Dammit.

There really weren't any better words for the situation as it stood. It wasn't dire, and under the circumstances it could have been a lot worse, but he hadn't counted on this—or figured a way out of it just yet. Assuming there was one.

DAMMIT.

Tracking down the Composer had been a bad idea.

Tracking down the Composer had been an extremely bad idea and he really should have devoted more thought to the mechanics of it. How in the hell did a being with limitations approach neutralizing a being without limitations? It was a variable he didn't know how to grapple with, but he'd get to the bottom of it eventually if he worried at it. Not that it had worked thus far, since he'd left the last battle, admittedly…

DAMMIT!

…much more feline than he'd started.

It was different as a cat. His senses were much more focused on survival than he was used to, and taking unnecessary risks suddenly seemed too stupid to attempt. Locating and immobilizing food was a prime concern, and shelter less so given that it wasn't raining—although Shibuya became a lot less convenient when he could be seen, heard, and chased. He'd already lost count of the number of kids who'd tried to put their sticky hands on him, and it wasn't easy for Sho Minamimoto to lose count of things. Not to mention there was almost no space for a stray out in the throngs of people and cars and bikes and trains and Oh Ludolph that convertible is perfect…

Finally realizing it might attract attention if he was gawking at a Nissan like it were catnip, he snatched his mind back from it in time to keep himself from falling off the fence. Balance my ANNULUS. Drooling over materials wasn't going to do any good until he had the strength, means, and profound lack of interference to assemble them. Although, provided the right angle and locomotion…

The light turned. A passing dog barked loud enough that he lost his damn balance again and fell off the fence. The convertible disappeared down a side street. Minamimoto's luck and mood both pitched for the third quadrant.

Adjusting to the new body really shouldn't have been so hard. It was a similar feeling to Leo Cantus, but the inability to stand up on his hind legs was vexing to say the least. Plus he kept forgetting he had a tail and how much it contributed to his unimproved balance. Ultimately he came to the conclusion that cats are garbage and this factoring sucks and, in short, staying in that body wasn't going to be an option.

Which meant he had to do one of three things. One, he could go crawling back to the Composer and mewl pathetically until the bastard either changed him back or killed him. That was out. Two, assuming he was in the RG, he could deliberately kill himself and see if he didn't come back as a human in the UG. He could see the Reapers running around from time to time, but he couldn't tell if that was because of his own status or some supernatural perception belonging to this form. Or three, he could find someone besides the Composer—maybe Megs had power like that, he couldn't tell. Of course, that would prompt questions about how he'd gotten that way in the first place, but as long as he actually got his form back he should be able to get out of that somehow. The point one thousand four hundred and fifty first option was, of course, to give up and accept his fate in the form of death or cathood, which was out. That option was usually out, but Minamimoto considered it like everything else.

With that in mind, and determining by the process of elimination that his odds were better if he stuck to the third option, he started moving again. The smell of ramen would have told him he was at Dogenzaka even if he hadn't known most of Shibuya like the back of his hand—paw—shut up, and while getting out of range of Pork City was taking a risk (according to his cat sense), he knew some of the Reapers hung out at the ramen shop and there was a chance he'd run into an officer. After that was the difficulty of communicating his predicament, but maybe if he clawed out some eyes…

He stopped at the corner, catching another cat with black and white markings sitting up on a nearby roof. One black ear twitched and the other cat started to turn, and then a door opened.

"I seriously did pay last time, girl. Remember? I almost came up short."

"That was last month!"

"Nah, we got instant that time."

"Kariya!"

Minamimoto swiveled, ears twitching, to catch sight of the Reapers exiting the shop as the taller one sighed. He glanced back at the other cat, but it was gone. Figures.

"Aight. I'll pay the next two times."

"That's what you said last time!"

"What's got your panties in a bunch? It's not like we're keeping score…"

"Nyaowr?"

