Feline Physics.
Masterlist.
Chishiya x Reader.
You're pleasantly surprised by a feline visitor in your apartment. You're even more pleasantly surprised by his owner.
I decided it was high time I threw a cat at Chishiya.
4629 words.
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You’re grumpy and running on fumes after a long day of studying when you come home, kicking your shoes off before making straight for the kitchen, dropping your bag on a chair without even looking. You can empty it after you’ve eaten.
You don’t make it to the kitchen before you’re interrupted by an indignant mraow, making you freeze before looking back at the cat who narrowly avoided your bag.
“Oh I’m so sorry!” You drop to your knees, holding out a hand. “I didn’t see you! I’m sorry!”
The cat hisses at you.
You grab your bag back, pulling out your left-over lunch and hold it out towards the cat. “I’m sorry, see?”
The cat hesitates, before cautiously moving closer, sniffing at the rolled egg before deeming it acceptable, grabbing it gracefully from your hand and jumping back on the empty again chair, where he eats with a satisfied look on its face.
It’s only then you remember that you do not own a cat.
He’s light gray with darker stripes all across its body, blue eyes and it wears a sleek white leather collar, which somehow seems pristine.
Huh.
You do recognise the cat, he used to be a stray you’d slowly won over using scraps of food before he one day disappeared, leaving you worried over his fate.
Looking at his clean, kept fur and his collar, it seems like someone took him in.
Good. You’d wanted to do so yourself, but your apartment complex has a strict no-pets policy.
“Seems like you found someone who takes care of you.” You tell the cat. This time he lets you reach out as his egg is finished, and sure enough, there is a tag on the collar. “Cheshire.” You read out loud, ignoring the phone number beneath it. “Fitting. You look healthy.”
Suddenly, your mood is a lot better. You’re relieved; you genuinely had worried about the animal.
He seems to have forgiven you for the bag incident as he allows you to pet him. “How did you even get in?” You muse as he begins to purr.
As he’s a cat, he does not answer.
You grant yourself a few minutes before you pull away. “I have to eat myself.” You explain defensively as Cheshire looks indignant at that.
You keep an eye on him as you heat up your ramen. Would it be considered against the lease to have an animal as a visitor? You certainly didn’t let him in.
Cheshire stays until you’re done with eating, and while he pretends to not pay attention to you, you bet he’d been hoping for a morsel.
“Too many spices.” You apologise. “This wouldn’t be good for you.”
Once he realises there is no more food for him to find, he struts over to your front door, and loudly meows to get your attention.
He slips out without looking back the moment you open it for him.
You smile. That unexpected visitor certainly made your day a lot brighter.
He visits more often after that. Even though he slips inside without your help just fine (seriously, you can’t figure out how he gets in), he always meows for you at the door whenever he desires to leave.
You don’t mind. Technically he’s not your cat, so you’re not breaking your lease (you’ve decided), but you do buy a bag of kibble for him. And a bowl. And some toys.
You might have a soft spot for the little beast.
One day, you realise that while he might have once been a stray, he very much does have an owner now. Who might like to know that their cat is being fed by a stranger.
You have a phone number, but that’s no fun. Instead, you tear a piece of paper from your textbook. Then you crumple it in a ball, dissatisfied with what you wrote. You go with your third attempt.
“Hello! To Cheshire’s owner: he’s been visiting me for a few weeks now.
I’ve been feeding him as he’s very persuasive. I realised you might want to know (:”
As you wrap it around Cheshire’s collar, you realise the tag isn’t the only thing attached to it. There is what you assume to be a tracker as well.
You get your answer a day later. There is a piece of paper, non-teared, on Cheshire’s collar the next day. The kanji is neat, the words as straight as if they’d been on lined paper.
“There is a phone number on the nameplate you read. What kind of food? Specify the brand.”
Even though it impolitely lacks a greeting and the words are curt, you smile. You can feel the sarcasm coming off of that first sentence.
“I know.” You write back. “This is more fun.” But you do add the brand of kibble you’d bought. Then you add another smiley face.
Cheshire just lets the wrapping happen, although he does flick his tail to show his displeasure.
The next day as you come home from your studies, there is a plastic grocery store bag hanging from your doorknob. The handles are tied together with a piece of string, where a piece of paper is attached to as well.
You take it off right there in the hallway.
“Don’t feed Cheshire that anymore. Use this instead. Please update me on how much he’s eaten.”
Sure enough, inside the bag are cans of catfood stored. Wet, high quality, expensive catfood.
