Chapter Text
Kenma makes his way home just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting dark shadows across his path. He keeps his eyes focused on his phone, head tilted downwards as he pointedly avoids the people around him. They’re wrapped up enough in their own lives, anyway, and barely notice he’s there.
It’s mostly dark when he reaches his apartment building. He quickly ascends three flights of stairs, stopping on the last step when he senses someone’s gaze on him. Slowly, he turns his head.
For the past three days, whenever he’s come home, he’s seen two golden eyes gleaming at him from the shadows of the small balcony across from his apartment.
Tonight, the golden eyes blink twice at him before disappearing entirely. They must belong to an animal, a stray cat that’s gotten too set in its habits. There’s been a problem with strays in the neighborhood, lately— the city has been talking of rounding them up, clearing off the streets.
“Don’t get caught,” Kenma whispers towards the shadow. As he fits his key in the lock and enters his small home, he realizes those were the first words he’s spoken aloud all day.
—
A few days later, his afternoon class gets cancelled. Kenma briefly considers staying on campus to finish up a few assignments, but the idea of making space for himself in the crowded library is decidedly unappealing. He can manage being around people in his classes— he’s mostly taking courses in computer science and graphic design, which allow him to duck down behind a screen for most of the day. His professors don’t care if he never volunteers information in class, as long as his assignments are turned in on time and his work is good. It’s a comfortable, predictable existence.
But now that his afternoon routine is disrupted, Kenma packs his laptop into his bag and catches an earlier train home. His neighborhood is three stops away from the university, a crowded street filled with cheap apartments, mostly populated by students. There’s a convenience store at the end of the street, owned by a charming older couple who employ an increasingly delinquent-looking string of young men to man the front counter.
Kenma passes by the store entirely, making a mental note to check and see when he’ll need more milk. When he climbs the stairs to his apartment, there are no golden eyes waiting for him at the top. Of course, there wouldn’t be— the animal has only been around in the evenings. In the harsh light of day, all Kenma sees is an empty balcony, covered in old newspapers and a few stray beer bottles.
He sighs as he steps into his apartment, removing his shoes and setting down his bag. It’s still early, and he opts for cleaning up the small space before he starts in on his work. By the time he’s dusted off his television and three computer monitors, vacuumed his bedroom and sitting room, and bundled up all his trash, it’s late afternoon. He grabs the trash bags and heads back down the stairs, towards the dumpsters behind the building.
A loud shriek splits the air before he can get there.
Kenma drops his trash bags, hands coming up to cover his ears instinctively. Before he can react, the same noise repeats— a grating shriek that sounds like it’s being ripped out of something, or someone.
This is supposed to be a peaceful neighborhood.
Gritting his teeth, Kenma edges around the side of the building until the dumpster comes into view. The sight he sees explains the shrieking, but also begs a hundred new questions.
A crow and a cat are battling on top of his dumpster.
The crow is bigger than any Kenma’s ever seen, wings spread wide as loose feathers fan out around it. It’s in mid-air, hovering just above the dumpster where the cat crouches low, braced for an attack. It’s jet-black, fur jagged and unkempt. When it leaps towards the crow, Kenma catches sight of its eyes— golden and luminous.
He knows this cat.
This cat apparently has a death wish, because it has launched itself off of the dumpster and towards the crow in midair. It swipes one paw through the air, slashing at the crow. The crow shrieks again, its caw rising in pitch every time it does. It flaps its massive wings, pulling away from the cat’s attack, before swooping forward, claws extended.
Kenma inhales sharply when the crow’s claws connect with the cat’s stomach. The cat yelps and scratches at the crow, but it’s clear who has the advantage. The cat is firmly caught in the crow’s grip, twisting and squirming in an attempt to free itself, but the crow holds fast.
Are cats and crows natural adversaries? Shouldn’t both of them be going after mice or rats, or something, instead of each other?
The crow lifts itself back into the air, cat still held tight in its claws. It shouldn’t be able to fly with that much weight, should it? What’s it going to do— carry the cat back to its nest? Eat it?
The cat’s mouth is pulled open defiantly, and it keeps trying to scratch at the crow, but it’s losing—it’s obvious it’s losing, it never even had a chance. It’s a stupid cat that should have run away, should have hid in the dumpster where the crow could never get to it. But instead it’s fighting, and losing, and now it’s probably going to die.
He wants the cat to live.
Kenma’s nails dig into his palms, his hands shaking even as the pain clears his mind a bit. Before he can think better of it, he dashes forward, clapping his hands together as loudly as he can.
“Hey!” His voice isn’t as loud as he wants it to be, comes out sounding hoarse and weak. He goes on, anyway. “Drop him!”
The crow’s wings are flapping too erratically for Kenma too see what happens, next. Another ear-splitting shriek cuts through the air, and he hears the cat yelp in three short, abortive syllables. Wind rushes past his face as the crow releases the cat and pulls itself into the air, flying away immediately.
There’s blood splattered across the lid of the dumpster. The cat lies on its side, black fur matted with it. Its chest rises and falls erratically, weak hisses escaping from it at intervals.
“Oh,” Kenma says, stepping towards it. “Hold on, I’ll help—”
He extends one hand towards the cat— that’s how you show animals you’re not a threat, right? But the second he gets within a few inches of the cat it yelps sharply and jumps back, away from Kenma.
Kenma freezes, hoping to give the cat a second to adjust to his presence. Instead, the cat looks at him through narrowed eyes, teeth bared. Its eyes focus on Kenma for a moment, and then two— and Kenma thinks the cat might recognize him, for a fleeting moment.
The moment shatters as the cat snarls at him, jumping back and running behind the dumpster and out onto the street. It all happens so fast, and Kenma can’t even follow the cat’s movements beyond that.
