just Japanese, I mean. The, the human language. Body language, and facial expressions... Me more than you, I suppose. But being the same species makes all that kind of thing so much easier than you ever realise, until it’s gone.”

Shigeo, as usual, says nothing. He’s in the bathroom too, because Ritsu is, but he’s crouching on the furthest corner of the bathtub’s closed lid, keeping his safe and cautious distance from Ritsu, because he dislikes the sight of rubber gloves.

“I was reading about it online, actually,” Ritsu says, finishing with the sink and turning his attentions to scrubbing out the toilet. “I found out that cats talk to other cats with their ears, and their tails, and their whiskers... But if you tried to talk to me with your whiskers, I wouldn’t understand it. I probably wouldn’t even realise you were trying to talk to me. And if I wrote you a message, you wouldn’t understand that, either. So it’s no good – us not being able to understand each other anymore. It’s not – ah, just a moment, sorry: I’m about to flush it, nii-san, you can go outside if you want. I am about to flush it,” he tells his brother seriously, touching the toilet’s handle to make sure the danger is clear. “Really. Last chance to leave. ...You’re staying? You’re ready? Are you sure?”

At the noise of the flush, Shigeo’s ears twitch. The limp hose of the shower rattles against the side of the bathtub; the roll of toilet paper spins a few frantic revolutions – and then nothing. No damage. No breakage. No burst pipes and consequent flooding.

“Thank you,” Ritsu says, relieved, “thank you, nii-san. You kept things very calm that time. Next room?”

They progress to the living room. As soon as the rubber gloves are gone, Shigeo is as overjoyed to be near Ritsu again as though he hasn’t been following him around all morning already.

“I can’t dust anything if you keep lying on everything I need to dust,” Ritsu tells him, which fails to stop him lying on everything Ritsu needs to dust; so Ritsu gives up on dusting, and instead sits down with a soft brush to groom his brother’s fur neat and smooth and shining, which keeps both of them just as pleasantly occupied in the quiet sunny living room as dusting would have done too. “I don’t think anyone ever realises how much easier it makes it to communicate, being the same species – not until you aren’t the same species, and by then it’s too late. You take it for granted. Not you you, nii-san. Just generally speaking.”

Shigeo licks his left front paw and rubs his ear and licks his left front paw again.

“But I’ll never take it for granted again,” Ritsu says, heartfelt. “You’re a wonderful cat, nii-san. You’re the best cat possible. You’re a perfect cat. But you’re my brother. I miss you as my brother.”

Shigeo switches to his right front paw and methodically continues.

“I want to understand you again, and – have things in common with you again, and share things again, and... And I want to be brothers properly again,” Ritsu says, with more passion bursting into his voice than he was expecting to allow himself. “It’s got nothing to do with – anything else. Other things. Different feelings. None of those. I just want to be brothers properly again. That’s what’s important to me, nii-san. That’s what matters most.”

Shigeo rubs his head against Ritsu’s hand. Ritsu puts down the grooming brush, too overcome to continue.

“That’s what matters most in the world,” he says to Shigeo. “Being brothers. Understanding each other.”

Shigeo rearranges himself, sticks one leg up in the air, and begins licking thoroughly at a part of himself which Ritsu feels certain he never used to be able to lick as a human. Maybe he’s making a quiet yet forceful point about how innumerably many advantages cats have over people. Maybe he’s just cleaning his bum. The fact Ritsu can’t know for sure is just further damning proof of everything Ritsu’s been trying to explain to his brother all morning.

“Imagine us like this – forever,” he says to Shigeo. He’s imagining it himself too, as he says it: he feels his blood cooling to a chill at the thought.

-

It pains Ritsu to have to use the cat carrier again, but the odds of Shigeo spending a long car journey curled up sleeping peacefully on the passenger seat are unfortunately equal to the odds of Shigeo waking up partway through and climbing into Ritsu’s lap, clambering up to get in Ritsu’s face and block his view of the road, or draping himself over the gearshift to sleep, or going down to investigate the pedals and getting his tail trapped – so the carrier it is, and Shigeo minds his business quietly inside it for the hour or so it takes them to cross the city and pass on beyond its outskirts, where the buildings are lower and more widely spaced, and roomier inside, with front gardens instead of streetside parking space. Squares of suburban paddy fields interrupt the buildings every now and then, grey and wet and dead, with long concrete pathways running between them.

