Work Text:
Umemiya Hajime adjusted the strap of his messenger bag as he pushed open the door to the café. The bell above chimed softly, announcing his arrival. It was a familiar, welcoming space filled with warm light, the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries wafting through the air.
“Hajime!” Kotoha’s cheerful voice rang out from behind the counter, where she was arranging a tray of freshly cleaned mugs. “Hurry and get changed! I want you to meet the new guy before the lunch rush starts.”
“New guy?” Hajime raised an eyebrow as he slung his bag over a chair and headed to the staff room to grab his apron.
When he returned, Kotoha stood next to a young man whose appearance was nothing short of striking. His hair was split perfectly down the middle—one side jet-black, the other a stark white. But what truly caught Hajime’s attention were his eyes: one a deep, inky black and the other a shimmering golden hue.
“Hajime, meet Sakura Haruka,” Kotoha said with her trademark enthusiasm. “He’s starting today.”
Sakura gave a curt nod, his expression serious and his posture tense but assured. “Looking forward to working with you,” he said, his tone gruff but not unfriendly.
Hajime grinned, scratching the back of his head in his usual laid-back manner. “Umemiya Hajime. Looks like we’ll be in the trenches together. Let’s get along.”
Sakura hesitated for a moment before extending a hand. His grip was firm, though Hajime could feel an underlying nervousness in it. “Hope you can keep up,” Sakura replied with the faintest hint of a smirk.
“Oh, we’ve got a comedian here,” Hajime shot back with a chuckle.
Despite his reserved demeanor, Sakura quickly proved to be capable. While he fumbled with orders at first, he adapted quickly, moving with an efficiency that surprised Hajime. However, there was an endearing awkwardness about him, especially when dealing with overly chatty or flirtatious customers.
On one occasion, a customer complimented his eyes, and Sakura flushed bright red, mumbling a barely coherent thank-you. The interaction earned a few laughs from Hajime and Kotoha, as well as an unusually generous tip.
“Don’t worry,” Hajime teased as they cleaned up during a lull in customers. “You’ll get used to the attention. You’ve got that ‘mysterious stranger’ vibe going on.”
Sakura scowled, but the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the start of a smile. “I’m just here to work, not to be some tourist attraction.”
By the end of the day, the café had settled into its usual rhythm, and Hajime’s shift came to an end. He glanced around but noticed that Sakura had already left.
The rain had picked up by the time Hajime stepped outside, turning the streets slick and reflective. Pulling his jacket over his head, he muttered under his breath about forgetting an umbrella.
As he made his way home, a faint sound caught his attention—a soft, pitiful meow carried by the wind.
Hajime paused, glancing around until he spotted the source: a small black-and-white tuxedo cat huddled on a piece of soggy cardboard in a dimly lit alley. Its mismatched eyes—one black, one golden—blinked up at him, filled with a mixture of desperation and wariness.
“Well, what do we have here?” Hajime crouched down, holding out a hand. “You’re not having the best night, huh?”
The cat hissed weakly, its tiny body shivering. Hajime sighed. “Alright, alright. Guess I can’t just leave you here.”
Scooping the trembling feline into his arms, Hajime made his way back to his apartment, the cat pressing itself against his chest for warmth.
Back home, Hajime dried the cat with a towel, speaking softly as he worked. “You’re a mess, little guy. But don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
The cat squirmed and hissed when Hajime tried to give it a proper bath, its claws swiping at the air, but Hajime persisted. “You’ve got some fight in you, huh? That’s good. Means you’re not giving up.”
Once the ordeal was over, Hajime set out a bowl of food and water. The cat approached cautiously, its mismatched eyes flicking between Hajime and the food before finally settling down to eat.
“See? Not so bad,” Hajime said, leaning back on his couch. “You can crash here tonight if you want. It gets a little quiet around here anyway.”
The next morning, Hajime woke up to an empty apartment. The bowl of food had been licked clean, but the cat was gone.
“Figures,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s gratitude for you.”
Life carried on as usual. Hajime went to his classes and then to the café for another shift. But as the day drew to a close and the rain returned, he found himself glancing down the alley he’d passed the night before.