Pink hair whipped around and equally pink lips parted and Minamimoto was never so happy to see a pair of tits in his life. "Kitty!" she exclaimed in a voice bubbling over with affection, clasping her hands and lifting one leg flirtatiously. Obligingly, the Grim Heaper pricked his ears and cocked his head, at which point the lolcat caption would have read "Plz to has turn bak nao?"

Unfortunately enough, the Reaper in question didn't happen to speak lolcat, and her partner looked less than enthusiastic at Minamimoto's arrival. "Y'know, they say if a black cat crosses your path—"

"Oh, don't be like that, I bet he's a sweetheart. Aren't you? Awen't yoo-hoo~?" she warbled, bending slightly towards his level with her hands on her knees.

Minamimoto's fur twitched sharply just above his shoulder blades but he maintained his inquisitive look, if not his more patient mewls. "Nyaaahnh." He was convinced that if he could just cut off the odd dip in the beginning he could start making an attempt at words, but his throat wouldn't let him and the tongue was useless—too broad at the tip for consonants.

The pink-haired one dissolved into giggles and the other guy—Keiji, Kiki, Klondike, something—rolled his eyes. Just as well. Minamimoto really didn't feel like trying to win his heart, but the girl was thoroughly smitten and already petting him.

No one had ever pet Sho Minamimoto before.

It was an odd feeling but there was something a little addictive about it, especially when her fingertips grazed a spot at the base of hiAPOSIDJGLKSAJDFLAJ "Nra—nrao—nya—nyonh—!"

Klondike chuckled. "Cat's having a seizure."

"They do that. I find the same spot on you and who knows what kind of sounds you'll make," Pink hair said with a nasty little smirk, fingernails cutting their work short on the explosion of OH and YES and WHAT at the spot just before his tail began.

"Oh-hoh. Zing." Klondike twirled a something—lollipop?—near the lips turned up in a matching smirk. "Don't go thinkin' I'm that easy. I start yapping like a poodle and that's blackmail for a deathtime, girl."

A sharp laugh. "Then maybe I'll use it to motivate you. You could stand to be a little more serious about this stuff." She drew back and Minamimoto wavered, a little overwhelmed by this entire everything, but caught himself on his paws. "You better get home now, 'kay? Where do you live?"

—WAS THAT—no you stupid DIGIT that's not the POINT—

"Uzuki?"

"Hmmm?"

Klondike toyed with his something—bean paste, maybe. "I really hate to break this to you, but…it's a cat. It doesn't understand what you're saying. And probably thinks you look really silly, but doesn't wanna say anything because you're trying so hard."

Uzuki pouted at him over her shoulder and managed to make it look dangerous. "Since when do you know so much about cats?"

"I was one once."

And the conversation got exponentially more interesting.

Uzuki's expression soured. "What."

"Totally. Reincarnation, remember?"

Violet eyes rolled. "Kariya.You don't get to remember that," the pink-haired insisted snidely.

Kariya shrugged and popped the bean paste in his mouth. "Aight. Don't believe me."

But there was an individual who believed him all right, and Minamimoto charged after Kariya as the older of the Reapers turned to leave, mewing and meowing and carrying on for all he was worth and wishing he were a Siamese or had a megaphone or anything that would draw more attention. Kariya only gave him a bewildered look over his orange shades, but he said, he had to know—and where Minamimoto normally would have gone to grab the guy by the arm he ended up embedding his claws in Kariya's calf.

"Nyeh—! Rowrrrrrrrrrr…!"

Spots flickered in front of his eyes as he realized he had definitely been kicked a ways but landed on his feet. He wasn't badly hurt, but he could hear Uzuki shouting and Kariya cursing and briefly regretted burning this bridge. The thought occurred to him that maybe he should take out his frustrations on the Reaper regardless, teach him not to say stupid things, but he didn't want to get kicked again and there'd be plenty of time to discipline the wayward Reaper once he got his body back.