Kenma’s left on the street with the dumpster and his forgotten trash bags, only a few crow’s feathers and a splattering of blood to prove what just happened.
—
He tries not to think about the cat for the rest of the day. When he returns to his apartment, Kenma puts on his headphones and dives into his coding assignment, content to forget the erratic behavior of neighborhood animals. Maybe radiation has poisoned them, making the crows grow too big and the cats suicidal. Maybe they’re lab animals, escaped from one of the university’s less-scrupulous science departments. Maybe Japan’s wildlife population has finally gotten the memo and is now turning its evolutionary energies towards making Pokémon a reality.
So maybe he’s not doing such a good job of not thinking about it. Kenma shakes his head at himself, pulling off his headphones as he catches his reflection in his computer screen. His hair is growing out again, black roots visible at the crown of his head. The rest of his hair is is yellow-blond, a color that requires three hours of bleaching to achieve. He doesn’t know if he has the patience for all that again, just to touch up his roots.
It’s not as if there’s anyone around to comment on his hair, anyway. No one pays him that much attention.
Before he can travel too far down that train of thought, he hears a scratching noise against his front door.
His first inclination is to ignore it— it could be just the wind. But then the sound repeats, more insistently. Eyes wide, Kenma gets up from his desk chair and crosses his small apartment, pushing the door open and glancing around.
There’s no one standing outside. A shiver runs down Kenma’s spine, but he coughs and calls out, “Hello?”
No one responds. He doesn’t think to look down until he hears a pathetic whine, so faint it might have been a trick of the wind. But he does hear it, and when he looks down by his feet he sees the cat, curled into a ball and breathing erratically. Its stomach is smeared with blood, but when Kenma kneels down beside it it opens its eyes and stares at him.
He’s being judged, by the cat. For an impossibly long moment, their gazes are locked, and it seems like the world around them is holding its breath. Then, the cat bears its teeth at Kenma, and the expression looks more like a smirk than anything else. Kenma wonders if that means he’s passed muster.
He doesn’t question it further. Scooping the cat up in his arms, he carries it back into his apartment and shuts the door behind him.
—
All energy seems to have deserted the cat, which Kenma quickly discovers is a male. He wears no markings of ownership, and Kenma guesses he’s a stray, based on his matted fur and long, sharp claws.
“You’re stupid,” he tells the cat, laying it down on one of his bath mats as he he uses a washcloth to clean off the blood. It takes awhile, but eventually he cleans the cat up enough to see two wounds on its stomach, near his upper-left leg. He must’ve gotten them when the crow grabbed him, but the wounds don’t look like scratches— more like a snake’s bite.
His fur is a rich black, longer at the top of his head and around his eyes. Kenma thinks he’s pure black, at first, but then he spots the cat’s paws— the toes on each of his front paws are white, visible once Kenma’s rubbed at them with the washcloth. It makes him look like an athlete who’s taped his fingers.
He’s only semi-conscious, regarding Kenma through half-lidded eyes. The blood keeps flowing from his wound, no matter how much pressure Kenma puts on it. He doesn’t have any cloth bandages to tie it off.
“I don’t know what else to do for you,” Kenma tells him, seriously. “Why did you run away, before? How did you get here?”
The cat doesn’t answer him. Because, of course, he can’t.
“You’re stupid,” Kenma says again, scathingly. “And I think you were stalking me.”
—
He really doesn’t want to be doing this.
Kenma’s standing outside of his next-door neighbor’s apartment, holding the cat close against his chest. He’s wrapped in an old towel, but still trembling, letting out plaintive, pathetic mewls every so often.
At least he’s still breathing, still alive enough to make noise.
But who knows how much longer he’ll last? That’s why Kenma has to do this.
Gritting his teeth, Kenma kicks three times against the door in quick succession. Knocking would be more polite, probably, but his hands are currently full of cat.
It takes only a few moments for someone to pull the door open, casting a looming shadow over Kenma. Keen green eyes stare down at him as his neighbor’s face pulls into a decidedly thrilled expression.
“Kozume-san!” Haiba Lev cries. “What are you doing outside my door?” His voice is all eager curiosity, which is only overtaken when he glances down and sees the shivering bundle in Kenma’s arms. “Is that a baby?”
“No.” Kenma purses his lips, trying to decide how to phrase his request.
Maybe the cat is trying to help him along, because he sticks his head out from underneath the towel and fixes Lev with his piercing, golden stare. Lev steps back, startled at first, but then he’s letting out a small gasp and reaching forward.
Kenma side-steps him neatly, keeping the cat away from Lev’s long, reaching arms. “Stop that,” he says. And then, “I need to ask you a favor.”
“I didn’t know you had a cat, Kozume-san! He looks a little mean, don’t you think? Is he a he? Or a she? What’s his—her?—name?”
“He’s not my cat.” This is why he didn’t want to come to Lev for help. Ever since he moved into Kenma’s building, he’s been an over-loud presence. He’s like a rushing waterfall, impossible to stop or contain. He’s never been anything but friendly, but Kenma has the distinct instinct that he and Lev would mix like oil and water. He avoids Lev, most of the time, for this reason.
But the cat.
“I need you to watch him for a little while.” Kenma says, quietly but distinctly. Lev, to his credit, goes quiet and leans in, clearly paying close attention. “He’s hurt, and bleeding. I need to go get some supplies, but someone needs to keep pressure on the wound. Can you do that?”
Lev immediately nods, but then his face scrunches up as he thinks. “Why don’t you just take him to a vet?”
Kenma bites the inside of his cheek. “He’s a stray. They won’t try to save him.”
