"Cats are often referred to as lazy creatures—mysterious, elegant, indifferent beings who spend their days sleeping in sunbeams and silently judging humanity from high shelves."
That's what the internet said, anyway.
"Peaceful companions," they claimed. "Low-maintenance," they insisted. "Practically self-sufficient."
Right.
Scene switch. Cut the ambient lo-fi. Cue the war drums.
Reality:
Ren stood motionless in the doorway of his kitchen, face frozen in a stare of pure disbelief.
Flour. Everywhere.
A trail of paw prints across the counter. A bag of cereal spilled onto the floor like someone declared war on breakfast. The once-pristine table now had what could only be described as "a crime scene" where his sandwich used to be.
And right in the middle of it all was their newly adopted gremlin.
The sleek black cat perched proudly on the counter, blue eyes glittering with mischief and absolutely zero remorse. It let out a slow, drawn-out meow, stretched like it owned the place, and nudged a ladle off the edge with one paw—deliberately.
Ren's eye twitched.
"You little—"
CLANG!
A rogue steel bowl launched from the top of the fridge—Ren wasn't even sure how it got up there—bounced off the cupboard, and smacked him in the side of the head like a karma-powered boomerang.
"OW—!" He stumbled, dramatically hitting the floor like a fallen hero in a war epic.
"I'm going to evict you. You hear me? EVICTION."
The cat, now licking its paw with leisurely satisfaction, spared him a single glance.
Then, very calmly, it stepped on the microwave's open button, popped the door, and walked away as if it hadn't just tried to kill a man with kitchenware.
Ren groaned, sitting up and rubbing his head.
"So this is what I get for being charitable," he muttered. "I should've just pretended not to hear the doorbell."
He turned his head, watching the cat bat a plastic spoon down the hallway with glee.
"…I'm gonna need child locks," he whispered grimly.
---
Hazuki
The alarm never got the chance to finish its second beep.
Hazuki stretched her arms above her head with a small, elegant "Mng~", the kind of sound halfway between a yawn and a royal decree. The golden morning light poured into her room, warming her pale walls and making the dust in the air look like tiny, floating stars.
She pushed the covers off and sat up, her hair a glorious mess of brown tangles that defied gravity. A few strands fell across her face, catching the light and shimmering faintly. Her matching brown eyes blinked lazily, still half-asleep, but already brighter thanks to the sun's rays slipping through her curtains.
Her nightdress—an elegant thing with delicate frills along the collar and hem, tinted a soft lilac—billowed gently as she padded barefoot toward the bathroom.
The sound of birdsong filtered through her open window, painting the whole morning in pastel tones.
Hazuki brushed her teeth while staring at her reflection. The puffed cheeks and sleepy glare didn't match the elegance of her nightwear, but she'd learned to stop caring about that particular dissonance.
The bathtub was next—hot water, steam curling along the tiles, and enough soap bubbles to host a children's party. She poked them around like a bored princess in a fairy tale, stacking them on her nose and watching them pop.
Eventually, she rose from the warmth and dried off, stepping into her school uniform: a crisp white shirt, navy blue skirt, matching blazer, and a neatly tied red bow at the collar. She stood in front of the mirror, combing her now-sleek hair into its usual perfection, tucking a clip into place with practiced grace.
Downstairs, the smell of toasted bread and eggs greeted her like an old friend.
Her mom stood at the counter, her hair tied in a low ponytail, stirring a pan like she was leading a small orchestra. "Morning," she said without looking up.
"You're glowing today. Did you finally get sleep or are you in love?"
Hazuki slid into a chair at the table. "Neither. I took a bath and didn't check my phone. That's basically self-care now."
Her mom chuckled. "If only your generation knew how powerful ignoring notifications was."
"I think I ascended spiritually," Hazuki replied, accepting a plate of eggs and toast. "If I do it again tomorrow I might develop telepathy."
"Just use it to remember to take out the trash," her mom shot back, pouring her a glass of juice.