Most things are dead in winter but the gravelled car park where they stop at last has a thick border of vivid evergreen bushes, and the path to the central building is lined with red flowers. Attention to detail, Ritsu thinks with tense approval – that’s a positive sign.

He leaves the carrier behind, and takes his brother along with him in his arms instead. Shigeo wanders the length of the reception desk while Ritsu signs them both in, and when a guide arrives to show them out into the grounds he climbs up and lolls over one of Ritsu’s shoulders like half a scarf.

“Cats are a popular choice, easy to cater to, so you’ll find cat facilities at any of our branches. The lower end of the price range, too – it’s a straightforward service, generally speaking, providing for cats. Now, the specialist centres, that’s where our residents can expect to end up paying a little more. We have centres catering for the larger species, or the exotics, or the toxics – the venomous sorts, your poison-spitters, snakes with paralytic venom... But rest assured you won’t find any of those at the Spice City branch. Strictly pets only,” concludes their guide, and unlocks the door of a wood-fronted cabin which looks from the outside like an upmarket garden shed, but which inside is a two-roomed apartment that no human would easily be able to live in: the only beds are round, and much too small. Short lengths of shelving are fixed into the walls like steps, one after the other in a zigzag upward pattern; rope bridges and balancing planks cross from wall to wall at various heights. Something like a water feature is running in one corner: a tasteful little pool with a tap above it, flowing freely, making tinkly little splashing sounds.

“Fresh water,” explains their guide, putting his shoes aside as he leads the way in. “Available at all times, as you see, so if a resident wants a drink, they can have a drink. Allows more dignity than waiting for a human to come and change your bowl. More independence, too: you’re not subject to a human’s whims. Very important, to most of our residents.”

“Of course,” Ritsu says automatically; he’s staring around him, trying to understand and memorise everything he sees at once. He pats his brother, who’s lounging over Ritsu’s shoulder facing back the way they came. “Nii-san, do you want to have a proper look around?”

What Shigeo wants to do is collapse onto his side and lie on the floor, which he does quite contentedly as soon as Ritsu lets him down; but after a minute or so of lounging around he gets up again and disappears through an arched doorway in the wall, which is the right size for cats and not for humans: Ritsu has to get down on his knees to see into it. The room beyond is unlit, but he can just about make out the lumpy shapes of large soft climbing blocks: a cat playground for adventures in the dark.

“Meals are organised by staff but not delivered by staff,” their guide is explaining, “for dignity’s sake, again; you don’t want someone coming round telling you when you can and can’t eat, do you? Not if you’re a grown adult. Adult human or adult cat, we don’t recognise the difference here, apart from in the most basic zoological sense, which is of course necessary for providing the highest standards of veterinary care, as we do. Food is prepared and served through a wall hatch which becomes accessible at mealtimes. We can also talk about menu options, if you like – there’s the standard menu, that’s the basic menu, your cat food, your cat biscuits; there’s a weekly menu, that means it changes on a weekly rotation; there’s a monthly menu, that means it—”

“Later,” Ritsu interrupts, “thank you, we can talk later. We’ll just... look around, for now. My brother will look around.”

For all he’s talked about his headache these last few days, he’s almost starting to feel it for real: light-headed, strange, like he isn’t quite attached to his body anymore. The ceiling is lower in here than it would be in a human’s apartment: maybe that’s affecting him.

He lifts Shigeo down from the low shelf he’s sprawled himself out on. Outside again, the guide leads them across crunching, frosted grass and through a hardy grey-green winter garden to another cabin a short walk away, distant enough from the first for privacy. Inside it’s much the same, only larger: more colours, more climbing equipment, more bright cat toys and cushions and interestingly-textured patches of fabric for sitting and sleeping and scratching.

Shigeo discovers a cat-flap in the back wall and vanishes through it. By the time Ritsu’s dashed outside in his socks and raced around to the back of the building to find him, Shigeo has already wandered back inside.

“Outdoor access is always available,” their guide explains helpfully to Ritsu, while he’s catching his breath again and recovering from his panic. “Our residents are only prevented from accessing the grounds in emergencies. Typhoons, severe thunderstorms – nothing a cat would want to go outside in, anyway.”

Shigeo goes out through the cat-flap again and comes back in through it and then leaves again and comes back in.

“Are you having fun?” Ritsu asks him.