So he turned tail—literally—and was pleased to discover that this body's speed at least equaled what he'd had as a Reaper on foot, if not in the air. Unfortunately he was using muscles that didn't exist before and it didn't take him long to wear out his top speed, coming to a stop in the comforting shade of that stupid dog statue he could never remember the name of. Hanemoto or something. He didn't completely understand the way a cat's body functioned just yet and kind of figured it out, settling into an almost dog-like position before working out what was most comfortable and waiting for his muscles to stop burning. It probably wasn't the safest idea, but the shadows were dark enough that he figured no one would see him unless they were looking for him.

He hadn't really meant to drift off, especially because it was a little too cold for comfort in the shade, but before he knew it everything was getting foggy. It seemed like another cat was there, a light sniff tickling at his ear and making him twitch. Was it the same one from earlier? Tuxedo cat, with odd markings on its face almost like glasses. But then it was gone—or no, then a cat-shaped figure was sitting just in front of him and watching the crowds like a sentinel.

At some point it left, he didn't remember when between almost catching a mouse the size of an elephant and getting chased by a kid with the Composer's face, and he must've been really out of it because he didn't react to the change that was the ground falling away and arms encircling him. They were large arms, or maybe they just felt that way because he was small now—but just a little unpleasantly hard, and the stranger smelt of fish and seasoning. With a faint mewl, Minamimoto turned over and burrowed into the warmth, letting his tail curl around the stranger's forearm and hearing a deep chuckle.

"Excellent. Just the ingredient I need."

Integer…intr…ingredient…?

Somewhere in catnipland it occurred to Minamimoto that he couldn't trust this person, as fishy as he smelled—well, damn, that wasn't a good thing in the first decimal place, and what would he want with a cat of all—

I AM ABOUT TO BE EATEN.

Before he was even sure he'd crossed the line back to consciousness Minamimoto had his ears back and all four paws on the ground, running faster than he even knew he could. All thought of getting back to normal, getting back to the UG, becoming Composer—none of it even mattered in the rush of adrenaline that came from the pure animalistic instinct for self-preservation.

The same instinct that made him skid around a corner, clawing at the concrete, and smack dab into a kid on a bike.

He was probably lucky the bone in his foreleg didn't snap like a twig, but he still took every sacred name he could think of in vain as he limped from the scene. The kid wasn't hurt bad, unfortunately enough, but was clearly too mad at him for pulling the stunt to help—not that Minamimoto would've let the kid do anything else to him after that factoring bogus nim.

And that left him to wander what he realized was Udagawa, from the graffiti, and he wasn't alone. There was a kid by the skate shop, forgotten headphones resting on his collar and blasting Malice Mizer at his neck, with a skinny hand tracing the edges to one of the designs with an almost religious awe. What's got that binomial stymied? Minamimoto wondered with a little bitterness, still thoroughly pissed at the one responsible for putting him through another run for his life.

There'd been a thing at one of the briefings about the guy making these derivations, but he'd only been there for around three minutes so he didn't remember the details. CAT, he recalled suddenly, and wasn't that just fucking ironic—although, now that he thought about it, the images made more sense now than they ever had when he was a Reaper. Not that he'd ever really looked, but it was…different, somehow. Maybe, as the artist's name suggested, it required a different perspective to make sense—because it was a puzzle, as addictive as an equation but not that linear, and he was starting to put it together…

He'd been too absorbed in the graffiti to hear it when the boys came up behind him, but in the next second he was hitting the wall, feeling bone splinter against it and collapsing in a heap. His head buzzed, vision blurring and flickering for a moment as he struggled to sit up, wondered why—even though, as always, the why didn't really matter. It was the how he had to worry about, and that was looking like a well-worn skateboard wielded by a kid who couldn't have been older than thirteen.

"Whoa, did you see him hit?"

"Yeah, man. Let's just go, aight?" There was a slightly younger kid with him, trying really hard to fit into his thuggish clothes and fidgeting.

A chuckle too evil for how young it was. "Nobody's around, I'm just fuckin' with him."

