Chapter Text
Zee tugged his hood tighter over his head, his shoes squelching with every step as he hurried home.
The rain came down in sheets, obscuring the streetlights and turning the pavement into a slick, uneven mess. The exhaustion of a fourteen-hour shift in the ER clung to him like the wetness of his clothes.
His mind buzzed with leftover adrenaline and weariness, a cocktail he’d grown uncomfortably accustomed to.
As he rounded a corner near his apartment, the faintest sound stopped him. It was almost drowned out by the rain, but he could just make out a weak, pitiful mewl.
He paused, squinting into the darkness, his breath forming little clouds in the cold air.
There, by a trash bin, huddled a tiny, shivering bundle of fur.
A kitten, no bigger than his hand, lay collapsed on the ground, its thin frame barely rising and falling with shallow breaths.
The sight stabbed through his fatigue, cutting straight to the part of him trained to heal, to fix.
Zee hesitated for a moment, debating. He didn’t have the bandwidth of concern and care for this—he barely had enough for himself.
But as he crouched down, the kitten opened one eye, bleary and desperate, and he knew he couldn’t just walk away.
Carefully, he peeled off his hoodie, wrapping the kitten in it. The poor thing was soaked to the bone, its fur clinging to its fragile body.He could feel how light it was as he cradled it against his chest.
“Hang in there, little guy,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep and overuse.
The walk back to his apartment was quick. By the time he unlocked the door and stepped inside, both he and the kitten were shivering from the cold.
He set the kitten down on the kitchen counter, gently unwrapping it from the hoodie. The small creature let out a feeble cry, barely able to move.
Zee’s heart clenched.
“Alright, I’m no vet, but let’s see what we can do,” he said, rolling up his sleeves.
His medical kit was designed for humans, but he grabbed it anyway, along with an old towel, a syringe without a needle, and a small bowl of lukewarm water.
First, he dried the kitten as best as he could, the towel swallowing the tiny creature.
Next, he inspected it for injuries, his fingers surprisingly steady despite his inexperience. A few scratches here and there, but nothing appeared broken.
The kitten’s breathing was labored, though, and Zee worried about dehydration.
He filled the syringe with water, carefully dripping small amounts into the kitten’s mouth. It sputtered at first, weakly resisting, but eventually drank.
“Good, good,” Zee murmured, his voice softening.
He made a makeshift nest out of an old sweater and set the kitten in it, placing it near his space heater.
The little one curled up immediately, its body trembling less now.
Zee leaned back against the counter, finally exhaling. His body screamed at him to crash into bed, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the kitten.
Its survival felt oddly personal, like an extension of his duty in the hospital.
“You better pull through,” he whispered. “I’m not great at this, but I’m trying.”
The rain continued its relentless patter against the window, but inside Zee’s small apartment, it felt a little warmer.
A little less empty.
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Over the next few days, the kitten gradually regained its strength. Its tiny body, frail and unsteady, began to show signs of resilience.
However, in addition to his frustrating burnout since years of medical school, Zee now found himself scrambling to balance his chaotic schedule with his new role as caretaker.
Most mornings were a blur: feeding the kitten before rushing out the door, hastily setting up a fresh bowl of water, and hoping it would be okay while he was gone.
He researched kitten care in stolen moments at the hospital. His close colleagues would look at him in amusement as he tried to secretly jot down notes on sticky pads between patient rounds.
But coming home to the little creature was oddly grounding.
No matter how brutal his shift had been, the kitten would stumble to greet him, its small meows cutting through his exhaustion.
Zee’s attempts at care were far from perfect—he accidentally knocked over its water bowl twice and once gave it a plate of too hot scrambled eggs, to which it reacted with a disgruntled sound.
Yet, the kitten responded to him with unwavering trust, curling up on his lap as if to say, you’re doing fine.
Zee hadn’t expected how much he needed that. The kitten’s soft purrs and tiny, insistent nudges were like medicine for the parts of him he hadn’t realized were broken.
Nights felt less lonely. The heavy weight of burnout lifted, just slightly, with each quiet moment spent stroking the kitten’s soft fur.
Then, one Friday evening, Net—his friend and fellow co-resident—stopped by for their long-overdue game night.
Zee had nearly canceled, unsure of how to juggle his usual exhaustion, the kitten, and a guest. But Net had insisted, and Zee relented, partly because he missed his friend.
The apartment was its usual barely-tidy state. Zee had set up their game on the coffee table, and the two of them were rummaging through the kitchen for snacks.
The kitten, now energetic and curious, padded after them, weaving between their legs as they moved.
“Man, you’ve really been hiding out lately,” Net said, rummaging through Zee’s cabinets. “You’re impossible to pin down these days, even in the hospital halls.”
