Title: the Domino Effect
Author: S.I.Q.
Rating: T
Warning/s: Blatantly shounen-ai (if that's not exactly your cup of tea, hit the back button NOW), slight mention of sex, and EXTREME angst
Dedication: For Pocky-chama
This was first written for a very dear friend and grew into something more. There's a lot that I regret about it, but I suppose it will have to do. Enjoy.
My first master was a kind soul who owned the greatest library in the world. It was full to the brim with literature of all kinds, both fiction and nonfiction. Surrounded by ink and paper, we would enjoy each other's presence in front of the fireplace; him, ensconced in his armchair with a book in hand, and me, curled at his feet. My last memory with him was of myself kneeling at the edge of his bed, watching the disease slowly overtake him—watching him wilt away—as I dutifully remained at his side.
My second master was an odd maiden who lived alone in a manor atop a cliff that overlooked a small village. She had a variety of quirks, such as wearing a pair of thick, horn-rimmed glasses that held no lenses in them and tending to a garden she built in the middle of her house. Oftentimes a man from down below would pay her a visit, flaunting extravagant bouquets and words of flattery. One day, she departed with him and never returned for me or her precious garden.
My third master was an uncouth yet wise sailor whom I accompanied across many seas and through countless misadventures. From him, I learned of things that books nor flowers could not teach; my knowledge spanned to further lengths, stretching as far and wide as the sea I had befriended. Then one day a storm struck our vessel, demolishing our happy home, and for a very long while I was lost to a smothering darkness, allowing the tide to carry me to my next master.
And when I came to shore, I wandered aimlessly through a foreign realm that was as perplexing as it was remarkable. When my legs could travel no further, I surrendered to the darkness once again, collapsing on the cold, unforgiving pavement.
My first waking thought was: I am famished. Although my vision remained in darkness, my sense of smell was provoked by an irresistible, familiar scent wafting around my nose. After a few seconds of weary contemplation, I realized it was food. When had I least eaten my fill? On the ship with the sailor—but, no, I would not allow myself to remember. I had vowed long ago, decades ago, that I would never reminisce after one of my masters vanished from my side. The sorrow of loss was best left in the very depths of my mind, where it could be locked away. It would merely be a futile attempt to allow myself to yearn for that which could never be recovered.
Now, I focused my attention on moving my eyelids. Slowly, I blinked away the sleep from my eyes and locked my gaze onto a white ceiling—eased myself into an upright position—and a dimly-lit room. Then I detected a young boy seated at a low rise table which was practically miniature compared to the grand dinner tables I had seen before. There was a tray before him that smelt wonderfully of fish, but, on closer inspection, they smelled of the ones that recently flopped onto deck; raw and uncooked, he popped the tiny slices of pink-tinged fish into his mouth one by one. All the while, he watched me watching him. His eyes, two dazzling jade stones, stared intently in my direction.
"Who—" Before I could even voice the next word, my stomach rumbled in protest, refusing to be ignored. I let my gaze fall down into my lap and gently patted the unhealthy concave of my stomach in gentle reprimand.
"Hungry?" The boy gestured towards the tray of fish.
I spared a glance at it, but then shook my head. "It is fresh. I fear that I shall be struck with an illness if I dare to partake in your strange meal."
"Hmm," He paused, seeming to be savoring both the silence and the morsel in his mouth. "You have a strange way of speaking. In defense of my strange meal, your dialect is just as weird."
The boy's tone was a tad impish, gently taunting me. I retorted, "Do you not fear as well?"
"Of what? Getting sick?" The boy chuckled, emitting a soft and low sound. This time he was not necessarily mocking; it was more of an indication of mild amusement. "Don't worry. This... 'fresh' fish is perfectly safe, I promise."
I promise. The two most irresponsible words of all.
I promise my ailment will pass away soon enough.
I promise I will return when the clock strikes nine.
I promise we'll always travel together to the ends of the seas.
I promise, I promise, I promise...
