Chapter Text
He doesn’t realize the enormity of his split-second decision until it’s staring him straight in the face. Granted, if given the choice again, he wouldn’t change a thing, although he probably would have taken a few minutes more to think about what he’s doing before picking up a random stray from the streets.
Chuuya runs a hand through his hair, frowning deeply. He has absolutely no idea what to do next. Tachihara would have a laugh if he hears about this, and he won’t even try to imagine the amount of ire Ryuunosuke would send him for his recklessness.
But whatever. They don’t need to know about this. Chuuya looks at the stray again, and his heart breaks for it. Its fur is matted in dirt and grease, quite possibly malnourished and living day to day. The poor thing. Chuuya wouldn’t wish this on any animal. It’s been resting on a spare cushion at his sofa for an hour or so since he arrived, but even with pressing matters of his own, he can’t very well leave it alone.
The cat hadn’t reacted when he’d cradled it to his arms and brought it home. Even now, as he reaches out to smoothen down the fur on its back, Chuuya barely feels any sign of movement. At the very least, the cat is breathing.
“Hey little guy. How about we get you cleaned up and into bed before the sun sets, alright?” he mutters, bringing the cat with him as he gets on his feet. Kouyou-nee probably knows someone who could give the cat a basic check-up. God, what do cats eat again? When it wakes up, he’d have to feed it, and let it play with cat toys, and—
A litterbox. Chuuya would need one as soon as possible. With university assignments, household chores and a day job to worry about, his days are going to be more overwhelming from now on.
“Mew…”
Chuuya perks up at the sound, holding the dirty cat closer to himself. He’d be damned if he let anything get in the way of his responsibility to care for the little guy. He’ll make it work.
The both of them will be just fine.
Three deep soaks and an endless amount of scrubbing later, Chuuya comes up with a fitting name.
Shiro.
What was once a stinky, blotchy grey is now a brilliant snow-white with streaks of black, fluffy and warm from the hairdryer. He tries giving it canned tuna for dinner, but the cat stops eating after two nibbles. When it looks up at him, exhausted and seemingly lethargic, Chuuya blinks back in awe of the stray’s violet-gold eyes. Whatever cat breed it is, it can only be a rare pedigree.
The evening gives way to a bright waxing moon, stars glittering in the sky outside his window. His windowpanes whistle as he closes his bedroom door, ready to retire for a better day tomorrow. Chuuya lays Shiro on the other side of his bed. It’s spacious enough for the both of them, and with tomorrow’s day off, he’ll have ample time to gather his thoughts and begin preparing for his new life as a pet owner.
“Hang in there, Shiro. You’re going to be okay, buddy.”
Chuuya takes the cat’s half-mewl as an answer, and closes his eyes.
Shiro appears to be doing much better in the next few days. He’s had his check-up with a friend of Kouyou-nee’s, been given his shots (albeit reluctantly; Shiro used what little strength he had to hiss at the veterinarian) and is adapting well to Chuuya’s sizeable condo. Chuuya couldn’t help but splurge a little, converting his lounge into Shiro’s assigned play area. He’d installed a cat tower by the window, a large litterbox next to the television and purchased a few cat toys for the little furball to busy himself with when he’s not around.
Chuuya enjoys watching Shiro take his time to explore at his own pace. Though he can walk and pounce like a normal house cat would, Chuuya eventually learns that feeding Shiro properly will be a challenge. He doesn’t like most of the brand foods, nor does he touch any type of fish or formula cat milk. Chuuya had bought a fresh lamb cut for dinner last Friday, and found Shiro pawing at it on the kitchen counter when he’d stopped to grab marinade garnishes from the refrigerator.
(He’d given all of it to the cat that night, while he settled for canned baked beans.)
Chuuya brushes Shiro’s fur every evening, careful to avoid the cat’s still-healing wounds and bruises. He is wonderfully obedient, and every time Chuuya tells him what they’re going to do together, he pays close attention, like Shiro understands what he’s saying.
“Do you like pork? Or are you strictly a lamb kind of cat?” Chuuya asks, cleaning the comb out of Shiro’s white fur before tackling the cat’s tail.
“Mreow.”
“No? I suppose you don’t like chicken either. Any type of red meat then?”
“Maow.”
“I don’t know if that’s a yes or no, but I guess I could stop by the butcher’s after university tomorrow afternoon.” Chuuya says. “Will you be alright by yourself again? I do hate to leave you.”
Shiro moves his tail out of Chuuya’s reach, swishing it from side to side. Posh little one.
“Alright. I know you’re a very good cat, but I still worry. I’ve never had a pet before. I probably coddle you much more than normal.”
Chuuya sets the comb aside and cradles the cat, laughing a little when a part of Shiro’s fur tickles his bare leg. “Okay, okay. Good kitty. I’m glad you’re not opposed to it.”
