a curse hits gojo when he is on a mission with you, causing him to turn into a cat! now he has to be in your care for an undetermined amount of time, which is a problem because he is desperately in love with you.
contents. gojo satoru x fem!reader ⢠fluff ⢠cat gojo ⢠yearner gojo ⢠down bad gojo lmao ⢠some angst ⢠attempts at humour ⢠~17k words ⢠also can you guys tell i did the ears in the pics myself??? jahsjahq
THE mission had been simple. exorcise a low-grade curse in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of tokyo, maybe file a report, maybe grab lunch after. that was what gojo had been thinking about as he stepped through the broken doorwayâlunch. specifically, whether youâd let him drag you to that new ramen place or if youâd put your foot down and insist on something with vegetables.
he should have known better. things were never simple with him.
the curse had been small, unassuming: a blob of shadows and static that barely registered on his six eyes. heâd let you handle it, hanging back with his hands in his pockets, watching the way you moved through the dim light. you were good, really good. he liked watching you work. the sharp focus in your eyes, the way your cursed energy flickered like a heartbeat.
but then the curse had done something unexpected. instead of attacking, it had shriekedâ a sound that scraped against his skull like nails on a chalkboardâ and exploded into a cloud of purple-black smoke. gojo had thrown an arm up instinctively, infinity flickering for just a fraction of a second too late.
the smoke had gotten in. through his mouth, his nose, his eyes. heâd coughed, stumbled, and then everything had gone sideways.
literally. the world had tilted, the ground rushing up to meet him, except the ground was suddenly much closer than it should have been. his clothes had pooled around him in a heap of fabric, and when heâd tried to step out of them, his body had moved wrong. all wrong. four points of contact instead of two. a tail. fur.
heâd looked downâ down at paws, white-furred pawsâ and the last thing heâd heard before consciousness slipped away was your voice, sharp with alarm, calling his name.
when gojo woke up, it was to the smell of rain and old concrete. he was tucked into a corner of the warehouse, half-hidden behind a collapsed shelf, and he was still a cat.
a white cat, he realized, lifting a paw to inspect it. white fur, blue eyes; because of course even as a cat heâd have the six eyes, the same impossible blue staring back at him from the cracked surface of a puddle nearby. he was small, too. not a kitten, but not much bigger than one. his tail flicked once, twice, a test. it worked. everything worked, just⌠differently.
what the hell, he thought, except what came out was a confused little mrrp?
he tried to speak. opened his mouth, focused, pushed words up his throat and got a squeaky meow for his efforts. great. fantastic. this was fine. he was gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, and heâd been turned into a cat by a curse so weak it shouldnât have been able to touch him.
he sat down heavilyâ or as heavily as a cat could sitâ and wrapped his tail around his paws. okay. okay. he could work with this. the curse had dissipated after that explosion, so the threat was gone. all he had to do was wait. someone would find him. probably you. youâd been right there, after all.
as if on you, he heard it! your voice, distant but getting closer, threading through the rain and the rubble.
âgojo! gojo, where are you? this isnât funny!â
he should have meowed. he should have made some kind of noise to lead you to him. but instead he just sat there, frozen, as your footsteps grew louder. because you sounded worried and you never worried about him. you always said he was too strong to worry about, too annoying to miss. but your voice was tight, fraying at the edges, and when you came into view, picking your way through the debris, he could see your face.
you looked scared for him.
gojoâs chest did something strange. tight and warm and aching all at once, a feeling heâd been trying to ignore for months now. he liked you. more than liked you. liked you in the way that made him offer to go on missions with you even when he didnât have to, liked you in the way that made him linger after training just to hear you laugh, liked you in the way that kept him up at night staring at his ceiling and thinking about the curve of your smile.
and now you were here, kneeling in the dust, your hands shaking as you pushed aside a broken plank of wood. your eyes swept the corner where he was hiding, passed over him, then snapped back.
âoh my god,â you whispered.
gojo blinked at you. you blinked back.
âgojo?â you said, and he could hear how stupid you felt saying it to a cat, but also how desperate. âis that⌠is that you?â
he meowed. it was the only thing he could do. but he made it countâ looked you right in the eyes and meowed with as much yes, itâs me, you idiot as he could pack into a single syllable.
your breath caught and then you were moving, scooping him up off the ground with careful hands, cradling him against your chest. you were warm, warmer than heâd expected. your heartbeat was fast, rabbiting against his side where you held him, and your fingers were trembling as they smoothed over his fur, dusting him off.
âwhat happened to you?â you asked, your voice cracking. âyouâre so small. youâreâgod, youâre a cat. how are you a cat?â
gojo wanted to say something reassuring and to tell you he was fine, that this was just a minor inconvenience, that heâd be back to his annoyingly handsome self in no time, but all that came out was a soft, pathetic mew, and you made a sound like your heart was breaking.
âokay,â you said, pulling yourself together with visible effort. âokay. iâve got you. iâve got you, satoru. iâm taking you to shoko.â
he pressed his face into the crook of your elbow and let you carry him out into the rain. it was all still confusing for him too, despite how strangely calm he was feeling.
the trip to jujutsu high was a blur of motion and muffled sounds. youâd wrapped him in your jacket to keep him dry, and heâd let you, even though it was undignified and he was pretty sure his tail was sticking out at a weird angle. you ran most of the way, your cursed energy flaring with urgency, and gojo spent the journey trying not to think about how close your hands were to him and how gently you held him.
shoko was in her office when you burst through the door, soaked and breathless and holding cat-him like he was the most important thing in the world.
âshoko,â you said, âyou need to look at him. itâs gojo. heâs a cat. a curse turned him into a cat.â
shoko raised an eyebrow. took a long drag of her cigarette. exhaled.
âyouâre serious,â she said.
âdo i look like iâm joking?â
shoko looked at you, looked at the cat⌠uh, him. the catâ gojoâ met her gaze with unmistakably familiar blue eyes, and something in her expression shifted. she stubbed out her cigarette and gestured to the examination table.
you did, reluctantly, your hands lingering on his fur for a moment before you stepped back. gojo sat on the cold metal table and tried to project as much dignity as possible. it was difficult when he came up to shokoâs elbow.
shoko examined him. she didnât do muchâ a flash of reversed cursed technique, a long look at his eyes, a gentle press of fingers along his spine. gojo tolerated it because it was shoko, and because he trusted her, and because he could see you watching from the corner of the room with your arms wrapped around yourself like you were holding in a scream.
âwell?â you said, the moment shoko stepped back.
âitâs a curse,â shoko said, reaching for another cigarette. âa transformation-type. annoying, but not dangerous. his bodyâs fine, his soulâs still his, which is the important part. the curse is embedded pretty deep, but itâs already degrading. iâd say a week, maybe two, and heâll change back on his own.â
âa week or two,â you repeated. âheâs going to be a cat for a week or two.â
âunless you find the original curse user and force them to undo it, but thatâs a needle in a haystack situation. my advice? stock up on cat food and patience.â
you made a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. gojo meowed an indignant sound, because cat food? he was not eating cat food. heâd rather starve.
shoko glanced at him and he could have sworn she was hiding a smile. âone more thing,â she said, turning back to you. âsince you were the one with him when it happened, and since his cursed energy is going to be⌠letâs say unstable while the curse runs its course, youâre going to have to look after him. keep him close. your energy will help stabilize his while he heals.â
you blinked. âwhat? me? why me?â
âbecause you were there. proximity matters with this kind of curse. his system is already keyed to yours. if anyone else tried to take care of him, it could prolong the transformation or cause complications.â shokoâs voice was flat, clinical, but her eyes flicked to gojo for just a moment. âcongratulations. youâre a cat sitter.â
gojo watched your face cycle through about seventeen different emotions. surprise. worry. reluctance. and then, underneath all of it, something softer. something that made his heartâ his tiny, cat-sized heartâ skip a beat.
âfine,â you said finally, reaching out to scoop him off the table. you held him against your chest again, and he shuddered at how much he liked it and how right it felt. âfine. but youâre helping me buy supplies, shoko. i donât know the first thing about cats.â
âneither does he,â shoko said, nodding at gojo. âthis is going to be entertaining.â
gojo wanted to flip her off. he settled for a hiss, which was deeply unsatisfying and only made shoko laugh.
you carried him out of the office and through the halls of jujutsu high, and gojo tried to focus on the practicalities. a week or two as a cat. he could handle that. heâd handled worse. but then you looked down at him, your expression soft in a way you never let him see when he was human, and you said, âdonât worry. iâve got you.â
and gojo realized, with a sinking feeling, that this was going to be the longest two weeks of his life.
because he was in love with you. completely, stupidly, helplessly in love with you. and now he was going to spend every moment of the next fourteen days pressed against your side, unable to tell you, unable to do anything except meow and hope you didnât notice how he looked at you.
⌠your apartment was small. gojo had never been inside it beforeâ you were private about your space, always deflecting when he offered to walk you home or come over after missions, but now here he was, deposited on your couch while you rummaged through a bag of supplies shoko had helped you pick up on the way.
a litter box. cat food. a small bed youâd grabbed on impulse, even though gojo had already decided he wasnât going to use it. a brush. some toys.
