Gift fic for: ieja88
Gift fic for: ieja88
From: newsficcon
Title: The Color of Happiness
Rating: PG
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo and Kato Shigeaki are the main characters. Yamashita Tomohisa, Tegoshi Yuya, Masuda Takahisa, and Koyama Keiichiro are also featured to varying degrees.
Warnings: Explicit descriptions of illness and death
Summary: Shige is a cheshire just trying to get by without losing another one of his lives, hindered by the fact that, unlike the rest of his species, he has difficulty changing colors at will. He doesn’t expect to stumble upon Ryo, a terminally ill whiteshirt.
Notes: Inspired by “The Windup Girl.” Paolo Bacigalupi deserves all credit for coming up with the terms “cheshire” and “whiteshirt.” The universe that this story is set in is also loosely based on the universe of his novel. However, my interpretation of cheshires and whiteshirts differs radically from his.
Squirming and shrieking as the whiteshirt presses the muzzle of his gun between his ears, Shige tries in vain to escape. The last thing he is aware of before everything goes temporarily dark is that somehow he knows that this soldier is going to die soon. He takes no solace in this fact.
Fortunately, Shige still has seven of his nine lives left. This is the second bullet that he’s taken to the brain, so he knows that there’s no need to worry about how to deal with it. The little bit of metal pops out on its own as he scampers the hell out of there as fast as his four feet can take him. For a cheshire, Shige is clumsy but bright, hence his being able to survive for so long. Most cheshires surrender at least half of their lives to starvation before they hit a year. Not Shige: he prides himself on always being able to find a food source though his homeland has been stricken by endless famine, since before his kind was even created.
On his way to a hideout, another cheshire crosses his path. Her fur immediately turns pale yellow, broadcasting pure fear. Try as he might, Shige is only able to project the slightest tinge of reassuring purple onto his atypically mottled coat. She broadcasts the yellow even more strongly without altering the properties of the color, than patterns herself with footprints, rolling her eyes at him before blending into the shadows. Of course, that shade of yellow was meant to transmit that there are humans nearby. Shige resigns himself to more running, mentally thanks her for the warning, and takes off in the opposite direction.
It’s hard to recognize the slight, yet significant variations in color when Shige can only manage the basest approximations of the most basic hues. 99% of the time cheshires breed true; Shige is one of the few exceptions. While the ability to change colors as necessary comes as naturally as breathing to his relatives, Shige can seldom get his fur to be any other shade than the one he was born with. The color is odd for his kind in that though he’s primarily black, he’s also generously patched and speckled with brown and cream, something that’s almost never seen in his species (the base coat of a cheshire- their birth coat, is almost always solid, occasionally with sparse markings).
Yet despite being unable to make the usual shifts between hues, Shige has little trouble going completely invisible, something that most cheshires are unable to do. It’s quite useful, though it does take time for him to disappear or reappear completely. Furthermore, the amount of energy that it requires is dangerously prohibitive. Changing colors is a chemical reaction that takes place in the body, and like any other reaction, it requires calories. Going invisible takes more than the typical type (e.g. red to blue), and Shige doesn’t exactly have a lot of calories to spare. Most likely, the majority of the cheshire population lost the ability to turn invisible because it wasn’t evolutionarily advantageous. Shige held onto it somehow though. In short, he’s an enigma, unblessed but for his brains.
Finally, he stumbles upon a suitable hiding spot, an old sewer with an unguarded opening. Thanking the whiteshirts for their inattentiveness, he slips inside and finds eight scraps of cheshires, each with a differently colored pair of eyes that correspond to the identical markings they have on their heads. They immediately draw close to Shige, sensing that he means them no harm and smelling fresh blood on his lips. The young cheshire whose orange eyes and marks make him look perpetually energetic is the first to turn pleading paisley, and the others soon follow suit until Shige is surrounded by desperation in every color of the rainbow.
It doesn’t take long for Shige’s resistance to crumble. The fine crimson mist that he regurgitates is gulped down in seconds by the eight. Partially pre-digested blood might even be better for them than fresh, given their youth. Bellies fuller than they’d probably been in ages, the kittens curl up and fall asleep, while Shige, hungry again, focuses on not letting his stomach growl and tries to do the same.
They are gone by dawn. They know better than to depend on anyone for too long.
Shige’s stomach makes the decision to get moving for him, that and the impending footsteps of what Shige’s ears discern to be a squadron of five whiteshirts. They’re probably coming to take their post at the sewer. Technically, it never should have been unguarded, sewers being the most popular dumping sites for whatever new bit of biological warfare enemies of the country have cooked up (since they’re easy to access and go literally everywhere). Not to mention whatever children a family can no longer afford to feed, or murder victims, or anything a body wants to be rid of, really.
He doesn’t have the wherewithal to turn invisible, and instead relies on the poor lighting of the day that has just begun to break to hide him while he hunts. It’s Wednesday, so, as usual, Shige finds a niche in a wall in which he can hide while he waits for the whiteshirts to come by and collect whoever has succumbed to a plague during the first half of the week. Once their cart is full, Shige will follow them and hopefully get some blood before the bodies are destroyed. Wednesdays are good days for cheshires.
The venture isn’t without risk. However, most of the whiteshirts that are sent to bring the bodies to their final resting place are so intent on not catching whatever killed their cargo that anyone with a reasonable amount of stealth can avoid being noticed by them. And cheshires are nothing if not stealthy, even a color-changing-challenged and clumsy cheshire like Shige.
