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When Azuma doesn’t show up for breakfast, Sakyo doesn’t think much of it.
When Azuma doesn’t show up for lunch either, he thinks he’s probably gone out for the day— much earlier than usual, and without telling anyone either, but not especially unheard of for a lazy Friday in Winter Troupe’s off-season, even if that off-season is coming to an end.
He isn’t home for dinner that day, getting called out mid-afternoon on some business that needs to be handled promptly. When it starts bucketing down rain in the early evening, he hardly spares a thought for anything beyond what a pain it’s going to be to get back to the dorms when he didn’t take the car.
On the way home from work that night, through an icy haze of rain, he spots an indistinct shape at the side of the road. At first he thinks it's probably a wadded up sweatshirt or something until he gets close, and his stomach sinks as he recognizes the still body of a large gray cat splayed on its side in the water. Probably hit by a car, he thinks with a surge of pity. Shame.
He means to just walk past but something makes him pause, examining the ragged shape for signs of life. He actually starts, straightening up, when the cat takes a shallow breath. He crouches on the curb to look more closely, holding the umbrella over it in case it was just the movement of the rain on its fur, and this time there's no mistaking it. Things just got much more complicated.
Hesitantly, pretty sure it's a bad idea to touch a strange animal that might be hurt but not sure what else to do, he reaches out. "Don't bite me." He says, even though he knows there's no point. "I'm not gonna hurt you, all right?"
The waterlogged fur is ice cold and the cat underneath is cool to the touch, but he can feel a small heartbeat under his hand, and then he knows he's not going to leave it lying there. Cursing himself and his soft heart, he tries to gently move the cat out of the gutter with one hand, then wedges the handle of his umbrella between his neck and shoulder like an old landline phone receiver to use both when it's too heavy and awkward for one. Flipping the cat over doesn't reveal any obvious injuries, but that doesn't mean there aren't any internal ones. He should probably take it to a vet.
The Mankai dorms are close, though, and someone there will have a better idea what to do than him. He curls the unresisting little body into a bowling ball to carry in one arm, knowing the whole side of his coat is going to be soaked by the time he gets home.
As he walks, he feels the cat stir slightly in his arm, and puts the other hand over its side in case it decides to try and jump down. "Come on, don't make this hard on me." He says quietly. "I didn't have to pick you up, you know."
The cat doesn't try and get away, though. It leans into his side, weakly putting one wet paw on the back of his hand. Warily, he starts to try and draw the bare hand away in case claws are forthcoming, but it reaches out again more insistently, claws withdrawn, tugging on his wrist. How weird. He leaves his hand there for the time being, then, holding the umbrella with his jaw and shoulder again.
After another minute of walking, he feels a faint rumble under his hand and looks down at the cat in disbelief. This animal, maybe hours from death, was just picked out of the gutter by a strange human and is now being carried off fuck knows where and it's purring. He feels almost sick with pity. He just hopes it's going to live.
"What happened to you?" He says, rubbing his thumb against the bedraggled fur. "Why didn't you get out of the rain?" The cat doesn't respond except to purr louder, burying its nose under his arm.
He opens the door to the lounge to find most of summer troupe seated around the coffee table, two at the sofa and two crosslegged on the floor. He opens his mouth to ask why they're all awake at this time of night when Misumi bounces to his feet with a loud, "Sakyo brought home a kitty!"
The others' heads turn nearly in unison to stare, Yuki's eyebrows going up and Kazunari's mouth turning into a perfect circle. Muku pops up over the back of the couch to look, his eyes going wide at the sight of Sakyo in the doorway with a soaked coat and a half-drowned cat in his arms.
"I. Uh, I thought it was dead at first. It was in the gutter." Under the sudden scrutiny he finds himself about as articulate as Juza on a bad day, somehow obscurely embarrassed. "Can someone get a towel?"
A few minutes later, after getting the strangely cooperative cat toweled off and wrapped up with two hot water bottles dug out of storage early, they’re all sitting and standing awkwardly around the coffee table while Misumi kneels next to the blob of toweling on it, meowing and chirping with uncanny realism.
