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The biggest mystery of his life is that you love him.
He wasn’t that surprised when you started loving him. You hadn’t known him very well back then.
But then the years passed, and you did learn to know him. You know how selfish he is. How vain. How much contempt he has for the human heart.
Yet you still love him. That is what confuses him.
Even though your marriage is technically one of convenience. Even though he’s never repeated your words of ‘I love you.’ Even though it’s been years.
He’d come with the offer of marriage only because his parents had been bothering him with prospects that bored him immensely. You managed the feat of not annoying him while in his presence and were open to the idea of an easier VISA.
Then, slowly, after the wedding, after living together, your eyes had filled with adoration whenever you looked at him. You started to relax in his presence.
Not knowing what to do with that, he ignored it, while learning how to relax in your presence too.
He’d been so sure that that adoration would fade when he did his worst, and looked over to see you watching him. But no, all he’d gotten was a lighthearted scolding.
He does not get it. But he welcomes it.
While you learned how to love him, he learned how to include another person in his personal calculations. He learned how to go from I to we. He learned how to endure touch for your sake.
Still it was a surprise to lay awake one night, watching you as you were sleeping curled up to his side, to realise that he cared for you.
He’d genuinely thought he was incapable, so suddenly you’d been the most important thing in his life.
He does not care for his job after all.
Yet still, he has never told you he loves you. Even when you don’t hesitate to use the words on him.
The reason is simple: He does not know whether he does. He barely understands the concept.
Until he slowly wakes up to the beeping of a heartbeat monitor, telling him he’s hospitalised.
His first thought on his mind isn’t about his possible injuries or sickness, nor about how he got there. It’s about you. About if you’re here as well, monitored in your own hospital bed for whatever got him there.
If you’re alright.
Only then the drumming, dull, pain in his shoulder and abdomen set in. Still, his mind insists on you instead of calculating the possible damage.
Because he loves you.
He does not remember the realisation, a fact he dwells on later, but he does now know it to be true.
He forces himself to open his eyes.
At first, his muscles don’t listen, something he knows to be normal. He forces them open anyway, resisting the urge to close them immediately as harsh hospital lights trigger his reflexes.
“Shuntaro?” Your voice sounds distant, but he still recognises it as yours. Sure enough, as he fights to keep consciousness, your fuzzy face appears above him.
It’s with relief flooding his veins that he falls back into the darkness again.
The second time he remembers waking up he’s more lucid. He can clearly see the different tiles of the hospital roof now, and as he looks to the side, your outline isn’t fuzzy anymore. This time it takes him croaking your given name, a lot less audible than he intended, to get your attention.
Your head shoots up from the book you’re reading, which you lie aside without even marking your page, and that more than anything betrays to him the severity of his injuries. Your smile is genuine, yet he can spot the stress in your eyes.
“Shuntaro.” You interlace your fingers with his as your other hand presses the button to call the nurses. “You’ll be alright.”
Well. That’s concerning.
He tries his voice again. It’s still not working properly, but you understand his intention anyway. Your face softens. “I’m fine, Shuntaro. It’s only you that got hurt. Well, you’re far from the only one, but… I’m fine. The point is I’m fine.”
He relaxes, which must’ve been visible as you do that smile whenever you catch his proof of affection towards you. “You’ll be fine too.” You ensure him, and he supposes that is convenient.
The nurse tells him of his injuries only, rebar piercing his shoulder and abdomen, the cardiac arrest that lasted for a long 63 seconds, but advises you to wait with telling him how until later, to prevent shock.
You, knowing him better, roll your eyes once the nurse’s back is turned and tells him at his request the moment he’s left.
A meteorite.
That’s… well. The number of casualties and injured must be sky-high. Especially considering it hit the heart of Tokyo.
He’s fortunate that you came off with only some scratches (he had to coax you into admitting to) from the windows the shockwave broke, and that he woke up from his cardiac arrest.
Sixty-three seconds. It somehow felt longer.
You visit as often as your work allows you too, and each time the stress in your eyes lessen as it becomes clearer he’ll make a full recovery, even though an air of nervousness stubbornly keeps clinging to you.
“You seem more mellow.” You muse one day. “I thought it was the drugs at first, but you’ve been off them for a few days now.”
“I suppose I am.” His eyes swerve away from you. “I feel like I’ve wasted my life up until now. But from now on, I want to live a decent one.”
Your smile is so soft as he looks back to you. You gently enlace your fingers with his. “I’m there if you want my help.”
