Archive of Our Own

The thing was half-dead when Kiah’a noticed it on the way back from the library, his cloak pulled tight around his thin frame and his mind still deep in equations and theory-crafting. He was making good progress with his thesis, but it was a new application of magic that consumed his attention and energy in equal measure. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that it was a miracle that he even noticed his carbuncle suddenly alert as it sensed blood.

He glanced down at the construct, its tail and ears perked up and nose twitching in the direction of the concern.

“Go,” Kiah’a ordered, and the carbuncle obeyed. It dashed ahead to scout the area. It was late enough that it seemed like no one else was out, but Kiah’a didn’t want to take risks even in a city as safe as Old Sharlayan. He put a hand on his trusted tome as he followed his carbuncle.

It had decided the area was safe and, as per its training, was stanced at the side of the cause for alarm. Kiah’a blinked down at the sight, only seeing a clump of something. He huffed and waved a hand. A small orb of light appeared, enough to illuminate what lay in front of him.

It was a cat. A half-dead, mangy, flea-bitten thing but a cat nonetheless. It must have been attacked by another creature. Half its side was gone, one paw was twisted at an awkward angle, and its ears were bitten to nibs. It was missing a lot of blood and, after a valiant effort, had dragged itself underneath a bush to die. It would frighten some poor gardener in the morning.

Kiah’a was about to give it a peaceful passing when its eyes met his. Rather, its good eye did. The left eye had been clawed out, leaving only an empty socket.

Fuck.

Kiah’a pulled out his tome and summoned Selene. Then he got to work.

—

Kiah’a entered the apartment with a bloody bundle in his arms. G’raha was waiting up, curled up on the couch with a book in his lap and a half-drunk cup of tea on the table next to him. He startled as the door swung open with gusto.

“What is that?” G’raha exclaimed, eyes widening. He lurched to his feet. All pretense of calm had vanished. “What happened to it?”

“It’s a cat. Get towels. Bad ones,” Kiah’a told him in lieu of a proper answer. He took the cat to the dining room, his carbuncle checking the room ahead of him.

“There are many who specialize in the treatment and care of injured animals,” G’raha reasoned as he helped fetch towels from the closet. He set several on the table, forming a loose bed. “I think it best we visit them in the morning to get their advice on her treatment.”

Kiah’a’s ears flicked in annoyance. “I am treating her just fine,” he began to argue, before stopping. “We may discuss it once she no longer feels frozen.” He tucked another towel around her. She was still covered in blood, but her wounds were patched up and her good eye was closed in rest, not death. Her breathing was shallow but steady.

He was no expert in feline care — obvious jokes aside — but he was a very good healer and he saw no reason for her to pass in the night as long as she warmed up.

“Where did you find her?” G’raha asked, worrying his bottom lip.

“On my way back from the Studium.” Kiah’a straightened up, looking at the nest of towels he had formed around the cat. The apartment was much warmer than the brisk night, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could do more.

He wandered towards the kitchen as he tried to put his thoughts in order. His carbuncle followed with G’raha close behind. “Where are those tiny saucers? The ones Urianger gave us for tea?”

“Left of the sink, upper cabinet.” G’raha watched as Kiah’a opened the cabinet in question. The saucers were too high for him to reach normally, but he just flicked his wrist and an aetherial hand manifested. Kiah’a daintily took a saucer and passed it to his flesh and blood hand. “We have some ham remaining from the other night. ‘tis unseasoned, so it should not upset her stomach.”

“Aye, we should avoid that,” Kiah’a agreed. He poured enough water onto the saucer to form a thin layer. Not enough for anything other than an ant to drown in, but enough to hopefully stave off some of the cat’s thirst. He took a second saucer and turned to the icebox to retrieve some ham. He found that G’raha had already cut a small portion of it, a few mouthfuls for a hungry cat. Kiah’a felt some tension leave his body. “My thanks,” he murmured. He leaned forward to touch his forehead to G’raha’s.

“None is needed, my star,” G’raha assured him. “Now go, let us take care and provide succor to this poor creature.”

The poor creature had not moved since the duo left the room. She was still sleeping. Healing required aether from both the recipient and the mage, and Kiah’a had taxed hers as much as he thought he could get away with. He was loathe to wake her and instead left the saucers within easy reach of her head.