Lev’s angular eyes go wide, and suddenly he’s nodding emphatically. “That’s horrible! Bring him in inside! I’ll take good care of him, I promise!”
It takes a few minutes, but eventually Lev settles down on the couch in his living room and gestures for Kenma to place the cat in his lap. Kenma does, guiding one of Lev’s large hands down to where the towel is covering the cat’s wound.
“Just, keep the pressure there. I’ll be back soon.”
Lev nods, and Kenma’s about to turn and leave, but then he thinks better of it. He kneels down, tracing his fingers along the top of the cat’s head. He’s gone quiet again, gold eyes glossy and mouth slightly open as he pants.
“Stay put,” Kenma tells him. “I’ll be back, I promise.”
—
He nearly gets dragged into another unwelcome conversation at the corner store, but thankfully the clerk’s younger sister, Akane, is sitting on the counter and keeping her brother on task. Kenma buys cloth bandages and a weak antiseptic, and then a bag each of cat food and litter before he can think better of it.
The street is dark by the time he gets back to his apartment building, the wind whispering ominously as it rustles through the trees.
He finds Lev just where he left him— he has the cat held still between two hands, the cat looking up at him with an unimpressed expression.
“Kozume-san! I thought of some names for your cat!”
“He’s not my cat,” Kenma mutters, reaching out to take him from Lev nonetheless. “Can you get me some hot water?”
“Sure.” Lev gets to his feet, seemingly unperturbed by the blood that’s stained his hands. “How about ‘Tchaikovsky’?”
“I can’t pronounce that.”
When Lev returns with the water, Kenma gently cleans off the cat’s stomach again. He has yet to succumb to unconsciousness, which Kenma takes as a good sign.
“What about Anastasia?”
“He’s a boy,” Kenma says, ripping a length off the roll of bandages. “I think.”
The cat looks directly at him and blinks, once. It seems vaguely affirmative.
“Oh, I know! ‘Ace’! Doesn’t that sound cool?”
Kenma rubs antiseptic over the cat’s wounds. The cat hisses and lashes out with both paws, his claws leaving parallel scratches against Kenma’s knuckles.
“Don’t be a baby,” he tells the cat. And then, to Lev: “That sounds like a name for a dog.”
He’s wrapping the bandages tightly around the cat’s stomach when Lev leans in and asks, calmer than Kenma’s even seen him, “Kozume-san likes video games, right?”
The fact that Lev has noticed him enough to remember such a thing is uncomfortable. Kenma shifts, tying off the bandage and then smoothing his hand over the soft fur of the cat’s back. “Yeah,” he says, at length.
“Then name Black Cat-san after a video game character!” Lev is startlingly proud of himself, smiling wide.
Kenma has a brief image of Cloud fighting Sephiroth, thinking the cat was equally unmatched when it took on the crow. But he shakes his head.
“Too complicated,” he said.
“You have to give him a name,” Lev whines, distressed. “We can’t just keep calling him Black Cat-san.”
“Why not?”
“Kozume-san!” Lev sounds absolutely scandalized. “That’s so boring!”
All together, the name is a bit clunky. Kenma rolls the syllables over in his mind for a moment, thinking it over.
“Kuro,” he says, finally. He looks to the cat, not to Lev, when he asks, “What do you think?”
“No! So boring!” Lev answers, anyway. “You can’t just call him a color!”
The cat is lying on his side, regarding Kenma quietly. When Kenma looks down at him, he closes his eyes slowly and then opens them again. His mouth opens slightly, revealing his sharp teeth. Kenma feels like he’s just gotten a nod of approval.
“He likes it,” Kenma announces.
“You’re both terrible!” Lev replies.
Kenma picks up the rest of his supplies, then kneels down to pick Kuro up in his arms again. He’s outstayed his welcome, he’s sure, if he was ever welcome at all. Shifting from foot to foot, he glances sideways at Lev.
“… thank you. For the help.”
“Of course! What are neighbors for?” Lev walks Kenma back to his door, asking, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? My sister will make something delicious, once she’s home.”
Kenma shakes his head. He doesn’t think he’s ready for two Haibas at once.
—
Kenma arranges a makeshift bed for Kuro with his couch cushions and more towels. He puts bowls of food and water next to him, laying Kuro carefully on his side. He warms up some curry and rice, eating his dinner mechanically as he watches the cat drift in and out of an agitated sleep.
Eventually, he decided to go to bed. There’s nothing more he can do, for the moment.
“Stay alive, okay?” he whispers the words into the darkness of his living room. “Kuro.”
—
He dreams in shattered fragments of ideas, black crow’s feathers and sharp claws punctuating a blur of noise and color. Briefly, he sees his childhood neighborhood in one of the city’s suburbs. He hasn’t thought about that time in ages, and yet suddenly he’s seeing his parents’ yellow house, and the one beside it, painted white with a simple but well-kept garden.
No one has lived in his parents’ house for years and years. The one beside it has been empty for even longer.
—
Kuro lives through the night. When Kenma stumbles into his living room the next morning, he finds the cat sandwiched between two cushions, his head entirely hidden from view and his lower half and tail hanging out over the edge of the cushions’ striped pattern. Kenma shakes his head, pulling the cushions away to see the cat sleeping. Kuro’s face is scrunched up, his eyelids fluttering like he’s having a bad dream.
Kenma gently strokes his fingers down Kuro’s spine, once and then twice. “It’s okay,” he tells Kuro. “They’re just dreams.”
A few minutes later, Kuro stretches and yawns, his jaw opening comically wide. Kenma heart stutters when those golden eyes pin him with a focused look— there’s a depth to Kuro’s gaze that seems more than animal, too keen and intelligent to belong to a simple stray cat.