Sure enough, the tuxedo cat was there again, curled up on the same piece of cardboard.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hajime said, shaking his head with a grin. He crouched down, the cat lifting its head weakly to meow at him.
“You really like this spot, huh?” Hajime sighed, scooping the cat into his arms once more. “Alright, buddy. Let’s go.”
Unbeknownst to Hajime, the stray wasn’t just a stray. Beneath the fur and feline frame was Sakura Haruka, a hybrid caught between two worlds. In his human form, he’d been too battered to make it home after a fight the night before. Shifting into his cat form had been an act of desperation, and Hajime’s unexpected kindness had been his salvation.
Now, as Hajime carried him home for the second time, Sakura felt a strange warmth—not just from the shelter Hajime offered, but from the genuine care in his voice and actions. For the first time in a long time, Sakura felt seen, even if only as a stray cat.
This became their routine. Rain or shine, Hajime would find the tuxedo cat—drenched, dirty, or simply curled up miserably in the same alley. No matter how busy or tired he was, he always brought it home, fed it, bathed it, and ensured it was warm for the night.
At first, Hajime treated the cat with a reluctant sort of kindness. “You’re lucky I’m too soft to leave you out there,” he’d mutter, setting down a dish of food. But as the days turned into weeks, that reluctance turned into something more profound. Hajime began to anticipate finding the little feline waiting for him. He even found himself chatting with it while preparing meals or sitting on his couch.
“I should give you a name,” Hajime mused one evening as the cat stretched out lazily on his lap, purring softly. “How about… Haru? You showed up in spring, after all.”
The cat meowed in response, and Hajime took it as approval. “Haru it is, then.”
Yet every morning, Haru disappeared. Hajime tried waiting up all night once, hoping to catch the cat leaving, but no matter how vigilant he was, Haru always seemed to slip away unnoticed. Despite this, Hajime couldn’t shake the growing attachment he felt. Haru wasn’t just a stray anymore; it had become a companion—a constant in his life.
As a hybrid who could shift between human and cat forms, Sakura Haruka had always lived a life of isolation. His mismatched eyes—one black, one golden—and his half-black, half-white hair made him stand out too much in human form. Even as a cat, his unusual features drew attention and marked him as different.
Life on the streets was harsh. Food was never guaranteed, and other strays were territorial and aggressive. Sakura had long accepted that survival was a daily battle, with no room for trust or vulnerability.
But everything changed when Hajime found him. At first, Sakura thought the human’s kindness was just a fluke. He assumed Hajime would eventually stop helping him, like others had before. But the man kept coming back, night after night, scooping him up from the cold streets and bringing him into the warmth of his home.
In those moments, wrapped in a blanket and listening to Hajime’s quiet ramblings, Sakura felt something he hadn’t felt in years: safe. For the first time, he wasn’t treated as an outcast or a freak. He wasn’t even seen as a hybrid. Hajime cared for him simply because he was there, needing help.
Sakura began to linger near Hajime’s usual routes, ensuring he’d be “found” every evening. Though he always slipped away before dawn, he cherished those hours of warmth and security.
One evening, Sakura was out exploring when he stumbled upon a gang harassing a young civilian in a dimly lit alley. The sight ignited a sense of justice he couldn’t ignore, despite knowing the risk.
In his human form, Sakura confronts the gang, demanding they leave the victim alone. His unusual appearance and confident demeanor startled them at first, but they quickly regained their composure. A brutal fight ensued. Though Sakura managed to drive them off, he was left bloodied and battered, barely able to stand.
Knowing he couldn’t make it home like this, Sakura shifted into his cat form—a smaller, less conspicuous figure. But his injuries were severe, and as he staggered through the streets, his vision blurred. He collapsed in an alley, the cold pavement sapping what little strength he had left.
Moments later, familiar hands lifted him gently. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he heard a familiar voice murmuring, “What happened to you?”
Hajime’s heart clenched as he set Haru down on his couch, noting the blood matted in its fur and the way it trembled with each breath. “What did you get yourself into?” he muttered, grabbing a first aid kit.