Zee shrugged, opening a bag of chips. “Yeah, work’s been... a lot. And I’ve got this kitten now, so—”
“A kitten?” Net turned, surprised. “Since when do you do animals?”
“Found it in the rain a few days ago. Kind of… stuck with it.”
Net grinned. “That’s weirdly wholesome for you.”
Before Zee could reply, the moment shattered with a sharp, startled yowl.
Both men froze as Net, mid-step, stumbled backward, his sneaker brushing against the kitten, who had been trailing too close.
The small animal tumbled to the floor, letting out another pained cry.
“Shit!” Net exclaimed, panic spreading across his face. “I didn’t see it—I swear—”
Zee was already crouched over the kitten, his hands trembling as he scooped it up. “No, no, no—” His voice cracked, something Net had never heard before.
He cradled the kitten carefully, checking for injuries with the precision of his medical training but the frantic worry of someone far too attached.
Net hovered nearby, guilt written all over his face. “Zee, I’m so sorry. Is it okay? Should we—should I call a vet?”
Zee didn’t answer right away. He was too focused on the kitten, his jaw tight as tears welled in his eyes.
“It’s my fault,” he muttered. “I wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve—damn it, I should’ve been watching.”
“Hey, hey, Zee—” Net stepped closer, startled by the sight of his friend, the one he’d seen endure grueling exams, countless sleepless nights, and even their parents’ funerals without shedding a tear, now openly crying. “It’s not your fault. We didn’t see it—it was an accident.”
Zee’s hands stayed steady as he examined the kitten. It was shaken but, to his immense relief, didn’t seem seriously hurt.
The small creature nuzzled against his chest, its weak purring easing some of his panic.
“I can’t—” Zee’s voice broke again as he sat back on the floor, holding the kitten close. “I can’t let anything happen to it. It’s… it’s all I’ve got right now.”
Net sat down beside him, silent for a moment, before resting a hand on Zee’s shoulder. “You’re doing your best, man. And it’s obvious that the kitten knows it. Look at how it’s clinging to you. You’re like its entire world.”
Zee swallowed hard, his tears finally slowing as he let out a shaky breath. He didn’t say anything, but Net didn’t need him to.
In twenty years of friendship, he’d never seen Zee like this—vulnerable, raw, human in a way he usually tried to hide.
Zee glanced at him, his expression a mix of gratitude and exhaustion.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
The two of them stayed there for a while, the game forgotten, the snacks untouched. The rain outside had stopped, leaving a quiet stillness that felt oddly comforting.
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It had been one of those weeks.
Zee dragged himself home after yet another grueling shift, his supervisor’s biting words still ringing in his ears. He felt like a failure—barely holding it together at work and too exhausted to manage anything at home.
All he wanted was to collapse in bed and forget the day existed. But when he opened the door, his heart sank.
His kitchen was a mess.
Broken mugs littered the floor, their jagged edges catching the dim light. The shelf where he kept the kitten’s food was askew, and several items had toppled over.
Zee’s exhaustion mixed with frustration, and he let out a long, irritated groan.
“Kittens don’t do this for fun,” he muttered, scanning the chaos as he kicked off his shoes. “Where are you?”
His voice carried a sharp edge as he stalked around the apartment, checking every corner for his tiny roommate.
“You’re making this week even worse,” he snapped, feeling his temper rise with every passing moment.
When Zee returned to the kitchen, the kitten had just climbed back in through the window.
It was a pitiful sight. Dirt clung to its fur, and its tiny paws left smudged prints on the counter.
Clutched between its teeth was something that looked like a piece of bread—torn and grimy, obviously scavenged from a dumpster.
That was the breaking point.
Zee’s voice came out louder than he intended. “What the hell, huh? You’ve trashed the place, gone digging through garbage, and now you’re bringing dirt everywhere? What am I supposed to do with you?”
The kitten froze, its wide eyes glistening with fear.
It dropped the scrap of food, letting out a tiny, uncertain sound that tugged at Zee’s heart.
But his anger wouldn’t let him pause.
He shooed the kitten away with a wave of his hand. “Bad kitten! Get out of here! Shoo! ”
And the kitten did. It turned, trembling, and leaped back out of the window into the cold night.
Zee stood there, his chest heaving, his frustration bubbling over into the silence of the apartment. He sighed heavily, grabbed the broom, and started cleaning up the mess.
As he swept up the shards of glass, his eyes fell on the empty food bowl in the corner of the kitchen.
His heart stuttered. The realization hit like a freight train.
I forgot to feed it.
He remembered the way the kitten had looked—filthy, clutching that scrap of food, and terrified of him.
