fanfic by volly
wild adapter (c) kazuya minekura
...
But strays were different, Kubota thought, feeling the kitten's throat vibrate in a purr underneath his fingertips. Strays weren't picky. They took whatever affection happened to be thrown their way. Which probably wasn't very much to begin with, Kubota supposed wryly. Most people wouldn't even look twice at the mangy animals, after all. They weren't exactly the most pleasing creatures to look at, scarred and sharpened as they were by life on their own in the city. And they could be quite vicious when they needed to--nobody would want to get on the end of their needle teeth and claws.
This specimen, however...maybe it was because it was still young, Kubota guessed. It was still a kitten unused to the cruelties of its world. In any case, it was far too trusting, gullible enough to start following him home, tagging along his heels like a puppy might. At first Kubota had been amused, but at the same time it was a bit depressing. Such blind faith was never rewarded in Yokohama, where even your closest of friends could sink a knife in your back for the right price.
Still...
Nobody noticed when he brought it home, hidden in his trench coat. Not that anybody ever took notice of the invisible boy in the first place, Kubota supposed with a shrug. For once, he didn't really mind--the cat was pleasant company, roaming around his room and leaving sooty paw prints over the ground and the furniture and his textbooks. It didn't matter, Kubota said to himself as he scritched the tiny creature under its chin--he never read those things anyways.
He gave it a bit of curry chicken and watched on for a while as it attacked its meal, before he reluctantly left his bedroom to take a shower. He felt a strange twinge of--regret, concern?--upon returning to find the curry dish upended on the floor and the kitten nowhere to be found...and then a wave of relief when the creature poked its head out from the laundry basket, its golden eyes peering inquisitively up at him from under a sock that had flopped over its forehead. Kubota felt himself smiling almost without realizing it as he blackened his hands once more with the cat's fur and decided that it definitely needed a shower as well. Which was when he learned that despite the kitten's apparent friendliness, it still held no qualms against clawing up his arms as he attempted to bathe it in the sink. Kubota focused less on the stinging pain and more on the grime washing off its pale pelt, swirling down the drain and out of sight. And for some reason he couldn't help but feel cleansed.
He dried it off with a spare wash towel, but it still left damp paw marks on his sheets when it climbed into his bed with him later that night, after he'd cleaned up the curry and finished his homework. Its fur tickled his bare skin and its talons prickled against his palm and its tongue was sandpaper-rough on his cheek. Moonlight slanted in through the slats of the shades and tinged the crown of its head white. In the end, Kubota mused, it was really quite a lovely creature. And he wondered, not for the first or last time, how it would feel owning a cat. Or being owned by one.
He went to sleep feeling far more content than he had any right to be. He woke up alone, with just the memory of supple fur lingering on his fingertips. The window was still open, he noted with a sort of disappointed sorrow. And it was just the perfect height for a small kitten to escape through, if it climbed up to the desk from the nightstand. He didn't bother checking the laundry. The cat was, in the end, a feral creature. He really shouldn't have been so surprised at its disappearance. In the end, it belonged to no one but the city.
And the city held no mercy. It died the next day. Kubota paused on his way home and regarded the little furred corpse with quiet resignment. From the looks of it, it had been freshly killed--although there were already flies congregating around the open wounds and its bright yellow eyes were missing from its sockets, perhaps scavenged by some enterprising raven. It must've been hunted down by a dog, judging from the mangled state of its body. The city's stray dogs could be ruthless. They had to be, to live in a place like Yokohama.
There was an odd emotion tightening in his throat. But Kubota had never experienced loss before, seeing how he never had anything to truly treasure in the first place. Not even a little stray cat. He had hesitated--for a moment, he wanted to do nothing more than bury the dead kitten--but eventually decided against it. It was simply a part of the city. And, he figured, it would be hard getting its blood out of his coat.
Tokito was still busy with his video game when Kubota came home. It was one of those fighting games he was so fond of, one of the new releases that had come out just last week. He'd been playing it nonstop for hours, Kubota could tell, and by the looks of it was he was pretty close to finishing off that gay-looking final boss. At least, he would be, if the boss's little cronies would stop kamikazing his character to death every time he was about to deliver a killing blow.
Tokito called out a hello from the couch, but didn't take his eyes off the screen. Kubota just hummed in response and hung his trench coat over a chair, then wandered over to poke around in the kitchen. The refrigerator was depressingly empty, he noted. Tokito had even eaten all the leftover curry from yesterday night. They'd have to go shopping again soon.