As if you simply being there won’t be enough.
There is one thing off about your visits: you’re keeping something from him.
Even if he wasn’t exceptional at reading people, you’re his wife. He knows you.
He knows the nervous tells that means you’re hiding something.
Do you want to surprise him? No, not that kind of nervous. Is there something unpleasant you don’t want to bother him with as he’s hospitalised?
What it is doesn’t bother him that much. He trusts you. You’d never betray him. So he's sure it’s nothing like cheating. What bothers him is that you’re not telling him.
He knows why, he just disagrees with it. He is the medical professional. He knows his own limits. Injured or not, he can handle whatever you’re not telling him.
He tries to subtly steer conversations towards it, but you know him too and deftly sidestep his attempts.
Hmpf. He’d prefer if you tell him without him outright asking. He’ll give you until you’ve had time to tell him after he’s released.
That day comes a lot earlier than expected. As a step into making his life more decent, he’s made calls with some connections he has so he can start to work in a different hospital once he’s cleared to start working again.
Unfortunately but expectedly, that news reaches his parents. Who happen to own this hospital.
For the first time in his life, they're roused from that permanent state of not caring into not being happy with him. He does not care.
“If you insist on neglecting your family name,” his father tells him icily, “then you should not mind losing the privileges it grants.”
He does not. But it does mean he’s released from the hospital only an hour later.
As he suspected but was not told, many of the patients have been released earlier than they should have been as each and every spot in the hospital was desperately needed with how many injured the meteorite caused.
The only reason he hadn’t been released earlier had been his name.
It’s fine. He’s a doctor himself. He can monitor his condition just fine. At this point, all he needs is rest while ensuring he doesn’t fall back. He’ll instruct you on what to do in that case.
He orders a taxi home. While you work from home, he has no interest in interrupting your working hours, even if he knows you would do so for this without hesitation.
You’re not working when he comes home, instead you’re on the couch with your unfinished lunch in front of you, all but jumping up when you see him. You’re clearly surprised, pushing something white behind your back.
Your eyes are wide, nervous, as you give him a brittle smile. “Shuntaro! You’re supposed to be at the hospital.”
He tilts his head. It only takes him a fraction of a second to know what it is that you’re so poorly attempting to hide.
There is a set of bowls, one filled with water, one empty, in a corner of the room. Next to the couch is an elegant basket you at least made sure fit in with the rest of the decor. In front of him, on the ground, lies a small stuffed mouse.
He nudges the mouse lazily with his feet, saying your given name in a slow, chiding tone. “I very clearly remember agreeing that we won’t take in any pets.”
You visibly deflate, that nervousness still written all over your face as you let go of the animal behind your back.
You’re nervous of him. Of his reaction. The thought irritates him. He dislikes seeing you like this.
Yet it is warranted. A cat? Really? A white head with blue eyes peeks at him from the couch behind you, small enough it’s likely a kitten.
Pets are disruptive, unclean and a waste of time. Not something he’d ever want in his home. He’d thought you agreed.
“I… I know.” You sigh. “I found him stuck under some rubble the day of the impact. He was wearing a collar, so I thought I’d take him home until I could find his owner.”
Ah. That makes it better. Except- “Yet it’s still here.” He pointedly looks towards the basket, looking to expensive to be temporary.
“We have money.” You shrug that off. “I intended to just give those to the owners. But…” You grimace. “His owner was someone called Daimon Hinako. She’s one of the fatalities.” The kitten curiously jumps off the couch, away from you to bravely approach him. There is a slight limp in his steps.
The name seems familiar, but he doesn’t linger on that. “So you kept it.”
His disapproval must’ve been obvious, because your face falls. “I couldn’t just throw him out. All the shelters are full with how many strays the impact caused. Cheshire is so young. And he’s really sweet.” The ‘sweet’ kitten in question chooses that moment to attack the hem of his pants which Chishiya chooses to ignore.
It’s silent for long seconds as he considers the situation.
You’re clearly attached. That… complicates things.
This might actually be something you’ll grow to resent him for.
You might not have resented him for the many questionable things he’s done to others in the past, but the chances are that you will if he forces you to put the kitten on the street.
He can’t have that.
He can’t have you resent him. Not when he’s finally decided he loves you.
Before the meteorite, he’d have made you get rid of the kitten without as much as blinking, curious if you’d finally learn to resent him. But now? He had said he’d like to live a decent life, wouldn’t he?
He doesn’t want to hurt you.
