Gremlin

There's something about seeing your neighbour on your doorstep holding a wet cat that makes your brain short-circuit.

Hazuki stood there like it was the most normal thing in the world. Rain dripping from her hair. Hoodie sleeves soaked past the elbows. Cat glaring at me like I was the inconvenience in this situation.

I blinked.

"…Is that your cat?"

She looked down at the dripping ball of fluff in her arms, then back up at me with a deadpan expression. "It is now."

"…Did you steal it?"

"I rescued it," she said, as if the difference should've been obvious.

"It was stuck in a drainpipe near the canal. I helped it out. And then it just… followed me."

"All the way here?"

"Yes."

I stared. She didn't even look sorry. Just… resigned.

"I panicked," she said quickly.

"I didn't think it'd follow me, okay? I thought it'd run off or… do whatever wet alley cats do. But it didn't. It trailed behind me all the way back. And then it looked at me like it was my responsibility."

"You could've left it outside."

"I tried! I walked past your house twice! But it kept meowing and looking sad and—ugh, I didn't know what to do!"

I leaned against the doorway, still trying to piece together this fever dream. "So naturally… you brought it to me."

Hazuki gave a half-hearted shrug. "You were the only one home. Your parents are still at your hometown, and if I bring this cat into our house even for five minutes, my mom will file a restraining order against it. She hates cats."

"Hates them?"

"Like, convinced-they-curse-your-soul levels of hate."

"…So your solution was to bring it to the guy you've never talked to in your life?"

"You're quiet. You look like you'd be cool with a cat."

I blinked. That… actually felt fair.

"And your family's nice," she added, quickly. "Your mom made me miso soup once when I had a fever. You're—uh—you seem stable."

Stable.

That's what we're calling introverted now.

I sighed and stepped aside. "Come in."

She walked in without hesitation, the cat still squished like a soggy loaf against her chest. I closed the door behind her and instantly regretted everything. I hadn't cleaned. There were socks. Publicly visible socks.

I led her to the living room and dashed off to find a towel—something not too embarrassing. I returned with two: one for the cat, one for her. She was already sitting cross-legged on the floor like she owned the place.

"You didn't have to sit on the floor," I said, handing her the towels.

"I didn't want to drip on your couch," she replied matter-of-factly.

Touché.

I watched as she wrapped the cat in one towel and started patting it dry with the kind of focus people usually reserve for bomb defusal or IKEA furniture assembly. The cat did not appreciate her efforts. It hissed, wriggled, and attempted to claw its way back into the rain.

Hazuki held firm. "Nope. You're staying put, gremlin."

We fell into silence for a bit, save for the cat's pitiful mewling and the rain tapping against the windows. I hovered awkwardly nearby, unsure of whether to sit, offer tea, or call animal control.

After a minute, she looked up at me.

"Why do you keep walking behind me after school?"

And there it was.

My soul momentarily left my body.

"I—okay. First of all, I don't keep walking behind you. We just happen to leave school around the same time and take the same route."

"Every day."

"It's not a crime!"

She blinked at me, unreadable. "I never said it was."

"Oh."

She shifted, pulling the towel more snugly around the now-moping cat. "I just think it's funny. People think you're following me."

"I know," I muttered. "Someone called me your stalker once."

She actually laughed at that. "That's horrible."

"Tell that to my reputation. I'm now the 'weird hot guy who maybe breathes too loud near Hazuki Sato.'"

Her mouth twitched again. "You forgot 'emo soccer captain.'"

I stared at her.

"You've heard that one too?" I asked.

She gave a small nod. "Also 'goth introvert with secret abs.' That one's kind of popular."

"Please stop. I can't here no more of those stupid rumours or nicknames."

"No promises."

I finally sat down on the floor across from her, the towel I brought her still draped uselessly over my shoulder. I had no idea how to process the fact that Hazuki Sato was in my house, holding a cat, and joking about my secret abs. A girl who has never tried to talk to me by the way.

The universe was broken.

The cat meowed once more, now settled in her lap like it owned her. Hazuki stroked its damp ears gently.

"I didn't mean to bother you," she said after a moment, more softly this time.

Something about the way she said it made the air in the room shift. Like a joke had just worn off, and we were standing in the space between silence and something new.

"…You're not bothering me," I said. "I wasn't doing anything important anyway."

She glanced at the paused TV.

"…You were watching a guy scream at risotto."

"Exactly. Life-changing stuff."

She smiled—actually smiled—and the rain outside suddenly didn't feel so loud.

The rain was still going strong, casting a gentle percussion across the windows. The cat, freshly towel-dried and still damp in spirit, had curled up in a soggy ball of fur beside Hazuki's leg. For a few moments, neither of us spoke.