Hazuki smiled into her toast. The casual banter made mornings easier. Normal.
And yet…
Her eyes drifted to the clock. 7:03 A.M.
Fifteen minutes to school.
But she had somewhere else to be first.
She set her plate in the sink, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door.
"Going early?" her mom asked.
"I… need to check something." She slipped on her shoes. "Won't take long!"
Before her mother could pry further, Hazuki stepped out into the sun-warmed air and started walking.
Every step toward the familiar house next door brought with it a tingle of excitement—curiosity, even. She knew what she was doing. She was going uninvited, technically. But come on… they had joint custody of a gremlin. That had to count for something.
She reached Ren's door and, without hesitation, knocked twice.
Her fingers were already crossed.
She hoped the little menace hadn't burned the place down.
---
Knock knock.
Ren froze.
He had just finished cleaning up a catastrophic yogurt spill with a towel that now smelled like betrayal, and the gremlin was currently halfway inside a cereal box. Only its tail was visible, flicking with the grace of a criminal proud of its work.
The knock came again.
He peeked toward the door like a man on trial. "No," he whispered. "No way."
Another knock—firmer this time.
He sighed, trudging toward the door while wiping his yogurt-covered hand on his shirt. "If that's another cat showing up for free rent, I swear—"
He opened the door.
Hazuki stood there in full uniform, a bright smile on her face, her neatly combed hair shining under the sun like she hadn't just steam-bathed herself in soap bubbles twenty minutes ago.
Ren blinked at her, unimpressed and still emotionally bruised from flying kitchenware.
Hazuki leaned forward just slightly. "Is it alive?"
Ren stepped aside with the slow, soulless grace of a man who had seen things.
"Define 'alive.'"
She stepped inside, eyes instantly widening as she took in the battlefield once known as "the kitchen."
"Wow."
"Don't 'wow' me."
"There's flour on the light switch."
"That's not the worst part," Ren said darkly, leading her in like a tour guide to a crime scene. "Somehow it managed to open the fridge, knock over a jug of juice, step in it, and then run across the entire floor like a paintbrush from hell."
Hazuki covered her mouth with one hand, eyes sparkling. "You're raising an artist."
"I'm raising a health hazard."
Just then, the black blur popped out of the cereal box, shook its fur dramatically, and leapt onto Ren's shoulder like a pirate's parrot—only this one brought chaos instead of charm. It sat there proudly, blue eyes gleaming, tail swishing like it owned the mortgage.
Hazuki immediately laughed. "It really likes you."
"Great," Ren muttered. "Can I trade that affection in for a vacuum and an insurance policy?"
He turned to glare at the cat, who met his eyes with the smugness of a creature that knew it could get away with anything.
Hazuki reached out and scratched under its chin. "Still… it's kind of adorable, isn't it?"
Ren stared at her for a moment. Her smile, soft and amused. The way she crouched a little to meet the gremlin's gaze. How she seemed to glow just a bit brighter in the morning light.
"…Yeah," he murmured before catching himself. "The cat. Sure."
Hazuki didn't catch it—or maybe she did and chose not to say anything.
"So…" she stood up, brushing off her skirt. "What's the plan for it? I can't take it home. My mom would start burning sage and calling an exorcist if she even saw a fur strand."
Ren sighed and looked around the apartment, now a certified disaster zone. "I've been thinking about that."
Hazuki raised a brow. "And?"
He rubbed the back of his head, eyes shifting. "It… can stay. Here. I mean, for now. I'll take care of it."
Hazuki blinked, surprised. "You sure?"
"No," Ren said flatly. "Not at all. I've already aged twenty years this morning."
"But?"
"But… you clearly care about it. And maybe I've gone too deep to back out now. I might've signed a contract in blood, who knows."
Hazuki chuckled. "I'll come by to check on it. You're not raising it alone."
Ren nodded. "Joint custody of chaos."
They stood there for a second, staring at the little menace who now curled peacefully into a ball on the couch, as if it hadn't tried to destroy a man's will to live five minutes ago.