âthis is insane,â you muttered, pulling out a bag of dry food and staring at it in bewilderment. âyouâre gojo satoru. youâre supposed to be untouchable. how did a cat curse get you?â
gojo meowed. it was a fair question, honestly. heâd been distracted, watching you.
you sighed and sat down on the couch next to him, the cushions dipping under your weight. for a moment, you just looked at him. at his white fur, his blue eyes, the way his tail curled around his paws.
âyouâre still you in there, right?â you asked quietly. âyou can understand me?â
he meowed again, and bumped his head against your hand. your breath hitched in wonder, yet soon you were petting him, your fingers sliding through his fur in slow, careful strokes. it felt good. embarrassingly good. gojoâs eyes half-closed before he could stop them and a low rumble started in his chest.
oh god. he was purring. he was purring because you were petting him, and he couldnât stop, and you were smiling nowâ a sweet smile, soft and wondering, the kind heâd do anything to see.
âyouâre kinda cute like this,â you said, and gojo wanted to die. âdonât tell me i said that when you turn back.â
he filed that away for later. you think heâs cute. he was never, ever letting you forget it.
you kept petting him as the evening stretched on, and gojo let himself relax into the touch. it was fine. this was fine. he was just⌠gathering information. observing. definitely not enjoying the way your thumb brushed behind his ears or the quiet sound of your breathing as you settled deeper into the couch.
a week or two, shoko had said. a week or two of this. of you.
gojo closed his eyes and purred, trying not to think about how hard it was going to be to go back to normal after this. how much he was going to miss the weight of your hand on his fur, the softness in your voice when you said his name. but that was a problem for later.
gojo woke up slowly, consciousness filtering back in fragments. the couch was soft beneath him, softer than he expected, with a blanket that smelled like you draped over his small body. he stretched, arching his back the way cats did, and froze mid-stretch as the events of yesterday came crashing back.
he blinked his eyes open, the world sharp and muted all at once in that strange way cat vision worked. your apartment was quiet, morning light slanting through the curtains in pale gold stripes. and then he heard a door creaking open, soft footsteps on wooden floors.
gojo turned his head and every thought in his brain promptly fell out and scattered across the floor.
you were standing in your bedroom doorway, and you were... you were barely dressed. sleep-rumpled hair falling across your face, an oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, shorts that rode up your thighs. you were scratching lazily at your neck, eyes half-closed, clearly not fully awake yet. and your shirtâ your thin, worn-out, very comfy-looking shirtâ clung to you in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
gojo could see everything.
well, not everything, not really, but enough that his cat-heart started hammering against his ribs, enough that he felt heat rush to his face even though he was covered in fur and you couldnât possibly tell. your nipples were visible through the fabric, soft shadows in the morning light, and you seemed completely unaware. you yawned, stretched your arms above your head, and the shirt rode up higher, exposing a strip of your stomach.
gojo made a sound, a small, strangled mrrp that he immediately regretted.
you didnât even look at him. just shuffled past the couch toward the bathroom, bare feet padding on the wood, and closed the door behind you with a soft click.
gojo stared at the closed door for a long moment, his brain still short-circuiting. then his body reminded him, with an uncomfortable urgency, that he hadnât used the bathroom since before the mission yesterday. that he was, in fact, a living creature with biological needs. and that somewhere in your apartment, there was a litter box.
he looked at it. shoko had made you buy one, a small plastic rectangle filled with gray sand-like pellets. it sat in the corner of your kitchen, pristine and unused, waiting for him.
he was gojo satoru. he was not going to squat in a box of sand like some common house pet. he had standards. he had dignity. he would wait.
so he waited. curled on the couch, tail twitching, ears flicking, every instinct screaming at him to find dirt and dig. the minutes crawled by. you were taking forever. what were you even doing in there? brushing your teeth? hair? he didnât care. he just needed you to leave so he could use the toilet like a civilized being.
finally, the bathroom door opened. steam curled out, carrying the scent of your soap, and you emerged in a cloud of warmth. your face was damp, hair pulled back now, and youâd put on a bra. gojo tried not to feel disappointed about that.
âmorning, cat,â you mumbled, not really looking at him as you headed for the kitchen. âhope you slept okay.â
gojo didnât wait. he launched himself off the couch, four paws hitting the floor, and sprinted for the bathroom before you could ask questions. he slipped through the gap in the doorâ youâd left it open a crackâ and landed on the cold tile floor.
the toilet loomed above him like a porcelain mountain.
okay, he could do this. he was smart. he was resourceful. heâd figure it out.
he jumped onto the small step stool you kept by the sink and from there onto the edge of the sink. the toilet was close now. close enough.
gojo gathered himself, calculated the distance, and leaped.
the rim of the toilet was narrower than heâd thought, and his paws slipped on the smooth porcelain. for one glorious second he balanced, teetering on the edge, and then gravity remembered he was a cat and not, in fact, immune to its laws.
he fell straight into the water.
it was so cold. shockingly, insultingly cold. gojo splashed and scrambled, claws scrabbling against the sides of the bowl, but the porcelain was too slick and he was too small and the water was rising up to his chinâ
you were in the doorway. your eyes were wide, your mouth open, and for a moment you just stared at the absolute disaster unfolding in your toilet.
âoh my god,â you said. then you were moving, crossing the bathroom in two steps, and your hands were in the water, around his small wet body, lifting him out. âoh my god, gojo, what were you thinking?â
he was dripping, soaking wet, cold, humiliated, and thoroughly pathetic. water streamed off his white fur in rivulets, and he was pretty sure there was something stuck to his tail that he didnât want to think about.
you held him at armâs length, your expression cycling through horror, disbelief, and something that looked suspiciously like suppressed laughter.
âthe toilet,â you said. âyou tried to use the toilet.â
he meowed. it was a defensive meow, a donât judge me meow, but it came out small and wet and miserable.
you bit your lip as your shoulders shook and a second later you were laughing; full-body laughter that bent you double and made tears spring to your eyes. you laughed so hard you had to set him down on the bath mat, and even then you kept laughing, clutching your stomach, gasping for air.
gojo sat in a puddle of toilet water and glared at you with all the dignity he could muster, which was not much, considering he was dripping and shivering and his tail was doing that weird puffy thing cats did when they were upset.
âiâm sorry,â you wheezed, not sounding sorry at all. âiâm sorry, iâm notâitâs not funnyââ
actually, it was funny. he knew it was funny. if the roles were reversed, heâd be laughing so hard heâd pass out. but that didnât mean he had to like it.
you finally got yourself under control, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. âokay. okay, iâm done. iâm sorry. letâs get you cleaned up.â
you scooped him up again, more carefully this time, cradling him against your chest even though he was wet and probably smelled like toilet water. you didnât seem to care. you carried him to the sink and turned on the warm water, testing the temperature with your elbow before you lowered him in.
âdonât scratch me,â you warned and he didnât. as if he would. he sat in the sink and let you run water through his fur, let you pump soap into your palm and work it through every inch of him, because your hands were gentle and warm and he was too embarrassed to do anything else.
âyou have to use the litter box,â you said as you rinsed him off, your voice softer now. âi know you donât want to. i wouldnât want to either. but youâre a cat right now, gojo. your body works like a catâs. you canâtââ you paused, biting your lip again. âyou canât keep trying to use the toilet. youâre too small. youâll fall in again.â
he meowed. it was a defeated meow, an i know meow, that made your face soften.
âlook,â you said. âiâll put it somewhere private, okay? somewhere you donât have to feel weird about.â
you wrapped him in a towel afterwardsâ one of your towels, soft and worn and smelling like lavenderâ and rubbed him dry while he sat on the bathroom counter, limp and exhausted and strangely light. the humiliation was still there, burning under his skin, but so was something else. something warm.
you were being so kind to him despite the fact that he was as much of gojo as he was a small wet cat whoâd fallen in your toilet and needed help. you were kind. youâd always been kind, even when you pretended not to be, even when you rolled your eyes at his jokes and called him annoying. and gojo sat there in his towel, letting you dry between his toes, and fell a little more in love with you.
âthere,â you said finally, stepping back to admire your work. he was fluffy now, his white fur sticking up in all directions, and you laughed again, fondly. âyou look ridiculous.â
he meowed. you look beautiful, he tried to say, but it came out as a squeak.
you didnât understand. you just picked him up and carried him back to the couch, settling him on a fresh blanket, and went to make breakfast.
gojo curled into a ball and watched you move around the kitchen, and tried very hard not to think about the litter box waiting for him in the corner. he failed.
⌠you set a bowl of milk in front of him. just milk. in a little ceramic dish that youâd probably found in the back of your cabinet, the kind youâd use for dipping sauce or something.
then he looked at you, sitting across from him at your small kitchen table with a bowl of cereal in your hands, like a normal person. you had a spoon. you were eating. the milk in your bowl looked exactly like the milk in his dish, except yours had floating bits of grain and sugar and his was just⌠milk.