Turning on his stomach with ten times more agony than he expected, Minamimoto cast a quick glance around the alleyway to realize that was true—Orangey had wandered off and the spot was deserted. His legs wouldn't work—one of them felt broken and bloomed a bright flower of anguish every time he shifted, vision flickering red. He was being noisier than he thought he could, too, every breath leaving him in a faint whimper that didn't have any effect but to make him want to cry—he couldn't remember the last time he had.

Inevitability was approaching, suddenly so much higher than he had ever been, could ever be—and—

"C'mon, man, stop it!" came the other boy's voice, punctuating the sharp yowl from Minamimoto as his companion's foot found its mark.

It couldn't hurt more than this, it couldn't get worse than this, infinity had an end and this was it and the bastard kicked him one—two—three more times point one four one five two six five three five eight nine seven…

Through some act of god the boys didn't touch him again, gone in a small eternity, and a rough wetness peeled across his ear. By the time he could will his eyes open again he realized it was the tuxedo cat, cleaning him with a calmness that seemed out of place for the situation. I'm dying, you dumb radian, he thought angrily, but couldn't seem to make a sound—it'd only be catspeak anyway and he didn't understand that—and all things considered it was a lot more soothing than most of the day had been, most of life had been…

Footsteps.

Oh Euclid. No.

The other cat was gone with a faint meow, padding off like the damn thing had gotten bored, and reality dipped and pulled and a hand was reaching for him. He couldn't move. He just absolutely couldn't, this was it, it was over—the hiss that he tried to call up out of instinct died with a gurgle and he knew he was trembling.

"Shhhh, it's alright…you're hurt bad, boss…"

No shit, he thought, but couldn't contain the faint protest when he felt the stranger's hands on him. His vision was swimming in and out, but he could tell it was a sort of odd-looking guy in a vest, ducktail hair above calm mocha eyes. The tuxedo cat was perched on his shoulder, alternately rubbing her whiskers against his ear possessively and watching Minamimoto.

"I know. Hold still now…"

Suddenly everything felt slightly better and he had the unmistakable feeling that he was safe, with that hand clenched around the fur at the nape of his neck, and he could feel things shifting and cracking inside him when the stranger moved him—cried out against them—but couldn't help feeling that it was going to be okay, it really was.

The tuxedo cat's tongue brushed his ear when his savior stood, Minamimoto nestled in his arms like a newborn, and the Grim Heaper winked in and out of consciousness until dark nothingness claimed him.

Playing the Game as a cat was going to suck and Minamimoto knew this.

Fortunately enough, he hadn't died—or, well, hadn't died again—and when he woke up it was to a pair of hands resting next to him and twin legs below tangled in the blankets. When he realized this he lurched like the whole bed had burned him and stared, counting the fingers out of habit while his mind went back over the entire situation.

Assuming that it hadn't been a dream—which it hadn't, he was too sore and this place was too unfamiliar for that to be the case—there was nothing in his recollection to engineer this result. The metamorphosis had to have taken place while he was unconscious, and while there was a remote possibility the Composer specifically made it temporary, Minamimoto didn't figure he was that forgiving.

That said, he was human but still catlike. The Noise form was part of that, but he had whiskers now and that was different. He wasn't sure if he'd get used to the itchy feeling in his brain when something grazed them. A quick check at the mirror confirmed that his once-brown eyes were a bright amber, although he was fairly certain they'd been heading in that direction for a while, and clothes that were definitely his were folded on a chair by the door.

…Whose house was this?

Further examination yielded a coffee shop of sorts. The stranger who'd saved him was at the counter, talking with a customer in red, and Minamimoto stuck to the shadows for the moment. Instinct told him he was back at Reaper status, but the mathematician always double-checked his calculations.

Only once the customer was gone did he emerge into the kitchenette. The owner's back was to him, water running against his hands as he washed out a coffee mug, but he spoke just a second before Minamimoto was going to. "Glad to see you're up and about." He turned off the water, flicking damp fingers at the sink, and turned around to rest his elbows against the countertop. "You alright, boss?"

