Work Text:
HOW TO SEDUCE YOUR BOYFRIEND'S CAT INTO LOVING YOU IN FIVE EASY STEPS: A PEGORYU + RYU&MONA STORY OF LOVE AND TOLERANCE AND FEEDING SPECIES-APPROPRIATE SNACKIES
STEP ONE: ACQUIRE TARGET
The moment he pulls his next client into the exam room, Ryuji knows with a deep and unabating sense of urgency, that he's gonna wife this guy the hell UP.
Let's backtrack a bit.
Sakamoto Ryuji. 24. 180cm when he stands up straight. Biceps that his markedly bisexual bestie has told him can shatter the hopes and dreams of anyone with eyes. Eyes that have been described as ”soulful“, ”puppy-like“, and ”stop trying to guilt me into buying you ramen, you can buy your own ramen, you're literally employed, why are you freeloading off of me“ in turns.
Terminally single.
Not his fault! He meets a girl, he dates her for a few months, she breaks his heart, he goes and cries on Ann's shoulder, rinse and repeat. He tries, he really does! He knows how to go on dates, knows how to treat a girl respectfully, knows to brush his teeth and not eat anything with onion or garlic unless there's absolutely no expectation of kissing.
But one after the other, all his relationships fizzle out. Girls seem to like him well enough. They just don't like his job, or his hobbies.
It's nothing shady, of course. Sakamoto Ryuji is a hundred kilos of goodboy packed into the shell of a punk. Yeah, maybe he could stop bleaching his hair, but at this point it's been him for almost a decade, and his job doesn't care. Why should he have to change something so shallow about himself just to score a relationship?
Anyway.
The girls he tends to (used to) go for, or the girls who tended to (used to) go for him: they were always cute, liked their makeup and their treats and holding onto his arm while they crossed the street. Liked being pampered.
Didn't like that he usually comes home with blood, shit, piss, or a combination of the three on his scrubs almost every day. Didn't like the dusting of fur that inevitably ends up everywhere in his apartment.
He does his best, okay, but he won't apologize for the job he does or what that entails.
It took him forever to figure out what he wanted to do, after he broke his femur so bad in his first year of high school that it crushed every single dream of professional running he'd carried since elementary school. By the time he'd recovered enough to bear weight, his doctors and physical therapist had warned him that he'd need to be careful. That he'd need to be realistic.
That if he pushed himself too hard, he might never run again. But if he was careful, if he listened, if he was good—
To let him through that time of his life, his mom took him to a lot of cat cafes. Their apartment had a strict no-pets clause, but Ma grew up with animals everywhere, and she always said that nothing heals faster than a good warm furry body cuddled up next to your own.
That was the start of the slippery slope that led him here— his job at an animal hospital, and his hobby of taking the dogs from the shelter down the road on runs every weekend.
Turns out, girls don't like when you show up late to dinner with mystery fluid staining your pants! Girls don't like sitting down on your couch and getting fur stuck to those cute white skirts. Girls don't like coming to the shelter and getting a full face of muddy paws and slobbery tongue.
So he's taking a break from girls.
But! Guys?
Not that he's. Y'know. Had any time to ask. Or look. Or, anything. But he's open to it.
And this guy— pale as a sheet of paper, circles under his eyes dark enough you could shine a flashlight into, tentatively holding a tuxedo kitten that's standing in the circle of his arms and trying to fight the string of his hoodie— this guy.
This guy has the energy of every single shelter dog he's ever looked at. The sad eyes. The hungry expression. The hope that for once something might go right.
And Sakamoto Ryuji, who has spent the last ten years of his life selflessly trying to do just that for hundreds of animals, accepts his new self-given mission without a single moment's hesitation.
(Kursu Akira. 26. Just out of prison for a crime he didn't commit. Found a kitten outside of his foster father's cafe. Directed here by his foster sister almost immediately. Still reeling and adjusting to life outside, let alone life in Metro Tokyo. Still unsteady on his feet enough to miss the glint in his foster sister's eyes, let alone her girlfriend. Walks into the room led by a man with shoulders and biceps wide enough to give him a legitimate crisis, and that's before the man picks this tiny fragile kitten up with the gentlest grasp— and doesn't even flinch when the kitten bites him right on the webbing between thumb and forefinger. He laughs instead. Kurusu Akira's heart goes ba-dunk. He thinks it's the four coffees he's had today.)