âwhat?â you said around a mouthful of cereal. âyouâre a cat. cats drink milk.â
he was not a cat. he was a human trapped in a catâs body, and humans did not drink milk from a dish on the floor. humans drank milk from a glass, or a mug, or at the very least a bowl that they held in their hands while sitting at a table like a civilized creature.
he walked over to your chair and pawed at your leg.
you looked down at him. âwhat? you want some of mine?â
yes. no. he wanted his own bowl of cereal, actually. he wanted to sit across from you and eat breakfast the way heâd imagined a hundred times beforeâ casual, easy, stealing pieces of fruit from your plate just to watch you roll your eyes.
but he couldnât have that so heâd settle for the next best thing.
he jumped onto the chair next to yours, then onto the table itself. you made a sound of protest, but he was already walking across the surface, navigating around your coffee mug and the morning paper, until he reached your cereal bowl.
he looked at it. looked at you. then lowered his head and lapped at the milk.
it was so good. the milk was cold and sweet, and the cereal bits that came with it added a pleasant crunch. his tongue worked in that weird cat-way, curling backward to scoop up liquid, and he couldnât help the small sound of contentment that escaped him.
âare you eating my cereal, gojo,â you said flatly. âstill got your sweet tooth as a cat?â
he meowed. yes. deal with it.
you watched him for a long moment, your spoon suspended halfway to your mouth. then you sighed that long-suffering sigh you always used around him and pushed the bowl slightly in his direction.
âfine. but weâre sharing. and youâre not getting your own bowl because iâm not washing extra dishes for a cat.â
gojo lapped at the milk again, you resumed eating from the other side of the bowl, and the two of you sat there in the morning light, sharing breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world. he was pretty content with that.
he watched you between sips. the way your fingers curled around your spoon, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when it fell into your face, the way your eyes kept flicking to him with something soft and wondering. you were thinking about something. he wished he knew what.
you finished the cereal before he didâ you had the advantage of a spoonâ and sat back in your chair, cradling your mug of coffee in both hands. gojo kept lapping at the milk, his tail curling contentedly behind him, and tried not to think about how domestic this felt.
âyou know,â you said quietly, âitâs weird. having you here. like this.â
he paused, milk dripping from his whiskers, and looked up at you.
âyouâre always so⌠much. when youâre human. loud and tall and everywhere. but right now youâre justââ you gestured vaguely with your mug. âyou just sit there and watch me. itâs different.â
gojo didnât know what to do with that. he meowed softly, hoping it came across as is that bad?
you shook your head, like youâd understood him. âno. not bad. just different.â
you finished your coffee in comfortable silence, and then you stood up and carried your dishes to the sink. gojo hopped off the table and followed you, because apparently his legs had decided thatâs just what he did now. followed you. everywhere.
you noticed. âare you⌠following me?â
he sat down and looked at you. yes. obviously.
you made a face, amused and flustered, and turned back to the sink. he watched you wash your dishes, the stretch of your back, the curve of your neck. you dried your hands and walked to the bathroom, and he followed there too.
âgojo,â you said, pausing at the bathroom door. âiâm going to take a shower.â
âyou canât come in.â
he meowed again, more indignant this time. he wasnât trying to come in. he was just⌠standing here, in the hallwa, which was a public space. you stared at him. he stared back.
âi know youâre in there,â you said finally, pointing at his small furry face. âi know youâre watching. donât be weird.â
you closed the door. gojo sat in the hallway and listened to the water run, and felt his face burn even though he was covered in fur. he wasnât being weird. he was just⌠curious about your routine and your life. about the small, private moments you never let him see when he was human.
the door opened twenty minutes later and you stepped out in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around your hair and another around your body. you looked down at him, still sitting in the exact same spot, and your expression did something complicated.
you shook your head and walked to your bedroom, and he followed there too. when you sat on the edge of your bed to dry your hair, he jumped up next to you, settling into a loaf position on your comforter. you didnât tell him to leave. you just kept drying your hair, your movements slow and practiced, and every few seconds youâd glance at him like you were checking that he was still there.
you got dressed behind the door of your closer, not before giving him a pointed look, and gojo politely looked at the wall. mostly. he was only human. well. not human right now. but his mind was human, and his mind was very aware that you were changing clothes six feet away from him, and he was very determined not to be a creep about it.
you turned around in a fresh outfit and found him staring at the wall with an intensity that would have been suspicious if you knew him better.
âokay,â you said, grabbing your bag from the desk. âi have to go. shoko wants me to help with some reports, and iâm already late.â
gojoâs ears perked up. you were leaving? now? without him?
you walked to the front door, and he jumped off the bed and trotted after you, his claws clicking on the wooden floor. you slipped on your shoes, and he sat by the door, waiting.
âgojo,â you said, looking down at him. âi canât take you with me.â
he meowed. loud. why not?
âbecause youâre a cat. i canât just show up at jujutsu high with a cat. everyone will ask questions, and shoko will never let me live it down, andââ you paused, something flickering across your face. âand itâs not safe. youâre vulnerable like this. if something happened to youâŚâ
you trailed off. gojo watched the worry settle into your features, the way your brow furrowed and your mouth pulled down at the corners. he meowed again, softer this time. i donât want to be alone.
you crouched down, bringing yourself to his level. your hand reached out, hesitant, petting him with slow strokes along his back, from the nape of his neck to the base of his tail. his eyes half-closed without permission and that stupid purr started up again, rumbling through his small chest.
âi know,â you said quietly. âi know you donât. but iâll come back early, okay? i promise. iâll finish up as fast as i can and iâll come straight home.â
you scratched behind his ears, right in that spot that made his back leg twitch, and gojo leaned into your touch like a desperate animal. which, he supposed, he was.
âbe good,â you said, standing up. âdonât destroy my furniture. use the litter box. eat the food i left you. and for the love of god, donât try to use the toilet again.â
he stood in the entryway for a long moment, staring at the closed door. the apartment felt different without youâ quieter, colder, emptier. your presence lingered in the air, in the smell of your coffee and the warmth of the spot on the couch where youâd sat, but it wasnât enough.
he wanted you back already. very pathetically. but then his ears twitched, and he looked around, a different kind of feeling creeping in.
youâd left him alone in your apartment with nothing to do for hours except⌠explore.
gojoâs tail curled up, slow and curious. this was your space; the space you never let him see, the space where you were just you, without your armour and your careful walls. and now he had unfettered access to all of it.
he walked back into the living room, looking at everything with new eyes. the books on your shelf, worn and dog-eared. the stack of dvids by the television. the blanket on the couch that youâd wrapped around him last night, still rumpled from his body.
he jumped onto the couch and sniffed the blanket. it smelled like you, like lavender and something warmer underneath, something that was just yours.
okay. okay, this was fine. this was an opportunity. he could learn things about youâ little things, private thingsâ and store them away for later, when he was human again and he could finally, maybe, do something about the way he felt.
he hopped off the couch and padded toward your bedroom, the door still open from this morning.
gojo paused at the threshold, his heart beating too fast. this felt⌠invasive. wrong. but youâd said he could roam, hadnât you? you hadnât said donât go in my room. youâd just said donât destroy your furniture and use the litter box. so he stepped inside.
your bed was unmade, the sheets tangled from sleep. your pajamasâ the t-shirt and shorts from this morningâ were draped over the back of a chair. a half-empty glass of water sat on your nightstand, next to a book with a bookmark sticking out of it. your scent was everywhere here, thick and intimate, and gojo breathed it in without meaning to.
he jumped onto your bed. the mattress was soft. the pillows smelled like your shampoo. he walked in a circle and he curled up right in the center of the warm spot where youâd slept.
he was going to learn so much about you today. he was going to open every drawer and sniff every shelf and piece together the version of you that existed when no one was watching.
and then, maybe, when he was human again, heâd know exactly how to love you.