Hours pass, and the cart shows up like clockwork. While the whiteshirts are occupied fetching the corpses, Shige skirts beneath the cart and fastens himself to the bottom by thrusting his claws into a set of holes made by some other cheshire. Several other cheshires join him beneath the vehicle, further attesting to the popularity of this method of finding food.
Shige and the other cheshires had deliberately chosen this location to board the cart because it is the last stop before the current load is dumped. They’ll get a good five minutes to feast while this batch of bodies is sent up in smoke before the whiteshirts return with another one.
Incineration of contaminated corpses is a fairly simple process: the whiteshirts pile them up in the designated body burning spot some hundred miles outside of town, pour a few drops of something flammable on top, throw in a match or two, and trudge off to get the rest. There are simply too many people to burn for them to pay a lot of attention to any individual pyre. In fact, compared to the peril of getting to the cremation site, the actual drinking of the blood while dodging flames is downright easy. There aren’t even any guards because the whiteshirts figure anybody stupid enough to come to a place full of diseased cadavers isn’t worth wasting a bullet on. The only downside is that there isn’t any water or shelter, so the cheshires can’t live at or near their buffets.
Except for when a half-burned piled of bodies topples over and nearly crushes him, the day is perfect. Belly bulging with blood, Shige digs a shallow hole behind a spindly tree and succumbs to food coma. Depending on dusk (and a small den) to hide him is a foolhardy risk that would ordinarily be suicidal. However, the whiteshirts stop bringing bodies once the sun goes down, and no intelligent human would dare venture here, so Shige figures that it's safe. That is, until he is roused several hours later by voices.
He immediately begins making himself invisible. The process requires so much concentration that he essentially shuts off the rest of his senses and just focuses on becoming unseen. By the time he is completely unnoticeable, the humans have gotten way too close for comfort.
It is a trio of whiteshirts, two of them supporting the third, who is clearly unwell. Shige can sense the sickness in him even before he hears the whiteshirt’s hacking, smells his vomit, and sees the unnatural tinge to his flesh. He feels, inexplicably, the desire to act, though what he wants to do is uncertain. Repressing the bizarre urge, he observes the whiteshirts, remaining perfectly still.
“Here’s as good as anywhere elese,” Ryo wheezes.
Tegoshi and Yamapi grimly disregard him and trudge on, and Ryo has no choice but to go where they go.
Tegoshi is wavering between fighting back tears and trying to smile. “We just want you to be comfortable, Ryo-chan. Let us find a place where you can be comfortable.”
“It’s pointless. There’s nothing out here, and I’m just going to die there anyways, so it might as well be anywhere.”
The words make Yamapi wince, however his voice is steady. “It’s not for you, Ryo-chan, it’s for us. If we can find a good place for you to rest, losing you won’t hurt so bad.”
Ryo tries to snort derisively, because even if he’s dying he won’t stand for sappiness; however, he just manages to gives himself a nosebleed. He’s deteriorated to the point that all of his orifices leak blood if they become the slightest bit irritated. Yamapi offers him a clean handkerchief and Ryo hastily mops up the discharge before it can come in contact with either of his two friends.
“Just leave me already. The more time you guys spend with me, the greater your chances of getting infected. And I don’t want to have to deal with you fuckers in the afterlife for a long while. I need a break.”
Tegoshi points with his free hand, ignoring Ryo’s words the same way he and Yamapi have been ignoring the dangers of being around him. “How about that tree? It’s small yet tough, just like Ryo-chan!”
Shige trembles in his hiding spot behind said tree. Invisible or not, he doesn’t want those whiteshirts anywhere near him. As they draw closer, he freezes up, barely daring to breathe.
With minor difficulty, Tegoshi and Yamapi manage to prop Ryo up against the tree. Then they back up, knowing that they must leave now but unable to make themselves go.
“Get away from me,” Ryo snarls. He can feel the hungry fingers of death on the back of his neck, and doesn’t want his friends to see him in the ultimate stake of weakness when the reaper is satiated at long last.
Yamapi manages to choke out: “Goodbye, Ryo-chan,”
Then he takes a deep breath and resolutely turning his back. There’s nothing else he can do for Ryo except go.
Tegoshi hugs him fiercely, blatantly disregarding the danger, before following Pi.
Once they’re out of sight, Ryo closes his eyes and gets ready to give up for the first time in his life. At least, he thinks with a wry smile, it’s death he’s losing too, and not some lesser opponent.
And his death is a nicer death than is afforded most of those who fall ill none-the-less. Over the past few months, as Ryo has grown painfully acquainted with his own mortality, Tegoshi and Yamapi have been right by his side. They did their best to bring him whatever relief they could, instead of simply abandoning him. Ryo couldn’t wish for better friends.
As he closes his eyes, prepared to accept the end, he thinks back to all the happy times they shared before he got sick, and sighs. He takes the moment to be sentimental before death, as he never was in life, while his heart beats slower and slower.
Ryo keeps thinking that this next breath will be his last. He is unafraid.
Only, the last one never comes, and after about a hundred “final” inhales, he opens his eyes and coughs. It’s a throat-clearing cough, not one of the phlegmatic chokes that have rattled his chest since the onset of his illness. He spits out a dark, viscous liquid and finds he can breathe easily for the first time in months. Needless to say, he’s bewildered.
“Ouch!”
There’s a sharp pain in his wrist. Ryo glances at it, expecting to see some sort of bug. His eyes widen comically when he sees two sharp, white fangs buried in one of his veins. Gradually, the rest of the creature sucking his blood becomes visible, and he can’t stifle his unmanly shriek when he sees what it is.