He worked quickly but carefully, cleaning the wounds and wrapping them in makeshift bandages. All the while, he whispered reassurances. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you. Just hang on, alright?”
When he finished, Hajime placed a bowl of water nearby and covered Haru with a soft blanket. “You’re not going anywhere until you’re better,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
The next morning, Sakura awoke still in his cat form, his body aching but his wounds clean and tended. He watched as Hajime bustled about, preparing breakfast and occasionally glancing over with a concerned expression.
The care and worry in Hajime’s actions touched Sakura deeply. It was more than just kindness—it was genuine concern, something Sakura hadn’t experienced in years.
Later that day, when Hajime left for work, Sakura shifted into his human form and grabbed his phone. He texted Kotoha, claiming he was too “sick” to work. It wasn’t entirely a lie—his body still ached, and he couldn’t risk exposing his injuries to anyone at the café.
For the first time in years, Sakura felt safe enough to stay. No more running, no more disappearing before dawn. This time, he allowed himself to remain in Hajime’s care, trusting that he wouldn’t be abandoned.
That night, as Hajime returned home and greeted Haru with his usual smile, Sakura curled up on the couch, his mismatched eyes watching the man closely.
For the first time, he felt like he belonged.
Sakura, now fully healed, returned to work at the café. Despite resuming his daily routines, he remained in Hajime’s apartment. During the day, when Hajime was away, Sakura would turn into his human form to clean the apartment, leaving it spotless for Hajime’s return.
At first, Hajime was confused about how his messy apartment seemed to clean itself. “I swear I left dishes in the sink,” he muttered one evening. But he chalked it up to his memory playing tricks on him.
The tuxedo cat had also become a familiar sight in Hajime’s life. Every evening when he returned home, Sakura—back in his cat form—would greet him by the door, meowing happily.
Hajime had grown so attached to the cat that he officially named him Haru. “You came to me in the spring, so Haru fits you,” he told the cat one day while scratching its ears.
Sakura couldn’t help but feel the warmth bloom in his chest. It had been so long since he’d felt this cared for.
One morning, Sakura woke to find the apartment eerily silent. The sunlight filtering through the curtains illuminated an empty room. Assuming Hajime had left early for university, he stretched, shifted into his human form, and prepared for his own day.
At the café, he worked through the usual rush of orders, occasionally glancing at the clock. By afternoon came in, he started to wonder where Hajime was. “He’s late,” Sakura muttered to Kotoha while they prepped drinks during a lull.
Kotoha shrugged, brushing off his concern. “Knowing Hajime, he probably slept in class or got caught up in something. Don’t worry about it.”
But as the day dragged on and Hajime failed to show, her casual demeanor began to crack. She muttered complaints about him slacking off and leaving her short-staffed, though Sakura could see the worry etched into her face.
The next day, Hajime’s absence continued, and Kotoha’s mood grew darker. “He’s never skipped work without a word before,” she admitted, frustration evident in her tone.
Sakura felt a twinge of unease but kept it to himself. Hajime wasn’t the type to vanish without reason—or was he?
Days turned into a week, and still, there was no sign of Hajime. Each evening after his shift, Sakura returned to the apartment in his cat form, hoping to hear the familiar sound of the door unlocking or the jangle of Hajime’s keys.
Instead, the silence stretched on, pressing heavily against him.
He found himself pacing near the door at night, his tail flicking anxiously as he listened for footsteps that never came. An unsettling familiarity settled in his chest, dredging up memories he had tried to bury—memories of being left behind.
As a child, he had waited for his parents in the same way, staring at the door with hope that slowly turned to dread. Days passed, and the realization that they weren’t coming back had hollowed him out, leaving behind scars that never truly healed.
The apartment, once a safe haven, began to feel like a cage.
By the ninth day, the weight of Hajime’s absence became too much to bear. Sakura sat by the door in his cat form, staring at it as if willing it to open. When it didn’t, he turned away, his resolve hardening.
“This is what happens when you let yourself rely on someone,” he thought bitterly.
