Chapter Text
Cats had an annoying manner of finding ways into spaces one thought it would be impossible for them to fit. Even more annoying was how, on rare occasion, their arrogance in their abilities would stretch too far and they would find themselves entrapped in the very crevice they sought to conquer.
And, Naoto noted as she clenched her jaw and set the file back down on the desk, perhaps the most annoying attribute of felinekind was how, when caught in such a manner, they would then call rather insistently—and in high-pitched tones—for whatever humans that cared for them to rescue them from their plight.
She sighed once, before slowly pushing her tall chair from the large, oaken desk. She stood up, brushing herself off as if the action could also brush off that unrelenting meowing.
If her husband were not so attached to the blue-grey bundle of fur, Naoto would have given her to a new owner years ago. The detective held no true malice for the small animal, but she often proved herself quite troublesome. At the very least, the cat was disruptive.
Naoto tilted her head back and forth, looking around as she attempted to locate the source of the cat’s cries. Eventually, she determined that the poor beast was somewhere in the office closet. She opened the door, revealing several stacks of boxes of differing types. Most of them contained old case files and other paperwork from her job as a private detective—an ever-increasing about of them involved casework based in either Okina or Inaba. Crime had dropped drastically under the efficiency she lent the respective police departments. Foolish indeed was the criminal, petty or otherwise, who crossed the law in Naoto Shirogane’s chosen domain.
Except for one ex-stray cat.
Which, unfortunately for both of them, had managed to find herself trapped in a box that wasn’t immediately accessible to the detective. Naoto opened the box at the top of each of the stacks, musing to herself that it was really past time that she organize them again. She liked to keep everything structured, but these papers and files, well, there was something that made it oddly difficult for her. Eventually, she managed to find the source of the accursed mewling, in a plastic bin at the bottom of one of the back. She’d barely lifted the plastic lid up enough to see the light reflect off of the cat’s eyes before the blur of blue-grey fur leapt out of its darkness to cling to the woman’s shoulder.
Naoto let go of the lid with a soft yelp, but the cat didn’t move, her claws firmly secured on waistcoat’s shoulder. She was eventually able to slowly pry the terrified animal off of her, setting the poor thing on the floor.
“If you did not insist on getting into places you do not belong, you would not find yourself trapped,” Naoto lectured the cat.
She glanced back at the human, meowing once before running out of the office.
Naoto sighed.
And now I’m speaking to the animal as if I expect a conversation in response. She shook her head. Perhaps I am overworked, after all.
She started to replace the boxes she’d shifted to free the cat, when she noticed that the one that had ensnared the feline had significantly less dust on it than any of the ones around or even those that had been on top of it. In fact, upon a second glance, there was hardly any dust on it at all; the box had been moved there recently. Very recently.
“Kanji,” Naoto breathed. This didn’t make sense. Kanji never hid things from her. He might’ve struggled with being direct about whatever issue was bugging him, but he’d grown to be much less stubborn over the course of their relationship.
Maybe he wasn’t hiding anything. Maybe he’d just moved a box to get it out of the way.
But. Here? Under everything? It didn’t take a detective to suspect that he was hiding something.
The questions were, however, what was he hiding, and who was he hiding it from?
She opened the box, peering in to see its contents.
“Huh?”
Naoto pulled out a square of knitted yarn. The box seemed filled with similar squares of varying dimensions and colors. Naoto knew that Kanji would often knit them absent-mindedly—it was just something he did with his hands to pass the time when he didn’t have a project—but why would he hide them like—?
Naoto found that the squares only made up the top, haphazard layer of the box, pulling out something far more complete. She stared at it for a moment, running her hands across it gently.
She stood up, still staring at it in her hands as she walked from the office to the kitchen.
She’d bought the place several years ago, a little over a year before she and Kanji’d married. It had made her life easier; the building’s old storefront had been remodeled to a lobby and office for her detective practice, and the housing area had permitted enough space for her to move out of her apartment. It had also been close enough to the textile shop—just down the street on the Shopping District—to permit Kanji to move in with her officially, as he had been spending so much time—and nearly every night—at her apartment that he more or less had already done so in practice.
A year later, and they’d surprised everyone they knew by being the first ones from their group of high school friends—the Team and a couple of others—to marry. A surprise Naoto hadn’t understood—they essentially already had been, it had merely lacked the legal status and everything that came with that.
“You two just took forever to get together in the first place,” Rise had said, despite Naoto’s protest that they had only been in their second year, which was sooner than—but Rise’d cut her off. “And, everyone knows you hate flashy, over-the-top… and, especially ones that….” Yes, it was true. The typical gender roles enforced in a traditional marriage ceremony did grate on Naoto’s nerves—Kanji’s too, in some ways—but it would have been trivial to alter their own; many couples had ceremonies that went against those norms. It had been the extravagance, and the financial excessiveness, that had ultimately led to them instead opting for a small private party with their friends and remaining family to celebrate the legal paperwork’s completion.