Shigeo goes out through the cat-flap and comes back in again.

“Our grounds are kept very secure,” their guide continues a while later, walking with Ritsu, who’s walking with Shigeo draped over his shoulder again; they’re passing through a copse of bare winter trees. “Cats with cats, dogs with dogs. Hamsters and mice, rats, guinea pigs, et cetera, our rodent population – those have their own separate accommodations; you won’t see them out having the full run of the grounds. Our gardens always have something in season, as you can see”—fir trees emerging from beyond the rise and fall of a hill, waterweeds around the rocky sides of a shallow pool; those red winter flowers here and there—“in order to provide a stimulating outdoor environment for our residents no matter the time of year.”

“And visitors?”

“They’re welcome.” Their guide stops politely, waiting for Ritsu as he puts Shigeo down to investigate a thicket of tall, dry grass which rustles and shakes around him as he noses his way into it. “They have to register with us first, of course, make an appointment; we run their names past the resident’s proxy, that’s their main contact, their human representative, just to make sure there’s no funny business... That would be yourself, I take it?”

“Ah,” says Ritsu. His voice sticks. His brother is still roaming in the long grass, his tail swishing. He puts his hand to his throat for no good reason, trying to hold the words in even as he lets them out. “No, um – it’ll be our parents, I expect. Because I’m looking for, I’m actually looking for, for a place for two. My brother and – me. Within, um. Within... a week or two, I think.”

“Of course,” says the guide, unfazed and understanding. “Of course, that’s no problem. The majority of our residents are self-admissions. It’s the proactive approach, isn’t it? You want to get yourself prepared while you’re still able to prepare.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Ritsu says, as Shigeo comes ambling out of the grass again with a few dry burrs caught in his fur, a few loose strands of grass clinging on. “The proactive approach. Nii-san, here – you’re messy, let me...”

He crouches down to brush his brother’s fur clean again. A proactive approach as long as his lifetime: no one could have made themselves more thoroughly prepared than Ritsu has.

-

There is, technically, nothing standing in the way of Ritsu bravely bandaging up his heart and moving on and finding love elsewhere, with a human, and not a cat, and not a close blood relative. Most people, after all, are capable of falling in love with plenty of people; and of course people always break up, they divorce, they move on; they fall in love again and save themselves again – but Ritsu doesn’t want to, and doesn’t intend to, and doesn’t particularly believe he’d be capable of it even if he ever inexplicably chose to attempt it. Every plan he’s ever made for what to do in the event of his brother’s transformation has included Ritsu’s own prompt entry into the animal kingdom as soon afterwards as possible; he’s been counting on it ever since Tsubomi, aged six, first told him that his brother wanted to be a cow.

Whenever his own timer finally starts ticking then it’s going to keep on ticking till its time runs out, because the only person Ritsu is in love with hasn’t returned his love, and is now incapable of returning it, because the person in question is no longer a person but a cat: and so Ritsu will transform. It’s inevitable. It’s the direction in which his life is heading no matter what.

So what difference does it make, really, if he forces it to happen sooner than it might have happened otherwise? What’s the difference between sitting around and waiting for it to happen on its own – next week, next month, twenty years down the line – and signing himself into the clinic to undergo voluntary medical inducement, if the end result will be the same either way?

The way Ritsu sees it, it’s going to happen at some point. It might as well happen now.

Of course there are pros and cons. Cons: his life will, effectively, end. He won’t further his career and he won’t make friends and he won’t start a family and he won’t travel and he won’t learn more about the world and he won’t experience anything new, apart from being a cat; he’ll willingly curtail his future and limit the horizons of his life to his brother, forever.

Pros: as above. He’ll limit the horizons of his life to his brother, forever.

And really, that’s all that Ritsu wants: he wants to be with his brother. Cats don’t care about interspecies translation errors, and Ritsu doesn’t want to care about them either anymore, not now that Shigeo doesn’t. Cats don’t care about things like keeping their distance. Cats don’t concern themselves with the complicated nuances of physical affection. Cats don’t bother with social constructs like the distinction between romantic and familial love, or personal space; cats just follow their instincts and enjoy themselves, and live a careless, peaceful life. Who hasn’t heard stories of families adopting sibling kittens and being horrified when the kittens play together sexually, without shame, without guilt? There’s no incest taboo in the animal kingdom; there’s only love, uncategorised.