G’raha stood behind Kiah’a and wrapped his arms around him. “Are you going to sleep at all tonight?” he asked. Kiah’a shook his head. “Alright. Do you wish for me to keep your company?”

Kiah’a hesitated. It wouldn’t be the first night he stayed up the whole night. Y’shtola had mentioned that Keepers of the Moon tend to be more nocturnal, but in truth he found it preferable to face exhaustion rather than recurring nightmares. G’raha, on the other hand, suffered if he got less than seven hours of beauty sleep, much to the man’s chagrin.

“No, you needn’t hurt yourself for my sake,” Kiah’a replied eventually. G’raha hummed. He kissed the back of Kiah’a’s head.

“‘twould be no burden,” G’raha began, but Kiah’a shook his head again.

“I said, no. Sleep, Raha, and anticipate that I will call upon you in the morning.” He winced at how harsh his tone was and added, “I appreciate the offer, truly, but ‘tis no reason we should both be tired tomorrow.”

G’raha squeezed him once more before releasing him. “I hope that you are not kept up all night, then. And pray, wake me if aught changes and I could be of assistance.”

“I shall,” Kiah’a promised. G’raha kissed him on the cheek before walking back to their bedroom. Kiah’a stared at the cat in its nest and settled in. It would be a long night.

—

True to his word, Kiah’a was up all night watching the cat. She woke early in the morning, right as the first beams of sunlight were starting to peek through the curtains and illuminate the apartment’s dining room. She yawned and blinked. Kiah’a’s carbuncle chirped in response.

The cat began to hiss, trying to stand while avoiding putting pressure on its bad paw. Kiah’a had done his best to heal her, but the injuries were severe enough that there was only so much he could do.

“You’re safe,” Kiah’a told her. He flicked his wrist and his carbuncle disappeared. The cat stared at him warily. He stared back. The cat had a brilliant green eye, one that was clearly weighing whether he was friend or foe. He nodded at it. “There’s food and water. Safe. Eat.” Kiah’a wondered how his life decisions had led to him attempting communication with a cat.

She didn’t seem to like him, but her thirst won out as she slowly lowered her head to lap at the water. She drank it all and then, with more gusto, scarfed down the ham. She started to preen herself, settling down and licking at her fur. Kiah’a made a face. Even if he understood the instinct, the idea of cleaning one’s own blood with one’s tongue was distasteful.

“I’ll get you more water,” he announced, reaching in for the saucer.

He barely pulled his hand away in time as the cat’s claws came out, her hackles raising as she lashed out. She made some ungodly noise, loud enough that he was surprised G’raha hadn’t woken.

Kiah’a bit his tongue. Yelling back wouldn’t help the matter.

“Fine, I’ll get you a new one,” he told her in a steady tone. He got to his feet, sliding the chair back with a screech. By the time he went to the kitchen, filled another saucer, and returned, the cat had settled down. She was now staring over the edge of her towel nest, single eye focused on Kiah’a as he approached.

He took his time. First, he set the saucer on the table. Then, he used a small push of aether to slide it towards the cat. He sat back in his chair and gave her space and waited. Whatever internal strife she fought was beaten down when presented with more water. She leaned down and drank. The fur on her chin got wet. She didn’t seem to care.

Kiah’a stuck his hand in his pocket. He wanted to wash the blood off her fur, but didn’t want to push the issue. He had already written the towels off as a loss.

The cat finished this second offering of water. She looked back at Kiah’a and let out a pathetic meow. Kiah’a’s heart clenched. He became viscerally aware of the way her ribs were visible and a few fleas — those not caught in his efforts the night prior — still crawled over her. He knew some families in the area owned housepets, but she clearly was not one of them.

“If I refill the saucer, will you try to claw me again?” Kiah’a asked. The cat meowed again. He sighed. “Let’s try this again.”

This time, when he reached for the saucer, she did not try to attack. She pressed as far away from him as she could get in her bed, but her claws remained in place. Her eye was a narrow slit. It made the missing one even more obvious.

Kiah’a’s chest tightened. He knew he could not take it personally, but the fear in her eye would haunt him in his sleep.

He waited until he was in the kitchen to pause, gripping the counter with his hand. He gulped down air, eyes burning. He bit his tongue until he tasted iron. It’d been years since he saw that kind of visceral terror in a mirror. Why did he have to be reminded of it now?

