Chapter Text
Shōta flicks his ears, tail twitching as he surveys the balcony.
Even while in human form, he’s been craving a proper cat nap all day, and now that he’s shifted, the urge has doubled – but unfortunately, the weather is not agreeing with him. Normally he prefers napping on his balcony, but today it’s fully shaded, and the temperature is cool enough that it’s almost chilly, making his fur bristle as he wishes for even a small patch of sunlight.
Shōta huffs out the best equivalent to a sigh his current vocal tract can manage, and then turns to head back inside, but before he does, his eyes catch on his neighbor’s balcony.
There’s a perfect patch of sunlight right next to a pot of morning glories.
For a moment, Shōta wavers, debating whether to squeeze through the fence and over to the other balcony or not. He’s not sure what sort of being his neighbor is, but nowadays even the non-magical ones tend to have premade wards around their homes, and Shōta’s not particularly keen on setting off any alarms.
Then again, he is in his cat form right now. If anyone catches him, he can always just pretend to be a curious pet and not a real home intruder.
With that, Shōta sticks his head between the bars of the fence.
It’s a bit of a tight fit, and it takes a bit of wriggling to squeeze his hips through, but eventually he pops back out on his neighbor’s balcony. He hesitates for a moment, poised to scramble back through the fence if any alarms go off, but apparently his neighbor doesn’t care much about home security, and Shōta relaxes again, before padding over to the oval shaped patch of sunlight.
With that, he curls up into a neat ball and closes his eyes.
Shōta’s not entirely sure how long he dozes for, not quite conscious but never slipping into deep sleep. He melts slowly into the puddle of sunlight, relishing in the way it warms his dark fur, and not for the first time, part of him wishes he were a real cat.
However, he’s broken out of his daze as he hears the balcony door slide open with a solid thump, followed by the soft noise of footsteps. His ears twitch and swivel as he drags his sleep-heavy eyes open, and he tenses his muscles in preparation for a speedy getaway when he hears someone say, “Oh? What do we have here?”
Shōta’s eyes finally land on the figure in the doorway, a tall man with long blond hair and bright red eyes that shine even in the overcast weather. For a moment, Shōta freezes, wondering if he’s been stupid enough to trespass into a vampire’s territory, but the man’s pupils aren’t shaped quite right, too rounded in comparison to the catlike slits that most vampires have.
Still, he’s been caught in the territory of something magical, which is never a good situation.
“Don’t look so spooked,” the man huffs, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at Shōta. “I’m just going to water my plants.”
The man holds up a watering can, and Shōta relaxes slightly, but only just.
He watches on warily as the man makes his way over to the planters hanging off the balcony railing, watering them leisurely. Of course, this positions him directly between Shōta and the escape route back to his own balcony, and Shōta tenses again, wondering if the move was intentional.
The man hums to himself as he finishes up watering those two planters, and then turns to water the pot of morning glories next to Shōta’s patch of sunlight. Shōta feels his ears flatten themselves back on instinct as the man looms over him, and he’s mentally calculating whether or not he can squeeze through the gap between the man’s legs to make his getaway.
However, as soon as the man’s done watering his morning glories, he crouches down next to Shōta and holds out a hand.
Shōta stares at the outstretched palm for a moment, confused, but then it slowly dawns on him that this man thinks he’s an actual cat. For a moment, Shōta hesitates, but then he leans forward to sniff the man’s hand, miming the actions of a real cat. The man’s scent is actually more soothing than Shōta had expected, a strange mix of something like floral soap and nail polish, and he finds himself relaxing on instinct, ears unflattening and fur smoothing back down.
Apparently the man takes that as an invitation, and Shōta startles a little as he feels unfamiliar fingers run through his fur. As much as Shōta would like to protest being petted, the last thing he wants to do is give away the fact that he’s not a real cat, so he reluctantly allows the man to scratch behind his ears.
Also, if he’s being honest with himself, it feels pretty amazing.
After a few brief strokes, the man pulls his hand away again, and before Shōta’s mind can even process what he’s doing, he finds himself chasing after the contact, leaning in to bump his forehead against the man’s hand.
“Well look at you,” the man says, grinning down at Shōta and giving in to Shōta’s request for more petting. “See, there’s no reason to be scared.”
Actually, there are plenty of reasons to be scared in this situation, but Shōta’s too caught up in the delicious feeling of having his cheeks stroked to complain.
“I’m Hizashi,” the man says. “And where did you come from, cutie?”