Cheshires are living nightmares, the magnum opus of some mad scientist according to urban legend, color-changing harbingers of death. It’s said that they feed on human life force, and if a person crosses paths with a cheshire, he or she is destined to die within the week. Ryo has never heard of them being able to go invisible, however this one clearly can, to some degree.
Before it could escape, Ryo grabs it by the tail, making it yowl in either pain or anger and slash at him with unsheathed claws. Gritting his teeth, Ryo clings to it.
“What did you do to me? Why aren’t I dead? Are you going to steal my life?” Ryo yells, scared and confused. He’s only ever heard bad things about cheshires, but the fact is, he hasn’t felt this good since before he got sick and the beast had to have something to do with it because there’s literally nothing else around except dirt and the tree and the sky.
Shige freezes when the whiteshirt addresses him. He mostly understands the human spoken language by virtue of hearing it all his life, and so he gets the gist of what the man is asking him. Hoping that if he demonstrates that he means no more harm, his seventh life will be spared, Shige slowly moves his head back-and-forth, using the gesture that he knows to be indicative of ‘no’ in human lingo.
Ryo gapes. “Did you just shake your head at me?”
The cheshire jerks its head up and down in response. A less suspicious person would take this to mean that it clearly comprehends what he’s saying, but Ryo isn’t that trusting.
“Nod twice if you get what I’m saying,” he demands, and the creature rolls its eyes, looking quite put-upon, before doing so.
“So you’re not going to try to cause me harm?” Another head shake follows.
“What did you do to me!?”
Shige blinks. Even if he could answer, which he can’t because he has no clue what’s going on, he certainly couldn’t transmit said answer with a gesture. This dawns on the whiteshirt after a moment and he hastens to offer the best explanation he can manage.
“I was dying until you showed up and sucked my blood. Now I’m not. You must have done something.”
All Ryo gets in response are some more bewildered blinks. The whole situation is so insane that the part of him that isn’t desperate for answers wants to laugh hysterically. Not to mention the fact that, monster or not, the cheshire has evidently saved his life, and Ryo can’t help feeling overjoyed and grateful, and a little bit guilty, since, as a whiteshirt, he’s killed his fair share of cheshires. It’s one of the primary duties of this country’s armed forces, mostly because there it’s the only thing the government can make them do that appeases the diseased, starving population.
“What am I going to do? What am I going to do with you?” Ryo mutters, filling Shige’s heart with fresh fear. The loss of one, or many, of his lives seems to be spelled out for certain in those ominous questions.
If cheshires could somehow cure human illness… It was inconceivable. And yet, it had happened, the fact that Ryo was alive was undeniable proof of that. Frustrated, he glares down at the skinny feline, and it gazes back at him with dark, hopeless eyes. Against his will, Ryo begins to feel pity for the creature.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he snaps. “You saved my fucking life.”
Ryo was at a complete loss for what to do, as was Shige. For Shige couldn’t describe neither the impetus that he had driven him to drink from Ryo, nor how he had filtered something that tasted like black vapor to him from the otherwise crimson liquid with specialized grooves in his tongue that he never knew he had. Nor could he speak about how his saliva had neutralized the toxicity of the ‘vapors’ that he had slurped up as well as what remained within Ryo’s bloodstream, curing his illness.
He also couldn’t say that he’d felt the urge to sup on humans who carried the same sort of scent as Ryo before, but had never been able to, and that other cheshires were similarly afflicted with the same desire. Though certainly pleased that his life wasn’t in imminent danger, he was angry at his own lack of understanding and inability to communicate.
Those same feelings were more or less reciprocated by Ryo who, after considering several scenarios, decided that his only option was to bring the cheshire to a doctor who could verify his recovery and determine the cause of it. This he told Shige, who immediately tensed. For obvious reasons, the idea of putting himself at the mercy of humans did not appeal to him. However, he saw no alternative, and so warily consented to go with a slight nod.
Whipping out his cellphone, Ryo sent off a short text to Yamapi and Tegoshi, saying simply: “am alive, come get me now.”
Upon seeing the cheshire seated, unrestrained and obviously uncomfortable, on Ryo’s lap, their immediate reaction was to whip up their weapons. Protocol demanded total extermination of cheshires, and asking questions could come after killing. Ryo stops them in their tracks with a snort and several choice insults then explained the situation at hand to his stunned comrades. Used to following Ryo’s lead, they quickly agreed to help him smuggle Shige to someone who could conduct a medical investigation of both him and Ryo.
“Does it have a gender? Or a name?” Tegoshi wants to know.
Shige saves himself from the indignity of having his genitalia examined by licking his prominent balls in full view of the three humans, who chuckle awkwardly and quickly turn away.
The name question is more difficult to answer. Cheshires rarely communicate verbally, and have no need for names. Shige only started calling himself ‘Shige’ because he liked the way it sounded in his head. He didn't know if he could coax his tongue into actually forming the syllables of it.
After a few tries, he finds that hissing produces an acceptable approximation of the ‘shi.’ The ‘ge’ is more difficult. Ultimately he manages it by vocalizing a guttural spitting.
“It sounds like he’s dying back there.” Ryo says, twisting around in his seat. “What are you doing to him, Tego?”
Shige squints at him and emphatically utters: “hhhhsssshiiiGE, hhssshiiGE.”
Ryo just laughs at him so, undaunted, he turns to Tegoshi.
“SssshiGE, SssshiGE, SssshiGE!”
“He’s talking!” Tegoshi marvels, and Shige preens, pleased that his efforts have been properly acknowledged at last.