Shifting back into his cat form, he left every belonging untouched, as if he had never stepped in, and left the apartment, jumping through the window and closing it behind with his paw.
The streets greeted him with their familiar hostility—cold, wet, and indifferent. Sakura resigned himself to his old life as a stray, slipping back into the shadows where he belonged.
But no matter how far he wandered or how deeply he tried to bury his feelings, the ghost of Hajime’s kindness lingered, a stubborn warmth that refused to fade. It was the kind of warmth that made being alone again feel so much colder.
Unbeknownst to Sakura, Hajime had been sent on a week-long university trip for his architecture course. His professors had emphasized the importance of on-site learning, and the trip itinerary was packed from dawn till dusk. On the first day, disaster struck—Hajime accidentally dropped his phone into a fountain while taking notes.
Frustrated but undeterred, he turned to pen and paper, documenting every sketch and observation meticulously. However, the lack of communication gnawed at him. He tried borrowing a phone to send messages but couldn’t recall Kotoha’s or anyone’s number. As the days passed, he grew increasingly anxious, his thoughts repeatedly drifting to Haru.
When Hajime finally returned home, his suitcase felt heavier than it should have, weighed down by his worry. The moment he unlocked his apartment door, his first thought was of Haru.
“Haru?” he called, setting his bag down. He shook a food container, the sound echoing in the stillness of the apartment. “C’mon, buddy, where are you?”
But the familiar pitter-patter of paws never came.
Hajime’s chest tightened. He searched every corner, even checking beneath the furniture, but the tuxedo cat was nowhere to be found.
“Damn it,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. Grabbing his coat, he bolted outside and began scouring the neighborhood, calling Haru’s name and scanning every alley and corner.
Despite hours of searching, his efforts yielded nothing. Dejected, Hajime returned home, the silence in his apartment louder than ever before.
The next day, he dragged himself to the café, guilt weighing him down. The moment he stepped inside, he dropped to his knees in front of Kotoha.
“I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, bowing deeply. “My phone broke, and I couldn’t contact anyone. I know I left you hanging, and I’ll make up for it, I promise!”
Kotoha, arms crossed and a scowl on her face, looked unimpressed. “You should’ve told me earlier!” she snapped. “Do you even know what kind of state you left everyone in? We’ve been short-staffed all week, and Sakura’s been killing himself to keep up.”
Hajime winced, guilt twisting in his stomach. “I’ll take double shifts if I have to—whatever it takes.”
Before Kotoha could reply, the break room door creaked open, and Sakura stepped out, carrying a tray of clean cups.
The moment their eyes met, Sakura froze.
Hajime blinked, taking in Sakura’s appearance. His usually sharp features looked drawn, exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his mismatched eyes. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of the past week had taken its toll.
“Sakura,” Hajime said softly, straightening up.
But Sakura’s expression hardened. His grip on the tray tightened, and without a word, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the break room, slamming the door shut behind him.
The sound echoed through the café, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake.
Kotoha sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”
Hajime looked at her, confused and concerned. “What do you mean?”
Kotoha’s gaze softened slightly but remained firm. “Sakura’s been working himself to the bone since you disappeared.
Hajime’s stomach dropped further, the weight of her words hitting him like a punch to the gut.
“I need to fix this,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Kotoha crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Good luck with that. You’ve got a lot of ground to make up, Hajime.”
Determined to make amends, Hajime began slipping meals to Sakura during breaks, quietly setting them on the counter or pushing them toward him with a casual, “Eat up, you look like you need it.” Sakura, however, barely acknowledged the gestures, brushing him off with cold glares or curt words.
When Hajime tried helping with café tasks, Sakura refused to let him take over anything. “I’ve got it,” he would snap, his tone sharp enough to cut.
But Hajime didn’t give up. He started finding subtle ways to show his sincerity—leaving snacks in Sakura’s locker with a note that said, Take care of yourself, okay? or stepping in to cover Sakura’s duties during busy shifts without making a fuss.
Even when met with resistance, Hajime kept his patience, his usual grin masking the guilt he felt for having let Sakura down.