I slipped out from under the cloth I had been cocooned inside. Somehow, I assumed it was meant to be a bed, but in my viewpoint it was only a few flimsy sheets combined, hardly cushioning the rigid, wooden floor underneath. Although my back ached, and my limbs were sore, I crawled on all fours and halted at the low rise table on the side opposite to the laughing boy so that we were seated face-to-face. I reached out for the platter and wrapped my fingers around a piece. As I brought it to my lips, his stare never wavered, not even once. It should have been unnerving, but my hunger overcame my practicality. I chewed and swallowed. The taste was splendorous and I suddenly noticed how parched my throat was.
"Might I have a glass of water?" I requested.
With one finger, he subtly nudged a clear, plastic bottle towards me. I thanked him graciously and raised it up to my face for closer evaluation. Through it, I saw a distorted portrait of the boy, still fixed in that deadlock stare. I tugged on the top cap, and when it wouldn't budge, gnawed on it for good measure. Once more, that lilting laugh echoed throughout the room. Without a word, he retrieved the bottle from my hands and turned the cap, unscrewing it. Ah, I thought, I see. I made a mental note to remind myself to turn, not pull, the next time required a drink.
The next three minutes were occupied with filling my empty belly with a much needed meal and beverage. Once the tray was bare and the bottle hollow, I arose and bowed. "I apologize for the inconvenience my presence has brought you, and thank you for such courtesy and good will. I am indebted to you, sir."
"Atsushi."
"Pardon?"
"Atsushi," He repeated. "That's my name. You can call me that, or David. Either is fine. I don't mind."
"You possess two identities?" I questioned doubtfully.
"No," He said, and now a small smile blossomed across his face. "I'm half Japanese and half American. David is actually my middle name, but it's what all of my English-speaking friends prefer to call me."
"And Atsushi...?"
"Is my first name."
"Then it is only polite to thank you, Atsushi, by your first given name." The name felt foreign on my tongue, the pronunciation unfamiliar, but I was intent on showing my gratitude to my host the proper way, as the maiden had taught me years ago—no, I was not supposed to recollect on old times. This boy had me breaking a vow I had long since obeyed.
Said boy tilted his head just the slightest and rested his chin in his hand, his arm bent atop the surface of the table. "And you, Neko-chan?"
"Pardon?" Such a perplexing individual, he was.
He laughed again this time, "Sorry, you wouldn't understand, would you... It's a somewhat affectionate term for a cat in my native language."
"Japanese is your native tongue?"
"Yes," He replied. "I was born and raised here, in this very apartment. It's small, but full of many fond memories."
His eyes softened then, and I could see my previous masters resting in those eyes:
The Librarian, when he regarded his beloved collection.
The Maiden, when she was in the company of that gentleman.
The Sailor, when the sun was at its peak and the waves were hearty and full of mirth.
And it was then that I knew. I sat back down.
"My name is whatever you desire it to be." I answered.
He seemed puzzled. "What I desire...?"
"Yes," I closed my eyes, recognizing that familiar sense of somnolence threatening to overcome my fatigued mind and body. "Call me what you wish, Master."
"Master?" He echoed, and I heard a hint of marvel in his voice.
"I require additional rest," I stated and crawled back to the pale excuse for a bed. "Do you mind?"
"No, I don't mind."
Despite the fact that daylight shone through the window, I murmured softly, "Good night, Master."
"Good night, Katsuragi-san."
I learned the very next morning that my fourth master was a young boy called Kiryuu Atsushi (the last name was placed before the first in the language of Japan), was nearing his seventeenth year, and lived in solitude, just as my first two masters had been. Once I awoke, we shared another meal together (a bowl of noodles which he identified as 'instant ramen') and spoke of our past, present, and near future.