"He says he's not hurt, just cold." Misumi says calmly, looking up at the rest of the group. Sakyo... still doesn't know if he believes in Misumi's ability to talk to cats, but it’s still oddly reassuring. The cat certainly isn't acting hurt, anyway.
"Why didn't he get out of the rain?" Sakyo asks, and Misumi doesn't relay the question, just answers directly.
"He got lost while he was trying to get home." He says, and Sakyo supposes the cat already told him that during their first exchange... if this is even real, that is. "He couldn't see very far in the rain, and the colder he got the more confused he got, until he couldn't find anywhere to hide and got so cold he couldn't walk anymore..." He pats the bundle of towels sympathetically.
"Trying to get home?" Sakyo says, sitting up straighter. So the cat does have an owner, then. Maybe if Misumi's right, he could even help them find this owner. "Where's home?"
"Here, of course," Misumi says easily, again without relaying the question.
Well, if this is one of the courtyard cats, that might explain why he was able to pick it up without resistance— though it does seem a little far-fetched that one of them would recognize him while semi-conscious when he doesn't spend a lot of time interacting with them to begin with. Maybe it's just a sociable cat, though.
The next morning, Azuma isn’t there at breakfast, and a worried comment from Kazunari about him not answering his texts makes an uncomfortable tangle of concern start to manifest in the pit of his stomach. Well, he’s planning to work from home today, so even if Azuma comes home in the afternoon and everyone else is out there’ll still be someone here to welcome him back. Heading into the lounge with his laptop and a pre-work cup of coffee, he half-expects to see the gray cat in there but isn’t expecting to discover that it’s actually a white cat that was just extremely dirty.
“We gave him a bath to make sure he didn’t have any injuries, but we thought we should keep him inside so we can keep an eye on him at least for now,” Muku explains, stroking the cat with a soft smile. “Isn’t he pretty? I didn’t realize we had an angora cat here at the dorms.” The cat turns its face away demurely, almost as if it understands the compliment.
“Wait, d’you think he’s an angora? I thought they were smaller than that.” Kazunari says, looking up from his own laptop.
“He’s a pretty big cat.” Sakyo agrees, taking a seat on the sofa with his coffee. The cat perks up with a soft chirp, golden eyes blinking open, and walks over with its long plume of a tail swishing. “Oh.” He says, lifting his coffee cup in surprise as it gracefully leaps onto the couch and flows into his lap like spilled milk, curling up and immediately beginning to purr softly. “I… fine, I guess.” He gives it a scratch under the chin, saying, “I’m gonna have to start working once I’m done with my coffee, y’know.” And then wonders why he keeps wanting to talk to it like a human.
Azuma still doesn’t surface by noon, which isn’t completely unheard of for him, but Sakyo is still becoming irrationally worried— or maybe rationally worried, given that Azuma not answering his phone for this long is a lot more of an oddity. The director even goes around asking if anyone’s heard from him, her face growing a little more distressed with each “no.”
“I wonder if he’s gotten stuck in that room again…” She murmurs to herself. “I wish I knew how to get it open so I could check…”
Sakyo doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but he reassures himself that Azuma will probably just come home on Monday with a hell of a story to tell. Probably one only the adults should hear. He tries to reassure himself, anyway.
"He really likes you, huh." Yuki says with a little grin, lowering his hand sewing for a moment and watching the white cat curl up in Sakyo's lap again after being gently removed for the second time. He doesn't dislike it, to be honest, he's just trying to work and the cat is making it hard. It probably isn’t helping that he keeps absentmindedly scratching him between the ears.
"Do you think he knows Sakyo is the one who rescued him?" Muku says, eyes shining.
"Mhmm," Misumi hums in agreement. "It's Azuma," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Everyone just looks at him for a moment, baffled. Sakyo thinks for a second that he means he's just gotten a message from Azuma, but he doesn't have his phone out.
"What?" Yuki eventually says, succinctly.
"The kittyyyyy." Misumi says, leaning back on his hands. "He's Azuma. He says he doesn't know how to turn back to normal, but he's home now, so it's okay. Right?"
