#cat thots

"why project diva?" you ask afterwards.

"hand-eye coordination." he answers, ever the professional.

"right, but what about osu? or guitar hero? or, i dunno, baseball?"

"they're not as fun."

"as a rhythm game with a robot girl."

"yes. she has a storied history!" he chops out a hand, ready to defend his case. "she's a famous girl who is always judged by appearance first and action second. just like a-"

"pro hero." you say it in unison.

he pauses, lets the words hang. then he huffs, the strands of his navy blue bangs flapping upwards, and hands you the controller. "just... play a round."

you take it gently, fingers flitting over familiar buttons. "you know i've never played before."

"start on easy mode. i won't judge you for it."

you go to hard mode. pull up the world is mine. you don't score perfect, but you definitely more than pass.

"sorry," you smile, look at him like the cat that ate the canary. "i meant i never played on console."

"you liar!" tenya exclaims, reaching forward and taking your face in his hands. "you're lucky i love you."

you grin, and meet him in a peck that has him diving in for more. "you do?" you whisper against his lips, ever the tease.

the murders always happen while you sleep, knives in backs in the dead of night, reports of a figure in black with blood red eyes. a reaper, maybe? a demon?

whatever it is, it is fast. efficient in its killing. everyone who spots it notices its speed before anything else.

one night, a passing maid sees a shadowy form climbing into your window, and reports the sighting to the knights. they burst into your room, but all is quiet. sir iida stands at attention, armor on, eyes wide, the picture of loyalty. the knights find nothing of note, and consider it a false alarm.

after they leave, he wipes his knife of blood, still fresh, still warm, then resheathes it. your body is calm, breaths beginning to even after the scare. they will find the body of that arrogant baron in the morning.

in his mind, he crosses another undeserving suitor off his list, and smiles to himself, love sitting heavy in his chest.

"It was a fine enough day," he says, hands folding on the table, "and how about you?"

Tell me everything, he wants to say. Tell me you're just as insane as I am.

But you answer with easy, friendly stories about your day. And his want just grows stronger. One day he will be allowed inside again, lips parted, back arched, lost in an ecstasy he can scarcely describe. You'll be his, one day.

But not now.

"you piss me off beyond belief."

"you are beyond belief," zeke sighs, tossing a baseball up and down from his spot laying on the couch. "reject god. you're a grown up."

"i'm already agnostic, zeke. that's not a revelation."

the war chief has no reaction, eyes stubbornly on the ceiling. "you're a revelation."

"are you high?"

"you wanna smell my breath and find out?" he huffs. "creep."

you roll your eyes, striding up to him from the front door of your apartment. you love the banter usually, but there's a time and a place, and this isn't one of them. "when were you planning on telling me?"

he doesn't even have the good grace to pretend he doesn't know what you're talking about. "you were bound to find out when i didn't show up at the bar anymore."

ass. son of an ass. adopted son of an ass. a grandson of an ass. asses all the way up and down and sideways too. "still would've liked to have known before everyone else. i had to see it in the newspaper. the newspaper."

"we don't even exist, legally. why should i tell you anything about the war?" he stretches his arms out, back arching against your cushions, no doubt rubbing that nasty tobacco smell all over them. you don't know why you put up with it. "i'll just be gone for a while. i won't die. i can't die."

zeke says it with the conviction of someone who's tried. and if he's to be believed, he has. cutting lengthwise in the bathtub until you bleed out is hard enough; harder still, according to him, is waking up after with the cuts already healed.

"sometimes," you sit down on the tail end of the couch, expecting him to pull his legs up, which he does, "i think you like making it hurt. that your existence is just some divine punishment."

he sighs, stormy eyes closing. "for you or for me?"

"both." you put your hands over your face, anywhere but here looking much more inviting. "obviously."

you text him a week later out of morbid curiosity. "is this the dude in the monkey suit?"

his replies are quick but short. calculated to be as annoying as possible.

"gorilla."

"but yes."

"why?"

"you want to ride the banana?"

you should block him. you should really really block him.

instead you meet him at a coffee shop. and fucking hell, of course he's cute. of course he's got a perfectly manicured blond beard and wavy locks to match, with piercing gray eyes like the sea before the tide changes for the worse. just your luck.

you put your head in one hand, and curse under your breath. god help you.

Only then it's the reception and you've changed into something lower cut and more Western and you look so much less stitched together and doll-like. And Hiromi is a couple celebrational sake shots in and you're drinking some ojisan (that you will likely never see again) under the table. Your eyes meet your new husbands' across the crowded hall. Cheekily, you lift the side of your dress so he can see your baby blue garter and the belt your white thigh highs are attached to. Hiromi strides over, slow and purposeful, tells you it's time for your first dance. You pull his wrist to look at his oh-so-expensive watch, chide him for wanting to dance 30 minutes ahead of schedule.

He pulls your waist anyway, until you relent and rest your hands on his shoulders. His breath is hot and insistent as he bends to graze his lips against the shell of you ear, swaying in a slow waltz that no one is falling for.

"You," he starts, huff of annoyance leaving him, "are a tease."

"It's not a tease," you murmur back, "it's a promise."

His hands tighten around your waist. The boning in your corset goes taut around your stomach in response. "... I think we'll have to skip the garter ceremony."

He hears your pout more than he sees it. "Aww. Why?"