Atsushi's mother was American (a lovely blonde beaut—that was how he described her), and his father was Japanese. They had met by coincidence, quickly fell in love with one another, and rushed into nuptial bliss. Soon after, Atsushi was born. However, the mother soon became homesick and tired of the dull, listless life of a housewife, so she abandoned Atsushi and his father after half a year of marriage. Thereafter, Atsushi was raised by a single parent who offered more love and solace than the average family.
"It was overbearing at times," he had admitted, "but I loved him even more than he cherished me, if that was even possible. Even as father and son, we depended on each other more than anyone in the world. Heh... It's still hard sometimes, waiting late at night, and trying to acknowledge that there's no one to wait for anymore."
Although I refrained from saying so, I understood the devastating sense of loss when a loved one was stolen away without a single warning. Similar to how my first master had slipped away, Atsushi's father had fallen ill to a disease known as cancer and lasted only two months before departing this world. Approximately three years ago, Atsushi had lost his father. Such a young age to be inflicted by such misfortune, I thought, but did not say aloud.
Currently, he lived alone in the one-room apartment and was supported by his father's older sister, who met up with him once a month to provide for him financially. Regardless, he explained that he despised accepting help from strangers and insisted on working a part time job, although more than half of his life was occupied with school (an educational system which demanded all minors to attend). When I asked why he considered his own aunt an outsider, he told me with an incomprehensible smile, "When a person cares if I live or die, only then do I remove them from the category of stranger."
I asserted that I wasn't a stranger. He agreed.
When he fell silent, I dared to ask, "What is my name?"
"Katsuragi Shouseki." He answered with finality.
I was disappointed that he would deign me with a foreign name. "Oh."
"You don't like it?"
"Whether my name is to my liking is of no consequence."
Atsushi paused. "Because I'm your master and you're my pet."
"Yes." To my surprise, he had come to grasp the meaning of my existence quite promptly; the sailor had been stubborn about it for months.
"Well, that makes matters a lot easier," He confessed. "So, does this mean I could put you on a leash? Deal out punishments? Even make you do tricks for me?"
"Yes."
He smiled. My heartbeat quickened. "What an interesting kitten you are, Katsuragi-san. Life will certainly be a lot more fun with you around."
"Thank you for your praise, Master." I bowed my head placidly.
"You know," He took a sip from his bottle. "You could also call me 'Danna-sama.' It's how you say 'master' in Japanese."
"Danna... sama?" I was beginning to dislike this foreign country with its bizarre sounding terms and names even more. "If you wish it, it shall be."
"You're becoming predictable, Katsuragi-san," He chided. "That's no fun at all."
"Then," I stopped to choose my next words carefully. "I shall pretend to have a will of my own, yet remain subservient to your needs... for your amusement."
For the first time, I watched a deep frown set into the lines of Atsushi's face. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I'm not the kind of person who'd get a kick out of manipulating others."
Suddenly, I felt my lips part and released a sigh of relief. When had I started to hold my breath?
"Call me what you will," Atsushi rebuked. "Master, Danna-sama, Atsushi, David... They're all the same person to you, aren't they? So, whichever is fine. Now, I've told you about myself. It's your turn, Katsuragi-san."
Despite my vows, despite the foreseeable grief, I told him the truth. I told him that in the past century or so, I had lived with three prior masters: two men and one woman. Each had their own penchants, their own dreams, their own originality, their own life, and their own death.
The Librarian, with his undying endearment for literature; after his death, I burned his home—his library—along with him inside, as he had instructed me to do so before he drew his last breath.
The Maiden, with her charming personality and odd quirks; after her abandonment, I patiently waited for her return. After two years of deferment, I chanced an excursion out to the coastline of the vast sea.
The Sailor, with his endless fascination with the sea's mysteries; after he drowned in the storm, I drifted amongst the waves for an ambiguous period of time until I came to shore and wandered into unknown territory.
"And then I met you, Master Atsushi."
"Did you love any of them?"
"All of them."
"No, not platonically. I mean the kind of love when all you want to do is hold them in your arms and never let go—the kind that makes you desire them... erm, in a physical sense." Memories flashed for a split-second, all at once, altogether combined.