There were still some blood oranges in the fruit compartment, however. Kubota took two of these, idly bounced one in his palm and fetched a knife before making his way over to where Tokito sat fuming on the couch. His fighter had been blown up once again by the boss's suicidal sidekicks and he growled as he restarted the level for what might've been the twentieth time already. He was noticeably annoyed, with a tic twitching in a cheek and his brows furrowed in concentration and the tip of his tongue poking out between pursued lips.
It was all very amusing, Kubota thought as he settled himself next to his roommate and started peeling their snacks. Tokito always got irritated so easily and so often. But it never got boring. And Kubota couldn't help but admire how the younger man could wear his emotions so openly on his sleeves, and act however he wanted to, with no restrictions and regret. Kubota only wished he could do the same.
Though Tokito never looked away from his game, Kubota saw him perk up and sniff delicately at the scent of citrus in the air, like the cat he surely was. The blood oranges had been on sale a few days ago, at that farmer's market that met every so often near the piers, Kubota remembered. He'd taken Tokito there after Tokito had complained once too often of his cooking. Although he had initially planned to buy as much nasty-looking health food and veggies as he could in revenge, the sentiment had quickly faded when he saw Tokito enthusiastically ogle all the exotic fruits, a kid in a candy shop. The blood oranges had intrigued the both of them--they looked similar enough to normal oranges, maybe a little bigger, with more of a reddish tinge to its rind. But once the seller had cut one open they could see its ruby-colored flesh inside, and its scarlet juice had stained the blade of the knife like, well...blood, he supposed. It was a rather morbid way of looking at it. But, then again, the fruit had a rather morbid name to begin with.
That didn't stop them from purchasing a bagful, though. Neither did its high price tag. Tokito liked them, so that made it all worth it.
A sharp stinging in his forefinger brought him back to the present. His hand had slipped, and the knife was red now not only with orange juice. It didn't hurt that much--or maybe it was just that he didn't let the pain register--but he stared at the cut with surprise, wondering how he had come to be so careless.
Tokito threw down his controller, not without swearing colorfully as his character perished in yet another brilliant pixilated explosion. He took the slice of orange Kubota quietly offered to him, and spent a moment in sullen silence nibbling at the tart fruit and brooding over his defeat. He didn't notice the cut, not at first, but cursed some more once he did. Kubota shrugged. It was only a scratch, after all, but before he could open his mouth to placate his disgruntled pet he found himself suddenly with a lapful of Tokito.
Dark eyes stared balefully into his own as Tokito took up Kubota's hand in both of his own, black-gloved fingers curling firmly around Kubota's knuckles. He muttered something about Kubo-chan being a clumsy idiot, then paused for only a second before carefully dragging his tongue up the length of the injured finger. The citric acid of the orange he'd just eaten brought sparks of new pain to the cut, but Kubota didn't notice. He was far more preoccupied with the blush on Tokito's cheeks, the intimate warmth of Tokito's breath.
Done lapping up all the blood, Tokito pressed a hesitant kiss to Kubota's fingertip before drawing away and returning to the rest of his orange, munching the snack in an oddly thoughtful manner, as if pondering the metallic saccharinity of blood mixing in with the sweet-and-sour taste of blood orange. Kubota blinked, and it felt like waking up from a dream. His throat was strangely dry, he noticed, and took a bite of his own fruit to soothe it.
"Tokito," he murmured. "I'm surprised."
His roommate gave him a sideward glance, an eyebrow quirked in puzzlement. "What?" Now licking juice from his own fingers, an almost childish gesture.
"I thought I was supposed to be the perverted one."
Tokito flushed with embarrassment and scowled as he swallowed down the rest of his orange. "Shut up, Kubo-chan." But the cat could never really hide his emotions very well, and Kubota smiled at the pleased undertone he detected to Tokito's voice. Tokito didn't protest or struggle when Kubota pulled him close to his side, but only leaned over to rest his cheek against Kubota's shoulder. The tips of his dark hair tickled Kubota's neck, much like the soft fur of that stray kitten he had taken in so long ago. Or was that really true? Kubota considered that last thought for a moment, then dismissed it. No, there was no comparison.
"I like you much better," he said, almost to himself.
"I never know what the hell you're talking about," Tokito complained with a huff. "But you'd better put a bandage on that thing." His breath still smelled like the tang of blood and oranges.
author's notes - first wild adapter fic. \:D/ though i've been in love with this manga for quite a while now. i loves me some kubo-chan.
i really have to wonder why the hell i ramble so much when writing in kubota-pov. srsly, what. :( no, this was so not inspired by the knockout drops music video, why d'you ask? -faaail-