Life will be simpler and happier once both of them are cats. They’ll be able to love each other again without any worry or fuss. They’ll be able to understand each other through the subtle movement of ears and tails and whiskers in a way that’ll seem as clear and natural to them as speaking always did before. Things are different for cats, but when both of them are cats then things will be the same for them again – and things should be the same for them, because they’re brothers: it’s not fair, otherwise.

It’s just getting a head-start on the inevitable, Ritsu tells himself. He imagines telling Shigeo too, explaining his reasons, presenting his list of pros and cons and talking Shigeo through them in a sensible and convincing way, persuading him to understand why Ritsu’s decision is wise, and why his conclusion is the best possible conclusion – because isn’t it better, like this? Isn’t this much better than letting it happen to him the way it did to Shigeo, against his will, at a time he hasn’t prepared for, under conditions that might not be ideal? This way, Ritsu’s in control. It happens when and how he wants it.

But Ritsu doesn’t say any of that. He keeps it secret. It’s probably better if Shigeo never knows he’s doing this voluntarily at all: he might be unhappy, thinking that Ritsu’s throwing his life away for the sake of keeping him company.

That isn’t what’s happening, of course. Ritsu isn’t throwing his life away: he’s exchanging it for a preferable one. And it isn’t only for the sake of keeping Shigeo company, either – it isn’t only for the sake of anything as selfless as that.

As far as Ritsu’s concerned, it’s a simple matter of priorities: he cares much less about being human than he cares about being with his brother.

-

From: Kageyama Ritsu
To: Kageyama Yuko; Kageyama Tetsuya

Dear Mum and Dad,

As you know, nii-san recently transformed into a cat as a consequence of unrequited love. By the time you receive this email, I will have followed in his footsteps and also transformed into a cat. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you in advance but there is no need to worry about me, my time has come and I am content to let it happen. Nii-san seems to enjoy being a cat, so I have hope I will also enjoy being a cat. Even if being a cat is difficult at first I am sure nii-san will be able to show me the ropes so after that it will be okay.

I have leased a private apartment at Premium Tinned Meat-Mix Residential Centre for nii-san and me to move into afterwards. Please come and visit us whenever you want, I know we will both be happy to see you again at any time. I have also named you as our proxy guardians so if the staff have any questions about our care they will ask you first. If you are asked about neutering please do ***NOT*** say yes, I don’t want that and I don’t think nii-san would be too happy about it either.

All of the paperwork for our apartment is on the living room table. This has happened at short notice but I have tried as well as I can to ensure our affairs are in order; I am very sorry to put the burden on you. I have named you both to act legally on our behalf from now on; you will find this documentation, bank records, etc. on our living room table as well.

I have also left you some copies of scientific articles which I found both interesting and informative about the typical sexual behaviour of adult cats. As we never kept cats at home I am not sure how familiar you are with behaviour that may look inappropriate to human eyes but in fact is only a form of innocent play between cats. Did you know oral-genital contact is a normal part of grooming between cats who like each other? Nor did I, but recently I have learned a lot. Nii-san and I will always still be brothers even if we are also cats from now on so please do not worry about anything you might see, it is normal for cats.

With love,

Your son,
Kageyama Ritsu

P.S. I have scheduled this email to be sent in ten days’ time so by the time you read this I will already be a cat.

-

One icy morning in December, the half of the Kageyama family which remains human goes to visit the half which doesn’t.

“Follow the path for about five minutes, you’ll get to the bulrush pond; take the next left after that and keep going. It’ll be on your right: number twenty-three. You can’t miss it. Remember, be sure to lock the door behind you when you leave,” advises the staff member, handing over the keys and getting a look of startled dismay in return. “Oh, no – no, don’t worry: the locks only restrict access to humans. Your sons are free to come and go as they please at all times of day or night.”

And at last, nearly an hour after arrival, they’re finished with the lengthy admissions process and allowed out into the grounds. The grass is crisp with ice. A fleck of neon colour keeps flashing into sight in the distance: somewhere, someone is throwing a frisbee for a dog.

“Nice gardens they’ve got here,” their father remarks. “Nicer in spring, I’ll expect. Cats always like a garden, they like digging them up. Crapping in the flowerbeds.”

“Oh, please,” says their mother. “I didn’t raise my children to crap in flowerbeds.”