As if reading his thoughts, Kuro huffs and bats at Kenma’s hand with one paw, chiding him.
“Okay,” Kenma says aloud. “Maybe cats are just smart.”
Kuro seems pleased by that, rubbing up against Kenma’s hands as Kenma pets through his jagged fur. It’s amazing, feeling Kuro’s heat and the beat of his heart under Kenma’s fingertips. When was the last time he’d actually touched another living thing? Aside from incidental things— getting his change from the corner store, being shoved up against others on the train— he can’t remember. He can’t remember the last time he touched someone else just because he wanted to.
Kuro’s fur is soft, and he’s so warm, and Kenma curls around his small body, fanning out his fingers to hold onto as much of the cat as possible. Maybe it’s because he’s weak and injured, but Kuro allows this treatment. Kuro breathes out in a single puff of air, pressing close to Kenma’s chest. They stay like that for long moments, hearts beating close together.
—
The cat refuses to eat. He lays on his side in Kenma’s living room, watching Kenma work at his computer. He drinks all the water in his bowl, every time he refills it. He uses the makeshift litterbox that Kenma makes for him. (And there’s a question— how is a stray cat trained to do that?) But Kuro never touches the store bought food that Kenma puts next to his water.
“You won’t heal if you don’t eat,” Kenma tells him, a bit helplessly. “You acted all big and tough, with the crow, but you’re just a big baby, aren’t you?”
Kuro looks mildly affronted, turning away from Kenma and burrowing back into his pillows. He always nudges between them headfirst. Kenma’s beginning to wonder if he’s trying to hide from something.
Kenma doesn’t have any classes today, so there’s no reason to leave the cat alone in his apartment. He works through his assignments and watches Kuro watching him. Their silence is companionable, but every so often Kenma will speak aloud, telling Kuro about the program he’s working on or why one of his professors isn’t as smart as he thinks he is.
He doesn’t usually talk through his work (or talk much at all). But when there’s someone else in the room it feels natural, even if that person is only a cat.
—
At night, Kenma pulls some mackerel out of his freezer and fries it on the small stove in his kitchen. He’ll have to prepare his meals for the rest of the week, tonight, and set up his routine for the next few days. If he doesn’t bother to prepare his food ahead of time, he’s often too lazy to eat or make himself lunches to take to university.
He’s just about to serve the fish out onto a plate when he hears Kuro meow plaintively behind him. He turns around to find the cat sitting at attention in the doorway, watching him keenly.
“I thought you were too tired to move,” Kenma tells him slowly. “You’ve been in the living room all day.”
The cat meows again, more insistently.
“Did you get hungry?” Kenma wonders. “You have food. You can eat it.”
This time, Kuro hisses, frustrated. He walks forward until he’s rubbing up against Kenma’s legs.
“Go eat your food,” Kenma tells him. “I’m having my dinner.”
He takes his plate back to the couch in the living room, chopsticks gripped in his other hand. But as soon as he sits down to eat, Kuro climbs up beside him, reaching for the food on his plate.
“This is mine.”
Kuro doesn’t listen, keeps trying to edge around Kenma to get at the mackerel on his plate. Apparently cats are keen to live up to their stereotypes.
“You’re annoying.” Kenma holds the plate above his head, but Kuro just walks over his legs and positions himself in Kenma’s lap, looking up at him with challenging eyes.
They have a standoff, apparently. But Kenma, while stubborn, has never been particularly good at keeping up a fight. Sighing, he lowers the plate, ripping off a piece of his fish fillet and holding it out in his hand. Immediately, Kuro lunges forward and begins eating it out of Kenma’s hand, gently licking against his fingers when he’s through.
When he’s done, he looks back at the plate expectantly. Kenma sighs again and pushes the plate towards him.
“Greedy,” he says, getting up to wash his hands and grill himself another fillet. But when he’s a few feet away, he allows himself to be happy that the cat’s eating something— that means he’ll get better, right?
—
Kenma fidgets nervously with the straps of his backpack. Kuro’s lying on his side again, watching him through half-lidded eyes. There’s a plate of mackerel in front of him, a full bowl of water beside it. Kenma had changed his bandages this morning, and the old ones had come away mostly clean. Kuro’s healing remarkably quickly, and Kenma’s too grateful to really question it.
“You’ll be okay, right?” Kenma asks him. “I have to go to class. I can’t miss handing in these assignments. If I don’t go, I’ll have to explain why when I get back. I don’t want to do that. I don’t like being asked questions. People don’t notice me much because I’m always there. If there’s a gap in my seat one day, they’ll pay more attention when I get back.”
There’s a darkness whispering at the back of his mind, telling him that he would not be able to handle it if his classmates were to suddenly become aware of his presence. He’s survived the first few months of university like this because no one speaks to him, beyond formalities and platitudes. And it’s lonely, of course it’s lonely, but he can handle it. He’s not sure if he could weather any changes to the existence he’s carved out for himself.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Kenma says after a moment’s pause. “I’ll lock to the door, but what if you need something? What if you want to leave? I hate feeling trapped. I don’t want to trap you.”
He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. It’s been a few months since he’s felt this uncertain about anything, and the dull beginnings of panic rise up in his throat. It’s like he’s physically separated from his own breathing, his chest rising and falling even though he feels cut off from oxygen.
Should he stay? Could he stay? What if—
Suddenly, there’s a warm body pressed up against his legs. Kuro is rubbing against him, his tail curling around Kenma’s ankles. Kenma can’t react. Kuro presses against him more insistently, and before Kenma even realizes he’s kneeling, picking Kuro up into his arms and pressing his face into the warmth of Kuro’s fur. He can feel Kuro’s small heart beating, and after a few long moments his own heart calms to the same tempo. He breathes in, and out, and though Kuro doesn’t exactly smell good— he smells like cat, slightly dirty and a bit like the fish he’s been eating— it’s something to focus on.