Both of my wrists pinned against the wall behind the cover of a bookshelf, defenseless against the Librarian's advances.
Blindfolded in the canopy bed, submitting to the Maiden's unbearably soft caresses upon my naked skin.
Down in the Sailor's quarters below deck, rocking in time with the perpetual motion of the sea.
All of them told me that they loved me. That they would always love me.
"I never let them go. They left me." Yes, they all did. Unkept promises, that's all they were.
"Never mind," Atsushi shook his head, "But, you know, us humans can't escape death. The lady shouldn't have just left you like that, but the librarian and the sailor didn't have a choice."
Us humans. "Did your father have a choice, Master Atsushi?"
"No. No, he didn't," He halted, and then continued, "Where were you born?"
"I do not know."
"Your parents?"
"I have no recollection of them at all."
"What was your name before your first master?"
"I'm not sure."
Are you human?
I suppose not.
After breakfast, Atsushi tidied up while I retreated back to the futon (a Japanese-style mattress, he had elucidated) and coasted on the waves of unconsciousness once more. Unexpectedly, instead of reacquainting myself with pitch black nothingness, my mind traveled to a green, green meadow where a picnic was set for four. There, I was reunited with the Librarian, the Maiden, and the Sailor. All three of my beloved masters together in one place, back at my side. I knew it was a dream, although I had never had the pleasure of ever dreaming before; I had only read about them or heard retellings of visions in the night from my masters.
Words were not necessary, nor were questions or apologies. I seated myself at one corner of the tablecloth and contemplated them all. The Librarian offered a cup of tea. The Maiden held out a slice of cake. The Sailor just beamed, wide and boastful. I drank the tea. Ate the cake. Grinned back in response, knowing all of it was an impossibility, but too drunk on contentment to care.
I never let them go. They left me.
My words echoed throughout the meadow and my masters drew back, away from me. The picnic was ruined. I cursed the sky and cursed myself. In retort, the clouds turned black and the sky wept its everlasting tears down upon my frail form. I cried out to my masters for forgiveness, for redemption, for their amity. Yet they stared down on me with stony, unforgiving gazes. Such cruel, fickle people. And yet... I had never seen such loveliness other than in these three entities. Were they to be forgiven? Or was I the one to plead for amnesty? Was I wrong? Was I right?
Katsuragi-san.
Atsushi?
Will you leave me one day as well?
"Katsuragi-san!"
"Master Atsushi?" I turned back on, as if his voice calling my name flipped a switch inside my core. I opened my eyes.
He was looming over me, both of his hands gripping my shoulders tightly as if he had been shaking me for a quite a while, and his eyes were wide and fearful. I was in the futon, the covers tossed a few feet away.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
He let out a sigh, a long and loud one, and released my shoulders to relax into a sitting position next to me. "Mataku! Don't scare me like that, Katsuragi-san. Honestly, I thought you were having a seizure or something."
While he was winding down, I noticed a strange wetness on my cheeks. I lifted my hand up to my face and touched it. The tips of my fingers were wet with water. My vision was blurry—the water was hindering my eyes as well. Where had it come from?
"Are you crying?" Atsushi peered at my face with surmounting astonishment.
I licked the droplets of water falling down my fingers. Salty. "Yes, I am. I was."
Understanding dawned in his expression. "Ah, I see. Was it a nightmare? Do you want to tell me about it?"
Immediately, my mouth formed the word, "No."
Taken aback, Atsushi stared. But then he smiled. "Okay."
He stood and then moved about, picking up his school bag and throwing it into a corner, closing the door that had been left ajar. I guessed that he had just returned from school and had panicked upon seeing me in my distressed state. My hands trembled, and wouldn't lie still no matter how hard I tried. I closed my eyes and curled back inside the futon, petrified of returning to sleep, but too exhausted to remain fully awake.