The irrational urge to call Sidurgu struck him. What would Sidurgu say or do that could help? Besides, it was only a few hours ahead in Ishgard and he was most likely still asleep. No, Kiah’a could not disturb him for this.

G’raha, perhaps? Kiah’a wondered, but pushed that thought aside as soon as it rose. G’raha would fuss over him and make things worse. Kiah’a didn’t want the attention. He wanted to vent and ramble and find whoever hurt the cat and hurt them back.

So you’d kill another animal for following its instincts? I thought you were better than that.

“I am,” Kiah’a snapped at himself. He clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath. A second breath. The smooth counter was cold to the touch. He was in his kitchen. There was an angry cat on his dining room table. He had saved its life and it wasn’t capable of feeling anything but fear. He didn’t expect it to thank him or anything so fanciful. Its fright was still cutting him to the bone.

He refilled the saucer and brought it back out. The cat had fallen asleep. Kiah’a sighed. He could feel exhaustion nipping at his heels, but he knew sleep was malms away.

He put the saucer within reach of the cat and settled back down to wait.

—

G’raha, as always, was true to his word and knew several people with extensive study in animal husbandry. He left the apartment with a kiss and returned with several books, a bag of food, a litter box, and a recommendation for a store with further supplies.

“Margrat says that we are to ask her for cat-sitting aid if needed,” G’raha advised when he walked into the apartment. Kiah’a raised an eyebrow. “I believe that cats are not to be left unattended for more than a few days.”

“That’s stupid,” Kiah’a replied as he took the food from G’raha.

“Has she moved at all?”

“A little.” Kiah’a had watched as the cat did a circle around the table, sniffed the edge, and then settled back in her nest. He still itched to give her a proper bath but didn’t want to push her. He frowned as he carried the food into the dining room. “Do you not think ‘tis too much food?”

G’raha’s ears flicked back and forth. “I think not. She should have a cup at every meal, and ‘tis hardly more than five ponze.”

“But as soon as she is healed, she’ll be on her way,” Kiah’a pointed out. G’raha stopped what he was doing. He looked at Kiah’a. Kiah’a looked back at him. “What?”

“Did you not want to keep her?”

“Keep her?” Kiah’a echoed.

“You know, as a pet.” G’raha crossed and uncrossed his arms. “‘tis unideal with our schedules, I suppose, but we have no plans to travel anytime soon. A cat would be nice to have around the apartment.”

Kiah’a’s stomach did that funny thing, that flip that let him know that he was treading dangerous ground. He had to be careful before he was hurt. Not that G’raha would do anything to him. No, the only enemy here was his own mind, and gods was it exhausting to fight.

“Do you want to keep her?” Kiah’a ventured. G’raha had not been blind to his turmoil and was slow to respond.

“I think that ‘twould be nice, aye. We have enough space and resources to spare.” When Kiah’a did not reply immediately, G’raha added, “There is plenty of time to think on it. We can discuss it once she is less likely to claw our skin off if we get too close. For now, I think some proper food would not be amiss.”

Kiah’a was thankful for the deferment. He portioned the food out as the instructions said, placed them in a small bowl — the saucer was far too small for a cup of kibble — and slid it over to the cat with a push of aether.

She seemed a bit dubious about it. In fairness, he would feel the same if he were presented with round pellets and told to eat, and he had eaten some truly awful things.

G’raha settled in a chair next to him. “Mayhap if she warms to us today, we can attempt to wash her with a warm towel and soap. It may not be wise to fully submerge her.” His tail curled out, gently caressing Kiah’a’s thinner wisp of a tail.

Kiah’a acquiesced, allowing their tails to entwine. It was… not uncomfortable. Not as welcomed as usual, but no great burden if it brought relief to G’raha. He could endure it for G’raha’s sake.

The cat finally took a bite of the kibble. She chewed it gingerly. Kiah’a held his breath. G’raha’s tail tightened around his. Having confirmed it was edible and, at the very least, tasty enough, the cat began to dive into the offered bowl with gusto.

If Kiah’a felt a warmth bloom in his chest watching her eat, well, that was for him and G’raha alone.

—

The first person to meet the cat outside of the duo was Rielle, by virtue of the young woman coming over every other week for dinner. She was doing well in her lessons but Kiah’a knew how overwhelming the world could be after spending one’s life in isolation. He was happy to give her a reprieve and listen to her worries in person.

