Chapter Text
“You should get a cat.”
There’s no way Satoru heard her right. “Hah?”
“You should get a cat,” Shoko repeats. “You’re depressing to look at.”
“Am not,” Satoru says.
Shoko stares at him for a moment. Bags under his eyes. Greasy hair. Wrinkled clothes. Satoru can’t remember the last time he’s washed them. Then, she motions across the room. The pile of dishes in the sink. The stack of half-finished reports covering his dining table. The container of half-eaten cookies that have sustained Satoru for the past week.
“I am very well-adjusted,” Satoru says. When Shoko says nothing, Satoru shifts in his seat. “I am so emotionally well-regulated.” More staring. Satoru clenches his jaw. “I do things. I eat. I sleep. I work. I process everything wholly and completely and—God, can you stop looking at me like that?”
“Now you know how the rest of us feel,” Shoko says. And then, her expression softens. In that stupid, sickening way, that way everyone looked at him right after Suguru left. “Satoru, a cat would be good for you.”
Satoru sighs. He hates this. And he hates it more that he knows Shoko’s coming from a genuine place of care. It would be easier if she didn’t care.
“I can’t get a cat,” Satoru says. He sinks deeper into the couch. Pouting like a little kid. “Cats require like, feeding it everyday. And petting it. And I’d have to scoop their piss and shit. I don’t have time for that.”
Shoko gets up from her seat just to flick Satoru on the forehead.
“Ow, what the fuck—”
“Of course I don’t mean a cat,” Shoko says. She flops back down on her chair opposite Satoru. “I meant a hybrid.”
It takes a full ten seconds for Satoru to register what Shoko’s just said.
“What?”
“What?” Shoko echoes. “You don’t have to feed it, or pet it, or scoop its piss and shit. In fact, it takes care of you. It can cook you food, and clean up after you, and give you attention.” A pause. Shoko bites her lip. “A companion. You know? To make things less lonely.”
“Less lonely,” Satoru laughs, and shakes his head. Sure, Satoru sometimes feels very—empty. And very still. Like the eye of a hurricane. Moving dully as things pass him. But— “I’m not lonely.”
Shoko purses her lips. She swallows tightly. She blinks once, twice, and looks out the window. Away from Satoru.
“Satoru,” Shoko whispers. “You’re the loneliest boy I know.”
-
So that’s how Satoru ends up at the adoption agency.
It took a couple days to get everything sorted. Turns out searching “cat boys for lonely alphas” just meant being served a whole bunch of porn links. So Satoru told Ijichi to figure out where I can get a cat boy stat before teleporting off to his next mission in Nara.
Luckily, Ijichi’s good at his job (namely, keeping Satoru’s life together), so by the time Satoru got back a couple days later (reeking of Curses and sweat and blood—not his own, don’t worry), Ijichi’s got a list of the most reputable hybrid adoption agencies Tokyo’s got to offer. Satoru got home, showered, changed into whatever didn’t smell too bad, immediately walked back out into the car with Ijichi in tow, and declared:
“Let’s get a cat.”
The first thing Satoru notices about the adoption agency is that it is—surprisingly large. A shiny tall sleek building in the middle of Tokyo. From the outside, it looks more like a business building where men like, embezzle money. For some reason, he imagined an adoption agency as a quaint house or something, where hybrids sat in sunny windows and laid out in the grass and did whatever cats do and—okay, he doesn’t really know.
Satoru hasn’t really had the time in his life to sit down and consider his thoughts about hybrids’ socioeconomic positioning in society, believe it or not. They make up less than one-percent of the human population, and even less of the sorcerer population. In fact, Satoru’s never even really seen a hybrid. They’re rarely talked about in polite conversation, except when his mother’s gotten one too many drinks in her. Then, she’s slurring out some half-hearted mutterings about naive, stupid, leeches on society, good only for spreading their legs, nothing more. There had been a time, when Satoru was growing up, that his tutors had to have “the birds-and-the-bees” talk with him, and there was a paragraph at the end about hybrids.
A genetic experiment from long ago that went horrifically wrong. Not quite human enough to function in society. Not quite animal enough to survive in the wild. Some useless in-between thing.
That’s all to say—Satoru doesn’t feel strongly either which way, other than that whatever his mother thinks, he generally tries to think the opposite.
He walks into the agency. It’s a bit—like a fancy hotel lobby. Complete with a sophisticated lounge area, hanging chandlers, some old looking men in business suits sitting around and acting very important, and a shiny reception desk. He shuffles to the front desk, clears his throat, and smiles his most award-winning smile.
“Hello,” he announces. “I would like one cat boy, please.”
The lady behind the desk goes still. Behind him, someone trips.
“What he means to say is,” Ijichi interrupts. He slides next to Satoru with a folder in hand, setting it on the desk. “He is here for his adoption appointment. I’m his assistant, Ijichi. We’ve spoken on the phone, I believe. This is my boss, Gojo Satoru.”
“Gojo Satoru.”
Satoru’s head turns to the voice. From the elevators, there’s a click-click-clicking of heels, and a slinky black dress, and startling white hair.
“Mei Mei,” Satoru says. Both warmth and dread fill his chest. Mei Mei has that effect on you. “Long time no see.”
“Hello, stranger,” Mei Mei laughs under her breath. “Pairin, let me handle this client. A favor for an old friend.”
Her gaze flickers up and down Satoru’s figure. His smart white button-down. His pressed black pants. The blindfold over his eyes (which might be a weird accessory, but—Satoru’s head hurts from the mission, he needs it, okay?)
And finally, the red ribbon tied neatly around his left wrist.
She sticks her hand out. An identical red ribbon.
“Satoru,” she says. “It’s so lovely to see you again.”
Satoru can’t exactly say the same.
“So,” Satoru says. He stares at her hand. Satoru doesn’t—do handshakes. “About these cats.”
Mei Mei looks at Satoru like he’s just said something ridiculous.
“Yes, of course. That’s how it’s going to be. No small talk with an old friend. You were always right down to business, Satoru,” she says, motioning to the lounge. “Come with me. I must say, though—I never thought I’d see you here.”
“Likewise. Is this whole thing—” Satoru motions around. “Yours?”
She sits Satoru and Ijichi down. “Yes. I think of it as my—” Mei Mei shrugs and smiles. “—pet project. Pun intended. There’s only so much money to be made in jujutsu sorcery. However, I’ve found that there is no price too high for alphas once they lay eyes on their perfect pet, you know?”
Satoru doesn’t know. “Right.”
“Right,” Mei Mei echoes. “Well, despite being long time friends—” Her voice goes funny. “I am a businesswoman first and foremost, and so let’s get the pleasantries all out of the way. First, we at Black Bird Adoptions appreciate you choosing us as your agency. We know you have many choices when choosing to expand your family. As you know, we are known for our elite clientele and for keeping the upmost privacy throughout the entire process.”
“Sure,” Satoru says. He looks at Ijichi from the corner of his eye. “I knew that.”
“Before we introduce you to our expertly curated selection of hybrids—” Expertly curated? Expertly curated is something Satoru uses to describe furniture. “—we need you to fill out our survey. These one-hundred questions are how we best match you with a hybrid to suit your lifestyle and preferences.”
If Satoru’s honest, he imagined this process to be a whole lot less involved. Pictured himself sitting in a room full of cat boys and one would just choose to sit on his lap and they’d be on their merry way.
“Can I just—” Satoru waves his arms around in a manner he hopes conveys his message. “—meet the cats and get on with my day?”
“Unfortunately, no can do,” Mei Mei says. Satoru’s a bit perplexed by how serious she’s taking this. He doesn’t think she’s ever taken anything this serious, even when she’s in a life-and-death battle facing down a wall of curses. “We have a ninety-eight percent success rate pairing alphas with their hybrids. The survey is an essential part of this success.”
She slips out a stack of papers from her clipboard and settles it in front of Satoru, setting a pen down alongside it.
“I’ll give you some time to fill this out. Take all the time you need, and if you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask,” Mei Mei recites perfectly from memory. “Now, let me get you some refreshments. Satoru, if I remember correctly—” Mei Mei smiles. “You take your coffee with three sugars and extra milk, right?”
He does.
“Nah,” Satoru says. “I take it black now.”
“Of course you do.” Mei Mei smiles. “I’ll be back with coffee and cookies, okay?”
She tap-tap-taps away. Satoru glances at the form.
It starts simple enough. Preferred age, gender, hair and eye color, build, breed. Cat, Satoru fills out with a small giggle. Yes, he wants a cat.