Sakyo resists rolling his eyes somehow. Now he knows whatever Misumi thinks he's doing talking to the cats isn't real, and it's stupid but he can't keep his heart from sinking a little at that.
“That’d explain why he’s all over Frooch then!” Kazunari laughs, in a tone Sakyo doesn’t know where to start interpreting. He looks down at the cat rubbing his (white, furry) face on the front of Sakyo’s (black, previously non-furry) turtleneck.
“This is something he’d do if he thought he could get away with it, isn’t it.” Sakyo mutters, his hand betraying him by automatically going to ruffle the soft white fur. The cat sprawls out on his lap, purring loudly and stretching with a very smug little expression, spreading fur onto his slacks like butter on toast. Next to him on the sofa, Yuki snorts.
That evening, as he’s settling down with a bit of bedtime reading, he hears his door open.
“Who is it.” He says brusquely, irritated at someone intruding without knocking. Nobody answers for a second, and then the answer he gets is a soft meow.
He sits up, looking over the railing, and on the floor below the white cat is blinking up at him, tail curling into a relaxed question mark. He chirps at the sight of Sakyo’s face, and heads toward the ladder.
“No, come on,” He sighs, placing his bookmark before descending the ladder to shoo the cat out of his room. He doesn’t know how he managed to leave his door unlatched, but he doesn’t make the same mistake twice.
He’s barely returned to bed before he hears the door again, and sits up again in irritation. Is someone letting the cat in? He shoos him out again, making absolutely sure the door is properly closed after scanning the breezeway for potential interlopers.
He’s already put his book down for the night, lights out, and is beginning to drift off to sleep when this time he hears a soft chirp right next to his ear. He opens his eyes.
The white cat tilts his head, giving him a slow blink and flopping onto his side.
“Ugh.” He runs a hand over his face in exasperation. “How the fuck did you learn how to open doors?” The cat trills quietly in response, settling down onto his coverlet with a contented expression. He lets out a long sigh while he considers his options. He could keep removing the cat from the room, but if he knows how to open doors he’ll just keep getting back in. Or he could let him stay, and assume that he’ll be able to open the door again if he needs to get out. Either way, Sakyo needs to close the door before all the warm air escapes.
“All right. Fine.” He mutters, and carefully scoops the cat out of the way of the ladder.
He reluctantly ousts himself from bed for what he hopes will be the last time that night. The cat watches him patiently through the railing, and when Sakyo settles back in he flops bonelessly onto Sakyo’s chest, snuggling into his side like the world’s warmest, heaviest stuffed animal. “Fine…” he sighs again, curling his arm around to turn his side into a cozy bed for this unbelievably, stubbornly affectionate cat. The cat responds by turning up the volume on his purr to about eleven or twelve.
“Dammit, you are awfully sweet, aren’t you.” He grumbles sleepily, scratching him gently under the chin with a dry smile. “Yukishiro’d like having a lap cat like you around.” His smile fades. “Assuming we don’t find your owner before he gets home.” Assuming Yukishiro comes home, comes the unwelcome thought, which he tries to dismiss. If he’s not home or answering by Monday, I’ll start seriously looking, he tells himself, but Monday is twenty-four hours away, and that feels… like way too long. Anything can happen in twenty-four hours. It’s already been thirty-six.
Azuma has been gone for a day without answering his phone before, he reminds himself. It’s the weekend, and he has a lot of friends. There’s no reason to assume the worst. But… maybe tomorrow morning, not Monday morning.
He bites his cheek, resolutely closes his eyes, and lets the white cat’s soothing presence lull him into a tense sleep.
Azuma drifts awake in someone else’s bed with a strong arm around his waist. Usually a good start to the day, in his experience. This one is better than usual, because the bed and the arm belong to maybe his favorite person in the world right now. He snuggles in closer to Sakyo’s side, smiling and giving in to the urge to purr. It sounds odd coming out, though, more like a hum, and he opens his eyes to a world that looks slightly different than he’s gotten used to over the past two days, more vibrant and colorful.
He looks up into Sakyo’s face, purring— humming again with contentment. Sakyo’s sleeping face is so adorable. Before now, he’d never realized life could be so simple, or contain joys like this if he just let go of his inhibitions and let things be simple. He decides to simply go back to sleep, closing his eyes on the unexpectedly brilliant image of his hand resting on Sakyo’s chest.