A woman walking alone nods her head in greeting as they pass each other by. Another visitor: she isn’t dressed in the staff uniform; she’s carrying a gift-wrapped parcel in the shape of a large novelty fish.

Past the bulrush pond, and onwards, and on the right at last stands Cabin 23: it says so on the door. Keys jangling, their parents let themselves in.

“Oh, it’s just like the pictures in Ritsu’s brochure,” their mother says, relieved – steps and ladders and ropeways, things to climb on and scratch and fight and sleep on and hide inside...

Across the room, a puddle of black filling a basket swells like dough and rises, separates, becomes two cats getting hurriedly to their feet and rushing over, milling around each other and between their parents’ feet and turning and moving in a fast slippery way like fish.

“Hang on, hang on,” their father says, trying to lower himself to the mats without tripping or squashing either of them as they press and rush around him, “hang on – let a man sit down, will you? Ah, now... Which one’s which?”

“I’m not sure,” says their mother, fending off the attentions of two cats at once, “they won’t hold still, so it’s hard to tell... But I think,” she says distractedly, trying to keep track of which flicking black tail belongs to which swarming black cat, one trying to climb onto her lap, one pushing himself against the side of her leg and making noise about it, “I think – could this be Ritsu? Are you Ritsu?”

The cat which might be Ritsu doubles back on himself and rubs against her leg in the other direction, meowing loudly.

“Doesn’t sound like Shigeo,” their father agrees. “He’s got more fur than his brother, too, look – fluffy tail. Fluffy belly. Fluffy head. So you’re Ritsu, eh?”

The cat which is probably Ritsu meows at his father as well, and then puts his claws into his father’s arm so he can pull himself up and meow nearer to his father’s face.

Behind the building is a plain wooden verandah. They sit there with their lunch, and the cats which are their sons alternately try to eat their lunch as well or clamber over their laps in the hopes of being generously donated pieces of their lunch anyway. At length one of them—“Shige,” their mother says, “I’m sure that’s Shige; look at how much smoother his fur is”—sprawls onto his side on the grass and lies there contentedly, allowing his father to tweak his tail, allowing his brother to come and put one paw over him and lick the back of his head.

“I can see the difference too, now,” their father decides. “The noisy one’s definitely Ritsu. Bushier tail. He’s got fluffy ears, too, hasn’t he?”

“Don’t,” whispers their mother severely.

“What? He does have fluffy ears. They’re tufty on top, look.”

“Don’t let him hear you! You’ll embarrass him.”

“Nothing embarrassing about having fluffy ears. Anyway, he doesn’t look embarrassed to me.”

Both of them are looking at the cat which is Ritsu. He’s rearranged himself, half-draped over his brother for better access to keep industriously licking the back of his head. He doesn’t look embarrassed: he looks like he’s hard at work.

Their parents eat lunch, and watch them.

“Do you think they’re happy?” says their mother, eventually.

“Oh, I should think so,” says their father. “No jobs, no bills. Do they look like cats with any worries in their lives to you?”

“I wonder if it seems much different to them, both being cats, or both being human... Perhaps life just seems the same. Perhaps from their point of view the only change is having a new apartment.”

“Well, that’s all it really is, isn’t it? When you get right down to it,” says their father, pragmatically. “At the end of the day, I mean. Probably nicer for them now, in a way, being the same species again—oh, Shige,” he says, laughing, feigning horror, as the cat which is his eldest son rolls lazily over and begins licking the mouth of the cat which is his youngest son. “Let your brother brush his own teeth, no need for you to do it for him.”

Neither cat takes any notice. At length, their mother covers her eyes.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine together,” their father assures her. “They look happy enough to me. Seems like a nice life, being a cat... And they’re never going to get lonely like this, are they?”

“I suppose not,” says their mother. She risks uncovering her eyes, and at once re-covers them. “Oh – oh, dear. Oh, dear. Do you think we ought to stop them?”

“Ah, they’re just being friendly,” says their father breezily. “Licking someone’s bum is like a handshake for cats. Remember what Ritsu said? Ritsu always knows what he’s talking about.”

-

“Hello, hello, anybody home?”

No answer. Well, they’re cats: of course there’s no answer. With tissue paper already shoved up either nostril and a medically inadvisable double dose of anti-allergy tablets knocked back with his lunch, Reigen’s feeling ready, ready as he’ll ever be: he swings open the door and boldly steps inside.