Shōta flicks his tail in annoyance, but doesn’t otherwise reply.
“Did you sneak in here from someone else’s balcony?” the man – Hizashi, apparently – asks, shifting to scratch Shōta under the chin. “Or are you secretly some all-powerful immortal being who teleported here from ancient times?”
Shōta meows, and finally nudges Hizashi’s hand away, putting a stop to the petting.
“I thought so,” Hizashi replies, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
With that, Shōta snakes his way around Hizashi’s legs and heads back for his own balcony. Like before, it takes a bit of wriggling to fit through the narrow bars, but soon he pops back out onto the other side and slips through the narrow opening he’d left between his balcony doors.
When Shōta’s safely inside his apartment and out of sight again, he shifts back into his human form and collapses down onto his couch. His face has flushed bright red, and his heart beats fast in his chest with a combination of embarrassment and tension, and he resolves to never trespass onto someone else’s balcony ever again.
No matter how tempting a perfect patch of sunshine may be.
---
Unfortunately, animal instincts are hard to resist.
There’s a new high rise that’s been going up across the street from the apartment building, and with each floor that’s added, the more Shōta’s sunlight is blocked. Part of the reason Shōta had chosen this particular apartment in the first place was because of its perfectly sun-dappled balcony, an ideal napping spot, and the theft of his sunlight makes irritation prickle under Shōta’s skin.
It doesn’t help that while Shōta’s balcony has been plunged into shadow, the modern design of the new high rise is just such that Hizashi’s balcony still has a few patches of sunlight, perfectly shaped for cat naps.
Shōta’s resolve lasts a week before he slips through the bars to Hizashi’s balcony again and curls up in a pool of sun positioned right in the seat of Hizashi’s deck chair.
“Well, look at what the cat dragged in.”
Shōta’s eyes snap open as he hears the balcony door slide open, followed by a familiar voice. He makes to bolt back through the fence, but before he can, Hizashi reaches out and scoops him up, lifting him into the air.
“Woah, hey, it’s okay,” Hizashi says as Shōta squirms, batting his paws uselessly through the air, claws pushing out and then retracting. “I just wanted to sit out here for a bit.”
With that, Hizashi plops himself down in the chair and sets Shōta down in his lap.
For a moment, Shōta just sits there stiffly, torn between slinking back to his own balcony and staying put in the sunlight. Judging by his behavior, it’s not as if Hizashi suspects that he’s anything other than a real cat, and it would hardly seem strange for him to curl up and doze for a bit on top of Hizashi’s thighs, resuming the nap he’d been so abruptly torn out of.
Before Shōta can debate the subject any further, though, Hizashi reaches down to stroke his fur, and Shōta’s desire to leave vanishes instantly.
The tension slowly melts out of Shōta’s body as Hizashi pets him and his eyes slide shut as he basks in the warm sunlight and the feeling of Hizashi’s fingers running through his fur. It takes him a moment to register that he’s actually purring, a soft rumble bubbling up in his throat, chest vibrating slightly with the soft sound.
“So,” Hizashi says, before Shōta can fully doze off, “are you my neighbor’s familiar?”
Shōta doesn’t respond.
“Apparently he’s a witch,” Hizashi continues. He scratches behind Shōta’s ears in a way that sends shivers up Shōta’s spine. “According to Kayama, who lives down the hall, at least.”
The comment makes Shōta flick his tail in irritation. Although he’s warmed up to Kayama somewhat, being around her still puts him a little on edge. She has excellent control for an succubus, but it’s still difficult to avoid getting drawn in by her aura, and Shōta still hasn’t been able to make eye contact with her without getting flustered.
Kayama thinks it’s amusing. Shōta does not.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a familiar before,” Hizashi says, breaking Shōta out of his thoughts. “There were a couple of witches in my high school, but witches don’t get their familiars until they turn twenty, right?”
Actually, only about a quarter of witches bother with familiars these days, but Shōta has no way of conveying that to Hizashi with his current vocal tract. He’s never been particularly inclined towards the traditional snake or fox familiars, although his mother still likes to nag him about the fact that bonding with a fox would only strengthen his shape-shifting affinity.
But foxes are canines, and Shōta’s never been much of a dog person.
“I have to say, I’m more into modern western magic than the traditional stuff, but you’re gorgeous,” Hizashi continues, reaching around to scratch under Shōta’s chin. “I used to always say that that if I was a witch, I’d have a cockatoo familiar, but you’re making me reconsider.” He pauses and then adds, “Not that I don’t enjoy being a siren, I mean.”