Ren exhaled. "If it poops in my shoes, I'm blaming you."
Hazuki grinned. "Fair enough."
After a second of silence, Hazuki looked at her wristwatch.
"You get ready, I'll clean up whatever I can otherwise we both will be late to school."
Ren raised an eyebrow but didn't question.
"Okayy...?"
---
She gently traced circles into the gremlin's fur with her fingertips, watching the way its ears twitched now and then. It had finally calmed down—probably after wreaking enough destruction to satisfy its chaotic little heart.
Hazuki sighed, sitting back on the couch.
After chasing flour across the floor, wiping juice from under the fridge, and finding three rogue cereal pieces under the sofa (one of which was already being played with again), she figured she'd done her share. Ren could clean the ceiling. Probably.
The gremlin made a satisfied little noise and curled tighter into her lap.
"You're lucky you're cute," she murmured.
Somewhere behind the wall, she could hear the water running in the shower. It was weirdly… calm. The morning air had cooled down, the birds had mostly gone quiet, and now it was just her, this adorable disaster, and the distant sound of running water.
She looked around the living room—Ren's living room. A place she'd been in many times but never alone, never even thought she'd step foot into without her parents accompanying, and now she was here alone, legs tucked under her, a black cat on her lap, and cleaning like she lived there.
"Looks like this little gremlin may have started something."
She said it aloud with a small smile, scratching behind the cat's ears.
Maybe that "something" wasn't so bad.
---
The hot water steamed over his skin, but it did nothing to melt the swirl of thoughts tumbling around in his head.
Hazuki was here.
In his house.
Cleaning.
Like it was normal.
He looked at his own reflection in the fogged-up mirror, hair damp and sticking out in chaotic angles, eyes slightly wide like he still couldn't believe this morning was real.
Just yesterday, they hadn't even spoken.
Now? She'd offered to clean his house like some weird sitcom wife while he showered.
He let out a breath through his nose.
What… even was this?
Hazuki Sato. Cheerful. Pretty. Socially fluent. Practically her own ecosystem at school. The kind of girl you glanced at and knew was playing life in high definition.
And then there was him.
Bed-headed. Grumpy. Emotionally allergic to conversation. Living in a quiet house with more books than people and a cat that had already caused irreversible psychological damage.
Yet there she was. Just a wall away.
He rubbed his face, groaning to himself.
"Maybe yesterday's rain didn't just soak the roads. Maybe it dragged in a storm. Or a gremlin. Or both."
He stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hair as he walked.
The thought lingered.
This wasn't just a neighbor anymore.
She'd helped clean his house. She'd seen the worst of his morning chaos. And she was still here.
Somewhere, in that living room, Hazuki was sitting on his couch… like she belonged.
And that black bundle of chaos?
Maybe it hadn't just entered his house.
Maybe it had dragged in something else too.
---
Straightening the cuffs of his blazer, Ren stepped into the living room, shoes tapping lightly against the newly cleaned floor. The scent of lemon cleaner still lingered faintly in the air—something his house hadn't smelled like in ages.
Hazuki was exactly where he left her: seated comfortably on the couch, legs tucked neatly beneath her, absently playing with the gremlin's tiny paws like it was a therapy session. The cat was sprawled across her lap like royalty, tail flicking contentedly, looking like it had always belonged there.
He gave the room a once-over. The chaos was gone. The crime scene cleaned. The fridge was closed. The light switch was no longer dusted with flour. Only thing remaining was the ceiling.
He blinked.
"Wow," he muttered. "You really… fixed the apocalypse."
Hazuki looked up with a small grin. "Well, I couldn't let you die like that. It would've been murder by yogurt."
Ren exhaled. "Thanks. Seriously."
She stood, adjusting her blazer and brushing imaginary cat hairs off her skirt. "Come on, we'll be late—"
"Wait," Ren cut in, raising one finger.
She paused mid-step, tilting her head.