He glances down at the kitten who is currently on its back, tail sweeping as it is grabbing the hem of his pants between its forepaws, biting into it as if it’s prey.
He sighs as he looks back at you. “I won’t lift a finger for its care.” He warns you. “It’ll be an indoor cat. I won’t have it bringing in filth and diseases.”
The sight of you lighting up, the bright smile on your face when you realise he won’t object to the kitten, is enough to melt even his heart.
“Thank you, Shun.” You’re barely containing your relief. “I know your stance on pets, so thank you.” Then your joy turns to concern. “But really, shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”
He walks towards the couch to sit down, ignoring the indignant meow from the kitten who’s forced to release his pants. “Ideally, yes. But there aren’t enough places to spare to let me have a bed until I’m completely cleared.” Seeing your disquieted face, he adds with an almost gentle tone: “I’m highly qualified. I’ll immediately go back once I notice something off, and I’ll instruct you on the signs as well. I’ll likely be fine. I’d have been released earlier if it weren’t for my parents.”
He’ll tell you the fine details later. For now, he is tired. It’s easy to distract you with the name you let slip. “You named it Cheshire? Am I supposed to believe that that has nothing to do with our family name?”
You put up a faux innocent smile as you answer, successfully distracted. “I just liked the name of a cat from a popular story. I’m sure that’s just a coincidence.”
That evening, he completely relaxes for the first time since waking up in the hospital when you, careful of his wounds, cuddle against his side.
He’d missed your warmth. It feels like it’s been months since he has last slept with you next to him.
He slightly tilts his head so the lower half of his face rest against your hair, comforted by your smell, when the moment gets ruined by a tiny weight jumping on his legs. You badly hide your snickers against his shoulder.
He sighs before leaning forwards, ignoring the strain on his bad shoulder, plucking the kitten up by the scruff of their neck and placing it behind the back of your knees.
Fortunately, it doesn't attempt to climb on him again.
“I found him on the way back from the hospital.” You whisper against his shoulder, your voice vulnerable. “They could only tell me you’d been admitted. That’s all I knew. That you were alive, but injured. I couldn’t stay with how busy it was. Your mother said she’d call me. She never did.” Predictable. She’d likely said that to get you to leave.
“When I heard his pained cries for help, I just… I had to help. His paw was stuck beneath debris, and with the collar I assumed he had an owner, who’d be glad to have him back. But really, as I helped him, all I could think about was you. What your injuries were. If they were fatal.” Your voice is trembling, so Chishiya starts to draw slow circles on your waist. “I couldn’t help you, but I could help him. And I did. He’s healing well.”
You’d definitely have resented him if he’d thrown the kitten out, then. “I’m healing well too.” He reassures you. “We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” Your arm tightens around his waist. “You’re fine. You’ll stay that way.” Yet you’re still clinging to him as if he can slip away any moment.
Not knowing how else to get you to relax, he tells you his realisation.
“I love you.”
That does make you relax. He can feel the smile on your lips as you press a delighted kiss to his shoulder. “I love you too.”
He looks at the corner of his eyes towards the cat watching him expectantly as he’s reading.
He knows why. The animal’s water bowl is empty. Which is your job to fill.
He had warned you that he wouldn’t lift a finger. So he should send you a message.
Except that you’re working. Just a room over, yes, but you’re still working. An empty water bowl is a ridiculous reason to interrupt you.
But the thing still needs water.
With a sigh, he puts his book aside and gets up. The moment he places the refilled water bowl back where it belongs, the cat, ignoring his presence, gracefully starts lapping it up.
He must’ve been thirsty.
Chishiya returns to his book without giving the cat another glance.
As Chishiya gets out of the bathroom, he stills when he spots you.
Unlike any of your normal places, you’re crouched on the floor, quickly giving the cat a single pet before retreating your hands, making them big which causes the kitten to playfully hiss at them, after which you strike for a single pet again, repeating your motions.
You’re playing with the thing. It’s a side of you he barely gets to see. He can’t tell whether you or the little beast enjoys it more.
He leans against the frame of the bathroom door. It’s a sight worth watching.
As Chishiya picks up the cardboard box to throw it away, it’s heavier than it should be.
Sure enough, after he places it down again and opens it up, a pair of blue eyes watches him judgementally.
“My wife would be cross with me if I placed you in the trash.” He tells the kitten dryly, displeased that he’s apparently picked up your habit of talking to the animal.
He picks the kitten up by the scruff of his neck, and places him on top of the newly built cat tree, freeing him to throw the box away.