As soon as Shōta registers what Hizashi just said, he stiffens.
First a succubus and now a siren?
“Oh, c’mon, don’t get all tense,” Hizashi huffs, stroking Shōta’s fur soothingly. “I only use my voice command magic to make barrier wards.”
That only makes Shōta tenser, as he wonders if he has actually tripped some security system set up on the balcony. Then again, voice command magic would require him to follow a certain order if he were to enter the warded space, and he hasn’t been compelled to reveal his true form or leave the area.
“Well, and I also have a radio show, but I don’t use my Voice for that,” Hizashi continues, and the way he scratches Shōta’s ears finally makes the tension drain out of Shōta’s body again. “I don’t suppose your owner’s the type of witch that likes radio?”
Shōta flicks his ears and Hizashi takes that for the denial it is.
“Kiki’s Delivery Service gave me unreasonable expectations for how many witches would listen to my radio show,” Hizashi sighs, but there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.
The two of them fall into silence for a moment. Hizashi continues to stroke his fingers lazily through Shōta’s fur and Shōta can feel a rumbling purr welling up in his throat again, and briefly, he wonders if he should do some research on the long-term effects of animal transformation magic.
He’s never heard of someone getting stuck as a cat, but his desire to shift back is rapidly decreasing.
And, before Shōta can contemplate the situation any further, he slips back into a doze, sprawled out in Hizashi’s lap with the sun and Hizashi’s fingers to soothe him. He’s vaguely aware of Hizashi humming something under his breath, now that he doesn’t have an audience to ramble to, but it’s a surprisingly pleasant background noise, and finally, Shōta’s pulled under into proper unconsciousness.
Maybe he should trespass more often.
---
Shōta’s getting his mail the first time he meets Hizashi in humanoid form.
“You’re in 1201?”
The uncomfortably familiar voice makes Shōta stiffen slightly, and he glances over his shoulder to find Hizashi coming over to him, a frankly blinding smile spread across his lips. Shōta has to resist the urge to squint.
“I am,” Shōta finally manages, moving aside slightly so Hizashi can get to his own mailbox.
“I’ve heard about you, but I don’t think we’ve ever actually met,” Hizashi says, and his smile is somehow even brighter up close. “I’m Yamada Hizashi, in 1202.”
Shōta almost says, “I know,” but manages to swallow it down in time.
“Aizawa Shōta,” Shōta finally replies, his tone carefully neutral.
“Your familiar’s been coming over to my balcony, you know,” Hizashi continues, opening up his mail box and digging around in it. He wrinkles his nose a little as he comes up with a handful of flyers and other miscellaneous junk, but his face lights up again as he uncovers an envelope that looks promising.
“Familiar?” Shōta asks, a little distracted by watching Hizashi go through his mail.
“Black cat? Ridiculously fluffy? Has no right to be that soft?” Hizashi clarifies, looking up from a set of supermarket coupons.
“Ah,” Shōta says, as he remembers the situation. He hesitates, but then adds, “I can keep him inside, if – ”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Hizashi blurts out. He leans in a little closer to Shōta as he says it, and Shōta finds himself leaning back in response, trying to keep Hizashi a safe distance out of his personal space. “I mean, who doesn’t like cats, right?”
“A lot of people dislike cats,” Shōta replies, a little stiffly. “Considering their association with witches.”
“Yeah, well,” Hizashi says, “I subscribe more to the lucky cat superstition than all that western stuff about black cats crossing your path or whatever.” The corners of his lips quirk up into a smile again and he adds, “Plus, your cat’s really cute.”
Shōta feels his cheeks heat a little at the indirect compliment.
“He still shouldn’t be trespassing,” Shōta replies, tone gruff as he looks down at the mail in his hands, something to keep his eyes off of Hizashi’s smile. “The last thing I need is for – my familiar to get hexed by something that takes offense to having him in their territory.”
“I guess that’s true,” Hizashi agrees, a little reluctantly. “But like I said, I don’t mind. I think he likes the sunlight on my balcony.”
“Then I should give him a lecture about avoiding temptation,” Shōta says, glaring down at his electricity bill.
“Oh, come on,” Hizashi huffs, but he still maintains an amicable tone. “A little curiosity is good. If anything, he was kind of shy at first, so I don’t think you have to worry too much about him being cautious.”
“Shy,” Shōta repeats, a little flatly.