You take it inside after some hesitation.
“How the hell does your owner know where I live?” You demand from Cheshire, who’s innocently cleaning his fur on the chair he’s claimed as his own.
You open one of the cans anyway, causing Cheshire’s ears to perk up at the familiar sound.
You tear another piece out of your notebook as the cat begins to eat, but you take a long time before you finally decide on what to write. The tracker might’ve given it away, but you live in an apartment complex. How could they know which floor?
You decide to be direct.
“How the hell do you know where I live?”
As you wrap it around Cheshire’s collar, you murmur: “I really hope you haven’t gotten me a stalker, Ches.”
The reply comes a day later on Cheshire’s collar.
“You might have noticed Cheshire’s collar has a tracker.” Yes. You did. “That’s almost enough for your location, only the exact floor is lacking. But it’s simply resolved by noticing which floor Cheshire waits for me each day at the end of my shift.”
Oh.
That’s… fair enough.
And cute.
“You wait for your owner's shift to end?” You ask a Cheshire who ignores you as always.
There’s more on the other side of the paper. “I’m not interested in you at all, if you’re worried about a stalker. If I had been, I’d know your phone number by now. Yet still we use this inconvenient way of communication.
Please do add what you’ve fed my cat this time.”
Strangely enough, while the words are a bit short and direct, they assure you. Whoever wrote this isn’t acting affronted or diminishing your concern. Instead they wrote facts. With an air of smugness, yes, but it’s better than if he’d filled the note with insincere assurances.
So you decide that, while you will keep an eye out, you won’t assume malicious intent.
And they seem like they care about Cheshire. Enough to strictly control his feeding. You glance at the cat. He’s at a much healthier weight than he was as a stray. So clearly the owner is doing it right.
When Cheshire later that evening meows at you at the front door, you quickly attach your new note.
“He ate one of your cans both today and yesterday :) dw you don’t seem like a stalker. Don’t change my mind on that. Btw, doesn’t that imply you live here? I thought the complex doesn’t allow animals. My lease at least doesn’t.”
You wonder if you have to change your mind when you receive a response.
“It’s not allowed. Blackmail brings one far.”
It’s a joke, right? Surely they wouldn’t put it on paper if they actually blackmailed the landlord?
“I’ll ignore that.” You write back. “I bought Cheshire a ball that rattles when he pushes it. He’s so cute. He ate another can today.”
“You seem naive.” You get as an answer and… well. This person really doesn’t pull their punches, do they?
You like it. You often overthink how people perceive you, but not with Cheshire’s owner. They clearly would just tell you if they have a problem.
…Maybe you do overthink the limited contact you’ve had if you assume those kind of conclusions already.
There is a blot of ink on the usually flawless paper, indicating they hesitated before their next words. “Have you bought much for my cat?”
Why is that something they hesitated on? Should you not have? Or maybe it’s because it’s the first time they inquired you about something unnecessary?
“Just a bowl.” That’s reasonable, right? “And some toys. I just couldn’t help myself. And I’m not that naive. I did not tell you my name.”
“I know your name. It’s written on your postbox, like with all residents. You spoil my cat.”
…Oops. “Then it’s only fair if you tell me yours. Cheshire deserves to be spoiled <3.” After some consideration, you add: “I used to feed him when he was still a stray. I’m happy he found someone who cares for him, so thank you for that.”
“There is no reason for me to tell you my name. Nor is there to thank me. The cat simply appeared inside my home and neglected to leave.
~Chishiya Shuntaro.”
You feel giddy at that one. It’s silly. Very silly. But what information you got from the few notes tells you that this is someone who doesn’t open up easily. Yet he (assuming his gender on the name) still told you a tidbit he didn’t have to. He still gave you his name.
The next weeks, his notes, short and stilted as they are, keep being something in your day to look forwards to, together with the feline visitor.
You’re open in your own messages, adding smiley faces and telling Chishiya about something Cheshire did, or, after a few weeks, telling him tidbits about yourself.
He very rudely tells you he can’t care less, yet he keeps responding, so you keep writing.
Cheshire is purring on your lap as you’re pondering what to write this day, when suddenly, your room lights up yellow, and you look up in instinct to see the source.
There is a huge ball of yellow and orange and gray growing in the direction of centre Tokyo. You don’t have time to comprehend, to believe, what you’re seeing before the shockwave hits you.
You pull Cheshire to your chest as you make yourself small when the world trembles around you and glass shatters and furniture is pushed away.