"Katsuragi-san, I'm going to my part time job, okay? There's food and water in the fridge if you're hungry." I heard keys rattle and footsteps headed towards the door.
Don't leave me.
"If there's a problem, you can call me on my cell. There's a phone right over there. I wrote the number on a piece of paper next to the phone. Just dial the numbers in."
Please, please, please.
"I'll be back at nine."
It clawed its way out of my throat, the words I loathed to say:
"I don't want to be alone."
I could imagine him standing in front of the door, one hand on the knob, regarding me peculiarly. "Katsuragi-san?"
"I despise it. I cannot bear it. Therefore, I beg of you... Please, stay. I don't want to be alone again."
"But I promised—"
"Promises are meant to be broken."
"You're wrong."
My heart skipped a beat.
"I'll be back at nine. If I'm not, you have permission to leave here and find a new master... a better one. But I will be back. And when I do return, you're going to realize that there's more to life than broken promises."
I heard the door open and whispered, "I will wait."
"I know you will." I felt his smile and then he was gone.
He came back.
Over the days, as I spent more time adjusting to Master Atsushi's residence, the objects that he bought for me accumulated: a new wardrobe and futon on the second day, my own personal set of western style silverware on the fourth day, a leather leash and collar on the fifth day, and lastly an oversized brown cap. The cap held the most significance because it was the first gift he had bestowed unto me—the very same day I was first taught the concept of trust—and it had also been a belonging of Atsushi's father beforehand. Of course, I promised him I would cherish it forever.
Whenever he was out, at school or his job, I was permitted to step outside of the apartment, but only with the cap secured on my head, over my ears, and my tail tucked into the confines of my pants, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. Master Atsushi explained that a man with feline ears and a tail would be considered a supernatural phenomenon and that then I would be taken away from him by men in white lab coats. Above all, I feared being separated from my master, so I solemnly vowed to obey both conditions.
In the daytime I wandered the land that was unknown to me; Master Atsushi taught me how to find the local library and I spent most of my time there, suddenly as voracious for literature as the Librarian had been. Otherwise, I was either sniffing around the various flower shops, distinguishing the particular flora I recognized from the Maiden's indoor garden, or lounging at the beach, gazing out at the endless sea and wondering if the Sailor's corpse rested on the ocean floor or if perhaps he had survived the storm somehow. I no longer banned myself from reminiscing of my old masters and felt freed to a certain degree despite the overwhelming surge of grief that resulted from it.
Master Atsushi and I shared breakfast and dinner every day. He frequently praised me on what a fine pet I was, so accommodating and self-supporting. I drank in his compliments like a parched beast. Every morning, he would rouse me from my slumber with breakfast already prepared, and every night he would assuredly return home, calling out, "Tadaima!" And I, his loyal pet, would be waiting in advance to welcome him inside, replying, "Okaeri-nasai!" just as he had asked for. I was befuddled at the thought of how I had ever existed in a world without Master Atsushi; how I could have possibly survived without his tender smile or the sensation of his warm hand upon my head, caressing my hair with all the carefulness of a mother carrying her infant.
My only anxiety was the recollection of one occurrence when Master Atsushi came home late into the night, only a few hours before daybreak. His breath reeked of some bitter beverage that burned my nose and caused him to tumble through the door, giggling like a madman. I aided him to his futon, but once he was settled in, he reached out and tugged weakly on my arm. It was a silent plea that I understood better than anyone else could.
Stay with me.
Of course, I complied. With the both of us filling the entire capacity of the futon, I could have easily said it was inconvenient, but the warm sensation of a living, breathing being by my side more than compensated for that slight nuisance. At first, it was wonderful. And then Master Atsushi began speaking. The words poured on and on, relentless in their sorrow and nostalgia:
He spoke of a man who he had encountered long ago. A man who embraced him in bed and taught him things that no one else could. A man who dreamt big and lived just as large. A man who could make him laugh without inhibition and freed him of all societal restrictions, liberating him—urging him to fly higher and live beyond. A man who vanished one day without a single good bye to a land overseas. A man whom he longed for sorely, excruciatingly, unbearably and without restraint.