STEP TWO: ACQUIRE BOYFRIEND
The best part about first-time pet parents, especially ones that Ryuji has a vested interest in seeing again and again, is that they have absolutely no clue what they're doing.
The kitten— “Morgana”, what an adorably pretentious name for something that's effectively the mass of two sticks of butter cosplaying as a blender, goddamn those little kitten teeth and nails— is eight or so weeks old by now. All of his first baby teeth are in, and he uses them to great effect on Ryuji when he lifts the kitten's tail up to double check its gender. It can be hard in a kitten that small and young, so he'll do it again at the twelve-week visit just to watch Kurusu bite his cheek to keep himself from smiling at the way Morgana yells and then chomps down on Ryuji's hand.
He's not a masochist or anything, okay? It's just funny. He's hurt himself worse with a papercut.
And there’s nothing like enjoying the schadenfreude of watching Mr Eyebags fumble all over himself apologizing for, again, the equivalent of his toddler kicking him in the ankle. It’s honestly fine. He’s been doing this for years, he’s had every kitty curse word in the book thrown at him. It’ll take a lot more than that to hurt his feelings.
And yeah, if he does a revenge-fueled nail trim while they’re in the back for his shots, who’s going to judge him? Let he who has not been perforated cast the first stone.
It’s easy enough once Ryuji’s bribed him with the remnants of his lunch (leftover tuna salad). The little bastard shoves his whole head into Ryuji’s bento just to chase the high of a single whiff of tuna, making it simple as anything to pick up one foot at a time, press his thumb into those tiny beans, and trim each fish-hook off. By the end of it, Morgana is purring up a storm, and Ryuji has to bring him back to Kurusu looking like he dipped his head into a bowl of mayonnaise.
(Obviously he cleaned him off first. And tried to dry him too, which is why he has four punctures in his thumb now instead of just two.)
(Kurusu Akira. 26 years old. Drowning in— well. He's not sure what to call it, but Futaba calls it PTSD, and there's no way, that's for like, things that are life-changing, right? Like car crashes, and war. Not a stint in jail that, well, yeah, changed his life and chased him out of the town he lived in his whole life and maybe thought he'd die in too, but just because his family's disowned him and he's effectively unemployable in his hometown now doesn't mean that it's life-changing, right?
…Right.
…..the kitten is helping. Sometimes he sits in one place for too long and the kitten will come and step on him with its terrible claws, and meow at him with its piercing little voice, and sit on his neck and purr until he stops crying. Not that he cries a lot, because… well. He's fine, right? He's fine.
…knowing that he's not fucking the kitten up too much and seeing that blond dorito-shaped vet tech smile down with those dumb little shiba-inu eyebrows curled up. That's fine too.)
STEP THREE: BRIBERY
Of course Ryuji wheedles and whines his way into being the assistant on Morgana's neuter, and not just because it means a little extra time with his dad. It's an easy surgery, almost no risk of complications due to how short it is, and he needs a few more hours in the surgery suite while he works towards his certification.
It's definitely a perk, though, sitting in the conference room right next to him on the couch and holding Morgana upside down on his knee while the kitten tries his best to eviscerate his wrist. The guy— Kurusu— still looks like he hasn't slept for more than 15 minutes at a time between appointments, and the shadows under his eyes somehow get deeper when he hands Ryuji the carrier and stands up to leave.
It's equally as adorable as it is heartbreaking. This dude just loves this street kitten so much! Ryuji's gotta be pretty stoic about these things at this point in his career, but there's just something about these two that make him…not.
He doesn't normally do this for his appointments, but he calls Kurusu's name before he leaves the room; he promises that he'll let Kurusu know right before they start and then again when Morgana's out of surgery, so he knows exactly when to start and stop worrying.
The smile that gets him! So small, but so sweet. Exhausted, worried, trusting. It's like he's put his whole heart straight into Ryuji's hands. Of course Ryuji will return it to him unharmed.
But if he wants Ryuji to hang onto it for a bit longer…
(Kurusu Akira. 26 years old. His drunk-ass cat is purring on his chest, and even though the plastic cone is digging into the meat of his chin and behind his ear [because no matter what, his perfect little gremlin has to have his face shoved right into Akira's at all times] he hasn't been this relaxed in— who knows how long.