“I’m going to go now,” Kenma tells him, when he finally manages to pull away. “But I’ll be back.”
—
As he’s leaving his apartment building, Kenma sees the shadow of a bird cast over the sidewalk in front of him. For a moment, he thinks it’s the same crow as before— his gaze shoots up to the sky, looking for it. Instead, however, he sees an owl, feathers a chaotic smattering of gray and black and white. It lands on a nearby tree, hoots despondently.
It’s the middle of the morning. Aren’t owls supposed to be nocturnal?
—
Kenma has always done best with patterns, with routine. And somehow, after he takes Kuro in, his life reforms around the changes and finds pattern once again. He goes to his classes in the morning after frying fish for Kuro and eating his own breakfast— having to feed Kuro means that he doesn’t forget to feed himself as often as he used to. He gets home from his classes in the evening and checks Kuro’s bandages, then boots up his computer and works while Kuro watches from across the room, or, on some days, climbs into Kenma’s lap while he types away at his code. Kuro slowly builds up more and more energy, and Kenma takes that to mean that he’s on the mend, that he’ll soon be as good as new.
There’s no pattern to when Kenma sees the owl. He thinks it must be the same one very time— it’s a big bird, feathers sticking out on either side of its head like horns. He constantly sees it circling over the neighborhood— sometimes in the morning, sometimes after dark. It must be looking for food, Kenma decides, because the way it turns its head from side to side can only mean that it’s looking for something.
It probably shouldn’t be hanging around populated Tokyo. Aren’t there forests around, anymore? Surely the owl would be more comfortable there. But every time it’s been a few days, and Kenma is sure it must have moved on, he sees it again. It’ll hoot three times in quick succession, then pause as though it’s waiting for a response. When nothing answers, it hoots again, and Kenma imagines it sounds sad.
—
A week and a half after he first finds Kuro, Kenma unwraps the cat’s bandages to find the wounds completely closed over. There are two pinpricks of new skin to show where the injury had been, but the wounds themselves are definitely healed.
Kenma looks helplessly at the roll of bandages, unsure of what to do with himself now that he doesn’t have to replace them.
“…you’re all better,” he tells Kuro as the cat rests in his lap, against his knees.
Kuro turns his head to regard Kenma carefully. A lot of the time, when Kenma talks to him, he gets the feeling that Kuro is laughing. His eyes will scrunch until all he sees are slits of gold, and Kuro’s mouth opens slightly as he lets out a breathy noise. It’s not the same hiss of distress he made when he was in pain, and Kenma is starting to think this cat is a bit of an asshole.
“Are you laughing at me, again?” Kenma doesn’t bother hiding the irritation in his tone. “Maybe that’s why that crow attacked you— you’re annoying.”
Now Kuro looks like he’s pouting, heading dipping to rest against Kenma’s thigh as he flattens himself down.
Kenma huffs, but reaches out to scratch behind Kuro’s ear. “What are you going to do, now?” he asks. “Now that you’re better, you don’t have to stay.”
It isn’t until he says it that he realizes he doesn’t want Kuro to go.
—
Kenma sees the owl again the next day, when he’s coming back from his last class. But instead of flying overhead, it’s perched on the arm of a young man.
He’s standing a few feet away from Kenma’s apartment building, face turned away from where Kenma’s walking up the street. He’s taller than Kenma, with thick, dark hair and pale skin. Dressed all in black, he has one arm extended parallel to the ground to allow the owl to rest against the thick leather gauntlet he wears. The owl lifts its feet one at a time, shifting against the man’s arm restlessly. The man lifts his other hand to gently brush his fingertips over the owl’s feathers.
Kenma’s just behind them, transfixed.
“It’s alright, Bokuto-san,” the man says quietly. He has a soft, uninflected voice. “We’ll find him.”
Is the owl his pet? Is that even legal?
Maybe he should be worried about the way the man is talking to the owl, but Kenma isn’t really in a position to talk, when he’s the one who’s been narrating his life aloud to Kuro for almost two weeks. At least he doesn’t refer to Kuro with honorifics.
(Kuro had stuck around, yesterday, even when Kenma has purposefully left his apartment door open. He doesn’t know what to make of that, would rather Kuro just go now if he’s going to leave eventually—)
The man turns around abruptly, his cool eyes narrowed with suspicion as he focuses on Kenma. Kenma jumps backwards, startled by the sudden attention. The owl hoots loudly, launching itself into the sky in front of the man in a way that seems almost protective.
“What are you doing, there?” The man’s voice is still calm and steady, but there’s a tension in his body language that Kenma can’t source. He’s hiding something.
Every self-preservation instinct Kenma has screams at him to get away from this man and his crazy bird as quickly as possible. He turns so that the man can no longer make direct eye contact, mumbling, “I live here.”
There’s a pointed question in his tone.
“Ah,” the man says. He makes an abortive gesture with one hand, and the owl flies higher into the sky— so high that no one would know he belonged to the man, Kenma thinks. “I’m sorry if we— I was in your way. Excuse me.”
He turns and walks calmly up the sidewalk, but when Kenma glances skyward he notices the owl following behind the man, keeping pace with him easily.
There is definitely something strange going on.
—
Kuro cries in his sleep.
It takes Kenma awhile to notice, because he usually doesn’t fall asleep himself until odd hours of the night, after finishing up snatches of work or playing video games at marathon pacing. But two days after he sees the man and his owl, he wanders into the living room at five am, intending to head to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Instead, he finds himself kneeling in front of Kuro’s nest of cushions and towels while the cat lets out choked off, whimpering cries.