⌠it was strange how natural it feltâ padding across wooden floors on four paws, whiskers twitching at every draft, ears swiveling toward every tiny sound. his body moved differently now, lower to the ground, more deliberate. he found himself sniffing things without meaning to. the corner of the couch. the leg of the kitchen table. the bottom of the door youâd walked through.
you smelled like coffee and soap and something faintly sweet. he filed that away.
the kitchen was first. he jumped onto the counter and walked along the edge, inspecting everything. your spice rack was organized alphabetically, which made him smile. your refrigerator was covered in magnets: a tiny mt. fuji, a cartoon sushi roll, a faded advertisement for some local festival. there were photos tucked under some of them, and gojo pressed his nose close to look.
you with shoko, both of you younger, making silly faces at the camera. you with nanami, both of you looking serious and slightly uncomfortable, like someone had forced you to pose together. you with getoâ gojoâs heart twinged at that one, old grief surfacingâ your arm around his shoulders, both of you laughing at something off-frame.
and then one of you alone. sitting on a beach somewhere, the sunset behind you, your hair blowing across your face. you looked happy. peaceful. gojo stared at it longer than he meant to.
the bathroom was next. he hopped onto the edge of the sink and peered into your medicine cabinet through the gap where you hadnât quite closed it. toothpaste. floss. a hairbrush with strands of your hair tangled in it. skincare products lined up in a specific orderâ cleanser, toner, moisturizer, all the same brand. a bottle of painkillers. a small box of band-aids with cartoon characters on them.
he felt like a spy, like a thief! like someone who was collecting pieces of you to keep forever.
the bedroom was the most revealing. heâd already been in there, but now he had time to really look. he jumped from the bed to your dresser, walking carefully around the scattered items on top. jewelry in a small ceramic dish. a watch with a cracked face that you never wore anymore. a folded piece of paper that he nudged open with his nose.
it was a letter. from someone named kaori. your mother, maybe? the handwriting was neat, careful, the kind of cursive that older generations used. i hope youâre eating enough, it said. you always forget to eat when youâre busy. donât work too hard. call me when you have time. love, mom.
gojoâs chest ached. he stepped away from the letter, suddenly feeling like heâd seen something he shouldnât have. but he couldnât stop. his paws carried him to your closet next, pushing the sliding door open with his head. your clothes hung in neat rowsâ work clothes on one side, casual on the other. a shelf above held folded sweaters and a shoebox that he somehow managed to knock down with his tail.
the box spilled open. photographs. lots of them.
old ones, mostly. you as a kid with missing front teeth, holding up a fish youâd caught. you as a teenager in a school uniform, looking bored at some ceremony. you with people he didnât recognizeâ friends from before jujutsu high, probably, before your life had become curses and missions and death.
and then, near the bottom, a photo of you with him.
gojo stared at it. it was from years ago, back when youâd first joined. he remembered this dayâ some group outing that yaga had organized, forcing everyone to go to an arcade. in the photo, he had his arm slung around your shoulders, too casual and close. you were laughing at something heâd said, your head tilted back, your whole face bright with it. and he was looking at you.
he was looking at you the way he always looked at you â like you were the sun. he hadnât known anyone had taken this picture. he hadnât known youâd kept it.
gojo sat in the middle of the scattered photographs, surrounded by pieces of your life, and felt something crack open inside his chest. you were so much more than heâd let himself see. you had a mother who worried about you. you had a past that didnât involve him. you had a whole world inside you that you kept hidden behind light sarcasm and rolled eyes.
he wanted to know all of it, every last bit.
the afternoon stretched on. gojo explored every room, every drawer, every hidden corner. he found the spot under your bed where youâd dropped an earring months ago and never bothered to retrieve. he found a stash of chocolate in your desk drawerâ emergency supplies, probably, for difficult days. he found a notebook in your living room, half-filled with grocery lists and random thoughts and one line that made him freeze: satoru was annoying today. i couldnât stop smiling.
he stared at that line for a full minute. then he closed the notebook with his paw and walked away, his face hot, his tail doing that weird puffy thing again.
by the time the sun started to set, gojo had mapped every inch of your apartment. he knew which floorboards creaked. he knew which window had the best view of the sky. he knew that you kept a spare key under the fake rock by the door, which was a security risk heâd be lecturing you about later.
he was curled up on the couch, when he heard footsteps in the hallway, keys jingling. your voice, muffled through the door, saying something to someone on the phone.
âyeah, i know. iâll be there tomorrow. i justâheâs alone, okay? i donât want to leave him alone for too long.â
gojoâs ears shot up. his tail started waggingâ no, cats didnât wag, they flicked, but it was definitely wagging adjacent. he jumped off the couch and ran to the door, his claws skittering on the wood, and sat there waiting as the lock turned.
the door opened and there you were. tired, your hair slightly windswept, a bag slung over your shoulder. you smelled like the outside; cool air and concrete and a hint of the coffee shop you must have passed on the way home. your eyes found him immediately, your face softening.
âhey,â you said, your voice gentle. âyou waited by the door?â
he didnât answer. couldnât answer. but his body answered for himâ launching forward, jumping up, paws reaching for you. you caught him without thinking, your arms wrapping around his small body, pulling him against your chest.
gojo buried his face in your neck and purred, embarrassingly loudly. he couldnât stop it. he pressed his forehead against your jaw and purred and purred, and your hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his fur.
âawe, so sweet,â you murmured. he felt the words vibrate through your throat. âgod, youâre so soft. how are you so soft?â
he meowed against your skin and you laughed, carrying him inside after kicking the door shut behind you.
you walked to the couch and sat down with him still in your arms whilst he curled up in your lap like he belonged there, because maybe he did, at least while he was a cat.
âshoko had more information,â you said, your hand stroking along his back in slow, rhythmic motions. âabout the curse.â
gojo looked up at you, his ears forward, his full attention on your face. you were staring at the wall, your expression thoughtful, your thumb tracing absent patterns through his fur.
âshe said itâs anchored to your emotional state. something about the way the curse was designedâ it feeds off⌠i donât know, attachment? connection? she used a lot of big words.â you frowned. âbasically, the more stressed or agitated you get, the longer itâll take to wear off. so you need to stay calm. relaxed. which is hilarious, considering itâs you.â
he meowed. i can be calm.
âyou literally fell in my toilet this morning.â
you sighed, leaning your head back against the couch. your hand kept petting him, steady and soothing, and gojo felt his eyes starting to droop. the purring hadnât stopped. he wasnât sure it knew how to stop.
âshe also said your cursed energy should stabilizing,â you continued. âwhich is good. means the curse is breaking down faster than she expected. you might only be a cat for a week, not two.â
gojo felt a spike of somethingâ panic, maybe, or longingâ and forced himself to take a slow breath. he had to stay calm.
âso thatâs good news,â you said, and you almost sounded disappointed. almost. âyouâll be back to annoying me in no time.â
he wanted to tell you that he didnât want to go back. not yet. not when he had you like this, soft and unguarded, your hand in his fur and your body warm beneath him. not when heâd just started to learn who you really were.
but he couldnât so he just purred louder, pressed his face against your stomach, and let you talk.
you told him about your day. about the reports youâd filed, the mission briefings youâd sat through, the way nanami had given you a look when youâd said you had to leave early. a cat, heâd said, and youâd said yes, a cat, and heâd said itâs gojo, isnât it, and you hadnât been able to deny it
âhe knows about the mission,â you muttered. âeveryone knows. shoko told ijichiâi mean, she told everyone, basically. so now the whole school knows that gojo satoru is a cat. i hope youâre happy.â
you talked until your voice went hoarse and the sky outside turned dark, the apartment filling with shadows. and then you stood up, carrying him with you, and walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth. he sat on the edge of the sink and watched you, the way you moved through your nighttime routine with practiced ease. wash face. brush teeth. tie hair up. moisturize. the same steps, every night, a ritual heâd never seen before.
you changed in the bedroom with your back to him again while he looked at the wall like a gentleman. then you climbed into bed and held your arms out.
âcome here,â you said. âyouâre sleeping with me tonight. i donât want you falling in the toilet again.â
he should have been offended, but instead he jumped onto the mattress and walked up your bodyâ over your legs, your stomach, your chestâ and settled in the curve of your neck, his small body tucked against your shoulder. you pulled the blanket up over both of you, and your hand found his back again as the room went dark.
gojo lay there in the quiet, listening to your breathing slow, feeling the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath him. you were warm. you were safe. you were here.
for the first time in a long time, gojo felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
he closed his eyes, pressed his nose against your pulse point and let the sound of your heartbeat carry him to sleep.
next two days changed a lot.
not the curseâ that was still firmly in place, still humming through his small body like a low-frequency buzz. but gojo himself had changed. adjusted. surrendered, maybe, to the strange rhythm of being a cat.
it started with the little things. the way his tail developed its own vocabulary, curling and flicking without his permission. the way he caught himself watching birds through the window with an intensity that felt almost predatory, his back legs bunching beneath him before he remembered he wasnât actually supposed to want to eat them.
by the second morning, heâd stopped trying to use the toilet.
(he used the litter box. he didnât think about it. if he thought about it, heâd die of embarrassment, so he simply didnât think about it. youâd cleaned it without comment, without teasing, and that was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.)
by the second afternoon, heâd figured out how to open your bedroom door. heâd launched himself at it, paws outstretched, and the door had swung open on his first try. heâd felt so proud that heâd done it three more times, just to prove it wasnât a fluke.
youâd come home to find every door in the apartment wide open, including the bathroom, and youâd stared at him with an expression caught between exasperation and genuine concern.
âwhat are you,â youâd said, âa cat or a burglar?â
heâd meowed. both. iâm both now.
but the real change was deeper than that. it was in the way he felt when you came homeâ that rush of warmth, that stupid wagging-adjacent tail, that desperate need to be in your arms. it was in the way heâd started sleeping on your chest every night, your heartbeat under his ear, your hand a warm weight on his back. it was in the way heâd stopped counting the days until he turned back.
this was the life, he thought.
he woke up on the third morningâ no, wait, the second morning? time was weird when every day was the same soft blur of naps and pets and youâ and stretched luxuriously, his front paws extending, his back arching, his tail straightening out behind him. the sun was warm on his fur. the pillow beneath him smelled like your shampoo. and you were still asleep next to him, your face slack and peaceful, your lips slightly parted.
gojo watched you sleep. heâd never admit to that when he was human, but right now, with his cat-brain humming contentedly, he let himself look. the way your lashes fanned across your cheeks. the way your hand had ended up curled near his body, like youâd been reaching for him in your sleep. the way you mumbled something unintelligible and turned your face into the pillow.
you were beautiful. heâd always known that, but seeing you like thisâ unaware, unguarded, softâ made something twist in his chest.
he leaned forward and licked your nose, just a tiny swipe of his rough cat-tongue across the tip of your nose. he didnât even think about it; his body just did it.
you scrunched up your face, snorted, and opened your eyes.