When he returns for the second box, it’s once again heavier than it should be. This time the cat pats at his hand with his claws detracted as Chishiya reaches in to grab him, but to no avail.
Chishiya has had a lot worse than a single kitten.
When he returns, he catches sight of the cat attempting to climb the curtains.
“I told her you wouldn’t need an expensive cat tree.” Yet, for a first, there is a hint of fondness in his voice.
As this is the first time in his life that he’s not busy with either his studies or his work, bedrest leaves Chishiya bored. So he blames his boredom as he starts to research cat care. The cat is pressing himself against his leg, hoping for attention Chishiya won’t give as he scrolls through professional articles.
After that, he switches Cheshire’s kibble out for wet food multiple vets seem to recommend. He has enough money to spend, so why not?
As Cheshire grows, he orders him a sleek white leather collar with a hanger with the cat’s name and your phone number engraved. More importantly, he attaches an unintrusive but highly rated tracker to the collar.
You’d be devastated if Cheshire managed to slip out and became lost.
You giggle as you’re leaning against him on the couch, delighted by Cheshire stumbling over his own feet as he chases his tail. You’d come home with a ball with catnip inside of it, and even Chishiya has to admit the cat’s new level of stupidity is nearing endearing.
It doesn’t help that he adores when you’re freely happy like this, giggling against his side. You’re the only person in the world who trusts him like that. He much prefers that over the temporary relief any drug could give.
You’re hovering around him as he carefully disinfects the small gash on Cheshire’s paw. The vet wouldn’t have been able to see Cheshire for a few hours, but Chishiya is a doctor.
He can manage a small cut on his own cat.
After quickly reading through an article about the differences between small wounds on cats and humans, he’s managing just fine.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” He doesn’t clarify whether he’s talking to you or Cheshire. The cat is whimpering, and something about the sound hits his chest in a way even his young patients that tend to be much worse off don’t manage.
You had taken him to a nearby cafe for lunch. Neither of you had anticipated your cat, likely protesting being left alone, pushing the teapot off the counter he knows he’s not allowed on.
And apparently, not having any survival instincts, Cheshire proceeded to walk through the shards of porcelain.
You’d panicked, not desensitised to blood like he is, when the two of you returned to a home filled with bloody pawprints. Chishiya had immediately located the cat and picked Cheshire up, giving him a quick evaluation.
You hadn’t believed him when he told you there was only a shard of porcelain stuck between his paw pads. But that small wound was apparently enough to make their apartment look like this.
After being freed from Chishiya’s treatment, Chishiya suspects that Cheshire is acting overly dramatic due to your fussing. He makes you stop by reminding you to help him clean the apartment.
You put up a video with birds on the television to needlessly distract the cat from his pain.
It doesn’t surprise Chishiya, when only a minute later, you have to drop your mop to stop the cat from attacking the screen in an attempt to hunt the shown birds. He just smirks as he turns the tv off.
It's when he returns from his new job for the first time when he finally pets Cheshire. To his surprise, instead of waiting for him inside of your home, Chishiya is greeted by the cat a block from your home where it purrs loudly against his legs.
He picks Cheshire up, idly petting his head only once before he realises what he is doing, but the cat’s purrs have already grown louder.
You’re completely surprised when he comes in with Cheshire in his arms, having been busy with work for the last hours, genuinely having no idea how the cat could’ve made it out, claiming to have been distracted by Cheshire only half an hour ago.
The cat seems pleased by your confusion as it goes to lounge on the highest spot of the cat tree.
~~~
When you come home from the grocery store, Shuntaro is napping on the couch. While you always take a moment to appreciate your husband, this time a smile broadens on your face.
Sure, his messed up hair is cute. Sure, you like how serene his face is as he sleeps, but what catches your attention this time is the cat laying on his stomach.
Cheshire is just as peacefully asleep as his owner, half hidden beneath Shuntaro’s relaxed hand.
You’d genuinely been terrified at one point that your husband would reject the cat, as cruel as you know he can be, yet you’d hopefully dreamed the opposite.
But even in your best scenario’s, you only imagined the two living alongside each other, Shuntaro simply ignoring Cheshire’s existence.
You had not hoped to imagine reality. That he, in his own way, would grow to care about the cat.
That he’d let the cat nap on top of him.
That he’d hold the cat as it does so.
You silently snap a picture of the two on your phone. It’ll make for a great new background.
Against your expectations, this will work out just fine.