One rainy afternoon, as Hajime entered the café for his shift, he noticed something odd—Sakura wasn’t there. The sight of the counter without him felt strange, like something was missing.
“Where’s Sakura?” Hajime asked Kotoha as he tied his apron.
“Sick,” Kotoha replied, her brows furrowed. “He texted me this morning saying he wasn’t feeling well.”
Hajime paused, his hands freezing mid-knot. “Sick? Is he okay?”
Kotoha shrugged, her concern evident despite her casual tone. “I don’t know. He sounded awful, though. Probably the exhaustion is catching up with him.”
The thought of Sakura—stubborn, sharp-tongued Sakura—suffering alone didn’t sit right with Hajime. Without a second thought, he turned to Kotoha.
“Do you have his address?” Hajime asked, his voice laced with urgency.
“I recently got his address. Looked like he moved not long ago” Kotoha raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I need to check on him,” Hajime said firmly. “He’s been overworking himself, and if he’s sick, someone should be there for him.”
Kotoha hesitated, biting her lip. Finally, she sighed and scribbled down an address on a napkin. “Here. But don’t make it worse, alright? He values his space.”
Hajime nodded, pocketing the napkin. “Thanks, Kotoha. I’ll handle it.”
Hajime arrived at a run-down building and climbed the creaky stairs to the apartment Kotoha had mentioned. He knocked at the door of the number written on the paper.
“Sakura?” he called out. No answer.
He knocked again, harder this time, but the door creaked open under the force of his knock. Hajime froze, the unsettling sight of a broken lock immediately catching his eye.
“What the...?” he whispered, stepping cautiously inside. His heart raced as worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind. The dimly lit hallway smelled of mildew, and the peeling paint on the walls gave the place an eerie, abandoned feel.
The apartment was sparse, with little furniture and no personal touches to make it feel like a home. The only sign of life was a thin futon in the corner, and lying on it was Sakura, his pale face flushed with fever, sweat glistening on his brow.
“Sakura!” Hajime rushed to his side, dropping to his knees. The sight of him in such a vulnerable state twisted Hajime’s stomach. He reached out to touch Sakura’s forehead and winced at the heat radiating from his skin.
“You’re burning up,” Hajime muttered, panic creeping into his voice.
Rummaging through his bag, Hajime found a small travel pack of fever medicine. He poured a glass of water from the kitchen sink—ignoring the rusty tap—and gently helped Sakura sit up.
“Come on, you’ve gotta take this,” he urged, holding the pills to Sakura’s lips.
Sakura groaned softly, barely conscious, but Hajime coaxed him until he swallowed the medicine. Carefully, he eased him back onto the futon.
Noticing the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to Sakura’s chest, Hajime frowned. “You can’t stay in that,” he muttered. From his bag, he pulled out a clean T-shirt, one of his own, and set it down.
“Alright, Sakura, let’s get you changed,” Hajime said, his tone as soothing as he could manage. With careful, deliberate movements, he takes off Sakura’s damp shirt, feeling a pang of guilt at invading his privacy but knowing it was necessary. He slid the clean T-shirt over Sakura’s head, making sure not to jostle him too much.
Once Sakura was more comfortable, Hajime grabbed a handkerchief and dampened it with cool water from the sink. He returned to kneel by Sakura’s side, gently wiping his face and neck.
“You’re gonna be okay,” Hajime murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m here now, so just rest.”
When Sakura woke up, the room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. Shadows stretched across the walls, making the space feel smaller and quieter. His head throbbed, a dull ache spreading behind his eyes, and his throat was dry and scratchy as though he hadn’t spoken in days. His body felt heavy, every muscle sluggish and unresponsive as he tried to sit up, but even that small effort left him winded.
Blinking to clear his vision, he turned his head and froze when he saw Hajime sitting beside him. Hajime’s arms were crossed over his chest, his head tilted back awkwardly against the wall as he dozed lightly. His face looked peaceful in the faint light, but there was no mistaking the exhaustion etched into his features—the dark smudges beneath his eyes, the slump of his shoulders. He looked like someone who hadn’t had proper rest in weeks.