Cradled delicately in the hand not cupped protectively over Morgana's back, his phone vibrates again. ‘Sakamoto’ from the clinic, reassuring him that a little discharge from the surgery site is just fine, and if he's comfortable with it and needs an expert's opinion then they can meet up anytime, anyplace. He's happy to help.
He really does seem happy to help. He was… it was so hard to leave Morgana there this morning, because what if the worst happened, what if, what if. His closest companion, dying alone and bleeding on a cold steel table—
Okay. He knows that's being dramatic. He looked up the procedure way too many times before today. He asked Sakamoto about it maybe more than he should have. It definitely sounds like it's easier than it would have been if he was a girl cat and they had to open him up. And Sakamoto was—
…Nice. Comforting. Reassuring. Even though it sucked, and he spent most of the day dissociating— he can't remember anything between drop off this morning and the minute his fingers met Morgana's fur again at pickup this afternoon— every time he checked in, Sakamoto would get back to him in minutes.
It’s … good. To be able to trust someone again. To have this tentative knowledge that if he reaches out, that if he asks—
Someone will be there. )
STEP FOUR: HOMOEROTIC BONDING FOR FUN AND PROFIT
It’s like—
Ryuji doesn’t believe in fate, not in the slightest. He can’t, not with all the shit that’s happened in his life, he just can’t believe that there’s something up and around there controlling every little string in everyone’s lives. That’s crazy talk.
But.
When he rounds a corner running through Inokashira Park with his latest shelter buddy and comes across Kurusu standing next to a tree holding a leash as well, it almost makes him wonder, almost makes him grateful.
The leash, on first glance, looks attached to the tree, until he follows the line of it stretching upwards into the lowest boughs, and— yep, there are those bright blue eyes, pupils huge, staring back down at him.
It's the least cute meet-cute imaginable— he's dripping with sweat, his buddy almost pees on Kurusu's shoes while sniffing around the bushes, Morgana jumps down and lands directly on his scalp with all his claws out— but it gets him another one of those tiny, absolutely perfect smiles, so he'll take what he can get.
And what he can get is Kurusu offering to walk them back to the shelter!
It's amazing, everything he could never have imagined or hoped for. Morgana shows absolutely no interest in the dog, which is pretty impressive for a cat that age; the dog, too exhausted from the run and the heat, has just as little interest in the cat. It leaves Ryuji plenty of brain space to worry about if he's too sweaty, or admire the way that the sunlight picks up strands of russet in both Kurusu's hair and Morgana's fur in a way the clinic's fluorescent lights could only dream of doing.
Kurusu's a little awkward in the most endearing way. He won't really meet Ryuji's eyes or look over for more than a second or two, and there's a pretty little dusting of pink sitting right at the tips of his ears and across his cheek. Like he's flustered. Like he's — oh, yes please— trying not to stare at Ryuji's admittedly-well-worked-on biceps.
He likes the dog, and even bends down to give it a good belly rub before Ryuji drops it back off, ignoring Morgana's fussy hissing in his ear.
When Ryuji comes back out, Kurusu's still there, fiddling around with his phone under the shade of the awning. He shoves the phone back in his pocket without dislodging Morgana's precarious perch on his shoulder, which would be pretty impressive if he didn't look like he was squaring up to walk into a bar fight or something.
Ryuji wants to take that look and hurl it into the middle of the road to get run over by a semi or something. There's nothing to be worried about here! It's just them! And nothing terrible's happening, no surgeries, just.
Just two dudes, chilling on a sidewalk. Two feet apart.
Could be closer.
Kurusu seems to think the same, because that low smooth voice that Ryuji just can't get enough of ends up stumbling through an invitation to a cafe nearby.
HELL yes!
(Kurusu Akira. 26 years old. Almost asphyxiates on a sip of coffee because the guy he's finally admitting he may or may not have a crush on is sitting across from him and laughing, and the sun turns his hair to gold, and Morgana just stepped a whole foot into his salad and looks like he's going to put a second one in there, in no particular order.
Is this what it's like? To feel like this again? Unweighted? Unburdened? Free to just sit at a cafe with a cute guy and laugh?