And then he slept. And I pondered.
Other than that minor apprehension, my life with Master Atsushi was carefree and full of bliss. Until that day, when I went to welcome my master back home, it wasn't him at the door.
"Who are you?" The man standing in the doorway demanded, then immediately locked his stare on my ears. "What are you?"
"Master Atsushi's pet," I answered indignantly, knowing that it was far too late to rush over to my beloved cap. "My name is Katsuragi Shouseki."
"You speak English. And you're not Japanese," He said more to himself than me, then added for good measure, "Definitely not."
"Master Atsushi is not home presently." I stated and moved to close the door on him, but he shoved his foot in the way, hindering my prompt dismissal of him.
With a curious glint in his eyes, he asked, "You said your name was Katsuragi Shouseki?"
I nodded, "That is the name Master Atsushi bequeathed me."
All of a sudden, the man broke out into a grin that sent unpleasant shivers down my back. "Oh, did he now? That's... interesting to know."
"I will inform Master Atsushi that you dropped by." I said and gestured at his foot.
The foot remained. I felt hands reaching out towards my head. "Are those real?"
I backed up a step or two and hissed, "Don't touch me."
Surely my ears were flattened against my head and my tail was twitching frantically to and fro behind me, but I was unconcerned. He already knew my secret. This time the man smirked and I felt a reckless urge to lash out with my claws, but of course I had none. My nails were properly trimmed, as Master Atsushi had advised me to do so since our first week together. The thought of my master, who was to return home any minute now, calmed me to some extent. I inched the door open only the slightest, silently imploring the stranger to remove his foot. Instead, he took that as an unspoken invitation and swept in before I could object. As the man made himself comfortable at the table, I allowed myself to evaluate the intruder; his hair was long and shaggy, his overall appearance unkempt, but he had a rugged look to him that probably melted any woman in his arms. Admittedly, he had a handsome countenance but definitely a disagreeable disposition.
Breaking me out of my observations, I detected a familiar scent—something vaguely similar to the earthy scent of the pages of ancient texts—along with the pitter-patter of approaching footsteps. "Katsuragi-san, tadaima!"
My ears perked up. I was about to reply back, but it was too late.
"Okaeri, Atsushi." The man spoke softly; a striking contrast from the arrogance before.
The footsteps came to a standstill. Master Atsushi stood frozen at the doorway, a plastic bag that contained tonight's dinner in one hand, and was staring into the room. But I knew it wasn't me who had captivated him; he was staring through me, beyond me. At that man. It burned a hole through my chest, that wide-eyed stare of his that was disbelief and shock mingled altogether. And perhaps a bit of exhilaration.
"Katsuragi-san," Master Atsushi whispered, yet his lips barely moved at all. "Katsuragi-san, when did you..."
"Just this morning. I got back a bit earlier than I expected, so I decided to check up on you and see how you were doing," He glanced towards me, then chuckled. "Apparently, you've already found someone new. But I have to say, he's a pretty poor replacement for the real Katsuragi. Looks nothing like me."
Replacement? Real? I turned to my master for clarification of these wretched lies, but I was still hidden from his view. Master Atsushi saw only one person in that room. He cared for only one person in that room. And it wasn't me.
"Why?" Master Atsushi asked hoarsely, his face frighteningly pale.
The man, Katsuragi—the man I had been unintentionally substituting for—answered back simply, "Because I missed you."
There were tears then, and the two were reunited. I slipped out unnoticed and closed the door behind me. For an extensive period of time, I waited outside the door, waiting for my master to grant me permission back inside. I knew, as any dutiful pet would, when my presence was not needed. Time stretched longer and farther than I would wish for during that moment when all I could manage to do was crouch into myself and tremble, praying to all of the holy deities I had come across in the Librarian's collection that Master Atsushi would call for me again. I prayed with all my might until darkness enveloped my mind and the last thing I saw were the old faces of my three masters leering down on me—and along with them was an additional fourth face with shimmering blonde hair and a cruel smile.