“You know, tense, skittish,” Hizashi replies, and Shōta can feel his face heat more with every adjective. “The first time I found him on my balcony, he looked like he thought I was going to turn him into taxidermy or something.”
“I’m sure he was just,” Shōta says, unable to keep the stiffness from his voice, “concerned because he knew he shouldn’t have been trespassing.”
“Well, I don’t bite,” Hizashi laughs. “I’m a siren, not a vampire.”
Shōta gives him a dubious look, and it makes Hizashi’s smile dim slightly.
“If you’re that concerned, you could always come over with your familiar,” Hizashi offers, but although it seems to be in good faith, it only makes Shōta tenser. “We could have a couple of beers and you could watch your cat to make sure I’m not going to, like, push it off the balcony or something.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Shōta says haltingly.
“I wouldn’t have made the offer if I didn’t want to,” Hizashi replies, and there’s something about his tone of voice, soft and smooth and a little low, that sends a shiver down Shōta’s spine. “But hey, if you want to bring the beer, I’d accept that as payment. Or are you more of a wine person?”
The lighting near the mailboxes is subpar at best, a yellowish-orange glow that’s just on the wrong side of too dim, but Hizashi’s eyes still manage to shimmer a deep, coagulated red, bright and mesmerizing.
Nearby, someone’s door slams, and Shōta’s broken out of his trance.
“Are you using your Voice on me?” Shōta demands, his heart beating fast in his chest. He grips his electric bill a little tighter, the envelope crinkling under his fingertips.
“What? No!” Hizashi sputters, his pretty eyes widening slightly.
“Did you do this to my familiar too?” Shōta snaps. Part of him is aware that he’s making unfair accusations, but his body is still flooded with a strange sort of adrenaline, heart pounding, face flushed, palms a little sweaty.
“Do I look like the sort of siren who’d use my Voice on people?” Hizashi retorts, his friendly expression twisting into a scowl. “Not to mention it’s illegal.”
“I don’t know what sort of siren you are,” Shōta replies, his voice a little cold. He pauses, and then adds, “I’ll keep my familiar off your balcony from now on.”
With that, he closes his mailbox and turns to head for the elevator.
“For the record, I’m not that sort of siren!” Hizashi calls after him. “And I don’t go around accusing you of turning people into frogs!”
Shōta doesn’t dignify him with a reply.
As soon as he’s safely enclosed in the elevator and out of sight, though, Shōta knocks his head against the wall. His cheeks are burning, and he’s sure if he looked in a mirror right now, his face would be flushed redder than it’s ever been, and part of him wishes he knew some time manipulation magic, if only so he could go back and undo what he’d just said.
Maybe it would be easier to just erase Hizashi’s memories. Or his own.
---
It’s been a week since Shōta’s encounter with Hizashi by the mailboxes, and he hasn’t been back to Hizashi’s balcony since. He’s poked his head out onto his own balcony a couple of times, in hope of a stray patch of sunlight, but he’s had no such luck, and the longer it goes on, the more irritable he becomes.
Of course, there’s always a good amount of sunlight on Hizashi’s balcony.
The thought of sneaking over there after accusing Hizashi of hypnotizing him just makes guilt coil in Shōta’s stomach, though. He’s aware that he was out of line, but he’s never been terribly good at apologizing, and he’s half afraid that if he talks to Hizashi in person, he’ll get caught up in Hizashi’s strange red eyes again.
Shōta pokes his head out onto his balcony, hoping that somehow today will be different from the past seven, and there will actually be a bit of sunlight. To his surprise, there actually is a tiny sliver, the sunlight spilling over the boundary of Hizashi’s balcony onto the very edge of his own.
For a moment, Shōta hesitates, but then he walks over to it.
He tries to make himself comfortable against the fence, but there’s only enough light to warm the tip of his nose, the worst sort of teasing temptation. It’s hard not to think about how all he’d have to do is slip through the bars to immerse himself fully in the sunlight.
Instead, he lies down and tries to channel the sunlight through his nose.
It doesn’t work terribly well.
If anything, it makes things worse, and Shōta twitches his nose, tail flicking in irritation as he wills the sun to move ever so slightly, so he can have a proper nap. A breeze passes the apartment building, and Shōta’s fur bristles as he feels a shiver travel up his spine, the late October chill settling into his body.
So finally, Shōta gives into temptation and sticks his head through the fence bars.
He doesn’t try to go any further, just letting his head soak in the sunlight. The position’s not terribly comfortable, with the way the horizontal bar at the bottom of the fence prevents his head from resting flat against the ground. But then again, maybe it’s not so bad, because at least it keeps his head off of the cold concrete, which seems to be doing a good job of sucking all the warmth out of Shōta’s body.