Sakura’s mismatched eyes softened as he stared at him. It had only been a day since Hajime had barged into this rundown apartment, dragging with him a stubborn resolve to stay by Sakura’s side. But in those short hours, Hajime had been there through everything—cooling his fever, coaxing him to take medicine, and sitting with him even when he couldn’t stay awake himself.
A knot of guilt twisted in Sakura’s chest. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t have to do this. The thought was as bitter as the metallic taste lingering in his mouth. Hajime had no obligation to take care of him, no reason to waste his time on someone like him. And yet, here he was.
Sakura turned his gaze to the ceiling, his throat tightening as he tried to process everything. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words felt tangled, stuck somewhere between gratitude and shame. He glanced back at Hajime, who shifted slightly in his sleep, his expression soft and unguarded. For a fleeting moment, Sakura thought about waking him, about thanking him or telling him to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the fragile stillness.
Instead, he allowed his heavy eyelids to close again, exhaustion tugging him back into sleep. This time, his dreams were less troubled, his feverish haze subsiding as the night wore on.
When Sakura woke again, pale sunlight was streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the small apartment. He blinked against the light, sitting up slowly as his body protested with dull aches. He glanced to the side, expecting to see Hajime still dozing beside him—but the spot was empty.
Panic prickled at the edges of his mind, his heart skipping a beat as he scanned the room. The spot on the floor Hajime had been sitting in was vacant, and the blanket he’d draped over himself had been neatly folded and placed on the table. Sakura’s chest tightened. He left?
His mismatched eyes caught a piece of paper on the floor, weighted down by a bottle of water. With trembling hands, he reached for it, his breath hitching as he unfolded the note.
Sakura,
I'd like to stay a little longer but i had to head out early. I'm sorry! I'll be back to check on you later!! Rest up, and don’t even think about trying to push yourself too hard. If you need anything, call me.
- Hajime :D
Sakura stared at the note, his grip tightening slightly as a mix of relief and frustration swirled in his chest. Hajime hadn’t abandoned him, but the thought of him leaving at all—even temporarily—left an ache he couldn’t quite explain.
He set the note down carefully, his mismatched eyes lingering on it for a moment before sighing and leaning back against the futon. For now, he would do as Hajime said—rest and wait. But the warmth in his chest, fragile yet persistent, told him he wasn’t as alone as he once thought.
As the days passed, Sakura gradually recovered. The fever subsided, and his strength returned, but his usual sharpness acted as a barrier between him and Hajime. He rarely spoke more than necessary, his curt words keeping the other at arm’s length. Hajime didn’t push for answers, quietly helping in ways that spoke louder than any conversation.
One evening, after finishing his shift at the café, Sakura returned to his apartment. The barren space greeted him—bare walls, a creaky floor, and the lone futon he used as both bed and seat. He was pulling off his jacket when there was a knock at the door.
With a sigh, Sakura walked over and opened it, only to find Hajime standing there with a small bag in hand.
“You again?” Sakura said, raising an eyebrow.
Hajime grinned. “Miss me?” Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside and sat cross-legged on the floor, setting the bag down beside him.
“You’re unbelievable,” Sakura muttered, closing the door behind him.
Hajime glanced around at the stark apartment, his smile softening. “Still no furniture, huh?”
“I don’t need it,” Sakura replied curtly, dropping his bag near the wall.
Hajime shook his head but didn’t press further. Instead, he pulled out a neatly folded blanket from the bag and began arranging it.
“You’re still here?” Sakura said, his tone laced with annoyance as he leaned against the wall.
Hajime glanced up, smiling faintly. “Figured I’d check in. You’re not exactly the best at taking care of yourself.”
Sakura shot him a glare, though there was no real heat in it. “I’m fine. You don’t have to play nurse anymore.”
“Good to know,” Hajime replied with a shrug. “But maybe I just like annoying you.”
Sakura snorted, leaning against the wall. “Mission accomplished.”
For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the faint hum of the street outside. Then Hajime spoke again, his tone soft. “You could at least say thanks, you know.”