Then, it asks about personality (Do you prefer when your hybrid initiates conversation, or do you prefer your hybrid to only speak when spoken to?) It asks about temperament (Do you expect your hybrid to respond well to corporal punishment?) It asks about skills (Do you want your hybrid to be able to play musical instruments? Do you expect your hybrid to know how to read and write?)
Satoru pauses.
Click-click-click. Mei Mei saunters back over, carrying a tray of coffee and cookies. She settles it down between them on the table, and sits across from Satoru, crossing her legs. She looks luxurious, slinky black dress in contrast to her white hair. Satoru thinks he hates her.
“Any questions for me?” Mei Mei asks. She dips her cookie into her coffee, and takes a bite. Elegant.
Satoru stares at her. “Can some of them not read?”
Mei Mei shrugs, and says, plain and simple, “Well, why would they have to?” Big smile. “If it’s a matter of finding a hybrid suitable for you, rest assured, we have plenty of hybrids who are well-trained on reading you poetry, or art history. We have hybrids who are well-read in multiple different languages. We have hybrids trained in the piano, violin, and harp. Anything you want, I promise, we can provide.”
“It’s more like…” Satoru’s voice trails off. “I just thought everyone could read.”
“Well,” Mei Mei begins. “Hybrids aren’t really considered everyone, right?”
Satoru opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the front desk lady from before—Pairin, was it?—comes over to Mei Mei (Madame, there’s been an—incident), and Mei Mei excuses herself, secluding themselves in some sort of hushed conversation by the desk.
Satoru pays them no mind. Absently, he takes his cup of coffee, turning his attention back to the form. When he flips it over, a new series of questions waits for him.
He spits his coffee out.
Beside him, Ijichi sighs. “Gojo-sama, you know you don’t like your coffee black—”
“That’s not the point,” Satoru snaps. Well—it’s true. Satoru probably would’ve spit his coffee out regardless. But still. His eyes scan up and down the form to make sure he’s reading it right.
Do you prefer a virgin, or a hybrid with more experience?
Do you engage or plan to engage in BDSM? If so, are you a Dominant or a Submissive?
Do you like to role-play in the bedroom?
“What are these questions?” Satoru asks.
Ijichi looks over Satoru’s shoulder. For all of Satoru’s confusion, Ijichi looks—surprisingly calm. “Well, Gojo-sama,” Ijichi says. “It looks like a fairly typical survey asking for your expectations on your bedroom pref—”
“I know what it says. I can read,” Satoru interrupts. He’s irritated. “I meant—why are they asking me this?”
Ijichi pauses. He studies Satoru’s face. He looks like he’s thinking very hard about what he’s about to say.
“Gojo-sama,” Ijichi begins, very slowly, very carefully. “You do know what hybrids are used for, right?”
Satoru’s eye twitches. “Clearly, I don’t know anything.” He points to the survey. “I don’t know half these words. Watersports? Stupid. Why are they asking me if I’d like to go surfing or kayaking with my hybrid?”
A pause. Ijichi takes out his phone, types something in, hits enter, and then shows Satoru the response. He goes pale.
“That’s what that is? Oh my God—”
“Satoru.” Mei Mei walks back over. Clasps her hands together. Smiles her cold smile. “Apologies for that. Always something going on at the agency. Keeps me busy.” She glances down at the form. “Are you all finished up, or do you require more time?”
Satoru clenches his jaw. On the back of the form, with all those questions about—about virginity, and bondage, and—and watersports, Satoru writes, in big letters:
FUCK OFF
And he hands it over to Mei Mei.
Mei Mei glances at it. She only smiles. “So very like you, Satoru. I expected nothing less,” she says. “Well, if you don’t mind, follow me. We will be going upstairs now to the presentation room.”
It takes a moment for Satoru to register what she’s just said.
“Presentation room?”
She explains it in the elevator. She clicks 13. The top floor. The doors shut behind them.
“When we get upstairs, we will have a room set up for you. There, we will bring in five to ten hybrids based off the preferences listed on your form. You may talk to them, request a private session to get to know them better one-on-one, and ask them about their skills. Oh, but touching is only allowed above the waist.”
Satoru’s eye twitches. “No need.”
“Well, I have to say it,” Mei Mei says. She looks at Satoru from the corner of her eye. “Some clients like to get a little handsy.”
The elevator doors ding open, and Mei Mei leads them down through some winding hallways. It’s busier on this floor. Same sort of highbrow interior—big windows looking out into the city, clean white lines, low black couches. Really, the only difference is the fact that the people on this floor have ears. Or tails. Or wings. Or horns.
Satoru tries to get a good look at them (what—this is the most he’s ever seen hybrids, like, ever, and apparently, one of them’s about to be his) but they shuffle past him, always in pairs, lowering their eyes and bowing at him before skirting off again, just as quick as they came. The proper trained response when meeting an alpha like Satoru. Wealthy, well-connected, powerful. Some of the hybrids are holding cleaning supplies, or folded laundry, or stacks of dishes. They’re all wearing uniforms—button-down cotton shirts with matching shorts—but the color varies. Most of them are wearing white to match their white bows, but there are a few green ribbons mixed in, and even a couple of reds. It smells like bleach, hidden by vanilla candles. Satoru can’t get a good scent reading of anyone in particular. It all blurs together.
Like always—Satoru’s the eye of the hurricane. Everything just passes him by. Nobody sees him. Nobody waits.
“You have alphas here,” Satoru says. A snake hybrid—their scales point out of their neck, shimmering silver and gold—passes them by, eyes lowered, a red ribbon on their wrist.
Mei Mei nods. Proud. “We have hybrids from all different backgrounds here. Not every alpha wants a demure little omega hybrid, and we promise our clients satisfaction guaranteed.”
Satoru’s silent. He looks around. Bright lights. White bows. Waves of noise of murmurs. No one raises their voice above whisper. No one looks him in the eye. Satoru’s fascinated by this floor. In a morbid kind of way. Like finding out how sausage is made.
“Here at Black Bird Adoptions, every hybrid contributes to the day-to-day operations of the agency. It helps build character and homemaking skills so that by the time they get to our clients, they are well-equipped with matters of the home like cooking, cleaning, laundry, the like,” Mei Mei explains to him, reciting off the script like she’s done it a million times before. She probably has. “And depending on the hybrid and their natural abilities, they’re sent to lessons in the afternoon. Music, poetry, languages, among other things.”
“School?” Satoru asks. He likes the sound of that. “That’s nice.”
For the slightest moment—most people would’ve missed it, but Satoru sees everything—Mei Mei nearly trips on her heels. But she catches herself, and continues her smooth steps down the hall.
“Yes,” Mei Mei says. “School. Something like that.”
She leads them to a black door. Inside, there’s a long black couch, and a big window out into the city. She sits Satoru and Ijichi down, asks if they’d like any more refreshments, and then makes her way back to the door.
“I will be right back with our selection for you,” she announces from the doorway, smile lingering on her lips. “Only the very best for our honored clientele.”
The door shuts behind her. Satoru can hear the buzzing of the light above them. The sound of his own breathing. The rushing of blood through his head. He waits until he hears her heels click-click-click down the hallway before turning to Ijichi.
“This is weird,” Satoru says. “This is all very weird. Isn’t it?”
Ijichi scratches his nose. “Well, Gojo-sama.” Clears his throat. “If I may speak freely—”
“Speak however you want, Ijichi, I’m freaking the fuck out.”
“—this feels about what I expected from a hybrid adoption agency.”
“What? This isn’t normal. They—they wouldn’t look at me, and what the fuck was that survey, and they—they can’t read, Ijichi! Who doesn’t let people learn how to read?”
Ijichi looks at Satoru with something that resembles pity. “I think they’d first have to be considered a person.”
Satoru’s getting that feeling. That feeling in his chest. Like his heart’s too big for his body. He feels the thumping, and the pressure on his chest, and the sharp pain shooting through his head like a—like a knife dragging itself through his skull and brains and down his fucking throat, and he can’t move, and can’t breathe, and can’t do anything to stop it—
“Gojo-sama?”
Shoko called it P-T-S-D. And anxiety. And panic attacks. And a whole bunch of other things Satoru forgot. Dying and coming back to life isn’t normal, she’d said, and like, she’s probably right, but Satoru’s whole existence isn’t normal. This was just another thing added to the list. Another abnormality that makes him special. That makes him strong. She sent him to a therapist, and Satoru went three weeks without an “incident,” so he was pretty sure he was cured, and then never went back. And he can go months without having an incident—hell, he can go months without ever thinking about that day—
“Satoru?”