Sidurgu often used the aetheryte to attend the dinners, but on that particular night he had agreed to meet with Aymeric to discuss reforms in the Brume and had to decline. He’d have to join next time.

It was as G’raha was setting the first dish — a chicken stock stew that was popular amongst Ishgardian citizens — down that Rielle gasped.

“Whenever did you adopt a cat?” she exclaimed, looking at the creature in question. Kiah’a and G’raha had finally been able to wash her of dirt, blood, and dead fleas but had not settled on the matter of calling her a pet or not. They both had agreed that she could not be released with her paw still in dubious shape, so they had a gray tabby ghost lurking around the apartment and occasionally knocking things over.

At least she seemed to like using her litter box.

“I found her the other day. She is not ours. She is just here until she’s finished recovering,” Kiah’a told Rielle. His suspicions that his words were only selectively heard was confirmed when Rielle clapped her hands together.

“How charming! She is very… unique,” Rielle chose. The cat glared at her. She was sitting in the hallway, blocking any movement further into the apartment. If anyone had to use the washroom, there’d be difficulty. “What happened to her eye?”

“We aren’t sure. I found her like that.” Kiah’a flicked his tail back and forth. “What were you saying about your studies, again? Your aetherology professor is not still giving you grief, I hope?”

Rielle shrugged. “He is a crabby old bastard, but no worse than a Temple knight.” That wasn’t saying much, but Rielle didn’t let Kiah’a press the topic. “What is her name?”

“Who’s name?”

“The cat,” Rielle said with an unamused look. She had to tilt her head down. Her growth spurt was in full swing and the Twelve only knew how tall she’d end up. Kiah’a was hoping for taller than Sidurgu, if only so he wasn’t the only one bemoaning the change.

“I miss when you were shorter than me,” Kiah’a groused, but he didn’t have any venom in his words. “We haven’t named her.”

“Whyever not?”

G’raha sat down, a large basket of warm rolls and a smaller bowl of salad added to the spread. “Kiah’a does not want to keep her. Dig in, Rielle. I remember what they feed students — this must be your only chance for a real meal.”

Rielle did not reach for the food. “You don’t want to keep her? But surely she can’t survive on her own!”

Kiah’a shrugged. He used hands conjured from aether to spoon stew into his bowl without having to sit up. “I did.”

“You’re a Miqo’te. There’s a difference.”

“True. She’s more likely to be given scraps and sympathy.” Kiah’a nabbed a roll and slathered it in butter. He could feel Rielle and G’raha looking at him. “She’s here until her paw heals. Then we will discuss the matter further.”

Rielle pursed her lips but was quiet as she served herself. She took generous servings of everything. Neither G’raha nor Kiah’a were particularly accomplished chefs, but their competition was archon loaf. It was common for Rielle to take leftovers to her dorm.

“How is it?” G’raha asked. Rielle swallowed her bite with a smile.

“Quite good. Though I assure you, you needn’t prepare Ishgardian fare just for my taste.”

G’raha waved a hand before she was even done speaking. “‘tis as good an excuse as any to attempt something new. Besides, you make it seem as if it’s some great burden to eat chicken stew.”

Another moment passed. Kiah’a tensed as he heard the cat yawn, but she didn’t start screaming. She did the very opposite, curling up and relaxing. She was still out of reach and watching them with her good eye, but she was laying down as if to nap in the hallway. She met Kiah’a’s eye and blinked once.

“I think she likes you,” Rielle murmured. “What is her name?”

“She doesn’t have one,” G’raha informed her. “Kiah’a doesn’t believe in giving her a name.”

“We aren’t keeping her, so there’s no point.”

Rielle’s smile faded. “What are you calling her, then?”

“Cat, the.” Kiah’a slurped at the soup. “What’s making it spicy, Raha?”

“Huh? Oh, there’s some cayenne. Rielle’s right, you know. We should name her. Or at least give her a nickname,” G’raha added. Kiah’a gave him an unimpressed look. G’raha kept his face as innocent as possible, eyes wide and ears perked up. “We cannot keep calling her the cat, you know.”

“Does Sidurgu know about your cat?” Rielle asked.

Kiah’a sighed loudly. “She’s not my cat.”