"Simple," he bends his head further, blunt fangs grazing along your neck in full view of the entire Higuruma family. "I'm going to remove it with my teeth, as is tradition. And if I'm already down there--" the breath he sucks in is seconds from a groan, "I'm not going to stop until I've made a meal of you."

He brings his head up then, posture perfect, mouth a thin line. But his dark eyes tell a different story. "Do we understand each other, Mrs. Higuruma?"

You nod, thighs clenched together beneath your pretty white dress. "Y-yeah. I think so. Mr. Higuruma."

He kisses your forehead, achingly tender, as if he wasn't halfway to consummating your marriage in the ballroom's handicapped restroom.

You've been friends for a couple of years, you and Tenya Iida. He's seen you at your best (passing exams set down by all too rigorous professors) and your worst (drinking too much following the dissolution of your summer romance). You know things about him that he keeps quiet; his debilitating fear of failure, how he runs every morning because the lack of energy staves off anxiety, his secret gig as a DJ downtown. It'd be very easy to call you two best friends and just leave it at that. And for a while, that's where you let it hang.

Neither of you talk about the night after your long-term broke it off, where you fell asleep in Tenya's arms, dried tears on your face and his shirt. How he whispered, "If you were mine, things would be different" when he thought you were asleep. But you remembered.

Neither of you mention the multiple times you said offhand that DJ Ingenium was hot as hell, unaware at the time that he and Tenya were one and the same. You thought the blush was because you was being crude, not because you were talking to the DJ in question.

And neither of you ever allude to the frat party that you both went to just to cross it off your bucket list. The one where tipsy girls were pulling at Tenya's compression shirt and eager men were a little too handsy with you while passing by. The one where you made out on the shitty sofa in view of everyone just so they would leave you both alone. How he walked you to your off campus housing even though it was a mile away, and kissed you on the stoop before heading home.

You're just friends. Nothing to write home about.

---

Tenya asks you to go to dinner with him one night, to celebrate the end of the spring semester. You've both passed with flying colors; you'll have your master's and he his bachelor's in just a few weeks time. It's a special occasion, albeit bittersweet. He'll return to his family, and you to yours. Your friendship is destined to fade into something fond and distant.

He asks you to wear a dress. So you do. Something deep blue, to match his hair. He wears a suit, nothing distractingly expensive, but respectable nonetheless. You dine at a very high end sushi place, one catty-corned on a main strip in the city, with frosted windows that don't even allow passersby to see inside. It's a quiet affair, being so nearly black tie. You're both anxious, but for different reasons.

"Tenya, I don't think I can afford-"

"You're not affording anything," he stops you with a firm voice, eyes clear and firm across the table. "This is a celebration. I'm paying."

"But it's-" you look down at the menu, with options so exorbitant they don't even bother to include the price. "I can't ask this of you."

"You're not asking," he sounds so confident. He's thanking his lucky stars that the tablecloth hides his bouncing leg and clenched fist. "I want to do this. We've both earned it. Please let me do this for you."

You get quiet, too grateful to say no, but too guilty to speak up. So the two of you eat in relative silence, occasionally asking quick questions and responding with little quips. He's going to do a few internships, try to land a job with his current degree, talks about moving far far away. You twist your own knife, tell him maybe you'll find a job that'll take you and you can fuck your way to the top. He goes quiet for a while after that.

You leave the restaurant together. The food was delicious, but you barely tasted it. You walk in formal clothes back to your cars, parked in separate lots. He squeezes your hand before you part ways. Everything aches. You go back to your apartment, wipe off your makeup before you can cry it off. You don't want things to change; you want to be by Tenya's side in any way he'll have you. But you can't change the way things work. You both have to graduate, become real people with big jobs. You have to let go of this fantasy that you'll find forever in a place designed to work you to death and spit you out ready for employment.

You change into pajamas, turn the TV on, but pay no attention to what's on. You keep thinking of Tenya's intense eyes, his soft smile, his rough hands; how he cared when no one else could be bothered. It's never been a secret that you love him, but in the way a friend loves a friend. At least you thought that was what you were feeling…

You slip on your flip-flops and decide you can't let this go. You and Tenya need to talk this out. You can't leave things unsaid and regret it forever. You open the door outside, rushing with your car keys in hand, when- thud. Your face slams into something hard.

You reel back, expecting to fall over, but strong, familiar hands are holding you by the waist. Your face is lined up with Tenya's firm chest. He's panting, his face red, his own gray pajama shirt drenched in sweat. He ran here. To your apartment.

"Ten-"you start, a myriad of questions at the tip of your tongue. "What- is everything okay?"

He shakes his head, tries to compose himself. His hands just grip you tighter. "I love you!" he nearly yells, eyes wide and searching for reciprocation. "I love you, and I can't go. I can't leave if there's even a chance that you love me, too."

Your knees almost buckle. You can't find the words. Every single fleeting moment that you left unacknowledged passes through your mind. Every touch and kindness and stare that lingered too long. So you bring your hands to his face, and kiss him so hard your teeth clack together.

He gasps against your lips, then falls into you, one hand bunching in your shirt, the other in your hair, a few relieved tears falling from his closed eyes. You kiss for an obscenely long time on your stoop, in full view of the apartment complex, until you both pull away panting with spit slick swollen lips.

"W-well?" he asks, voice low and in danger of breaking. "Do you?"

You try to laugh, but it comes out hoarse, tears of your own starting to prick at your vision. You take his hand, and guide him backwards into the familiarity of your apartment.

"Tenya, I think I always have."