You know that feeling when a knife’s been dragged down your throat, heart, and guts? Well, actually—you probably don’t. Satoru can tell you how that feels. It feels like your blood’s bubbling up in your lungs. It feels like you’re drowning in yourself. You start to feel like you’re watching yourself, on the ceiling, and you’re seeing everything happen to you—you, a body, being sliced in half, writhing like a bug on the ground—and then you have to watch your body piece itself back together. And people always say wow, Satoru, you’re so strong, only the strongest could come back to life, a real miracle, modern day Jesus, but you didn’t do anything. You didn’t want it. It was just something your body did, because that’s how it was trained. Trained to protect itself. Trained to stay alive. At any cost. And that’s how it feels. Everyday. Like you’re a ghost forced to lug your own body around on earth. You can’t die, not really, even if you want to. Your body stops it. Your body’s not yours. Just something you carry.
“Are you okay—?”
“I have to piss,” Satoru announces.
And before Ijichi can say a word, Satoru’s up out of his seat, and slamming the door open. He paces up-and-down the hall, once, twice, and then slams his fist into the wall. It makes a hole. Whatever. Mei Mei can send him an invoice later.
What the fuck is he doing? Why did he come here? Satoru shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair before rubbing his eyes over his blindfold. He goes to his knees, and breathes in, and breathes out, and chokes on it all. He isn’t feeling well. That feeling like everything is too much. Too loud. Too bright. He shouldn’t have come here. He hasn’t slept in days. What was he thinking? That he was just going to come here and walk out with what—a new best friend? That’s what Satoru used to think hybrids were, when he was little, and his tutors would slip little bits of information about the outside world to him. Naive, stupid abnormalities who needed someone to put them in their place. That’s what they all said. It’s funny, because they said the same thing about Satoru. And when they’d say that about hybrids, all Satoru could think—trusting, innocent, sweet. So sweet. His tutors and his mothers and the higher-ups would all call hybrids too stupid to be able to survive in the real world, but Satoru thought it was sweet, how they wouldn’t want Satoru for his power or strength or to use him for their own ends. A hybrid would just want to sit by him because they wanted to sit by him. They’d want to hear him talk because they liked to hear him talk. They’d want Satoru because they like Satoru.
What’s wrong with that?
Satoru should leave. He’ll call Mei Mei later. Send some flowers or something as an apology for wasting her time. Not that he’s sorry, not really, but the whole world’s made up of stupid niceties like that.
Slowly, he drags himself up. He wipes his cheeks. Fuck. He’s been crying. When did he start crying? Okay, new plan. He’ll go the bathroom, clean himself up, say goodbye to Mei Mei, and pretend all of this never happened. That’s the respectable thing to do. The normal thing to do. The adult thing to do.
And Satoru is a respectable, normal adult.
He rounds the corner in search of a bathroom. Then another one. Then another. It’s strangely—empty. Not that Satoru really has any frame of reference for how busy or not busy a fucking hybrid adoption center should be. But still—earlier, there were people out here. And now, there’s not.
He meanders about for awhile, and when he’s about three minutes in and still no bathroom in sight, he resolves himself just to retrace his steps back to the presentation room when he hears it.
“How many times do I have to tell you?”
It’s Mei Mei. Satoru frowns. Satoru doesn’t think he’s ever heard Mei Mei upset. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever really heard Mei Mei raise her voice. She’s not exactly a woman who wears her emotions on her sleeve.
But now—she’s yelling. She’s furious.
Silently, Satoru peers his head over the corner. It’s in a lounge area. A decent sized group of hybrids have gathered in a circle. Satoru recognizes a couple of them from earlier. The alpha snake hybrid with shimmering scales. An omega deer hybrid with large antlers. They’re all standing around Mei Mei and—
“I’m sorry, Madame.”
A small voice. There’s someone in the center of the circle with Mei Mei. Satoru can’t quite see them.
“You’re sorry? How many times do we have to do this? You cry and say sorry and a few weeks later, I find another fucking hybrid’s in the fucking hospital, and somehow, you’re always at the center of it. A sorry doesn’t cut it. Not this time.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“If you didn’t mean it, you’d change your behavior. Do you understand how serious this is? He could die—”
“I said—I’m sorry—”
A slap rings out. A body collapses onto the ground. A few in the crowd gasp. A few of them flinch, look like they’re about to step forward to help, and then think the better of it. Satoru even thinks he sees a few giggle behind their hands.
“You do not get to interrupt me,” Mei Mei says.
She raises her hand, and between the legs of the crowd, Satoru can just barely make out the person on the floor bring their hand to their head, bracing for the next hit.
Satoru decides he’s seen enough.
“Mei Mei,” Satoru announces his presence. The crowd parts for him as he walks forward, all their heads bowing, refusing to make eye contact. He places himself squarely between Mei Mei and the hybrid slumped on the ground.
It’s strange. Even without looking down, Satoru can hear their heartbeat. Like a bird’s wings.
Mei Mei, for her part, doesn’t look the least bit bothered. Mildly annoyed, maybe. “Oh, Satoru. My apologies,” she says. Not sounding very sorry at all. “I don’t like clients to see this, but well—it’s been a rough day.”
Satoru blinks. “What’s going on here?”
“Just handling my business,” Mei Mei says. She glances at the hybrid at the ground for a moment before flickering her eyes back to Satoru’s. “Now, let’s go handle yours. I think your choices are about ready—”
“You hit him,” Satoru says.
Mei Mei shrugs. “I did.”
What isn’t she getting? “You hurt him.”
“Satoru,” she sighs, already exhausted with him. “I know you haven’t been around hybrids a lot. Some respond well to being pat on the head and being told they’re a good boy, others like being fed treats, and some—like our dear little kitty here—need to be put in their place.”
Behind him, Satoru feels the person flinch. Slowly, Satoru turns around. And finally sees him.
It’s a small boy—can’t be older than fifteen, really—all curled up on the ground. One arm barely holding himself up, the other nursing his freshly bruised cheek. He’s wearing the same standard uniform, complete with a white bow tied around his neck. Nearly the same color as his sickly pale skin.
But what Satoru pays the most attention to is the winding tail wrapped tight around his upper thigh, and the matching set of cat ears sticking out from the top of his messy black hair.
When Satoru’s eyes land on him, the cat hybrid looks up. Green.
“Apologies for the slight derailment,” Mei Mei says. She takes a step forward, her hand reaching out to grab him. “We will take care of him later. Now, back to your appointment—”
Satoru stops her. Her hand brushes against Infinity. For a moment in time, Satoru stops everything.
Because that’s when Satoru sees it.
This is what people misunderstand about Six Eyes. Yes, what they all say about it is true—it’s about seeing cursed energy, and it’s about reading people’s techniques, and it’s about enabling Satoru to basically never run out of cursed energy. All that’s true.
But what people don’t know is that Satoru sees cursed energy for what it really, truly is. And Satoru knows all it is—are the deepest darkest depths of human feelings. It’s what made Satoru as a child wake up screaming. It’s what made Satoru’s mother slap him and grab him by the hair and say he was being over-dramatic, stop embarrassing me, don’t you know how lucky you are. It’s what made Satoru lock himself in his closet as a child to try to make it all go away. It’s what made Satoru the loneliest boy in the world.
It’s why Satoru can recognize the moment the ground underneath the boy shifts. Most people would’ve missed it. But Satoru sees everything. That blackest shadow. The deep, dark abyss. Loneliness. Reaching back out to him. Seeing him. Knowing him. Asking Satoru—
Are you like me?
“Him,” Satoru says. “I want him.”
Immediately, every pair of eyes in the room land on him. The tens of hybrids standing around him. Mei Mei’s dark eyes. The boy’s big green ones.
“Satoru, you can’t be serious,” Mei Mei laughs. “Besides—he’s not up for adoption.”
“Sorry—” And Satoru glances over his shoulder. He smiles. Look, Mei Mei. I can smile, too. “Did it sound like I was asking?”
In one fluid motion, he crouches down on the balls of his feet, so he’s as good as eye level with the cat. The boy flinches when Satoru comes down to him. His hand clutches his chest. His tail tightens around his thigh. His ears flatten at the top of his head. His eyes flicker down to the floor.
Satoru already misses them.
“Hey,” Satoru says. He tries to keep his voice soft. The way he talks to the stray cats on his street. During the winter, Satoru will sometimes leave out food for them. A blanket, too. He doesn’t like to think about them being cold.
“My name’s Satoru,” he continues. He reaches his hand out. Not touching. Just an offering. “What’s yours?”
Those big saucer eyes blink up at him. From the tips of his fingers resting on the floor—Satoru can see it. Darkness rushing by. Shadows lapping at the surface. Like ocean waves. Reaching back out to him.