âdid you just⌠lick me?â
you stared at him for a long moment. then you laughedâ a groggy, morning laugh that turned into a yawn halfway throughâ and reached out to scratch behind his ears. âyouâre so weird. you know that? youâre the weirdest cat iâve ever met.â
the morning passed in that easy, lazy way that mornings had started to take on. you made coffee and shared your cereal with him againâ heâd stopped pretending he didnât want itâ and he sat on the back of the couch while you scrolled through something on your tablet, your other hand absently stroking his fur.
and that was when he saw it.
your tablet. the screen was bright, glowing with text. you were reading something and your finger was scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. but more importantly, there was a keyboard. a digital keyboard, popping up when you tapped on a search bar, with letters he could theoretically press. with his paws.
gojoâs ears shot up. his tail went straight. he stared at that keyboard like it held the secrets of the universe, because maybe it did. maybe, just maybe, it held the ability to talk to you.
heâd been silent for two days. two days of meowing and purring and hoping you understood what he meant. two days of watching you guess and getting it wrong half the time. two days of wanting to tell you things and having no way to say them.
he waited until you set the tablet down to refill your coffee. the moment you turned your back, he was on itâ paws pressing against the screen, trying to figure out the pressure, the angle, the how of it all. the keyboard had popped up automatically when his paw hit the search bar, and now letters were appearing, jumbled and wrong.
aklsdhf, the screen read. qweiur.
he tried again, more carefully this time. used one claw to tap a single letter. h. yes. e. yes. l. l. o.
the word sat there on the screen, glowing and perfect, and gojoâs heart raced so fast he thought he might pass out. he could do this. he could actually do this.
you came back with your coffee, and he quickly pawed the screen clear, hiding the evidence. not yet. he wanted to wait for the right moment. wanted to say something that mattered.
for some reason, that night, you were quiet.
not the comfortable quiet of the past few days, but something heavier. something that pressed down on the apartment like a physical weight. youâd made dinnerâ rice and vegetables and some kind of fish that gojo had eyed with interest until youâd put a small piece on a plate for himâ and youâd eaten in silence, your eyes distant, your mind somewhere far away.
now you were lying on the couch, your tablet abandoned on the coffee table, your arm thrown over your eyes.
gojo watched you from the arm of the couch, his tail flicking. something was wrong. he could feel itâ the shift in your energy, the way your aura had dimmed to something small and subdued. you were sad. or lonely. or both.
he jumped down from the arm and padded across the cushions, placing one paw on your stomach, then another. you didnât move, so he climbed all the way up, settling his entire body on your belly, and tilted his head to look at your face.
you moved your arm and looked down at him. your eyes were tired, rimmed with something that might have been unshed tears if he looked close enough.
âhey,â you said softly. âwhat are you doing?â
he meowed. checking on you.
you stared at him for a long moment and sighed, your hand coming up to rest on his back as you turned your gaze to the ceiling.
âyouâre going to think this is stupid,â you said. âyouâre going to make fun of me when you turn back.â
he wouldnât, he absolutely wouldnât, but he couldnât tell you that, so he just purred and pressed his forehead against your sternum.
another long pause. your hand moved in slow circles on his fur.
âitâs justâŚâ you started, then stopped. swallowed. started again. âitâs been quiet. before you got here, i mean. my whole life has been quiet, but i didnât notice it until recently. or maybe i noticed it and i just⌠didnât want to admit how much it bothered me.â
gojoâs ears went back. he listened.
âi come home to this apartment every night and itâs empty. no one waiting for me. no one to talk to. i eat alone, i sleep alone, i wake up alone. and i told myself i was fine with that. i am fine with that. mostly.â your voice cracked, just a little. âbut then you showed up. and now thereâs someone here when i come home.â
you laughed, but it was wet. shaky.
âand i know youâre not really a cat. i know youâre gojo and i know youâre going to turn back and leave and this is all going to go away. but right now, in this moment, itâs⌠nice. having company. not being alone.â
your hand stopped moving. your breath hitched.
âi didnât know how lonely i was until i wasnât lonely anymore.â
the words hung in the air, fragile and heavy. gojo lay there on your stomach, his small body rising and falling with each of your breaths, and felt his insides churn with sadness.
he knew that feeling. he knew it so well it lived in his bones.
the strongest sorcerer in the world, and he went home to an empty apartment every night too. he ate alone. he slept alone. he woke up alone, in a bed that was too big for one person, in a house that echoed when he walked through it. he filled the silence with noiseâ with jokes and complaints and relentless teasingâ because silence was the thing he feared most.
and then there was you. there had always been you, in the background of his life, rolling your eyes at his antics and calling him an idiot. but heâd never let himself get close. never let himself want more than stolen glances and missions that took too long and excuses to be near you.
but nowâ now he was here, on your couch, on your stomach, in your life in a way heâd never been before. and you were lonely. and he was lonely. and maybe you could be lonely together, and maybe that would make it less lonely for both of you.
he wanted to tell you. god, he wanted to tell you. he wanted to jump off the couch and run to the tablet and type out everything heâd been holding in for months. iâm lonely too. iâve been lonely for years. and being with youâ even like this, even as a catâ is the least lonely iâve ever felt.
but his paws were clumsy and his heart was full. you were crying now, silent tears sliding down your temples into your hair, yet he couldnât leave you to type when you needed him here.
so he did the only thing he could do. he climbed up your chest, carefully, placing each paw with intention, until he was close enough to press his nose against your cheek. and then he licked your tears.
you made a soundâ half-laugh, half-sobâ and your arms came around him, pulling him tight against your chest. you buried your face in his fur. he let you, purring as loud as he could, hoping you could feel the vibration against your skin.
âyouâre such a good cat,â you whispered, your voice muffled. âthe best cat. i hope you donât remember i said that.â
heâd remember all of it.
you fell asleep on the couch, exhausted from crying, your body curled around his. gojo stayed awake, watching the shadows move across the ceiling, listening to your breathing even out. his mind was racing, full of words he couldnât say and promises he wanted to make.
heâd tell you, not now, not like this, but soon, when he was human again and he could wrap his arms around you properly and look you in the eyes and say all the things heâd been practicing in his head for months.
iâm here. iâve always been here. and iâm not going anywhere.
he pressed his nose against your collarbone and closed his eyes, and let the promise settle in his chest like a stone.
âshoko wants to run some tests,â youâd said that morning, stuffing him into a carrier that heâd immediately protested with the most pathetic meows he could muster. âstop that. youâre being dramatic.â
he was not being dramatic. he was being cat. there was a difference.
the carrier was small and cramped and smelled like plastic, and gojo spent the entire train ride pressing his face against the mesh door, watching the world blur by.
jujutsu high looked the same as always, but everything felt different from this angle, low to the ground, the world towering above him. you carried the carrier up the steps and through the main gate, and gojoâs ears swiveled, cataloging every sound. the crunch of gravel. the distant thwack of training dummies. someone yelling, probably one of the first-years.
shoko was already there, leaning against the wall with a cigarette dangling from her lips, and the look on her face when she saw the carrier was the most entertained gojo had ever seen her.
âyou actually brought him,â she said, pushing off the wall. âi didnât think you would.â
âyou said you needed to examine him.â
âi said it would be funny to watch him squirm in a carrier.â
you shot her a humourless look, but you were already opening the door, reaching inside to scoop him out. gojo emerged into the fluorescent light of the hallway and immediately regretted everything. he was small. he was vulnerable. he was being held like a baby in front of shoko, who had seen him at his worst more times than he could count but never like this.
âmy god,â shoko said, âcanât believe that youâre the size of a guinea pig.â
gojo hissed at her. it was deeply satisfying.
âheâs feisty,â shoko observed, straightening up. âgood. the curse hasnât affected his personality.â
âcan you just do the examination?â you sighed. âheâs heavy.â
âheâs like five pounds.â
shoko snorted and led the way to her office, and gojo endured the examination with as much dignity as he could muster. she poked and prodded, flashed lights in his eyes, pressed her fingers along his spine in that way that made his back leg twitch. she muttered things to youâ cursed energy flow is good, transformation is holding steady, no signs of degradationâ and you listened with a furrow between your brows, your hand resting on his back the whole time.