“I guess he’s telling you his name,” Yamapi surmises.
Shige bobs his head in the ‘yes’ gesture.
“So, subtracting the extra ‘s’ sounds gives us the name ‘Shige.’ It’s cute!” Taking full credit for Shige’s verbal accomplishments, Tegoshi proceeds to try and get him to say his own name.
“C’mon, it’s easy, Shige. Te-go. Say ‘Te-go.’ Say my name!”
Needless to say, Shige is neither amused nor amenable. Ryo thinks it’s hilarious. Yamapi just keeps navigating through the narrow roads; intent on getting them safely to a doctor who he thinks can help them.
To say that Keiichiro Koyama is cat-crazed would be an understatement. Massu, his life-partner for the past ten or so years, has long since accepted this, and has happily welcomed more than two dozen felines into their shared home over the course of their relationship. The cats have come in all shapes, sizes, and shades, and he’s liked them all, though definitely not as much as Koyama. More than a few of their wards have been, well, a bit on the odd-looking side. Koyama tends to want to share his love with the less fortunate of the four-legged and whiskered world, and his kind, charitable heart is one of the things that attracted Massu to him in the first place, so he can hardly complain. He has always accepted addictions to their family without any unkind comments, no matter how disfigured the creature (and trust Massu, there have been more than a few ugly ones).
Still, he feels his bellows of horror are justified when he comes downstairs (to see why Koyama isn’t in bed) in his polka-dot briefs and pink pig slippers and finds his boyfriend petting what is unmistakably a cheshire.
Then he realizes that there are strangers in the kitchen staring at his mostly unclothed body and he turns as red as one of the tomatoes ripening on the windowsill before fleeing back upstairs to cover up.
“Don’t worry, dear!” Koyama yells up to him cheerfully. “Everything is under control.”
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, turning back to Shige. “Absolutely fascinating. The tests indicate conclusively that there are healing properties in his saliva. Based on his genetic profile and atypical phenotype, it’s clear that he’s something of a biological sport, but if I’m not mistaken, I think it’s safe to assume that other cheshires have the same ability. It would certainly explain why they’re so often found near those who aren’t long for this world.”
“They’re not making them sick, they’re trying to make them better, and we’ve been murdering them like fucking idiots.” Ryo summarizes as Massu walks back into the room. He looks considerably more at-ease after hearing that, and begins to serve the assembled men the tea using water that Koyama had put on the stove when they’d first arrived.
“Obviously, I’m going to have to do a lot more tests before I can present my findings to the scientific community. But I’m pretty sure that you’ve accidentally discovered something that could change the fate of this country, if not the world.”
Tegoshi beams, like the credit belongs solely to him. “Great!”
“More tests means more cheshires, doesn’t it? How are you going to get them?” Yamapi asks, immediately considering the situation from a practical angle.
“Me!”
The people all turn to Shige. “I’ve been teaching him how to speak,” Tegoshi says, making Yamapi and Ryo roll their eyes.
“Prrrrring to Ke.” Though his speech is far from perfect, everyone gets that Shige means “bring to Kei,” that he’ll bring other cheshires to Koyama. “Nyeow.” Now. It makes the most sense to take advantage of the cover of the night and not delay.
Koyama opens the door for him, watches raptly as Shige turns himself invisible, and hopes about all the possible positive outcomes of the fateful meeting between cheshire and whiteshirt.
Presently, Shige returns with seven kittens doing their best to keep up with him and one held carefully in his jaws. Koyama immediately starts fussing over them, and doesn’t get down to business until Massu gently reminds him that time is of the essence and helps Koyama carry the young cheshires down to the basement that serves as his workspace.
Since Shige has already been tested, there isn’t any need for him to remain in the laboratory. He wanders around, exchanging pleasantries with the cats he encounters, and tries to find a place to sleep, but is unsuccessful. He simply can’t shake the deep-seated feeling of wariness that keeps him alert and unable to rest until he finds the room where Tegoshi, Yamapi, and Ryo have crashed.
It’s been an emotionally and physically draining night for the three men. Tegoshi, looking eerily angelic, is taking up the whole couch while Yamapi snores on the floor beside him and Ryo curls up in a cushy armchair. He makes a small inquiring noise when Shige leaps up onto the headrest and settles there, but doesn’t object.
They both end up sleeping soundly until Koyama gently rouses Shige. While they rested, the Surgeon General of the country has been alerted to Koyama’s research and has temporarily declared cheshires a protected species, with permanent status pending. However, Koyama has no means of communicating with the color-changing cats, and asks if Shige wouldn’t mind taking up the role of a liaison.
Feeling rather self-important, he struts out the door, only to trip over his own paws. Ryo snickers; the sound has already become familiar to Shige.
It becomes even more so over the course of the year, as Shige works diligently to learn the human language so he can be an effective cross-species communicator. If anything, being teased by the first whiteshirt to ever be saved by a cheshire only serves as an incentive for said cheshire to improve. Shige can’t wait to curse Ryo out in his own tongue.
No one is surprised when he takes up permanent residence in Ryo’s apartment. They couldn't be a more perfect pair of pet and person, the snarky, secretly sweet, soldier in his impeccably milk-hued uniform and the heroic and the courageous, clumsy, color-changing impaired magical cat who saved his species and the world.
And Ryo’s life. Ryo will never forget that, nor will Shige.
Slitted pupils meet rounded. One smiles; one purrs.
Happiness has no pre-assigned color. Every cheshire chooses it for him or herself.