Less than a meter away, Hizashi’s deck chair looks heavenly warm. It’s been so well bathed in sunlight that the yellow cushions have gotten a little faded, sun-bleached and worn, and Shōta’s sure that they would mold perfectly to his body if he just slipped through the fence bars and –
“You’re not going to come over?”
Shōta’s whole body stiffens.
“Did your witch scold you about it?” Hizashi asks as he slips through the balcony door and comes over to crouch down in front of Shōta. “Is that why you haven’t been around lately?”
Part of Shōta wants to bolt back to his apartment, but he can already envision his head getting stuck between the fence bars if he tries to move too quickly, so instead he stays perfectly still, staring up at Hizashi.
“You’re unnerving, do you know that?” Hizashi snorts, but the corners of his mouth quirk up into a small smile and he reaches down to pet the top of Shōta’s head. “So creepy. You’re lucky you’re cute too.”
Shōta supposes he can’t argue with the ‘unnerving’ part much. It’s hardly the first time someone’s said something along those lines to him, and at least Hizashi doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing.
“C’mon, you sure you won’t come over?” Hizashi asks, shifting his hand to scratch under Shōta’s chin. “I promise I won’t tell your witch.”
Not that it matters much, considering Shōta is the witch.
“It can be our little secret,” Hizashi coaxes, and Shōta struggles to suppress the purr bubbling up in his chest as Hizashi continues to pet him. “Not that your witch would probably blame you anyway, considering he thinks I used my Voice on you.”
The abrupt reminder of his immature outburst makes guilt flood Shōta’s chest, and he starts to pull away from Hizashi, but then Hizashi says, “Not you too!”
When Shōta looks up, he’s surprised to see such a disappointed look on Hizashi’s face, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pushing his way through the fence bars to rub up against Hizashi’s legs.
“Do I really look that pathetic?” Hizashi asks, but there’s a small, soft smile on his lips.
Shōta headbutts Hizashi’s leg in reply.
Instead of responding verbally, Hizashi scoops Shōta up into his arms and then carries him over to the deck chair, sitting down in it and then placing Shōta in his lap. Shōta takes a moment to make himself comfortable, shifting his position as he tries to determine the best way to fit his body against Hizashi’s somewhat bony thighs.
Finally, he plops himself down and curls up in preparation for a much-needed nap in the sunlight. As he slides his eyes shut, he feels Hizashi reach down again to smooth out the fur on his back, and Shōta finally gives in to his desire to purr, the rumble vibrating up his throat.
“There we go,” Hizashi murmurs. His voice is as soft and smooth and soothing as ever, but there’s nothing to indicate that there’s any magic infused into it, and Shōta feels a little guilty about ever thinking otherwise. “Isn’t this better than napping on the cold concrete?”
Shōta rubs his face up against Hizashi’s thigh in the best approximation of agreement he can manage.
Between the warm sun, the soothing motion of Hizashi stroking his fur, and the soft sound of Hizashi’s voice, it doesn’t take long for him to start to drift off. It’s been a long time since he indulged in this sort of contact with another person – even longer since he did so in cat form – and vaguely, he wonders why he’s refrained for so long.
The last thing he hears before he goes completely under is a muttered, “Honestly, why are all the hot guys assholes?”
---
(The next day, Shōta leaves a pack of fancy craft beer outside Hizashi’s apartment door, along with a note. All it says is, “Sorry,” but words have never exactly been Shōta’s strong suit.
Hopefully Hizashi will understand.)
---
Somehow, Shōta has gotten into the habit of hanging out on Hizashi’s balcony.
Hizashi seems to have more or less forgiven him – human him, that is – and Shōta no longer feels quite so guilty about wandering over to nap on Hizashi’s deck chair. More often than not, he ends up in Hizashi’s lap instead of directly on the chair, while Hizashi rambles on about whatever strikes his fancy, from Kappa politics to the week’s top 40 pop hits.
Most of the time Shōta just tunes him out.
The weather today is beautiful, maybe a little cool, but with enough sunlight that it’s the perfect temperature when lying out in the sun. Of course, Shōta’s balcony is still stubbornly shadowed, so he slides between the fence bars and out onto Hizashi’s balcony, making a beeline for the deck chair.