When I came to, I was nestled comfortably in my futon. I looked around, my eyes slowly adjusting to the pitch black room. I couldn't dare to hope that everything had all been a dreadful nightmare; a fearsome—but fictional—hallucination. After my eyes adapted, I spotted a hunched form in the northwest corner of the room. Slowly, I crept on all fours towards him. There were no signs of Katsuragi still in the room, but his masculine scent lingered around the air and on the body of my master. My nose cringed once I came near, but nonetheless I perched myself before him and waited.
"You passed out in front of the door," He murmured. "Baka—you could have frozen to death out there. It's the middle of winter."
"My presence was not wanted." I retorted plainly.
Suddenly, Atsushi's arm lashed out and seized my shoulder. "Don't do stupid things that'll endanger your life."
"Would you have rather I stayed in the room with that man?" I challenged.
His grip loosened, but remained intact. "He's gone."
"Gone where?"
"To his wife." Acquiescent yet with a hint of underlying resentment.
I looked up at the ceiling and began to count the tiles. One... "I believe my presence is no longer required here."
"Are you going to leave me?" You, too?
"He has returned to you, has he not? Your Katsuragi-san. The real one." Two...
"I'm sorry, Neko-chan. I'm sorry.
"There's no need for you to apologize, Atsushi." Three, four...
"If only..."
Five, six, seven... "If only?"
His hands clenched into fists. "If only I had met you first."
I noticed that the hand on my shoulder was gone. "I lost count..."
"What?"
"It's nothing, Atsushi."
He laughed; it was a sharp, bitter sound, unlike anything I had ever heard from his lips. "No more 'master,' huh?"
I mimicked a statement he once declared; it seemed to me like an eternity ago. "When a person needs my presence at their side—and my presence alone—only then do I consider them my master."
"But I do need you, Neko-chan."
"No, you don't, Atsushi."
"You hate me now, don't you?"
Never. "Yes."
"Will you remember me after this?"
Forever. "No."
"Did you love me?"
Almost. "Saa na? Who knows?"
He laughed quietly. "You've been watching too many Japanese dramas."
"Thank you, Atsushi," I nuzzled his neck. "You've taught me more than any of my preceding masters."
"I really don't want you to leave," He watched me stand and look around the room, wordlessly entreating. "You're more than welcome to stay."
Finally, I decided on my cap. I picked it up from the floor, dusted it off, and positioned it on my head, careful not to let my ears poke out from the sides. "Even so, I must leave."
"Must? Or want?"
A little of both. "Goodbye, Atsushi. And thank you."
"Nii-san! Look, I found a kitty!"
"Ritsuko, you know we can't take in strays."
"Demo! He's lonely and wet! I couldn't just leave him out there by himself!!"
"No excuses. Now, take him back where you found him."
"Hidoi, Nii-san!"
"Hey, Ritsuko... Where'd you put the cat, anyway?"
"Eh? He's right over there, at the door. Isn't he pretty?"
I locked eyes with an adolescent Japanese boy, most likely still in high school, but with a mature visage that could almost pass him off for a young adult. He glowered at me incredulously, his eyes focusing on my drooped ears, then down to my sagging tail. A breeze swept through the doorway and I shivered underneath my drenched garments. Just as the little girl had instructed me beforehand, I aimed my broad, imploring eyes straight at him. In reaction, his knees buckled underneath him and he practically lurched into an awkward bow before me, still unable to detach his stare from me.
"Kawaii..." He whispered in awe, as if I was some golden idol.
I knelt down next to him and held out my hand. "Your name?"
"...Takashi?"
"Nice to meet you, Master Takashi."
Meh... The ending was completely unsatisfactory for me, but if you happened to like it, please review. If not, review anyway. Criticism much appreciated (and needed); flames welcome.