“I told him. He thinks that we should keep her,” G’raha advised her almost gleefully. Kiah’a rubbed his face.

“I cannot find peace even in my own home.” He fixed Rielle with a frown. “Will it make you happy if I name her?”

“Yes, very.”

“Fine. Her name is Cayenne.” Kiah’a resumed eating. And that, he hoped, would be that.

—

Cayenne healed. She gained weight, her fur adopted a healthy sheen, and she even braved being on the arm of the couch while Kiah’a read, though she stayed further away from G’raha. But her paw, stubbornly, did not recover. It remained twisted, not quite useless but near enough, and her hesitant jumps and slow movement betrayed the truth: she would never be quite the cat she was before the injury.

Kiah’a fumed about it in private. He did not lie when he said that he did not want a cat. He also was not going to throw her out.

“Do you want to visit that shop?” G’raha asked after it was apparent that Cayenna was not going anywhere.

“Which shop?” Kiah’a replied, blinking at his partner in confusion. G’raha nodded towards Cayenne, who was currently laying in a patch of sunlight and batting at some thread. She had loosened it from one of Kiah’a’s robes, the brilliant blue standing out against the wood floor. “Oh. Do you think we must?”

“She cannot keep using our plates and bowls, nor the second-hand litter box. ‘tis too small for her.” G’raha spoke true. Now that Cayenne had gained weight, she was settling into a medium-sized cat — big enough to take up space though still small enough to disappear when she wished.

Kiah’a didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t let G’raha go alone. So that was how he found himself, the next day, standing outside Wish on a Whisker. It was in Ul’dah, because of course a place as elaborate as Ul’dah had a store that catered to pets, and Kiah’a already felt his blind eye itch the moment he walked in and was greeted by two identical lalafell.

“Pray, let us know if we can do aught to assist you!” the one on the left declared.

“We currently have a buy one, get one fifty percent off sale for treats!” the one on the right announced.

Everything in the store was labeled with printed signs informing the viewer of the item’s name and price. Bright colors and lights drew one’s attention in dozens of directions. There were a few others in the store, a couple of Hyur cooing over stuffed toys and a group of Miqo’te discussing different beds. Wish on a Whisker was not just for cats, but for all manner of fluffy companions — Kiah’a eyed a sign claiming that it was good for a wolf’s teeth to be given a steady supply of bones to chew on. Every time he thought he had seen everything, Eorzea found a way to surprise him.

“This is fascinating,” G’raha murmured. He was examining row after row of leather collars.

Kiah’a wrinkled his nose. “Leather?”

“Whyever not? ‘twould be resilient.”

“She’s got sensitive skin.”

G’raha turned to look at Kiah’a. “She has sensitive skin?”

Kiah’a shifted back and forth. He couldn’t look G’raha in the eyes. “Aye?”

“I thought you didn’t like her.” G’raha did an admirable job not sounding judgemental. Unfortunately for him, Kiah’a was the king of sensing disapproval, even when it did not exist.

“I don’t want her to stay,” he clarified. His head hurt. He hunched over, tucking his arm close to his chest. “Can we just buy what we need and leave?”

G’raha squeezed his shoulder before dropping the touch, well aware that Kiah’a was not one for public affection. “I would like your opinion on what we purchase. You know her better than I, after all.”

Kiah’a almost argued with him, but stopped as he thought about it. He made sure she ate and had fresh water and, yes, he used aether constructed hands to clean out her litter box. It was his fault that the cat was staying with them and so he was going to be in charge of her upkeep. Anything else would be unfair to G’raha.

So, unfortunately, G’raha was correct. Kiah’a did know Cayenne better than anyone else and thus it was his job to be her advocate.

When they left the store, bags laden with treats and toys and a new litter box and three new beds — because Cayenne had three favorite spots — and a deep red ribbon that almost perfectly matched G’raha’s jacket, G’raha was smart enough to hold his tongue. Kiah’a could still sense the smug satisfaction that rolled off him. It was, even he could privately admit, well earned.

Cayenne looked very good in her bow, at least.

—

Kiah’a was, to put it in no uncertain terms, fucking exhausted. He was behind on his archon thesis, his latest draft due the week prior. He hadn’t the time to work on it because he was too busy failing to rescue Vrtra’s sister from the Thirteenth. It was a harsh reminder that he may be the strongest person on Etheirys but there were stronger beings still.