He looked at the couch, then at the gremlin who blinked at him like it was waiting to be included in the school roster, and finally back at Hazuki.
"Hey… my parents won't be home until tomorrow," he started slowly. "You can't take that gremlin to your house because of your mom. And we both have school."
He raised a brow, arms folding loosely.
"What are we going to do now…?"
Hazuki froze.
She turned slowly back toward the cat.
The cat blinked.
It was, perhaps, the most peaceful it had looked all morning.
She stared at it. Then at Ren. Then back again.
"…Crap."
Ren smirked. "That's not a plan."
Hazuki scratched the back of her neck, face scrunching. "I didn't really think that far ahead."
"You don't say."
"I panicked, okay?! It was either bring it here or release it into the wild!"
"The wild?"
"Better than facing my mom's wrath."
They both stood in the center of the room now, staring down at the creature between them who was quietly, blissfully unaware of the diplomatic crisis it had caused.
A long silence passed.
Then:
"…We're going to be late," Hazuki muttered again, glancing at the clock.
"And we still have a cat."
"A criminal."
"A liability."
"A fuzzy little disaster."
Another pause.
Then, at the exact same time:
"We need a sitter."
Ren nodded slowly. "Got any friends who love cats?"
Hazuki looked at him like he'd just spoken in alien dialect. "All my friends are in the 'we take selfies at cafes' club. I don't even think they know cats have moods."
"Great. We'll just put it in a hoodie and sneak it into school then."
"I'm sure that'll go over well with the principal."
They sighed in sync. It was becoming a thing.
Ren looked at the cat again. "What are we going to do now…"
Hazuki frowned thoughtfully, clearly trying to squeeze out any spark of genius from her early-morning brain.
"I might have… one idea."
Ren raised a brow. "Dangerous words."
"Nevermind—it wouldn't work."
"Mhm. You were not going to suggest tying it to a Roomba, were you?"
"…No. But now I want to try that."
He groaned. "We're doomed."
They both stood in contemplative silence.
Hazuki crossed her arms, gaze still fixed on the cat like it might magically sprout a solution from its fur. Ren pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will the headache away before it officially clocked in for the day.
"Maybe we can bribe one of the old ladies in the neighborhood?" Hazuki offered.
"Yeah, Mrs. Takagi would probably knit it a sweater and call it her grandson," Ren muttered.
"…You say that like it's a bad thing."
Ren gave her a flat look.
"Okay, okay, maybe not. I mean, it's just… one day. Right?" she said, eyes hopeful now.
There was a long pause.
A beat.
Ren sighed.
He looked at the gremlin—now stretching on the couch like it didn't just destroy his kitchen twenty minutes ago—then at Hazuki, then out the window as if the sky might answer him.
"…It's only one day… right?" he muttered, almost as if trying to convince himself.
Hazuki's eyes widened a little, sensing the shift.
"We can sneak it in… right?"
Hazuki grinned. "You're not serious."
He raised a brow. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
Hazuki looked at him, then at the cat, then back again.
"I mean… I've done dumber things."
"That's not reassuring."
She smirked. "We'll figure it out."
Ren groaned. "I can't believe I'm considering this. The principal already thinks I run an underground gambling ring just because I wear my tie loose."
"Loose ties are shady, Ren."
"Loose ties are comfortable, Hazuki."
The cat meowed—almost like it agreed. Or maybe it was hungry again. No one could tell.
Hazuki knelt down, brushing its head. "Alright, Gremlin. Hope you're ready for your first day of school."
The cat blinked slowly.
Ren mumbled under his breath. "We're going to be suspended."
Hazuki stood, clearly unfazed. "Then we'll homeschool each other. You teach math."
"I hate math."
"Then you can do moral science. You're cynical enough."
"…You're not helping."
She smiled. "Come on, let's get this chaos machine packed."
And just like that, a new day began—with a high school, two semi-responsible teens, and one illegally adorable passenger sneaking into unknown territory.
What could possibly go wrong?