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Cats, Rin has always been told, are independent assholes—only love you because you feed them, wouldn’t care if you died, will ignore you and then scratch you without reason. Good, Rin had thought, standing in a pet shop and wearing a lukewarm disguise of cap and mask, inhaling the scents of dry food and small mamals. If he was going to get a pet to fill the emptiness of his Paris luxury condo, better one that would leave him the fuck alone, unlike the dogs that Sae loves so much.
“I’m not lonely. I like being alone,” he’d told Bachira over text that morning. He is enough by himself. He’s used to it.
“Sure, sure, Rin-chan,” Bachira had responded—one of the rare occasions where he remembered to. (Rin often had to send him not-so-friendly reminders. Really, prompt response was the least Bachira could do after worming his way into Rin’s contacts.)
The tabby he’d brought home that day, Tiger, is not the cat he’d expected.
He wakes to a small, warm body curled into his side, purring when he idly strokes her fur before forcing himself to slither out of bed. She follows him to the kitchen for breakfast, plops on the corner of his mat during morning yoga, curls up on his lap while he checks his email. In the evenings, he comes home to her waiting at the door, and she head-butts his knee while he takes off his sneakers. She’s the clingiest creature he’s ever met, and he grumbles about it to Bachira even as his camera roll fills with pictures of Tiger sleeping in weird contortions.
Maybe sharing his space isn’t so bad after all.
Rin doesn’t need anyone, but the oppressive silence of his condo is different from being alone back in Japan. There, he’d still had to deal with the racket of his teammates or the shuffling of his parents around the house. There, people had spoken to him, unbidden and unwelcome; Bachira was a particularly annoying offender. Now, most of his contact with anyone resembling a friend happens through a screen, and it sometimes feels like screaming into the void. Especially when Bachira forgets to respond.
Being alone, he’s found, is sweeter when the option for interaction is within reach.
It’s probably the loneliness, then, that keeps Rin reaching out to Bachira. Bob cut is annoying but surprisingly sensitive, and they have—Rin won’t call it a friendship. It’s an understanding. Bachira probably thinks they’re friends, though. He probably thinks they’re best friends. Especially since that night Rin had gotten tipsy and spilled some personal shit about Sae, and then a week later Bachira had told him about his lonely childhood, quietly on a sunny Sunday morning and concluding with, “Just wanted you to know! I’m over it now, don’t worry.”
It had definitely explained some things about Bachira’s soccer style back in Blue Lock. It had also seemed to make Bachira think that he now had free rein to send Rin weird, random musings and selfies that were probably supposed to be cute.
Tonight Rin is lying on the couch, watching a horror movie with Tiger crouched and purring on his chest. It's an utterly ridiculous position to be lying in. It strikes him that Bachira would find this funny, so he snaps a selfie. His face is mostly eclipsed by the huge furry loaf, which is fine, so he sends it.
For once, Bachira doesn’t forget to respond, and that’s how Rin finds out that he’s going to be visiting Paris.
Of course he stays with Rin.
It’s weird to be seeing Bachira in person again after a year of only digital contact. His hair is shorter but still has the same yellow highlights, turned golden in the summer evening sun. There’s a diamond stud in his right ear, and Rin refuses to examine why his mouth goes dry at the sight.
The first night, Rin cooks them both dinner. Otherwise, Bachira won’t stick to his diet and instead eat instant ramen or sweets. While Rin slices vegetable for stir fry, Bachira perches on the countertop and swings his legs, chattering away about Barcelona and making horrific attempts at the French language, occasionally pointing his toes for Tiger to rub her face against. She’s joined them, naturally, weaving between Rin’s legs and begging for treats, and Bachira coos at her every time she meows.
They both follow Rin to the fridge as he goes to fetch a zucchini, and feels disgustingly, maddeningly fond. When Bachira hops back onto the counter after, Rin sets his knife down with an exasperated sigh.
“You’re just like the damn cat,” Rin says. “Always underfoot.”
Bachira goes wide-eye. "I—sorry, Rin-chan, I didn't mean—"
His apology is short-lived; Rin steps between his knees, grabs both his cheeks, and kisses him. Bachira looks dazed when Rin pulls back, a smile slowly taking over his lips.
“Oh!" he says. "That was a compliment.”
Rin says, “Absolutely not,” and then shuts him up again before he can respond.
They kiss hungrily, Bachira winding his arms around Rin’s neck to keep him close, Rin slipping his fingers under the hem of Bachira’s shirt, dizzy from the feel of warm skin as he takes and takes from Bachira’s mouth. They’re greedy for something they’ve maybe been building towards for a while. And just when it looks like dinner might happen later than planned, Tigers headbutts Rin’s calf, meowing a complaint about hunger and neglected attention. Rin feels flushed as he disentangles himself, clearing his throat and very aware of the uncomfortable tightness of his pants. Bachira, at least, is in the same state.
“Give her a treat so she stops bothering me,” Rin says. “And just stay out of my way while I finish dinner.”
“Aye-aye, Rin-chan,” Bachira says, grinning, like he knows it’s not rejection. They’ll pick things up later.
Eventually, when the food is done, Rin finds Bachira cross-legged on the couch with Tiger curled up in his lap. And Rin thinks, it really isn’t terrible to share his space.
He takes a steadying breath and says to Bachira—for the first time, but certainly not the last—“Dinner’s ready.”