Even when he did have a moment to breathe and rest, his nightmares were worse than usual. Ghosts crowded him at every opportunity and he couldn’t wash the taste of bile out of his mouth.

His mood was already sour when he arrived at the apartment, still disheveled from his last confrontation on the Thirteenth, and tossed his bag onto the floor. It was late but he wasn’t thinking about making less noise. He had been running on fumes for too long. He kicked his boots off as he announced, “Raha! It’s me.”

Kiah’a flicked the living room light on and yelped. There were feathers everywhere. He looked towards the couch and his suspicions were correct — two of the pillows had been ripped to shreds. Unless G’raha had a once in a lifetime fit, there was only one culprit.

“Dammit!” Kiah’a swore, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. “Where is the swiving cat? I’m throwing it out the window!”

“Whatever is happening?” G’raha called out as he rounded the corner from the hallway and entered the living room. He must have just woken up. It looked like he was still blinking past sleep. He was wearing a warm sweater and a pair of comfortable pajama pants that were low on his hips. It wasn’t enough to distract Kiah’a, who was marching back and forth around the room.

“That stupid furball ruined the couch. Look at this,” Kiah’a swept his hand out. “What’s the point of spending all that gil on toys if she’s going to decide that she’d rather rip the guts out of something else?”

G’raha rubbed his face. “‘tis been known to happen. They’re just pillows. We can replace them.”

Kiah’a held his hand out. His eyes glowed as aether flowed through him. A gust of wind pulsed around his carbuncle and pushed the majority of the feathers to one side of the room. He couldn’t see Cayenne anywhere, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to see her face.

“Pray, my star, rest. You look haggard.” G’raha crossed the room to him, arms outstretched. Kiah’a stepped away. His carbuncle put itself between the two of them and G’raha’s eyes widened.

“Don’t touch me,” Kiah’a snapped. His pulse was quick, palm slick. His throat was tight and he had to force himself to keep speaking. “I want that cat out of here.”

“You do not mean that. In the morning, this won’t be so vexing.”

“I didn’t even want the cat,” Kiah’a huffed. He hunched over, his head throbbing with an impending headache.

“You are justified in your frustration, but they are just pillows. ‘tis nothing that cannot be replaced.”

“I want her gone,” Kiah’a repeated, though he didn’t move. G’raha didn’t reply immediately. Other than their breathing, there was just the ticking of the clock on the wall.

G’raha breathed out slowly. “You say that, but your actions do not match your words.”

Kiah’a’s ears flattened against his head. The fur on his tail was puffed out. “What do you mean by that?”

Another exhale left G’raha’s lips.

“Kiah’a, I say this not out of judgement but as a simple fact — you are the most strong-willed individual I have ever met. If you did not want us to keep Cayenne, then you would have been rid of her as soon as I showed the slightest hesitation. The fact that she remains and you care for her means that you want her around. So whyever do you say anything different?” G’raha’s ears flicked back and forth. “Was it something I said or did that placed doubt in your heart?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kiah’a started, then stopped. He looked down at the floor. The pile of feathers taunted him. His thoughts raced, options flying by and pushed aside in equal measure. There was the gut reaction to run and put the conversation off, but it was weak. The stronger urge was the ever-present craving to lash out and shout.

G’raha started to walk closer, waiting for the carbuncle to stop him. When it didn’t interfere, he said, “I like having her around, you know. Even if she’s still rather nervous, she’s a welcome addition to the apartment.”

Kiah’a found a bitter laugh dragged out of his chest. “Of course she’s nervous. She almost died.”

G’raha pursed his lips and Kiah’a realized that was the wrong reaction, or at least not one that assuaged any fears.

“I know that you do not… like to talk of certain things, and I shall always respect that decision. But, perhaps, does Cayenne remind you of… aspects of yourself?” G’raha stumbled through the question. Physically he remained in place, but Kiah’a could still see him toeing around the subject.

He almost lied. It would have been, in many ways, easier to lie. But Kiah’a hadn’t deceived G’raha before, not like this, and he did not want to start.

“Yes, she does.”

G’raha’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I was not certain if you knew or—”

“If I knew that there were similarities between me and a stray cat?” Kiah’a drawled, looking at G’raha again. “Beyond the singular good eye, the disabled limb, and our near-death experiences, no, I had not put much thought into it.” He could feel his anger start to bubble up again. He hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself as he tried to contain it.