Sakura’s mismatched eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “Thanks for what?”
“For making sure you didn’t keel over and die,” Hajime said bluntly, smirking. “I’m pretty sure that deserves some kind of acknowledgment.”
Sakura crossed his arms, his lips twitching as though fighting back a smile. “You’re an idiot.”
“Not a ‘thank you,’ but I’ll take it,” Hajime said with a chuckle, standing up and stretching.
When Sakura finally returned to full health, he resumed his usual routine, working his shifts at the café and offering no explanation for his absence. Hajime, despite his curiosity, never pried. Instead, he drifted in and out of Sakura’s life in his easy going way—stopping by now and then to drop off food or simply sit in the silence of the apartment.
One night, after a long shift, Sakura came home to find a small paper bag on his futon. Inside were neatly wrapped onigiri, still slightly warm. Hajime was nowhere to be seen.
Sakura stared at the bag for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re persistent,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with something he couldn’t quite name.
Later that night, as the city lights filtered through the thin curtains, Sakura lay on his futon, staring at the ceiling. He thought about Hajime’s quiet support, his annoying smile, and the way he never asked for anything in return.
For the first time in a long while, the loneliness in the barren apartment felt just a little less suffocating.
One night, Hajime returned to his apartment after a grueling shift, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. His mind was focused on nothing more than collapsing into bed when he stepped inside and froze in his tracks.
His gaze immediately landed on the small tuxedo cat curled up on his couch, a familiar face he never expected to see again.
“Haru?” Hajime said, his voice tinged with disbelief. He dropped his bag by the door, the sound of it hitting the floor barely registering in his mind as he took a step forward.
The cat blinked lazily, stretching its small, sleek body before letting out a soft, content meow. It hopped down from the couch, its little paws padding toward Hajime.
“You’ve got some nerve disappearing on me, you know that?” Hajime chuckled, crouching down to scoop Haru into his arms. The cat settled comfortably in his embrace, nuzzling against his chest with a soft purr.
Hajime smiled, the sound of Haru’s purring filling the quiet apartment. There was something oddly comforting about it—about the simple, familiar weight of the cat in his arms. He carried Haru over to the couch, settling into the cushions and letting the cat curl up in his lap.
For a long moment, Hajime just sat there, stroking Haru’s fur, the warmth of the moment sinking into him like sunlight on a cool day. The soft rhythmic purring of the cat, the gentle rise and fall of its small body, helped ease the tension in Hajime’s chest.
But as he gazed down at the tuxedo cat, an uneasy thought lingered in the back of his mind. There was a strange familiarity about Haru, something that tugged at his memory but remained just out of reach.
“Where did you go?” Hajime murmured to the cat, his fingers gently running through the fur as he tried to shake off the nagging feeling. “And why are you back now?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered. But for the moment, Hajime decided not to question it any further. Haru was here now, and that was enough.
As he continued to stroke the cat’s fur, the warmth from the small creature spread through him, easing the stress of the day. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.
What Hajime didn’t know, however, was that Haru was more than just a cat. He was Sakura, the same person he had been helping days ago, the same person he’d thought was sick and alone. Haru’s form was just one side of his dual nature, his ability to shift from human to cat, a secret he held close.
Sakura—or Haru, depending on the form—had been staying away from Hajime for a reason. Though he was thankful for Hajime’s care and company, a part of him was afraid. Afraid of how much he had come to rely on him, afraid of the truth that lingered in his chest, a truth he wasn’t ready to face yet.
So, for now, he remained in his cat form. The familiar warmth of Hajime’s lap, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, was enough to make him feel safe. He didn’t have to explain himself, didn’t have to confront the reality of what he was. For a little while longer, he could stay in this form, this peaceful space between cat and human.
As Hajime stroked him gently, Haru—Sakura—let his eyes drift closed, purring softly, content to remain in this quiet moment. But the unspoken bond between them, the connection they had that went deeper than either of them understood, remained.
The truth might come to light one day, but for now, Haru would stay hidden, safe in the comfort of Hajime’s quiet companionship.