Once it had been made legally official, of course, that had opened the floodgate for new sources of, admittedly good-natured, teasing from the others, particularly Rise and Kanji’s mother.
Naoto frowned, her stomach turning.
What if one of them had actually gotten to him with it? Would that explain—?
“Kanji?” She started as she entered the kitchen, still looking at the small, knitted garment in her hands.
“’Sup?” He asked, not looking away from the pan of food he was preparing over the stove. “Great timin’! Dinner’s almost—!”
“I… I found a box in the office closet. It was….” She cleared her throat, looking up at him. He’d stiffened, staring straight at the wall behind the stove. “Kanji. What is this?”
Not quite the question she wanted answered. That answer was obvious; she was holding a knitted, mint green onesie, the type one outfitted one a—
“Oh!” Kanji looked at her, the garment in question and then the wall. He set the pan of food aside, off of the hot stove. His face paled, then blushed a shade of red she hadn’t seen it turn in years. “That, uh, I musta made it fer Takeshi-chan. Guess I never—!”
“Kanji,” Naoto cut him off, “he’s nearly two; this is far too small. He would’ve had to—Rise-san brings him over often enough, I know you’d have noticed.”
It was true. Naoto and Kanji had been the first of their group to marry, but Rise and Senpai hadn’t been long behind them, and—and then a couple years ago, they’d become the first to announce they were expecting.
Kanji had gone into a complete overdrive Naoto’d never witnessed from him before. Everything had to be perfect, he’d said. He’d knitted, crocheted and sewn practically non-stop, and possibly even in his sleep. By the time Rise had gone into labor, Kanji had made her and Senpai enough clothes of varying sizes that their son would have a substantial wardrobe for at least two, if not three, years.
And, Rise almost always brought him with her whenever she visited Naoto and Kanji. Kanji’d been captivated by the small child from the first time the Team had seen him, shortly after his birth at the Inaba hospital. They’d all managed to make it; it was an exciting day for all of them, of course, even if most of the excitement fell to the newborn’s parents.
And Kanji… if Naoto hadn’t known better, she’d have suspected that Kanji and Rise were somehow related, from how fascinated and attached he’d become of little Takeshi—it really was as if the Team were some sort of family. Kanji’d always liked children—despite how cruel they’d been to him growing up—and their friends’ son had become a particular soft spot. Naoto had expected Rise to be irritated or overprotective or otherwise apprehensive, but she’d actually been greatly amused at Kanji’s enthusiasm over Takeshi and always encouraged it.
“He’s quite the mother hen,” she’d told Naoto more than once. “I know that Takeshi-chan—and any child—will always be safe under his care.” She’d always add those three words while winking at Naoto in a manner that made her stomach churn the slightest amount.
“I, uh,” Kanji stammered in the present. “I must’a… must’a forgotten to give that one to ‘em. I made so many, so, uh, it makes sense that one or two fell through the….”
“There are more than one or two.” Naoto paused, waiting for Kanji to speak. His face had frozen and he seemed unable to make any noise. The box had been quite full, actually. The slowly forming idea finally took shape in Naoto’s mind. “Kanji… are you… nesting?”
“N-nesting?” He finally made his voice work again, staring at her. “W-why would I be n-nesting? Tha’s somthin’ someone pr-preg—! No! I ain’t—!” He looked at the floor. “Wh-why would… what… I mean… I ain’t….”
Naoto understood now
He was trying to hide it from himself. That, maybe, if he ignored it, the urge would go away. Naoto suspected that it hadn’t.
“Kanji.” She walked forward, placing on hand on his cheek. He looked at her, her face reflecting on the lenses of his glasses. “Kanji. I’m sorry. I know how much you want children. I… I do, too.” In a manner of speaking, at least. She was nervous at the prospect—what sane person wouldn’t be?—but she knew that, if nothing else, she did not want the Shirogane line to end with her. “I just… I’m just not ready, yet.” There was so much to do, now. Her detective work, making sure everything was set for the future, making sure that her grandfather—and Yakushiji—were well, taking the same care with Kanji’s mother—who insisted that she wasn’t leaving them before she was a grandmother, anyway….
“I know,” his voice was soft, as soft as the hand he placed over hers. “I ain’t askin’ ya ta be. When yer ready, you’ll be ready. I ain’t in a rush or nothin'; I’m still kinda amazed that we’re…. I dun know why I couldn’t… stop…. Maybe I jus’ worked myself up before, or somethin’, I dunno.”
“Maybe you should ask Rise-san for Takeshi-chan’s new measurements,” Naoto suggested. Kanji nodded, but said nothing. “What are you making for dinner?” She asked, quickly changing the subject.
“O-okonomiyaki,” Kanji stammered slightly.
Naoto paused. “May I have mine with udon?”
“S-sure!” Kanji broke from her hold to find the noodles.
Naoto looked to the side. Near the wall, the cat sat, grooming one paw.
The animal paused and looked back at her for a long moment, before trotting away.
If you find yourself trapped again, Naoto thought at the cat, do not expect me to be the one to free you this time.