“I was uncertain if it was as apparent to you as it was to me. I assumed you would be less verbal about ridding yourself of her presence if you knew,” G’raha said. He wrung his hands. It was clear he wanted to hold Kiah’a and was doing everything he could to hold himself back. His eyes were filled with pity. It made Kiah’a’s vision go red.

“Because I don’t like having her around!” Kiah’a spat. “I spent ten years of my life begging for someone — anyone — to lift even a finger to help me and I got nothing! I should be dead! From the King or Wailers or my own bad luck—” Kiah’a wrapped his arm around himself. His stump ached. He hadn’t dealt with phantom pains for some time, but now it felt like he could touch his missing arm if only he tried hard enough. “Do you know what it’s like to be considered less than an animal because you were born in the wrong skin?”

Wisely, G’raha didn’t answer.

“Then this stupid cat gets found by the strongest healer on the star and given everything she could ever want and — and I hate her! I hate her missing eye and her bad paw and how she can take all the time in the world to eat the best food gil can buy.”

This drew a soft exhale from G’raha.

“Kiah’a…” He trailed off as Kiah’a pushed ahead.

“She’s just a damn cat. And yet I hate her because every time I look at her, I think about how much I would have given to have even a sliver of affection when I was alone. It’s pathetic, okay? I’m jealous of a stray cat.” Kiah’a deflated. “And I can’t sleep because I should be working on my thesis or helping research the Thirteenth’s plight, but instead I’m worrying about her.” In a way that no one has ever thought of me.

Kiah’a’s carbuncle did nothing as G’raha pulled Kiah’a into a warm embrace, providing no opportunity to resist. Kiah’a melted into his arms. His eyes stung. He was crying, just a little bit, and he was too exhausted to even care.

“You’re safe, my star. I swear on my very being that you will never be alone again.” G’raha rubbed on his back, palms flat and warm even through Kiah’a’s robes. He sniffed a little and cleared his throat. At least Kiah’a knew he wasn’t the only one brought to tears. “You are not Cayenne. ‘tis a mark of how unjust the world is that ‘twas easier for her to find succor than you, and no soul could judge you for having feelings about it.”

“She just wants to exist,” Kiah’a choked out. He was clinging onto G’raha, face buried in the crook of his neck. “I just wanted to exist.”

Kiah’a stayed there, wrapped in G’raha’s arms, for some time. The old clock on the wall ticked away. There was a trickle of moonlight through the curtains that danced along the floor. He kept blinking past tears. He was dampening G’raha’s collar, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m so tired, Raha,” Kiah’a whispered. “Why does everyone who hurt me get to sleep at night?”

“I don’t know,” G’raha confessed. He settled one hand on the small of Kiah’a’s back, the other gently cradling his head. His fingertips threaded through Kiah’a’s hair. “I wish I knew. I wish for you to have the stars in the heavens, but I can only promise that I will always protect you.”

Kiah’a let out a weak laugh. “I am the Warrior of Light. I don’t need your protection.”

“I know. I’m offering it anyways.” G’raha kissed his temple. “For as long as you wish, I will be by your side. I would die for you, my star. ‘tis what I swore and I am loathe to break any more promises to you.”

“Stop trying to die for me.” Kiah’a squeezed G’raha just tight enough to make him yelp. “I’ve lost enough. I don’t want to lose you too.”

G’raha nodded, cheek pressed against Kiah’a’s. Their tails were entwined. “You won’t, then. You won’t lose me.” He cleared his throat. “Shall we still keep the cat?”

This time, Kiah’a’s laugh was genuine. “Aye, we can keep the damned cat.”

—

The stupid part was that Kiah'a didn't really remember much of what happened.

He was walking through — no, stalking through the Shroud, slinking from shadow to shadow, when the Wailers spotted him. He tried to run, but he was only fifteen and they were adult men and they caught up quickly. Then he was trying to threaten them, then beg, then his face was in the dirt and—

Nothing.

He did remember bleeding out from the stab wound to the gut. Every muscle ached. No part of him lay unviolated. It was exactly as the Coeurlclaw King had warned. Without his protection, the Wailers would do whatever they wanted.

Kiah'a remembered how it felt to breathe through the pain, crawl under a tree, and wait to die.