Hand.
His eyes fly open again. He lies frozen for a moment while the complexity of his actual real human life not to mention his relationship with Sakyo hits him like a sack of wet laundry. Sakyo stirs slightly, and he bites his lip until it hurts while his mind does its best impression of a hamster running on a wheel, going extremely fast and yet absolutely nowhere.
“…Yukishiro…?” Sakyo says blearily, and helplessly, he turns his face upward to meet Sakyo’s completely baffled gaze. “…What the fuck?”
“…I’m sorry?” He offers weakly. “I… ah… Things are… simpler when you’re a cat.” That explains nothing, really, but he’s not going to do any better than that right now. He sits up, because it feels better than staying cuddled against Sakyo’s side. Well, no, that felt pretty good, but sitting up feels less illicit. Except it doesn’t, because as he does so the covers slide down off his shoulder and the cool morning air hits his bare skin. All of it above the waist. The only reason it doesn’t hit all his skin below the waist is that below the waist he’s still under the covers. “Oh, dear.” He says, which seems like the biggest understatement he’s ever made.
“…You really were the damn cat?” Sakyo asks, and when Azuma turns his far-warmer-than-usual face to look at him, he really doesn’t look angry at all, just disbelieving.
“…Yes?” Azuma says, hesitantly. “I, ah, I’m sorry for… this… I wasn’t thinking exactly the same way as I normally do.” It sounds like an excuse. “It wasn’t like I didn’t know who I was or anything, but things are… things are a lot simpler for cats…” He repeats, helplessly.
His heart sinks as anger creeps into Sakyo’s expression, and he pulls the sheets up self-consciously. It’s not like Sakyo’s never seen him naked before— they usually see each other naked multiple times a week, it’s just a consequence of preferring to bathe at the same times— but it’s different.
“Why didn’t you get out of the goddamn rain?” Sakyo says roughly, taking him completely by surprise. “You almost died. Would’ve, if I hadn’t found you. Don’t you have any survival instincts at all?”
Well, that wasn’t what he was expecting to be yelled at about.
“Not really.” He says. “I probably would have if I were born a cat, but…” He trails off, looking away. “You’re not mad about…” He gestures vaguely at himself, the bed, Sakyo, the Situation in general.
“I—“ Sakyo’s voice cuts off abruptly, and when Azuma looks back, he’s the one looking away with a redder-than-normal face. “…Whatever.” He says gruffly. “It’s just. You’re all right. I’m glad you’re all right.”
“I’m sorry for worrying you.” Azuma offers gently.
“Yeah, well. I—“ Whatever he was going to say is cut off by a loud knock on the door, which they both turn to look at in sudden rising panic.
“Sakyo! Are you up?!”
“Director, now isn’t—“ Sakyo calls in response, voice still hoarse from sleep.
“It’s an emergency! Are you decent?” She shouts back.
“I— yes, but—“ He shouldn’t have started with ‘yes,’ because Izumi doesn’t wait to hear what the ‘but’ is, flinging the door open.
“I finally got so worried I just went into Azuma’s room, and his phone was—“ She begins, holding up Azuma’s cell phone in one hand. Then she stops, mouth still open. “Oh.” She says.
“Director— This isn’t what it—“ Sakyo begins, sounding like he might be dying.
“Never mind!” Izumi cuts him off, starting to back out the doorway with a strained smile. “Sorry for intruding! G— Good to see you’re okay, Azuma!”
“You’re really going with ‘It’s not what it looks like?’” Azuma says, vaguely appalled by his gauche choice of clichés.
“It isn’t!” Sakyo projects to the world at large.
“It really isn’t,” Azuma turns to say to the door, which is already closing. “Oh. Whoops.”
He turns back to Sakyo, who is currently resting his forehead on one hand and taking a few slow, deep breaths.
“Sorry about that too,” He says weakly.
“Count yourself lucky I’m still running on the fumes from being glad you’re alive.”
“Noted. While you’ve still got the fumes, do you happen to have any spare clothes I might borrow?” Azuma says, as delicately as possible.