Then, reality hit.

"So… what are you actually going to do with it?" I asked.

Hazuki blinked like I'd just reminded her that consequences exist.

"I… don't know," she admitted, glancing down at the cat. "I kind of figured I'd improvise after the part where I didn't leave it crying in the street."

I raised an eyebrow. "Solid long-term strategy."

She leaned back, hugging her knees to her chest. "It's just for tonight. I thought, maybe I'd figure something out. Maybe it'd run off. Maybe I'd magically become a responsible adult with a backup plan."

"And now you're in my living room with a cat you technically don't own."

"Technically," she agreed.

We sat in silence again.

The cat sneezed.

Hazuki looked at me.

I looked at her.

"…No," I said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to say something."

Her face twitched like she was holding in a grin. "You do live alone right now."

"That doesn't mean I'm opening a feline halfway house, and my parents will be back in a few days."

"But it likes you," she said, pointing at the cat, who was currently chewing on my sock like it had a personal vendetta.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

Hazuki stretched her legs out, her sock making a squish noise I didn't have the emotional capacity to acknowledge.

"Look, my house is a no-go. My mom would throw a spiritual cleansing ceremony if she even saw cat fur. My dad's allergic to photos of cats. This cat—" she pointed "—is basically banned from existence on my property."

I frowned. "Then a shelter?"

Hazuki instantly shook her head. "No way. I don't trust them."

"They're not gonna incinerate it, Hazuki, it's a rescue center."

"I've seen things."

"Like what?"

"YouTube videos."

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

"That's… not a valid source."

Hazuki didn't budge.

The cat sneezed again, this time in my general direction.

I sighed deeply and leaned my head back against the couch. "You're going to guilt me into this, aren't you?"

"I don't even have to," she said, smiling faintly. "You're doing that thing where you pretend to be annoyed, but your eyes get all gentle and tired like you're about to agree to something stupid."

"That is disturbingly specific."

She shrugged. "I notice things."

I looked at the cat. The cat looked at me. It blinked once, slowly, like a living meme.

"…Fine."

Hazuki straightened up. "Wait—really?"

"I'll keep it here. For now," I said, trying not to sound like the defeated protagonist of a sitcom. "But you have to come help take care of it."

Her smile widened. "Obviously."

"And I'm naming it."

"No way! I saved it, I get naming rights!"

"You panic-delivered it."

"It was heroic!"

I groaned. "Okay. We'll name it together. Happy?"

Hazuki considered it. "Joint custody of the name. That's fair."

We stared down at the cat, who had decided the towel was its new kingdom and was aggressively making biscuits on it like a baker with anger issues.

I tilted my head. "What about… Puddle?"

Hazuki gave me a look of slow horror. "You want to name it after wetness?"

"It's thematic."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Okay, what do you have then?"

"…Meatball."

I stared at her. "Meatball?"

"It has Meatball energy."

I squinted at the cat. It did, in fact, have a slightly lumpy, grumpy look to it. A vibe, if you will.

"…We'll put it on the list," I muttered.

We ended up compiling a mental shortlist of absurd names—Puddle, Meatball, Doom Nugget, Chairman Meow, Gremlin (obviously), and a surprise entry from Hazuki: Tamagotchi the Third.

Nothing was decided, except one thing.

The cat—our cat, kind of—was staying.

I stood up with a sigh and stretched. "Alright. Let's set it up in the spare room. There's an old bean bag and a box in there. We can make it work."

Hazuki followed, arms still tucked around the creature like it was made of glass. "You know, for someone who acts allergic to people, you're pretty good with emergencies."

"I contain multitudes."

She chuckled softly.

As we got the cat settled in, and Hazuki crouched down to place it gently inside a makeshift towel nest, I noticed the way her expression softened. All that chaotic energy dulled just slightly. She looked… calm.

And then she said, "I'll be over tomorrow to check on it."

I blinked. "Like after school?"

"Unless you plan on teaching it algebra without me."

I smirked. "It probably has better attendance than I do."

Hazuki laughed. And just like that, something had shifted. We weren't just batchmates or silent neighbors anymore. We had a cat. An actual shared thing. A little gremlin with sharp claws and no plan.

Which meant now, neither of us had to figure stuff out entirely alone.

And for the first time in a while, that actually sounded… kind of nice.

By the time Hazuki stood at the door again, the rain had finally stopped. The puddles shimmered under the streetlights, stars overhead now blinking through the haze like they'd been waiting all evening for their cue.

She held the cat towel under one arm like a badge of honor. "I'll come by tomorrow," she said. "You better not rename it Puddle behind my back."

"No promises," I replied.

She gave me a look that said I'll fight you, then turned and walked off into the now-clear night. The back of her hoodie was still a little damp. I watched until she disappeared around the corner.