“Nice place you got here, Mob, I like what you’ve done with it. Cat toys all over the floor. Bookshelves and no books. Are those bookshelves? No, excuse me, I see now – they’re cat shelves: shelves for cats. Very adventurous. Harmonious layout, too, remarkably spiritually auspicious, speaking from an interior design perspective – which I am, I took a course, or at least I read some articles online; I’ve branched out into spiritually auspicious interior design lately, did I mention? The angle of your wardrobe can make all the difference to your day. Don’t put it facing the wall, that’s the key... Mob? Oi, Mob – you in here?”

He’s been moving cautiously, picking his way past cushions and toys and rugs. Behind a collapsible red-and-yellow tunnel for hiding in and racing through, he spots them: two black cats, one lying down and loudly purring, the other industriously licking all over the fluffy underbelly of the first. Both of them seem absorbed in their work.

“Found you,” Reigen says, stepping nearer. “Now, which one of you is—”

The one doing the licking looks up and notices him. At once he stops licking, scrambles straight across his brother’s sprawled body and comes hurrying past the tunnel and races between Reigen’s feet, around Reigen’s feet, over Reigen’s feet with his paws going pat-pat-pat and leaving scuff marks on the tasteful magenta cotton of Reigen’s dress socks.

“—Mob,” says Reigen, “well, that answers that. All right, Mob?” he goes on, lowering himself to the mat, bracing himself for the high chance he’s about to get a faceful of fur. “Any news? You’re setting yourself up for hairballs, you know, carrying on like that with your brother, you want to be careful; you don’t want to risk getting yourself carted off to the vet with a lump of fluff half the size of a soccer ball wedged in your—”

The other cat comes racing out in pursuit of the first, making a sound Reigen always previously believed could only be made by sausages when left too long in the pan: a spitting, hissing kind of sound. The kind of sound which says something is about to go bang.

“—gullet,” says Reigen, “all right, all right, calm down. Deep breaths, everyone.” He lifts both hands into the air. Mob takes advantage to climb nearer and rub his cheek against Reigen’s – he’s going to be sneezing for weeks; he’s probably inhaled enough cat fur already to line his lungs all winter.

The cat which must be Ritsu approaches cautiously, suspiciously, and stops. He sits still. His tail flicks sharply to either side. Then he moves closer, and puts his claws into Reigen’s leg.

“Fuck!” says Reigen, speaking from the heart.

Ritsu hisses at him, and puts another set of claws into Reigen’s other leg.

“Fuck! Ow, fuck – Mob’s brother, relax, will you? And Mob – Mob, Mob, hang on, stop that,” Reigen says frantically, realising that Mob’s moved onto rubbing his head enthusiastically against the collar of his shirt, the lapels of his jacket, “seriously, I’ll have to throw the whole suit out at this rate, or bankrupt myself at the dry cleaners’—oh, fuck,” he says again, because trying to lift up the cat which is Mob in order to deposit him on a cushion provokes the wrath of the cat which is Ritsu, “ow, fuck, stop that! I’m just moving him! I’m just, fuck you’ve got sharp claws, just putting him down, there, look, he’s down, all right? He’s down, he’s fine, he’s—”

But as soon as Mob’s on the cushion he wants to say hello to Reigen again. As soon as Mob’s saying hello to Reigen again, Ritsu wants to put his claws in Reigen again. As soon as Reigen tries to remove Mob from himself again, Ritsu resumes hostilities more vigorously than before.

Cat toys are beginning to pick themselves up from the mats and float with ominous trembling motion in the air around Reigen’s head, and it isn’t clear which overexcited psychic cat is responsible. It also isn’t clear that either overexcited psychic cat intends to calm down any time soon.

Overall, it’s a challenging visit.

“Do you have conference call facilities?” Reigen inquires at the reception desk on his way out afterwards, his eyes streaming, clutching to his nose a ball of wadded tissue paper the same approximate size as the hairball Mob’s going to develop if he insists on grooming his brother with such meticulous thoroughness all day long. “I’d recommend investing, if not, considering that we’re now well into the twenty-first century. Listen, the Kageyama brothers, the pair of cats in number twenty-three – just set up a laptop in their cabin next time or something, will you? I’m serious. I’m really serious. I’d even be willing to pay a small fee for the service: that’s how serious I am.”

-

“Hope you’re ready for your day to get a whole hell of a lot better now that oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Dimple says, and skids straight back up through the roof of the cabin again.