After an escape from Sakyo’s dorm room up to his own that’s far faster and stealthier than it really needs to be given the hour, he changes into his own clothes and goes to breakfast to make up a story about going out with friends on Friday and not realizing he’d forgotten his phone. Everyone seems to take it at face value except Misumi, who gives him a piercingly vague look and then a smile that screams I know you’re lying, but it’s okay, I forgive you. (He still decides to apologize later.)
Well, Misumi and the director, who spends the entire breakfast pointedly and unsubtly not staring at him and Sakyo. After breakfast, he pulls the two of them aside, murmuring sweetly, “Director, can I have your ear for a moment?”
He tells them what he told Misumi after Sakyo brought him back to the dorms, from start to finish; waking up on Friday morning to a sunlight-colored world out of a painting, in a body that felt unusually light and free and fluid. Wandering around his dorm room for an hour or two until he figured out how to open the door by clasping his paws over the knob and pulling his weight in one direction to turn it, then making his way out to the courtyard to socialize for a bit before deciding to explore Veludo Way. Getting increasingly lost, not really able to read street signs from his low angle and having difficulty recognizing landmarks watercolored in gold and grey. Getting caught in the rain and worrying more about getting home than finding shelter until he was too cold and stiff and confused to find shelter anymore. The next thing he was aware of was being carefully cradled and a familiar, incredibly welcome, incredibly beloved (though he didn’t say that part) voice speaking to him.
Then back home, telling Misumi what had happened, and deciding that since he didn’t know how to change back and he was safe, he might as well wait it out. Enjoying the company of his recently found family, how easily Sakyo accepted his physical closeness and clearly enjoyed it as well. Wanting to be as close to his favorite person as possible for as long as he was allowed (he doesn’t say any of that part either) and finally waking up in Sakyo’s bed, human again— all for reasons he doesn’t know.
Sakyo nods, reluctantly, with visible consternation at being more or less forced to believe it. Izumi listens with a healthy amount of skepticism, but in the end she shrugs and says she guesses there are more mysteries at Mankai than she thought.
“Actually, I feel like I should’ve guessed, Azuma. You were an amazingly beautiful cat.” She says easily, and he laughs and thanks her, while Sakyo makes an odd expression.
As Sakyo goes to leave, Izumi puts a hand on each of their arms and says awkwardly, “I um, just so you know, it wouldn’t have bothered me if it wasn’t a misunderstanding. Um. I believe you that it was but it wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t. I was just surprised. Just so we’re clear!” She laughs, even more awkwardly.
Sakyo, his face now practically glowing red, just nods with his mouth shut tight and walks out. Azuma chuckles again, giving her hand a pat. “Thank you for clarifying, Director, but I think that might not have been the best timing.”
It’s… good to hear, in a way. That’s a blessing it’s important to him to have, should he ever decide it’s worth pursuing those feelings. He just… doesn’t think Sakyo was ready to hear it.
On the list of surprises Sakyo’s woken up to in his life, having Azuma nestled against his side rates as one of the more pleasant. It being immediately followed by the wave of relief of Azuma being home and safe also bumps it significantly further up the list. Really, the only detractor is the complete and utter confusion that follows it.
The confusion, and the familiar discomfort with himself at just how much he likes holding Azuma, how much he likes seeing Azuma’s face turn up from resting against his chest so those soft, faded amber eyes can meet his. The uncomfortably pleasant feeling he gets watching Azuma sit up, long silver hair spilling over his shoulder and down his bare back. The inexplicable pang of jealousy when the director calls Azuma beautiful and the subsequent burning, itching unease at the way he doesn’t even know who he’s jealous of.
That’s a discomfort he’s used to, though, one he gets every time Azuma laughs his name.
And he absolutely wasn’t prepared, would probably never be prepared, for Izumi to put a hand on his arm and tell him it wouldn’t bother her if they were intimate with each other. Especially not while Azuma is right there. He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him so much, either. After all, it’s not like he’s ever actually thought of Azuma like that.
He pauses in the hallway, putting a hand on the wall to steady himself.
Oh, fuck.