Shige’s is the exact shade of Ryo’s white shirt.
From: newsficcon
Title: The Color of Happiness
Rating: PG
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo and Kato Shigeaki are the main characters. Yamashita Tomohisa, Tegoshi Yuya, Masuda Takahisa, and Koyama Keiichiro are also featured to varying degrees.
Warnings: Explicit descriptions of illness and death
Summary: Shige is a cheshire just trying to get by without losing another one of his lives, hindered by the fact that, unlike the rest of his species, he has difficulty changing colors at will. He doesn’t expect to stumble upon Ryo, a terminally ill whiteshirt.
Notes: Inspired by “The Windup Girl.” Paolo Bacigalupi deserves all credit for coming up with the terms “cheshire” and “whiteshirt.” The universe that this story is set in is also loosely based on the universe of his novel. However, my interpretation of cheshires and whiteshirts differs radically from his.
Squirming and shrieking as the whiteshirt presses the muzzle of his gun between his ears, Shige tries in vain to escape. The last thing he is aware of before everything goes temporarily dark is that somehow he knows that this soldier is going to die soon. He takes no solace in this fact.
Fortunately, Shige still has seven of his nine lives left. This is the second bullet that he’s taken to the brain, so he knows that there’s no need to worry about how to deal with it. The little bit of metal pops out on its own as he scampers the hell out of there as fast as his four feet can take him. For a cheshire, Shige is clumsy but bright, hence his being able to survive for so long. Most cheshires surrender at least half of their lives to starvation before they hit a year. Not Shige: he prides himself on always being able to find a food source though his homeland has been stricken by endless famine, since before his kind was even created.
On his way to a hideout, another cheshire crosses his path. Her fur immediately turns pale yellow, broadcasting pure fear. Try as he might, Shige is only able to project the slightest tinge of reassuring purple onto his atypically mottled coat. She broadcasts the yellow even more strongly without altering the properties of the color, than patterns herself with footprints, rolling her eyes at him before blending into the shadows. Of course, that shade of yellow was meant to transmit that there are humans nearby. Shige resigns himself to more running, mentally thanks her for the warning, and takes off in the opposite direction.
It’s hard to recognize the slight, yet significant variations in color when Shige can only manage the basest approximations of the most basic hues. 99% of the time cheshires breed true; Shige is one of the few exceptions. While the ability to change colors as necessary comes as naturally as breathing to his relatives, Shige can seldom get his fur to be any other shade than the one he was born with. The color is odd for his kind in that though he’s primarily black, he’s also generously patched and speckled with brown and cream, something that’s almost never seen in his species (the base coat of a cheshire- their birth coat, is almost always solid, occasionally with sparse markings).
Yet despite being unable to make the usual shifts between hues, Shige has little trouble going completely invisible, something that most cheshires are unable to do. It’s quite useful, though it does take time for him to disappear or reappear completely. Furthermore, the amount of energy that it requires is dangerously prohibitive. Changing colors is a chemical reaction that takes place in the body, and like any other reaction, it requires calories. Going invisible takes more than the typical type (e.g. red to blue), and Shige doesn’t exactly have a lot of calories to spare. Most likely, the majority of the cheshire population lost the ability to turn invisible because it wasn’t evolutionarily advantageous. Shige held onto it somehow though. In short, he’s an enigma, unblessed but for his brains.
Finally, he stumbles upon a suitable hiding spot, an old sewer with an unguarded opening. Thanking the whiteshirts for their inattentiveness, he slips inside and finds eight scraps of cheshires, each with a differently colored pair of eyes that correspond to the identical markings they have on their heads. They immediately draw close to Shige, sensing that he means them no harm and smelling fresh blood on his lips. The young cheshire whose orange eyes and marks make him look perpetually energetic is the first to turn pleading paisley, and the others soon follow suit until Shige is surrounded by desperation in every color of the rainbow.
It doesn’t take long for Shige’s resistance to crumble. The fine crimson mist that he regurgitates is gulped down in seconds by the eight. Partially pre-digested blood might even be better for them than fresh, given their youth. Bellies fuller than they’d probably been in ages, the kittens curl up and fall asleep, while Shige, hungry again, focuses on not letting his stomach growl and tries to do the same.
They are gone by dawn. They know better than to depend on anyone for too long.
Shige’s stomach makes the decision to get moving for him, that and the impending footsteps of what Shige’s ears discern to be a squadron of five whiteshirts. They’re probably coming to take their post at the sewer. Technically, it never should have been unguarded, sewers being the most popular dumping sites for whatever new bit of biological warfare enemies of the country have cooked up (since they’re easy to access and go literally everywhere). Not to mention whatever children a family can no longer afford to feed, or murder victims, or anything a body wants to be rid of, really.
He doesn’t have the wherewithal to turn invisible, and instead relies on the poor lighting of the day that has just begun to break to hide him while he hunts. It’s Wednesday, so, as usual, Shige finds a niche in a wall in which he can hide while he waits for the whiteshirts to come by and collect whoever has succumbed to a plague during the first half of the week. Once their cart is full, Shige will follow them and hopefully get some blood before the bodies are destroyed. Wednesdays are good days for cheshires.
The venture isn’t without risk. However, most of the whiteshirts that are sent to bring the bodies to their final resting place are so intent on not catching whatever killed their cargo that anyone with a reasonable amount of stealth can avoid being noticed by them. And cheshires are nothing if not stealthy, even a color-changing-challenged and clumsy cheshire like Shige.