He’s doing whatever he can. His browsing history is full of cat-related questions, and even in the middle of sociology classes, Chuuya would take his eyes off the lecture board to quickly check “cat diets” or “my cat has violet eyes and white fur, what breed?” on his phone.
Shiro lifts a paw to his arm in the middle of his thoughts. The way his cat looks at him with the same curious purple-gold eyes never fails to make his heart melt. He pets Shiro’s head and scratches behind his ears, smiling all the while.
“I hope you like being with me too,” Chuuya tells him, his thumbs now massaging Shiro’s plump, fluffy cheeks. “I’d really like it if you’d stay. You’ll always be welcome in my home.”
Chuuya swears he feels Shiro freeze at his admission, before continuing to swish his tail against his leg some more. He can see the cat’s eyes droop slowly with every gentle ministration. Just as Chuuya draws his hands closer to his cat’s nose, Shiro suddenly snaps up and hisses. He feels a sharp pain on his finger.
“Ouch! Shiro, no, t-that wasn’t nice!” Startled by the action, Chuuya tries to keep his voice level. A trail of blood follows from the wound, but it’s small, and it shouldn’t be too bad to treat. That’s another thing he has to keep in mind with a pet of his own, then. Shiro has been a stray for God knows how long—it makes sense that he’s still wary of him.
“Sorry,” he corrects himself, getting up to grab the medicine kit. “I shouldn’t have done that, it’s not your fault. I’m not mad.”
Shiro calms, but his eyes remain narrowed once Chuuya returns with his bandages. To his second surprise, the cat putters back into his crossed legs and licks at his open wound. This must be his way of apologizing.
“We’re both sorry, huh? I get it. What a pair you and I make.”
Chuuya is running late.
His practical class ran for another thirty minutes past the allocated time, and he’d had to cover for a coworker at the last minute. It’s almost nine pm, he notes, and though he’d left the feeder on this morning and asked Kouyou-nee to pop around his place for an hour, it still worries Chuuya to be away for so long.
The elevator to his condo Couldn’t. Move. Any. Faster. He assaults the top floor button as he keeps his grip on the eco-bag with his groceries. Shiro is okay. He’s left him by himself over the last week, and usually when Chuuya arrives back, it’s to a sleeping, or lazily lounging cat.
Ryuu always tells him he worries too much, Chuuya muses. He fishes his swipe card from his back pocket and unlocks the door, yelling a loud, “I’m home!” quickly after.
The tension slips off little by little. Chuuya drops the bag near the kitchen, his worry turning to excitement as he seeks out his cat somewhere around their home. Where would Shiro be napping this time? Inside his walk-in closet? Atop the cat tower? Bathroom sink?
“Shiro! Sorry I’m late, but I have good news! Hirotsu old man gave us a two-for-one deal on the lamb! We’re gonna dine like kings!”
He checks the sofa first. Not there. Not at the cat tower either.
The cupboard is empty, of course. Shiro doesn’t raid for snacks, picky eater he is. The bathroom and guest room show no signs of disturbance as always.
That leaves his bedroom. Did Shiro go to bed without him? Was he lonely? Did he miss Chuuya as much as Chuuya missed him?
“Shiro, I’m coming in,” he says to the door, like he needs permission to enter his own personal space. He wants to flop down on his bed to rest his sore muscles, then hug his adorable cat until he has enough energy to make them both food.
That was supposed to be the plan.
Chuuya doesn’t know why it didn’t turn out that way. Or what he’s supposed to be looking at. He stares dumbfoundedly at the presence before him, his tired brain working too slowly to process the information.
“Oh. Welcome back. Glad to see you are safe.”
The strange voice comes from a young man sitting on his bed and dressed in . . . are those Chuuya’s casuals? The hell? He’s reading one of Chuuya’s books from the lounge shelf, and what’s more unsettling are the stacks of photo albums he owns in arm’s reach of this . . . this bold stranger.
Chuuya doesn’t scream. He shouts, adrenaline pumping in his veins when he grabs the nearest thing (a leather chair) and hurls it at the intruder.
“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house? Wh… why are you wearing my clothes? Who gave you permission to take my property and laze around on my bed?”
His earlier stunt, unfortunately, misses his target, who leaps out of the way, grabs the offending chair, and, for some farfetched and unexplainable reason, has the audacity to sit on it without a care. How . . . how did he do that?
“I’m Atsushi,” the stranger speaks up, crossing his legs and dutifully inspecting his nails. “I’m hanging out here. I’m wearing your clothes because I don’t have any and yours is very comfortable, and I gave myself permission to take your property and laze around on your bed.”
The gall of this guy. If Chuuya wasn’t so exhausted, he’d throw another chair at the bastard and see him deal with more projectiles coming his way. He’d forgotten what he’d come into his room for. When he remembers, an ugly, horrifying amount of dread stops him dead in his tracks, and he trembles.