“Megumi,” the boy whispers. “My name’s Megumi.”
-
“I cannot reiterate to you how strongly I oppose this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru says. He waves her off. They’re standing in the lobby. All the paper work’s already been signed. Now, they’re just waiting for Megumi to pack all his stuff. “You’ve already said. Too late. I win.”
Mei Mei’s eye twitches. She looks off to the side. “Ijichi, talk some sense into him,” she demands. “You’ve always been reasonable.”
“Uh—” Ijichi suddenly pretends to be very interested in the color of the ceiling lights. “Beautiful installation in here, isn’t it?”
Mei Mei’s shoulders slump. Satoru preens. See? Ijichi gets it more than anyone. He probably sees Satoru more than anyone else, and he understands—what Gojo Satoru wants, he gets.
“Hah, see?” Satoru sticks his tongue out at her. “I always win. He’s mine.”
Mei Mei brings two fingers to the bridge of her nose. Warding off a headache. Common thing for her to do when she’s around Satoru.
“Satoru,” she begins. “Megumi is—he’s a difficult cat. He’s been adopted and taken back more times I can count. It’s always something with him. He requires a lot of patience, and a lot of attention, and a lot of discipline.”
Satoru doesn’t like the way she says that. “What? Like you hitting him?”
“Yes,” Mei Mei says. Very plain. Very simple. “I know you don’t understand, Satoru. You’ve hardly interacted with anyone outside jujutsu society, much less a fucking hybrid. But their breed aren’t like you and me. You can’t just talk them out of it. Megumi’s clingy, needy, and has attachment issues. He doesn’t do well with large groups of people or environments he doesn’t know. He lashes out when he’s feeling cornered. He needs a lot of reassurance, and time, and training. Every alpha who’s ever adopted Megumi gets sick of him within a few weeks.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“Oh, really? You, Gojo Satoru, who can’t take care of a fucking cactus without killing it? You, who gets irritated to the point of tears whenever someone puts two packs of sugar in your coffee instead of three? You, who gets overwhelmed when there’s three people talking around you at once? You, who got special lights installed in every room in jujutsu tech when we were in school just so it was more to your liking—”
“Okay, well, that was—”
“—you, Gojo fucking Satoru, who can’t be around a person more than an hour without mildly offending them and scaring them away with how frankly abrasive you are? Really, Satoru?”
Satoru stands there. His jaw clicks. His hands curl into fists at his side.
“Shoko said getting a cat would be good for me,” Satoru explains. He sounds small. He sounds like a child who’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
Mei Mei sighs. She doesn’t even sound irritated with him anymore. She looks—concerned. “Satoru, we have many good candidates for you. Outgoing, bright, independent omegas. Who can handle your lifestyle, who can take care of your home when you’re away, who would be good companions. Megumi—he’s not going to be what you want.”
Satoru thinks about this. He thinks about the shadows underneath Megumi’s fingertips. He thinks about those green eyes.
“He is what I want,” Satoru decides. And when Satoru decides on something, he sees it through.
Mei Mei rolls her eyes. She knows she’s not winning this battle. And besides, Satoru’s already paid. She’d even doubled the fee, and Satoru doubled it again. Just to prove a point.
“Satoru, just tell me this,” she says. “Why did you decide to get a cat?”
“I told you. Shoko said it would be good for me.”
“No, I mean—” Mei Mei scoffs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. You’re not bad to look at—”
“Thanks.”
“—don’t even with me. Your personality is atrocious and off-putting, but some girls are into that whole socially-inept weirdo thing, and you’ve got more money than me, for fuck’s sake. You could pick up a good omega out there easily. But you decided to adopt a hybrid.”
Satoru could lie. He could say something stupid, like—well, Shoko forced me, or what can I say, tails are my thing, or it’ll piss my mother off.
Instead, Satoru tells the truth:
“I was lonely.”
The elevator dings open. An attendant walks out first, completely blocking what Satoru really wants to see. It takes a moment, and then another, until eventually Mei Mei sighs, looking over at Satoru with a knowing I told you so.
Satoru pays it no mind. He looks at the faint rolling waves of darkness on the floor, and steps forward, extending his cursed energy to meet it.
It feels warm. Like someone’s holding his hand.
“Megumi-chan!” Satoru says. He steps between the elevator doors to stop them from closing. And then, he bends over at the waist, meeting the cat eye-to-eye. “Are you ready to go home?”
Ijichi shuts the car door behind the two of them before shuffling to the front. Megumi looks even tinier like this, sitting in the corner of the backseat. As close to the door as possible. As far away from Satoru as he can get. He presses his back into the seat, and holds his bag close to his chest, and looks at the ground, curling his knees to his chest.
Satoru looks down at himself. He sniffs the inside of his wrist. Does he smell or something?
Neither here or there. Ijichi starts the car. They’re off. Away from the adoption agency. To home.
“So,” Satoru begins. He thinks of conversation points. What do normal people talk about? “You only have one bag? I thought you’d have a whole bunch of stuff!”
Megumi sinks further into the seat.
“Not that I mind!” Satoru quickly course corrects. Shit. “Less stuff to unpack. Makes life easier.”
Megumi looks out the window. His ears flatten. His tail comes to wrap around his thigh. Somehow, he made himself even smaller.
Ijichi’s eyes meet his own in the rear-view mirror. Satoru shrugs. It’s very rare for Satoru to have nothing to say.
Satoru takes a good long look at Megumi. It’s actually—the first real time he’s able to see Megumi. Properly. Not the type of analytical seeing that Six Eyes does on instinct before Satoru can even stop it. This isn’t a matter of determining if Megumi’s a friend or an enemy that Satoru’s got to blow to bits.
No. Satoru just looks.
Megumi’s a skinny little thing. They’ve got him dressed in a little more clothing—soft white sweater, dark pants, still with that white bow tied all pretty around his neck. It’s all a bit loose on him, though. Satoru eyes the bones sticking out of his wrists, the thin skin straining as his ankles poke at him. Megumi’s cheeks are still round and plush and pink—something about being an omega and a cat, Satoru imagines, prevents Megumi from ever looking anything other than absolutely adorable.
But still. It all makes something in Satoru’s chest—irritated. Suddenly, Satoru’s alpha feels rather inadequate. Like he’s doing something wrong by his cat.
He gets an idea. A rather genius one, at that. See? Satoru’s a problem solver.
“Hey, you hungry?” Satoru asks, with a great big smile on his face.
Megumi flinches at the sounds of Satoru’s voice. Big saucer eyes stare down at the floor.
Okay, that doesn’t work. Satoru tries a different strategy.
“Wow, Ijichi—I am soooooo hungry,” Satoru announces to the whole car. “Why don’t we stop for some food?”
-
“Choose anything you want!” Satoru says. He opens the menu and sets it between the two of them. “What’re you in the mood for?”
From across the booth, Megumi is very quiet, and very still. He stares down at the table, looking blankly at the menu, body entirely swallowed up by the jacket and hat he’s now got on. When they pulled up to the diner, it took five minutes to convince Megumi to come out of the car, his face entirely taken up by those wide green eyes staring into a pretty fucking empty restaurant. And Satoru only managed to get Megumi to come out after finding an old jacket and hat of Satoru’s he keeps in the back and allowing Megumi to wear it.
On the plus side, now Megumi smells like him. And Satoru would be lying if he didn’t think Megumi looked really cute in his clothes.
“I like the burgers here,” Satoru attempts again. He knows he’s not the best at conversation, but really—Megumi’s giving him nothing. “Do you like burgers, Megumi?”
Megumi bites his lip. He shrugs.
Okay. This is fine.
The waitress comes over. When she sees Satoru, her face lights up. Satoru’s been here more than a few times. He likes it most after missions, when it’s the middle of the night and nowhere else is open and all Satoru wants to do is inhale his body weight in burgers and milkshakes and cookies before passing out.
“Gojo-san!” Hana calls out, waving her hand. She leans her hip on the table and beams. “Long time, no see, stranger!”
Then, she looks across the booth. Oh no. They’re sat in the back corner. Megumi seemed frightened by any other prospect. Not that he’s still not frightened right now—the kid’s basically shaking in his seat—but at least now Satoru’s body is between him and the rest of the room.
“And who’s this?” Hana asks. Her eyes flicker down to the white ribbon tied around Megumi’s neck before they look back to Satoru. Teasing. “Got yourself a date?”