Hours pass, and the cart shows up like clockwork. While the whiteshirts are occupied fetching the corpses, Shige skirts beneath the cart and fastens himself to the bottom by thrusting his claws into a set of holes made by some other cheshire. Several other cheshires join him beneath the vehicle, further attesting to the popularity of this method of finding food.
Shige and the other cheshires had deliberately chosen this location to board the cart because it is the last stop before the current load is dumped. They’ll get a good five minutes to feast while this batch of bodies is sent up in smoke before the whiteshirts return with another one.
Incineration of contaminated corpses is a fairly simple process: the whiteshirts pile them up in the designated body burning spot some hundred miles outside of town, pour a few drops of something flammable on top, throw in a match or two, and trudge off to get the rest. There are simply too many people to burn for them to pay a lot of attention to any individual pyre. In fact, compared to the peril of getting to the cremation site, the actual drinking of the blood while dodging flames is downright easy. There aren’t even any guards because the whiteshirts figure anybody stupid enough to come to a place full of diseased cadavers isn’t worth wasting a bullet on. The only downside is that there isn’t any water or shelter, so the cheshires can’t live at or near their buffets.
Except for when a half-burned piled of bodies topples over and nearly crushes him, the day is perfect. Belly bulging with blood, Shige digs a shallow hole behind a spindly tree and succumbs to food coma. Depending on dusk (and a small den) to hide him is a foolhardy risk that would ordinarily be suicidal. However, the whiteshirts stop bringing bodies once the sun goes down, and no intelligent human would dare venture here, so Shige figures that it's safe. That is, until he is roused several hours later by voices.
He immediately begins making himself invisible. The process requires so much concentration that he essentially shuts off the rest of his senses and just focuses on becoming unseen. By the time he is completely unnoticeable, the humans have gotten way too close for comfort.
It is a trio of whiteshirts, two of them supporting the third, who is clearly unwell. Shige can sense the sickness in him even before he hears the whiteshirt’s hacking, smells his vomit, and sees the unnatural tinge to his flesh. He feels, inexplicably, the desire to act, though what he wants to do is uncertain. Repressing the bizarre urge, he observes the whiteshirts, remaining perfectly still.
“Here’s as good as anywhere elese,” Ryo wheezes.
Tegoshi and Yamapi grimly disregard him and trudge on, and Ryo has no choice but to go where they go.
Tegoshi is wavering between fighting back tears and trying to smile. “We just want you to be comfortable, Ryo-chan. Let us find a place where you can be comfortable.”
“It’s pointless. There’s nothing out here, and I’m just going to die there anyways, so it might as well be anywhere.”
The words make Yamapi wince, however his voice is steady. “It’s not for you, Ryo-chan, it’s for us. If we can find a good place for you to rest, losing you won’t hurt so bad.”
Ryo tries to snort derisively, because even if he’s dying he won’t stand for sappiness; however, he just manages to gives himself a nosebleed. He’s deteriorated to the point that all of his orifices leak blood if they become the slightest bit irritated. Yamapi offers him a clean handkerchief and Ryo hastily mops up the discharge before it can come in contact with either of his two friends.
“Just leave me already. The more time you guys spend with me, the greater your chances of getting infected. And I don’t want to have to deal with you fuckers in the afterlife for a long while. I need a break.”
Tegoshi points with his free hand, ignoring Ryo’s words the same way he and Yamapi have been ignoring the dangers of being around him. “How about that tree? It’s small yet tough, just like Ryo-chan!”
Shige trembles in his hiding spot behind said tree. Invisible or not, he doesn’t want those whiteshirts anywhere near him. As they draw closer, he freezes up, barely daring to breathe.
With minor difficulty, Tegoshi and Yamapi manage to prop Ryo up against the tree. Then they back up, knowing that they must leave now but unable to make themselves go.
“Get away from me,” Ryo snarls. He can feel the hungry fingers of death on the back of his neck, and doesn’t want his friends to see him in the ultimate stake of weakness when the reaper is satiated at long last.
Yamapi manages to choke out: “Goodbye, Ryo-chan,”
Then he takes a deep breath and resolutely turning his back. There’s nothing else he can do for Ryo except go.
Tegoshi hugs him fiercely, blatantly disregarding the danger, before following Pi.
Once they’re out of sight, Ryo closes his eyes and gets ready to give up for the first time in his life. At least, he thinks with a wry smile, it’s death he’s losing too, and not some lesser opponent.
And his death is a nicer death than is afforded most of those who fall ill none-the-less. Over the past few months, as Ryo has grown painfully acquainted with his own mortality, Tegoshi and Yamapi have been right by his side. They did their best to bring him whatever relief they could, instead of simply abandoning him. Ryo couldn’t wish for better friends.
As he closes his eyes, prepared to accept the end, he thinks back to all the happy times they shared before he got sick, and sighs. He takes the moment to be sentimental before death, as he never was in life, while his heart beats slower and slower.
Ryo keeps thinking that this next breath will be his last. He is unafraid.
Only, the last one never comes, and after about a hundred “final” inhales, he opens his eyes and coughs. It’s a throat-clearing cough, not one of the phlegmatic chokes that have rattled his chest since the onset of his illness. He spits out a dark, viscous liquid and finds he can breathe easily for the first time in months. Needless to say, he’s bewildered.
“Ouch!”
There’s a sharp pain in his wrist. Ryo glances at it, expecting to see some sort of bug. His eyes widen comically when he sees two sharp, white fangs buried in one of his veins. Gradually, the rest of the creature sucking his blood becomes visible, and he can’t stifle his unmanly shriek when he sees what it is.