He’s got his head buried between the pillows, again, but Kenma can still hear him. In the dim light of the room, it seems like all the shadows are slanted towards Kuro, covering him in darkness.
What do cats have nightmares about? Is he imagining being carried off by the crow, again? But every time Kenma mentions the crow, Kuro just looks mocking, irritated— not frightened. It’s not as if the cat understands the word “crow,” through, right? So perhaps in his sleep he sees visions of the enormous bird, and that’s what he’s actually scared of.
What else could it be?
Whatever it is, Kenma can’t let Kuro suffer it alone. He delicately picks the cat up in his arms, cradling him close to his body as he carries Kuro back into his bedroom. When he climbs back into bed, he continues holding Kuro against his chest, feeling him shift around until he’s nuzzling his head into Kenma’s stomach.
When they’ve settled, Kenma closes his eyes and tries to get back to sleep. But for a long time, all he can think about is that Kuro isn’t a house cat. He was stray before Kenma took him in, and he’s probably meant to be stray again. Would he even want to stay as Kenma’s pet? He’s made no motions to leave, but people always leave, eventually. And if Kuro’s naturally meant to be out in the world, away from Kenma’s insulated existence, then Kenma won’t even be able to blame him for leaving.
“I want you to stay,” Kenma admits into the quiet of the room, holding Kuro close. “I don’t want to be alone again.”
—
He dreams, again. The yellow house has a fresh coat of paint, looks new and taken care of. There’s a child playing out in the front yard, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he thumbs his way through a handheld video game.
A shadow falls over him, and when the child looks up there’s another little boy next to him, with a shock of messy dark hair and a gleaming, mischievous smile. He says something, and the first child rolls his eyes. A moment later, they’re both laughing together.
The image flickers— instead of two children, there’s only one and the small black kitten he holds in his lap. He’s looking down at it adoringly, stroking over its fur with small, delicate motions.
“Kenma!” a woman’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and authoritative. “Put that thing down, it must be filthy. Come inside and wash your hands, it’s almost time for dinner!”
—
He doesn’t notice it happening, at first. He knows he feels calmer when he’s at home, but that’s always been the case. He’s a homebody, has always avoided crowded, public places when he can help it. But lately, it’s different. He doesn’t just feel more comfortable at home— he feels distinctly unsettled when he’s out in the world, has the creeping feeling that he’s being followed, or watched.
He can’t keep his thoughts straight, most days in class. He wonders what his classmates think of him, if they think of him at all. He wonders what he’s accomplishing, by going through the motions of his life day in and day out, never feeling truly plugged into the world around him. He wonders if what he’s doing has any true meaning.
It’s so tiring. Today, as he’s walking down the street towards his building, it’s like he’s trapped between the urgency to be home and the languid, dragging motion with which he’s walking.
There are people walking around him, headed off in their hurry to go through the motions of their own lives. Some of them are talking animatedly on their cellphones, and his chest aches with jealousy. They make it seem so easy, having people to talk to. They probably don’t even mention anything important, just tell each other about what they ate for lunch or how excited they are for the next episode of their favorite TV show. It’s meaningless— but it means everything, just for someone to be there.
He doesn’t know when he stopped walking and crouched down on the sidewalk. No one pauses to look at him, but their shadows pass over him and make him shiver. He feels a wetness against his cheeks and lifts his fingers to brush against them— oh. He’s crying. When was the last time he cried? And why now, when he’s in the middle of a crowded street, when he could just get up and be home if he just kept walking—
Kenma yelps as he feels something dig into his leg. He glances around, startled, until he sees Kuro, his teeth sunk into Kenma’s leg, biting through his pants and what feels like his skin.
“Kuro—!” It hurts, but the bite snaps Kenma back to awareness. He’s standing on the street, two blocks away from his apartment. The sun is hanging low in the sky. And Kuro, the cat who he’d left in his locked apartment this morning, is standing on the sidewalk beside him, teeth stained slightly red. “How…?”
Kuro doesn’t give him a chance to ask questions. He walks around Kenma until he’s directly behind him, then presses his head into the back of Kenma’s leg like he’s trying to push him forward. He keeps pushing until Kenma actually starts walking, his steps slow and stumbling at first. But Kuro stays behind him, nudges him every time Kenma stops. It’s a slow, aggravating process, but somehow they eventually end up in front of Kenma’s door.
When he tries the handle, he finds the door locked. Kuro keeps nudging him until he finds his keys in his backpack and lets them both into the apartment. Abruptly, Kenma feels as though the wind’s been knocked out of him. He barely makes it past the welcome mat before he collapses onto his knees, his entire body shaking.
He’s crying again, his breath coming out in hiccupping sobs. He doesn’t realize Kuro’s climbed into his lap until the cat’s face is in front of his. Kuro gently licks at his cheeks with his small pink tongue, going over each of them every time a new tear falls. The taut tension in Kenma’s limbs loosens incrementally, and he wraps his arms around Kuro even though he’s still shaking.
When Kenma’s finally cried out, when he can finally breath again, Kuro presses forward until his his head is brushing against Kenma’s chin. His gleaming eyes are wide and sad, and Kenma is struck by the idea that Kuro is apologizing to him.
“What for?” he asks aloud. “You came to get me.”
He needs something to focus on, so he keeps Kuro held tight to his chest as he wanders towards the bathroom. He strips down to his boxers to examine the bite on his thigh— a small nip that broke the skin but probably hasn’t done any lasting damage. Sighing, he sits Kuro down on the bathroom counter as he reaches for a bandage.
“How did you get out?” Kenma asks. “The door locks automatically, but that doesn’t explain how you unlocked it in the first place. Or how you found me.”