Menphina, I know I'm not worthy of your love, but if even a scrap of it can be saved for me… please…

He closed his eyes, wishing the last taste in his mouth wasn't dirt and unwashed cock. Then, to his surprise, he opened them.

It was night, he was alive, and the moon shone down at him through the thick canopy. It was the closest to a sign that he would ever receive. He was not to die today.

He stood up. He spat on the ground. And then he lived.

—

Kiah'a didn't always sleep in the same bed as G’raha. Twelve, sometimes he didn't even sleep. It was part of the dynamic they were still figuring out. He'd slink out to the living room and curl up with a low lantern and a dense book, which he’d read until the sun shone through the curtains.

He never woke G’raha. He didn't want his insomnia to ruin both their days. Besides, G’raha had fallen on enough swords. Kiah'a didn't need to add another.

Tonight was one of those nights. He collapsed on the couch in the living room and stared up at the ceiling. The light wasn’t on but there were a few faint moonbeams that streaked across the room. Keepers were supposed to have good night vision, but Kiah’a was down an eye and could only see whatever was illuminated: the spine of a history book, a dirty cloth, a crumpled sock that Cayenne had stolen out of a drawer.

He could clean things up. He also could go work on his thesis or the problem with Azdaja. He’d rather throw himself off the top floor of the Crystal Tower.

“Fuck,” Kiah’a sighed, rolling to his side. He pressed his back against the sofa, looking out at the room. He thought about turning a light on. He didn’t even need to get up — an aether hand could do the trick.

It still felt like too much effort. Besides, it could wake G’raha up. Then they’d both be miserable.

Kiah’a stiffened as he saw something in the darkness move. For a moment, he thought that he was seeing a nightmare manifest — it wouldn’t have been the first time. But then the creature meowed and the gray and black form morphed into a proper cat. Her ribbon caught the moonlight, allowing a dash of color against the darkness.

Cayenne blinked at him with one curious green eye.

“What do you want?” Kiah’a huffed. He was still a bit miffed about the pillows.

Cayenne called back, only she was a cat and unintelligible to him. He, however, was convinced that she understood the common tongue.

She stretched out, tail swinging back and forth, before wandering further into the room. Kiah’a watched as she sniffed the stolen sock, meandered towards the front door, and then curved back around towards the couch. She stopped in front of him, front paws pressed neatly together and her bad one tucked underneath her haunches.

If someone had a picture of Cayenne when Kiah’a first found her and held it up to her now, he wouldn’t believe they were the same cat. Oh, her ears were still torn to shreds and her eye was missing, but Kiah’a’s magic had kept her from scarring over further. She was healed, a good and proper housecat if one could look past her nervous disposition and mangled face. Her coat was clean and brushed. She was filled out, her ribs no longer visible.

Kiah’a wondered if she was happy. She never tried to escape, but did she stay because she wanted to or because she felt she had no other choice?

“Do you want me to move?” Kiah’a asked her, trying to stop having an existential crisis over a cat. Cayenne blinked slowly at him. He blinked slowly back. Her butt wiggled. Kiah’a watched her warily as she shimmied in place. Then, with a soft meow, she jumped up on the couch.

Kiah’a tensed as she stepped on his leg, but didn’t throw her off. He hardly breathed even as she perched on his thigh. Her paws dug into him. Microscopic pains shot up his leg and grit his teeth. She shifted a bit, his hand twitched, and then Cayenne froze.

Don’t scare her, Kiah’a told himself. Don’t move.

A moment passed. Kiah’a’s heart was beating out of his chest. His palm grew sweaty.

Cayenne let out a mrrp and laid down. She was big enough to nuzzle against his hip with her head.

She had never voluntarily touched him, let alone sat on him like he was part of the couch. Kiah'a wondered if she thought he was part of the furniture, but the way she lay felt too intentional. Besides, she had better sight in the dark than he did.

“Just don't fall off,” Kiah'a told her. Cayenne yawned and then she started to purr.

It was a broken, stuttering sound, and low enough that he had trouble hearing it at first. She vibrated a little as she purred. She was warm and just on the right side of heavy and she was purring.

Kiah’a’s chest ached.

I love you too, Cayenne, he thought. And though there was no way she could have read his mind, she pressed herself flat against him and continued to purr the night away.