Cheshires are living nightmares, the magnum opus of some mad scientist according to urban legend, color-changing harbingers of death. It’s said that they feed on human life force, and if a person crosses paths with a cheshire, he or she is destined to die within the week. Ryo has never heard of them being able to go invisible, however this one clearly can, to some degree.
Before it could escape, Ryo grabs it by the tail, making it yowl in either pain or anger and slash at him with unsheathed claws. Gritting his teeth, Ryo clings to it.
“What did you do to me? Why aren’t I dead? Are you going to steal my life?” Ryo yells, scared and confused. He’s only ever heard bad things about cheshires, but the fact is, he hasn’t felt this good since before he got sick and the beast had to have something to do with it because there’s literally nothing else around except dirt and the tree and the sky.
Shige freezes when the whiteshirt addresses him. He mostly understands the human spoken language by virtue of hearing it all his life, and so he gets the gist of what the man is asking him. Hoping that if he demonstrates that he means no more harm, his seventh life will be spared, Shige slowly moves his head back-and-forth, using the gesture that he knows to be indicative of ‘no’ in human lingo.
Ryo gapes. “Did you just shake your head at me?”
The cheshire jerks its head up and down in response. A less suspicious person would take this to mean that it clearly comprehends what he’s saying, but Ryo isn’t that trusting.
“Nod twice if you get what I’m saying,” he demands, and the creature rolls its eyes, looking quite put-upon, before doing so.
“So you’re not going to try to cause me harm?” Another head shake follows.
“What did you do to me!?”
Shige blinks. Even if he could answer, which he can’t because he has no clue what’s going on, he certainly couldn’t transmit said answer with a gesture. This dawns on the whiteshirt after a moment and he hastens to offer the best explanation he can manage.
“I was dying until you showed up and sucked my blood. Now I’m not. You must have done something.”
All Ryo gets in response are some more bewildered blinks. The whole situation is so insane that the part of him that isn’t desperate for answers wants to laugh hysterically. Not to mention the fact that, monster or not, the cheshire has evidently saved his life, and Ryo can’t help feeling overjoyed and grateful, and a little bit guilty, since, as a whiteshirt, he’s killed his fair share of cheshires. It’s one of the primary duties of this country’s armed forces, mostly because there it’s the only thing the government can make them do that appeases the diseased, starving population.
“What am I going to do? What am I going to do with you?” Ryo mutters, filling Shige’s heart with fresh fear. The loss of one, or many, of his lives seems to be spelled out for certain in those ominous questions.
If cheshires could somehow cure human illness… It was inconceivable. And yet, it had happened, the fact that Ryo was alive was undeniable proof of that. Frustrated, he glares down at the skinny feline, and it gazes back at him with dark, hopeless eyes. Against his will, Ryo begins to feel pity for the creature.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he snaps. “You saved my fucking life.”
Ryo was at a complete loss for what to do, as was Shige. For Shige couldn’t describe neither the impetus that he had driven him to drink from Ryo, nor how he had filtered something that tasted like black vapor to him from the otherwise crimson liquid with specialized grooves in his tongue that he never knew he had. Nor could he speak about how his saliva had neutralized the toxicity of the ‘vapors’ that he had slurped up as well as what remained within Ryo’s bloodstream, curing his illness.
He also couldn’t say that he’d felt the urge to sup on humans who carried the same sort of scent as Ryo before, but had never been able to, and that other cheshires were similarly afflicted with the same desire. Though certainly pleased that his life wasn’t in imminent danger, he was angry at his own lack of understanding and inability to communicate.
Those same feelings were more or less reciprocated by Ryo who, after considering several scenarios, decided that his only option was to bring the cheshire to a doctor who could verify his recovery and determine the cause of it. This he told Shige, who immediately tensed. For obvious reasons, the idea of putting himself at the mercy of humans did not appeal to him. However, he saw no alternative, and so warily consented to go with a slight nod.
Whipping out his cellphone, Ryo sent off a short text to Yamapi and Tegoshi, saying simply: “am alive, come get me now.”
Upon seeing the cheshire seated, unrestrained and obviously uncomfortable, on Ryo’s lap, their immediate reaction was to whip up their weapons. Protocol demanded total extermination of cheshires, and asking questions could come after killing. Ryo stops them in their tracks with a snort and several choice insults then explained the situation at hand to his stunned comrades. Used to following Ryo’s lead, they quickly agreed to help him smuggle Shige to someone who could conduct a medical investigation of both him and Ryo.
“Does it have a gender? Or a name?” Tegoshi wants to know.
Shige saves himself from the indignity of having his genitalia examined by licking his prominent balls in full view of the three humans, who chuckle awkwardly and quickly turn away.
The name question is more difficult to answer. Cheshires rarely communicate verbally, and have no need for names. Shige only started calling himself ‘Shige’ because he liked the way it sounded in his head. He didn't know if he could coax his tongue into actually forming the syllables of it.
After a few tries, he finds that hissing produces an acceptable approximation of the ‘shi.’ The ‘ge’ is more difficult. Ultimately he manages it by vocalizing a guttural spitting.
“It sounds like he’s dying back there.” Ryo says, twisting around in his seat. “What are you doing to him, Tego?”
Shige squints at him and emphatically utters: “hhhhsssshiiiGE, hhssshiiGE.”
Ryo just laughs at him so, undaunted, he turns to Tegoshi.
“SssshiGE, SssshiGE, SssshiGE!”
“He’s talking!” Tegoshi marvels, and Shige preens, pleased that his efforts have been properly acknowledged at last.