Zee felt his knees go weak as he slumped to the floor, dropping the broom.
He’s sure it’s been at least two days since he forgot to feed the tiny, poor thing. Time felt like a blur for him this week as he went in and out of his rounds.
It must have been starving. Desperate enough to try climbing for food it couldn’t reach. Desperate enough to scavenge outside for scraps.
“Oh, no,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What have I done?”
He bolted out the door, ignoring the ache in his legs and the biting chill of the night air. The streets were quiet except for the occasional hum of a car.
Zee checked every shadowed corner, every alley, his heart pounding.
“Little kitten, where are you?” he called, his voice echoing in the darkness.
Finally, by the dumpsters behind his building, he spotted a tiny shape huddled against the wall.
The kitten looked even smaller than usual, its fur matted and its body trembling. Its watery eyes met his, filled with undeniable pain and sadness that made his breath hitch.
It let out a weak, broken meow—one that wasn’t just a sound but a cry of hurt and betrayal.
Zee dropped to his knees, dirt and mud from the rainy days be damned. “Oh, baby, no,” he choked out. “I’m so, so sorry.”
The kitten didn’t move as he reached out, its tiny frame still trembling.
Zee gathered it into his arms, cradling it close. “I messed up. I’m the bad one, not the other way around. You didn’t deserve that. You never deserved that.”
The kitten’s body was warm against his chest, its heartbeat faint but steady. Zee pressed his face into its fur, his tears soaking into the matted coat.
“I love you, okay? I love you so much. You’ve made my days brighter—you’ve made me better. I don’t even deserve you.”
The kitten stirred slightly, its tiny head nudging weakly against his chest.
Zee let out a shaky laugh, holding it tighter. “You’re amazing, you know that? You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. I’m not going to screw this up again. I promise.”
He stayed there for a long time, rocking gently, whispering apologies and reassurances.
When he finally carried the kitten back to the apartment, he made a fresh bowl of food and water, warming the room to a comforting glow.
The kitten ate slowly, still hesitant, but its soft purrs returned as it settled into the safety of Zee’s lap.
Zee sat there, stroking its fur, his guilt lingering but softened by a fierce determination.
He wouldn’t fail again—not the kitten, not himself.
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The first few hours with the human—Zee, as he learned—were terrifying for Nunew.
His tall, shadowed frame loomed over him as the cold rain seeped into his small body. When Zee crouched down to wrap him in his hoodie, Nunew’s instincts screamed to run, but his body was too weak to move.
This is it, he thought dimly. Another human to hurt me.
But instead of cruelty, Zee’s hands were careful, his movements gentle.
Nunew braced for pain, yet all he felt was warmth, the human’s chest radiating heat as he carried him through the rain.
The scent of the hoodie—faintly medicinal, mixed with the sharpness of coffee and something comforting—stayed with him.
And when they arrived inside Zee’s home, Nunew still expected the worst.
He tried to keep his eyes half-closed, his muscles tense, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. But what he saw instead was the human fumbling through drawers, muttering quietly to himself.
The clumsy way Zee handled the syringe and the sweater he placed near the heat felt oddly endearing.
It was clear he didn’t know what he was doing, yet every action was filled with an unfamiliar kindness.
As days passed, Nunew’s body began to heal, and so did something deeper inside him. Zee’s care, though awkward at times, was consistent.
He wasn’t perfect—spilling water here, almost tripping over him there—but Nunew could sense the effort. Every bowl of food, every stroke of his fur, spoke volumes.
Nunew hadn’t known what gentleness felt like before. The humans from his past had laughed when they hurt him, calling him names as they threw him against walls or pulled his tail.
He’d stopped expecting anything else. But Zee’s low, rumbling voice—calm even when he was obviously exhausted—soothed him.
The way Zee’s large hands handled him, awkward but careful, made Nunew realize he didn’t have to flinch anymore.
Trust and affection were fragile things, but with this human, they came naturally.
Nunew found himself watching Zee intently, studying the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated or the soft sighs he let out when he sank onto the couch.
He loved curling up on Zee’s lap, where the human’s steady heartbeat became a lullaby.
Another thing Zee did that he loved was one that particularly fascinated Nunew.
Occasionally, when they were alone, the human would pick him up, cradling him gently against his chest. He’d bring his face close and press his lips to the fur just beside Nunew’s whiskers.
It was a strange sensation—warm and soft—but Nunew could feel something more in the gesture. It wasn’t like the rough, mocking touches of the humans from before.
The first time it happened, Nunew froze, unsure what to make of it. But Zee didn’t linger; he just gave a small, contented sigh and whispered something in his deep voice.
Nunew couldn’t understand the words, but he felt the sentiment. It made his chest warm, his heart flutter.