Minamimoto hesitated. The stranger's stance looked relaxed but he'd very specifically freed up his hands instead of gone for a towel. It was especially odd to the Grim Heaper because if a struggle ensued, the black-haired man's hands would be too slippery to be much use in the long run and he hadn't expected someone who could sense him without turning around to make a mistake like that. "…I'll be alright. Why did you save me?" No point in drawing circles around the issue.

An easy shrug. This guy was too bony to be a problem in a fight, Minamimoto could relax. "Why would I leave you? You were gonna die, kiddo."

"I'm already dead and you know it."

The stranger rubbed the back of his neck in what looked like embarrassment. "Got me there. Hey—here I am being a lout. Sanae Hanekoma, charmed." He extended a hand.

The Grim Heaper didn't see any harm. "Sho Minamimoto," he rattled off—a name, a simple combination of sounds and writing, had never seemed like enough to define him but society made it necessary—and took the offered hand.

It was dry.

Minamimoto didn't let go. "Who—what are you?" he demanded, immediately on his guard. Neither of them had the advantage; Minamimoto was definitely stronger but his hand was still as preoccupied as Hanekoma's.

The stranger—because he still very much was one—was giving him an amused look, almost as dangerous as one of his own, and didn't seem the least bit bothered by this turn of events. "Nobody. Just an outsider," he said easily. "I watch the Game. Make sure you kids play by the rules."

"Does the Composer know you exist?"

"Composer's well aware of me."

Process of elimination. Kid's stuff.

"Producer."

Hanekoma nodded. "Score one for the math whiz."

Then he'd expected Minamimoto to figure it out. The thus accused mathematician let go—under the circumstances it was more dangerous to hang on—and took a wary step back. "Then. Why."

"You're really not in a position to be making demands of your superior officers, kiddo."

"And you're really about to piss me off. You've made this an inequality and you want something for your side of the equation. Q.E.D."

That time Hanekoma's eyebrows shot up. Either he was impressed or he was faking it. "Quick. I save cats, not Reapers, so you're definitely an anomaly."

"Tangent."

"Sustained. Alright, I'll admit. I could maybe use your help on a couple things. But for the moment, all I ask of you…" He moved faster than Minamimoto thought he could and in a second his fingernails rested on the base of the Grim Heaper's spine. "…is that you keep in touch."

Minamimoto melted, making a faint mewl that grew into a frustrated moan he could barely control, and Hanekoma drew away at exactly the wrong time; too quickly for comfort and too slowly to avoid humiliation. His unwilling guest immediately backed into the counter to his right to keep Hanekoma from doing it again, amber eyes narrowed, if a bit glazed. "…That too?" he asked almost piteously.

"It's the Composer's work, boss," the Producer said with a shrug. "I can't erase all of it."

Even if Minamimoto had a sneaking suspicion that he could and wouldn't.

Muttering a mathematical oath, the Grim Heaper pushed off the counter and started for the door. He held too little sway over this whole situation to make this bearable. "Right. Fine. But if I don't like where this tangent is going, every radian in this plane gets to know who you are."

Hanekoma only grinned at that. "Oh, I think you'll like it."

"Divide by zero," Minamimoto snarled, and slammed the door.

Author's Note: Alright let's get one thing straight right here and now. I AM NOT A MINAMIMOTO FAN. Note that I never use his first name in the narrative. It's because I hate him. But plot bunnies attack me and rape me in my sleep (oh you laugh but you have no idea) and then this kinda stuff happens. What's worse is it's completely tangential to what I'm doing with Kingdom HeOH JESUS JOSHUA CHRIST HERE WE GO. Would you believe math puns are addictive as hell? Especially for a reference whore like me. I can't stop at just one and it gets ridiculous.

ANYWAY. Internal drama and all over this whole thing aside, I owe just about everything in my interpretation of Minamimoto to ErsatzLove because she's the master of all things Sho. Which means the kitty G-spot and tendency to recite numbers in place of helplessness are both hers.

Thanks for reading!