“What have you done with my cat.”
It’s said in a sad, distressed tone, which the stranger waves off because he doesn’t hear Chuuya properly, or because he’s a piece of shit, that’s why.
“Please calm down, I’ve done nothing bad to your cat.” Piece of sh—Atsushi, was that his name?—replies, staring back at him with a familiar violet-gold gaze. “More importantly, I heard you brought lamb back? Are we having dinner? I can help cook if you want?”
“More importantly? You think your fucking appetite is more important than my cat?” Chuuya roars, his hands shaking by his sides. “Where is he? I swear to god if I find out what you’ve done to him, I’ll make you wish you never existed on this forsaken world.”
Atsushi sighs. Like a piece of shit. It’s not a reaction Chuuya expects, but even he knows that the young man before him is anything but normal. He casually switches his crossed legs, shrugging. “You humans are all the same. Always coughing up threats you can’t follow through with and acting brashly. You’re so lucky I’m not Dazai-san, or you would be the dead one.” He laughs, sending chills down Chuuya’s spine. “Chuuya-san, how about we make a deal? I get to stay for dinner, and since you’ve been nothing but kind to me, I’ll forget what you said to me just now.”
“Fuck off. I’ll say it again: where is my fucking cat? What the hell do you mean by “you humans?” You don’t get to have the last word in my own home!”
Chuuya isn’t weak, by any means. Even in his current state, years of training has given him acute muscle memory to hold his own in a fight. However, their altercation is over before he knows it — he remembers throwing a punch, and a kick too, so it doesn’t explain why he’s been restrained from behind with his knees chafing on the carpeted floor.
The sultry voice from earlier is at his ear, now. “So brash. But I’ll admit, you’re very good, Chuuya-san. I’d really like to eat if we’re going to keep this up later. Kouyou-san was nice enough to give me red meats, even if I barely touched it.”
The blood in his face drains. This guy was with Kouyou-nee? For how long? Had he been at his house the entire day? He struggles against Atsushi’s grasp, feeling his arms give up on him. The young man’s stark white hair falls onto his shoulder. When Chuuya spots the distinctive streak of black, his head spins, refusing to believe the insanity before him.
“Shiro.”
Atsushi lets go of him and sits himself on his side of the bed. “Mhm.” he voices affirmatively. “Although I’d prefer Atsushi, please. I realize this isn’t the best way to introduce myself, so I apologize for the trouble.”
“You’re… Shiro.”
“Yes, we’ve established that. Miaow.”
The very human (not human?) meow doesn’t make his dizzy spell go away. “What are you? You’re my… you were my cat! You had fleas and had a fluffy tail! I bathed you in my best shampoos!”
“It gets worse, sorry. Since we’re getting friendly and all,” Atsushi is back to inspecting his hands, “I suppose I should tell you. I’m a vampire. I can’t stomach dry food. I don’t like other non-red meats—and lamb tastes close enough to the blood I need to live. I’ve already had a taste of yours, so I’d like to stick around,” he finishes. “Oh, and please. Can’t forget to be courteous, haha.”
“Are you insane?” Chuuya hears his voice crack. He only wanted a quiet night with his new pet after a hectic day, not . . . the company of some vampire cat person who’d invaded his home and took advantage of his heart and good nature.
“Not insane, I’m Atsushi. A-tsu-shi. Don’t call me Sushi, or I’ll bite you. Meow.”
“Stop that, it’s so fucking weird!”
Atsushi looks at him, and oh gosh, it’s the same way Shiro does, a warm violet bleeding into gold—
“But I am a cat. I won’t do it anymore if you insist. It’s too bad; you seemed to really like it before.”
Chuuya feels his cheeks heat up at that retort. He stands up, dusting himself off before pointing an offended finger into the vampire’s face. “Don’t you dare mess with me. What makes you think I’ll let you stay and leech off of me, you traitorous parasite?”
Atsushi’s expression never wavers. He bares his fangs (god, they’re fangs, Chuuya remembers the little nip on his finger, and how Shiro seemed to nibble on it every now and then…) and simply says, “Hmm, because you invited me. How did you say it then? Uhm, I believe it was, “I’d really like it if you’d stay. You’ll always be welcome in my home.” That kind of thing? Even if I left now, you can’t guarantee I wouldn’t return, right? Now that I’ve been invited, there is absolutely nothing you can do to make me leave.”
The resounding laugh Atsushi makes is equally calming and petrifying. It’s confident in the way that Chuuya can only acquiesce to the vampire’s terms if he’d like to resolve his situation in the most peaceful way possible. Dinner. Shelter. The underlying thought of giving his blood in exchange for his continued safety.
Atsushi seems to already know his answer when he says, “Alright then! Welcome back! Glad to see you are safe, Chuuya-san.”
With a shaky breath, Chuuya mumbles, “I-I’m home.”