âheâll be fine soon,â shoko said finally, stepping back to light another cigarette. âjust keep doing what youâre doing.â
âkeeping him calm. relaxed. happy, if possible.â shokoâs eyes flicked to gojo, and he could have sworn she was hiding a smile. âshouldnât be too hard. he looks pretty happy to me.â
gojo meowed. mind your own business.
you didnât seem to notice the subtext. you just thanked shoko and scooped him up and carried him out of the office, and gojo thought that was the end of it. he was wrong.
because the hallway outside shokoâs office was no longer empty.
ijichi was standing there, clipboard in hand, his glasses fogging up like they always did when he was nervous. he was saying something to someoneâ nanami, maybe, or one of the assistantsâ but the moment he saw you, his mouth snapped shut.
âis thatâŚâ ijichiâs voice cracked. âis that gojo-san?â
gojo looked at him. ijichi looked back. something primal rose up in gojoâs chestâ something that had nothing to do with being human and everything to do with being a cat confronted with a very nervous, very twitchy man who had once spilled coffee on his favorite shirt.
ijichi made a sound like a deflating balloon and stumbled backward, his clipboard clattering to the floor.
âhe hates me,â ijichi whispered. âeven as a cat, he hates me.â
âhe doesnât hate you,â you said, but you were laughing, your shoulders shaking, and gojo felt a surge of triumph. heâd made you laugh.
he hissed at ijichi one more time, just for good measure.
you were still laughing when you turned the corner. gojo was still feeling smug, but then he saw nanami, walking down the hallway with a stack of papers in one hand and his usual expression of mild exasperation on his face. he was dressed in his work clothesâ the suit, the tie, the whole thingâ and his shoes were polished to a shine.
his pants were pressed to a crisp line.
gojoâs tail went straight. his ears went forward. his entire body tensed with the kind of focused energy that usually preceded something stupid.
âsatoru, no,â you said, but it was too late.
he launched himself out of your armsâ you werenât holding him tightly enough, too relaxed from laughingâ and hit the ground running. four paws skidding on the polished floor, claws scrabbling for purchase, and then he was moving, a white blur of fur and chaos, heading straight for nanamiâs legs.
nanami looked down. nanami saw him. nanamiâs expression did not change, which was exactly the wrong response.
not hard since he was a small cat, his teeth werenât exactly weapons of mass destruction, but hard enough to be felt. he sank his tiny fangs into the fabric of nanamiâs pant leg and held on, dangling from the cuff like a particularly aggressive accessory.
nanami stopped walking. looked down. raised one eyebrow.
âis this gojo,â he said.
âyes,â you said, running over to pry him off. âiâm so sorry. heâs been weird all morning.â
gojo held on. he didnât know why. something about nanamiâs calm, unflappable demeanor made him want to cause problems. maybe it was the cat instincts. maybe it was just gojo.
âheâs biting my pants,â nanami observed.
âheâs not letting go.â
âi can also see that.â
there was a moment of silence. gojo dangled from nanamiâs pant leg, his jaws locked, his eyes defiant. nanami looked down at him with the same expression he wore during mission briefingsâ mildly annoyed, deeply unimpressed.
âif you value your teeth, gojo,â nanami said quietly, âyou will let go.â
you finally managed to pry his jaws openâ which was humiliating, by the way, your fingers prying his mouth apart like he was a disobedient puppyâ and scooped him up against your chest. he squirmed, trying to get back to nanamiâs pants, but you held him tight, your hand pressing firmly against his back.
âi am so sorry,â you said again, backing away. âheâs not usually like this.â
nanami looked down at the teeth marks in his trousers. looked at gojo. looked back at you.
âyes,â he said. âhe is.â
gojo watched him go with a profound sense of victory as he walked away.
you, meanwhile, were not victorious. you were embarrassed, your face flushed, your grip on him tighter than necessary as you carried him through the rest of the building. as if he was your actual pet.
âwhat was that?â you hissed at him. âyou canât just bite nanami. heâs going to bill you for those pants. do you know how much nanamiâs pants cost?â
âit was not worth it. nothing is worth nanamiâs disappointed face.â
but your voice was lighter than it had been this morning, and when you finally escaped the building and stepped outside, you were almost smiling again. gojo counted that as a win.
you didnât take him straight home. instead, you walked past the gates of jujutsu high, through the streets of tokyo, toward a part of the city he didnât recognize. the sun was warm on his fur, and the carrier was slung over your shoulder, and he had his head poking out of the top, watching the world go by.
âthereâs a park near here,â you said, almost to yourself. âi used to go there a lot. before⌠everything.â
you didnât elaborate. gojo didnât push. he just watched your profile as you walked, the way your eyes softened when you passed a bakery, the way your steps slowed when you reached a small green space tucked between buildings.
the park was tinyâ a few trees, a bench, a patch of grass that was more brown than green. but there was a fountain in the center, a small concrete thing with murky water, and sitting next to it was a cat.
a stray. orange and white, with matted fur and one torn ear. it looked up as you approached, its eyes wary, and gojo felt something shift in his chest.
âhey, baby,â you said softly, crouching down. you were already reaching into your bag, pulling out a small pouch of cat foodâ you carried cat food with you?â and shaking some into your palm. âi havenât seen you in a few days. i was worried.â
the stray cat blinked. then it stood up, stretched, and padded over to you with the casual confidence of a creature who knew it was about to be fed.
gojo watched, frozen, as the stray rubbed against your leg. as you scratched behind its torn ear and made soft, cooing sounds that youâd never made at him, not once, not even when he was being the most adorable cat in the entire world.
the stray ate from your palm. you smiled at it and gojo, from the carrier, felt something hot and irrational bloom inside.
he was jealous of a stray cat.
âyouâre so pretty,â you were saying to the orange-and-white menace, your fingers stroking along its matted back. âlook at you. youâve been taking care of yourself, havenât you? good job, baby.â
gojo meowed loudly. iâm right here.
you glanced at him. âwhat? you want some too?â
no. he did not want some. he wanted you to stop petting that mangy alley cat and pet him instead. he was right there, in a carrier, watching you shower affection on a creature that had done nothing to deserve it.
the stray finished eating and rubbed its face against your knuckles. you laughedâ a soft, happy soundâ and scratched under its chin.
the strayâs ears went back. it looked at him with flat, unimpressed eyes, and then it turned its back on him and pressed its head into your palm.
âgojo,â you said, with warning in your voice. âbe nice.â
he would not be nice. he would never be nice. not to this interloper, this pretender, this cat that was getting more of your attention in five minutes than heâd gotten all day.
the stray finished its meal and licked its paw, utterly indifferent to gojoâs rage. you stayed crouched there for a few more minutes, talking to it in that soft voice, and gojo sat in his carrier and stewed.
finally, you stood up. brushed off your knees. looked down at the stray with something like regret.
âi have to go,â you said. âbut iâll come back, okay? be safe.â
the stray meowed and walked away, disappearing into the bushes. gojo watched it go with a sense of deep satisfaction. good. it knew its place.
you picked up the carrier and looked at him through the mesh. your expression was unreadable.
âwere you jealous?â you asked.
gojo turned his head away. no.
âyou were. you were totally jealous of a stray cat.â
he was not. he was not. he was simply⌠concerned. about your safety. stray cats carried diseases.
you laughed, the sound bright and warm, and gojo felt his anger melting despite himself. you started walking again, the carrier swinging at your side, and he watched the park disappear behind you.
âdonât worry,â you said, quieter now. âyouâre still my favorite cat.â
he meowed. iâm your only cat.
âfor now,â you said. âwho knows whatâll happen when you turn back.â
gojo thought about that for the rest of the walk home. about what it would mean to be your favorite anything when he was human again. about whether the way you looked at himâ really looked at him, past the jokes and the noise and the infinityâ meant what he hoped it meant.
he didnât have answers. but he had time.
gojo had stopped counting the days until he turned back. now he was counting something else entirelyâ the number of times you smiled at him, the number of times you reached for him without thinking, the number of nights he fell asleep to the sound of your heartbeat.
but tonight, when you emerged from your bedroom, all of his counting ground to a halt.
you were dressed up. a dress, navy blue, falling just above your knees, with a neckline that made his mouth go dry. your hair was different too, curled softly around your face, and your lips were shiny with something pink and tempting.
gojo sat on the back of the couch and stared.
you were beautiful. you were always beautiful, even in your ratty sleep shirts with your hair a mess and your face bare. but this was different. this was weaponized beautiful, the kind of beautiful that made him want to crawl inside your closet and destroy every other outfit you owned so you could never wear this dress for anyone else.
âdonât look at me like that,â you said, smoothing your hands down your sides. âyouâre making it weird.â
he couldnât help it. his eyes were glued to you, tracking every movement as you checked your reflection in the mirror by the door. the dress hugged your waist. your lips caught the light. your earringsâ tiny gold hoopsâ swung when you tilted your head.
where were you going? who was this for?
you didnât tell him. you just slipped on a pair of heels and grabbed your purse, and crouched down to give him a quick pet on the head.