He watches Sakamoto watch him laugh, watches that wide smiling mouth go a little slack, a little awed, collects Morgana back into his lap, and thinks firmly for only the second time since he's been back out in the world—
Yes. I want this.)
STEP FIVE: TRY TO BECOME THE PREFERRED PARENT. FAIL, BUT GAIN A BESTIE ANYWAY
It's been six months, but even on his worst pain days, stuck on their couch with a bottle of paracematol and a splitting headache to match the bone-deep throb in his femur Ryuji still catches moments of awe.
Their apartment. Their couch. Their cat leaving the dusting of fur everywhere, to nobody's complaint.
His boyfriend, who fusses at him until Ryuji has to almost push him out the door to get to work. Sure, Boss wouldn't complain about his favorite (and only) employee being a few minutes late to work, but it's the thought that counts!
Ryuji's done this all on his own for the last decade or so, he can handle a six hour shift without Akira fussing over him. He's got water and NSAIDs and the TV remote and his PTO in, he'll be just fine.
Still worth it for his fussy boyfriend to kiss him right on the forehead before slinking out the door like Ryuji's banished him forever.
Then it's just him and Morgana, who still hasn't forgiven him for making him and Akira move out of Boss's toasty warm bean-flavored attic bedroom and into a nice normal 2LDK just about 5 minutes from the nearest station. The second bedroom is Morgana's, even! It's got all his cat stuff, his trees and slings and big wheel and bucket full of catnip that Futaba and Ann not-so-secretly smuggled in for him. He's spoiled rotten.
Doesn't stop him from giving Ryuji the biggest stink-eye in the world when he hasn't left at his normal time.
Sorry, buddy. We're roommates for good today.
There's a weird game show on, one of Ryuji's favorite pastimes on days like this. Just low enough effort that he doesn't have to pay too much attention to know what's going on; just high enough stakes that when he does want to tune in, it's engaging.
It takes almost twenty minutes for Morgana to stop staring at him, propped against the arm of the couch with a pillow under and heating pad over his knee. He dangles his hand down, fingers curled, offering a nice pet; Morgana deigns to sniff his fingers and then pulls his face back, mouth open in the classic “smells bad” cat face. All Ryuji can do is huff a bit in laughter and settle back down.
A minute or two later, there’s motion down at the foot of the couch. Morgana hops up, staring at him with tail flicking back and forth. Ryuji pats his lap encouragingly; there’s not been a single time in the last six months where Morgana has willingly snuggled up with him, and as fun as the shelter dogs are to cuddle there’s really nothing like a good purr! Hasn’t Ryuji been good? Hasn’t he cleaned his share of the litterboxes and filled his share of the food and water dishes? How long can a cat hold a grudge against the guy who was complicit in removing his testicles?
Then a big nasty jolt of nerve pain blasts all the way up his femur and through his spine, which puts a lot of thinking on the back burner for a minute. It’s been years, sure, but you never really get used to nerve pain. He’s as healed as he’s going to get; this is just going to be something that happens for the rest of his life. Isn’t that fun to think about.
When he’s done gritting his teeth and sinking back into the couch, Morgana has crept closer, little kitty feet dimpling the blankets beneath him. He’s about knee level, between his good leg and his bad. One of his paws comes up and sets down on the heating pad draped over his thigh, then another. He weighs like two bananas, so when he settles his full bodyweight down it doesn’t hurt at all.
Tentatively, Ryuji reaches back out. Morgana blinks at him, then pushes his head under Ryuji’s fingers with the start of a rumbling purr.
(Kurusu Akira. 27 years old. Comes home early, dismissed after dropping six mugs [and breaking none of them, thank you very much] to find the two loves of his life sacked out one on top of the other. Hasn’t felt emotion like this in… years. He’s got a box in his pocket, because Ryuji’s the one to do most of the cleaning and there’s nowhere that he can hide it where Ryuji won’t find it. He’s tried threading the ring through Morgana’s collar, but the little shit pretends that it’s heavy as concrete and won’t move with the extra weight.
That’s fine. There’s no rush. The three of them aren’t going anywhere unless they go together.
He smiles, bright and wide. Sakamoto Morgana has a pretty nice ring to it, doesn’t it?)