For long moments the world is silent. Then sirens ring in the distance and Cheshire scrambles out of your arms, ears flat against his head.
What just happened?
Was that a bomb?
Who the fuck would bomb Tokyo?
You stare at your broken window in disbelief, before you realise you’re bleeding.
The next few hours are hectic. You clean the (luckily shallow) gashes the glass gave you, before subjecting Cheshire to do the same. All the while you’re frantically attempting to call your family and friends, but no call goes through. A small, logical side of your brain reminds you that likely everyone is attempting the same.
It’s only then that you remember television exists, and you turn it on hastily.
A meteorite.
A fucking meteorite.
You stare in disbelief as the reporter starts to name suspected casualties. Thousands of people at least. Many more wounded. They’re talking about containing the fires, possible evacuations…
You’re not in those zones. You’re so very thankful you’re parents live on the city’s edge.
Some of your friends don’t.
You don’t linger on that.
You leave your apartment, glass shards still scattered over the floor, as you hastily make for your parent’s place, leaving Cheshire outside to go to his owner’s place.
It’s late in the evening when you come back, your parent’s luckily alright. You spend the day helping them clear up the glass and blocking the holes in their walls that used to be windows.
The moment you step inside your apartment building, you’re greeted by a frantic meowing.
“Cheshire?” The cat presses against your legs before you reach out to lift him into your arms, petting him in an attempt to calm him down.
A foreboding feeling fills you.
And sure enough, over the next few days, Cheshire leaves your place often but always returns quickly. The only notes he brings you are ones you wrote yourself, containing a simple “Are you okay?”
You don’t catch the name of Chishiya Shuntaro on the endless list of deceased, but you don’t listen to the reporter droning on names after one of your friends is named.
You sit in your apartment, Cheshire on your lap, staring at nothing.
It feels so… surreal.
It takes days before phones work again. The first number you call is the one written on Cheshire’s tag.
Voicemail. Cheshire’s ears perk up at the low male voice that boredly tells you to call back later.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper towards the cat. What are you supposed to do with him? Your landlord won’t have suddenly changed her mind. Maybe your parents could take him?
For now, you’ll use the chaos to keep him for a bit. Maybe, just maybe, Chishiya Shuntaro is one of the wounded. Maybe he’s just not currently capable of picking up the phone.
Maybe he’ll return.
You don’t believe it, not with how many people you know are suddenly gone. Your next weeks consist of many funerals. It's weird, whenever you're out on the streets. Everyone around you knows someone who's suddenly and violently lost. It's like the air itself is more heavy with the weight of what happened.
It’s more than a month after the disaster that your doorbell rings. Looking through the peephole, you don’t recognise the man.
He’s handsome, long blond hair and dark brown eyes, a mole beneath his left. He’s wearing a pristine white jacket.
There have been a lot of desperate people ever since the impact. While this man does not look like one, you’d rather not open the door.
Until you realise Cheshire is meowing at your feet, scratching the door frantically.
Oh.
The moment you open the door, Cheshire is gone, purring loudly. The man, now fully in view, slowly looks down at the cat pressing himself against his legs, hand in his pockets, before his face changes into slight fondness.
“You’ve missed me, have you?” He crouched down, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket to hold it up towards Cheshire who immediately pushes his head against it, purring even louder.
“Chishiya Shuntaro?”
He lifts his head to look at you, slowly taking you in, as if considering something, still staying in his crouched position. “That is me. I assume you believed me dead?”
So he is as brazen in real life as in his messages. You smile, a rarity in the past few weeks. “I did. Do you want to come in?”
He tilts his head. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
You lead him towards the couch, where Cheshire can purr on his lap before you disappear into the kitchen to offer him a cup of tea.
“I called you.” You tell him before you sit down opposite of him. “You didn’t pick up.”
That seems to amuse him. “So it takes a meteorite for you to use a phone.” His next words are as nonchalant as if he’s naming groceries. “I got pierced by rebar here-” his hand goes to his shoulder, “and here.” It lowers to his abdomen. “It took out my phone as well on top of inducing a cardiac arrest. But it seems I’m one of the ‘lucky’ ones.” The word lucky is clearly mocking.
“I’m glad.” You tell him. “Scratch that. I’m happy. Really happy. That you’re alive.”
His eyes are on you, considering you. “You really mean that.” He muses, interested as if you’re an anomaly. “That makes you the only one.”
You blink. That can’t be true, can it? Does he not have parents? Friends? That’s not exactly something you can ask. Instead you say: “That’s not true. Look at how happy Cheshire is.”