âbe good,â you said. âdonât destroy anything. iâll be back later.â
soon you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you, and gojo was alone in the apartment with nothing but his thoughts and the lingering scent of your perfume.
he sat in the dark for a long time, his tail wrapped around his paws, his mind spinning. a date. you were going on a date. someone else had asked you out, and youâd said yes, and youâd put on that dress and those heels and that lip gloss for someone else.
the jealousy was immediate and irrational and all-consuming.
he wanted to follow you. wanted to track you down and sit in whatever restaurant or bar you were at and glare at whoever was lucky enough to be sitting across from you. but he was a cat. a small, white, useless cat who couldnât even type properly.
he looked at the tablet, sitting on the coffee table where youâd left it. the screen was dark, but he knew it was charged. he knew how to turn it on. heâd been practicing in secret, late at night when you were asleep, tapping out messages and deleting them before you could see.
tonight, he decided. tonight he would finally do it. not because he was jealousâ okay, partially because he was jealousâ but because he couldnât wait anymore. couldnât keep all of these words locked inside his small cat body.
he jumped off the couch and padded over to the tablet. pressed the power button with his nose. the screen glowed to life, and he waited impatiently for it to wake up, his tail flicking.
the keyboard appeared. gojo took a deep breath and started typing.
it took seventeen attempts.
seventeen times he typed out the sentence, and seventeen times he messed it upâ pressing the wrong letter with his clumsy paws, hitting delete when he meant to hit space, accidentally closing the app entirely and having to start over. his claws were too long for the screen. his paws were too big for the individual keys. his patience, which had never been his strong suit, wore thin with every failed attempt.
will you go out with me once iâm human again?
yes. yes, that was it. his paws were shaking, his heart was racing, and the sentence sat there on the screen in all its imperfect glory. he read it over three times, checking for mistakes. there was oneâ with was missing an h, but heâd hit the wrong key and he couldnât figure out how to fix it without messing everything up.
he added a signature, because he was gojo satoru and he couldnât resist. â catoru
there. done. now all he had to do was wait.
gojo curled up on the couch with the tablet propped against a pillow, the screen still lit, the message still waiting. he watched the door. listened for your footsteps. imagined a hundred different ways this could goâ you laughing, you blushing, you saying yes, you saying no, you throwing him out the window.
he hadnât thought about the possibility of you coming home sad.
but when the door finally opened, well past midnight, the energy that entered the apartment was wrong. heavy. deflated. your footsteps dragged on the floor, slower than usual, and when you flicked on the light, gojoâs heart sank.
your makeup was smudged. your eyes were red. and you smelled faintly of alcohol.
you didnât look at him, didnât say hello. just kicked off your heelsâ one, then the other, both landing crooked by the doorâ and dropped your purse on the floor with a thud.
gojo meowed. hey. iâm here.
âhey, gojo,â you said, but your voice was flat. wrong. you walked past the couch without stopping, heading for the bathroom, and gojo heard the sink turn on. water running. the sound of you splashing your face.
he jumped off the couch and followed you, the tablet forgotten for the moment. sat in the bathroom doorway and watched you scrub at your face with a towel, watched your shoulders shake with something that wasnât quite crying but wasnât not crying either.
âbad night?â he tried to say, but it came out as a questioning meow.
you looked at him in the mirror. your reflection was tired, your eyes puffy, your pretty lip gloss long gone.
âi got stood up,â you said, your voice cracked on the last word. âhe didnât even show. i sat there for an hour like an idiot, drinking wine by myself, waiting for someone who was never going to come.â
gojoâs chest tightened. the jealousy was still there, but it was buried under the realisation that you were sad. you were hurt. someone had made you feel small and unwanted, and gojo wanted to find that person and show them exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his infinity.
but he couldnât. so he just walked into the bathroom and rubbed against your ankles, purring as loud as he could.
you reached down and picked him up, holding him against your chest. your dress was soft under his paws. you smelled like wine and disappointment and the faint remnants of your perfume.
âi had three glasses,â you admitted. âmaybe four. i lost count. and then i walked home because i didnât want to take the train and cry in front of strangers.â
you werenât crying now, but you were close. gojo could feel it in the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers trembled against his fur.
you carried him to the bedroom and set him on the bed while you changed out of the dress. gojo turned his back and listened to the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of you pulling on your sleep shirt. when he turned around, you were curled up on your side, facing the wall, your shoulders hunched.
he climbed onto the pillow next to your head and nudged your cheek with his nose.
ânot now, baby,â you whispered. âiâm tired. we can play tomorrow.â
but he didnât want to play. he wanted you to see the tablet. he wanted you to read his message. he wanted to tell you that you werenât unwanted. that someone was waiting for you. that he was waiting for you.
he meowed again. more insistent this time. pawed at your shoulder.
you sighed and rolled over, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. âwhat? what do you want?â
he couldnât answer. so he jumped off the bed and ran to the living room, his paws skidding on the floor, and nudged the tablet with his nose. the screen had gone darkâ it had been hours, of course it hadâ and he couldnât turn it back on. couldnât show you. couldnât do anything except stand there on the coffee table, tail drooping, feeling useless.
you appeared in the doorway, watching him. your expression was tired, confused.
âwhat are you doing?â
he pawed at the tablet. meowed. pawed again.
you walked over and picked it up, turning it over in your hands. the screen stayed dark. you pressed the power button, and gojo held his breath, waiting for the message to appear, waiting for you to seeâ
nothing. the tablet was dead. out of battery, probably, because heâd left it on for hours like an idiot.
âdid you want to play a game?â you asked, and your voice was so gentle, so kind, so completely unaware of what heâd been trying to do.
gojo deflated. sat down heavily on the coffee table and wrapped his tail around his paws. no. i wanted to tell you i love you.
you picked him up anyway, cradling him against your chest, and carried him back to the bedroom. the tablet stayed behind, dark and silent, its message lost.
you climbed into bed and he curled up on your chest, the way he did every night now. your hand found his back, your fingers tracing slow patterns through his fur. you were quiet for a long time, your breathing slow, and gojo thought youâd fallen asleep.
âiâm going to be sad when you turn back,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper. âisnât that stupid? youâre gojo satoru. youâre annoying and loud and you never shut up. but youâre also⌠here. youâre always here. you sleep on my chest and you wait by the door and you make me feel like someone gives a shit whether i come home or not.â
gojoâs little heart clenched.
âand when youâre human again, itâs going to be different. youâre going to be different. youâre going to go back to your life and your missions and your stupid jokes, and iâm going to go back to being alone. and things are going to be awkward because i spent two weeks talking to you like you were a cat, telling you things iâve never told anyone, and youâre going to remember all of it.â
âyouâre going to remember all of it, and youâre going to look at me differently, and i donât know if i can handle that. i donât know if i can handle you knowing how lonely i am and pretending you donât.â
you swallowed. your hand kept moving on his back, steady and soothing, even as your eyes filled with tears.
âso yeah. iâm going to be sad. because right now, like this, youâre mine. youâre my cat and you sleep on my chest and you donât talk back and you donât judge me. and when you turn back, you wonât be mine anymore. youâll just be gojo. and gojo doesnât⌠gojo doesnât belong to anyone.â
gojo wanted to scream. wanted to claw his way out of this tiny body and wrap his arms around you and say iâm yours, iâve always been yours, iâll always be yours. but he couldnât. he could only purr, loud and desperate, and press his face against your collarbone.
âyouâre a good cat,â you whispered. âthe best cat. iâm going to miss you so much.â
you fell asleep like that, tears drying on your cheeks, your hand heavy on his back. gojo stayed awake, watching your face in the dim light, his heart so full it hurt.
he would tell you. tonight was ruined, tonight you needed sleep and comfort and the quiet presence of something that loved you. but soon. tomorrow, maybe, or the day after. he would find a way to type that message, or he would wait until he was human again and say it with his own voice.
iâm yours. iâve always been yours.
he curled up against you, his small body pressed to your chest, and closed his eyes.
not the usual warmth of your body pressed against his small cat form, but something deeper. fuller. his limbs felt long again, his spine straight, his handsâ
he had fingers. ten of them, attached to palms, attached to arms that ended in shoulders that felt broad and solid beneath the blanket. his legs were tangled with yours under the sheets, and his chest was pressed against your back, and his arm was wrapped around your waist like it had always belonged there.
gojo lay there in the gray morning light, barely breathing, cataloging every sensation. the weight of his own body. the stretch of his skin. the familiar hum of infinity settling back into place around him like a second skin. his six eyes were online again, drinking in the world with perfect clarityâ the dust motes floating in the air, the texture of your pillowcase, the soft curve of your shoulder where your sleep shirt had slipped down.
and you. curled against him like he was something safe, your hand clutching his forearm, your breath warm against his wrist. you were still asleep, your face relaxed, your lips slightly parted.
gojo watched you and felt like his heart was going to crack right open.
he didnât move. didnât dare. this was a dream, surelyâ heâd fall through it if he breathed too hard, wake up small and furry and alone on your pillow. but your weight was solid against him, and his fingers were real when he flexed them, and the morning was too quiet and too perfect to be anything but true.
heâd turned his infinity off and turned back. sometime in the night, while heâd been curled against your chest, listening to you breathe, the curse had finally released him.
you stirred. your hand tightened on his arm, and you made a small soundâ the same sound you made every morning, the one heâd come to recognize as not yet, five more minutesâ and pressed back against him.
you were so warm, and you fit against him like youâd been made to, and your sleep shirt had ridden up sometime during the night and his bare thigh was pressed against the bare skin of yours and he was very, very naked.
the realisation hit him like a truck. he was naked in your bed. his clothesâ his human clothesâ had been left behind in that warehouse a week ago, destroyed or lost or scattered to the wind. and now here he was, skin to skin with you, your body tucked against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
he should move. extract himself, find a blanket, find something to preserve the last shreds of your dignity and his. but you were so comfortable, and he was so happy, and the morning light was painting gold stripes across your face, and he couldnât. couldnât move. couldnât breathe. couldnât do anything except watch you wake up.
your eyes fluttered open.
for a moment, you just blinkedâ unfocused, still half-asleep, your brain clearly not processing what your eyes were seeing. a man. in your bed. an arm around your waist. a chest against your back.
and then you saw his face.