Kuro has curled up into a C shape, head pressed down against his front paws. Of course, he can’t answer Kenma. Instead he just looks at him steadily.
He still looks like he’s trying to apologize.
—
That night, Kenma curls up in bed, exhausted and hollowed out. Kuro is tucked against him, his back rising and falling as he breathes evenly in his sleep. Kenma strokes over Kuro’s fur as he tries to lull himself to sleep, willing his mind to quiet down.
“If you can get out the apartment whenever you want to, does that mean you’re still here because you want to stay?”
—
The feeling of unease doesn’t lift entirely. There are cobwebs clinging to the corners of his mind, worries that never quite retreat. Maybe those are the parts of his mind that get the least use— the parts that want to reach out and connect.
“Oh, Kozume-san!” Lev is standing on top of the stairs, grocery bags hanging off of his long arms as he tries to balance. “Good evening!”
Kenma nods in response, mumbles some kind of greeting.
“I haven’t seen you in awhile,” Lev continues, bright and boisterous as ever. “How’s Kuro-san doing? All better?”
“…yeah. He’s doing much better.”
“Oh!” Suddenly Lev is leaning over him, looking directly at Kenma’s face. “Kozume-san, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that, before! You look really, really cute!”
His cheeks heat up immediately, and Kenma ducks his head so that his hair falls forward in front of his face. “Don’t be stupid,” he says, unable to meet Lev’s too-keen stare.
But the younger man just laughs good-naturedly. “Sorry, sorry! It’s true, though. Mostly when I see you walking by you’re looking at your phone, and I can’t tell what you’re thinking at all. But when you came over with Kuro-san, I could tell you were really worried about him. I’m glad he’s better, now.”
Kenma could say that Lev can’t tell what he’s thinking because Lev is never quiet enough to truly notice anything. But he’s indebted to Lev, isn’t he?
“…thanks. You were a big help, that night.”
“No problem, Kozume-san! Feel free to come over any night, even when your cat isn’t dying!”
Come over and do what? Sit on Lev’s old couch and play Super Smash Brothers with him? Listen to Lev rattle on about his last year of high school? Eat dinner with him and his elder sister?
Ah, Kenma thinks. Those are things friends do together, aren’t they?
He needs to say something, he thinks. The words are forming on his tongue when he’s interrupted by a loud, disapproving hoot.
Kenma whips around abruptly, only to see the owl balanced on the railing of his building’s staircase. The owl’s puffed up, its feathers expanded with air as it narrows its circular golden eyes in Kenma’s direction.
It hoots again, loud and reproachful.
What the hell.
Kenma takes a step back. Have all the animals in the world gone crazy? Are they all stalking him? Where’s the man that was with the owl before? It is the same owl, isn’t it?
Before he can register the movement Lev is in front of him, long arms splayed.
“Hey!” Lev shouts. “You’re freaking him out! Go away!” He waves his arms widely, right up in the owl’s space. The owl hoots again, but flutters up into the air before flying away entirely.
“That’s right!” Lev calls out behind it. “You better run!”
He turns back to Kenma after a moment. “Are you alright, Kozume-san? That was weird, don’t you think? You kind of froze, for a minute there! Kozume-san?”
Kenma lifts a hand, trying to dam the deluge of Lev’s worries.
“You don’t have to call me Kozume,” he says, slowly, after a long moment’s pause. Lev seems surprised at the non sequitor, so Kenma presses on. “Kenma is fine.”
Lev’s face lights up immediately. “Kenma-san, then!”
When he steps into his apartment a few minutes later, Kuro is sitting on the couch waiting for him. When Kenma sits down beside him, he’s still a little flushed. Kuro rises up on his hind legs and places his front paws against Kenma’s shoulder, sizing up the look on his face.
“It’s okay,” Kenma tells him, petting the top of Kuro’s head with two fingers. “I think I’m just happy.”
It’s the first time in a long time that someone’s called him by his given name.
—
Kuro comes and waits for Kenma at the station, now. When Kenma steps off the train and gets out to the sidewalk, Kuro is standing there waiting for him. He waits for Kenma to start walking home, then walks along casually beside him, tail poised in the air.
“You’re too smart,” Kenma tells him, not for the first time. “How do you always find me?”
Kuro’s tail curls a bit, a gesture like a shrug. Kenma just shakes his head.
But that doesn’t stop Kenma from worrying. Even if he’s been living with Kenma for weeks, now, Kuro still looks like a stray cat. If he’s wandering the streets by himself, it’s only a matter of time before someone calls him in as a nuisance, or something worse.
“You really like being here, right?” Kenma asks that night, laying out another fillet of fish for Kuro. Kuro just nuzzles against Kenma’s leg once before digging into his dinner.
—
The next day, Kenma gets off the train early and heads to a pet supply store. It takes him a few minutes to make a decision, but eventually he pulls a collar off of a wall of dozens of options— dark red leather, simple and about the width of his index and pointer fingers together. He has the singular kanji of Kuro’s name embossed right into the leather, his phone number sunken into the reverse side.
When it’s finished, he turns the collar over and over in his hands, fingers tracing the kanji. It feels right.
—
Kuro isn’t waiting for him at the station. Kenma is a bit later than he usually is, but he’s gotten used to seeing Kuro on the corner when he steps out of the station. It’s nothing to worry about, though. Kuro’s probably just waiting for him at home.
The shadows grow long as Kenma heads up the street. He’s about to turn the corner towards his building when he hears a vaguely familiar voice.
“Please, Kuroo-san, we’re trying to help you.”
He probably shouldn’t be curious. It’s probably none of his business. But Kenma turns towards the voice anyway, comes to an alley in the gap between two buildings.