His gaze lowers from your face towards the cat as he gives him a single pet. His purrs intensify, melting into Chishiya's touch. “That he is.” Then his gaze is back on you again. “Did you get hurt?”
“Just some scratches. Long healed.” You gesture towards the now-fixed windows. “There apparently have been reports of glass shattering even outside of the city limits.”
“There have.” He confirms, his eyes roaming the room as if calculating how the damage might have looked. “Did Cheshire get hurt?”
You blush slightly as you remember how you protected the cat with your body. “Just a single scratch.” You dismiss. “He was more scared than anything else.”
“Good.” He nods. Then, changing subject: “Do you have any games to play?”
The man is scarily smart, you discover after you pulled your favourite boardgame from your closet. It’s a game you’re used to winning in, yet you don’t stand a chance against Chishiya. He claims it’s his first time playing, yet he comes up with strategies you haven’t seen before.
It only makes him more attractive in your eyes.
You can’t help yourself. You’d enjoyed the notes, sure. You had fantasised a bit about the person on the other side being attractive, as it’d be a great meet-cute.
You hadn’t expected him to actually be your age. Nor to be handsome. Even less to be this clever.
Worse, Cheshire is still sitting in his lap, and so now and then the man absentmindedly gives the cat a single pet.
It’s attractive. Very attractive.
It might just be your brain grasping onto anything good after the catastrophe, but you can’t help yourself.
The feeling grows worse when, during the next few weeks, Cheshire isn’t the only one who shows up in your apartment whenever you come home. Chishiya isn’t cleared to return to his shifts as a medical student (even more attractive) so that apparently means lounging around your space. He doesn’t even always come to interact with you, instead simply taking his studying material with him, reading and taking notes at your desk.
When you ask him why, he simply responds smugly, knowing the answer: “Do you want me to leave?”
Obviously not. It’s nice, coming home to someone else.
You learn about him. He’s cold, stand-offish and often sarcastic. He has no qualms in telling you when you’re wrong.
Yet his sarcasm makes you laugh. His cold demeanor just means you melt whenever he crouches down to pet Cheshire. And you’ve spent a lot of time around people who say one thing but mean another. You don’t have to play that game with Chishiya.
He confides in you. Apparently, he’s felt different ever since his cardiac arrest. He wants to stop wasting his life.
You don’t see how he was, but you keep that to yourself. When you ask him how you can help him, he dismisses you. “You already are.”
As he does not elaborate, you have no idea how.
Until you remember he told you you were the only one happy he survived.
Is it the friendship you offer that helps him?
That theory gets blown away when one day he shows up with a tall woman next to him. For a moment, you’re overcome with jealousy. Unfortunately, Chishiya definitely caught that, the corners of his lips going up in amusement before he introduces you to each other.
“This is Kuina.” He tells you. “She’s been hounding me ever since we met in the hospital. She claims we’re friends.”
“We are.” Kuina corrects him, smiling boisterously at you. “He just refuses to admit it. You know how he can be. He promised to show me Cheshire, but apparently his cat resides at your apartment during this time of the day. Can we come in?”
You let them.
Kuina is fun. You like her. “Chishiya has told me a lot about you.” She chatters. “Well, not that much. But for him? Definitely a lot.” You like her even more when she starts talking about this ‘Ann’ she clearly has feelings for, causing Chishiya to sigh.
Now you know why he brought her here: He, not so subtly, steers the conversation your way the moment Ann comes up.
You fondly think of him an asshole.
“You could watch a movie with a sapphic couple in it to see her reaction.” You suggest when Kuina protests about simply asking her out, not even knowing if Ann falls for women. There’s something else she’s not saying that bothers her, but you don’t press.
Chishiya clearly has no interest in this, cutting Kuina off. “How about a deal? You ask Ann out and I’ll take her on a date.” He nods towards you.
You have to take a moment to make sure you processed that right, long enough for Kuina to answer. “In front of her? Really? That’s dirty, Chishiya.” Was that why they’d talked about you?
You hadn’t considered Chishiya being into you as well.
You’re proud of how even your voice is when you look at Kuina. “Please take that deal. I want him to take me out.”
Smugness radiates off of Chishiya. And sure enough, he turns up at your door a few days later, hands in pockets like always, and simply informs you he’s taking you to an expensive restaurant. Apparently Kuina successfully managed to ask her crush out.
“You’re not even asking?” You lean against the doorframe.
“Why would I? You’d say yes.”
He’s right, of course.
