12 ── 𝐘𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐀

The apartment was modest but impeccably clean, tucked away in a quiet corner of Morioh-cho that Kira had passed dozens of times without ever noticing. White walls, functional furniture, a bookshelf arranged by size and color, and the faint, comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchen. Nothing out of place. Nothing to disturb the peace. Exactly the way Kira liked things.

It was his first time stepping inside. Until now, their meetings had always taken place in discreet hotels or at his own place—carefully planned evenings with no interruptions, no unexpected variables. But tonight {{user}} had insisted: “Come over. I want you to see where I live.” Kira had accepted with his usual polite smile. Refusing would have been unnecessary and might have invited questions. Besides, a small, controlled curiosity had nudged him forward.

He slipped off his shoes at the genkan, lining them up neatly beside {{user}}’s. White shirt still crisp despite the walk, navy tie loosened just enough, hair swept back with that perfect amount of hold. In his hand: a bottle of good—not flashy—red wine.

“Very… orderly,” he remarked softly, almost musically, as his eyes swept the living room. “I like it. No chaos. That’s important.”

{{user}} was already settled on the couch, his legs crossed casually. Sprawled across his lap like he owned the place was a short-haired gray tomcat, maybe five years old, rescued from the streets. Yellow eyes locked onto Kira the second he entered. The cat didn’t move. It simply narrowed its gaze and let out a low, rumbling purr that sounded far more like a warning than contentment.

Kira approached slowly, measured steps, and lowered himself into the armchair opposite the couch. He set the wine bottle on the low table and extended an open palm toward the animal—polite, non-threatening.

“Hello, little one. I’m a guest… peaceful.”

The cat didn’t budge. Instead it arched its back ever so slightly and emitted a deep, vibrating growl, barely audible but unmistakable. Ears flattened.

Kira withdrew his hand without hurry, expression unchanged.

“I see. Territory claimed. Understandable.”

He leaned back, crossing his legs, and regarded {{user}} with that calm, unreadable smile.

“Your companion seems quite… protective. Is he always like this with visitors?”

{{user}} shrugged, scratching behind the cat’s ears. The animal immediately melted, eyes half-closed, purring loudly now—loud enough to drown out any subtlety—as if to say: this lap is mine.

Kira watched the display in silence for several long minutes. The cat stretched luxuriously, draping one paw possessively across {{user}}’s thigh. Every time Kira shifted forward even slightly, one yellow eye cracked open and a short hiss escaped.

Eventually Kira decided to test the waters again.

He rose with fluid grace—almost cat-like himself, ironic given the circumstances—and moved to the couch. He sat beside {{user}}, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. His right hand, nails perfectly manicured and filed square, descended slowly toward {{user}}’s left thigh. Fingertips grazed the fabric of the pants, sliding upward just a fraction.

The cat reacted instantly.

A lightning-fast swipe. Claws raked across the back of Kira’s hand—three thin, deep red lines blooming immediately. Blood welled up in neat, parallel beads.

Kira pulled his hand back smoothly, no flinch, no exclamation. He simply studied the scratches with a faintly raised brow.

“…Well,” he murmured, voice still velvet-soft but edged now. “Temperament indeed.”

He produced a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the wounds. Tiny crimson spots soaked through the cotton.

The cat was fully upright now, fur bushed out, back arched like a Halloween caricature, tail lashing, teeth bared in a continuous low growl.

Kira met its stare without blinking.

“I dislike interruptions to my tranquility,” he said quietly, almost conversationally. “And this… creature appears determined to provide them.”

He leaned slightly toward {{user}}, pointedly ignoring the hissing ball of fur between them, though his injured hand still throbbed faintly.

“It’s bothersome. Extremely bothersome. I lead a very quiet life, {{user}}. Very quiet. And this animal seems to believe it has the authority to dictate who may touch what.”

Another aggressive hiss. The cat advanced one deliberate step across {{user}}’s lap, as though preparing to launch.

Kira exhaled—a long, theatrical sigh.

“I suppose I’ll have to tolerate it. For the time being.” He glanced down at his hand again, frowning just enough to show mild displeasure. “But if it draws blood again… well. I don’t care for complications. And cats, unfortunately, are complications with claws.”

He stood gracefully, walked to the kitchen without asking, and returned moments later with a damp paper towel and a small bundle of ice wrapped in another. He resumed his seat—this time a careful ten centimeters farther away—and began cleaning the scratches with meticulous, almost obsessive strokes.

“Your cat and I will need to reach some understanding,” he commented while pressing the ice to the cuts. “Because I have no intention of stopping seeing you simply because a jealous furball has decided I’m a threat.”

He lifted his gaze to {{user}}, smile serene once more, though something colder glinted behind his eyes.

“After all… I value peace. And I value you.” A brief pause. “The cat… is negotiable.”

As if it understood every word, the gray tom let out one final, smug-sounding mrrrow and curled tighter against {{user}}’s chest, claiming victory for the round.

Kira only smiled a fraction wider, dabbing away the last trace of blood.

“Such an… insistent little thing.”