What is this human doing to me? Nunew often wondered, his thoughts spinning in confusion and delight. But he didn’t mind.
Whatever this strange act was—whatever Zee called it—it made him feel wanted. Safe.
And for the first time in his life, Nunew started to believe that maybe humans weren’t all bad.
Or perhaps it was just this one, this tired and gloomy man who was somehow more fragile than he appeared.
You’re clumsy, Nunew thought, watching the human on his phone, struggling to figure out if kittens really drank milk. But you’re mine now.
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When his human yelled at him, his little heart hurt.
Nunew stared at the mess he made in the kitchen. Shards of mugs and pieces of other toppled items littered the floor, and the shelf where the food was kept now looked impossible to reach.
His tiny chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. He was hungry— so hungry —and his head felt light, his vision swimming.
He had tried his best to get to the food. His paws were still a bit unstable for jumping, and the distance to the shelf had seemed insurmountable.
But desperation made him attempt it anyway.
He’d slipped, his body too weak to hold on, and the mugs had fallen with a crash that sent him scampering to the floor, his tail tucked low.
Nunew padded slowly to his empty food bowl and nudged it with his nose. It was dry, barren, like his stomach.
Zee must have forgotten, he thought, gazing sadly at the bowl.
But Nunew didn’t blame him. He’d seen how exhausted the human was, dragging himself in late at night with dark circles under his eyes and slumped shoulders.
Nunew had tried to be quiet, curling up on the couch instead of demanding attention. Zee already had so much on his plate.
Nunew didn’t want to add to his burden.
I’ll clean this up. I’ll find food outside. I just need to make sure Zee doesn’t come home to this mess. The kitten promised himself.
He took a trembling step toward the broken mugs, but dizziness made his legs wobble. He stopped, panting, and looked toward the window.
I’ll go out. I’ll bring something back. I’ll fix this.
Climbing onto the sill with great effort, Nunew squeezed out into the cold night.
The alley below was dark, and the smells of the city overwhelmed his senses. But he followed his nose, his hunger driving him to the dumpsters.
It didn’t take long to find some scraps of food—a half-eaten sandwich, a piece of chicken—and he carefully picked up what he could carry.
Returning to the apartment was harder. He was weak, dirty, and his little body ached all over. But Nunew managed to clamber back inside, his prize still held between his teeth.
He only made it a few steps into the kitchen when Zee’s voice thundered through the room.
His ears flattened, and the scrap of food fell from his mouth as he took a step back, trembling. Zee’s voice, so sharp and full of anger, wasn’t something he had ever heard before.
It hurt. It hurt more than anything Nunew had experienced in a long time.
I just wanted to help. I just wanted to be good, he thought, his small heart breaking. He turned and leapt out the window again, tears stinging his eyes.
Nunew curled up by the dumpsters, the cold biting through his fur. He didn’t cry—he didn’t have the strength—but his chest ached with a heaviness that felt unbearable.
He wanted to stay. He wanted to be near Zee. But maybe he wasn’t worthy of that anymore.
When Zee found him, Nunew didn’t even try to run. He was too tired, too sad. But then Zee knelt down, his face wet with tears, and cradled Nunew gently against his chest.
The warmth of Zee’s embrace and the words he whispered broke through Nunew’s despair.
The kitten pressed against Zee’s chest, feeling the human’s heartbeat beneath his ear. It was the first time anyone had apologized to him, let alone say they loved him. At that moment, Nunew forgave him completely.
He had imprinted on Zee long ago, but now he knew for certain: this was his human, and he would stay with him no matter what.
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When Nunew woke up the next morning, something felt different.
The couch was soft beneath him, but his body wasn’t the same. He opened his eyes and stared down at himself.
His paws were gone, replaced by hands. He flexed his fingers, panic rising in his chest.
He was in his human form again, something he hadn’t been able to shift into for what felt like years.
Quickly, he looked around the room and spotted a hoodie in the dryer. His legs were shaky, but he managed to pull the oversized garment over himself, covering his slender frame.
The soft fabric smelled like Zee, which calmed him, but his movements were clumsy and loud.
A door creaked open, and Nunew froze.
Zee stepped into the living room, his expression alert and cautious.
“Who’s there?” he called, his voice a bit hoarse from waking up yet sharp with alarm.
Nunew turned, his eyes meeting the human’s.
Zee’s mouth fell open as he stared. The intruder’s brown hair fell softly over his forehead, and his round cheeks were faintly pink, puffy from sleep.
His gaze darted between Nunew’s face and the oversized hoodie hanging off his small frame.
It was impossible, but the thought formed in Zee’s mind anyway: He looks like... the kitten.