The restaurant he takes you to is picture perfect, romantic with vines and candles. The food looks good, a wide assortiment of sushi is available.
You’d bet Chishiya did research. Or maybe Kuina gave him the spot. He’d never choose this place on his own.
As he’d hate it.
You know him well enough to recognise the hint of discomfort in his eyes.
You don't know him well enough yet to be sure as to what causes it. The other people? The setting? The date itself?
But you know he’s feeling it, so you get up from your chair. “Let’s leave.”
He stills. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. We’re both supposed to enjoy this. You clearly don’t. C’mon.”
He’s silent for a while as he walks behind you. It’s only when he sits down in the passenger chair of the car that he admits, his voice unusually low, “I don’t know how to do this.” You glance at him. His eyes are already on yours. “I’ve never even had a friend before you.”
“Dating doesn’t mean doing things you don’t enjoy, ‘Shiya.” You tell him, the nickname rolling off your tongue without a second thought. “Romantic settings are only enjoyable if we both enjoy them. How about we just get some take out? Our apartments are better than some cozy restaurant anyway. Cheshire is there.”
That hint of discomfort is gone, replaced by his lazy cockiness when he orders the food in the drive-through.
It’s only now that you realise how different he looks when not talking to you or Cheshire. You hadn’t noticed before how cold and empty his eyes can be.
Cheshire is waiting for the two of you at the door to the building, walking in front of you with an air that tries to suggest he’s just coincidentally going the same way.
“He’s supposed to be an indoor cat. Statistically indoor cats have a longer lifespan.” Chishiya confides in you as he opens the door to his apartment. “I haven’t managed to figure out how he keeps escaping.”
“Wait, really?” You step into his white and barren apartment. The only signs of personality are in the medical textbooks on the shelves, a single deck of playing cards on a table and some very out of place cat toys. “You can’t figure it out?”
Chishiya nods, closing the door behind you. “I put locks on the doors and the windows. There shouldn’t be anywhere else he could get out.”
You look at the cat, who blinks innocently in your direction. “I’ve never figured out how he got into my apartment either.” You admit. “I figured I was just overlooking something.”
“I’ll probably put up a camera.” He shrugs, putting the food on the table. “I would’ve done so earlier, but before the meteorite I was busy with my studies.”
He does not mention why he didn’t afterwards. “You don’t have to.” You start to unpack the food. “I enjoy him coming over. And I enjoy his owner following him.” You smile at him.
His eyes soften. “That doesn’t negate that there is a spot in my apartment I don’t know about that’s large enough for a cat to get in and out.” There is an undernote of humour in his voice.
You find the extra piece of salmon you’d ordered, feeding it to an expectant Cheshire while ignoring Chishiya’s tch. You innocently take a piece of maki yourself, as if you didn’t just feed the cat during dinner. “I don’t feed him human food for a reason.”
“He’s cute.” You argue. “I can’t say no to these eyes.”
“The fact that you ordered a loose piece of salmon meant this was premeditated.” Chishiya dryly states.
“That only means I knew beforehand that I couldn’t say no to these eyes.” You shrug. Chishiya only clicks his tongue in answer.
You eat in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. It’s nice how comfortable it feels.
Chishiya is the one to break the silence. “I’m not a good person.” His tone is as casual as ever.
You blink. You did not expect that. “Not will I be a stereotypically good partner.” His eyes meet yours lazily. “I’m not romantic, and I have limited patience for touch or warmth. I’m certainly not particularly emotionally available.”
You frown. “Are you trying to scare me away?”
“No. I’d rather not, but you’ve only seen a limited side of me. It's better to lay the facts out upfront.” He puts his chopsticks down, his movements very carefully nonchalant.
You take his hand in your own, gently squeezing it. His head tilts, a curious look in his eyes as he observes you. It’s a similar look you’ve seen on Cheshire when the cat’s not sure what you’re doing.
“I might’ve seen only a limited side of you, but I really like what I’ve seen so far.” You run your thumb over his knuckles, enjoying the warmth coming off of his skin. “I don’t care whether you’re a good person, Chishiya. I care whether you’re good for me. Give me the chance to find out whether you are for myself. I have a feeling you will be. Flaws and all.”
Chishiya studies you. Then, slowly, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your skin while maintaining eye contact.
“Okay.” It’s all he says. Just a single, simple okay. But the soft look in his eyes, a stark contrast to the cold and empty look he’d given others earlier, is all you need to see.
Despite his words, you have a feeling this relationship will turn out just fine.