“I guess he’s telling you his name,” Yamapi surmises.
Shige bobs his head in the ‘yes’ gesture.
“So, subtracting the extra ‘s’ sounds gives us the name ‘Shige.’ It’s cute!” Taking full credit for Shige’s verbal accomplishments, Tegoshi proceeds to try and get him to say his own name.
“C’mon, it’s easy, Shige. Te-go. Say ‘Te-go.’ Say my name!”
Needless to say, Shige is neither amused nor amenable. Ryo thinks it’s hilarious. Yamapi just keeps navigating through the narrow roads; intent on getting them safely to a doctor who he thinks can help them.
To say that Keiichiro Koyama is cat-crazed would be an understatement. Massu, his life-partner for the past ten or so years, has long since accepted this, and has happily welcomed more than two dozen felines into their shared home over the course of their relationship. The cats have come in all shapes, sizes, and shades, and he’s liked them all, though definitely not as much as Koyama. More than a few of their wards have been, well, a bit on the odd-looking side. Koyama tends to want to share his love with the less fortunate of the four-legged and whiskered world, and his kind, charitable heart is one of the things that attracted Massu to him in the first place, so he can hardly complain. He has always accepted addictions to their family without any unkind comments, no matter how disfigured the creature (and trust Massu, there have been more than a few ugly ones).
Still, he feels his bellows of horror are justified when he comes downstairs (to see why Koyama isn’t in bed) in his polka-dot briefs and pink pig slippers and finds his boyfriend petting what is unmistakably a cheshire.
Then he realizes that there are strangers in the kitchen staring at his mostly unclothed body and he turns as red as one of the tomatoes ripening on the windowsill before fleeing back upstairs to cover up.
“Don’t worry, dear!” Koyama yells up to him cheerfully. “Everything is under control.”
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, turning back to Shige. “Absolutely fascinating. The tests indicate conclusively that there are healing properties in his saliva. Based on his genetic profile and atypical phenotype, it’s clear that he’s something of a biological sport, but if I’m not mistaken, I think it’s safe to assume that other cheshires have the same ability. It would certainly explain why they’re so often found near those who aren’t long for this world.”
“They’re not making them sick, they’re trying to make them better, and we’ve been murdering them like fucking idiots.” Ryo summarizes as Massu walks back into the room. He looks considerably more at-ease after hearing that, and begins to serve the assembled men the tea using water that Koyama had put on the stove when they’d first arrived.
“Obviously, I’m going to have to do a lot more tests before I can present my findings to the scientific community. But I’m pretty sure that you’ve accidentally discovered something that could change the fate of this country, if not the world.”
Tegoshi beams, like the credit belongs solely to him. “Great!”
“More tests means more cheshires, doesn’t it? How are you going to get them?” Yamapi asks, immediately considering the situation from a practical angle.
“Me!”
The people all turn to Shige. “I’ve been teaching him how to speak,” Tegoshi says, making Yamapi and Ryo roll their eyes.
“Prrrrring to Ke.” Though his speech is far from perfect, everyone gets that Shige means “bring to Kei,” that he’ll bring other cheshires to Koyama. “Nyeow.” Now. It makes the most sense to take advantage of the cover of the night and not delay.
Koyama opens the door for him, watches raptly as Shige turns himself invisible, and hopes about all the possible positive outcomes of the fateful meeting between cheshire and whiteshirt.
Presently, Shige returns with seven kittens doing their best to keep up with him and one held carefully in his jaws. Koyama immediately starts fussing over them, and doesn’t get down to business until Massu gently reminds him that time is of the essence and helps Koyama carry the young cheshires down to the basement that serves as his workspace.
Since Shige has already been tested, there isn’t any need for him to remain in the laboratory. He wanders around, exchanging pleasantries with the cats he encounters, and tries to find a place to sleep, but is unsuccessful. He simply can’t shake the deep-seated feeling of wariness that keeps him alert and unable to rest until he finds the room where Tegoshi, Yamapi, and Ryo have crashed.
It’s been an emotionally and physically draining night for the three men. Tegoshi, looking eerily angelic, is taking up the whole couch while Yamapi snores on the floor beside him and Ryo curls up in a cushy armchair. He makes a small inquiring noise when Shige leaps up onto the headrest and settles there, but doesn’t object.
They both end up sleeping soundly until Koyama gently rouses Shige. While they rested, the Surgeon General of the country has been alerted to Koyama’s research and has temporarily declared cheshires a protected species, with permanent status pending. However, Koyama has no means of communicating with the color-changing cats, and asks if Shige wouldn’t mind taking up the role of a liaison.
Feeling rather self-important, he struts out the door, only to trip over his own paws. Ryo snickers; the sound has already become familiar to Shige.
It becomes even more so over the course of the year, as Shige works diligently to learn the human language so he can be an effective cross-species communicator. If anything, being teased by the first whiteshirt to ever be saved by a cheshire only serves as an incentive for said cheshire to improve. Shige can’t wait to curse Ryo out in his own tongue.
No one is surprised when he takes up permanent residence in Ryo’s apartment. They couldn't be a more perfect pair of pet and person, the snarky, secretly sweet, soldier in his impeccably milk-hued uniform and the heroic and the courageous, clumsy, color-changing impaired magical cat who saved his species and the world.
And Ryo’s life. Ryo will never forget that, nor will Shige.
Slitted pupils meet rounded. One smiles; one purrs.
Happiness has no pre-assigned color. Every cheshire chooses it for him or herself.
Shige’s is the exact shade of Ryo’s white shirt.