And just like that, I was alone again.

Sort of.

The house was quiet as I made my way upstairs, save for the creaks in the floorboards and the faint sound of dripping gutters outside. I passed my room, turned the corner, and opened the door to the spare room.

The cat was curled up in its towel nest like it owned the place.

A small, inky-black creature, fur fluffed and slightly damp despite our best efforts. Its eyes—bright, glimmering blue—flicked up at me briefly before half-closing again, as if I'd disturbed a god at rest.

"…You're so smug," I muttered.

It didn't move. Just let me reach out and gently stroke its side. Its breathing was slow and steady. Soft. Warm.

I stood there for a moment longer, then whispered, "You better not puke on anything I care about."

Then I closed the door and headed to my room.

---

My ceiling was boring. White. A little cracked in the corner. I stared at it like it held the answers to the universe.

It didn't.

My day replayed itself behind my eyes like a half-edited movie. Breakfast—one of my better toasts, not burned this time. Morning workout—ten push-ups, five sit-ups, some stretches I saw in a video and immediately forgot the purpose of. Second breakfast—cereal, plus a banana that betrayed me halfway through by being mushy.

Then came school.

The walk—same road, same distance behind Hazuki like always. I kept my steps quiet, not because I was stalking her but because I'd learned the rhythm of our shared silence. It was weirdly comfortable.

School itself? Predictably terrible. First period math with Mr. "I'm not yelling, I'm projecting." Then dodging three people trying to get me to join the class group chat. Then lunch with the usual crowd—three friends, one bag of chips, one argument about aliens.

Football practice was mediocre. I wasn't in it. My head was elsewhere. Probably orbiting Mars.

And then… home. Rain. TV. Risotto man screaming.

Then Hazuki.

The entire rhythm of my average day knocked sideways by a wet cat and the girl I never talked to until now.

And somehow, that twist didn't feel bad. It felt… different. Not in a life-changing way. Not yet. But the kind of different that makes you want to pay attention. To see what tomorrow looks like now that something's shifted.

I turned my head and looked at the window.

It was open, just slightly. The curtains were drawn, parted in the middle like a story waiting to begin. Through the gap, I could see her window across the way. The lights were still on.

---

Hazuki

She sat on her bed, towel now folded and cat-free, legs swinging off the edge as she scrolled through her phone with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a tax return.

The group chat was chaos.

Mina: omg he's so gonna confess tomorrow

Saya: HAZUKI U BETTER BE READY!

Chika: bet she's gonna act like she didn't notice

Mina: like always lmao!

Chika: he brought her milktea with those lil heart jellies yesterday. ur honor that's romance..!

Hazuki stared at the screen blankly. She hadn't typed a single thing all day. Just watched the panic unfold like a soap opera she'd seen five times.

If he did confess—this third-year with the perfect hair and the emotional depth of a decorative pillow—she was still going to reject him.

Not because she was mean. Or cold. She just… didn't feel anything. Not for him. Not for the dumb little gestures. It was like being handed a love letter from a stranger and told, "Be flattered now."

Her heart hadn't even budged.

And maybe that's why tonight felt so strange.

Hazuki locked her phone and tossed it beside her, then leaned back, arms supporting her as she gazed up at the ceiling.

She wasn't supposed to end up at Ren's house. She wasn't supposed to knock on his door with a sopping wet cat like it was a hostage situation. But everything happened fast, like life had shoved her in that direction without asking.

And he'd just... gone along with it. No questions. No drama.

He looked surprised, sure. But he let her in. Made space. Even offered to keep the tiny menace she couldn't bring home because of her mom's anti-cat stance.

Ren was always a mystery—quiet, a little intense, like his brain had its own secret playlist running at all times. And now they were suddenly co-guardians of a creature that bit people for sport.

She snorted softly.

Unreal.

She got up and walked to her window. The curtains were open. Her eyes drifted across the narrow gap between their houses and landed on his.

His window was open too.

She couldn't see much—just a dark room and the faintest shape of furniture—but it was enough.

The neighbors who never talked finally did, huh?

She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, a small smile curling at her lips.

Their parents had always been friendly. Dinners, BBQs, borrowing stuff. But she and Ren? Never a real word exchanged. Not until today. And somehow… it wasn't awkward. Not weird.

It felt like something was starting.

Her phone buzzed again behind her.

Mina: HAZUKIIIIII

Saya: he's gonna cry if you ghost him

Chika: and so will we

Hazuki didn't even turn around.

"Sorry, girls," she muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I already used up my emotional quota tonight."

She reached for the curtains and drew them shut with a soft swish.

And somewhere, probably in the spare room of that quiet house, their little gremlin was dreaming of more chaos.