Megumi’s face turns red. The shadows beneath him rise. Beneath the hat, Satoru can see his ears jump up in fear. Satoru realizes in this moment that he hasn’t heard Megumi’s voice since that moment in the adoption center with Mei Mei. So he knows Megumi can speak. But won’t. Or can’t. Whatever. Satoru gets it. He’s gone days without speaking to anybody before, when the thought of processing any sort of words literally felt like driving nails through his eyes. Mother used to call him an oversensitive little baby for it, would drag him to stupid clan parties with the higher-ups and say, yes, this is my son, Satoru, he has Six Eyes and Limitless, Satoru, won’t you show everyone?
“This is Megumi,” Satoru says.
All three of them sit in silence. Hana blinks between Satoru, then Megumi. Clearly waiting for an elaboration. Satoru has no interest in having Megumi perform for anyone, but Satoru also has no idea what the hell to say. Hi, yes, this is Megumi. He is my cat.
“Okaaay,” Hana sings. Satoru likes that about Hana. She doesn’t ask questions. Never asks about his job. Never asks why he’s always wearing a blindfold. One time, Satoru walked into the diner at two in the morning after not having slept for a week, smelling like garbage and probably still had some dried blood on his hands, and all Hana asked was if he wanted another milkshake.
“Your regular then, Gojo-san?”
Satoru nods.
“And what for the honored guest?” Hana says, her voice light and teasing, glancing over at Megumi. Except Megumi just about looks like he’s about to keel over—gone completely white, staring at the menu like its a death sentence.
“He’ll get the same as me. Oh, except instead of strawberry, could he get vanilla?” Satoru chimes in. He stares at the cat. His skinny wrists. His collarbones. “In fact, can we get another order of fries to share? And you know what—two extra cookies.”
Hana smiles as she takes down her notes. She grabs the menus at the center of the table. “Aye-aye,” she salutes. Over her shoulder, she winks at Satoru. “Be right back with your food.”
Silence. Satoru rolls his fingers on the table. Megumi stares at the motion.
“So,” Satoru begins. He cringes. Smooth. “What do you like to do?”
Nothing. That’s fine. Satoru can speak enough for the both of them.
“I get it. I don’t know what I like, either,” Satoru admits.
For the first time since they’ve left the adoption center, Megumi looks up. Satoru feels like Megumi’s seeing right through him.
Satoru’s being honest. There’s no point in lying to Megumi, right? The whole reason he even got Megumi was to have someone to—to talk to. A companion, Shoko said. It’s good to have someone. And besides, Satoru doesn’t think Megumi seems like the judgemental type. When Satoru tells Shoko I don’t know what I like, her face crumbles into pity and it turns into an hour long intervention about mental health and work-life balance and finding things that interest you and I’m worried about you, Satoru, when was the last time you did something for you? And Satoru has to sit there and tell Shoko, Shoko, I’m not even sure what me is.
“I work a lot,” Satoru says. Megumi’s staring at him. “Like, a lot a lot. I’m like, the only person who can do my job, you know? So, I do it all the time. I’m always traveling for work. And then I do work. And then when that’s all done, I gotta do the paperwork for my work. And even when I’m not doing my job, I’m thinking of my job. It’s kind of like that. An intrusive thought. I think it’s my brain.” Satoru bites his lip. What is he doing? “It just keeps running. I’ve never gotten it to shut up. My brain, that is. Like, nothing ever goes away. Not really. It’s all there. All the time. So—I don’t know. I don’t know what I like. I don’t know think I ever got to chance to know. And I think it might be too late.”
Megumi doesn’t blink.
“Don’t get me wrong. It’s good work. I do good things. I help people.” Why can’t Satoru stop talking? “But it’s all I do. It’s all I know how to do. I’m twenty-seven, and I don’t know if I like anything.”
Megumi doesn’t move.
“And sometimes I think—maybe, if one day, I really break, they’ll let me go on break.” It’s word vomit. Satoru, you’re scaring your cat. “But then I get all sick and hateful all over again, because what if it wasn’t the job? What if it’s me? What if I just hate everything? At least in this job, they all need me. I’m needed here. I’d probably kill myself if I didn’t feel needed.” Satoru sniffs. “Is that pathetic?”
Megumi doesn’t breathe.
“One order for Gojo-san!”
Hana waltzes over. She lays out tray full of a burger, fries, strawberry milkshake, and cookie in front of Satoru. “For Gojo-san,” she sings. And then, she sets down an identical tray in front of Megumi, only his milkshake is vanilla. “And for Gojo-san’s very special someone!”
Then, she puts down an imposing plate of fries, and two extra cookies wrapped in paper bags. She settles down a caddy of ketchup and mustard before setting her hands on her hips.
“Anything else I can get for you two?” She asks.
Satoru smiles at her. He feels like a puppet-person. “No. Thanks, Hana.”
She walks away with a wave and a just shout if you need anything! No questions asked. Her foot steps pad away. Until it’s just the two of them again.
“Sorry, that was so weird,” Satoru laughs. He waves at Megumi’s tray. “Eat up!”
Satoru’s three giant bites into his burger when he realizes—Megumi hasn’t moved at all. He’s in that same still statue posture, staring at the burger like it’s threatened him personally.
“Something wrong with your food?” Satoru asks. He’s got a mouthful of burger. He can’t be bothered to care. “We can order something else—”
“Is this for me?” Megumi asks.
It’s quiet. Satoru blinks down at Megumi, his frail collarbones straining at his skin, his big green eyes looking at the food like it’s a trap, and—
Oh.
“Who else would it be for?” Satoru chuckles. He tries not to vomit all over the table. “Of course it’s for you!”
Slowly, Megumi takes the burger between his fingers. It looks laughably large in Megumi’s hands. If Satoru didn’t want to die so bad, he’d probably laugh in Megumi’s face about it.
And then, ever so cautious Megumi is, he takes a bite of the burger.
Immediately, Megumi shivers. Oh God. Fuck. Did Satoru just poison his cat? No. Wait. Not shivering. Megumi’s—shaking. No. Not shaking either. What the hell is he doing? His chest is humming, and his shoulders are vibrating, and there’s not quite a smile on his face, but his guard is more down than Satoru’s ever seen it, and—
He’s purring. Megumi is purring.
Megumi takes another bite of his burger. And then another. And another. Small little bird bites. Kitten bites, Satoru corrects. Kitten bites. Because Megumi’s his cat.
Below his breath, Satoru lets out a chuckle. “So,” Satoru says. “Do you like burgers?”
Satoru can see it—below Megumi’s hat, his ears perk up. He blinks up at Satoru from over his burger, a bit of grease on his lip.
Megumi nods. Once. Twice. “Yes,” he answers. And then, as if remembering something, he quickly adds, “Thank you, Gojo-sama.”
Satoru nearly spits out his milkshake.
“Oh God,” Satoru chokes. “Please never call me that again. Reminds me of my mother.”
Immediately, Megumi retreats into himself again. He sinks into his seat, small and quiet, his burger held up to his chin, eyes lowered.
“Sorry,” Megumi whispers. He pauses for a beat, eyes searching for the right word. “Alpha—”
The word makes the back of Satoru’s neck prickle. Alpha. He feels something pull on his chest. Alpha. That’s right.
“Satoru,” Satoru says. His voice breaks. Fuck. “You can call me Satoru.”
Megumi’s eyebrows knit together. “Satoru-sama?”
“Just Satoru—you know what? We’ll work on it.”
Satoru lets the conversation die there. He’s more worried about Megumi eating. Alpha. Satoru feels his face turn pink. Satoru’s never had someone call him—that word. Intuitively, he knows he’s an alpha. Duh. He looks like an alpha. Tall, broad, strong. He has ruts. Albeit spent alone. But he has them. He forms a knot. It’s never been inside someone. But still. And he smells like an alpha. Like sea air and musk and salt and sweat.
It’s just—it’s different to hear Megumi say it. Alpha. You’re my alpha.
Satoru scratches the back of his head. He shifts in his seat. He ignores the feeling between his legs. Down, boy. Instead, he focuses all his energy on making sure Megumi’s eating.
His cat eats slow. Can only take a bite, or two, before looking up at Satoru like he’s worried Satoru’s about to take the food away from him at any moment. When he calms down enough to be sure that Satoru’s not about to rip away his burger, he takes a bite. Rinse and repeat until the burger’s done.
Satoru swallows.
“Have you tried a fry?” Satoru manages out. He thinks he’s going to die here. Instead of doing that, he takes a fry from his tray, and dips it in ketchup, vacuuming it into his mouth and making a big show of it all. “They’re delicious. I love them here.”
Megumi studies his motions very, very carefully. He does the same things Satoru just did. And when the fry hits his tongue, he lets out a little satisfied hum. And eats another. And another.