No issue telling which one was which – not even from just that single split-second glimpse, not even when they’re both the same plain boring black, not even when they’re piled up together like that in a single indistinguishable heap of cat – there’s no mistaking it, not when Shigeo’s power still glows from within him like the end of the world in the shape of a cat and Ritsu’s power still glows from within him like an old energy-saving lightbulb in the final few minutes before its dim, quivering light gives out once and for all.

Not that not being able to tell which was which would improve the situation. Not that anything much would improve the situation.

“Fuck it,” Dimple says at last, resignedly, and heaves a sigh which is necessary only for the theatrical impact, given that he’s dead and a ghost and has no lungs. Elsewhere in the grounds, a dog which spotted him as he came whizzing in above the treeline is still yapping in frenzied terror. “Fuck you, too,” Dimple tells it, and sinks back down through the roof of Cabin 23.

They haven’t moved. Didn’t even notice him – or worse, they noticed him and didn’t care, couldn’t be bothered to move just for the sake of his arrival. One black cat is lying peacefully still with his feet tucked in. The other black cat is lying draped over his back in a way they could have saved for literally any another time beside the exact same time that Dimple chose to drop in on them unannounced and uninvited for a heartwarming surprise reunion visit; there was no need for them to do this now, and make him see it.

“You’ve got company,” Dimple says loudly. “Oi! Shigeo! You’ve got my company!”

One tail flicks. Some whiskers twitch. Nothing.

Are they fucking? Does he even want to risk knowing for sure whether or not they’re fucking...? But he’s pretty sure they’re not. There’s more yowling, usually, when cats start fucking; more movement in general. Both of them are just sitting there. The cat on the floor has his eyes closed: he’s relaxing. The cat sprawled over the back of the cat on the floor has his eyes closed, too: he’s also relaxing, mid-hump.

Not fucking: just sitting. They’re just enjoying each other’s company. They’re just being friendly.

“This might actually be less creepy if you were doing it for real,” Dimple tells them, floating lower.

The one which is Ritsu reacts to that, and the one which is Shigeo reacts to Ritsu: both of them open their eyes and stare unblinkingly up at Dimple.

“Yeah, there we go, that’s more like it, nice to see you, too. Hey, you think you could get off your brother while we talk?”

Neither of them gets off his brother. Neither of them appears to get his brother off, though, so all in all it could be worse.

“Whatever,” Dimple says. “I’d tell you to get a room, but clearly you already went and got one. Shigeo, listen, you’re my friend, all right? My protégé. I took you under my wing when everyone else thought you were some kind of soft-boiled good-for-nothing egg that was never even gonna hatch, but I knew better. So listen up!” he announces, sprouting arms and throwing them wide to increase the grandeur with which he’s addressing his audience of two plain black cats, sandwiched together and both looking up, both watching him intently, “that’s why I’m gonna tell you – as your mentor, your role model, your inspiration, probably – whatever you wanna do with your life, it’s up to you, okay? Even if what you wanna do with your life is your brother. No judgement. Not much judgement. Not the kind of judgement I’m gonna tell anyone else about, anyway, unless Reigen mentions it first, in which case I’ll take your side and tell him to shove it; so no worries there, basically. My lips are more or less sealed.”

One of them meows.

“I was talking to Shigeo,” says Dimple. “Not you. I’ve been judging you since day one, kid, believe me.”

Ritsu meows again. His brother licks his ear. Ritsu, satisfied, ceases meowing.

Well, whatever – friends are friends, and evil spirits are evil spirits, and Dimple wouldn’t be much of either if he started nagging them now over a little bit of harmless brotherly sex-play. “Yeah, I’ll just come back later,” he says, drifting up towards the ceiling again. “Obviously you’ve both got other things on your mind right now. Have fun, get it out your systems, I don’t wanna know. See you in an hour, all right?”

Silence: Ritsu’s still enjoying having his ear licked, and Shigeo’s still enjoying licking.

Dimple phases through the roof and gets the hell out of there.

What’s a little friendly dry-humping between brothers, anyway? Things are different for cats. They were weird brothers by human standards in the first place, and now they’re relatively normal brothers by cat standards, which makes them even weirder brothers by human standards than they ever were before – but they’re cats, so human standards no longer apply: things are different for cats.

Overall, this is probably the most normal they’ve ever been.