It’s the same man he saw with the owl. He’s wearing all black again, his pale face pinched in consternation. The owl isn’t with him, though— Kenma glances up at the sky and sees no tell-tale shadow of a bird circling overhead.
Instead, there’s another man beside the first. He has milky skin and dove gray hair, a beauty mark punctuating his delicate features. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s strained, and his hands are full of something dark, and squirming—
It’s Kuro.
The gray-haired man has one arm around his middle, the other pressed against his chest. He’s clearing trying to keep Kuro still, but Kuro is fighting him, twisting in his hold and hissing.
“It’s okay, Kuroo,” the man says, wincing slightly when Kuro scratches into his arm. “I know you’re confused, but if you just let us take you home—ow!”
Kuro has sunken his teeth into the man’s arm, golden eyes flashing dangerously.
“Stop it,” the first, dark-haired man snaps. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Akaashi,” the gray haired man chides. “You know he can’t help it.” He’s still struggling with Kuro, now trying to get an arm around all four of Kuro’s legs to keep him still.
“He’s being selfish,” the man— Akaashi— insists, voice flat even as his deep green eyes narrow. “Bokuto-san has been worried sick, and then we find him here playing house—”
“Don’t be mean, Akaashi,” the other says, chuckling despite the nervous scrunch of his eyes. “I know you’re worried about him, but—”
“Sugawara-san,” Akaashi breathes out with stressed patience, “You know as well as I do—”
Kenma’s still crouched behind the next building, heart hammering in his chest. He’s sure they’re speaking Japanese, can understand the words they’re saying in isolation. But why are they talking about Kuro like that?
He only knows one thing for certain— if these two succeed in what they’re trying to do, they’re going to take Kuro away from him.
Kenma hates speaking out to people he’s never met before. He’s not good at being authoritative, or making people listen to him. But he swallows down those doubts and steps into the alley, squaring his shoulders and trying to look as confident as possible.
“Hey,” he says, and his voice is soft but it’s sure, and that’ll have to be good enough. “What are you doing?”
Akaashi and Sugawara both start abruptly. Kuro takes advantage of their hesitation, twisting around until he’s free of Sugawara’s grasp. He lands neatly on his feet, haunches raised as he hisses at the two men in front of him.
“Um,” Sugawara stutters. “Please don’t worry! We know what we’re doing, we’re professionals.”
“Professional what,” Akaashi mumbles, but cuts off when Sugawara elbows him in the side.
Kenma isn’t interested in their explanations. “Kuro,” he says softly. “Come here.”
For a moment, he’s scared that Kuro won’t obey. Maybe he’s been spooked by these two, and will run off this time for good. But Kenma’s fears are unfounded. Kuro dashes towards him, curls around his ankles until Kenma reaches down to pick Kuro up in his arms.
“I don’t know what you think is going on here,” Akaashi says, taking a step forward, “but we need to take that cat home.”
“No.” The word is out of Kenma’s mouth before he’s even thought of it. “He’s already home— he’s mine.”
Sugawara and Akaashi are momentarily shocked, mouths open and eyes wide.
Kuro is burrowing against Kenma’s chest, hiding his face again.
It’s Sugawara who breaks the silence, raising both of his hands in a placating gesture. “Ah— are you sure about this?”
Something about his tone tells Kenma that Sugawara isn’t addressing him. But he answers anyway.
“Completely,” he mumbles, and with his heart beating several hundred times a minute he pivots on his heel and starts to walk away, Kuro still cradled in his arms.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Akaashi’s voice calls after them, darkly. Again, Kenma feels like he isn’t the intended recipient of his words.
—
He dashes back to his apartment, holding Kuro tightly the entire way. When he’s let himself in he shuffles over to the couch without even removing his shoes, breathing heavily as he drops Kuro onto the cushions and then bows over the seat. His mind is running like a hamster in a wheel, trying to make sense of it all.
The crow, the owl, Kuro, Akaashi and Sugawara, the fact that Kuro is so smart and so expressive and always seems to know when Kenma needs him—
“Kuro,” Kenma whispers, burying his face in the cat’s soft fur. “What are you?”
It takes him a few moments to catch his breath, but when he does he forces himself to his feet and heads to his front door. He swings it open, letting light stream into his tiny apartment.
“Do you want to go?” Kenma asks. Kuro is still on the couch, watching him silently. “I know you can get out, when you want to. And those two— they knew you, didn’t they? Do you want to go?”
Don’t go, Kenma thinks desperately. Don’t leave me, don’t go.
Kuro gets up slowly from the couch. He jumps elegantly down to the ground, walking over to Kenma slowly. But he doesn’t stop to nuzzle against Kenma’s legs, or touch him at all. Instead he goes to one side of the door, nudging it with his head as if he can get it to swing closed.
Oh.
Kenma slowly sinks to his knees, laughing with startled relief. Kuro tilts his head, regarding with Kenma with that familiar, slightly mocking expression. He walks over and climbs into Kenma’s lap, rubbing his head against Kenma’s arms, his chest, into the crook of his neck.
Kuro pushes up against the pocket of Kenma’s sweatshirt, reminding him of what he’d tucked in there earlier that day. He reaches into the pocket and pulls out the collar, holding it out to Kuro for approval. When the cat doesn’t pull away, Kenma reaches down and fastens the collar around his neck. The red stands out starkly against Kuro’s fur, but it looks good. Like it belongs there.
Smiling, Kenma gets shakily to his feet, holding onto Kuro all the while. He nudges the front door closed with his hip, and it clicks shut with finality.
Kenma goes to the kitchen to make Kuro his dinner, oblivious to the shadows growing up the walls.