However, before jumping up onto the cushion, he pauses. He hesitates for a moment, but then walks up to the glass balcony doors instead, peering through the crack in the curtains. Although napping on his own is still good, he can’t deny that he’s become a little addicted to Hizashi’s petting, and Hizashi seems to have identified all his sweet spots by now, leaving him blissed out and boneless after every visit.
Unfortunately, though, Shōta doesn’t see anyone in the apartment. The lights are on, which would seem to imply that someone’s home, but his view of the living room and kitchen is limited enough that he can’t tell if Hizashi is somewhere else further back in the apartment.
Shōta’s spends a few more seconds looking, and about to head back to the deck chair when a figure walks into his field of vision.
For a moment, Shōta freezes.
Hizashi’s clearly just come from the shower, idly toweling his hair dry as he makes his way into the kitchen. The only clothing he’s wearing is a pair of jeans that ride low on his hips, and he hasn’t even bothered to button them, leaving far too much bare skin on display for Shōta’s cat-sized brain to handle.
A drop of water travels down Hizashi’s neck and slides over the panes of his chest, and Shōta finds himself staring.
Hizashi opens his fridge and grabs a bottle of tea from it, oblivious to Shōta’s internal turmoil. He takes a drink from it, the action emphasizing the perfect curve of his throat, and it occurs to Shōta that Hizashi’s hot.
Maybe it’s less that Shōta’s not good with sirens and succubi and more that he’s not good with attractive people.
However, Shōta’s broken from his thoughts as Hizashi turns towards the balcony doors. Hizashi’s eyes land on him before he can hide himself, and he finds himself caught up in Hizashi’s ruby red eyes again, frozen in place. In fact, before Shōta even registers what’s happening, Hizashi’s sliding open the balcony door and reaching down to heft him up into the air.
“Hey, sweetheart!” Hizashi chirps, a grin spreading over his face. Hizashi’s held him a million times before, but this time it makes Shōta squirm, heart beating fast in his chest as he tries to ignore Hizashi’s half-naked body in front of him.
He meows, loud and indignant, and it transforms Hizashi’s grin into something dangerously close to a pout.
Fuck, it’s cute.
“Are you not glad to see me?” Hizashi complains, but he reluctantly puts Shōta back down on the ground. “I let you use my balcony for free, you know.”
Shōta bristles, putting a careful distance between him and Hizashi.
“Is it because I’m wet?” Hizashi asks, his mouth turning down in a frown. “If you just wait a bit, I can finish drying off and blow dry my hair – ”
Shōta’s mind barely processes what Hizashi is saying, too overwhelmed by the sudden realization that Hizashi is attractive, combined with the frankly inappropriate display of bare skin in front of him. And, almost before he knows what he’s doing, he bolts back towards the fence.
“Hey! What’s wrong?” Hizashi calls after him.
It’s not enough to make Shōta stop, though, and instead he squeezes his way back through the bars of the fence, almost getting stuck in his haste to get through.
“Awww, c’mon,” Hizashi whines, and Shōta’s ears twitch as he hears the sound of bare skin against concrete, which must mean that Hizashi’s stepped fully out onto the balcony. “I’m sorry, kitty. I promise I’ll dry off properly before touching you again – ”
A few more shimmies of Shōta’s hips are all it takes for him to pop through the fence, and he doesn’t spare so much as a look behind him as he darts back into his apartment. That doesn’t keep his imagination from supplying an image, though, Hizashi’s standing out on the balcony half-naked, skin glowing under the sunlight and shimmering off the water droplets still clinging to his chest.
The fact that Hizashi had called him “kitty” doesn’t help much either, and as Shōta morphs back into human form against his living room carpet, his face flushes hot. Briefly, he wonders how horrified Hizashi would look if he found out the cat he’s been pampering is actually a thirty-year-old witch, and not just a cute, innocent animal.
Shōta pushes himself up off the floor and heads straight for his bedroom.
It takes him a few minutes to change, but soon he’s clad in his favorite tracksuit, soft and worn with use. He doesn’t bother to spend time appreciating the sensation of clothes against his skin again, though, instead heading straight for his apartment door.
Hopefully a run will get this adrenaline out of his system.
When he leaves the building, he can’t help but peek up at Hizashi’s balcony, some sadistic part of him half-hoping to catch another glimpse of Hizashi. However, he almost trips over his own feet as his eyes meet Hizashi’s, staring down from the balcony, and he looks away a little too quickly, heart pounding in his chest as he wonders if this means Hizashi knows.
Shōta clenches his teeth and picks up his pace.