Satoru leans his head on his hand, resting his elbow on the table. “Have you ever had a milkshake before?”
Megumi only bats his eyelashes. Satoru doesn’t even think it’s on purpose—Megumi’s just ridiculously cute.
“Well, I love them,” Satoru says. He takes an exaggerated sip of his own and lets out a satisfied ah. “Do you know if you like strawberry or vanilla more?” The slightest shake of Megumi’s head. “Okay. That’s okay. Why don’t you try yours first, and then you can try mine, and we’ll see which one you prefer, okay?”
Megumi bring the straw to his lips. Satoru purposefully looks at the ceiling.
And then, Megumi inhales the entire thing in one slurp.
Satoru’s mouth hangs open. Megumi’s licking his lips, eyes wide and bright, and he brings his hand to his mouth to kitten lick there, too, before remembering himself. Suddenly, he drops his hand, and his eyes flicker up to Satoru’s, face glowing red.
“Sorry,” Megumi whispers. His ears twitch.
Satoru’s mouth is still hanging open. Fuck. He immediately shuts it and schools his expression into something much more cool and relaxed. Yes. Satoru is handling this all perfectly.
“Nothing to apologize for!” Satoru laughs. He scratches the back of his head. Hah. Hah. “Hey, do you want the rest of my food?”
Satoru points at his half-eaten burger and pile of fries, his milkshake basically untouched. He’s pretty sure if he tried to eat right now, he’d end up throwing the food across the room and screaming and crying before throwing up about how unfair everything is.
Megumi tilts his head to the side. “But—” Megumi says. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Nah,” Satoru waves him off. “I ate before this.” Liar. “I insist. Eat. You’d be doing me a favor.”
And for added measure, Satoru pushes his tray towards Megumi. Megumi waits a moment, then another, before finally taking the smallest bite of Satoru’s burger.
Small victory.
It’s weird. This is weird, right? Sitting and watching your newly adopted omega cat boy eat food in complete silence is most definitely weird. And actually, the weirdest part about all of this is that this is probably the happiest Satoru’s been in—a really long time. Just sitting and watching his cat nibble on his food that Satoru bought for him, swimming in Satoru’s clothes, his cheeks pink and flushed and round from being fed, his ears perking up whenever he sips on his strawberry milkshake. His alpha preens. Satoru’s never felt the need to take care of an omega before. He’d thought his alpha’s instincts had all been squashed out of him to make room for that corpse-like figure he’s become.
But now, Satoru’s head feels—quiet. It feels like all that noise when away. Like Six Eyes went to bed for a little. Like Megumi’s holding him still.
Satoru’s joy can only last so long though.
His phone rings. The violins of “Toxic.” Immediately, Megumi flinches, his ears going flat, sinking back into his seat. Shit. Any progress made in the last five minutes gone out the window. Satoru resists the urge to throw his phone across the room.
He checks the caller ID. Yaga.
“Uh—” Satoru stares at his phone screen. He stares at Megumi and starts to get up out of his seat. “Uh—sorry, I have to take this—”
Megumi’s eyes go wide. The darkness beneath him laps at the edges towards Satoru. He looks—panicked.
Satoru gets an idea. “Hey, Hana!”
From across the diner, Hana shuffles on over. “How can I help, Gojo-san?”
“Can you watch Megumi for a moment?” Satoru asks, already walking away towards the back. Does not elaborate why he needs her to watch over a teenage boy. Realistically, Satoru knows Megumi will be fine—he wraps Infinity around Megumi, and the only indication that Megumi notices anything amiss is him sneezing (and that’s stupidly cute, too.) But still. You can never be too cautious.
Satoru gets to the bathroom, locks the door shut behind him, and opens his phone.
“What?”
“Good evening to you, too, Satoru,” Yaga says.
“What do you want?” Satoru says between his teeth. He eyes the door. He already feels anxious. “I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Oh?” Yaga hums. “What’s going—”
“None of your business,” Satoru snaps. “Now, either tell me why you’re bothering me or leave me the fuck alone.”
“Pleasant as always, Satoru.”
Satoru scoffs and removes the phone from his ear. He’s just about one second from hanging up when Yaga goes—
“There’s been a murder.”
Satoru’s eye twitches. He brings his phone back to his ear.
“A murder?” Satoru echoes.
“Yes, that is what I just said—”
“You’re calling me about a murder,” Satoru interrupts.
“It’s an extraordinary case, Satoru. It’s in Tokyo, and I know you’re back, so we could really use your set of eyes on the—”
“Exactly. I just got back. Don’t I deserve one fucking evening?” Satoru hisses. “I don’t care about a murder. I think I might be dying, too. What are you going to do about that, Yaga?”
A pause. “Satoru, is everything okay—”
“No, everything is not okay!” When did Satoru start screaming? “I think I’m going to hyperventilate and vomit and throw you across the room into it. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go back to my fucking cat who I’m pretty sure I’m traumatizing with every moment I’m gone.”
Before Satoru can hear another word, he hangs up.
He takes a look into the mirror. Out of breath. Panting. He looks—like shit. Well, the blindfold hides the worst of it, the bags under his eyes, how red and shot they are from days without sleep, but still—his hair’s sticking out every which direction, and his shoulders are all tense, and he feels like he needs to scream off the ledge of a very tall building and then maybe jump off it.
“What are you doing?” Satoru asks the mirror.
He thinks about Megumi. His frail bones sticking out. His ears flattening at any small sound, jumping at any sudden movement. His big saucer eyes constantly looking towards Satoru—am I doing this wrong? What about this? Will this make you happy with me?
What are you doing? The answer is easy. Megumi. Satoru can do that.
Satoru waltzes out of the bathroom like nothing had ever happened. Because it didn’t. Nothing happened. At their booth in the corner, Hana’s talking animatedly with her hands—it looks like she’s imitating a bird, or a plane, or something else with wings. Megumi, for his part, looks just about two seconds from passing out.
Until the moment Satoru enters the room. Immediately, Megumi’s eyes finds him, and his cat lets out a long breath. The shadows beneath his feet settle.
Hana follows Megumi’s stare until she sees Satoru. “Gojo-san!” Hana says. She skips over to him before he reaches the booth and leans over to whisper into his ear, “Hey, I really like him! He’s a keeper. Kind of skittish, but in a cute sort of way. Bring him around more often?”
Satoru nods. If Hana notices how he’s shaking, she doesn’t say a word.
Wordlessly, Satoru slides back into the booth. When he looks up, Megumi’s already looking at him.
“You ate all your food,” Satoru says, smiling. His chest feels lighter already. “That’s good.”
Megumi stares at him. Satoru wonders what Megumi sees when he looks at him. Satoru wonders why it feels like Megumi can see right through him.
“Satoru-sama,” Megumi begins. “Do you want to share a cookie?”
Megumi’s already eaten one. He’s got a second in his hand. And he blinks up at Satoru with those big green eyes. It’s not—Satoru, you don’t look too good, or Satoru, when’s the last time you slept, or Satoru, are you okay? Satoru hates that last one most of all. If you’re asking someone if they’re okay, they’re obviously not okay.
But Megumi—just wants to share a cookie with Satoru.
“Yes,” Satoru whispers. He lets out a laugh. “Yes, I’d love to share a cookie.”
Carefully, Megumi splits his cookie in half, and gives the bigger part to Satoru. Satoru doesn’t even try to fight it. They eat their cookies in silence. They listen to the rain start to fall against the window.
-
Satoru lives in a small house on the outskirts of Tokyo. He could afford a penthouse in the center of the city, but he tried that for a month and almost ended up throwing himself from the balcony. It all got so bright and loud and busy and he heard every laugh down at the street and every footstep and every car and every light. It felt like that fucking dagger digging into his skull whenever he had to force himself to go to the grocery store and face all those people in all those crowds and pretend he was a normal person and not some body being lugged around by a string, an eye at the center of a storm, a thing that things happened to.
So, instead of throwing himself off the building (it wouldn’t kill him, his body wouldn’t allow it), Satoru bought a house in a sleepy neighborhood off a quiet side street in a mildly rundown part of town. He likes it. It’s mostly families and old people. Satoru lives at the end of the block, carving his role out as the mysterious, elusive stranger of his street. His neighbor is a grandma, who insists on giving him the oranges off her tree as an excuse to try to set him up with her granddaughter because handsome young man like you shouldn’t be tied down in a neighborhood like this, you should be out with your friends, finding a good girl, exploring the world.
Satoru has explored the world. Turns out, he doesn’t want it.