âgood morning,â gojo said, and his voice came out wrongâ rough and low and cracked from a week of disuse, like heâd forgotten how to shape words with a human mouth. but it was his voice, his, and he watched your eyes go wide, watched the sleep evaporate from your face, watched you suck in a breath that made your whole body go rigid.
âgojo?â you whispered.
he smiled. it felt strange on his faceâ too big, too bright, too human after a week of cat expressions. but he couldnât help it. you were looking at him like he was a ghost, and he wanted to reassure you, wanted to tell you he was real.
you turned in his arms, fast. your hand came up to touch his faceâ his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouthâ your fingers were shaking. âyouâre human. youâreâwhen did youâhowââ
âsometime last night,â he said. his voice cracked on the last word. âi woke up like this. with you.â
you stared at him. your eyes were bright, wet, and your lips were parted, and your hand was still on his face, and gojo thought he might die if he didnât kiss you right now.
it was clumsyâ his nose bumping yours, his lips missing their target before he corrected, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck with fingers that still felt too new. but when his mouth finally found yours, everything else fell away.
you made a sound against his lips; a small, surprised, oh sound that melted into something softer, and then your fingers were in his hair, and you were kissing him back, and gojo satoru had never been happier in his entire life.
he pulled back too soon, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard. your eyes were closed. your lips are pink and slightly swollen, and heâd done that, heâd done that, and he wanted to do it again and again until he forgot how to do anything else.
âiâve wanted to do that for months,â he said, and his voice was still rough but he didnât care. âyears, maybe. i donât know. iâve lost track.â
you opened your eyes, looked at him. your expression was dazed, confused, overwhelmedâ all the things he was feeling reflected back at him.
âyouâre naked,â you said.
gojo laughed. it came out raw and bright, and he felt it in his chest, in his throat, in every part of him that had been small and silent for a week. âyeah. i noticed.â
âyouâre naked in my bed.â
âtechnically, iâm naked in our bed.â
you made a soundâ half-laugh, half-groanâ and pushed at his chest, enough to put a few inches between you. âgojo. satoru. you need toâyou need to put something on. i canâtâi canât think when youâreââ
âiâll find something,â he said, and he meant to get up, he really did. but his legs felt strange beneath him; weak in a way theyâd never been, unsteady after a week of four paws and a tail. he swung them over the side of the bed and stood up, and immediately his knees buckled.
you caught him. your hands on his arms, your body pressed against his side, holding him upright. âwhoa. easy. easy. youâve been a cat for a week. your body needs time to adjust.â
gojo leaned on you, more than he needed to, maybe, but you were warm and steady and he liked the way you fit against him. âiâm fine. iâm perfect. iâm better than fine.â
âi can stand. iâm choosing not to.â
you sighed and guided him back to the bed. he sat down heavily, the mattress dipping under his weight, and looked up at you. you were still in your sleep shirt, your hair a mess, your face flushed from the kiss. you were beautiful. you were so beautiful he couldnât look away.
âstay there,â you said. âiâll find you something to wear.â
you disappeared into the closet and gojo sat on the edge of the bed and tried to remember how to be human. his hands looked right. his feet looked right. everything was in the right place, more or less, and his cursed energy was humming along like it had never left. he flexed his fingers, curled them into fists, stretched them out again. human. human. human.
but then his eyes landed on the tablet.
it was still on the coffee table in the living room, where heâd left it last night. dead battery, probably. but the messageâ his message, the one heâd spent seventeen attempts typingâ was still there. waiting.
âhere,â you said, emerging from the closet with a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. âtheyâre not your size, but theyâll work until we can get you home.â
he pulled on the clothes, they were tight in some places and loose in others, and they smelled like you, and stood up again, more carefully this time. his legs held.
âi need to show you something,â he said.
you frowned. âwhat? satoru, you can barely walk. you should sit down. iâll make breakfast, and then we canââ
âno. itâs important.â he took a step, then another. his body remembered how to do this, even if his muscles had forgotten. âthe tablet. last night, before you came home, iâi typed something. i wanted you to see it.â
your frown deepened, but you didnât argue. you just followed him as he walked, with one hand on the wall for balance, to the living room. the tablet was still on the coffee table, dark and silent. gojo picked it up, found the charger you kept by the couch, plugged it in.
the screen glowed to life.
he navigated to the notes app with fingers that felt too big and too clumsy, and there it was. his message.
will you go out woth me once iâm human again? â catoru
he turned the screen toward you.
you read it. once. twice. three times. your lips moved silently, shaping the words, and gojo watched your face cycle through confusion and recognition and something that looked a lot like hope.
âyou typed this,â you said. it wasnât a question.
âwith my paws,â he said. âit took seventeen tries. i was going to show you last night, but your tablet died, and then you were sad, and i couldnâtâi couldnât make you look at it when you were already hurting.â
you looked up at him. your eyes were bright again, but not with tears this time. with something else. something that made his heart stutter in his chest.
âyou wanted to go out with me,â you said.
âi want to go out with you. iâve wanted to go out with you for a really long time. i justââ he swallowed. âi didnât know how to say it. and then i was a cat, and i couldnât say anything at all, and i thought iâd missed my chance. but iâm human now. and iâm asking. properly. will you go out with me?â
you stared at him for a long moment. the tablet hung between you, the screen still glowing, the misspelled words still waiting.
it was a wet sound, shaky and bright, and you were crying, but you were smiling too, and you set the tablet down on the couch and stepped into his arms like you belonged there.
âyes,â you said against his chest. âyes, you idiot. yes.â
gojo wrapped his arms around you and held on. you were warm and solid and real, and you fit against him the same way you had in bedâ like youâd been made to be there, like the universe had designed the two of you to slot together.
âi heard you,â he said quietly. âlast night. what you said about being sad when i turned back. about not being yours.â
you went still in his arms.
âi heard all of it,â he continued. âand i need you to knowâi am yours. iâve been yours for a long time. i just didnât know how to tell you.â
you pulled back just enough to look at his face. your eyes were red, your cheeks wet, and you were the prettiest thing heâd ever seen.
âyouâre not going to forget?â you asked. âall the stuff i said? all the embarrassing, lonely, pathetic stuff?â
ânever,â he said. âiâm going to remember every single thing. iâm keeping all of it.â
you laughed again, softer this time, and you reached up to wipe your tears with the back of your hand. âyouâre going to be insufferable about this, arenât you?â
âabsolutely,â he said, grinning now, wide and bright and full of so much joy he thought he might burst. âiâm going to be the most insufferable boyfriend youâve ever had. iâm going to tell everyone. iâm going to tell nanami. iâm going to tell ijichi. iâm going to tell that stray cat.â
âtoo late. iâm already planning the speech.â
you hit his chest and he caught your hand, holding it against his heart. you could probably feel it pounding. he didnât care.
âlook,â he said. âi was a cat for one week, and it was the best week of my life. because i was with you. because you took care of me. because you let me sleep on your chest and eat your cereal and fall in your toiletââ
âoh my god, weâre never talking about the toilet again.â
ââand i fell in love with you,â he finished. âi was already in love with you. but being a cat made it worse. better. more. i donât know how to explain it.â
âyou donât have to explain,â you said. âi know.â
it was better than the first oneâ slower, deeper, more certain. his hands found your waist, and your hands found his hair, and the morning light filled the apartment with gold, and gojo satoru thought that maybe, just maybe, getting turned into a cat was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
you pulled back eventually, breathless, and rested your forehead against his.
âcatoru,â you said, and you were smiling. âyou signed it catoru.â
âyouâre something.â
he laughed and you laughed, the sound filling the apartment like sunlight.
outside, the world was waking up. missions waited. curses waited. the endless, exhausting work of being a sorcerer waited. but right now, in this moment, none of that mattered.
gojo was human again. he was in love. for the first time in a very long time, he wasnât alone.
âso,â he said, pulling back just enough to look at your face. âbreakfast? iâm thinking cereal. from your bowl.â
you groaned. âyouâre never going to let me eat alone again, are you?â
ânever,â he said, and he meant it. ânever, never, never.â
you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. you took his hand and led him to the kitchen. gojo followed.
[ an. hope you guys liked this!! might be a little rushed sorry about that. comment if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist!! ]
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