“Home sweet home!”
Ijichi pulls up to the house and turns off the car. Before Megumi can think about it, Satoru grabs Megumi’s bag and opens the door, swinging his legs out and taking a long stretch.
A moment passes. No one else moves. Satoru ducks his head back into the car, just to find—Megumi sitting there. Pressed against the corner of his seat. Staring up at the house. Staring up at Satoru.
“What’s wrong, Megumi?” Satoru asks. He waves his hand out to the air. It’s drizzling out. “Is what they say about cats true? Do you guys not like getting wet?”
Megumi blinks. Satoru knows that look—because, well, it’s basically the only look Megumi can make—and he knows that Megumi is scared to say whatever is on his mind.
Satoru kind of wishes he threw himself off that building.
Instead, he smiles and chuckles under his breath. “I mean, I know it’s not much—” Satoru motions to the house behind him. It’s green. When Satoru was searching for a different place to live (that wasn’t that cursed apartment, and wasn’t his mother’s house), it was between this house and another, and Satoru chose this one. He’s just always liked the color.
“But it’s mine,” Satoru says. For good measure, he sticks his hand out in offering. “And now yours, too!”
Megumi’s staring at Satoru’s hand like it’s a fucking bomb. And then, so quiet, Satoru almost doesn’t hear it over the sound of the rain, Megumi whispers:
“My house?”
It’s Satoru’s turn to be confused. “Yeah,” he says. Very slowly. Drawing out the vowels. “Your house!”
“But—” Megumi’s eyebrows scrunch together. His nose twitches. “It’s your house.”
“Our house, then.” What the fuck are they saying? Satoru feels like he’s playing fucking Telephone. “We both live here. And eat and sleep and do whatever. And we can come and go as we please. What, did you expect me to make you sleep outside?”
Satoru laughs. Because it’s a joke he just made. Hah hah. So funny. But Megumi’s face falls, his ears going flat (he’s still wearing Satoru’s hat and jacket), his shoulders curling in on himself, and Satoru suddenly feels like he could probably kill someone. Several someones. Very violently, too. No grace. Satoru will rip their heads from their shoulders and let Megumi lick his hands clean. Hah. So, so funny.
Satoru needs to sleep.
It’s raining. Satoru’s getting a bit soaked, now, standing outside the car with his head in and ass out. Like an idiot. It’s raining, and Satoru feels too big for his skin, and his clothes are sticking all over him, and his damn cat who is scared whenever Satoru sneezes around him won’t get out of the car, and he is so, so tired.
And because he can—because Megumi is his cat, fuck it, Satoru fucking bought him, fair and square—Satoru reaches across the seat, grabs Megumi by the waist, and sets him down on the ground.
“There,” Satoru breathes. He looks into the car. “Ijichi, fuck off. Megumi, let’s go.”
Satoru gives Megumi The Tour™.
“This is the living room.”
The living room. Which is also the dining room. Which is also the kitchen. It makes up the entirety of the first floor, and—shit. Satoru didn’t clean. From the hallway entrance, Satoru can already see the pile of dishes in the sink that are growing—mysterious things. The giant stack of paperwork piled on the dining room table, old reports Satoru hasn’t filled out and probably will never fill out. The pile of unfolded laundry on the couch. The half-eaten container of cookies. The shuttered blinds. The empty walls.
“Ignore—this.” Satoru waves in front of the whole room. As if waving his hand around will hide it from Megumi’s vision. Right. He wants to make a good first impression. Why? He’s a cat, Satoru. “I promise I’m not usually like this.” He is. “I’ll fix it.” What the fuck is he saying? Megumi’s his cat. Satoru got him for the expressed reason to have someone clean up after him. “Don’t worry. Let’s go upstairs.”
“This is the bathroom.”
A sink. A shower. A tub. A toilet. Satoru is too embarrassed to ask if Megumi’s house-trained and if Satoru’s expected to like, bathe him or something. He feels his face go red, and he shuts the bathroom door behind the two of them before he can linger on the image of scratching Megumi’s ears when he’s in the bathtub, Megumi purring as he nudges Satoru’s hands, smiling sweetly into his palm.
Satoru resolves himself to searching both of those questions on his phone later, alone, and to never think about them ever again.
“This is my room.”
They stand outside a closed door. Satoru’s most certainly not going to show Megumi his room. His room, which has blackout curtains, a white noise machine, a mattress, and not much else. He’s got a pile of dirty clothes spilling out of his closet. He’s got an absurdly large collection of glasses. He’s got that bullshit diary that Shoko makes him keep because Satoru, if you don’t let it out, it’s all going to spill.
All that being said—it’s all stuff Megumi does not need to see.
“And this is your room.”
Satoru swings the door open. Oh, thank God. Ijichi got the room set up for him. Satoru had asked—told—okay, demanded—that Ijichi get everything sorted out for his newly arrived cat boy when Satoru was away. This room’s usually dead empty (Satoru occasionally used it to have some place to go facedown and scream into the floor), but Ijichi’s gotten Megumi a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and even a desk. It’s more furnished than Satoru’s room. The sheets are a dull shade of grey. Not Satoru’s choice, but Satoru does vaguely remember Ijichi calling him in the middle of battle. He was too busy exorcising the big ass dragon covered in a thousand eyes to really care, but it was definitely something about a sheet color. And Satoru answered Ijichi, do whatever, see if I care, just make sure you have mochi ready for me by the time I get to the car—
“My room?”
Satoru looks down at Megumi. Except Megumi’s eyes are fixated on the room like Satoru’s just dragged him to the fucking guillotine.
“Uh—I know it’s pretty small,” Satoru says. His voice cracks. Embarrassing. He’s an alpha, for fuck’s sake. “And I—I know the sheets are really ugly. We’ll get new ones for you tomorrow, okay? Oh! I could let you use my sheets for tonight. They’re blue.” Satoru thinks about that for a second. “Wait—you probably won’t like that. They’re soaked in my scent—” And now that Satoru’s said that out loud, he realizes—why doesn’t Megumi have a scent—
“This is mine?” Megumi whispers.
Megumi refuses to step inside, his feet hanging by the doorway, leaning into Satoru’s body heat. The darkness crawls to Satoru’s feet. Satoru wonders if Megumi thinks he’s going to like, trap Megumi in here or something. It would probably be only the fifth most mortifying thing Satoru’s heard today.
“Yeah,” Satoru answers.
He realizes how close him and Megumi are. Huddled in a doorway together. Satoru doesn’t want to step inside, though. It’s Megumi’s space. Satoru knows—from textbooks and things he’s read online—that omegas can get pretty territorial about their space and scents, especially when it comes to alphas. And that’s not even to mention their nests (and no, Satoru’s face doesn’t get red thinking of Megumi building a nest in Satoru’s house, thanks.) And if omegas get that protective over their space, Satoru only imagines it’s compounded for omega hybrids.
“But you’re—”Megumi’s eyebrows knit together. “Over there.”
Megumi points across the hall. To Satoru’s room.
“Yeah?” Satoru says. Again. Like an idiot. “Don’t worry—if you need anything throughout the night, just knock on my door.”
Megumi’s nose scrunches. Satoru decides he’s put his foot in his mouth enough times for one day.
“I’m going to go to bed,” Satoru declares. He sets Megumi’s bag down inside the room, takes a step back, turns around and is about to finally end this day when he realizes. “Wait—shit, let me grab you a towel.”
Satoru runs inside his room, shuts the door behind him, slaps his forehead three times, and then comes out with a towel. He’s about two seconds from his brain imploding and blowing up half of Tokyo with it, so he barely has the grace or decency, just tosses Megumi the towel, it landing indelicately on top of Megumi’s head as Satoru’s sprinting back to his own room and slamming the door behind him.
Immediately, Satoru’s back sinks against the door, and he curls into a ball, shoving his head between his knees as he tries to remember those stupid breathing exercises Shoko told him about. What was it? Deep slow breaths. Right. Not working. Satoru’s fucking hyperventilating. What else did Shoko tell him? Five things you can see, Satoru. Four things you can touch. Three things you hear. Two things you smell. One thing you taste.
Except all Satoru can think about is Megumi. His fucking cat. He adopted a cat.
“Oh God,” Satoru whispers. “Satoru, what the fuck?”
He closes his eyes, and he remembers seeing Megumi’s green ones, blinking up at him with equal parts fear and attachment, not knowing which one to pick, not knowing which Satoru would like more on him. He remembers grabbing Megumi, Satoru’s hands nearly wrapping around Megumi’s waist entirely. He remembers Megumi’s small quiet voice—alpha. He remembers Megumi’s complete lack of scent. He remembers strawberry milkshakes. He remembers the shadows pooling at his feet—are you like me, do you remember me, do you know me, will you keep me once you do—
Mei Mei told him—he’s not going to be what you want. It’s hilarious, because that’s not the issue. That’s not the issue at all.
Satoru’s just not good for Megumi.
“I’m going to fuck him up,” Satoru says into his knees. “What the fuck?”
And Satoru’s completely fucked Megumi already. Because—what? It’s not like Satoru can take him back. That’ll traumatize the cat even more than Satoru’s already done. And Satoru refuses to be like—like those other alphas, taking Megumi home only to leave him once they didn’t like what they saw. No, Satoru likes him too much. That’s the whole problem. Satoru won’t let him go.
No. Satoru—he makes things happen. There’s nothing he can’t do. That’s his whole shtick. Strongest, honored, the balance of the world changing when he was born, yadda yadda, you get it. Satoru’s fucking exorcised Special Grade Curses by yawning too loud. This is just another thing to master.
Satoru’s going to be the best fucking cat owner to ever fucking exist.
He strips down to his boxers and slides into bed. On his phone, he searches “does my hybrid need to be house-trained?” (no, hybrids learn how to use the bathroom the same way human babies do) and “do I need to bathe my hybrid?” (hybrids also learn how to shower the same way humans do, but some like to be groomed by their owners, and some owners like it for their own pleasure—Satoru stops reading there. Bathing Megumi is not about him. Even if it would theoretically bring him much joy.) There’s even special hybrid shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, designed specifically to be gentle on ears and tails, all of which Satoru purchases immediately.
Turns out—there’s a lot of hybrid care content out there. He scrolls through the podcasts, most of which consist of varying degrees of exploring you and your hybrid’s sexuality or disciplining your omega hybrid in the bedroom, which he pointedly ignores. Eventually, Satoru finds one called Plans for Paws that leans more into the care side, one that focuses on hybrid comfort and safety. It even discusses some laws that he’s never heard about before. He goes to bed listening to it, making mental notes of places to scratch (cheeks and under the chin), places maybe to scratch (the belly, once you get close), and places to most definitely not scratch (the tail and ears—apparently very vulnerable and sensitive places for omega hybrids.)
See? Satoru can do this. He’s got this.
-
Satoru’s pretty sure he’s in heaven.
Everything’s all warm and gentle and—and floaty. That’s it. Satoru feels like he’s floating. His mind’s gone all quiet, and his chest is flooded with heat, and there’s pleasure building up his spine, all the way from his heart to between his hips. Something warm and wet and tight. Like there’s something holding him. Like there’s something that wants him. Satoru could die here. Maybe he should. Then he could feel like this forever. Warm. Seen. Held.
His hands reach down. Into something—soft.
Slowly, Satoru’s eyes flicker open. And then he sees it.
It takes a moment for Satoru to register what exactly is happening. He blinks, once, twice, to make sure it’s not a dream. Because this is something that Satoru reserves exclusively for his dreams. Megumi, on his hands and knees, naked. He’s naked, oh my God, he’s naked. And now that Satoru’s seen it, he can’t unsee it—Megumi’s little kitten tits and flushed pink nipples, the slope of his waist and the curve of his hips, his tiny pink kitten cunt fluttering around nothing and his tail swaying back and forth, the end of it tickling Satoru’s leg, wrapping around his thigh.
And Megumi’s lips. Wrapped around him. Suckling his cock.
Megumi pops off with a loud slurping sound. It’s obscene. He licks his lips and then kitten licks the head of Satoru’s cock, his eyes flickering up to Satoru’s, noticing he’s awake.
“Satoru-sama?”
Satoru’s hands are in Megumi’s hair. He doesn’t even know how that happened. He’s holding Megumi there. One of his hands is even cupping his cheek. Like how the podcast said. Pet them there. It makes them feel like they’re doing a good job.
“Satoru-sama?” Megumi asks again. He blinks over Satoru’s cock, pressing a kiss to the head before leaning his cheek on the side of it, over a throbbing vein. Megumi gets some of Satoru’s come smeared on his cheek. “Am I doing good?”
It’s as if a switch was flipped. One second, Megumi’s on Satoru’s bed, and the next, Satoru’s gone and—and pushed Megumi off the bed into a pile of sheets and blankets on the floor. Megumi falls off with an oof, rolling across the floor one, two, three times before coming to a stop, ass up in the air, tail swaying.
“Oh my God,” Satoru whispers to himself. He properly sits up, carding his fingers through his hair, and then tugs hard enough for a chunk to fall out. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god—”
From the floor, Megumi sits up on his knees. Satoru’s too busy having a mental breakdown to really notice.
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god—” Satoru murmurs. He runs his hands over his face and then smacks himself on the forehead. “Oh my god—this is so wrong.” He gasps for air and stares at Megumi. Megumi. His cat. “This is so, so wrong.”
Megumi’s ears fall flat on his head. He looks like he’s about to cry.
“Did I—” Megumi swallows. “Did I do it wrong? I’m sorry.”
Satoru lets out a groan and falls back onto the bed. He grabs a pillow and smashes it over his face and hopes he suffocates. He’s a terrible person. His cat’s about to cry, and all Satoru can think about is mounting him and knotting his little kitten cunt.
“Everything is so bad,” Satoru yells into the pillow.
From the floor, there’s a small, quiet voice. The shadows start to crawl across the floor.
“I’m bad?”
Satoru’s going to hell.
“No!” Immediately, Satoru sits up. The pillow flies across the bed. No matter. He looks Megumi directly in the eye—this is ridiculous, they’re both naked and staring at each other across the room, fuck Satoru’s stupid fucking life.
“Megumi, you’re perfect,” Satoru assures him. “Okay, got it? You’re perfect. I’m bad.”
At that, Megumi’s nose scrunches. There’s darkness on the walls. “You’re not bad.”
“Oh, but I am,” Satoru moans. He hides his face in his hands and shakes his head. “I’m a bad, bad man.”
“You’re not,” Megumi says. His voice is a little rough. Because Satoru’s dick was down it. Yeah, Satoru’s never seeing heaven. This is the closest he’ll come. A cat. “You got me a burger,” Megumi continues. “And—and fries. And a milkshake. And cookies.”
“I legally own you, Megumi. Like a piece of fucking furniture,” Satoru snaps. If Megumi didn’t think he was mean before, he definitely thinks it now. “I fucking bought you. And now you feel like you have to do—” Satoru can’t even say the words. He just motions to his dick. “That for me.”
Megumi tilts his head to the side, eyebrows knitted together. “You sent me to—that room—” And Megumi points behind his shoulder. “And I thought—you were mad at me. I just wanted to make you happy.” He swallows and blinks up at Satoru. “I’m a good cat. I promise.”
“Megumi,” Satoru says, very slowly, so Megumi gets it through his head. “I know you’re a good cat. You don’t need to do—that for me to prove it.”
Megumi’s ears flatten on the top of his head. “But I’m supposed to.” Behind him, his shadow grows. It sounds like time creaking. “I’m your cat.”
Satoru groans. Partially because he can’t say anything right to Megumi. Partially because he’s so fucking angry at the world for making Megumi like—this. Partially because the way Megumi said I’m your cat made his cock grow even harder, because fuck, he is Satoru’s cat, and an evil part of Satoru does want to breed Megumi full of kittens.
“I don’t know what the other people who adopted you did—” Actually, Satoru has a pretty good idea, and he’s half-tempted to call Mei Mei up and ask for a list of them so he can take care of it himself. “—but you don’t have to do anything like that for me. Okay? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that.”
Megumi blinks up at him with those big, sad eyes. Above him, a wheel clicks.
“You don’t want me?”
“Of course I do,” Satoru says immediately. Probably a little louder than necessary. Satoru falls to the floor, his arm raised to comfort his—his cat. Because Megumi is his.
But before Satoru can touch him, their shadows do. And that’s when it starts.
The pool of shadows at Megumi’s feet reach back out to him. Like they want Satoru. Like they remember him. And from where their shadows touch, Satoru sees it. Them. Shadows crawling across the floor, clawing up the walls. Two wolves. Megumi has wolves. They emerge from the darkness, shaking off thick black tar, stepping between Megumi and Satoru. Beasts from a thousand years ago, monsters Satoru’s only read about in books, shadows that swallowed empires.
They’re here. Gods that ate time. And they’re licking Megumi’s ears.
“Oh,” Satoru breathes.
Then, he laughs. He laughs harder than he has his entire life.
“That’s what you’ve been hiding from me.”